Butler. Is he? speak.
Gordon. He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven [25]
Refuses your arm. See—'tis wounded!—
Butler. There is no need of my arm.
Gordon. The most guilty
Have perished, and enough is given to justice.
[The Groom of the Chamber advances from the gallery with his finger on his mouth, commanding silence.
Gordon. He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!
Butler. No! he shall die awake. [Is going.
Gordon. His heart still cleaves 30
To earthly things: he's not prepared to step
Into the presence of his God!
Butler (going). God's merciful!
Gordon (holds him). Grant him but this night's respite.