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 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.
Jaf. Now, thank Heaven——
Pier. Thank Heaven! for what?
Jaf. That I am 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 truth, no trust; where Innocence
Stoops under vile Oppression, and Vice lords it!
Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how at last
Thy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretch
That's doomed to banishment, came weeping forth,
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.
Jaf. I thank thee for this story; from my soul;
Since now I know the worst that can befall me.
Ah, Pierre! I have a heart that could have borne
The roughest wrong my fortune could have done me;
But when I think what Belvidera feels,
The bitterness her tender 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.
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.
Jaf. 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 churchyard, and mingle thy brave dust.
With stinking rogues, that rot in winding-sheets,
Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung o' th' soil!
Faf. Oh!
Pier. Well said: out with't, swear a little
Jaf. Swear! By sea and air, by earth, by heaven and hell,
I will revenge my Belvidera's tears.
Hark, thee, my friend! Priuli-is—a senator.
Pier. A dog!
Faf. Agreed.
Pier. Shoot him!
Jaf. 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-
Faf. Farewell.
Pier. At twelve.
Jaf. At any hour; my plagues
Will keep me waking.
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 burdens?
Why have I sense to know the curse that's on me?
Is this just dealing, Nature?-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 their spring,
And cheer my fainting soul.
Were in their spring! Has, then, our 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 ?
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 !
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.
Bel. 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 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. 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?
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?
Bel. Oh! I will love thee, even in madness love thee, Though my distracted senses should forsake me;
I'd find some intervals, when my poor heart
Should 'suage itself, and be let loose to thine.
Though the bare earth be all our resting-place,
Its roots our food, some cleft our habitation,
I'll make this arm a pillow for thine head;
And, as thou sighing liest, and swelled with sorrow,
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