ACT 1.
Scene I.—St. Mark's.
Enter Priuli and Jaffier, L.
Priuli. (r.) No more! I'll hear no more! Begone
and leave me!
Jaf. Not hear me! By my sufferings, but you shall!
My lord—my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws
Me back so far, but I may boldly speak
In right, though proud oppression will not hear me?
Priuli. Have you not wronged me?
Jaf. Could my nature e'er
Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrongs,
I need not now thus low have bent myself
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.—
Wronged you?
Priuli. Yes, wronged me! In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you've done me wrong.
You may remember (for I now will speak,
And urge its baseness) when you first came borne
From travel, with such hopes as made you looked on
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation;
Pleased with your growing virtue, I received you;
Courted, and sought to raise you to your merits;
My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours; you might have used me
To your best service; like an open friend,
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine:
When, in requital of my best endeavours,
You treacherously practised to undo me;
Seduced the weakness of my age's darling,
My only child, and stole her from my bosom.
Oh! Belvidera!
Jaf. 'Tis to me you owe her:
Childless you had been else, and in the grave
Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of.
You may remember, scarce five years are past,
Since in your brigantine you sailed to see,
The Adriatic wedded by our duke;
And I was with you: your unskilful pilot
Dashed us upon a rock; when to your boat
You made for safety; entered first yourself;—
The affrighted Belvidera, following next,
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side,
Was, by a wave, washed off into the deep;
When instantly I plunged into the sea,
And buffeting the billows to her rescue,
Redeemed her life with half the loss of mine.
Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her,
And with the other dashed the saucy waves,
That thronged and pressed to rob me of my prize.
I brought her, gave her to your despairing arms;
Indeed, you thanked me; but a nobler gratitude
Rose in her soul: for from that hour she loved me,
Till for her life she paid me with herself.
Priuli. You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her,
At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose
To rifle me of all my heart held dear.
May all your joys in her prove false, like mine!
A sterile fortune, and a barren bed,
Attend you both: continual discord make
Your days and nights bitter and grievous still:
May the hard hand of a vexatious need
Oppress and grind you; till at last you find
The curse of disobedience all your portion.
Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain,
Heav'n has already crowned our faithful loves
With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty:
May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire,
And happier than his father.
Priuli. Rather live
To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears
With hungry cries; whilst his unhappy mother
Sits down and weeps in bitterness of want.
Jaf. You talk as if 'twould please you.
Priuli. 'T would, by heaven!
Jaf. Would I were in my grave?
Priuli. And she, too, with thee:
For, living here, you're but my cursed remembrances,
I once was happy!
Jaf. You use me thus, because you know my soul
Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive
My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat me
Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs
As you upbraid me with, what hinders me
But I might send her back to you with contumely,
And court my fortune where she would be kinder?
Priuli. You dare not do't.
Jaf. Indeed, my lord, I dare not.
My heart, that awes me, is too much my master:
Three years are past since first our vows were plighted,
During which time, the world must bear me witness,
I've treated Belvidera like your daughter,
The daughter of a senator of Venice:
Distinction, place, attendance, and observance,
Due to her birth, she always has commanded:
Out of my little fortune, I've done this;
Because, (though hopeless e'er to win your nature)
The world might see I loved her for herself;
Not as the heiress of the great Priuli.
Priuli. No more.
Jaf. Yes, all, and then, adieu forever.
[Pausing with clasped hands. There's not a wretch that lives on common charity
But's happier than I; for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night
Have slept with soft content about my head,
And never waked, but to a joyful morning:
Yet now must fall, like a full ear of corn,
Whoso blossom 'scaped, yet's withered in the ripenin.
Priuli. Home, and be humble; study to retrench;
Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,
Those pageants of thy folly:
Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife
To humble weeds, fit for thy little state: [ Going. Then to some suburb cottage both retire;
Drudge to feed loathsome life; get brats and starve—
Home, home, I say! [Exit, R.
