And his eye quails not! Is this innocence?
Mon. No! ’tis th’ unshrinking hardihood of crime.
—Thou bear’st a gallant mien. But where is she
Whom thou hast barter’d fame and life to save,
The fair Provençal maid? What! know’st thou not
That this alone were guilt, to death allied?
Was’t not our law that he who spared a foe
(And is she not of that detested race?)
Should thenceforth be amongst us as a foe?
—Where hast thou borne her? speak!