SCENE V.--_A Room in_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE'S _House_. _A banquet set out._

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE, BEAUGARD, _and_

Lady DUNCE.

_Sir Jol._ So, are ye come? I am glad on't; odd, you're

welcome, very welcome, odd, ye are; here's a small banquet,

but I hope 'twill please you; sit ye down, sit ye down both

together; nay, both together: a pox o' him that parts ye, I say!

_Beau._ Sir Jolly, this might be an entertainment for Antony

and Cleopatra, were they living.

_Sir Jol._ Pish! a pox of Antony and Cleopatra, they are dead

and rotten long ago; come, come, time's but short, time's but

short, and must be made the best use of; for

Youth's a flower that soon does fade,

And life is but a span;

Man was for the woman made,

And woman made for man.

Why, now we can be bold, and make merry, and frisk and be

brisk, rejoice, and make a noise, and--odd, I am pleased,

mightily pleased, odd, I am.

_L. Dunce._ Really, Sir Jolly, you are more a philosopher than

I thought you were.

_Sir Jol._ Philosopher, madam! yes, madam, I have read books

in my times; odd, Aristotle, in some things, had very pretty

notions, he was an understanding fellow. Why don't ye eat? odd,

an ye don't eat--here, child, here's some ringoes,[54] help,

help your neighbour a little; odd, they are very good, very

comfortable, very cordial.

_Beau._ Sir Jolly, your health.

_Sir Jol._ With all my heart, old boy.

_L. Dunce._ Dear Sir Jolly, what are these? I never tasted of

these before.

_Sir Jol._ That? eat it, eat it, eat it when I bid you; odd,

'tis the root satyrion,[55] a very precious plant, I gather 'em

every May myself; odd, they'll make an old fellow of sixty-five

cut a caper like a dancing-master. Give me some wine. Madam,

here's a health, here's a health, madam, here's a health to

honest Sir Davy, faith and troth, ha, ha, ha! [Dance.

_Enter_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Bloody-B._ Sir, sir, sir! what will you do? yonder's the

constable and all his watch at the door, and threatens

demolishment, if not admitted presently.

_Sir Jol._ Odds so! odds so! the constable and his watch!

what's to be done now? get you both into the alcove there,

get ye gone quickly, quickly; no noise, no noise, d'ye hear?

[_Exeunt_ Lady DUNCE _and_ BEAUGARD.] The constable and his

watch! a pox on the constable and his watch! what the devil

have the constable and his watch to do here?

_Enter_ Constable, Watch, _and_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Const._ This way, this way, gentlemen; stay one of ye at the

door, and let nobody pass, do you hear? Sir Jolly, your servant.

_Sir Jol._ What, this outrage, this disturbance committed upon

my house and family! sir, sir, sir! what do you mean by these

doings, sweet sir? ho!

_Const._ Sir, having received information that the body of a

murdered man is concealed in your house, I am come, according

to my duty, to make search and discover the truth.--Stand to my

assistance, gentlemen.

_Sir Jol._ A murdered man, sir?

_Sir Dav._ Yes, a murdered man, sir. Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, I

am sorry to see a person of your character and figure in the

parish concerned in a murder, I say.

_Sir Jol._ Here's a dog! here's a rogue for you! here's a

villain! here's a cuckoldy son of his mother! I never knew a

cuckold in my life that was not a false rogue in his heart;

there are no honest fellows living but whore-masters. Hark you,

sir, what a pox do you mean? you had best play the fool, and

spoil all, you had; what's all this for?

_Sir Dav._ When your worship's come to be hanged, you'll find

the meaning on't, sir. I say once more, search the house.

_Const._ It shall be done, sir. Come along, friends.

[_Exeunt_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Sir Jol._ Search my house! O Lord! search my house! what will

become of me? I shall lose my reputation with man and woman,

and nobody will ever trust me again. O Lord! search my house!

all will be discovered, do what I can! I'll sing a song like a

dying swan, and try to give them warning.

Go from the window, my love, my love, my love,

Go from the window, my dear;

The wind and the rain

Have brought 'em back again,

And thou canst have no lodging here.[56]

O Lord! search my house!

_Sir Dav._ Break down that door, I'll have that door broke

open; break down that door, I say. [_Knocking within._

_Sir Jol._ Very well done; break down my doors, break down my

walls, gentlemen! plunder my house! ravish my maids! Ah, cursed

be cuckolds, cuckolds, constables, and cuckolds!

_A door is opened and discovers_ BEAUGARD _and_ Lady DUNCE.

_Re-enter_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Beau._ Stand off! by Heaven, the first that comes here comes

upon his death.

_Sir Dav._ Sir, your humble servant; I'm glad to see you are

alive again with all my heart. Gentlemen, here's no harm done,

gentlemen; here's nobody murdered, gentlemen; the man's alive,

again, gentlemen; but here's my wife, gentlemen, and a fine

gentleman with her, gentlemen; and Master Constable, I hope

you'll bear me witness, Master Constable.

_Sir Jol._ That he's a cuckold, Master Constable.

[_Aside._

_Beau._ Hark ye, ye curs, keep off from snapping at my heels,

or I shall so feague[57] ye.

_Sir Jol._ Get ye gone, ye dogs, ye rogues, ye night-toads of

the parish dungeon; disturb my house at these unseasonable

hours! get ye out of my doors, get ye gone, or I'll brain ye,

dogs, rogues, villains! [_Exeunt_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Beau._ And next for you, Sir Coxcomb, you see I am not

murdered, though you paid well for the performance; what think

you of bribing my own man to butcher me?

_Enter_ FOURBIN.

Look ye, sir, he can cut a throat upon occasion, and here's

another dresses a man's heart with oil and pepper, better than

any cook in Christendom.

_Four._ Will your worship please to have one for your breakfast

this morning?

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, sweetheart, anything in the

world, faith and troth, ha, ha, ha! this is the purest sport,

ha, ha, ha!

_Re-enter_ VERMIN.

_Ver._ Oh, sir, the most unhappy and most unfortunate news!

There has been a gentleman in Madam Sylvia's chamber all this

night, who, just as you went out of doors, carried her away,

and whither they are gone nobody knows.

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, I am glad on't, child, I would

not care if he had carried away my house and all, man. Unhappy

news, quoth-a! poor fool, he does not know I am a cuckold, and

that anybody may make bold with what belongs to me, ha, ha, ha!

I am so pleased, ha, ha, ha; I think I was never so pleased in

all my life before, ha, ha, ha!

_Beau._ Nay, sir, I have a hank[58] upon you; there are laws

for cut-throats, sir; and as you tender your future credit,

take this wronged lady home, and use her handsomely, use her

like my mistress, sir, do you mark me? that when we think fit

to meet again, I hear no complaint of you; this must be done,

friend.

_Sir Jol._ In troth, and it is but reasonable, very reasonable

in troth.

_L. Dunce._ Can you, my dear, forgive me one misfortune?

_Sir Dav._ Madam, in one word, I am thy ladyship's most

humble servant and cuckold, Sir Davy Dunce, knight, living in

Covent-garden; ha, ha, ha! well, this is mighty pretty, ha, ha,

ha!

_Enter_ SYLVIA, _followed by_ COURTINE.

_Sylv._ Sir Jolly, ah, Sir Jolly, protect me or I'm ruined.

_Sir Jol._ My little minikin, is it thy squeak?

_Beau._ My dear Courtine, welcome.

_Sir Jol._ Well, child, and what would that wicked fellow do to

thee, child? Ha! child, child, what would he do to thee?

_Sylv._ Oh, sir, he has most inhumanly seduced me out of my

uncle's house, and threatens to marry me.

_Cour._ Nay, sir, and she having no more grace before her eyes

neither, has e'en taken me at my word.

_Sir Jol._ In troth, and that's very uncivilly done: I don't

like these marriages, I'll have no marriages in my house, and

there's an end on't.

_Sir Dav._ And do you intend to marry my niece, friend?

_Cour._ Yes, sir, and never ask your consent neither.

_Sir Dav._ In troth, and that's very well said: I am glad on't

with all my heart, man, because she has five thousand pounds to

her portion, and my estate's bound to pay it. Well, this is the

happiest day, ha, ha, ha!

Here, take thy bride, like man and wife agree,

And may she prove as true--as mine to me.

Ha, ha, ha!

_Beau._ Courtine, I wish thee joy: thou art come opportunely

to be a witness of a perfect reconcilement between me and that

worthy knight, Sir Davy Dunce; which to preserve inviolate,

you must, sir, before we part, enter into such covenants for

performance as I shall think fit.

