Unhand me, knaves! I tell thee, my Lord Justice,
Thou mightst as well bid the untrammelled ocean,
The winter whirlwind, or the Alpine storm,
Not roar their will, as bid me hold my peace!
Ay! though ye put your knives into my throat,
Each grim and gaping wound shall find a tongue,
And cry against you.
Lord Justice
Sir, this violence
Avails you nothing; for save the tribunal
Give thee a lawful right to open speech,
Naught that thou sayest can be credited.
[The Duchess smiles and Guido falls back with a gesture of despair.]
Madam, myself, and these wise Justices,
Will with your Grace’s sanction now retire
Into another chamber, to decide
Upon this difficult matter of the law,
And search the statutes and the precedents.
Duchess
Go, my Lord Justice, search the statutes well,
Nor let this brawling traitor have his way.
Moranzone
Go, my Lord Justice, search thy conscience well,
Nor let a man be sent to death unheard.
[Exit the Lord Justice and the Judges.]