The urging of that word ›judgment‹ hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

1. MUR. What? art thou afraid?

2. MUR. Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

1. MUR. I thought thou hadst been resolute.

2. MUR. So I am – to let him live.

1. MUR. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him so.

2. MUR. Nay, I prithee stay a little. I hope this passionate humor of mine will change. It was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

1. MUR. How dost thou feel thyself now?

2. MUR. [Faith,] some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

1. MUR. Remember our reward when the deed's done.

2. MUR. ['Zounds], he dies! I had forgot the reward.

1. MUR. Where's thy conscience now?

2. MUR. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse.

1. MUR. When he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

2. MUR.