Jaf. (C.) Yes, if my heart would let me——
This proud, this swelling heart: home I would go,
But that my doors are hateful to my eyes,
Filled and damned up with gaping creditors!
I've now not fifty ducats in the world,
Yet still I am in love, and pleased with ruin.
Oh, Belvidera! Oh! she is my wife—
And we will bear our wayward fate together,
But ne'er know comfort more.
Enter Pierre, L. S. E.
Pierre. (L. C.) My friend, good morrow;
How fares the honest partner of my heart?
What, melancholy! not a word to spare me!
Jaf. (C.) I'm thinking, Pierre, how that damned
starving quality,
Called honesty, got footing in the world.
Pierre. Why, powerful villainy first set it up,
For its own ease and safety. Honest men
Are the-soft easy cushions on which knave's
Repose and fatten. Were all mankind villains,
They'd starve each other; lawyers would want practice,
Cut-throats, reward: each man would kill his brother
Himself; none would be paid or hanged for murder.
Honesty! 'twas a cheat, invented first
To bind the hands of bold deserving rogues,
That fools and cowards might sit safe in power,
And lord it uncontrolled above their betters.
Jaf. Then honesty is but a notion?
Pierre. Nothing else;
Like wit, much talked of, not to be defined:
He that pretends to most, too, has least share in't
Tis a ragged virtue. Honesty! no more on't.
Jaf. Sure, thou art honest?
Pierre. So, indeed, men think me;
But they're mistaken, Jaffier; I'm a rogue,
As well as they;
A fine, gay, bold-faced villain as thou seest me!
'Tis true. I pay my debts, when they're contracted;
I steal from no man; would not cut a throat
To gain admission to a great man's purse;
Would not betray my friend,
To get his place or fortune; I scorn to flatter
A blown-up fool above me, or crush the wretch beneath me;
Yet, Jaffier, for all this, I am a villain.
Jaf. (R. C.) A villain!
Pierre. Yes, a most notorious villain;
To see the sufferings of my fellow-creatures,
And own myself a man; to see our senators
Cheat the deluded people with a show
Of liberty, which yet they ne'er must taste of.
They say, by them our hands are free from fetters;
Yet whom they please, they lay in basest bonds;
Bring whom they please to infamy and sorrow;
Drive us, like wrecks, down the rough tide of power,
Whilst no hold's left to save us from destruction.
All that bear this are villains, and I one,
Not to rouse up at the great call of nature,
And check the growth of these domestic spoilers,
That make us slaves, and tell us 'tis our charter!
[Walks, L.
Jaf. I think no safety can be here for virtue,
And grieve, my friend, as much as thou, to live
In such a wretched state as this of Venice,
Where all agree to spoil the public good,
And villains fatten with the brave man's labours.
Pierre. [Returns to L. C.] We've neither safety, unity,
nor peace,
For the foundation's lost of common good;
Justice is lame, as well as blind, amongst us;
The laws (corrupted to their ends that make them,)
Serve but for instruments of some new tyranny,
That every day starts up, t'enslave us deeper.
Now [Lays his hand on Jaffier's arm,] could this glorious
cause but find out friends
To do it right, oh, Jaffier! then might'st thou
Not wear those seals of woe upon thy face;
The proud Priuli should be taught humanity,
And learn to value such a son as thou art.
I dare not speak, but my heart bleeds this moment.
Jaf. Cursed be the cause, though I, thy friend, be part
on't:
Let me partake the troubles of thy bosom,
For I am used to misery, and perhaps
May find a way to sweeten't to thy spirit.
Pierre. [Turns, L. and looks over a shoulder.] Too soon
'twill reach thy knowledge—
Jaf. Then from thee
Let it proceed. There's virtue in thy friendship,
Would make the saddest tale of sorrow pleasing,
Strengthen my constancy, and welcome ruin.
