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How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! We pay you to try it. The manner and the purpose of his treasons; Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Treason! treason! That treason can but peep to what it would, O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!-- No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, God keep you from them and from such false friends! Young fry of treachery! Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward. Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! Conscience is but a word that cowards use, I am not treacherous.