Dor. 'Tis a friend's office.
He has convinced me, that he ought to die;
And, rather than he should not, here's my sword,
To help him on his journey.
Seb. My last, my only friend, how kind art thou,
And how inhuman these!
Dor. To make the trifle, death, a thing of moment!
Seb. And not to weigh the important cause I had
To rid myself of life!
Dor. True; for a crime
So horrid, in the face of men and angels,
As wilful incest is!
Seb. Not wilful, neither.
Dor. Yes, if you lived, and with repeated acts
436 Refreshed your sin, and loaded crimes with crimes,
To swell your scores of guilt.
Seb. True; if I lived.
Dor. I said so, if you lived.
Seb. For hitherto was fatal ignorance,
And no intended crime.