I might have fled with the rest,
But my dagger was in the breast
Of a Roman equerry,
As we rolled there in the street,
They bound me, hands and feet
And this is the end of me.
Who cares for death? Not I!
A thousand times I would die,
Rather than suffer wrong!
Already those women of mine
Are mixing the myrrh and the wine;
I shall not be with you long.
VIII
ECCE HOMO
PILATE, on the tessellated pavement in front of his palace. Ye have brought unto me this man, as one Who doth pervert the people; and behold! I have examined him, and found no fault Touching the things whereof ye do accuse him. No, nor yet Herod; for I sent you to him, And nothing worthy of death he findeth in him. Ye have a custom at the Passover; That one condemned to death shall be released. Whom will ye, then, that I release to you? Jesus Barabbas, called the Son of Shame, Or Jesus, Son of Joseph, called the Christ?
THE PEOPLE, shouting. Not this man, but Barabbas!
PILATE.
What then will ye
That I should do with him that is called Christ?
THE PEOPLE. Crucify him!
PILATE.
Why, what evil hath he done?
Lo, I have found no cause of death in him;
I will chastise him, and then let him go.
THE PEOPLE, more vehemently. Crucify him! crucify him!