She gave thee to my arms.
Raim. Now death has lost
His sting, since thou believ’st me innocent!
Pro. (wildly.) Thou innocent!—Am I thy murderer, then?
Away! I tell thee thou hast made my name
A scorn to men! No! I will not forgive thee;
A traitor! What! the blood of Procida
Filling a traitor’s veins? Let the earth drink it.
Thou wouldst receive our foes!—but they shall meet
From thy perfidious lips a welcome, cold