START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENICE PRESERVED*** E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 30934-h.htm or 30934-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30934/30934-h/30934-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30934/30934-h.zip) VENICE PRESERVED. A Tragedy, In Five Acts; by THOMAS OTWAY. Correctly Given, As Performed at the Theatres Royal. With Remarks. [Illustration] [Illustration] London: Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch-street; Sold by T. Hughes, 35, Ludgate Street, and J. Bysh, 52, Paternoster Row. REMARKS. This interesting tragedy owes its plot and plan to the Abbé de St. Réal's "_Histoire de la Conjuration de Marquis de Bedamar_," or account of the Spanish conspiracy at Venice, of which the Marquis de Bedamar, the ambassador from Spain, was a promoter. Nature and the passions are finely touched in this play; and it continues a favorite, deprived, as it now is in representation, of that mixture of vile comedy which originally diversified the tragic action. It has been remarked, that Belvidera is the only truly valuable character; and indeed the principal fault of this drama seems a want of sufficient and probable motive. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Drury Lane, 1814. Covent Garden, 1817. Duke of Venice Mr. Carr. Mr. Creswell. Priuli Mr. Powell. Mr. Egerton. Bedamar Mr. J. Wallack. Mr. Connor. Jaffier Mr. Rae. Mr. C. Kemble. Pierre Mr. Elliston. Mr. Young. Renault Mr. R. Phillips. Mr. Chapman. Elliott Mr. Waldegrave. Mr. Hamerton. Spinosa Mr. Elrington. Mr. Claremont. Theodore Mr. J. West. Mr. King. Durand Mr. Wallack. Mr. Grant. Mezzana Mr. Buxton. Mr. Norris. Officers { Messrs. Ray and Messrs. Jeffrey and { Cooke. Tooley. Belvidera Miss Smith. Miss O'Neill. Officers, Guards, Senators, Executioner, &c. VENICE PRESERVED. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. A STREET IN VENICE. _Enter Priuli and Jaffier._ _Pri._ No more! I'll hear no more! Be gone 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 In right, though proud oppression will not hear me? _Pri._ Have you not wrong'd me? _Jaf._ Could my nature e'er Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrongs, I need not now thus low have bent myself To gain a hearing from a cruel father. Wrong'd you? _Pri._ Yes, wrong'd 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 look'd on, By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation, Pleas'd with your growing virtue, I receiv'd 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 us'd 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 practis'd to undo me. _Jaf._ 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 wak'd, but to a joyful morning; Yet now must fall, like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd 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 glitt'ring 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._ _Jaf._ Yes, if my heart would let me-- This proud, this swelling heart: home I would go, But that my doors are baleful to my eyes, Fill'd and dam'd up with gaping creditors, Watchful as fowlers when their game will spring. I've now not fifty ducats in the world, Yet still I am in love, and pleas'd with ruin. Oh! 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? _Jaf._ I'm thinking, Pierre, how that damn'd starving quality, Call'd 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 hang'd for murder. 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 uncontrol'd above their betters. _Jaf._ Then honesty is but a notion? _Pier._ Nothing else; Like wit, much talk'd of, not to be defin'd: He that pretends to most, too, has least share in't. 'Tis a ragged virtue: Honesty! no more on't. _Jaf._ Sure thou art honest! _Pier._ So, indeed, men think me; But they're mistaken, Jaffier: I'm a rogue As well as they; A fine, gay, bold-fac'd 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; Yet, Jaffier, for all this I'm 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 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. _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'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 'em) Serve but for instruments of some new tyranny, That every day starts up, t' 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 moment. _Jaf._ Curs'd be the cause, though I thy friend be part on't: Let me partake the troubles of thy bosom, For I am us'd to misery, and perhaps May find a way to sweeten't 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 pass'd 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 sign'd 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 intermix'd and wrought with gold; The very bed, which on thy wedding-night Receiv'd 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 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 doom'd 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 lean'd, Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad, As if they catch'd the sorrows that fell from her. Ev'n the lewd rabble, that were gather'd round