Raim. Who hath done this?
Father!—if I may call thee by that name—
Look, with thy piercing eye, on those whose smiles
Were masks that hid their daggers. There, perchance,
May lurk what loves not light too strong. For me,
I know but this—there needs no deep research
To prove the truth that murderers may be traitors,
Even to each other.
Pro. (to Montalba.) His unaltering cheek
Still vividly doth hold its natural hue,