Lod. Have found it here; found it, where its existence is probably unknown even to the prior, since he selected this dungeon for your confinement—observe this private door— (opening it) this passage leads to a closed portal; its fastnings are massy—I endeavoured but in vain to force them; that bar, which I wrenched from my dungeon door—
Venoni. That bar? tis mine! I have it! come father, come! to the portal!
Lod. Alas, my son! the ponderous fastenings—the bolts—the bars will resist!
Venoni. Oh, talk not to me of resistance! what force can oppose the efforts of a lover, a frantic desperate lover! father, there was a maiden—how fair she was, nothing but thought can imagine—how I adored her, nothing but this heart can feel! father, this maiden—they tore her from me, they murdered her—murdered her barbarously—tis for her sake that I wish for liberty! tis to avenge her murder that I go to labour; and can you doubt my success? no, no! that thought will turn my blood into consuming fire, will harden every nerve into iron, will endow every limb, every joint, every muscle with vigour and strength and powers herculean—come, father, come.
Lod. Oh! that I could! but age—but infirmity—go, go, my son, I will remain, and pray for you.
Venoni. What? go, and leave you still in the power of your foe! never, never!
Lod. Dear generous youth, you must! I should but impede your flight; I should but mar your exertions. Away then! effect your own escape—then return, and rescue me, if possible—but should you find me dead, oh! believe, that it will have sweetened the bitter hour to think, that my existence lasted long enough to preserve yours.
Venoni. Thou good old man—
Lod. Yet one word! should you force the portal, and reach the interior of the Ursuline convent in safety, shape your course towards the garden: the wall is low—to scale it is easy and—
Venoni. Enough! and now— (going)