of your choice, and proud of the advantage which the impotence of age
gave him over me. Sire, thus these hairs, grown grey in harness [i.e.
toils of war]--this blood, so often shed to serve you--this arm,
formerly the terror of a hostile army, would have sunk into the grave,
burdened with disgrace, if I had not begotten a son worthy of me, worthy
of his country, and worthy of his king! He has lent me his hand--he has
slain the Count--he has restored my honor--he has washed away my shame!
If the displaying of courage and resentment, if the avenging of a blow
deserves chastisement, upon me alone should fall the fury of the storm.
When the arm has failed, the head is punished for it. Whether men call
this a crime or not requires no discussion. Sire, I am the head, he is
the arm only. If Chimène complains that he has slain her father, he
never would have done that [deed] if I could have done it [myself].
Sacrifice, then, this head, which years will soon remove, and preserve
for yourself the arm which can serve you. At the cost of my blood
satisfy Chimène. I do not resist--I consent to my penalty, and, far from
murmuring at a rigorous decree, dying without dishonor, I shall die
without regret.

_Don Fernando._ The matter is of importance, and, calmly considered, it
deserves to be debated in full council. Don Sancho, re-conduct Chimène
to her abode. Don Diego shall have my palace and his word of honor as a
prison. Bring his son here to me. I will do you justice.

_Chimène._ It is just, great king, that a murderer should die.

_Don Fernando._ Take rest, my daughter, and calm thy sorrows.

_Chimène._ To order me rest is to increase my misfortunes.