A nearer home awaits me. Yet one word
Ere my voice fail—thy son——
Pro. Speak, speak!
Alb. Thy son
Knows not a thought of guilt. That trait’rous plot
Was mine alone.
[He is led away.
Pro. Attest it, earth and heaven!
My son is guiltless! Hear it, Sicily!
The blood of Procida is noble still!