Pierre. Then thou art ruined!
Jaf. That I long since knew;
I and ill fortune have been long acquainted.
Pierre. I passed this very moment by thy doors,
And found them guarded by a troop of villains;
"The sons of public rapine were destroying."
They told me, by the sentence of the law
They had commission to seize all thy fortune:
Nay, more, Priuli's cruel band had signed it.
Here stood a ruffian, with a horrid face,
Lording it o'er a pile of massy plate,
Tumbled into a heap for public sale:
There was another making villainous jests
At thy undoing: he had ta'en possession
Of all thy ancient, most domestic ornaments;
Rich hangings, intermixed and wrought with gold
The very bed, which, on thy wedding night,
Received thee to the arms of Belvidera,
The scene of all thy joys, was violated
By the coarse hands of filthy dungeon villains,
And thrown amongst the common lumber.
Jaf.Now, thank heaven—
Pierre. Thank heaven! for what?
Jaf.That I'm not worth a ducat.
Pierre. Curse thy dull stars, and the worse fate of Venice,
Where brothers, friends, and fathers, all are false;
Where there's no truth, no trust; where innocence
Stoops under vile oppression, and vice lords it.
Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how, at last,
Thy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretch
That's doomed to banishment, came weeping forth,
Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she leaned,
Kindly looked up, and at her grief grew sad,
As if they catched the sorrows that fell from her:
Ev'n the lewd rabble, that were gathered round
To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her;
Governed their roaring throats, and grumbled pity:
I could have hugged the greasy rogues; they pleased me.
Jaf. I thank thee for this story, from my soul;
Since now I know the worst that can befall me.
Ah, Pierre! I have a heart that could have borne
The roughest wrong my fortune could have done me;
But when I think what Belvidera feels,
The bitterness her tender spirits taste of,
I own myself a coward. Bear my weakness,
If, throwing thus my arms about thy neck, [Embrace,
I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom.
Oh, I shall drown thee with my sorrows.
Pierre. Burn,
First, burn and level Venice to thy ruin.
What! starve, like beggars' brats, in frosty weather,
Under a hedge, and whine ourselves to death!
Thou, or thy cause, shall never want assistance,
Whilst I have blood or fortune fit to serve thee:
Command my heart, thour't every way its master.
Jaf. No; there's a secret pride in bravely dying.
Pierre. Rats die in holes and corners, dogs run mad
Man knows a braver remedy for sorrow—
Revenge, the attribute of gods; they stamped it,
With their great image, on our natures. Die!
Consider well the cause that calls upon thee,
And, if thou'rt base enough, die then. Remember
Thy Belvidera suffers; Belvidera!
Die!—damn first!—What! be decently interred
In a church-yard, and mingle thy brave dust—
With stinking rogues, that rot in winding-sheets,
Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung o'th' soil!
Jaf. Oh—
Pierre. Well said, out with't—swear a little—
Jaf. Swear! By sea and air; by earth, by heaven and hell,
I will revenge my Belvidera's tears! [Both go to the R. Hark thee, my friend—Priuli—is—a senator!
Pierre. A dog!
Jaf. Agreed. [Return to C.
Pierre. Shoot him!
Jaf. With all my heart!
No more—where shall we meet at night?
Pierre. I'll tell thee:
On the Rialto, every night at twelve,
I take my evening's walk of meditation:
There we two'll meet, and talk of precious mischief.
Jaf. Farewell!
Pierre. At twelve.
Jaf.At any hour: my plagues
Will keep me waking.
[Exit Pierre, R.
(R. C.) Tell me why, good Heaven,
Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the spirit,
Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires,
That fill the happiest man! Ah, rather, why
Didst thou not form me sordid as my fate,
Base-minded, doll, and fit to carry burdens!
Why have I sense to know the curse that's on me?
Is this just dealing, nature! Belvidera!
Poor Belvidera!
