Camillo.—Yet stained with blood.
Judge (to Beatrice). —Know you this paper, Lady?
Beatrice.—Entrap me not with questions. Who stands here As my accuser? Ha! wilt thou be he, Who art my judge? Accuser, witness, judge, What, all in one? Here is Orsino's name; Where is Orsino? Let his eye meet mine. What means this scrawl? Alas! ye know not what, And therefore on the chance that it may be Some evil, will ye kill us?
(Enter an Officer.)
Officer.—Marzio's dead.
Judge.—What did he say?
Officer.—Nothing. As soon as we Had bound him on the wheel, he smiled on us, As one who baffles a deep adversary; And holding his breath, died.
Judge.—There remains nothing But to apply the question to those prisoners, Who yet remain stubborn.
Camillo.—I overrule Further proceedings, and in the behalf Of these most innocent and noble persons Will use my interest with the Holy Father.
Judge.—Let the Pope's pleasure then be done. Meanwhile Conduct these culprits each to separate cells; And be the engines ready: for this night If the Pope's resolution be as grave, Pious, and just as once, I'll wring the truth Out of those nerves and sinews, groan by groan. (Exeunt.)