The Tribune of the People: I ... I am the ... the....
The clamor of the yelling crowd.
Tête-d'or: Who would like my sword?
(He holds the sword in his hands. No one answers.
Then I will draw you myself, O sword disdained that no one cares to take! O how you rest in your sheath!
Sword! Sword!
Gage, unfailing hope, you
That have already conquered once!
I will lift you up like a torch, sign of immortal victory that I hold!
O people whose tongues stutter and stammer, here is a searching question between my hands!