1st Off. Is it indignity in sacred law
To bind a murderer? (To 2d Officer.) Come, do thy work.
Jane. Harsh are thy words, and stern thy harden'd brow;
Dark is thine eye; but all some pity have
Unto the last extreme of misery.
I do beseech thee! if thou art a man—
(Kneeling to him.)
(De Monfort roused at this, runs up to Jane, and raises her hastily from the ground; then stretches himself up proudly.)
De Mon. to Jane. Stand thou erect in native dignity;
And bend to none on earth the suppliant knee,
Though cloath'd in power imperial. To my heart
It gives a feller gripe than many irons.
(Holding out his hands.) Here, officers of law, bind on those shackles,
And if they are too light bring heavier chains.
Add iron to iron, load, crush me to the ground;
Nay, heap ten thousand weight upon my breast,
For that were best of all.
(A long pause, whilst they put irons upon him. After they are on, Jane looks at him sorrowfully, and lets her head sink on her breast. De Monfort stretches out his hands, looks at them, and then at Jane; crosses them over his breast, and endeavours to suppress his feelings.)
