Geo. Well—
Gray. Do you not see?
Geo. What?
Gray. That scar—in that scar I read the preservation of my life—alas! now worthless—can I forget that the knife aimed at my heart, struck there—there—
Geo. Oh, a schoolboy frolic, go on, good Ned.
Gray. Never! Oh, George, I am a wretch, a poor forlorn discarded wretch—the earth has lost its sweetness to me—I am hopeless, aimless—I had thought my heart was wholly changed to stone—I find there is one—one pulse left, that beats with gratitude, with more than early friendship.
Bolt. Come, master Grayling, you know there is another prisoner.
Gray. Ah! I had forgotten—gaoler, chains for this man, to be made an Emperor, I could not forge—if you will, say so to the governor: for the other prisoner, I’ll work—oh, how I’ll toil—but come a moment, George—let my heart give a short time to friendship, ’ere again ’tis yielded up to hate.
[Exeunt Grayling and George. L.
Enter Ambrose Gwinett. R.