Jac. Fos.I confessed
Once—twice before: both times they exiled me.
Guard. And the third time will slay you.
Jac. Fos.Let them do so,
So I be buried in my birth-place: better
Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere.
Guard. And can you so much love the soil which hates you?140
Jac. Fos. The soil!—Oh no, it is the seed of the soil
Which persecutes me: but my native earth
Will take me as a mother to her arms.