To crown thine age with honour. In thy heart
There’s a deep conflict; but great Nature pleads
With an o’ermastering voice, and thou wilt yield!
—Thou art his father!
Pro. (after a pause.) Maiden, thou’rt deceived!
I am as calm as that dead pause of nature
Ere the full thunder bursts. A judge is not
Father or friend. Who calls this man my son?
—My son! Ay! thus his mother proudly smiled—
But she was noble! Traitors stand alone,