Or should be so. Thou, that dost call thyself—
—But no! I will not breathe a traitor's name—
Speak! thou art arraign'd of treason.
Raimond. I arraign
You, before whom I stand, of darker guilt,
In the bright face of heaven; and your own hearts
Give echo to the charge. Your very looks
Have ta'en the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink,
With a perturb'd and haggard wildness, back
From the too-searching light.—Why, what hath wrought
This change on noble brows?—There is a voice,
With a deep answer, rising from the blood
Your hands have coldly shed!—Ye are of those
From whom just men recoil, with curdling veins,
All thrill'd by life's abhorrent consciousness,
And sensitive feeling of a murderer's presence.
—Away! come down from your tribunal-seat,
Put off your robes of state, and let your mien
Be pale and humbled; for ye bear about you
That which repugnant earth doth sicken at,
More than the pestilence.—That I should live
To see my father shrink!
Pro. Montalba, speak!
There's something chokes my voice—but fear me not.
Mon. If we must plead to vindicate our acts,
Be it when thou hast made thine own look clear;
Most eloquent youth! What answer canst thou make
To this our charge of treason?
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