Hate not a thing too much, lest you be drawn
Wry from yourselves and close to the thing ye hate.
_A Citizen_.
We know thy wisdom, Judith; but our lives
Belong to death; and wisdom to a man
Dying, is water in a broken jar.
_Judith_.
Yea, if thou wilt die of a parching mouth.
_A Citizen_.
Thou art rich, and thou hast much cool store of wine.
But the town thirsts, and every beat of our blood
Hastens us on to maniac agony.
The Assyrians have our wells, and half the tanks
Are dry, and the pools shoal with baking mud:
The water left to us is pestilent.
And therefore have we asked the governors
For death: and it is granted us.
_Another_.
Five days
Hath Prince Ozias bidden us endure.
_Another_.
For there are still fools among us who dare trust
God has not made a bargain of our lives.
_Another_.
We are a small people, and our war is weak:
Who knows whether our God doth not desire
Armies and great plains full of spears and horses,
And cities made of bronze and hewn white stone
And scarlet awnings, throng'd with sworded men,
To shout his name up from the earth and kill
All crying at the gates of other heavens;
And hath grown tired of peaceable praise and folk
That in a warren of dry mountains dwell,
Whose few throats can make little noise in heaven.
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