On another occasion Samson amused himself by telling monstrous lies about the secret of his strength: "If they bind me with seven green withes that were never dried, then shall I be weak and be as another man;" "if they bind me fast with new ropes;" "if thou weavest the seven locks of my head with the web;" and so on. As Prince Hal said of the stories of his boon companion, "These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable." Delilah, wearied with these practical jokes, exclaims at last, "How canst thou say 'I love thee,' when thine heart is not with me? Thou hast mocked me these three times, and hast not told me wherein thy great strength lieth." Then she began a course of teasing and entreaty that finally proved successful. "It came to pass when she pressed him daily with her words, _so that his soul was vexed unto death_, that he told her all his heart." Samson was great physically, but so weak mentally and morally that he is continually reducing himself to an absurd spectacle. He could not resist Delilah's persistent importunities, nor had he sufficient resolution to betake himself from the presence of temptation. He had, no doubt, laughed loud and long at the victims of his huge falsehoods, but he is finally harassed by a woman whose reproaches and entreaties are like "a continual dropping on a rainy day," into telling the fatal truth. Upon the whole, as we look upon the portrait of Samson, we find it impossible to respect him. We can only smile at his folly. The one flash of genuine nobility comes at the last. "Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it." After all, that heroic death more than half redeems the vacillating career it closes. III.--NABAL.