_Sir Dav._ No more to be said; it shall be done, sweetheart:

but don't be too hard upon me; use me gently, as thou didst my

wife; gently, ha, ha, ha! a very good jest, i' faith, ha, ha,

ha! or if he should be cruel to me, gentlemen, and take this

advantage over a poor cornuto, to lay me in a prison, or throw

me in a dungeon, at least--

I hope amongst all you, sirs, I shan't fail

To find one brother-cuckold out for bail. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[48] Getting bespattered while roving about.

[49] Whipping.

[50] Truly.

[51] A strong inclination.

[52] Strong new wine.

[53] A writ in common law, penalty, difficulty.

[54] Eringoes, the holly plant, which was considered to be an

aphrodisiac.

[55] Another aphrodisiac.

[56] This ballad often occurs in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher,

and particularly in _Monsieur Thomas_.

[57] Whip.

[58] Hold.

EPILOGUE

With the discharge of passions much oppressed,

Disturbed in brain, and pensive in his breast,

Full of those thoughts which make the unhappy sad,

And by imagination half grown mad,

The poet led abroad his mourning muse,

And let her range, to see what sport she'd choose.

Straight, like a bird got loose, and on the wing,

Pleased with her freedom she began to sing;

Each note was echoed all the vale along,

And this was what she uttered in her song:--

Wretch, write no more for an uncertain fame,

Nor call thy muse, when thou art dull, to blame:

Consider with thyself how thou'rt unfit

To make that monster of mankind, a wit:

A wit's a toad, who, swelled with silly pride,

Full of himself, scorns all the world beside;

Civil would seem, though he good manners lacks,

Smiles on all faces, rails behind all backs.

If e'er good-natured, nought to ridicule,

Good-nature melts a wit into a fool:

Placed high like some jack-pudding in a hall,

At Christmas revels, he makes sport for all.

So much in little praises he delights,

But when he's angry, draws his pen, and writes.

A wit to no man will his dues allow;

Wits will not part with a good word that's due:

So whoe'er ventures on the ragged coast

Of starving poets, certainly is lost;

They rail like porters at the penny-post.

At a new author's play see one but sit,

Making his snarling froward face of wit,

The merit he allows, and praise he grants,

Comes like a tax from a poor wretch that wants.

O poets, have a care of one another,

There's hardly one amongst ye true to t'other:

Like Trinculos and Stephanos, ye play

The lewdest tricks each other to betray.[59]

Like foes detract, yet flattering, friend-like smile,

And all is one another to beguile

Of praise, the monster of your barren isle.

Enjoy the prostitute ye so admire,

Enjoy her to the full of your desire;

Whilst this poor scribbler wishes to retire,

Where he may ne'er repeat his follies more,

But curse the fate that wrecked him on your shore.

Now you, who this day as his judges sit,

After you've heard what he has said of wit,

Ought for your own sakes not to be severe,

But show so much to think he meant none here.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

VENICE PRESERVED;

OR,

A PLOT DISCOVERED.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Venice Preserved was written and acted in 1682, when the terrors of

the alleged Popish Plot had nearly subsided, and probably receives its

second title from that atrocious and equivocal scare. It is founded

on the historical novel of Saint-Réal, _Conjuration des Espagnols

contre la Venise en 1618_, though Sir Henry Wotton, who was our

ambassador to Venice at the time, calls it a French conspiracy. The

whole thing was kept as dark as possible by the Republic, and its exact

character is not easy to determine. Mr. Horatio Brown, however, by

original researches in the Venetian archives, has thrown much light

upon it in his recent charming volume of _Venetian Sketches_. Needy

French adventurers, like Pierre and Renault, appear to have inflamed

the ambition of Spanish grandees, like Osorio, Viceroy of Naples,

and Bedamar, the ambassador at Venice, to compass the ruin of the

Republic by taking advantage of gross internal corruption, the glaring

contrast between social luxury and poverty, and consequent political

discontent. But it was a rat-like hole-and-corner plot, as devoid of

civic virtue or dignity, as any Rye House plot of Otway's time, or any

American-Irish assassination club of our own.

The last time the play was performed without the omission of the comic

scenes, in which Antonio so degradingly figures, was at the special

command of George II.; but they were condemned by the audience in

spite of royal influence. The satire upon Shaftesbury, designed in

the character of Antonio, is said to have been introduced at the

instigation of Charles II. (Derrick, _Dramatic Censor_, p. 2). In

the prologue to the play, Shaftesbury's ambition to be elected King

of Poland, which procured for him the nick-name of "Count Tapsky,"

and was ridiculed by Dryden in _The Medal_, is openly referred to.

Antonio's name and age also correspond to those of Shaftesbury. But

the parody of his style of speaking is poor. The audience on the

occasion just referred to bestowed vehement applause on Leigh and

Mrs. Currer, who acted the parts of Antonio and Aquilina. So fond

were people of buffoonery in those days that, according to Davies

(_Dramatic Miscellany_), when Pierre, defying the conspirators (Act

III.), exclaims--"Thou die! Thou kill my friend! or thou, or thou, or

thou with that lean, withered, wretched face!"--an actor, selected for

the purpose, of a most unfortunate figure and meagre visage, presented

himself, and converted this fine passage into burlesque.

The play of _Venice Preserved_ has been several times translated into

French. Hallam observes that the _Manlius Capitolinus_ of Antoine de la

Fosse, published in 1698, and imitated from _Venice Preserved_, shows

the influence which Otway exercised abroad. Upon himself the influence

of contemporary French dramatists was in turn very marked. Lord Byron

was certainly indebted to this play in his _Marino Faliero_. An old

French critic finds fault with the tolling of the bell in Act V. "This

shocking extravagance, which in Paris would excite only contempt and

derision, strikes the English with awe." How fashions change! Think of

Victor Hugo and _Lucrezia Borgia_!

Hallam remarked that _Venice Preserved_ had been more frequently seen

on the stage than any other play, except those of Shakespeare. He

relates that when he saw it he was affected almost to agony. According

to Mr. Archer (_Reign of Victoria. Drama_), _Venice Preserved_ was

performed under Macready at Covent Garden between 1837 and 1839. It was

revived at Sadler's Wells in 1845, with Phelps as Jaffier, and Mrs.

Warner as Belvidera.

[Illustration]

TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH.[60]

Madam,

Were it possible for me to let the world know how entirely your Grace's

goodness has devoted a poor man to your service; were there words

enough in speech to express the mighty sense I have of your great

bounty towards me, surely I should write and talk of it for ever: but

your Grace has given me so large a theme, and laid so very vast a

foundation, that imagination wants stock to build upon it. I am as one

dumb when I would speak of it; and when I strive to write, I want a

scale of thought sufficient to comprehend the height of it.

Forgive me, then, madam, if (as a poor peasant once made a present

of an apple to an emperor) I bring this small tribute, the humble

growth of my little garden, and lay it at your feet. Believe it is

paid you with the utmost gratitude; believe that so long as I have

thought to remember how very much I owe your generous nature, I will

ever have a heart that shall be grateful for it too: your Grace, next

Heaven, deserves it amply from me; that gave me life, but on a hard

condition--till your extended favour taught me to prize the gift,

and took the heavy burthen it was clogged with from me; I mean hard

fortune. When I had enemies, that with malicious power kept back and

shaded me from those royal beams whose warmth is all I have, or hope to

live by, your noble pity and compassion found me, where I was far cast

backward from my blessing, down in the rear of fortune; called me up,

placed me in the shine, and I have felt its comfort. You have in that

restored me to my native right; for a steady faith, and loyalty to my

prince, was all the inheritance my father left me: and however hardly

my ill fortune deal with me, 'tis what I prize so well that I ne'er

pawned it yet, and hope I ne'er shall part with it.

Nature and fortune were certainly in league when you were born; and as

the first took care to give you beauty enough to enslave the hearts of

all the world, so the other resolved, to do its merit justice, that

none but a monarch, fit to rule that world, should e'er possess it;

and in it he had an empire. The young prince[61] you have given him,

by his blooming virtues, early declares the mighty stock he came from;

and as you have taken all the pious care of a dear mother and a prudent

guardian to give him a noble and generous education, may it succeed

according to his merits and your wishes: may he grow up to be a bulwark

to his illustrious father, and a patron to his loyal subjects; with

wisdom and learning to assist him, whenever called to his councils;

to defend his right against the encroachments of republicans in his

senates; to cherish such men as shall be able to vindicate the royal

cause; that good and fit servants to the crown may never be lost for

want of a protector. May he have courage and conduct, fit to fight his

battles abroad, and terrify his rebels at home; and that all these may

be yet more sure, may he never, during the spring-time of his years,

when those growing virtues ought with care to be cherished, in order to

their ripening;--may he never meet with vicious natures, or the tongues

of faithless, sordid, insipid flatterers, to blast them. To conclude,

may he be as great as the hand of fortune (with his honour) shall be

able to make him; and may your Grace, who are so good a mistress, and

so noble a patroness, never meet with a less grateful servant than,

Madam,

Your Grace's entirely

devoted Creature,

THOMAS OTWAY.

