Unhand me, knaves! I tell thee, my Lord Justice, Thou mightst as well bid the untrammelled ocean, The winter whirlwind, or the Alpine storm, Not roar their will, as bid me hold my peace! Ay! though ye put your knives into my throat, Each grim and gaping wound shall find a tongue, And cry against you. LORD JUSTICE Sir, this violence Avails you nothing; for save the tribunal Give thee a lawful right to open speech, Naught that thou sayest can be credited. [_The_ DUCHESS _smiles and_ GUIDO _falls back with a gesture of despair_.] Madam, myself, and these wise Justices, Will with your Grace’s sanction now retire Into another chamber, to decide Upon this difficult matter of the law, And search the statutes and the precedents. DUCHESS Go, my Lord Justice, search the statutes well, Nor let this brawling traitor have his way. MORANZONE Go, my Lord Justice, search thy conscience well, Nor let a man be sent to death unheard. [_Exit the_ LORD JUSTICE _and the Judges_.] DUCHESS Silence, thou evil genius of my life! Thou com’st between us two a second time; This time, my lord, I think the turn is mine. GUIDO I shall not die till I have uttered voice. DUCHESS Thou shalt die silent, and thy secret with thee. GUIDO Art thou that Beatrice, Duchess of Padua? DUCHESS I am what thou hast made me; look at me well, I am thy handiwork. MAFFIO See, is she not Like that white tigress which we saw at Venice, Sent by some Indian soldan to the Doge? JEPPO Hush! she may hear thy chatter. HEADSMAN My young fellow, I do not know why thou shouldst care to speak, Seeing my axe is close upon thy neck, And words of thine will never blunt its edge. But if thou art so bent upon it, why Thou mightest plead unto the Churchman yonder: The common people call him kindly here, Indeed I know he has a kindly soul. GUIDO This man, whose trade is death, hath courtesies More than the others. HEADSMAN Why, God love you, sir, I’ll do you your last service on this earth. GUIDO My good Lord Cardinal, in a Christian land, With Lord Christ’s face of mercy looking down From the high seat of Judgment, shall a man Die unabsolved, unshrived? And if not so, May I not tell this dreadful tale of sin, If any sin there be upon my soul? DUCHESS Thou dost but waste thy time. CARDINAL Alack, my son, I have no power with the secular arm. My task begins when justice has been done, To urge the wavering sinner to repent And to confess to Holy Church’s ear The dreadful secrets of a sinful mind. DUCHESS Thou mayest speak to the confessional Until thy lips grow weary of their tale, But here thou shalt not speak. GUIDO My reverend father, You bring me but cold comfort. CARDINAL