rich--what need have I to steal?--
My portrait which you wear about your neck
We'll hang up where the other used to be.
Thus he may look at mine, as I at his,
And think of me, if he perchance forgot.
The footstool bring me hither; I am Queen,
And I shall fasten to the chair this King.
They say that witches who compel to love
Stick needles, thus, in images of wax,
And every prick goes to a human heart
To hinder or to quicken life that's real.

[_She fastens the picture by the four corners to the back of the
chair._]

Oh, would that blood could flow with every prick,
That I could drink it with my thirsty lips,
And take my pleasure in the ill I'd done!
It hangs there, no less beautiful than dumb.
But I will speak to it as were I Queen,
With crown and mantle which become me well.

[_She has seated herself on the footstool before the picture._]

Oh, hypocrite, pretending piety,
Full well I know your each and every wile!
The Jewess struck your fancy--don't deny!
And, by my mighty word, she's beautiful,
And only with myself to be compared.

[_The_ KING, _followed by _GARCERAN _and_ ISAAC, _has entered and
placed himself behind the chair, and leans upon the back of the chair,
watching her._]

(RACHEL, _continues_)

But I, your Queen, I will not suffer it,
For know that I am jealous as a cat.
Your silence only makes your guilt seem more.
Confess! You liked her? Answer, Yes!

KING. Well, Yes!

[RACHEL, _starts, looks at the picture, then up, recognizes the_ KING,_
and remains transfixed on the footstool._]

KING (_stepping forward_).

Art frightened? Thou hast willed it, and I say 't.
Compose thyself, thou art in friendly hands!

[_He stretches his hand toward her, she leaps from the stool and flees
to the door at the right where she stands panting and with bowed head._]

KING. Is she so shy?

ESTHER. Not always, gracious Sire!
Not shy, but timid.

KING. Do I seem so grim?

(_Approaching her._ RACHEL, _shakes her head violently._)

Well then,