Rai. I will plead
That cause before a mightier judgment-throne,
Where mercy is not guilt. But here, I feel
Too buoyantly the glory and the joy
Of my free spirit's whiteness; for e'en now
Th' embodied hideousness of crime doth seem
Before me glaring out.—Why, I saw thee,
Thy foot upon an aged warrior's breast,
Trampling our nature's last convulsive heavings.
—And thou—thy sword—Oh, valiant chief!—is yet
Red from the noble stroke which pierced, at once,
A mother and the babe, whose little life
Was from her bosom drawn!—Immortal deeds
For bards to hymn!
Guido. (aside.) I look upon his mien,
And waver.—Can it be?—My boyish heart
Deem'd him so noble once!—Away, weak thoughts!
Why should I shrink, as if the guilt were mine,
From his proud glance?
Pro. Oh, thou dissembler!—thou,
So skill'd to clothe with virtue's generous flush
The hollow cheek of cold hypocrisy,
That, with thy guilt made manifest, I can scarce
Believe thee guilty!—look on me, and say
Whose was the secret warning voice, that saved
De Couci with his bands, to join our foes,
And forge new fetters for th' indignant land?
Whose was this treachery? (Shows him papers.
Who hath promised here,
(Belike to appease the manès of the dead,)
