You breathe in vain.
In vain! his service done
At Lacedaemon and Byzantium
Were a sufficient briber for his life.
I say, my lords, he has done fair service,
And slain in fight many of your enemies:
How full of valour did
he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!
He has made too much plenty with 'em;
He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often
Drowns him, and takes
his valour prisoner:
If there were no foes, that were enough
To overcome him: in that beastly fury
been known to commit outrages,
And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us,
His days are foul and his drink
Hard fate! he might have died in war.
My lords, if not for any parts in him
Though his right arm might
purchase his own time
And be in debt to noneyet, more to move you,
Take my deserts to his, and join
And, for I know your reverend ages love
Security, I'll pawn my victories, all
My honours to you,
upon his good returns.
If by this crime he owes the law his life,
Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore
law is strict, and war is nothing more.
We are for law: he dies; urge it no more,
On height of our displeasure: friend or brother,
He forfeits his own
blood that spills another.
Must it be so? it must not be. My lords,
I do beseech you, know me.
Call me to your remembrances.
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