Bel. [ Without.] Lead me, lead me, my virgins.
To that kind voice.
Enter Belvidera, L.
My lord, my love, my refuge! [Leans on Jaffier, R. C. Happy my eyes when they behold thy face!
My heavy heart will leave its doleful beating
At sight of thee, and bound with sprightful joys.
Oh, smile! as when our loves were in their spring,
And cheer my fainting soul!
Jaf. (R. C.) As when our loves
Were in their spring! Has, then, my fortune changed thee?
Art thou not, Belvidera, still the same,
Kind, good, and tender, as my arms first found thee?
If thou art altered, where shall I have harbour?
Where ease my loaded heart? [Part] Oh! where complain?
Bel. (C.) Does this appear like change, or love decaying,
When thus I throw myself Into thy bosom,
With all the resolution of strong truth!
[Leans on Jaffier, R. C.
I joy more in thee
Than did thy mother, when she hugged thee first,
And blessed the gods for all her travail past.
Jaf. Can there in woman be such glorious faith?
Sure, all ill stories of thy sex are false! [Part. Oh, woman! lovely woman! Nature made thee
To temper man: we had been brutes without you!
Angels are painted fair to look like you:
There's in you all that we believe of heaven;
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlasting love! [Embrace.
Bel. If love be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich;
Oh! lead me to some desert, [Part,] wide and wild,
Barren as our misfortunes, where my soul
May have its vent, where I may tell aloud
To the high heavens, and ev'ry list'ning planet,
With what a boundless stock my bosom's fraught.
Jaf. [Taking her hand.] Oh, Belvidera! doubly I'm a
beggar;
Undone by fortune, and in debt to thee.
Want, worldly want, that hungry meagre fiend,
Is at my heels, and chases me in view.
Canst thou bear cold and hunger? Can these limbs,
Framed for the tender offices of love,
Endure the bitteer gripes of smarting poverty?
When banished by our miseries abroad,
(As suddenly we shall be) to seek, out,
In some far climate, where our names are strangers,
For charitable succour; wilt thou then,
When in a bed of straw we shrink together,
And the bleak winds shall whistle round our heads;
Wilt thou then talk thus to me? Wilt thou then
Hush my cares thus, and shelter me with love?
Bel. Oh! I will love thee, even in madness love thee!
Though my distracted senses should forsake me,
I'd find some intervals when my poor heart
Should 'suage itself, and be let loose to thine.
Though the bare earth be all our resting place,
Its roots our food, some cliff our habitation,
I'll make this arm a pillow for thine head;
And, as thou sighing liest, and swelled with sorrow,
Creep to thy bosom, pour the balm of love
Into thy soul, and kiss thee to thy rest; [Part. Then praise our God, and watch thee till the morning.
Jaf. Hear this, you Heav'ns, and wonder how you made
her!
Reign, reign, ye monarchs, that divide the world;
Busy rebellion ne'er will let you know
Tranquillity and happiness like mine;
Like gaudy ships, the obsequious billows fall,
And rise again, to lift you in your pride;
They wait but for a storm, and then devour you:
[Belvidera crosses, R. I, in my private bark already wrecked,
Like a poor merchant, driven to unknown land,
That had, by chance, picked up his choicest treasure,
In one dear casket, and saved only that,
[Returns to Jaffier
Since I must wander farther on the shore,
Thus [Taking her arm,] hug my little, but my precious
store,
Resolved to scorn, and trust my fate no more. [Exeunt, L.
END OF ACT I.
ACT II.
Scene I.—The Rialto.
Enter Jaffier, L.
Jaf. (L. C.) I'm here; and thus the shades of light
around me,
I look as if all hell were in my heart.
And I in hell. Nay, surely 'tis so with me!—
For every step I tread, methinks some fiend
Knocks at my breast, and bids me not be quiet.
I've heard how desperate wretches like myself,
Have wandered out at this dead time of night,
To meet the foe of mankind in his walk.
