With fierce and angry splendour, through the clouds
Burst forth, as if impatient to behold
This our high triumph.—Lead the prisoner in.
Raimond is brought in, fettered and guarded.
Why, what a bright and fearless brow is here!
—Is this man guilty?—Look on him, Montalba!
Mon. Be firm. Should justice falter at a look?
Pro. No, thou say’st well. Her eyes are filleted,
Or should be so. Thou, that dost call thyself—
But no! I will not breathe a traitor’s name—