The track of life your chart is now designing,
That track, perchance, unto the end you wander.
Will you do that in the wild rush of wrath?
Herod.
I fear but half the truth’s in your monition.
The turning-point is there, but ’tis for you.
For I, what wish I then? why this—naught further,
A means wherewith to frighten bogy-dreams.[9]
Mar.
I’ll understand you not! I’ve borne you children,