you, Tell, so lightly hold your king,
And me, who act as his vicegerent here,
That you refuse the greeting 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,--
And bear the palm away from every rival.

WALTER.
That must be true, 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--and make thee ready
To shoot an apple from the stripling's head!
But take this counsel,--look well to thine aim,
See that thou hittest 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?
That 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 crossbow 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, so discreet upon a sudden
I had been told thou wert a visionary,--
A wanderer from the paths of common men.
Thou lovest the marvellous. So have I now
Culled out for thee a task of special daring.
Another man might pause and hesitate;
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.

BERTHA.
Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls!
See, how they tremble, and how pale they look,
So little used are they to hear thee jest.

GESSLER.
Who tells thee that I jest?

[Grasping a branch above his head.