_Pier._ Why you so troublesome, that a poor wretch Can't die in peace, But you like ravens will be croaking round him? _Friar._ Yet Heaven-- _Pier._ I tell thee Heaven and I are friends: I ne'er broke peace with it yet, by cruel murders, Rapine or perjury, or vile deceiving; But lived in moral justice towards all men; Nor am a foe to the most strong believers, Howe'er my own short-sighted faith confine me. _Friar._ But an all-seeing Judge-- _Pier._ You say my conscience Must be my accuser: I have searched that conscience, And find no records there of crimes that scare me. _Friar._ 'Tis strange you should want faith. _Pier._ You want to lead My reason blindfold, like a hampered lion, Checked of its nobler vigour; then, when baited Down to obedient tameness, make it couch, And show strange tricks, which you call signs of faith: So silly souls are gulled, and you get money. Away, no more! Captain, I'd have hereafter This fellow write no lies of my conversion, Because he has crept upon my troubled hours. _Enter_ JAFFIER. _Jaff._ Hold: eyes, be dry; heart, strengthen me to bear This hideous sight, and humble me to take The last forgiveness of a dying friend, Betrayed by my vile falsehood to his ruin! O Pierre! _Pier._ Yet nearer. _Jaff._ Crawling on my knees, And prostrate on the earth, let me approach thee: How shall I look up to thy injured face, That always used to smile with friendship on me? It darts an air of so much manly virtue, That I, methinks, look little in thy sight, And stripes are fitter for me than embraces. _Pier._ Dear to my arms, though thou'st undone my fame, I can't forget to love thee: pr'ythee, Jaffier, Forgive that filthy blow my passion dealt thee; I'm now preparing for the land of peace, And fain would have the charitable wishes Of all good men, like thee, to bless my journey. _Jaff._ Good! I'm the vilest creature, worse than e'er Suffered the shameful fate thou'rt going to taste of. Why was I sent for to be used thus kindly? Call, call me villain, as I am; describe The foul complexion of my hateful deeds; Lead me to the rack, and stretch me in thy stead, I've crimes enough to give it its full load, And do it credit: thou wilt but spoil the use on't, And honest men hereafter bear its figure About them, as a charm from treacherous friendship. _Offi._ The time grows short; your friends are dead already. _Jaff._ Dead! _Pier._ Yes, dead, Jaffier; they've all died like men too, Worthy their character. _Jaff._ And what must I do? _Pier._ Oh, Jaffier! _Jaff._ Speak aloud thy burthened soul, And tell thy troubles to thy tortured friend!