Sure I'm so cursed, that, though of Heav'n forsaken,
No minister of darkness cares to tempt me.
Hell! hell! why sleep'st thou? [Turns, L.
Enter Pierre, R. S. E.
Pierre. Sure I've staid too long: [Coming forward. The clock has struck, and I may lose my proselyte.
Speak, [Seeing Jaffier,] who goes there?
Jaf. (L.) A dog, that comes to howl
At yonder moon. What's he, that asks the question?
Pierre. A friend to dogs, for they are honest creatures,
And ne'er betray their masters; never fawn
On any that they love not. Well met, friend.
[Advancing toward, R. C.]
Jaffier!
Jaf. The same.
Pierre. (R. C.) Where's Belvidera?
Jaf.For a day or two,
I've lodged her privately, till I see farther
What fortune will do with me. Pry'thee, friend,
If thou wouldst have me fit to hear good counsel,
Speak not of Belvidera—
Pierre. (C.) Speak not of her?
Jaf. Oh, no! nor name her?
Pierre. May be, I wish her well.
Jaf.Whom well?
Pierre. Thy wife; thy lovely Belvidera!
I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well,
And no harm done?
Jaf. [Retiring, L.] You're merry, Pierre.
Pierre. [Following.] I am so:
Thou shalt smile, too, and Belvidera smile:
We'll all rejoice, Here's something to buy pins;
Marriage is chargeable. [Gives him a purse.
Jaf. (L.) I but half wished
To see the devil, and he's here already! Well!
What must this buy? Rebellion, murder, treason?
Tell me [Turning R.] which way I must be damned for
this.
Pierre. (L. C.) When last we parted, we'd no qualms
like these,
But entertained each other's thoughts, like men
Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world
Reformed since our last meeting? What new miracles
Have happened? Has Priuli's heart relented?
Can he be honest?
Jaf. Kind Heaven, let heavy curses
Gall his old age, till life become his burden;
Let him groan under't long, linger an age
In the worst agonies and pangs of death
And find its ease, but late!
Pierre. Nay, couldst thou not
As well, my friend, have stretched the curse to all
The senate round, as to one single villain?
Jaf. But curses stick not; could I kill with cursing,
By Heaven, I know not thirty heads in Venice
Should not be blasted! Senators should rot,
Like dogs, on dunghills. Oh, for a curse
To kill with! [Crosses, R.
Pierre. Daggers, daggers are much better.
Jaf. (R. C.) Ha!
Pierre. Daggers.
Jaf. But where are they?
Pierre. Oh! a thousand
May be disposed, in honest hands, in Venice.
Jaf. Thou talk'st in clouds.
Pierre. But yet a heart, half wronged
As thine has been, would find the meaning, Jaffier!
Jaf. A thousand daggers, all in honest hands!
And have not I a friend will stick one here?
Pierre. (C.)Yes, if I thought thou wert not to be cherished
To a nobler purpose, I would be that friend:
[Lays his hand on Jaffier's arm But thou hast better friends; friends, whom thy wrongs
Have made thy friends; friends, worthy to be called so.
I'll trust thee with a secret. There are spies
This hour at work. But, as thou art a man,
Whom I have picked and chosen from the world,
Swear that thou wilt be true to what I utter;
And when I've told thee that, which only gods,
And men like gods, are privy to, then swear,
No chance, or change, shall wrest it from thy bosom.
Jaf. (R.) When thou wouldst bind me, is there need of oaths?
Is coward, fool, or villain, in my face?
If I seem none of these, I dare believe
Thou wouldst not use me in a little cause;
For I am fit for honour's toughest task,
Nor ever yet found fooling was my province:
And, for a villainous, inglorious enterprize,
I know thy heart so well, I dare lay mine
Before thee, set it to what point thou wilt.
