I can do no otherwise, Howe’er it bring mistrust on me; the outbreak Compels me to this step; I dare not now Allow her from my sight unless I make The dead impossible through my own folly, For every hour this courier may come. Himself I long have thought to see no more. MAR. Say, when died Herod? JOSEPH. When died he? MAR. And how? You surely know it since you dare so much. JOSEPH. What do I dare then? You propose me riddles. MAR. Naught, if you think I cannot find defence So soon as e’er the Romans think my life Is threatened; all, if you mistake therein. JOSEPH. Who threatens then your life? MAR. You ask me still? You! JOSEPH. I? MAR. And can you swear the contrary? Swear it upon your child’s head? You are silent! JOSEPH. You have no right of challenge to the swearing. MAR. Who hears such challenge gives it of himself, But woe to you if Herod comes again! I’ll say to him two things ere the first kiss, I’ll say to him that you devised my murder, I’ll say to him my oath; now gauge yourself The fate that gathers for you if he comes. JOSEPH. And what--what was the oath? If it bring horror Yet I must know it. MAR. Hear it to your bane! That I with my own hand will kill myself If he--oh had I but foreboded _this_ I had not turned me with a cold good-bye, Nay, surely not! I would have kept the bearing I had begun, and all would now be well, For you at first were a far other man. JOSEPH. For me, I’ve naught to fear. MAR. Because you think It is impossible that he return. Who knows? And if! I hold the oath I swore, But not till I avenge myself on you, Avenge me on you--hear the word and tremble! Sharp as he would avenge me. Come then, draw Your instant sword! You dare not? I believe you! And watch me close as e’er you can, I’ll find A certain way unto the Captain Titus. You lost your hazard when I pierced your husk. JOSEPH (_aside_). True, true! (_To_ MARIAMNE.) I hold you to your word! You’d take The same, the very vengeance he would wreak; That vow you swore to me: forget it not. MAR. So speaks a wandering wit. That Herod loves me, Yea, loves me more than I can love myself, There’s none can doubt; no, not Salome even, Your sinister-hearted wife, although she double Just for that cause her hate, and even although Just for that cause, and spurred by vengeful lust, She may have filled you with this murder-thought. And that it comes from her I know, and will Pierce to her feeling nerve; her pain for you Shall be my latest joy upon this earth. JOSEPH. You err. But that’s all one: I have your word. MAR.