David. Woman, who are you?
(She clasps and kisses him.)
Take away your flesh.
(Free.) Take it away, the heat and myrrh of it.
Judith. So cold?
David. Hireling!
Judith. It is no longer fair?
(Wantonly.) Oh! Ah! I understand! the princess! Oh!
(Goes laughing and shaking her timbrel wickedly.)
Michal. A dancer, then, a very timbrel-player!
David. Until this hour I never looked upon her.
It is chicanery of chance or craft.
You who are noble, though in doubt adrift,
Be noble now!
Michal. And loving? Oh, I will—
Now that I know what should be done. Be sure!