"Come, come, Overbury," exclaimed Lord Rochester, "do not be eloquent! A few plain facts, my good friend, and a word of explanation, are all that is required. I don't mean to say positively that I will follow your advice in this matter, though I partly see your aim; but I will be reasonable, as I always am; and, if I see good cause and good hope, I will go on." "Well, then, my Lord," said Overbury, "I will just remind you of how you stand. Though it may be an unpleasant task to do so, yet I have never found you shrink from looking the matter in the face. The King's favour is your only stay; the King's life is your term of office and authority; for though, perhaps, some of your own countrymen would rally round to support you--which, by the way, I doubt----" "Oh yes, they would," cried Rochester; "a Scotchman will always support a Scotchman, if his own interest don't come in the way." "Yet depend upon it," continued Sir Thomas Overbury, "under a new King, the jealousy of the English would soon clear the Court of your countrymen, who, as you know, can scarce keep their footing in it already." "That's very true," cried Rochester; "why there's a new satire out against us, Overbury, which made me laugh a good deal last night. It's all the folly of Murray and Sanquhar, as you will see, for the verses upon a Scotchman run-- 'They beg our lands, our goods, our lives, They switch our nobles, make love to their wives, They pinch our gentry, and send for our Benchers, They stab our sergeants, and pistol our fencers.' Ha! ha! ha! it's not bad, on my life; but still the conduct of such men as Sanquhar, in murdering the fencing-master, and Murray, in stabbing the sergeant, can bring nothing but ruin upon themselves, and disgrace upon all their countrymen." "Both acts were done under the influence of strong passion," replied Overbury; "and where is the man who shall say to what pitch strong passion may lead him?" "Never to murder a man in cold blood," cried Rochester; "no passion would ever lead you or me to such deeds." "I do not know," replied Overbury, thoughtfully; "no man can tell till he is tried;" and he fell into a fit of musing. It was a strange conversation. There they stood, the murderer and the murdered--the one denying the possibility of acts, which, within a very few short months he himself committed; the other even doubting whether he might not be some time tempted to the deeds of which he was to be soon a victim. As if the question impressed them more strongly than any thing that had passed before, they both remained silent for several minutes, and then Overbury proceeded, returning at once to the former subject.