“It is my slave to whom I grant my pardon
For standing such ill vicar to the star,
Since, for amends, it overblooms the flower.”
And yet you have Salome for a sister.
Herod.
And she?
Mar.
Come! If you’d have her murder me
On with your work, and make the deep your plunder,
Else—give the diver his meet rest. I stand