Lope. Not that. Delinquent as I am, I could,
With no more awe of justice than a mad dog,
Bite right and left among her officers;
But ’tis yourself alone: to you alone
Do I submit myself; yield up my sword
Already running with your people’s blood,
And at your feet—
Men. Rise, Lope. Heaven knows
How gladly would your judge change place with you
The criminal; far happier to endure