Pierre. Nay, 'tis a cause thou wilt be fond of, Jaffier
For it is founded on the noblest basis;
Our liberties, our natural inheritance!
We'll do the business, and ne'er fast and pray for't;
Openly act a deed, the world shall gaze
With wonder at, and envy when 'tis done.
Jaf. For liberty!
Pierre. For liberty, my friend. [Jaffier crosses, L.
Thou shalt be freed from base Priuli's tyranny,
And thy sequestered fortunes healed again;
I shall be free from those opprobrious wrongs
That press me now, and bend my spirit downward;
All Venice free, and every growing merit
Succeed to its just right; fools shall be pulled
From wisdom's seat; those baleful unclean birds,
Those lazy owls, who, perched near fortune's top,
Sit only watchful with their heavy wings
To cuff down new-fledged virtues, that would rise
To nobler heights, and make the grove harmonious.
Jaf. What can I do? [Crosses to R. D.
Pierre. Canst thou not kill a senator?
Jaf. By all my wrongs, thou talk'st as if revenge
Were to be had! and the brave story warms me.
[Crosses, L.
Pierre. Swear, then!
Jaf. I do, [Kneels, L. C.] by all those glittering stars,
And yon great ruling planet of the night!
By all good spirits above, and ill below!
By love and friendship, dearer than my life,
No power, nor death, shall make me false to thee!
Pierre. Here we embrace, and I'll unlock my heart.
A council's held hard by, where the destruction
Of this great empire's hatching; there I'll lead thee.
But be a man; for thou'rt to mix with men
Fit to disturb the peace of all the world,
And rule it when tis wildest.
Jaf. I give thee thanks
For this kind warning. Yes, I'll be a man;
And charge thee, Pierre, whene'er thou see'st my fears
Betray me less, to rip this heart of mine
Out of my breast, and show it for a coward's.
Come, let's be gone, for from this hour I chase
All little thoughts, all tender human follies,
Out of my bosom: vengeance shall have room—
Revenge! [Going, R.
Pierre. And liberty!
Jaf. Revenge! revenge! [Exeunt, r
Scene II.—A Room in the House of Aquilina. Enter Renault, L. S. E.
Ren. (C.) Why was my choice ambition
The worst ground
A wretch can build on! 'tis, indeed, at distance,
A goodly prospect, tempting to the view;
The height delights us, and the mountain top
Looks beautiful, because 'tis nigh to heaven;
But we ne'er think how sandy's the foundation,
What storm will batter, and what tempest shake us.
Who's there ]
Enter Spinosa, L.
Spin. (L. C.) Renault, good morrow, for by this time,
I think, the scale of night has turned the balance,
And weighs up morning. Has the clock struck twelve?
Ren. (R.) Yes; clocks will go as they are set: but man
Irregular man's ne'er constant, never certain.
I've spent at least three precious hours of darkness
In waiting dull attendance; 'tis the curse
Of diligent virtue to be mixed, like mine,
With giddy tempers, souls but half resolved.
Spin. (L.) Hell seize that soul amongst us it can frighten!
Ren. (C.) What's then the cause that I am here alone?
Why are we not together?
Enter Elliot, L.
Oh, sir, welcome!
You are an Englishman: when treason's hatching,
One might have thought you'd not have been behind hand.
Elliot. Frenchman, you are saucy.
Ren. (L. C.) How? [Puts his hand to his sword.
Enter Bedamar, Mezzana, Durand, and Theodore, L.—
Mezzana, Durand, and Theodore stand back, L.
Beda. [Crossing, C.] At difference? fie!
Is this a time for quarrels? Thieves and rogues
Fall out and brawl: should men of your high calling,
Men, separated by the choice of Providence
From the gross heap of mankind, and set here
In this assembly, as in one great jewel,
T' adorn the bravest purpose it e'er smiled on;
Should you, like boys, wrangle for trifles?
Ren. (R. C.) Boys!
Beda. (C.) Renault, thy hand.
