We will go
Through swords into the quiet and cloud of death.
_Judith_.
Ozias, wilt thou be an infamy?
Bethulia fallen, all Judea lies
Open to the feet and hoofs of Assyria.
_Ozias_.
Yea, and what doth Judea but cower down
Behind us? There's no rescue comes from there.
We are alone with Holofernes' power.
_Judith_.
But if we hold him off, will he not grant
The meed of a brave fight, captivity?--
Or we may treat with him, make terms for yielding.
_Ozias_.
We know his mind: he hath written it plain
In the torn flesh of our ambassadors.
His mind to us is death; we can but choose
Between sharp swords and the slow slaying of thirst.
_Judith_.
He may torment us if we yield.
_Ozias_.
He may.
But not to yield is grisly and sure torment.
_Judith_.
There must be hope, if we could reckon right!
_Ozias_.
Well, thou and God have five days more to build
A bridge of hope over our broken world.
And, for the town even now fearfully aches
In scalding thirst, not five days had I granted,
Had it not been for somewhat I must say
Secretly to thee.
_Judith_.
Secretly? Then here;
Send off these men to labour at their groans
Elsewhere; for not within my house thou comest;
I'll have no thoughts against God in my house.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115