David. Yea, O king!...
Therefore be wielded by no venom-word,
As a weed under the wind!
Saul. 'Tis overmuch!
I'll burst all bond of priest or prophesy.
Nor cringe to threatening and fondle fear.
(He seizes a javelin.)
I'll smite where'er I will.
David. No!
Jonathan. Father!
David. No!
For rapid palsy would come on thy hand,
Awful and sceptre-ruined lord of men,
An impotence, a shrivelling with fear,
Avenging ere thou shed offenceless blood!
(Saul's hand drops.)
Is this thy love, the love of Saul the king,
Who once was kindlier than kindest are?
For but a woman's wantonness of word
And idle air, my life?
Ahinoam. Saul, Saul!