BEATRICE: 
O thou who tremblest on the giddy verge 115
Of life and death, pause ere thou answerest me;
So mayst thou answer God with less dismay: 
What evil have we done thee?  I, alas! 
Have lived but on this earth a few sad years,
And so my lot was ordered, that a father 120
First turned the moments of awakening life
To drops, each poisoning youth’s sweet hope; and then
Stabbed with one blow my everlasting soul;
And my untainted fame; and even that peace
Which sleeps within the core of the heart’s heart; 125
But the wound was not mortal; so my hate
Became the only worship I could lift
To our great father, who in pity and love,
Armed thee, as thou dost say, to cut him off;
And thus his wrong becomes my accusation; 130
And art thou the accuser?  If thou hopest
Mercy in heaven, show justice upon earth: 
Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart. 
If thou hast done murders, made thy life’s path
Over the trampled laws of God and man, 135
Rush not before thy Judge, and say:  ’My maker,
I have done this and more; for there was one
Who was most pure and innocent on earth;
And because she endured what never any
Guilty or innocent endured before:  140
Because her wrongs could not be told, not thought;
Because thy hand at length did rescue her;
I with my words killed her and all her kin.’ 
Think, I adjure you, what it is to slay
The reverence living in the minds of men 145
Towards our ancient house, and stainless fame! 
Think what it is to strangle infant pity,
Cradled in the belief of guileless looks,
Till it become a crime to suffer.  Think
What ’tis to blot with infamy and blood 150
All that which shows like innocence, and is,
Hear me, great God!  I swear, most innocent,
So that the world lose all discrimination
Between the sly, fierce, wild regard of guilt,
And that which now compels thee to reply 155
To what I ask:  Am I, or am I not
A parricide?

MARZIO: 
Thou art not!

JUDGE: 
What is this?

MARZIO: 
I here declare those whom I did accuse
Are innocent.  ’Tis I alone am guilty.

JUDGE: 
Drag him away to torments; let them be 160
Subtle and long drawn out, to tear the folds
Of the heart’s inmost cell.  Unbind him not
Till he confess.

MARZIO: 
Torture me as ye will: 
A keener pang has wrung a higher truth
From my last breath.  She is most innocent! 165
Bloodhounds, not men, glut yourselves well with me;
I will not give you that fine piece of nature
To rend and ruin.