(The tumult, again, afar.)
Hear how the people lift you limitless!
Almost to-day and in my father's room
They would that you were king.
David. But ere to-morrow
Dim shall I be, and ere the harvest bend
Less than a gleam in their forgotten peril!
Michal. O were it, were it! But all silently
Jehovah fast is beckoning the realm
Into thy hands.
David. Then futile to resist
The gliding on of firm divinity.
And yet whatever may be shall be done.
Michal. All, all?
David. That for thee reverently may.
Michal. That anointing, then——
David. Of that!... not that!
Michal. Yet grant
It may be told my father; that I may
Say to him all the secret!