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1st Off. Is it indignity in sacred law To bind a murderer? (To 2d Officer.) Come, do thy work.

Jane. Harsh are thy words, and stern thy harden'd brow; Dark is thine eye; but all some pity have Unto the last extreme of misery. I do beseech thee! if thou art a man— (Kneeling to him.)

''De Mon. to Jane.'' Stand thou erect in native dignity; And bend to none on earth the suppliant knee, Though cloath'd in power imperial. To my heart It gives a feller gripe than many irons. (Holding out his hands.) Here, officers of law, bind on those shackles, And if they are too light bring heavier chains. Add iron to iron, load, crush me to the ground; Nay, heap ten thousand weight upon my breast, For that were best of all.