GESSLER. Which now Is not a time for settling or admitting. Mighty things are on the anvil. The house Of Hapsburg must wax powerful; what the Father Gloriously began, the Son must forward: This people is a stone of stumbling, which One way or t'other must be put aside. [_They are about to pass along. The Woman throws herself before the Landvogt._ ARMGART. Mercy, gracious Landvogt! Justice! Justice! GESSLER. Why do you plague me here, and stop my way, I' th' open road? Off! Let me pass! ARMGART. My husband Is in prison; these orphans cry for bread. Have pity, good your Grace, have pity on us! RUDOLPH. Who or what are you, then? Who is your husband? ARMGART. A poor wild-hay-man of the Rigiberg, Whose trade is, on the brow of the abyss, To mow the common grass from craggy shelves And nooks to which the cattle dare not climb. RUDOLPH [_to Gessler_]. By Heaven, a wild and miserable life! Do now! do let the poor drudge free, I pray you! Whatever be his crime, that horrid trade Is punishment enough. [_To the Woman_] You shall have justice: In the Castle there, make your petition; This is not the place. ARMGART. No, no! I stir not From the spot till you give up my husband! 'Tis the sixth month he has lain i' th' dungeon, Waiting for the sentence of some judge, in vain. GESSLER. Woman! Wouldst' lay hands on me? Begone! ARMGART. Justice, Landvogt! thou art judge o' th' land here, I' th' Kaiser's stead and God's. Perform thy duty! As thou expectest justice from above, Show it to us. GESSLER. Off! Take the mutinous rabble From my sight. ARMGART [_catches the bridle of the horse_]. No, no! I now have nothing More to lose. Thou shalt not move a step, Vogt, Till thou hast done me right. Ay, knit thy brows, And roll thy eyes as sternly as thou wilt; We are so wretched, wretched now, we care not Aught more for thy anger. GESSLER. Woman, make way! Or else my horse shall crush thee. ARMGART. Let it! there— [_She pulls her children to the ground, and throws herself along with them in his way._ Here am I with my children: let the orphans Be trodden underneath thy horse's hoofs! 'Tis not the worst that thou hast done. RUDOLPH. Woman! Art' mad? ARMGART [_with still greater violence_]. 'Tis long that thou hast trodden. The Kaiser's people under foot. Too long! O, I am but a woman; were I a man, I should find something else to do than lie Here crying in the dust. [_The music of the Wedding is heard again, at the top of the Pass, but softened by distance._ GESSLER. Where are my servants? Quick! Take her hence! I may forget myself, And do the thing I shall repent. RUDOLPH. My lord, The servants cannot pass; the place above Is crowded by a bridal company.