[Exit Marzio, Guarded.]

CAMILLO: What say ye now, my Lords?

JUDGE: Let tortures strain the truth till it be white As snow thrice sifted by the frozen wind.

CAMILLO: Yet stained with blood.

JUDGE [TO BEATRICE]: Know you this paper, Lady?

BEATRICE: Entrap me not with questions. Who stands here As my accuser? Ha! wilt thou be he, Who art my judge? Accuser, witness, judge, What, all in one? Here is Orsino’s name; Where is Orsino? Let his eye meet mine. What means this scrawl? Alas! ye know not what, And therefore on the chance that it may be Some evil, will ye kill us?