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[59] In the alteration of Shakespeare's _Tempest_, by Dryden and

Davenant.

[60] Louise de Kerouaille, Charles II.'s well-known mistress, who

was sent over by Louis XIV., and who supplanted all Charles's other

mistresses, except Nell Gwyn. Wealth and honours were heaped upon her,

and her apartments at Whitehall were far more splendid, Evelyn tells

us, than the queen's. She had, of course, many enemies, one of whom,

in the same year in which Otway wrote this dedication, placed the

following lines beneath her portrait:--

"Lowly born and meanly bred,

Yet of this nation is the head;

For half Whitehall make her their court,

Though the other half make her their sport.

Monmouth's tower, Jeffery's advance,

Foe to England, spy to France,

False and foolish, proud and bold,

Ugly, as you see, and old;

In a word, her mighty Grace

Is whore in all things but her face."

She was, however, at this time not more than thirty-seven, and survived

the king for fifty years.

[61] Charles Lennox, created Duke of Richmond in 1675, and an ancestor

of the present Duke.

PROLOGUE.

In these distracted times, when each man dreads

The bloody stratagems of busy heads;

When we have feared, three years, we know not what,

Till witnesses[62] begin to die o' the rot,

What made our poet meddle with a plot?

Was't that he fancied, for the very sake

And name of plot, his trifling play might take?

For there's not in't one inch-board evidence,

But 'tis, he says, to reason plain, and sense,

And that he thinks a plausible defence.

Were truth by sense and reason to be tried,

Sure all our swearers might be laid aside:

No, of such tools our author has no need,

To make his plot, or make his play succeed;

He of black bills has no prodigious tales,

Or Spanish pilgrims cast ashore in Wales;

Here's not one murdered magistrate at least,

Kept rank, like venison for a city feast;

Grown four days stiff, the better to prepare

And fit his pliant limbs to ride in chair:

Yet here's an army raised, though under ground,

But no man seen, nor one commission found;

Here is a traitor too that's very old,

Turbulent, subtle, mischievous, and bold;

Bloody, revengeful, and, to crown his part,

Loves fumbling with a wench with all his heart;

Till after having many changes past,

In spite of age (thanks Heaven) is hanged at last.

Next is a senator that keeps a whore,

In Venice none a higher office bore;

To lewdness every night the lecher ran:

Show me, all London, such another man,

Match him at Mother Creswold's[63] if you can.

O Poland, Poland! had it been thy lot,

T'have heard in time of this Venetian plot,

Thou surely chosen hadst one king from thence,

And honoured them, as thou hast England since.

FOOTNOTES:

[62] _i.e._ Titus Oates and others. The prologue is full of allusions

to events of the time.

[63] The well-known Mother Creswell, a notorious procuress, who kept up

an extensive correspondence with spies and emissaries, by whom she was

informed of "the rising beauties in different parts of the kingdom."

[Illustration:

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._]

Duke of VENICE.

PRIULI, Father of Belvidera, a Senator.

ANTONIO, a fine speaker in the Senate.

BEDAMAR, the Spanish Ambassador.

JAFFIER, }

PIERRE, }

RENAULT, }

SPINOSA, }

THEODORE, }

ELIOT, }

REVILLIDO, } Conspirators.

DURAND, }

MEZZANA, }

BRAINVILLE, }

TERNON, }

RETROSI, }

BRABE, }

BELVIDERA.

AQUILINA, a Greek Courtesan.

Two Women, Attendants on Belvidera.

Two Women, Servants to Aquilina.

The Council of Ten.

Officer, Guard, Friar, Executioner, and Rabble.

SCENE--VENICE.

[Illustration]

_VENICE PRESERVED_;

_OR_,

_A PLOT DISCOVERED._

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.--_A Public Place._

_Enter_ PRIULI _and_ JAFFIER.

_Priu._ No more! I'll hear no more; begone and leave me.

_Jaff._ Not hear me! by my suffering 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?

_Priu._ Have you not wronged me?

_Jaff._ 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?

_Priu._ 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 home

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--

O Belvidera!

_Jaff._ '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,[64]

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.

_Priu._ You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her,

At dead of night, that cursèd 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!

_Jaff._ Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain;

Heaven 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!

_Priu._ 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.

_Jaff._ You talk as if 'twould please you.

_Priu._ 'Twould, by Heaven!

Once she was dear indeed; the drops that fell

From my sad heart when she forgot her duty,

The fountain of my life, were not so precious!

But she is gone, and if I am a man

I will forget her.

_Jaff._ Would I were in my grave!

_Priu._ And she too with thee;

For, living here, you're but my curst remembrancers

I once was happy.

_Jaff._ 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.

Oh! could my soul ever have known satiety,

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?

_Priu._ You dare not do't.

_Jaff._ 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 have 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--

_Priu._ No more!

_Jaff._ Yes, all! and then adieu for ever.

There's not a wretch that lives on common charity

But's happier than me: 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,

Whose blossom 'scaped, yet's withered in the ripening.

_Priu._ Home, and be humble, study to retrench;

Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,

Those pageants of thy folly;

Reduce the glittering trappings of thy wife

To humble weeds, fit for thy little state;

Then to some suburb-cottage both retire;

Drudge, to feed loathsome life; get brats, and starve.

Home, home, I say. [_Exit._

_Jaff_. Yes, if my heart would let me--

This proud, this swelling heart: home I would go,

But that my doors are hateful to mine eyes,

Filled and dammed up with gaping creditors,

Watchful as fowlers when their game will spring;

I have now not fifty ducats in the world,

Yet still I am in love, and pleased with ruin.

O, Belvidera! oh! she is my wife--

And we will bear our wayward fate together,

But ne'er know comfort more.

_Enter_ PIERRE.

_Pier_. My friend, good-morrow!

How fares the honest partner of my heart?

What, melancholy! not a word to spare me?

_Jaff_. I'm thinking, Pierre, how that damned starving quality

Called honesty got footing in the world.

_Pier_. Why, powerful villany first set it up,

For its own ease and safety: honest men

Are the soft easy cushions on which knaves

Repose and fatten. Were all mankind villains,

They'd starve each other; lawyers would want practice,

Cut-throats rewards; each man would kill his brother

Himself, none would be paid or hanged for murder.

Honesty was 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.

_Jaff_. Then honesty's but a notion?

_Pier_. 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.

_Jaff._ Sure thou art honest?

_Pier._ So indeed men think me;

But they're mistaken, Jaffier: I am 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,

Or a whore's bed; I'd not betray my friend,

To get his place or fortune: I scorn to flatter

A blown-up fool above, or crush the wretch

Beneath me.--

Yet, Jaffier, for all this, I am a villain.

_Jaff._ A villain!

_Pier._ 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.

_Jaff._ O Aquilina! friend, to lose such beauty,

The dearest purchase of thy noble labours!

She was thy right by conquest, as by love.

_Pier._ O Jaffier! I'd so fixed my heart upon her,

That wheresoe'er I framed a scheme of life

For time to come, she was my only joy,

With which I wished to sweeten future cares;

I fancied pleasures, none but one that loves

And dotes as I did can imagine like them:

When in the extremity of all these hopes,

In the most charming hour of expectation,

Then when our eager wishes soar the highest,

Ready to stoop and grasp the lovely game,

A haggard owl, a worthless kite of prey,

With his foul wings sailed in, and spoiled my quarry.

_Jaff._ I know the wretch, and scorn him as thou hat'st him.

_Pier._ Curse on the common good that's so protected,

Where every slave that heaps up wealth enough

To do much wrong becomes a lord of right!

I, who believed no ill could e'er come near me,

Found in the embraces of my Aquilina

A wretched, old, but itching senator;

A wealthy fool, that had bought out my title;

A rogue, that uses beauty like a lamb-skin,

Barely to keep him warm: that filthy cuckoo, too,

Was in my absence crept into my nest,

And spoiling all my brood of noble pleasure.

_Jaff._ Didst thou not chase him thence?

_Pier._ I did; and drove

The rank, old, bearded Hirco stinking home:

The matter was complained of in the senate,

I summoned to appear, and censured basely,

For violating something they call privilege.

This was the recompense of all my service;

Would I'd been rather beaten by a coward!

