Your sword, and that you yield in the King’s name.
Lope. I yield?
Men. Ay, sir, what can you do beside?
Lope. Slaying be slain. And yet my heart relents
Before your voice; and now I see your face
My eyes dissolve in tears. Why, how is this?
What charm is on my sword?
Men. ’Tis but the effect
And countenance of justice that inspires
Involuntary awe in the offender.