As an avenger at their head I’ll go,
             And break down all the strongholds of the great,
             Who, half as servants, half again as lords,
             Serve but themselves and overrule their master. 
             Ruler and ruled, thus shall it be, and I,
             Avenging, will wipe out that hybrid throng,
             So proud of blood, or flowing in their veins,
             Or dripping on their swords from others’ wounds. 
             Thy light here leave and go!  I’ll stay alone
             And hatch the progeny of my revenge.

[The servant puts his torch into the ring beside the door and withdraws.]

KING (taking a step forward).

What moves there?  Can it be there still is life? 
Give answer!

ISAAC.  Gracious Lord ill-doer, O,
           O, spare us, good assassin!

KING.  You, old man? 
             Remind me not that Rachel was your child;
             It would deface her image in my soul. 
             And thou—­art thou not Esther?

ESTHER.  Sire, I am.

KING.  And is it done?

ESTHER.  It is.

KING.  I knew it well,
             Since I the castle entered.  So, no plaints! 
             For know, the cup is full; an added drop
             Would overflow, make weak the poisonous draught. 
             While she still lived I was resolved to leave her,
             Now dead, she ne’er shall leave my side again;
             And this her picture, here upon my breast,
             Will ’grave its image there, strike root within—­
             For was not mine the hand that murdered her? 
             Had she not come to me, she still would play,
             A happy child, a joy to look upon. 
             Perhaps—­but no, not that!  No, no, I say! 
             No other man should ever touch her hand,
             No other lips approach her rosy mouth,
             No shameless arm—­she to the King belonged,
             Though now unseen, she still would be my own. 
             To royal might belongs such might of charms!

ISAAC.  Speaks he of Rachel?

ESTHER.  Of thy daughter, yes. 
             Though grief increase the value of the loss,
             Yet must I say:  Too high you rate her worth.

KING.  Think’st thou?  I tell thee, naught but shadows we—­
             I, thou, and others of the common crowd;
             For if thou’rt good, why then, thou’rt learned it so;
             If I am honest, I but saw naught else;
             Those others, if they murder,—­as they do—­
             Well, so their fathers did, came time and need!