In these distracted times, when each man dreadsThe 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 sakeAnd 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 prepareAnd 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.
In these distracted times, when each man dreadsThe 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 sakeAnd 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 prepareAnd 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."
[62]i.e.Titus Oates and others. The prologue is full of allusions to events of the time.
[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."
[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."
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SCENE—Venice.
VENICE PRESERVED;
OR,
A PLOT DISCOVERED.
EnterPriuliandJaffier.
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 wretchYou think me: patience! where's the distance throwsMe back so far, but I may boldly speakIn right, though proud oppression will not hear me?Priu.Have you not wronged me?Jaff.Could my nature e'erHave 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.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 wretchYou think me: patience! where's the distance throwsMe back so far, but I may boldly speakIn right, though proud oppression will not hear me?
Priu.Have you not wronged me?
Jaff.Could my nature e'erHave 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 homeFrom travel, with such hopes as made you looked onBy 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 meTo 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 graveYour name extinct, no more Priuli heard of.You may remember, scarce five years are pastSince in your brigantine you sailed to seeThe Adriatic wedded by our Duke,[64]And I was with you: your unskilful pilotDashed us upon a rock, when to your boatYou 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 gratitudeRose 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 choseTo 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 makeYour days and nights bitter and grievous! stillMay the hard hand of a vexatious needOppress and grind you, till at last you findThe curse of disobedience all your portion!Jaff.Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain;Heaven has already crowned our faithful lovesWith 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 liveTo bait thee for his bread, and din your earsWith hungry cries; whilst his unhappy motherSits 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 fellFrom 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 manI will forget her.Jaff.Would I were in my grave!Priu.And she too with thee;For, living here, you're but my curst remembrancersI once was happy.Jaff.You use me thus, because you know my soulIs fond of Belvidera: you perceiveMy 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 wrongsAs 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 charityBut's happier than me: for I have knownThe luscious sweets of plenty; every nightHave 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 wifeTo 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.
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 homeFrom travel, with such hopes as made you looked onBy 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 meTo 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 graveYour name extinct, no more Priuli heard of.You may remember, scarce five years are pastSince in your brigantine you sailed to seeThe Adriatic wedded by our Duke,[64]And I was with you: your unskilful pilotDashed us upon a rock, when to your boatYou 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 gratitudeRose 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 choseTo 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 makeYour days and nights bitter and grievous! stillMay the hard hand of a vexatious needOppress and grind you, till at last you findThe curse of disobedience all your portion!
Jaff.Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain;Heaven has already crowned our faithful lovesWith 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 liveTo bait thee for his bread, and din your earsWith hungry cries; whilst his unhappy motherSits 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 fellFrom 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 manI will forget her.
Jaff.Would I were in my grave!
Priu.And she too with thee;For, living here, you're but my curst remembrancersI once was happy.
Jaff.You use me thus, because you know my soulIs fond of Belvidera: you perceiveMy 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 wrongsAs 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 charityBut's happier than me: for I have knownThe luscious sweets of plenty; every nightHave 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 wifeTo 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.
EnterPierre.
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 qualityCalled honesty got footing in the world.Pier. Why, powerful villany first set it up,For its own ease and safety: honest menAre the soft easy cushions on which knavesRepose and fatten. Were all mankind villains,They'd starve each other; lawyers would want practice,Cut-throats rewards; each man would kill his brotherHimself, none would be paid or hanged for murder.Honesty was a cheat invented firstTo 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 rogueAs 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 throatTo 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 flatterA blown-up fool above, or crush the wretchBeneath 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 senatorsCheat the deluded people with a showOf 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 lifeFor time to come, she was my only joy,With which I wished to sweeten future cares;I fancied pleasures, none but one that lovesAnd 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 enoughTo 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 AquilinaA 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 droveThe 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 freeTo 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 liveIn 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 friendsTo do it right—O Jaffier! then mightst thouNot 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 perhapsMay find a way to sweeten it to thy spirit.Pier.Too soon it will reach thy knowledge—Jaff.Then from theeLet it proceed. There's virtue in thy friendshipWould 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 lawThey 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 jestsAt thy undoing; he had ta'en possessionOf all thy ancient most domestic ornaments,Rich hangings, intermixed and wrought with gold;The very bed which on thy wedding-nightReceived thee to the arms of Belvidera,The scene of all thy joys, was violatedBy 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 innocenceStoops under vile oppression, and vice lords it.Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how at lastThy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretchThat'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 roundTo 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 borneThe 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 itWith their great image on our natures. Die!Consider well the cause that calls upon thee,And, if thou'rt base enough, die then. RememberThy Belvidera suffers; Belvidera!Die!—damn first!—what! be decently interredIn a church-yard, and mingle thy brave dustWith 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 twelveI 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 plaguesWill keep me waking.—[ExitPierre.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 whyDidst 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!
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 qualityCalled honesty got footing in the world.
