OZIAS. It is thirty-four days since Holofernes took the wells. If you
have received water up to yesterday your great-grandchild must indeed
have thirsted that you might drink. I have distributed water by measure,
but now the cisterns are empty, and women and young men fall down in the
streets, and there is no water in Bethulia. We are all in like case, the
high and the lowly.

CHABRIS. Then give me your bottle.

OZIAS. What bottle?

CHABRIS. I saw you put it from your lips as I came.

OZIAS. It behoves you to understand, old man, that my solemn duty as
governor is to maintain my own strength, for if I fell the city would
fall. Without me to inspire them the populace would yield in a moment.
What is the populace? Poltroons, animals, sheep, rabbits, insects, lice!

CHABRIS. Give me the bottle.

OZIAS. It is as empty as the cisterns.

CHABRIS. Give it to me, or I will cry through the streets that you are
concealing water. (Ozias _gives him the bottle_. Chabris _drinks_. Ozias
_snatches the bottle away and conceals it_.) Ah!

(_A figure is glimpsed in the tent on the roof of_ Judith's _house_.
Ozias _starts_.)