To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her; Govern'd their roaring throats, and grumbled pity. I could have hugg'd the greasy rogues: they pleas'd 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 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 stamp'd 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 interr'd 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! _Jaf._ Oh! _Pier._ Well said, out with't, swear a little-- _Jaf._ Swear! By sea and air; by earth, by heav'n, 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. _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-- _Jaf._ Farewell. _Pier._ At twelve. _Jaf._ At any hour; my plagues Will keep me waking. [_exit Pierre._ 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 their spring, And cheer my fainting soul. _Jaf._ As when our loves Were in their spring! Has then our fortune chang'd? Art thou not Belvidera, still the same, Kind, good, and tender, as my arms first found thee? If thou art alter'd, 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 hugg'd thee first, And bless'd 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'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. O! 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 ev'ry 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 chases me in view. Canst thou bear cold and hunger? Can these limbs, Fram'd for the tender offices of love, Endure the bitter gripes of smarting poverty? When banish'd 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 'swage 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 ly'st, and swell'd 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. _Jaf._ Hear this, ye heav'ns! 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 th' 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 wreck'd, Like a poor merchant driven to unknown land, That had by chance pack'd up his choicest treasure In one dear casket, and sav'd only that; Since I must wander further on the shore, Thus hug my little, but my precious store, Resolv'd to scorn and trust my fate no more. [_exeunt._ ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. THE RIALTO. _Enter Jaffier._ _Jaf._ 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 me not be quiet. I've heard how desperate wretches, like myself, Have wander'd out at this dead time of night, To meet the foe of mankind in his walk. Sure I'm so curs'd 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 staid too long: The clock has struck, and I may lose my proselyte. Speak, who goes there? _Jaf._ 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! _Jaf._ The same. _Pier._ Where's Belvidera?-- _Jaf._ For a day or two I've lodg'd her privately, till I see further What fortune will do for me. Pr'ythee, friend, If thou wouldst have me fit to hear good counsel, Speak not of Belvidera-- _Pier._ Not of her! _Jaf._ Oh, no! _Pier._ Not name her! May be I wish her well. _Jaf._ Whom well? _Pier._ Thy wife; thy lovely Belvidera. I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well, And no harm done? _Jaf._ Y' are merry, Pierre. _Pier._ I am so: Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile: We'll all rejoice. Here's something to buy pins; Marriage is chargeable. [_gives him a purse._ _Jaf._ I but half wish'd To see the devil, and he's here already. Well! What must this buy? Rebellion, murder, treason? Tell me, which way I must be damn'd for this. _Pier._ When last we parted, we'd no qualms like these, But entertain'd each other's thoughts like men Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world Reform'd since our last meeting? What new miracles Have happen'd? Has Priuli's heart relented? Can he be honest? _Jaf._ Kind heav'n, let heavy curses Gall his old age; cramps, aches, rack his bones, And bitterest disquiet wring his heart. Oh! let him live, till life become his burden: Let him groan under't 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 stretch'd the curse to all The senate round, as to one single villain? _Jaf._ 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. Oh! for a curse To kill with! _Pier._ Daggers! daggers are much better. _Jaf._ Ha! _Pier._ Daggers. _Jaf._ But where are they? _Pier._ Oh! a thousand May be dispos'd of, in honest hands, in Venice. _Jaf._ Thou talk'st in clouds. _Pier._ But yet a heart, half wrong'd As thine has been, would find the meaning, Jaffier. _Jaf._ 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 cherish'd T' a nobler purpose, I would be thy friend; But thou hast better friends; friends whom thy wrongs Have made thy friends; friends worthy to be call'd so. I'll trust thee with a secret. There are spirits This hour at work.