Scene 4
Herod alone.
Herod.
Not now! The next day then, the next day’s morrow!
After my death she will be kind to me!
What, speaks a woman thus? I know that oft
When I have called her fair she’s marred her features
With twistings till she was no longer fair.
I know she cannot weep, that her drawn face
Tells what in others finds the vent of tears.
I know that she had quarrelled with her brother
Not long before he found death in his bath,
And then play-acted the disconsolate,
And, to cap that, when he was now a corpse,
Displayed another gift received from him
And bought for her while he went to his bath!
Yet speaks a woman thus in the very moment
When he, the man she loves or at the least
Is bound to love—She turned not round again
As once when I—She left no kerchief back
That she for pretext—No, she can endure it
That I with this impression—Good! So be it!
To Alexandria—the grave—all’s one!
But one thing first! One! Earth and Heaven hear it!
You swore me naught, I’ll swear a thing to you!
I’ll put you under sword! And Antony,
Should he command my fall on your account,
E’en though he wrought it not to save your mother
Shall be my dupe. How doubtful e’er it be
Whether the robe that shrouds me at my death
Follows me to my grave because some thief
Can still purloin it, you shall follow me!
That’s firm and fixed! Should I return no more
You die! A stumpy point that trips the foot!
What gives assurance I shall be obeyed
When I’m no longer dreaded? Ha, I think
There’s one to find who at her frown has cause
For shivering!