A soldier's mistress, Jaffier, 's his religion;

When that's profaned, all other ties are broken;

That even dissolves all former bonds of service,

And from that hour I think myself as free

To be the foe as e'er the friend of Venice--

Nay, dear Revenge! whene'er thou call'st I'm ready.

_Jaff._ 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.

_Pier._ 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 to enslave us deeper:

Now could this glorious cause but find out friends

To do it right--O Jaffier! then mightst thou

Not wear these 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!

_Jaff._ Curst 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 it to thy spirit.

_Pier._ Too soon it will reach thy knowledge--

_Jaff._ 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.

_Pier._ Then thou art ruined!

_Jaff._ That I long since knew;

I and ill fortune have been long acquainted.

_Pier._ 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 hand hath 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 villanous 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.

_Jaff._ Now, thank Heaven--

_Pier._ Thank Heaven! for what?

_Jaff._ That I'm not worth a ducat.

_Pier._ Curse thy dull stars, and the worse fate of Venice,

Where brothers, friends, and fathers, all are false;

Where there's no trust, no truth; 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,

Shining through tears, like April-suns in showers,

That labour to o'ercome the cloud that loads 'em,

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!

Even 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.

_Jaff._ 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 spirit tastes of,

I own myself a coward: bear my weakness,

If, throwing thus my arms about thy neck,

I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom.

Oh, I shall drown thee with my sorrows!

_Pier._ 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: thou'rt every way its master.

_Jaff._ No; there's a secret pride in bravely dying.

_Pier._ 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 dirty winding-sheets,

Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung of the soil?

_Jaff._ Oh!

_Pier._ Well said, out with it, swear a little--

_Jaff._ Swear!

By sea and air, by earth, by Heaven and hell,

I will revenge my Belvidera's tears!

Hark thee, my friend: Priuli--is--a senator!

_Pier._ A dog!

_Jaff._ Agreed.

_Pier._ Shoot him.

_Jaff._ With all my heart.

No more. Where shall we meet at night?

_Pier._ I'll tell thee;

On the Rialto every night at twelve

I take my evening's walk of meditation:

There we will meet, and talk of precious mischief.

_Jaff_. Farewell.

_Pier_. At twelve.

_Jaff_. At any hour: my plagues

Will keep me waking.-- [_Exit_ PIERRE.

Tell me why, good Heaven,

Thou madest 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, dull, and fit to carry burdens?

Why have I sense to know the curse that's on me?

Is this just dealing, Nature?--Belvidera!

_Enter_ BELVIDERA, _attended_.

Poor Belvidera!

_Belv_. Lead me, lead me, my virgins,

To that kind voice. My lord, my love, my refuge!

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.

_Jaff_. As when our loves

Were in their spring? has then my fortune changed?

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? oh! where complain?

_Belv_. Does this appear like change, or love decaying

When thus I throw myself into thy bosom,

With all the resolution of strong truth?

Beats not my heart, as 'twould alarum thine

To a new charge of bliss? I joy more in thee

Than did thy mother when she hugged thee first,

And blessed the gods for all her travail past.

_Jaff._ Can there in woman be such glorious faith?

Sure all ill stories of thy sex are false.

O 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.

_Belv._ If love be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich:

I have so much, my heart will surely break with't;

Vows can't express it: when I would declare

How great's my joy, I'm dumb with the big thought;

I swell, and sigh, and labour with my longing.

Oh, lead me to some desert wide and wild,

Barren as our misfortunes, where my soul

May have its vent; where I may tell aloud

To the high Heavens, and every listening planet,

With what a boundless stock my bosom's fraught;

Where I may throw my eager arms about thee,

Give loose to love, with kisses kindling joy,

And let off all the fire that's in my heart!

_Jaff._ O 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 bitter 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?

_Belv._ 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 clift our habitation,

I'll make this arm a pillow for thy 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;

Then praise our God, and watch thee till the morning.

_Jaff._ Hear this, you Heavens, 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:

I, in my private bark, already wrecked,

Like a poor merchant driven on unknown land,

That had by chance packed up his choicest treasure

In one dear casket, and saved only that,

Since I must wander further on the shore,

Thus hug my little, but my precious store;

Resolved to scorn, and trust my fate no more. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[64] This ceremony (first instituted by Pope Alexander III.) took place

every Ascension-day. The Doge of Venice, attended by his nobles and

the senate, went in a vessel called the Bucentaur to the Adriatic sea,

which he _married_ by casting a gold ring into it, using at the same

time these words: "We wed thee, O Sea, in token of a true and lasting

dominion," &c. This circumstance is frequently alluded to in the course

of the play.--_Thornton._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.--_Before the House of_ AQUILINA.

_Enter_ PIERRE _and_ AQUILINA.

_Aquil._ By all thy wrongs, thou'rt dearer to my arms

Than all the wealth of Venice: pr'ythee stay,

And let us love to-night.

_Pier._ No: there's fool,

There's fool about thee: when a woman sells

Her flesh to fools, her beauty's lost to me;

They leave a taint, a sully where they've passed;

There's such a baneful quality about them,

Even spoils complexions with their nauseousness;

They infect all they touch; I cannot think

Of tasting any thing a fool has palled.

_Aquil._ I loathe and scorn that fool thou mean'st, as much

Or more than thou canst; but the beast has gold,

That makes him necessary; power too,

To qualify my character, and poise me

Equal with peevish virtue, that beholds

My liberty with envy: in their hearts

They're loose as I am; but an ugly power

Sits in their faces, and frights pleasures from them.

_Pier._ Much good may't do you, madam, with your senator!

_Aquil._ My senator! why, canst thou think that wretch

E'er filled thy Aquilina's arms with pleasure?

Think'st thou, because I sometimes give him leave

To foil himself at what he is unfit for;

Because I force myself to endure and suffer him,

Think'st thou I love him? No, by all the joys

Thou ever gav'st me, his presence is my penance:

The worst thing an old man can be is a lover,

A mere _memento mori_ to poor woman.

I never lay by his decrepit side,

But all that night I pondered on my grave.

_Pier._ Would he were well sent thither!

_Aquil._ That's my wish too,

For then, my Pierre, I might have cause, with pleasure,

To play the hypocrite. Oh! how I could weep

Over the dying dotard, and kiss him too,

In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the time

Was come to pay my sorrows at his funeral,

(For he has already made me heir to treasures

Would make me out-act a real widow's whining,)

How could I frame my face to fit my mourning!

With wringing hands attend him to his grave;

Fall swooning on his hearse; take mad possession

Even of the dismal vault where he lay buried;

There, like the Ephesian matron[65] dwell, till thou,

My lovely soldier, com'st to my deliverance:

Then throwing up my veil, with open arms

And laughing eyes, run to new dawning joy.

_Pier._ No more! I've friends to meet me here to-night,

And must be private. As you prize my friendship,

Keep up[66] your coxcomb: let him not pry nor listen,

Nor frisk about the house as I have seen him,

Like a tame mumping squirrel with a bell on;

Curs will be abroad to bite him, if you do.

_Aquil._ What friends to meet? mayn't I be of your council?

_Pier._ How! a woman ask questions out of bed?

Go to your senator, ask him what passes

Amongst his brethren; he'll hide nothing from you:

But pump not me for politics. No more!

Give order, that whoever in my name

Comes here, receive admittance: so good-night.

_Aquil._ Must we ne'er meet again? embrace no more?

Is love so soon and utterly forgotten?

_Pier._ As you henceforward treat your fool, I'll think on't. [_Exit._

_Aquil._ Cursed be all fools, and doubly cursed myself,

The worst of fools! I die if he forsakes me;

And how to keep him, Heaven or hell instruct me. [_Exit._

[Illustration]

SCENE II.--_The Rialto._

_Enter_ JAFFIER.

_Jaff._ I'm here; and thus, the shades of night 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 it 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 Heaven forsaken,

No minister of darkness cares to tempt me.

Hell! hell! why sleep'st thou?

_Enter_ PIERRE.

_Pier._ Sure I've stayed too long:

The clock has struck, and I may lose my proselyte.

Speak, who goes there?

_Jaff._ A dog, that comes to howl

At yonder moon: what's he that asks the question?

_Pier._ 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:

Jaffier?

_Jaff._ The same. O Pierre! thou'rt come in season;

I was just going to pray.

_Pier._ Ah, that's mechanic;

Priests make a trade on't, and yet starve by't too:

No praying; it spoils business, and time's precious.

Where's Belvidera?

_Jaff._ For a day or two

I've lodged her privately, till I see farther

What fortune will do with me. Pr'ythee, friend,

If thou wouldst have me fit to hear good counsel,

Speak not of Belvidera--

_Pier._ Speak not of her?

