Sar.  Mark! he weeps.

Tell.  Were he my son,
      He would not shed a tear!  He would remember
      The cliff where he was bred, and learned to scan
      A thousand fathoms’ depth of nether air;
      Where he was trained to hear the thunder talk,
      And meet the lightning, eye to eye; where last
      We spoke together, when I told him death
      Bestowed the brightest gem that graces life,
      Embraced for virtue’s sake.  He shed a tear! 
      Now were he by, I’d talk to him, and his cheek
      Should never blanch, nor moisture dim his eye—­
      I’d talk to him—­

Sar.  He falters!

Tell.  ’T is too much! 
      And yet it must be done!  I’d talk to him—­

Ges.  Of what?

Tell.  The mother, tyrant, thou dost make
      A widow of!  I’d talk to him of her. 
      I’d bid him tell her, next to liberty,
      Her name was the last word my lips pronounced. 
      And I would charge him never to forget
      To love and cherish her, as he would have
      His father’s dying blessing rest upon him!

Sar.  You see, as he doth prompt, the other acts.

Tell.  So well he bears it, he doth vanquish me. 
      My boy! my boy!  Oh, for the hills, the hills,
      To see him bound along their tops again,
      With liberty.

Sar.  Was there not an the father in that look?

Ges.  Yet ’t is ’gainst nature.

Sar.  Not if he believes
     To own the son would be to make him share
     The father’s death.

Ges.  I did not think of that!  ’T is well
     The boy is not thy son.  I’ve destined him
     To die along with thee.

Tell.  To die?  For what?

Ges.  For having braved my power, as thou hast.  Lead
     them forth. 
Tell.  He’s but a child.

Ges.  Away with them!

Tell.  Perhaps an only child.

Ges.  No matter.

Tell.  He may have a mother.

Ges.  So the viper hath;
     And yet, who spares it for the mother’s sake?

Tell.  I talk to stone!  I talk to it as though
      ’T were flesh; and know ’t is none.  I’ll talk to it
      No more.  Come, my boy;
      I taught thee how to live, I’ll show thee how to die.

Ges.  He is thy child?

Tell.  He is my child. (Weeps.)

Ges.  I’ve wrung a tear from him!  Thy name?

Tell.  My name? 
      It matters not to keep it from thee now;
      My name is Tell.

Ges.  Tell?  William Tell?

Tell.  The same.

Ges.  What! he, so famed ’bove all his countrymen,
     For guiding o’er the stormy lake the boat? 
     And such a master of his bow, ’t is said
     His arrows never miss!  Indeed!  I’ll take
     Exquisite vengeance!  Mark!  I’ll spare thy life;
     Thy boy’s too; both of you are free; on one
     Condition.