Pier. Why, powerful villany first set it up,For its own ease and safety: honest menAre the soft easy cushions on which knavesRepose and fatten. Were all mankind villains,They'd starve each other; lawyers would want practice,Cut-throats rewards; each man would kill his brotherHimself, none would be paid or hanged for murder.Honesty was a cheat invented firstTo 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 rogueAs 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 throatTo 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 flatterA blown-up fool above, or crush the wretchBeneath 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 senatorsCheat the deluded people with a showOf 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 lifeFor time to come, she was my only joy,With which I wished to sweeten future cares;I fancied pleasures, none but one that lovesAnd 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 enoughTo 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 AquilinaA 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 droveThe 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 freeTo 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 liveIn 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 friendsTo do it right—O Jaffier! then mightst thouNot 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 perhapsMay find a way to sweeten it to thy spirit.
Pier.Too soon it will reach thy knowledge—
Jaff.Then from theeLet it proceed. There's virtue in thy friendshipWould 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 lawThey 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 jestsAt thy undoing; he had ta'en possessionOf all thy ancient most domestic ornaments,Rich hangings, intermixed and wrought with gold;The very bed which on thy wedding-nightReceived thee to the arms of Belvidera,The scene of all thy joys, was violatedBy 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 innocenceStoops under vile oppression, and vice lords it.Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how at lastThy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretchThat'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 roundTo 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 borneThe 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 itWith their great image on our natures. Die!Consider well the cause that calls upon thee,And, if thou'rt base enough, die then. RememberThy Belvidera suffers; Belvidera!Die!—damn first!—what! be decently interredIn a church-yard, and mingle thy brave dustWith 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 twelveI 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 plaguesWill keep me waking.—[ExitPierre.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 whyDidst 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!
EnterBelvidera,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 beatingAt 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 lovesWere 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 decayingWhen thus I throw myself into thy bosom,With all the resolution of strong truth?Beats not my heart, as 'twould alarum thineTo a new charge of bliss? I joy more in theeThan 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 theeTo 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 declareHow 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 soulMay have its vent; where I may tell aloudTo 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 fiendIs 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 thenHush 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 heartShould '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 loveInto 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 knowTranquillity and happiness like mine:Like gaudy ships, the obsequious billows fallAnd 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 treasureIn 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.
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 beatingAt 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 lovesWere 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 decayingWhen thus I throw myself into thy bosom,With all the resolution of strong truth?Beats not my heart, as 'twould alarum thineTo a new charge of bliss? I joy more in theeThan 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 theeTo 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 declareHow 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 soulMay have its vent; where I may tell aloudTo 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 fiendIs 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 thenHush 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 heartShould '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 loveInto 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 knowTranquillity and happiness like mine:Like gaudy ships, the obsequious billows fallAnd 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 treasureIn 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.
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 hemarriedby 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.
[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 hemarriedby 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.
[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 hemarriedby 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.
EnterPierreandAquilina.
Aquil.By all thy wrongs, thou'rt dearer to my armsThan 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 sellsHer 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 thinkOf tasting any thing a fool has palled.Aquil.I loathe and scorn that fool thou mean'st, as muchOr more than thou canst; but the beast has gold,That makes him necessary; power too,To qualify my character, and poise meEqual with peevish virtue, that beholdsMy liberty with envy: in their heartsThey're loose as I am; but an ugly powerSits 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 wretchE'er filled thy Aquilina's arms with pleasure?Think'st thou, because I sometimes give him leaveTo 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 joysThou ever gav'st me, his presence is my penance:The worst thing an old man can be is a lover,A merememento morito 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 weepOver the dying dotard, and kiss him too,In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the timeWas come to pay my sorrows at his funeral,(For he has already made me heir to treasuresWould 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 possessionEven 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 armsAnd 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 passesAmongst his brethren; he'll hide nothing from you:But pump not me for politics. No more!Give order, that whoever in my nameComes 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.
Aquil.By all thy wrongs, thou'rt dearer to my armsThan 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 sellsHer 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 thinkOf tasting any thing a fool has palled.
Aquil.I loathe and scorn that fool thou mean'st, as muchOr more than thou canst; but the beast has gold,That makes him necessary; power too,To qualify my character, and poise meEqual with peevish virtue, that beholdsMy liberty with envy: in their heartsThey're loose as I am; but an ugly powerSits 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 wretchE'er filled thy Aquilina's arms with pleasure?Think'st thou, because I sometimes give him leaveTo 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 joysThou ever gav'st me, his presence is my penance:The worst thing an old man can be is a lover,A merememento morito 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 weepOver the dying dotard, and kiss him too,In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the timeWas come to pay my sorrows at his funeral,(For he has already made me heir to treasuresWould 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 possessionEven 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 armsAnd 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 passesAmongst his brethren; he'll hide nothing from you:But pump not me for politics. No more!Give order, that whoever in my nameComes 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.
EnterJaffier.
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 fiendKnocks 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 nightTo 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?
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 fiendKnocks 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 nightTo 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?
EnterPierre.