I have no weight, no heaviness on my foul,' SOUTH. And I proteft, by the fame powers divine, The greatest blifs my mind yet e'er enjoy'd, Since we must die, my Lord, to die together. OFFICER. The Queen, my Lord Southampton, has been To grant particular mercy to your person; SOUTH. O my unguarded foul! Sure never was Ess. Then I am loose to fteer my wand'ring voyage; Like a bad vessel that has long been croft, Again, Southampton, let me hold thee fast, For 'tis my laft embrace. SOUTH. O be lefs kind, my friend, or move lefs pity, Or I fhall fink beneath the weight of sadness! I weep that I am doom'd to live without you, And fhould have fmil'd to fhare the death of Effex. Ess. O fpare this tenderness for one that needs it, Methinks that very name should stop thy pity, That is not meant to her-be a kind friend Left it fhould coft a tear, nor e'er offend her. SOUTH. O ftay, my Lord, let me have one word more a One laft farewel, before the greedy axe Shall part my friend, my only friend from me, And Effex from himfelf-I know not what Are call'd the pangs of death, but fure I am Ess. Why, that's well faid-Farewel to thee- I will befpeak it for Southampton. SOUTH. And I, while I have life, will hoard thy memory: When I am dead, we then fhall meet again. JAFF. BY Heav'n, you stir not, I must be heard, I must have leave to speak: Thou haft difgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow: Had not a dagger done thee nobler juftice? But ufe me as thou wilt, thou can'ft not wrong me, For I am fallen beneath the baseft injuries; Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy, With pity and with charity behold me; Shut not thy heart against a friend's repentance; Liften with mildness to my fupplications. PIER. What whining monk art thou? what holy cheat, That would't incroach upon my credulous ears, And cant'ft thus vilely? hence! I know thee not. PIER. No, know thee not; what art thou? JAFF. Jaffier, thy friend, thy once lov'd, valu'd friend! Tho' now deferv'dly fcorn'd, and us'd moft hardly. PIER. Thou Jaffier! thou my once lov'd, valu'd friend! By heav'ns thou ly'ft; the man fo call'd my friend, Was generous, honeft, faithful, juft, and valiant, Noble in mind, and in his perfon lovely, Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart: But thou a wretched, bafe, falfe, worthlefs coward, Poor even in foul, and loathsome in thy aspect: All eyes muft fhun thee, and all hearts deteft thee. Prithee avoid, nor longer cling thus round me, Like fomething baneful, that my nature's chill'd at. JAFF. I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears I have not, But ftill am honeft, true, and hope too, valiant; My mind fill full of thee, therefore ftill noble. Let not thy eyes then fhun me, nor thy heart Deteft me utterly: Oh! look upon me, Look back and fee my fad, fincere fubmiffion! How my heart fwells, as e'en 'twould burst A a 4 my bofom ; Fend Fond of its goal, and labouring to be at thee; What shall I do? what fay to make thee hear me? PIER. Haft thou not wrong'd me? dar'ft thou call thyfelf That once lov'd valu'd friend of mine, And swear thou haft not wrong'd me? Whence these chains? Whence the vile death, which I may meet this moment? Whence this dishonour, but from thee, thou false one? JAFF. All's true; yet grant one thing, and I've done afking. PIER. What's that? JAFF. To take thy life on fuch conditions. The council have propos'd: thou and thy friend PIER. Life! afk my life! confefs! record myself And carry up and down this cursed city To lofe it, may be at laft, in a lewd quarrel For fome new friend, treacherous and false as thou art! No, this vile world and I have long been jangling, And cannot part on better terms than now, When only men like thee are fit to live in't. PIER. Swear by fome other powers, For thou haft broken that facred oath too lately. JAFF. Then by that hell I merit, I'll not leave thee, Till to thy felf at least thou'rt reconcil'd, However thy refentment deal with me. PIER. Not leave me ! JAFF. No; thou shalt not force me from thee; Ufe me reproachfully, and like a flave; Tread Tread on me, buffet me, heap wrongs on wrongs On my poor head; I'll bear it all with patience; I'll weary out thy moft friendly cruelty: Lie at thy feet and kifs 'em, tho' they spurn me, And raise me to thy arms with dear forgiveness. JAFF. What? PIER. A traitor? -JAFF. Yes. PIER. A villain ? JAFF. Granted. PIER. A coward, a moft fcandalous coward, Spiritlefs, void of honour, one who has fold Thy everlasting fame for fhameless life? JAFF. All, all, and more, much more: my faults are numberless. PIER. And would't thou have me live on terms like thine; Bafe as thou'rt falfe JAFF. No; 'tis to me that's granted: The fafety of thy life was all I aim'd at, In recompence for faith and truft fo broken. PIER. I fcorn it more, because preferv'd by thee; Were unregarded oaths, and this, this dagger, Swearing |