Ben. Pish, these are idle. Will your grace command
The Executioner proceed?
Duke. Your Office.
Ger. Farewell to thy inticing vanity,
Thou round gilt box, that dost deceive man's eye:
The wise man knows, when open thou art broke,
The treasure thou includ'st, is dust and smoke,
Even thus, I cast thee by. My Lords, the Law
Is but the great mans mule, he rides on it,
And tramples poorer men under his feet;
Yet when they come to knock at yon bright Gate,
Ones Rags shall enter, 'fore the others State.
Peace to ye all: here, sirrah, strike: this hand
Hath Violanta kiss'd a thousand times;
It smells sweet ever since: this was the hand
Plighted my faith to her: do not think thou canst
Cut that in sunder with my hand. My Lord,
As free from speck as this arm is, my heart
Is of foul Lust, and every vein glides here
As full of truth. Why does thy hand shake so?
'Tis mine must be cut off, and that is firm;
For it was ever constant.
Enter Cornelia.
Cor. Hold; your Sentence
Unjustly is pronounced, my Lord: this blow
Cuts your hand off; for his is none of yours:
But Violanta's given in Holy marriage
Before she was delivered, consummated
With the free Will of her Mother, by her Confessor,
In Lord Benvoglio's house.
Ger. Alas good Aunt,
That helps us nothing; else I had reveal'd it.
Duke. What woman's this?
Ben. A base confederate
In this proceeding, kept of alms long time
By him; who now expos'd to misery,
Talks thus distractedly. Attach her, Guard.
Ran. Your cruelty (brother) will have end.
Cor. You'd best
Let them attach my tongue.