JUDITH. What is the urgency that oppresses you, Ozias, and why are you troubled in the hour of triumph?
OZIAS (losing control of himself). Who is the heathen Achior that you should prefer him and make your mouth sweet to him?
JUDITH. Leave Achior, and let us come at once to the matter that presses.
OZIAS. Oh! I will not speak smoothly for a pretence! Thou knowest that my jealousy smokes against Achior. Yea, and against Holofernes also.
JUDITH. But Holofernes is dead.
OZIAS. Before he went down to his place, didst thou not sin with him?
JUDITH. As the Lord liveth, my countenance deceived him to his destruction, yet did he not shame me.
OZIAS. Blessed be our God!
JUDITH. But how does this matter touch thee, and what is my virtue in thy regard?
OZIAS. Let Holofernes suffice thee, and drive not me also to death with the softness of thy voice. Art thou not aware that the soul of my soul burns for thee and will not wait—the more so since thou hast done a mighty deed and art proved a woman beyond all women?