Ay true! But with intent to find the ripened time, No more, in which to carry out your charge Both her and me to murder---- HEROD. Is this true? (_To_ SALOME.) And you, you? ALEX. Almost the self-same hour Why he allowed his mask fully to fall Had Mariamne ta’en on her the oath To give herself, if you returned not hither, A sacrifice to death. I hide it not. For doing so I hated her. HEROD. Oh fearful! And this--but now you tell this? ALEX. Yes! TITUS. I know This too. It was her latest word to me. But for a thousand years I had been silent, I would but clear her name, not give you torture. HEROD. Then---- (_His voice fails him._) TITUS. Calm yourself! It wounds me too. HEROD. Ay, wounds You, her (_to_ SALOME) and everyone who here, like me, Has been the blinded tool of slant-souled Fate, But I alone have lost what on this earth Eternally will ne’er be seen again. Have lost! Oh! Oh! ALEX. Aha, Aristobulus, You are avenged, my son, and I in you. HEROD. What, triumphing? You think that I will now Wilt like a broken thing? Nay, I will not. I am a king and I will let the world [_He makes a gesture as though snapping something to pieces._ Feel it and tremble! Up now, Pharisees. Up with your rebel heads! (_To_ SALOME.) And you, why shrink you So soon from me? Why, sure, I’ve not yet altered My face, but on the morrow it may happen That my own mother shall be forced to swear I am no more her son. [_After a pause, in a toneless voice._ Ah, if my crown Were set with all the stars that flame in heaven, For Mariamne I would give them hence And, if I had it too, this earthen ball. Yea, were it possible that I myself Living as now within the grave could lay me And ransom her from out her own, I’d do it! With my own hands I’d dig myself therein. Ah, but I cannot! Therefore have I still And fastly hold what still I have. That is Not much, but still a crown is part thereof Which now shall fill for me the woman’s place, And who makes grasp for that--One does so now; Why yes, a Boy does so, a Marvellous Boy-- He Whom the Prophets have long been announcing And Whom e’en now a star lights into life. But, Fate, thy reckoning is sore at fault If thou, in trampling me with iron foot, A piecemeal thing, hast thought to smooth His course. A soldier I; myself will fight with thee And, as I lie, will bite thee in the heel. (_Sharply._) Joab! [JOAB _approaches_.