Yes, yes, they know our breed! It must be altered. What Moses merely bade, to shield this folk From a backsliding to its old calf-cult, Though _he_ was not a fool, such law this folk Holds fatuous as a self-sufficient end; So sick men cured still use the healing drug As though their food and physic were the same. This must----Continue! JOAB. I was soon assured I had mistook my man, for he dismissed All State-affairs while cups were going round, Appointed magistrates and duly ordered The sacrifice to Zeus, consulted augurs, Spoke with the couriers fast as e’er they came, Not me alone. Oh, a rare sight he made! A slave behind him with his ear acock, A tablet and a stylus in his hand, Was scribbling down--absurdly solemn owl! Whatever crank escaped his tippler-mood. And on the morning after, so I learnt, He reads the contents through, his head aburst With drunkard-dregs, and holds his words so true That--hear the latest oath they say he swore-- With his own fist he’d choke his very windpipe Had he the night before in fuddled fit Made a fool’s freakish present of the world He dubs his own, and thereby forfeited His right to one sole single place thereon. Whether, then too his walk’s a zigzag waddle, As when at night he seeks his bed, I know not; But to my thinking, both are on all fours. HEROD. Thou’rt conqueror, Octavian! Soon or late; That’s all the question. Well? JOAB. When at long last The turn had come to me and I delivered The letter for him that I bore with me, He then and there, instead of opening it, Tossed it contemptuous to his secretary, Bade his cup-bearer bring a certain picture Which I should thoroughly scan, and say to him Whether I found the likeness good or no. HEROD. It was the likeness of---- JOAB (_with sinister malice_). Aristobulus, The High-Priest drowned a trifle suddenly. A long time since your royal Consort’s mother, Queen Alexandra, who’s had doings with him, Had sent it; but ’twas swallowed ravenously As though he’d ne’er set eyes on it before. Stock-still I stood, mutely confused. He spoke When he saw this--“The lamps here burn too dim!” Then, stretching out his hand toward your letter, Plunged it in flame and let it flicker slow Before the picture like an uninked sheet. HEROD. Bold, e’en for him: but ’twas a wine-caprice. JOAB.