Cliff. Another such a word, and by Heaven!—How have I deserved this opinion?
Lord G. Ask your conscience—Under the mask of friendship you have held a secret intercourse with the woman I adore; you have supplanted me in her affections, you have robbed me of the very charm of my life—can you deny it?
Cliff. I avow it all.
Lord G. Unparalleled insolence of guilt!
Cliff. Are you sure there is nothing within the scope of possibility that would excuse or atone—
Lord G. Death—Death only—no abject submission—no compromise for infamy—chuse instantly—and save yourself from the only stretch of baseness left—the invention of falsehood to palliate.—
Cliff. [In the utmost Agitation, and drawing his Sword.] Falsehood!—You shall have no other explanation.—[After a Struggle within himself, Clifford drops the Point, and exposes his Breast.]
Lord G. Stand upon your defence, sir—What do you mean?
Cliff. You said nothing but my life would satisfy you, take it, and remember me.