_Ren._ Without the least remorse, then, let's resolve With fire and sword to exterminate these tyrants; And when we shall behold those cursed tribunals Stained by the tears and sufferings of the innocent, Burning with flames, rather from Heaven than ours; The raging, furious, and unpitying soldier Pulling his reeking dagger from the bosoms Of gasping wretches; death in every quarter, With all that sad disorder can produce, To make a spectacle of horror; then, Then let us call to mind, my dearest friends, That there is nothing pure upon the earth; That the most valued things have most allays,[73] And that in change of all those vile enormities, Under whose weight this wretched country labours, The means are only in our hands to cure them. _Pier._ And may those powers above that are propitious To gallant minds record this cause, and bless it! _Ren._ Thus happy, thus secure of all we wish for, Should there, my friends, be found amongst us one False to this glorious enterprise, what fate, What vengeance were enough for such a villain? _Eliot._ Death here without repentance, hell hereafter. _Ren._ Let that be my lot, if as here I stand, Listed by fate amongst her darling sons, Though I had one only brother, dear by all The strictest ties of nature; though one hour Had given us birth, one fortune fed our wants, One only love, and that but of each other, Still filled our minds,--could I have such a friend Joined in this cause, and had but ground to fear He meant foul play, may this right hand drop from me, If I'd not hazard all my future peace, And stab him to the heart before you. Who, Who would do less? wouldst not thou, Pierre, the same? _Pier._ You've singled me, sir, out for this hard question, As if 'twere started only for my sake. Am I the thing you fear? Here, here's my bosom, Search it with all your swords! Am I a traitor? _Ren._ No; but I fear your late-commended friend Is little less. Come, sirs, 'tis now no time To trifle with our safety. Where's this Jaffier? _Spin._ He left the room just now in strange disorder. _Ren._ Nay, there is danger in him: I observed him, During the time I took for explanation. He was transported from most deep attention To a confusion which he could not smother; His looks grew full of sadness and surprise, All which betrayed a wavering spirit in him, That laboured with reluctancy and sorrow. What's requisite for safety must be done With speedy execution: he remains Yet in our power: I for my own part wear A dagger. _Pier._ Well. _Ren._ And I could wish it-- _Pier._ Where? _Ren._ Buried in his heart. _Pier._ Away! we're yet all friends; No more of this, 'twill breed ill blood amongst us.