Her. And therefore? Speak!—
The noble daughter of Pelayo’s line
Hath naught to ask unworthy of the name
Which is a nation’s heritage. Dost thou shrink?
Elm. Have pity on me, father! I must speak
That, from the thought of which but yesterday
I had recoil’d in scorn! But this is past
Oh! we grow humble in our agonies,
And to the dust—their birthplace—bow the heads
That wore the crown of glory! I am weak—