ARMGART.

No, no, I will not stir from where I stand,
Until your grace gives me my husband back. 
Six months already has he been shut up,
And waits the sentence of a judge in vain.

GESSLER.

How! would you force me, woman?  Hence!  Begone!

ARMGART.

Justice, my lord!  Ay, justice!  Thou are judge,
Vice-regent of the Emperor—­of Heaven. 
Then do thy duty—­as thou hopest for justice
From Him who rules above, show it to us!

GESSLER.

Hence!  Drive this insolent rabble from my sight!

ARMGART (seizing his horse’s reins).

No, no, by Heaven, I’ve nothing more to lose.—­
Thou stir’st not, Viceroy, from this spot, until
Thou dost me fullest justice.  Knit thy brows,
And roll thine eyes—­I fear not.  Our distress
Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care
No longer for thine anger.

GESSLER.

Woman, hence! 
Give way, or else my horse shall ride you down.

ARMGART.

Well, let it!—­there—­

[Throws her children and herself upon the ground before him.]

Here on the ground I lie,
I and my children.  Let the wretched orphans
Be trodden by thy horse into the dust! 
It will not be the worst that thou hast done.

HARRAS.

Are you mad, woman?

ARMGART (continuing with vehemence).

Many a day thou hast
Trampled the Emperor’s lands beneath thy feet. 
Oh, I am but a woman!  Were I man,
I’d find some better thing to do, than here
Lie grovelling in the dust.

[The music of the bridal party is again heard from the top of the pass, but more softly.]

GESSLER.

Where are my knaves? 
Drag her away, lest I forget myself,
And do some deed I may repent me of.

HARRAS.

My lord, the servants cannot force their way;
The pass is block’d up by a bridal train.

GESSLER.

Too mild a ruler am I to this people,
Their tongues are all too bold—­nor have they yet
Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be. 
I must take order for the remedy;
I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs,
This braggart spirit of freedom I will crush,
I will proclaim a new law through the land;
I will—­

[An arrow pierces him—­he puts his hand on his heart, and is about to sink—­with a feeble voice.]

        Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

HARRAs.

My lord! my lord!  Oh God!  What’s this?  Whence came it?

ARMGART (starts up).

Dead, dead!  He reels, he falls!  ’Tis in his heart!

HARRAS (springs from his horse).

Horror of horrors!  Heavenly powers!  Sir knight,
Address yourself for mercy to your God! 
You are a dying man.

GESSLER.

That shot was Tell’s.