A Citizen. 
Thou art rich, and thou hast much cool store of wine. 
But the town thirsts, and every beat of our blood
Hastens us on to maniac agony. 
The Assyrians have our wells, and half the tanks
Are dry, and the pools shoal with baking mud: 
The water left to us is pestilent. 
And therefore have we asked the governors
For death:  and it is granted us.

Another. 
     Five days
Hath Prince Ozias bidden us endure.

Another.  For there are still fools among us who dare trust God has not made a bargain of our lives.

Another.  We are a small people, and our war is weak:  Who knows whether our God doth not desire Armies and great plains full of spears and horses, And cities made of bronze and hewn white stone And scarlet awnings, throng’d with sworded men, To shout his name up from the earth and kill All crying at the gates of other heavens; And hath grown tired of peaceable praise and folk That in a warren of dry mountains dwell, Whose few throats can make little noise in heaven.

A Young Man. 
For sure God’s love hath wandered to strange nations;
His pleasure in the breasts of Jerusalem
Is a delight grown old.  Yea, he would change
That shepherd-woman of the earthly cities,
Whose mind is as the clear light of her hills,
Full of the sound of a hundred waters falling;
And poureth his desire out, belike,
Upon that queen the wealth of the world hath clad,
Babylon, for whose golden bed the gods
Wrangle like young men with great gifts and boasts;
Whose mind is as a carbuncle of fire,
Full of the sound of amazing flames of music.

Another.  Yea, what can Israel offer against her, Whom the rich earth out of her mines hath shod, And crowned with emeralds grown in secret rocks, Who on her shoulders wears the gleam of the sea’s Purple and pearls, and the flax of Indian ground Is linen on her limbs cool as moonlight, And fells of golden beasts cover her throne; Whose passion moves in her thought as in the air Melody moves of flutes and silver horns:  What can Jerusalem the hill-city Offer to keep God’s love from Babylon?

Judith. 
What but the beauty of holiness, and sound
Of music made by hearts adoring God? 
You that speak lewdly of God, you yet shall see
Jerusalem treading upon her foes. 
But what was that of five days one of you spoke?

A Citizen.  Ozias sware an oath:  hast thou not heard?

Judith.  No, for I keep my mind away from your tongues Wisely.  Who walks in wind-blown dust of streets, That hath a garden where the roses breathe?

A Citizen.  I have no garden where the roses breathe; I have a city full of women crying And babies starving and men weak with thirst Who fight each other for a dole of water.

Another.  Not only thou hast pleasant garden-hours, Judith, here in Bethulia; the Lord Death Has bought the city for his garden-close, And saunters in it watching the souls bloom Out of their buds of flesh, and with delight Smelling their agony.