Ren. I thought I'd given my heart,
Long since, to every man that mingles here;
But grieve to find it trusted with such tempers,
That can't forgive my froward age its weakness.
Beda. Elliot, thou once hadst virtue. I have seen
Thy stubborn temper bend with godlike goodness,
Not half thus courted. 'Tis thy nation's glory
To hug the foe that offers brave alliance.
Once more, embrace, my friends—
United thus, we are the mighty engine,
Must twist this rooted empire from its basis.
Totters it not already?
Elliot. (L.) 'Would 'twere tumbling!
Beda. Nay, it shall down: this night we seal its ruin.
Enter Pierre, L. D. Oh, Pierre! thou art welcome.
Come to my breast; for, by its hopes, thou look'st
Lovelily dreadful; and the fate of Venice
Seems on thy sword already. Oh, my Mars!
The poets that first feigned a god of war,
Surely prophesied of thee!
Pierre. (L.) Friends, was not Brutus
(I mean that Brutus, who, in open senate,
Stabbed the first Caesar that usurped the world),
A gallant man?
Ren. (R. C.) Yes, and Catiline too;
Though story wrong his fame; for he conspired
To prop the reeling glory of his country,
His cause was good.
Beda. (L. C.) And ours as much above it,
As, Renault, thou'rt superior to Cethegus,
Or Pierre to Cassius.
Pierre. Then to what we aim at!
When do we start? Or must we talk forever?
Beda. (C.) No, Pierre, the deed's near birth: fate seems
to have set
The business up, and given it to our care;
I hope there's not a heart or hand amongst us,
But what is firm and ready.
Elliot. (L. C.) All.
We'll die with Bedamar.
Beda. Oh, men,
Matchless, as will your glory be hereafter:
The game is for a matchless prize, if won;
If lost, disgraceful ruin.
Pierre. Ten thousand men are armed at your nod,
Commanded all by leaders fit to guide
A battle for the freedom of the world:
This wretched state has starved them in its service;
And, by your bounty quickened, they're resolved
To serve your glory, and revenge their own:
They've all their different quarters in this city,
Watch for the alarm, and grumble 'tis so tardy.
Beda. I doubt not, friend, but thy unwearied diligence
Has still kept waking, and it shall have ease;
After this night, it is resolved, we meet
No more, till Venice owns us for her lords.
Pierre. How lovelily the Adriatic, then,
Dressed in her flames, will shine! Devouring flames!
Such as shall burn her to the watery bottom,
And hiss in her foundation!
Beda. Now, if any
Amongst us here, that own this glorious cause,
Have friends or int'rest he would wish to save,
Let it be told—the general doom is sealed;
But I'd forego the hopes of a world's empire,
Rather than wound the bowels of my friend.
Pierre. I must confess, you there have touched my
weakness.
I have a friend—hear it; and such a friend!
My heart was ne'er shut to him. Nay, I'll tell you,
He knows the very business of this hour; [All start But he rejoices in the cause, and loves it:
We've changed a vow to live and die together,
And he's at hand, to ratify it here.
Ren. How! all betrayed!
Pierre. (C.) No; I've dealt nobly with you.
I've brought my all into the public stock:
I'd but one friend, and him I'll share amongst you:
Receive, and cherish him; or if, when seen
And searched, you find him worthless—as my tongue
Has lodged this secret in his faithful breast,
To ease your fears, I wear a dagger here,
Shall rip it out again, and give you rest,
Come forth, thou only good I e'er could boast of.
Enter Jaffier, with a Dagger in his hand. L. D.
Beda. (C.) His presence bears the show of manly virtue!
Jaf. (L.) I know you'll wonder all, that, thus uncalled
I dare approach this place of fatal councils;
But I'm amongst you, and, by Heaven, it glads me
To see so many virtues thus united
To restore justice, and dethrone oppression.
