Groom. No; I left it all to chance, And trusted to my genius. Sir T. I relied On friendship and the world's goodwill. Groom. Cheats, both! You were my friend, and therefore you betrayed me; Only a friend it is that can betray; And every friend's a traitor, first and last. Sir T. Friendship and treachery synonymous? Mine was the stronger nature. Groom. The craftier! You stole my love, you robbed me of my place, Applause, consideration, ease, renown, Riches and power that come of eminence; And this you did by every mean device-- Sad revelation, innuendo, shrug, Suggestive pity, supercilious smile---- Sir T. And you? Groom. Oh!--I ... I was magnanimous: I wished to kill; but to the very last Hugged the idea of a great eclipse Of you and yours to send you sighing down The bitter road, my foot upon the neck Of all your fame. Sir T. You lost the hope of that? Groom. Therefore I struck. Sir T. A candid murderer. Groom. Men Should kill each other. God, how it satisfies! 2nd Doctor. You must not talk, Sir Tristram.--Will you remove That most unhappy man? [Salerne and Abbot, attended by Blyth and Boulder, who have entered, take Groom up stage.] Groom. Murder him; stab The intimate friend, the inevitable foe! I shall proclaim it from the prisoner's dock: This is a gospel worth a thousand lies Of tolerance and love. Did men cut off The troublers of the world offence would cease. When bland dissimulation paves a way With broken pride that was its honest peer, And chuckling craft destroys us unperceived High time it is for men to kill outright! [Groom is taken out.] St. J. What dreadful voice is that? 2nd Doctor. A murderer's. St. J. Whose? 2nd Doctor. One Warwick Groom. St. J. The actor, Tristram's friend? 2nd Doctor. The same, my lord. St. J. Whom has he slain? 2nd Doctor. His friend. St. J. Is Tristram dead? Sir T. I lie here dying, Gervase.-- Ah! Ah! Why torture me! I cannot live. 1st Doctor. It is the order of our art---- Sir T. Desist! Desist, I say, at once; and damn your art.-- Pardon me, Doctor: I never could endure A scratch with patience: let me die at ease. 1st Doctor. I might preserve your life a little while. Sir T. How long?--Reply! 1st Doctor. I cannot say. Sir T. A year? 1st Doctor. Oh no! Until the morning at the most. Sir T. Take me to Gervase, Hildreth: quickly, Hildreth. [Hildreth, Europa, and the Doctors bring St. James's and Sir Tristram together, and support them, that they may see each other while they converse.] They've killed you, Gervase.