_Pier._ Thou Jaffier! thou my once loved, valued friend? By Heavens, thou liest! The man so called, my friend, Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant, Noble in mind, and in his person lovely, Dear to my eyes and tender to my heart: But thou, a wretched, base, false, worthless coward, Poor even in soul, and loathsome in thy aspect; All eyes must shun thee, and all hearts detest thee. Pr'ythee avoid, nor longer cling thus round me, Like something baneful, that my nature's chilled at. _Jaff._ I have not wronged thee, by these tears I have not, But still am honest, true, and hope, too, valiant; My mind still full of thee: therefore still noble. Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart Detest me utterly: oh, look upon me, Look back and see my sad, sincere submission! How my heart swells, as even 'twould burst my bosom, Fond of its goal, and labouring to be at thee! What shall I do--what say to make thee hear me? _Pier._ Hast thou not wronged me? Dar'st thou call thyself Jaffier, that once loved, valued friend of mine, And swear thou hast not wronged 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 asking. _Pier._ What's that? _Jaff._ To take thy life on such conditions The Council have proposed: thou and thy friends May yet live long, and to be better treated. _Pier._ Life! ask my life? confess! record myself A villain, for the privilege to breathe, And carry up and down this cursèd city A discontented and repining spirit, Burthensome to itself, a few years longer, To lose it, may be, at last in a lewd quarrel For some 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. _Jaff._ By all that's just-- _Pier._ Swear by some other powers, For thou hast broke that sacred oath too lately. _Jaff._ Then, by that hell I merit, I'll not leave thee, Till to thyself, at least, thou'rt reconciled, However thy resentments deal with me. _Pier._ Not leave me! _Jaff._ No; thou shalt not force me from thee. Use me reproachfully, and like a slave; Tread on me, buffet me, heap wrongs on wrongs On my poor head; I'll bear it all with patience, Shall weary out thy most unfriendly cruelty: Lie at thy feet and kiss them, though they spurn me, Till, wounded by my sufferings, thou relent, And raise me to thy arms with dear forgiveness. _Pier._ Art thou not-- _Jaff._ What? _Pier._ A traitor? _Jaff._ Yes. _Pier._ A villain? _Jaff._ Granted.