That swarm against his limbs?  No more did I
Kill my defilement; it was fast within me;
And like a frenzy can go out of me
And dress its hideous motions in my world. 
For when I come back here, behold the thing
I murdered in the camp leaps up and yells! 
The carrion Holofernes, my defilement,
Dances a triumph round me, roars and rejoices,
Quickened to hundreds of exulting lives.

A Citizen.  God help thee in this wildness!  Are we then As Holofernes to thee?

Judith. 
     You are naught
But the defilement that is in me now,
Rejoicing to be lodged safely within me. 
You are the lust I entertained, rejoicing
To wreak itself upon my purity. 
The stratagems of my ravishment you are,
Rejoicing that the will you serve has dealt
Its power on me.  O, I hate you not. 
You and your crying grief should have blown past
My heart like wind shaking a fasten’d casement. 
But I must have you in.  Myself I loathe
For opening to you, and thereby opening
To the demon which had set you on to whine
Pitiably in the porches of my spirit. 
You are but noise; but he is the lust of the world,
The infinite wrong the spirit, the virgin spirit,
Must fasten against, or be for ever vile.

A Citizen.  But is it naught that we, the folk of God, Are safe by thee?

Judith. 
     God hath his own devices. 
But I would be God’s helper!  I would be
Known as the woman whom his strength had chosen
To ruin the Assyrians!—­O my God,
How dreadfully thou punishest small sins! 
If it is thou who punishest; but rather
It is that, when we slacken in perceiving
The world’s intent towards us, and fatally,
Enticed out of suspicion by fair signs,
Go from ignoring its proposals, down
To parley,—­thou our weakness dost permit. 
In all my days I from the greed of the world
Virginal have kept my spirit’s dwelling,—­
Till now; yea, all my being I have maintained
Sacredly my own possession; for love
But made more beautiful and more divine
My spirit’s ownership.  And yet no warning,
When I infatuate went down to be
Procuress of myself to the world’s desire,
Did God blaze on my blindness, no rebuke. 
Therefore I am no more my virgin own,
But hatefully, unspeakably, the world’s. 
To these now I belong; they took me and used me. 
I have no pride to live for; and why else
Should one stay living, if not joyfully proud? 
For I have yielded now; mercilessly
What is makes foolish nothing of what was. 
To know the world, for all its grasping hands,
For all its heat to utter its pent nature
Into the souls that must go faring through it,
Availing nothing against purity,
Made always like rebellion trodden under,—­
By this was life a noble labour.  Now
I have been persuaded into the world’s pleasure: 
And now at last I will all certainly
Contrive for myself the death of Holofernes.