Command this steel, if you would have it quiet,
Into this breast; but, if you think it worthy
To cut the throats of reverend rogues in robes,
Send me into the cursed assembled Senate:
It shrinks not, though I meet a father there.
Would you behold the city flaming? here's
A hand, shall bear a lighted torch at noon
To th' arsenal, and set its gates on fire!
Ren. (C.) You talk this well, sir.
Jaf. Nay, by Heaven, I'll do this!
Come, come, I read distrust in all your faces!
You fear me villain, and, indeed, 'tis odd
To hear a stranger talk thus, at first meeting,
Of matters that have been so well debated:
But I come ripe with wrongs, as you with counsels.
I hate this senate—am a foe to Venice;
A friend to none but men resolved like me
To push on mischief Oh, did you but know me,
I need not talk thus!
Beda. Pierre, I must embrace him;
My heart beats to this man, as if it knew him.
Ren. I never loved these huggers.
Jaf. Still, I see
The cause delights me not. Your friends survey me,
As I were dangerous. But I come armed
Against all doubts, and to your trusts will give
A pledge, worth more than all the world can pay for.
My Belvidera! Hoa! my Belvidera! [Calls at L.
Beda. (L. C.) What wonder next?
Jaf. Let me entreat you, sirs,
As I have henceforth hope to call you friends,
That all but the ambassador, and this
Grave guide of councils, with my friend, that owns me,
Withdraw awhile, to spare a woman's blushes.
[Exeunt all but Bedamar, Renault, Jqffier, and Pierre
who stand back on L.
Beda. Pierre, whither will this ceremony lead us?
Jaf. My Belvidera! Belvidera! [ Calling
Bel. [ Within, L. D.] Who,
Who calls so loud, at this late peaceful hour?
That voice was wont to come in gentle whispers,
And fill my ears with the soft breath of love.
Enter Belvidera, L.
Thou hourly image of my thoughts, where art thou?
Jaf. Indeed, 'tis late.
Bel. Alas! where am I? whither is't you lead me?
Methinks I read distraction in your face,—
You shake and tremble, too! your blood runs cold!
Heav'ns guard my love, and bless his heart with patience!
Jaf. That I have patience, let our fate bear witness.
[Join hands.
Who has ordained it so, that thou and I,
(Thou, the divinest good man e'er possessed,
And I, the wretched'st of the race of man,)
This very hour, without one tear, must part.
Bel. Part! must we part? Oh! am I then forsaken!
Why drag you from me? [Draunng to the R.] whither are
you going?
My dear! my life! my love!
Jaf. (C.) Oh, friends! [To Renault, &c.
Bel. (C.) Speak to me! [To Jaffier
Jaf. Take her from my heart,
She'll gain such hold else, I shall ne'er get loose.
I charge you, take her, but with tenderest care
Relieve her troubles and assuage her sorrows.
[She leans on Jaffier.
Ren. [Advancing to her.] Rise, madam, and command
among your servants—
Jaf. To you, sirs, and your honours, I bequeath her,
[They lay hold of her.
And with her, this; whene'er I prove unworthy—
[Gives a Dagger to Renault.
You know the rest. Then strike it to her heart;
And tell her, he, who three whole happy years,
Lay in her arms, and each kind night repeated
The passionate vows of still increasing love,
Sent that reward, for all her truth and sufferings.
Bel. [Held between Bed. & Ren.] Oh, thou unkind one!
Have I deserved this from you?
Look on me, tell me, speak, thou dear deceiver,
Why am I separated from thy love?
If I am false, accuse me; but if true,
Don't, pr'ythee don't, in poverty forsake me,
[Breaks away, and runs back to Jaffier
But pity the sad heart, that's torn with parting.
[They retake her
Yet, hear me; yet, recall me. Jaffier, Jaffier!
[Exeunt Bedamar, &c, dragging her L. S. E., Jaffier R.
END OF ACT II.
