Tell.  Name it.

Ges.  I would see you make
     A trial of your skill with that same bow
     You shoot so well with.

Tell.  Name the trial you
      Would have me make.

Ges.  You look upon your boy
     As though instinctively you guessed it.

Tell.  Look upon my boy?  What mean you?  Look upon
      My boy as though I guessed it?  Guessed the trial
      You’d have me make?  Guessed it
      Instinctively?  You do not mean—­no—­no,
      You would not have me make a trial of
      My skill upon my child!  Impossible! 
      I do not guess your meaning.

Ges.  I would see
     Thee hit an apple at the distance of
     A hundred paces.

Tell.  Is my boy to hold it?

Ges.  No.

Tell.  No?  I’ll send the arrow through the core!

Ges.  It is to rest upon his head.

Tell.  Great heaven, you hear him!

Ges.  Thou dost hear the choice I give: 
     Such trial of the skill thou art master of,
     Or death to both of you, not otherwise
     To be escaped.

Tell.  O, monster!

Ges.  Wilt thou do it?

Alb.  He will! he will!

Tell.  Ferocious monster!  Make
      A father murder his own child!

Ges.  Take off his chains if he consent.

Tell.  With his own hand!

Ges.  Does he consent?

Alb.  He does. (Gesler signs to his officers, who proceed to take
     off Tell’s chains; Tell unconscious what they do.)

Tell.  With his own hand! 
      Murder his child with his own hand?  This hand? 
      The hand I’ve led him, when an infant, by? 
      ’T is beyond horror!  ’T is most horrible! 
      Amazement! (His chains fall off.) What’s that you’ve
           done to me? 
      Villains! put on my chains again.  My hands
      Are free from blood, and have no gust for it,
      That they should drink my child’s!  Here! here!  I’ll
      Not murder my boy for Gesler.

Alb.  Father!  Father! 
     You will not hit me, father!

Tell.  Hit thee?  Send
      The arrow through thy brain?  Or, missing that,
      Shoot out an eye?  Or, if thine eye escape,
      Mangle the cheek I’ve seen thy mother’s lips
      Cover with kisses?  Hit thee?  Hit a hair
      Of thee, and cleave thy mother’s heart?

Ges.  Dost thou consent?

Tell.  Give me my bow and quiver.

Ges.  For what?

Tell.  To shoot my boy!

Alb.  No, father, no! 
     To save me!  You’ll be sure to hit the apple. 
     Will you not save me, father?

Tell.  Lead me forth;
      I’ll make the trial!

Alb.  Thank you!

Tell.  Thank me?  Do
      You know for what?  I will not make the trial. 
      To take him to his mother in my arms! 
      And lay him down a corse before her!