Dishonor!
Who shall wipe off the stain thy execution
Will fix on all the kindred of thy house?
Foscarini.
Answer you that! You may decree, ’tis true,
My death, but with my death you will decree
Your everlasting infamy. Where’er
In future years the deed shall be remembered,
’Twill tell of shame—not mine! The popular voice
May here be dumb—but in all lands, that spurn