"
The king waited, but Vergilius made no reply. Now, indeed, was he
living in a great and memorable moment. He thought of the power
offered him--power of doing and undoing, power of raising up and
putting down, power over good and evil.
"Well," said Herod, impatiently, "what say you?"
"O king!" said Vergilius, "I had hoped soon to return to Rome and marry
and live in the land of my fathers."
"Hear me, good youth," said Herod, sternly, seizing the hand of the
young man. "There is a wise proverb in Judea. It is: 'Speak not much
with a woman.' Had I obeyed it, then had I saved my soul and
happiness. Women have been ever false with me--an idle, whispering,
and mischievous crew! O youth, give not your heart to them! For five
years let Judea be your bride. She woos you, son of Varro, and she is
fair. She asks for love and justice, and she will give you immortal
fame."
The king fondly pressed the hand of the Roman, who stood beside him,
grave and thoughtful. For the young man it was a moment of almost
overwhelming temptation.
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