Groom. Men
Should kill each other. God, how it satisfies!
2nd Doctor. You must not talk, Sir Tristram.—Will you remove That most unhappy man?
[Salerne and Abbot, attended by Blyth and Boulder, who have entered, take Groom up stage.]
Groom. Murder him; stab
The intimate friend, the inevitable foe!
I shall proclaim it from the prisoner's dock:
This is a gospel worth a thousand lies
Of tolerance and love. Did men cut off
The troublers of the world offence would cease.
When bland dissimulation paves a way
With broken pride that was its honest peer,
And chuckling craft destroys us unperceived
High time it is for men to kill outright!
[Groom is taken out.]
St. J. What dreadful voice is that?
2nd Doctor. A murderer's.
St. J. Whose?
2nd Doctor. One Warwick Groom.
St. J. The actor, Tristram's friend?