_Jaff._ Oh, no!

_Pier._ Nor name her? May be I wish her well.

_Jaff._ Whom well?

_Pier._ Thy wife, the lovely Belvidera;

I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well,

And no harm done!

_Jaff._ You're merry, Pierre!

_Pier._ I am so:

Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile;

We'll all rejoice. Here's something to buy pins;

[_Gives him a purse._

Marriage is chargeable.

_Jaff._ I but half wished

To see the devil, and he's here already.

Well!--

What must this buy, rebellion, murder, treason?

Tell me which way I must be damned for this.

_Pier._ 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?

_Jaff._ Kind Heaven! let heavy curses

Gall his old age; cramps, aches,[67] rack his bones;

And bitterest disquiet wring his heart;

Oh, let him live till life become his burden!

Let him groan under it long, linger an age

In the worst agonies and pangs of death,

And find its ease but late!

_Pier._ Nay, couldst thou not

As well, my friend, have stretched the curse to all

The senate round, as to one single villain?

_Jaff._ 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; but their wives and daughters

Die of their own diseases. Oh for a curse

To kill with!

_Pier._ Daggers--daggers are much better!

_Jaff._ Ha!

_Pier._ Daggers.

_Jaff._ But where are they?

_Pier._ Oh, a thousand

May be disposed in honest hands in Venice.

_Jaff._ Thou talk'st in clouds.

_Pier._ But yet a heart half wronged

As thine has been would find the meaning, Jaffier.

_Jaff._ A thousand daggers, all in honest hands!

And have not I a friend will stick one here?

_Pier._ Yes, if I thought thou wert not to be cherished

To a nobler purpose, I would be that friend.

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 spirits

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.

_Jaff._ When thou wouldst bind me, is there need of oaths?--

Green-sickness girls lose maidenheads with such counters--

For thou'rt so near my heart that thou mayst see

Its bottom, sound its strength and firmness to thee:

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 villanous inglorious enterprise,

I know thy heart so well, I dare lay mine

Before thee: set it to what point thou wilt.

_Pier._ Nay, 'tis a cause thou wilt be fond of, Jaffier:

For it is founded on the noblest basis,--

Our liberties, our natural inheritance;

There's no religion, no hypocrisy in't;

We'll do the business, and ne'er fast and pray for it:

Openly act a deed the world shall gaze

With wonder at, and envy when 'tis done.

_Jaff._ For liberty?

_Pier._ For liberty, my friend!

Thou shalt be freed from base Priuli's tyranny,

And thy sequestered fortunes healed again;

I shall be freed 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.

_Jaff._ What can I do?

_Pier._ Canst thou not kill a senator?

_Jaff._ Were there one wise or honest, I could kill him

For herding with that nest of fools and knaves.

By all my wrongs, thou talk'st as if revenge

Were to be had, and the brave story warms me.

_Pier._ Swear then!

_Jaff._ I do, by all those glittering stars,

And yon great ruling planet of the night!

By all good powers above, and ill below!

By love and friendship, dearer than my life!

No power or death shall make me false to thee.

_Pier._ 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 it's wildest--

_Jaff._ I give thee thanks

For this kind warning: yes, I will be a man,

And charge thee, Pierre, whene'er thou seest 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!

_Pier._ And liberty!

_Jaff._ Revenge! Revenge! [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

SCENE III.--_A Room in_ AQUILINA'S _House_.

_Enter_ RENAULT.

_Ren._ 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.

_Spin._ 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._ 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._ Hell seize that soul amongst us it can frighten!

_Ren._ What's then the cause that I am here alone?

Why are we not together?

_Enter_ ELIOT.

O sir, welcome!

You are an Englishman: when treason's hatching,

One might have thought you'd not have been behind-hand.

In what whore's lap have you been lolling?

Give but an Englishman his whore and ease,

Beef, and a sea-coal fire, he's yours for ever.

_Eliot._ Frenchman, you are saucy.

_Ren._ How!

_Enter_ BEDAMAR the Ambassador, THEODORE, BRAINVILLE,

DURAND, BRABE, REVILLIDO, MEZZANA,

TERNON, _and_ RETROSI, Conspirators.

_Bed._ 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,

To adorn the bravest purpose it e'er smiled on;--

Should you, like boys, wrangle for trifles?

_Ren._ Boys!

_Bed._ 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.

_Bed._ Eliot, 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--we'll all embrace!

United thus, we are the mighty engine

Must twist this rooted empire from its basis.

Totters it not already?

_Eliot._ Would 'twere tumbling!

_Bed._ Nay, it shall down: this night we seal its ruin.

_Enter_ PIERRE.

O 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. O, my Mars!

The poets that first feigned a god of war,

Sure prophesied of thee.

_Pier._ Friends! was not Brutus--

I mean that Brutus who in open Senate

Stabbed the first Cæsar that usurped the world--

A gallant man!

_Ren._ Yes, and Catiline too;

Though story wrong his fame; for he conspired

To prop the reeling glory of his country:

His cause was good.

_Bed._ And ours as much above it

As, Renault, thou'rt superior to Cethegus,

Or Pierre to Cassius.

_Pier._ Then to what we aim at,

When do we start? or must we talk for ever?

_Bed._ 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 nor hand amongst us

But is firm and ready.

_All._ All! We'll die with Bedamar.

_Bed._ Oh, men!

Matchless, as will your glory be hereafter.

The game is for a matchless prize, if won;

If lost, disgraceful ruin.

_Ren._ What can lose it?

The public stock's a beggar; one Venetian

Trusts not another. Look into their stores

Of general safety; empty magazines,

A tattered fleet, a murmuring unpaid army,

Bankrupt nobility, a harassed commonalty,

A factious, giddy, and divided Senate,

Is all the strength of Venice. Let's destroy it;

Let's fill their magazines with arms to awe them,

Man out their fleet, and make their trade maintain it;

Let loose the murmuring army on their masters,

To pay themselves with plunder; lop their nobles

To the base roots, whence most of them first sprung;

Enslave the rout, whom smarting will make humble;

Turn out their droning Senate, and possess

That seat of empire which our souls were framed for.

_Pier._ Ten thousand men are armèd 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.

_Bed._ 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 own us for her lords.

_Pier._ How lovelily the Adriatic whore,

Dressed in her flames, will shine!--devouring flames,

Such as shall burn her to the watery bottom,

And hiss in her foundation!

_Bed._ Now if any

'Mongst us that owns this glorious cause

Have friends or interest he'd 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.

_Pier._ I must confess, you there have touched my weakness:

I have a friend; hear it, such a friend!

My heart was ne'er shut to him. Nay, I'll tell you:

He knows the very business of this hour;

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?

_Pier._ 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_.

_Bed._ His presence bears the show of manly virtue.

_Jaff._ I know you'll wonder all, that thus uncalled

I dare approach this place of fatal counsels;

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 sword, 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 this city flaming? here's

A hand shall bear a lighted torch at noon

To the arsenal, and set its gates on fire.

_Ren._ You talk this well, sir.

_Jaff._ Nay--by Heaven, I'll do this!

Come, come, I read distrust in all your faces;

You fear me a 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!

_Bed._ Pierre, I must embrace him.

My heart beats to this man as if it knew him.

_Ren._ I never loved these huggers.

_Jaff._ 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 trust will give

A pledge, worth more than all the world can pay for.

My Belvidera! Ho! my Belvidera!

_Bed._ What wonder next?

_Jaff._ Let me entreat you,

As I have henceforth hopes to call ye friends,

That all but the ambassador, and this

Grave guide of counsels, with my friend that owns me,

Withdraw awhile, to spare a woman's blushes.

[_Exeunt all but_ BEDAMAR, RENAULT,

JAFFIER, _and_ PIERRE.

_Bed._ Pierre, whither will this ceremony lead us?

_Jaff._ My Belvidera! Belvidera!

_Enter_ BELVIDERA.

_Belv._ 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.

Thou hourly image of my thoughts, where art thou?

_Jaff._ Indeed 'tis late.

_Belv._ Oh! I have slept, and dreamt,

And dreamt again. Where hast thou been, thou loiterer?

Though my eyes closed, my arms have still been opened,

Stretched every way betwixt my broken slumbers,

To search if thou wert come to crown my rest;

There's no repose without thee. Oh, the day

Too soon will break, and wake us to our sorrow;

Come, come to bed, and bid thy cares good-night.

_Jaff._ O Belvidera! we must change the scene

In which the past delights of life were tasted:

The poor sleep little; we must learn to watch

Our labours late, and early every morning,

'Midst winter frosts, thin clad and fed with sparing,

Rise to our toils, and drudge away the day.

