Jer.Heaven forbid!
Your honour's life is all too precious, sure—
De Mon. (Sternly.) Did I not say begone?
Jer. Pardon, my lord, I'm old, and oft forget.
[Exit.
De Mon. (Looking after him as if his heart smote him.) Why will they thus mistime their foolish zeal,
That I must be so stern?
O! that I were upon some desert coast!
Where howling tempests and the lashing tide
Would stun me into deep and senseless quiet;
As the storm-beaten traveler droops his head,
In heavy, dull, lethargick weariness,
And, midst the roar of jarring elements,
Sleeps to awake no more.
What am I grown? All things are hateful to me.
Enter Manuel.
Man. Nay, good, my lord! I heard you speak aloud,
And dreamt not, surely, that you were alone.
De Mon. What, dost thou watch, and pin thine ear to holes,
To catch those exclamations of the soul,
Which heaven alone should hear? Who hir'd thee, pray?
Who basely hir'd thee for a task like this?
Man. My lord, I cannot hold. For fifteen years,
