Jaff. And what must I do?
Pier. Oh, Jaffier!
Jaff. Speak aloud thy burthened soul,
And tell thy troubles to thy tortured friend!
Pier. Friend! Couldst thou yet be a friend, a generous friend,
I might hope comfort from thy noble sorrows.
Heaven knows I want a friend!
Jaff. And I a kind one,
That would not thus scorn my repenting virtue,
Or think, when he's to die, my thoughts are idle.
Pier. No! live, I charge thee, Jaffier.
Jaff. Yes, I will live,
But it shall be to see thy fall revenged
At such a rate as Venice long shall groan for.
Pier. Wilt thou?
Jaff. I will, by Heaven!
Pier. Then still thou'rt noble,
And I forgive thee. Oh—yet—shall I trust thee?