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A faithful ancient friend; thy Portia's father! At Nero's footstool she is pleading for thee, And will not plead in vain, if thou wilt testify A yielding mind, a willingness to live.

I am so pleased to die, and am so honour'd In dying for the pure and holy truth, That nature's instinct seems in me extinguish'd. But if the Emperor freely pardon me, I shall believe it is the will of God That I should yet on earth promote his service, And, so believing, am content to live; Living or dying to his will resign'd.

Cordenius, thou art pardoned. Nero spares thee, If thou wilt only say thou art a Roman, In heart and faith, as all thy fathers were, Or but forbear to say thou art a Christian.

Thanks, gentle Portia! life preserved by thee, Even to be spent in want and contumely, Rather than grieve thy kind and tender heart, My dearest, gentlest friend! I had accepted: But to deny my God, and put dishonour Upon the noblest, most exalted faith That ever was to human thoughts reveal'd, Is what I will not—yea, and though a Roman,