And who art thou?
And why hast thou this man in custody?

[_Gives his falcon to an attendant_.]

FRIESS.

Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard,
And station'd sentinel beside the cap;
This man I apprehended in the act
Of passing it without obeisance due;
So as you ordered, I arrested him,
Whereupon to rescue him the people tried.

GESSLER (_after a pause_).

And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your King,
And me, who act as his vice-regent here,
That you refuse obeisance to the cap,
I hung aloft to test your loyalty?
I read in this a disaffected spirit.

TELL.

Pardon me, good my lord! The action sprung
From inadvertence--not from disrespect.
Were I discreet, I were not William Tell.
Forgive me now--I'll not offend again.

GESSLER (_after a pause_).

I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow--
From every rival bear the palm away.

WALTER.

That's very truth, sir! At a hundred yards
He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree.

GESSLER.

Is that boy thine, Tell?

TELL.

Yes, my gracious lord.

GESSLER.

Hast any more of them?

TELL.

Two boys, my lord.

GESSLER.

And, of the two, which dost thou love the most?

TELL.

Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike.

GESSLER.

Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst
Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt
Approve thy skill before me. Take thy bow--
Thou hast it there at hand--make ready, then,
To shoot an apple from the stripling's head!
But take this counsel--look well to thine aim,
See, that thou hit'st the apple at the first,
For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit.

[_All give signs of horror_.]

TELL.

What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask?
What I from the head of mine own child!--No, no!
It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that--
God, in His grace, forbid! You could not ask
A father seriously to do that thing!

GESSLER.

Thou art to shoot an apple from his head!
I do desire--command it so.

TELL.

What, I!
Level my cross-bow at the darling head
Of mine own child? No--rather let me die!

GESSLER.

Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy.

TELL.

Shall I become the murderer of my child!
You have no children, sir--you do not know
The tender throbbings of a father's heart.

GESSLER.

How now, Tell, on a sudden so discreet?
I had been told thou wert a visionary