Now will I know if it were but a fever, The fever of a passion frenzy-fired That madded his poised mind, or if I saw His innermost in clear sane deed betrayed. Now will I know! HEROD (_to the_ COURIER). Naught, naught! [_Exit_ COURIER. (_To_ MARIAMNE.) Your countenance Has taken gladder glow! But do not hope Too much. One does not always die in war. I’ve cheated many a one ere now. MAR. (_about to speak, but interrupting herself_). No, no! HEROD. The issue now involves a hotter fight Than then, I grant you. Every fight beside Was waged for something in the world, but this Is waged for the world’s self; it makes decisive Who’s destinied world-master--Antony, Wencher and trencherman, or else Octavian Who’s empty of his merit when he swears That he was never drunken in his life. There’ll be a pretty buffet-bout, and yet It may be that your wish be not fulfilled, That Death may pass me with unbloodied sword. MAR. My wish! ’Tis well! My wish--then it is good. O Heart, be quelled! Betray you not! The proving Is none if he should sense what quicks your throb. If he stand proof how you will be rewarded! And how you can reward him! Let him then Misprise you. Prove him. Think upon the end, And on the garland you dare reach to him-- When he has trod the Demon underfoot. HEROD. I give you thanks; you now have brought my heart A lightening. Though on the human in you I may have done no outrage, this is clear-- That I have done no outrage on your love; And, for this reason, by your love I beg you Not for one final sacrifice, yet hope That you will yield to me one final duty. And this I hope not for my sake alone, I hope it for your own sake even more, You will not wish that, at this latest hour, I see you mistily; you will for this-- That I myself the dead man’s mouth have locked, Open your own and clear my wondering How it has come he made his head your gift. And you will do it for the human in you, You’ll do it, too, because you honour Self. MAR. Because I honour Self I’ll do it not. HEROD. So you yourself refuse the fair and fitting? MAR. The fair and fitting! So ’twere fair and fitting That I, on knees before you in abjection, Swear “Lord, your villein came me not anigh! And that you may believe--for to your faith I have no right, albeit I am your wife-- Hear this thing yet and that!” O fie, O fie![11] No Herod! If your itching later ask I answer you--perhaps. Now I am dumb. HEROD.