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To royal clemency,—however strongly Entreated so to do.

This much amazes me. Ever till now, Thou 'st been inclined to mercy, not to blood.

Yea; but this criminal, with selfish cruelty, With black ingratitude, with base disloyalty To all that sacred is in virtuous ties, Knitting man's heart to manWhat shall I say? He had a friend, Ingenuous, faithful, generous, and noble: Ev'n but to look on him had been full warrant Against th' accusing tongue of man or angel To all the world beside,—and yet he slew him. A friend whose fost'ring love had been the stay, The guide, the solace of his wayward youth,— Love steady, tried, unwearied,—yet he slew him. A friend, who in his best devoted thoughts, His happiness on earth, his bliss in heaven, Intwined his image, and could nought devise Of separate good,—and yet he basely slew him; Rush'd on him like a ruffian in the dark, And thrust him forth from life, from light, from nature, Unwitting, unprepared for th' awful change