_Belv._ Alas! where am I? whither is't you lead me?

Methinks I read distraction in your face,

Something less gentle than the fate you tell me.

You shake and tremble too; your blood runs cold!

Heavens guard my love, and bless his heart with patience!

_Jaff._ That I have patience, let our fate bear witness,

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.

_Belv._ Part! must we part? Oh! am I then forsaken?

Will my love cast me off? have my misfortunes

Offended him so highly that he'll leave me?

Why drag you from me? whither are you going?

My dear! my life! my love!

_Jaff._ Oh, friends!

_Belv._ Speak to me.

_Jaff._ Take her from my heart;

She'll gain such hold else, I shall ne'er get loose.

I charge thee take her; but with tenderest care

Relieve her troubles, and assuage her sorrows.

_Ren._ Rise, madam, and command amongst your servants.

_Jaff._ To you, sirs, and your honours, I bequeath her,

And with her this: when I prove unworthy-- [_Gives a dagger._

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.

_Belv._ Nay, take my life, since he has sold it cheaply;

Or send me to some distant clime your slave,

But let it be far off, lest my complainings

Should reach his guilty ears, and shake his peace.

_Jaff._ No, Belvidera, I've contrived thy honour:

Trust to my faith, and be but fortune kind

To me as I preserve that faith unbroken!

When next we meet, I'll lift thee to a height

Shall gather all the gazing world about thee,

To wonder what strange virtue placed thee there.

But if we ne'er meet more--

_Belv._ O thou unkind one!

Never meet more! 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;

But pity the sad heart that's torn with parting.

Yet hear me! yet recall me--

[_Exeunt_ RENAULT, BEDAMAR, _and_

BELVIDERA.

_Jaff._ O my eyes,

Look not that way, but turn yourselves awhile

Into my heart, and be weaned altogether!

My friend, where art thou?

_Pier._ Here, my honour's brother.

_Jaff._ Is Belvidera gone?

_Pier._ Renault has led her

Back to her own apartment: but, by Heaven!

Thou must not see her more till our work's over.

_Jaff._ No?

_Pier._ Not for your life.

_Jaff._ O Pierre! wert thou but she,

How I could pull thee down into my heart,

Gaze on thee till my eye-strings cracked with love,

Till all my sinews, with its fire extended,

Fixed me upon the rack of ardent longing!

Then swelling, sighing, raging to be blest,

Come like a panting turtle to thy breast;

On thy soft bosom hovering, bill and play,

Confess the cause why last I fled away,

Own 'twas a fault, but swear to give it o'er,

And never follow false ambition more. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[65] A reference to the story in Petronius on which Chapman founded his

_Widow's Tears_.

[66] _i.e._ Shut up.

[67] A word of two syllables, as in Shakespeare.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.--_A Room in_ AQUILINA'S _House_.

_Enter_ AQUILINA _and her_ Maid.

_Aquil._ Tell him I am gone to bed: tell him I am not at home:

tell him I've better company with me, or anything; tell him, in

short, I will not see him, the eternal troublesome vexatious

fool; he's worse company than an ignorant physician. I'll not

be disturbed at these unseasonable hours.

_Maid._ But, madam, he's here already, just entered the doors.

_Aquil._ Turn him out again, you unnecessary, useless,

giddy-brained ass! If he will not be gone, set the house

a-fire, and burn us both: I had rather meet a toad in my dish

than that old hideous animal in my chamber to-night.

_Enter_ ANTONIO.[68]

_Ant._ Nacky, Nacky, Nacky--how dost do, Nacky? Hurry durry!

I am come, little Nacky; past eleven o'clock, a late hour;

time in all conscience to go to bed, Nacky--Nacky did I say?

Ay, Nacky; Aquilina, lina, lina, quilina, quilina, quilina,

Aquilina, Naquilina, Naquilina, Acky, Acky, Nacky, Nacky, queen

Nacky--come, let's to bed--you fubbs, you pug you--you little

puss--purree tuzzy--I am a senator.

_Aquil._ You are a fool, I am sure.

_Ant._ Maybe so too, sweetheart. Never the worse senator for

all that. Come, Nacky, Nacky, let's have a game at romp, Nacky.

_Aquil._ You would do well, signior, to be troublesome here no

longer, but leave me to myself; be sober, and go home, sir.

_Ant._ Home, Madonna?

_Aquil._ Ay, home, sir. Who am I?

_Ant._ Madonna, as I take it, you are my--you are--thou art my

little Nicky Nacky--that's all!

_Aquil._ I find you are resolved to be troublesome; and so,

to make short of the matter in few words, I hate you, detest

you, loathe you, I am weary of you, sick of you. Hang you, you

are an old, silly, impertinent, impotent, solicitous coxcomb;

crazy in your head and lazy in your body, love to be meddling

with every thing; and if you had not money, you are good for

nothing.

_Ant._ Good for nothing! Hurry durry, I'll try that presently.

Sixty-one years[69] old, and good for nothing! that's brave.

[_To the Maid._] Come, come, come, Mistress Fiddle-faddle, turn

you out for a season; go, turn out, I say; it is our will and

pleasure to be private some moments--out, out when you are bid

too--[_Puts her out and locks the door._] Good for nothing, you

say?

_Aquil._ Why, what are you good for?

_Ant._ In the first place, madam, I am old, and consequently

very wise, very wise, Madonna, d'ye mark that? in the second

place, take notice, if you please, that I am a senator, and

when I think fit can make speeches, Madonna. Hurry durry, I can

make a speech in the Senate-house, now and then, would make

your hair stand on end, Madonna.

_Aquil._ What care I for your speeches in the Senate-house? If

you would be silent here, I should thank you.

_Ant._ Why, I can make speeches to thee too, my lovely Madonna;

for example [_Takes out a purse of gold, and at every pause

shakes it_]:--

My cruel fair one, since it is my fate

That you should with your servant angry prove,

Though late at night, I hope 'tis not too late

With this to gain reception for my love.

There's for thee, my little Nicky Nacky--take it; here, take

it--I say take it, or I'll throw it at your head--how now,

rebel!

_Aquil._ Truly, my illustrious senator, I must confess your

honour is at present most profoundly eloquent indeed.

_Ant._ Very well: come, now let's sit down and think upon't

a little--come sit, I say--sit down by me a little, my Nicky

Nacky, hah--[_Sits down_] Hurry durry--good for nothing!

_Aquil._ No, sir; if you please, I can know my distance and

stand.

_Ant._ Stand: how? Nacky up, and I down! Nay, then let me

exclaim with the poet:--

Show me a case more pitiful who can,

A standing woman, and a falling man.

Hurry durry--not sit down--see this, ye gods! You won't sit

down?

_Aquil._ No, sir.

_Ant._ Then look you, now, suppose me a bull, a Basan-bull, the

bull of bulls, or any bull. Thus up I get, and with my brows

thus bent--I broo, I say, I broo, I broo, I broo. You won't sit

down, will you? I broo---- [_Bellows like a bull, and drives

her about._

_Aquil._ Well, sir; I must endure this. [_She sits_ _down._]

Now your honour has been a bull, pray what beast will your

worship please to be next?

_Ant._ Now I'll be a senator again, and thy lover, little Nicky

Nacky! [_He sits by her._] Ah, toad, toad, toad, toad! spit in

my face a little, Nacky--spit in my face, pr'ythee spit in my

face, never so little: spit but a little bit--spit, spit, spit,

spit, when you are bid, I say; do, pr'ythee spit--now, now, now

spit. What, you won't spit, will you? then I'll be a dog.

_Aquil._ A dog, my lord?

_Ant._ Ay, a dog--and I'll give thee this t'other purse to let

me be a dog--and to use me like a dog a little. Hurry durry--I

will--here 'tis. [_Gives the purse._

_Aquil._ Well; with all my heart. But let me beseech your

dogship to play your tricks over as fast as you can, that you

may come to stinking the sooner, and be turned out of doors, as

you deserve.

_Ant._ Ay, ay--no matter for that--[_He gets under the

table_]--that shan't move me--now, bough waugh waugh, bough

waugh! [_Barks like a dog._

_Aquil._ Hold, hold, hold, sir, I beseech you; what is't you

do? If curs bite, they must be kicked, sir. Do you see? kicked

thus.

_Ant._ Ay, with all my heart: do, kick, kick on; now I am under

the table, kick again--kick harder--harder yet. Bough waugh

waugh, waugh, bough--odd, I'll have a snap at thy shins--bough

waugh waugh, waugh, bough--odd, she kicks bravely.

