_Judith_.
Yes! thou hast soiled me: to know my beauty,
Wherewith I loved Manasses, and still love,
Has all these years dwelt in thy heart a dream
Of favourite lust,--O this is foul in my mind.

_Ozias_.
I meant not what thou callest lust, but love.

_Judith_.
What matters that? Thou hast desired me.
And knowing that, I feel my beauty clutch
About my soul with a more wicked shame
Than if I lived corrupt with leprosy.

_Ozias_.
Wilt thou still let the dead have claim on thee?
Judith, wilt thou be married to a grave?

_Judith_.
I am married to my love; and it is vile,
Yea, it is burning in me like a sin,
That when my love was absent, thy desire
Shouldst trespass where my love is single lord.

_Ozias_.
This is but superstition. Love belongs
To living souls. It is a light that kills
Shadows and ghosts haunting about the mind.