No More Learning

Deborah and Jael, famously named,
Like rich lands enriching the city their master,
Bring thee now their most golden honour.
For the beauty of thy limbs was found
By a dreadfuller enemy dreadful as the sound
Of Deborah's singing, though hers was a song
That had for its words thousands of men.
But thou thyself, looking upon them,
Didst weaken the Assyrians mortally.
They thought it terrible to see thee coming;
They falter'd in their impiousness,
Their hearts gave in to thee; they went
Backward before thee and shewed thee the tent
Where Holofernes would have thee in to him,
Yea, for his slayer waiting,
Waiting thee to entertain,
Desiring thee, his death, to enjoy, as Jael
Waited for Sisera her slain.

_Judith_.
Have done! Do you think I know not why your souls
Are so delighted round me? Do you think
I see not what it is you praise? --not me,
But you yourselves triumphing in me and over me.

_A Citizen_.
Did we kill Holofernes?

_Judith_.
No: nor I.
That corpse was not his death. He is alive,
And will be till there is no more a world
Filled with his hidden hunger, waiting for souls
That ford the monstrous waters of the world.
Alive in you is Holofernes now,
But fed and rejoicing; I have filled your hunger.
Yea, and alive in me: my spirit hath been
Enjoyed by the lust of the world, and I am changed
Vilely by the vile thing that clutcht on me,
Like sulphurous smoke eating into silver.
Your song is all of this, this your rejoicing;
You have good right to circle me with song!
You are the world, and you have fed on me.

_A Citizen_.
We are the world; yes, but the world for ever
Honouring thee.

_Judith_.
How am I honoured so,
If I no honour have for the world, but rather
Hold it an odious and traitorous thing,
That means no honour but to those whose spirits
Have yielded to its ancient lechery? --
Defiled, defiled!

_A Citizen_.
Thou wert moved by our grief:
Was that a vile thing?

_Judith_.
That was the cunning world.
It moved me by your grief to give myself
Into the pleasure of its ravenous love.

_A Citizen_.
Judith, if thy hot spirit beareth still
Indignant suffering of villainy,
Think, that thou hast no wrong from it.