Mar.
So speaks a wandering wit. That Herod loves me,
Yea, loves me more than I can love myself,
There’s none can doubt; no, not Salome even,
Your sinister-hearted wife, although she double
Just for that cause her hate, and even although
Just for that cause, and spurred by vengeful lust,
She may have filled you with this murder-thought.
And that it comes from her I know, and will
Pierce to her feeling nerve; her pain for you