_Aquil._ Nay then, I'll go another way to work with you; and

I think here's an instrument fit for the purpose. [_Fetches a

whip and a bell._] What, bite your mistress, sirrah! out, out

of doors, you dog, to kennel and be hanged! Bite your mistress

by the legs, you rogue! [_She whips him._

_Ant._ Nay, pr'ythee Nacky, now thou art too loving: hurry

durry, odd, I'll be a dog no longer.

_Aquil._ Nay, none of your fawning and grinning: but begone, or

here's the discipline: what, bite your mistress by the legs,

you mongrel? Out of doors--hout, hout, to kennel, sirrah! go.

_Ant._ This is very barbarous usage, Nacky, very barbarous:

look you, I will not go--I will not stir from the door, that I

resolve--hurry durry, what, shut me out? [_She whips him out._

_Aquil._ Ay; and it you come here any more to-night, I'll have

my footmen lug you, you cur! What, bite your poor mistress

Nacky, sirrah?

_Enter_ Maid,

_Maid._ Heavens, madam! what's the matter?

[_He howls at the door like a dog._

_Aquil._ Call my footmen hither presently.

_Enter two_ Footmen.

_Maid._ They are here already, madam; the house is all alarmed

with a strange noise, that nobody knows what to make of.

_Aquil._ Go all of you and turn that troublesome beast in the

next room out of my house; if I ever see him within these

walls again, without my leave for his admittance, you sneaking

rogues, I'll have you poisoned all, poisoned, like rats; every

corner of the house shall stink of one of you: go, and learn

hereafter to know my pleasure. [_Exeunt_ Footmen _and_ Maid.]

So, now for my Pierre:

Thus when the godlike lover was displeased,

We sacrifice our fool, and he's appeased. [_Exit._

[Illustration]

SCENE II.--_Another Room in the same._

_Enter_ BELVIDERA.

_Belv._ I'm sacrificed! I'm sold! betrayed to shame!

Inevitable ruin has inclosed me!

No sooner was I to my bed repaired,

To weigh and (weeping) ponder my condition,

But the old hoary wretch, to whose false care

My peace and honour was entrusted came,

Like Tarquin, ghastly with infernal lust.

O thou Roman Lucrece!

Thou couldst find friends to vindicate thy wrong;

I never had but one, and he's proved false;

He that should guard my virtue, has betrayed it;

Left me! undone me! oh, that I could hate him!

Where shall I go? oh, whither, whither wander?

_Enter_ JAFFIER.

_Jaff._ Can Belvidera want a resting-place,

When these poor arms are open to receive her?

Oh, 'tis in vain to struggle with desires

Strong as my love to thee; for every moment

I'm from thy sight, the heart within my bosom

Moans like a tender infant in its cradle,

Whose nurse had left it: come, and with the songs

Of gentle love, persuade it to its peace.

_Belv._ I fear the stubborn wanderer will not own me;

'Tis grown a rebel to be ruled no longer,

Scorns the indulgent bosom that first lulled it;

And, like a disobedient child, disdains

The soft authority of Belvidera.

_Jaff._ There was a time--

_Belv._ Yes, yes, there was a time

When Belvidera's tears, her cries, and sorrows,

Were not despised; when if she chanced to sigh,

Or look but sad--there was indeed a time

When Jaffier would have ta'en her in his arms,

Eased her declining head upon his breast,

And never left her till he found the cause.

But let her now weep seas,

Cry till she rend the earth, sigh till she burst

Her heart asunder; still he bears it all,

Deaf as the wind, and as the rocks unshaken.

_Jaff._ Have I been deaf? am I that rock unmoved,

Against whose root tears beat, and sighs are sent

In vain? have I beheld thy sorrows calmly?

Witness against me, Heavens, have I done this?

Then bear me in a whirlwind back again,

And let that angry dear one ne'er forgive me!

Oh, thou too rashly censurest[70] of my love!

Couldst thou but think how I have spent this night,

Dark and alone, no pillow to my head,

Rest in my eyes, nor quiet in my heart,

Thou wouldst not, Belvidera, sure thou wouldst not

Talk to me thus; but like a pitying angel,

Spreading thy wings, come settle on my breast,

And hatch warm comfort there, ere sorrows freeze it.

_Belv._ Why then, poor mourner, in what baleful corner

Hast thou been talking with that witch the Night?

On what cold stone hast thou been stretched along,

Gathering the grumbling winds about thy head,

To mix with theirs the accents of thy woes?

Oh, now I find the cause my love forsakes me!

I am no longer fit to bear a share

In his concernments: my weak female virtue

Must not be trusted; 'tis too frail and tender.

_Jaff._ O Portia! Portia! what a soul was thine!

_Belv._ That Portia was a woman; and when Brutus,

Big with the fate of Rome--Heaven guard thy safety!--

Concealed from her the labours of his mind,

She let him see her blood was great as his,

Flowed from a spring as noble, and a heart

Fit to partake his troubles as his love.

Fetch, fetch that dagger back, the dreadful dower

Thou gavest last night in parting with me; strike it

Here to my heart; and as the blood flows from it,

Judge if it run not pure as Cato's daughter's.

_Jaff._ Thou art too good, and I indeed unworthy,

Unworthy so much virtue: teach me how

I may deserve such matchless love as thine,

And see with what attention I'll obey thee.

_Belv._ Do not despise me: that's the all I ask.

_Jaff._ Despise thee! hear me--

_Belv._ Oh, thy charming tongue

Is but too well acquainted with my weakness;

Knows, let it name but love, my melting heart

Dissolves within my breast; till with closed eyes

I reel into thy arms, and all's forgotten.

_Jaff._ What shall I do?

_Belv._ Tell me--be just, and tell me,

Why dwells that busy cloud upon thy face?

Why am I made a stranger? why that sigh,

And I not know the cause? why when the world

Is wrapped in rest, why chooses then my love

To wander up and down in horrid darkness,

Loathing his bed, and these desiring arms?

Why are these eyes blood-shot with tedious watching?

Why starts he now, and looks as if he wished

His fate were finished? Tell me, ease my fear,

Lest, when we next time meet, I want the power

To search into the sickness of thy mind,

But talk as wildly then as thou look'st now.

_Jaff._ O Belvidera!

_Belv._ Why was I last night

Delivered to a villain?

_Jaff._ Ha, a villain!

_Belv._ Yes! to a villain! Why at such an hour

Meets that assembly, all made up of wretches

That look as hell had drawn them into league?

Why, I in this hand, and in that a dagger,

Was I delivered with such dreadful ceremonies?--

"To you, sirs, and your honour, I bequeath her,

And with her this: whene'er I prove unworthy--

You know the rest--then strike it to her heart!"

Oh! why's that "rest" concealed from me? Must I

Be made the hostage of a hellish trust?--

For such I know I am; that's all my value!

But by the love and loyalty I owe thee,

I'll free thee from the bondage of these slaves;

Straight to the Senate, tell them all I know,

All that I think, all that my fears inform me!

_Jaff._ Is this the Roman virtue? this the blood

That boasts its purity with Cato's daughter?

Would she have e'er betrayed her Brutus?

_Belv._ No;

For Brutus trusted her: wert thou so kind,

What would not Belvidera suffer for thee?

_Jaff._ I shall undo myself, and tell thee all.

_Belv._ Look not upon me as I am a woman,

But as a bone, thy wife, thy friend, who long

Has had admission to thy heart, and there

Studied the virtues of thy gallant nature:

Thy constancy, thy courage, and thy truth,

Have been my daily lesson; I have learnt them,

Am bold as thou, can suffer or despise

The worst of fates for thee; and with thee share them.

_Jaff._ Oh, you divinest powers! look down and hear

My prayers! instruct me to reward this virtue!

Yet think a little, ere thou tempt me further;

Think I've a tale to tell will shake thy nature,

Melt all this boasted constancy thou talk'st of,

Into vile tears and despicable sorrows:

Then if thou shouldst betray me!

_Belv._ Shall I swear?

_Jaff._ No; do not swear,--I would not violate

Thy tender nature with so rude a bond,--

But as thou hopest to see me live my days,

And love thee long, lock this within thy breast:--

I've bound myself by all the strictest sacraments,

Divine and human--

_Belv._ Speak!

_Jaff._ To kill thy father.

_Belv._ My father!

_Jaff._ Nay, the throats of the whole Senate

Shall bleed, my Belvidera: he amongst us

That spares his father, brother, or his friend,

Is damned. How rich and beauteous will the face

Of ruin look, when these wide streets run blood,

I and the glorious partners of my fortune

Shouting, and striding o'er the prostrate dead,

Still to new waste; whilst thou, far off in safety

Smiling, shall see the wonders of our daring;

And when night comes, with praise and love receive me!