--But as thou art a man, Whom I have pick'd 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. _Jaf._ When thou wouldst bind me, is there need of oaths? For thou'rt so near my heart, that thou may'st 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 villainous, 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't; Openly act a deed the world shall gaze With wonder at, and envy when 'tis done. _Jaf._ For liberty! _Pier._ For liberty, my friend. Thou shalt be freed from base Priuli's tyranny, And thy sequester'd fortunes heal'd again: I shall be free 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 pull'd From wisdom's seat; those baleful, unclean birds, Those lazy owls, who, perch'd near fortune's top, Sit only watchful with their heavy wings To cuff down new-fledg'd virtues, that would rise To nobler heights, and make the grove harmonious. _Jaf._ What can I do? _Pier._ Canst thou not kill a senator? _Jaf._ 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! _Jaf._ I do, by all those glittering stars, And yon great ruling planet of the night; By all good pow'rs above, and ill below; By love and friendship, dearer than my life, No pow'r 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-- _Jaf._ I give thee thanks For this kind warning. Yes, I'll 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! _Jaf._ Revenge--revenge-- [_exeunt._ SCENE II. AQUILINA'S HOUSE. _Enter Renault._ _Ren._ Why was my choice ambition? the worst ground A wretch can build on! It's, indeed, at distance, A goodly prospect, tempting to the view; The height delights us, and the mountain top Looks beautiful, because it's nigh to heav'n. 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 turn'd 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 mix'd, like mine, With giddy tempers, souls but half resolv'd. _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 Elliott._ O, sir, welcome! You are an Englishman: when treason's hatching, One might have thought you'd not have been behindhand. 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. _Ell._ Frenchman, you are saucy. _Ren._ How! _Enter Bedamar, the Ambassador; Theodore, Bramveil, 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, T' adorn the bravest purpose it e'er smil'd 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._ Elliott, 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 not it already? _Ell._ Would 'twere tumbling. _Bed._ Nay, it shall down; this night we seal its ruin. _Enter Pierre._ Oh, 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. Oh, my Mars! The poets that first feign'd a god of war, Sure prophesied of thee. _Pier._ Friend, was not Brutus (I mean that Brutus, who in open senate Stabb'd the first Cæsar that usurp'd the world), A gallant man? _Ren._ Yes, and Catiline too; Though story wrong his fame: for he conspir'd 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 or hand amongst us, But is firm and ready. _All._ All. We'll die with Bedamar. _Bed._ O men Matchless! as will your glory be hereafter: The game is for a matchless prize, if won; If lost, disgraceful ruin. _Pier._ Ten thousand men are armed at your nod, Commanded all by leaders fit to guide A battle for the freedom of the world: This wretched state has starv'd them in its service; And, by your bounty quicken'd, they're resolved To serve your glory, and revenge their own: They've all their different quarters in this city, Watch for th' 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 resolv'd we meet No more, till Venice owns us for her lords. _Pier._ How lovelily the Adriatic whore, Dress'd 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 Amongst us, that owns this glorious cause, Have friends or interest he'd wish to save, Let it be told: the general doom is seal'd; 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 touch'd 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 chang'd a vow to live and die together, And he's at hand to ratify it here. _Ren._ How! all betray'd! _Pier._ No--I've nobly dealt with you; I've brought my all into the public stock: I've but one friend, and him I'll share among you: Receive and cherish him; or if, when seen And search'd, you find him worthless,--as my tongue Has lodg'd 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. _Jaf._ I know you'll wonder all, that, thus uncall'd, I dare approach this place of fatal councils; But I'm amongst you, and by heav'n 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 curs'd 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 th' arsenal, and set its gates on fire. _Ren._ You talk this well, sir. _Jaf._ Nay--by heaven I'll do this. Come, come, I read distrust in all your faces; You fear me villain, and, indeed, it's 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 councils. I hate this senate, am a foe to Venice; A friend to none, but men resolv'd 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 lov'd these huggers. _Jaf._ Still I see The cause delights ye not. Your friends survey me As I were dangerous--But I come arm'd Against all doubts, and to your trust will give A pledge, worth more than all the world can pay for. My Belvidera. Hoa; my Belvidera! _Bed._ What wonder's next? _Jaf._ Let me entreat you, As I have henceforth hopes to call you friends, That all but the ambassador, and this Grave guide of councils, with my friend that owns me, Withdraw awhile, to spare a woman's blushes. [_exeunt all but Bedamar, Renault, Jaffier, and Pierre._ _Enter Belvidera._ _Bed._ Pierre, whither will this ceremony lead us? _Jaf._ My Belvidera! Belvidera! _Bel._ 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? _Jaf._ Indeed 'tis late. _Bel._ 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! Heav'ns guard my love, and bless his heart with patience. _Jaf._ That I have patience, let our fate bear witness, Who has ordain'd it so, that thou and I (Thou, the divinest good man e'er possess'd, And I, the wretched'st of the race of man) This very hour, without one tear, must part. _Bel._ Part! must we part? Oh, am I then forsaken? Why drag you from me? Whither are you going? My dear! my life! my love! _Jaf._ Oh, friends! _Bel._ Speak to me. _Jaf._ Take her from my heart, She'll gain such hold else, I shall ne'er get loose. I charge thee take her, but with tender'st care Relieve her troubles, and assuage her sorrows. _Ren._ Rise, madam, and command amongst your servants. _Jaf._ 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. _Bel._ Nay, take my life, since he has sold it cheaply. O! thou unkind one; Never meet more! have I deserv'd this from you; Look on me, tell me, speak, thou fair 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-- [_ex. Ren. Bed. and Bel._ _Jaf._ Oh! my eyes, Look not that way, but turn yourselves awhile Into my heart, and be wean'd altogether. My friend, where art thou? _Pier._ Here, my honour's brother. _Jaf._ Is Belvidera gone? _Pier._ Renault has led her Back to her own apartment; but, by heav'n, Thou must not see her more, till our work's over. _Jaf._ No! _Pier._ Not for your life. _Jaf._ Oh, Pierre, wert thou but she, How I would pull thee down into my heart, Gaze on thee, till my eye-strings crack'd with love; 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._ ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. A CHAMBER. _Enter Belvidera._ _Bel._ I'm sacrific'd! I'm sold! betray'd to shame! Inevitable ruin has enclos'd me! He that should guard my virtue has betray'd it; Left me! undone me! Oh, that I could hate him! Where shall I go? Oh, whither, whither, wander? _Enter Jaffier._ _Jaf._ Can Belvidera want a resting-place, When these poor arms are ready to receive her? There was a time---- _Bel._ Yes, yes, there was a time, When Belvidera's tears, her cries, and sorrows, Were not despis'd; when, if she chanc'd to sigh, Or look'd but sad--there was indeed a time, When Jaffier would have ta'en her in his arms, Eas'd her declining head upon his breast, And never left her till he found the cause. _Jaf._ Oh, Portia, Portia! what a soul was thine! _Bel._ That Portia was a woman; and when Brutus, Big with the fate of Rome, (heav'n guard thy safety!) Conceal'd from her the labours of his mind; She let him see her blood was great as his, Flow'd 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 gav'st 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. _Jaf._ Oh! Belvidera! _Bel._ Why was I last night deliver'd to a villain? _Jaf._ Ha! a villain? _Bel._ Yes, to a villain! why at such an hour Meets that assembly, all made up of wretches? Why, I in this hand, and in that a dagger, Was I deliver'd with such dreadful ceremonies? To you, sirs, and to your honours, 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 conceal'd 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 the slaves; Straight to the senate, tell 'em all I know, All that I think, all that my fears inform me. _Jaf._ Is this the Roman virtue; this the blood That boasts its purity with Cato's daughter? Would she have e'er betrayed her Brutus? _Bel._ No: For Brutus trusted her. Wert thou so kind, What would not Belvidera suffer for thee? _Jaf._ I shall undo myself, and tell thee all. 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!-- _Bel._ Shall I swear! _Jaf._ No, do not swear: I would not violate Thy tender nature, with so rude a bond: But as thou hop'st 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---- _Bel._ Speak! _Jaf._ To kill thy father---- _Bel._ My father! _Jaf._ Nay, the throats of the whole senate Shall bleed, my Belvidera. He amongst us, That spares his father, brother, or his friend, Is damn'd. _Bel._ Oh! _Jaf._ Have a care, and shrink not even in thought. For if thou dost---- _Bel._ 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, butcher'd in his age? The sacred fountain of my life destroy'd? 