_Duke._ Say; will you make confession
Of your vile deeds, and trust the senate's mercy?

_Pier._ Curs'd be your senate: curs'd your constitution:
The curse of growing factions and divisions
Still vex your councils, shake your public safety,
And make the robes of government you wear
Hateful to you, as these base chains to me.

_Duke._ Pardon, or death?

_Pier._ Death! honourable death!

_Ren._ Death's the best thing we ask, or you can give;
No shameful bonds, but honourable death.

_Duke._ Break up the council. Captain, guard your prisoners.
Jaffier, you're free, but these must wait for judgment.

[_exeunt all the Senators._

_Pier._ Come, where's my dungeon? Lead me to my straw:
It will not be the first time I've lodg'd hard
To do the senate service.

_Jaf._ Hold, one moment.

_Pier._ Who's he disputes the judgment of the senate?
Presumptuous rebel--on-- [_strikes Jaffier._

_Jaf._ By heav'n, you stir not!
I must be heard; I must have leave to speak.
Thou hast disgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow:
Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice?
But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me,
For I am fallen beneath the basest injuries:
Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy,
With pity and with charity behold me:
But, as there dwells a godlike nature in thee,
Listen with mildness to my supplications.

_Pier._ What whining monk art thou? what holy cheat,
That wouldst encroach upon my credulous ears,
And cant'st thus vilely? Hence! I know thee not:
Leave, hypocrite.

_Jaf._ Not know me, Pierre?

_Pier._ No, I know thee not! What art thou?

_Jaf._ Jaffier, thy friend, thy once lov'd, valu'd friend!
Though now deserv'dly scorn'd, and us'd most hardly.

_Pier._ Thou, Jaffier! thou, my once lov'd, valu'd friend!
By heav'ns thou liest; the man so call'd, 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 chill'd at.

_Jaf._ I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears I have not.

_Pier._ Hast thou not wrong'd me? Dar'st thou call thyself
That once lov'd, valu'd friend of mine,
And swear thou hast not wrong'd me? Whence these chains?
Whence the vile death which I m