_Belv._ Oh!

_Jaff._ Have a care, and shrink not, even in thought!

For if thou dost--

_Belv._ I know it, thou wilt kill me.

Do, strike thy sword into this bosom: lay me

Dead on the earth, and then thou wilt be safe.

Murder my father! though his cruel nature

Has persecuted me to my undoing,

Driven me to basest wants, can I behold him,

With smiles of vengeance, butchered in his age?

The sacred fountain of my life destroyed?

And canst thou shed the blood that gave me being?

Nay, be a traitor too, and sell thy country?

Can thy great heart descend so vilely low,

Mix with hired slaves, bravos, and common stabbers,

Nose-slitters, alley-lurking villains--join

With such a crew, and take a ruffian's wages,

To cut the throats of wretches as they sleep?

_Jaff._ Thou wrong'st me, Belvidera! I've engaged

With men of souls, fit to reform the ills

Of all mankind: there's not a heart amongst them,

But's stout as death, yet honest as the nature

Of man first made, ere fraud and vice were fashions.

_Belv._ What's he to whose cursed hands last night thou gavest me?

Was that well done? Oh! I could tell a story

Would rouse thy lion-heart out of its den,

And make it rage with terrifying fury.

_Jaff._ Speak on, I charge thee!

_Belv._ O my love! if e'er

Thy Belvidera's peace deserved thy care,

Remove me from this place--last night, last night!

_Jaff._ Distract me not, but give me all the truth.

_Belv._ No sooner wert thou gone, and I alone,

Left in the power of that old son of mischief;

No sooner was I lain on my sad bed,

But that vile wretch approached me, loose, unbuttoned,

Ready for violation: then my heart

Throbbed with its fears: oh, how I wept and sighed,

And shrunk and trembled, wished in vain for him

That should protect me! Thou, alas! wert gone.

_Jaff._ Patience, sweet Heaven! till I make vengeance sure.

_Belv._ He drew the hideous dagger forth thou gavest him,

And with upbraiding smiles, he said, "Behold it;

This is the pledge of a false husband's love":

And in my arms then pressed, and would have clasped me;

But with my cries I scared his coward-heart,

Till he withdrew, and muttered vows to hell.

These are thy friends! with these thy life, thy honour,

Thy love, all's staked, and all will go to ruin!

_Jaff._ No more: I charge thee keep this secret close;

Clear up thy sorrows, look as if thy wrongs

Were all forgot, and treat him like a friend,

As no complaint were made. No more; retire,

Retire, my life, and doubt not of my honour;

I'll heal its failings and deserve thy love.

_Belv._ Oh, should I part with thee, I fear thou wilt

In anger leave me, and return no more.

_Jaff._ Return no more! I would not live without thee

Another night, to purchase the creation.

_Belv._ When shall we meet again?

_Jaff._ Anon, at twelve:

I'll steal myself to thy expecting arms,

Come like a travelled dove, and bring thee peace.

_Belv._ Indeed?

_Jaff._ By all our loves!

_Belv._ 'Tis hard to part:

But sure no falsehood ever looked so fairly.

Farewell--remember twelve. [_Exit._

_Jaff._ Let Heaven forget me

When I remember not thy truth, thy love.

How cursed is my condition! tossed and justled

From every corner; fortune's common fool,

The jest of rogues, an instrumental ass

For villains to lay loads of shame upon,

And drive about just for their ease and scorn.

_Enter_ PIERRE.

_Pier._ Jaffier!

_Jaff._ Who calls?

_Pier._ A friend, that could have wished

To have found thee otherwise employed: what, hunt

A wife on the dull foil! sure a staunch husband

Of all hounds is the dullest. Wilt thou never,

Never be weaned from caudles and confections?

What feminine tale hast thou been listening to

Of unaired shirts, catarrhs and toothache got

By thin-soled shoes? Damnation! that a fellow,

Chosen to be a sharer in the destruction

Of a whole people, should sneak thus in corners

To ease his fulsome lusts, and fool his mind!

_Jaff._ May not a man then trifle out an hour

With a kind woman, and not wrong his calling?

_Pier._ Not in a cause like ours.

_Jaff._ Then, friend, our cause

Is in a damned condition: for I'll tell thee,

That canker-worm called lechery has touched it;

'Tis tainted vilely. Wouldst thou think it, Renault.

(That mortified, old, withered, winter-rogue)

Loves simple fornication like a priest?

I found him out for watering at my wife:

He visited her last night, like a kind guardian.

Faith, she has some temptations, that's the truth on't.

_Pier._ He durst not wrong his trust?

_Jaff._ 'Twas something late, though,

To take the freedom of a lady's chamber.

_Pier._ Was she in bed?

_Jaff._ Yes, faith, in virgin sheets

White as her bosom, Pierre, dished neatly up,

Might tempt a weaker appetite to taste.

Oh, how the old fox stunk, I warrant thee,

When the rank fit was on him!

_Pier._ Patience guide me!

He used no violence?

_Jaff._ No, no! out on't, violence!

Played with her neck, brushed her with his gray beard,

Struggled and towzed, tickled her till she squeaked a little,

May be, or so--but not a jot of violence.

_Pier._ Damn him!

_Jaff._ Ay, so say I: but hush, no more on't;

All hitherto is well, and I believe

Myself no monster,[71] yet: though no man knows

What fate he's born to. Sure 'tis near the hour

We all should meet for our concluding orders.

Will the ambassador be here in person?

_Pier._ No; he has sent commission to that villain,

Renault, to give the executing charge;

I'd have thee be a man, if possible,

And keep thy temper; for a brave revenge

Ne'er comes too late.

_Jaff._ Fear not, I'm cool as patience:

Had he completed my dishonour, rather

Than hazard the success our hopes are ripe for,

I'd bear it all with mortifying virtue.

_Pier._ He's yonder coming this way through the hall;

His thoughts seem full.

_Jaff._ Pr'ythee retire, and leave me

With him alone: I'll put him to some trial,

See how his rotten part will bear the touching.

_Pier._ Be careful then. [_Exit._

_Jaff._ Nay, never doubt, but trust me.--

What, be a devil! take a damning oath

For shedding native blood! can there be a sin

In merciful repentance? O this villain!

_Enter_ RENAULT.

_Ren._ Perverse! and peevish! what a slave is man,

To let his itching flesh thus get the better of him!

Despatch the tool her husband--that were well--

Who's there?

_Jaff._ A man.

_Ren._ My friend, my near ally!

The hostage of your faith, my beauteous charge

Is very well.

_Jaff._ Sir, are you sure of that?

Stands she in perfect health? beats her pulse even?

Neither too hot nor cold?

_Ren._ What means that question?

_Jaff._ Oh, women have fantastic constitutions,

Inconstant as their wishes, always wavering,

And never fixed. Was it not boldly done,

Even at first sight to trust the thing I loved--

A tempting treasure too!--with youth so fierce

And vigorous as thine?--but thou art honest.

_Ren._ Who dares accuse me?

_Jaff._ Cursed be him that doubts

Thy virtue! I have tried it, and declare,

Were I to choose a guardian of my honour,

I'd put it in thy keeping; for I know thee.

_Ren._ Know me?

_Jaff._ Ay, know thee: there's no falsehood in thee,

Thou look'st just as thou art: let us embrace.

Now wouldst thou cut my throat, or I cut thine?

_Ren._ You dare not do it.

_Jaff._ You lie, sir.

_Ren._ How!

_Jaff._ No more.

'Tis a base world, and must reform, that's all.

_Enter_ SPINOSA, THEODORE, ELIOT, REVILLIDO,

DURAND, BRAINVILLE, _and the rest of the_

_Conspirators._

_Ren._ Spinosa! Theodore!

_Spin._ The same.

_Ren._ You are welcome!

_Spin._ You are trembling, sir.

_Ren._ 'Tis a cold night indeed, I am aged,

Full of decay and natural infirmities:

We shall be warm, my friend, I hope, to-morrow.

_Re-enter_ PIERRE.

_Pier._ [_Aside to_ JAFFIER.] 'Twas not well done thou shouldst

have strokèd him,

And not have galled him.

_Jaff._ [_Aside to_ PIERRE.] Damn him! let him chew on it.

Heaven! where am I? beset with cursèd fiends,

That wait to damn me. What a devil's man,

When he forgets his nature! Hush, my heart!

_Ren._ My friends, 'tis late; are we assembled all?

Where's Theodore?

_Theo._ At hand.

_Ren._ Spinosa?

_Spin._ Here.

_Ren._ Brainville?

_Brain._ I'm ready.

_Ren._ Durand and Brabe?

_Dur._ Command us;

We are both prepared.