[He makes a gesture as though snapping something to pieces.
Feel it and tremble! Up now, Pharisees.
Up with your rebel heads! (To Salome.) And you, why shrink you
So soon from me? Why, sure, I’ve not yet altered
My face, but on the morrow it may happen
That my own mother shall be forced to swear
I am no more her son.
[After a pause, in a toneless voice.
Ah, if my crown
Were set with all the stars that flame in heaven,