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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 thyself That once lov'd valu'd friend of mine,

And swear thou hast 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
May yet live long, and to be better treated.

PIER. Life! afk my life! confefs! record myself
A villain for the privilege to breathe,
And carry up and down this curfed city
A difcontented and repining spirit,
Burdenfome to itself, a few years longer,

To lofe it, may be at laft, in a lewd quarrel

For fome new friend, treacherous and falfe as thou art Í

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.

JAFF By all that's juft

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 thyfelf 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 slave ;

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,
Till wounded by my fufferings thou relent,
And raise me to thy arms with dear forgiveness.
PIER. Art thou not- an

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 everlafting fame for fhameless life?

JAFF. All, all, and more, much more: my faults are numberless.

PIER. And would'ft 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 preserv'd by thee;

And as when first my foolish heart took pity
On thy misfortunes, fought thee in thy miferies,
Reliey'd thy wants, and rais'd thee from thy ftate
Of wretchedness, in which thy fate had plung'd thee,
To rank thee in my lift of noble friends

All I receiv'd, in furety for thy truth,

;

Were unregarded oaths, and this, this dagger,

Given with a worthlefs pledge thou fince haft ftol'n:
So I reflore it back to thee again;

Swearing

Swearing by all those powers which thou haft violated,
Never from this curs'd hour to hold communion,
Friendship, or intereft with thee, tho' our years
Were to exceed thofe limited the world.

Take it

Farewel, for now I owe thee nothing.

JAFF. Say thou wilt live then.

PIER. For my life, difpofe of it

Juft as thou wilt, becaufe 'tis what I'm tir'd with.
JAFF. Oh Pierre !

PIER. No more.

JAFF. My eyes won't loofe the fight of thee, But languish after thine, and ache with gazing.

PIER. Leave me-Nay, then thus, thus I throw thee

from me;

And curfes, great as is thy falfehood, catch thee.

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WAR. Behold him here;

No welcome guest, it feems, unless I afk

My lord of Suffolk's leave-there was a time
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain
Admiffion here.

EDW. There was a time, perhaps,

When Warwick more defir'd, and more-deferv'd it.

WAR. Never; I've been a foolish faithful flave;

All my best years, the morning of my life,

1

Hath

Hath been devoted to your fervice: what
Are now the fruits? Difgrace and infamy;
My spotless name, which never yet the breath
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock

For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit
Who trust in princes, fhould be thus rewarded.

EDW. I thought, my lord, I had full well repay'd ́
Your fervices with honours, wealth, and pow'r
Unlimited thy all-directing hand

Guided in fecret ev'ry latent wheel

Of government, and mov'd the whole machine:
Warwick was all in all, and pow'rlefe Edward
Stood like a cypher in the great account.

WAR. Who gave that cypher worth, and feated thee
On England's throne? Thy undistinguish'd name
Had rotted in the duft from whence it sprang,
And moulder'd in oblivion, had not Warwick
Dug from its fordid mine the useless ore,
And ftamp'd it with a diadem. Thou know'ft
This wretched country, doom'd, perhaps, like Rome,
To fall by its own felf-deftroying hand,

Toft for fo many years in the rough fea
Of civil difcord, but for me had perifh'd.

In that diftrefsful hour I feiz'd the helm,
Bade the rough waves fubfide in peace, and steer'd
Your fhatter'd veffel fafe into the harbour.

You may defpife, perhaps, that useless aid

Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth,
He who forgets a friend, deferves a foe.

EDW. Know too, reproach for benefits receiv'd
Pays ev'ry debt, and cancels obligation.
WAR Why, that indeed is frugal honesty,.

A thrifty

A thrifty faving knowledge: when the debt
Grows burden fome, and cannot be discharg'd,

A fpunge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing..
EDW. When you have counted o'er the numerous train
Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish'd on me,

You may remember next the injuries

Which I have done you; let me know them all,

And I will make you ample fatisfaction.

WAR. Thou canst not; thou haft robb'd me of a jewel It is not in thy power to reftore:

I was the firft, fhall future annals fay,

That broke the facred bond of public truft
And mutual confidence; ambassadors,
In after times, mere inftruments, perhaps,
Of venal statesmen, fhall recal my name
To witness, that they want not an example,
And plead my guilt, to fanctify their own.

Amidst the herd of mercenary flaves

That haunt your court, cou'd none be found but Warwick, To be the fhameless herald of a lie?

EDW. And would'st thou turn the vile reproach on me? If I have broke my faith, and ftain'd the name Of England, thank thy own pernicious counfels That urg'd me to it, and extorted from me A cold confent to what my heart abhorr'd. WAR. I've been abus'd, infulted, and betray'd; My injur'd honour cries aloud for vengeance, Her wounds will never clofe!

EDW. These gufts of paffion,

Will but inflame them; if I have been right
Inform'd, my lord, befides thefe dang❜rous fears
Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds

As

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