SCENE I.-A Street in Venice.

Enter PRIULI and JAFFIER. Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! Begone and leave me.

Jaf. 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

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;

Pri. 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!

Pri. Yes, wronged me! In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you have 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 look-
ed 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 umskilful 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 sca,
And, buffetting 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.

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

At dead of night! that cursed hour you chose,

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!

Pri. 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.
Pri. 'Twould, by heaven!

Once she was dear indeed; the drops that fell
From my sad heart, when she forgot her duty,
The fountain of any life was not so precious-
But she is gone, and, if I am a man,
I will forget her.

Juf. Would I were in my grave!
Pri. And she too with thee:

For, living here, you're but my cursed remem brancers,

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. 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? Pri. You dare not do it.

Juf. 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 wit

ness,

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 na
ture)

The world might see I loved her for herself;
Not as the heiress of the great Priuli.
Pri. No more,

Jaf. Yes, all, and then adicu for ever. There's not a wretch, that lives on common cha

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.

Pri. 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

Pier. My friend, good-morrow. How fares the honest partner of my heart? What, melancholy! not a word to spare me? Jaf. 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

Yet, Jaffier, for all this, I am a villain.
Jaf. 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 shew
Of liberty, which yet they ne'er must taste of.
They say, by them our hands are free from fet-
ters;

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,

While 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.
Jaf. Oh, Aquilina! Friend, to lose such beauty!
The dearest purchase of thy noble labours!
She was thy right by conquest, as by love.
Pier. Oh! Jaffier! I had 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 doats 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 soared 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.

Jaf. I know the wretch, and scorn him as thou
hatest him.

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

Where every slave, that heaps up wealth enough

der.

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 uncontrouled above their betters.
Jaf. Then honesty is but a notion?
Fier. Nothing else;

Like wit, much talked of, not to be defined.
He, that pretends to most, too, has least share
in it.

'Tis a ragged virtue: Honesty! no more of it. Jaf. Sure thou art honest?

Pier. So, indeed, men think me;
But they are 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 me, or crush the wretch
beneath me;

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.
Jaf. 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 called privilege
This was the recompence of all my service.
Would I'd been rather beaten by a coward!
A soldier's mistress, Jaffier, is 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.

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.
Pier. We have 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, oh, Jaffier! then might'st 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 mo

ment.

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 it to thy spirit.
Pier. 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.

Pier, Then thou art ruined!
Jaf. 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 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 taken 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-

Pier. Thank heaven! for what?
Jaf. That I'm not worth a ducat.

Pier. Curse thy dull stars, and the worse fate

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.

Jaf. I thank thee for this story, from my soul; Since now I know the worst, that can befal 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 wea-
ther,

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 art every way its mas

ter.

Jaf. No, there's a secret pride in bravely dying. Fier. Rats die in holes and corners; dogs run

mad:

Man knows a braver remedy for sorrowRevenge, 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! Juf. Oh!

Pier. Well said, out with't, swear a littleJuf. 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.

Jaf. Agreed.

Pier. Shoot him.

Juf. 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 two will meet, and talk of precious
Mischief-

Juf. Farewell.

Pier. At twelve.

Jaf. At any hour; my plagues

Will keep me waking.

[Erit PLERRE

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, dull, and fit to carry burthens?
Why have I sense to know the curse, that's on
me!

Is this just dealing, nature?-Belvidera!

Enter BELVIDERA.

Poor Belvidera!

Bel. 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 sprightly joys.
Oh smile! as when our loves were in the spring,
And cheer my fainting soul.

Jaf. As when our loves

Barren as our misfortunes, where my soul
May have its vent, where I may tell aloud
To the high heavens, and every list'ning 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.

Jaf. 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 chaces 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 stran-
gers,

For charitable succour; wilt thou then,
When in a bed of straw we shrink together,

ed?

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?

Bel. 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.
Jaf. Can there in woman be such glorious

faith?

Sure all ill stories of thy sex are false!
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.

Bel. If love be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich;

I have so much, my heart will surely break with it: 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. O! lead me to some desert wide and wild,

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 'swage 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 thine head;
And, as thou sighing liest, and swelled with sor

row,

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.

Jaf. 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 to unknown land,
That had by chance packed up his choicest trea-

sure

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.

SCENE I.

Enter PIERRE and AQUILINA. Aqui. By all thy wrongs, thou'rt dearer to my arms Than all the wealth of Venice. Prithee 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 have passed

There's such a baneful quality about them,
E'en spoils complexions with their nauseousness;
They infect all they touch: I cannot think
Of tasting any thing a fool has palled.

Aqui. 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 pleasure from them.
Pier. Much good may't do you, madam, with
your senator.

Aqui. 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's a lover,
A mere memento mori to poor woman.
I never lay by his decrepid side,
But all that night I ponder on my grave.

Pier. Would he were well sent thither!
Aqui. 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, 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 your coxcomb; let him not pry, nor lis

Comes here, receive admittance. So, goodnight.

Aqui. 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.

Aqui. Cursed be all fools-I die, if he forsakes me;

And how to keep him, Heaven or hell instruct me! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Rialto.

Enter JAFFIER.

Jaf. I am here; and thus, the shades of nigh 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 Heaven for-
saken,

No minister of darkness cares to tempt me.
Hell, hell! why sleepest thou?