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 hir'd slaves, bravoes, 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? _Jaf._ 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 among them But's stout as death, yet honest as the nature Of man first made, ere fraud and vice were fashion. _Bel._ What's he, to whose curs'd hands last night thou gav'st 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. _Jaf._ Speak on, I charge thee. _Bel._ O my love! If e'er Thy Belvidera's peace deserv'd thy care, Remove me from this place. Last night, last night! _Jaf._ Distract me not, but give me all the truth. _Bel._ No sooner wert thou gone, and I alone, Left in the pow'r of that old son of mischief; No sooner was I lain on my sad bed, But that vile wretch approach'd me, loose, unbutton'd, Ready for violation. Then my heart Throbb'd with its fears: Oh, how I wept and sigh'd, And shrunk and trembled! wish'd in vain for him That should protect me! Thou, alas! wert gone. _Jaf._ Patience, sweet heav'n, 'till I make vengeance sure. _Bel._ He drew the hideous dagger forth, thou gav'st him, And with upbraiding smiles, he said, Behold it: This is the pledge of a false husband's love: And in my arms then press'd, and would have clasp'd me; But with my cries I scar'd his coward heart, 'Till he withdrew, and mutter'd vows to hell. These are thy friends! with these thy life, thy honour, Thy love, all stak'd, and all will go to ruin. _Jaf._ 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. _Bel._ Oh! should I part with thee, I fear thou wilt In anger leave me, and return no more. _Jaf._ Return no more! I would not live without thee Another night, to purchase the creation. _Bel._ When shall we meet again? _Jaf._ Anon, at twelve I'll steal myself to thy expecting arms: Come like a travell'd dove, and bring thee peace. _Bel._ Indeed! _Jaf._ By all our loves. _Bel._ 'Tis hard to part: But sure no falsehood ever look'd so fairly. Farewell; remember twelve. [_exit._ _Jaf._ Let heav'n forget me, When I remember not thy truth, thy love. _Enter Pierre._ _Pier._ Jaffier! _Jaf._ Who calls? _Pier._ A friend, that could have wish'd T' have found thee otherwise employ'd. What, hunt A wife, on the dull soil! Sure a staunch husband Of all hounds is the dullest. Wilt thou never, Never, be wean'd from caudles and confections? What feminine tales hast thou been list'ning to, Of unair'd shirts, catarrhs, and tooth-ache, got By thin-sol'd shoes? Damnation! that a fellow, Chosen to be a sharer in the destruction Of a whole people, should sneak thus into corners To ease his fulsome lusts, and fool his mind. _Jaf._ 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. _Jaf._ Then, friend, our cause Is in a damn'd condition: for I'll tell thee, That cankerworm, call'd lechery, has touch'd it; 'Tis tainted vilely. Wouldst thou think it? Renault (That mortify'd, old, wither'd, winter rogue,) He visited her last night, like a kind guardian: Faith! she has some temptation, that's the truth on't. _Pier._ He durst not wrong his trust. _Jaf._ 'Twas something late, though, To take the freedom of a lady's chamber. _Pier._ Was she in bed? _Jaf._ Yes, faith, in virgin sheets, White as her bosom, Pierre, dish'd 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 us'd no violence? _Jaf._ No, no; out on't, violence! Play'd with her neck; brush'd her with his grey beard; But not a jot of violence. _Pier._ Damn him. _Jaf._ Ay, so say I: but hush, no more on't. All hitherto is well, and I believe Myself no monster yet. Sure it is 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. _Jaf._ Fear not, I am cool as patience. _Pier._ He's yonder, coming this way through the hall; His thoughts seem full. _Jaf._ Pr'ythee retire, and leave me With him alone: I'll put him on some trial; See how his rotten part will bear the touching. _Pier._ Be careful, then. [_exit._ _Jaf._ 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? Oh, this villain! _Enter Renault._ _Ren._ Perverse and peevish! What a slave is man To let his rebel passions master him! Despatch the tool her husband--that were well. Who's there? _Jaf._ A man. _Ren._ My friend, my near ally, The hostage of your faith, my beauteous charge, is very well. _Jaf._ 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? _Jaf._ Oh! women have fantastic constitutions, Inconstant in their wishes, always wavering, And never fix'd. Was it not boldly done, Even at first sight, to trust the thing I lov'd (A tempting treasure too) with youth so fierce And vigorous as thine? but thou art honest. _Ren._ Who dares accuse me? _Jaf._ Curs'd be he that doubts Thy virtue! I have try'd 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! _Jaf._ Ay, know thee. There's no falsehood in thee. Thou look'st just as thou art. Let us embrace. Now would'st thou cut my throat, or I cut thine. _Ren._ You dare not do't. _Jaf._ You lie, sir. _Ren._ How! _Jaf._ No more, 'Tis a base world, and must reform, that's all. _Enter Spinosa, Theodore, Elliott, Revillido, Durand, Bramveil, 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, and I am aged; Full of decay and natural infirmities: _Re-enter Pierre._ We shall be warm, my friends, I hope, to-morrow. _Pier._ 'Twas not well done; thou shouldst have strok'd him, And not have gall'd him. _Jaf._ Damn him, let him chew on't. Heav'n! where am I? beset with cursed 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? To-morrow's rising sun must see you all Deck'd in your honours. Are the soldiers ready? _Pier._ All, all. _Ren._ You, Durand, with your thousand, must possess St. Mark's; you, captain, know your charge already, 'Tis to secure the ducal palace. Be all this done with the least tumult possible, 'Till in each place you post sufficient guards; Then sheathe your swords in every breast you meet. _Jaf._ Oh! reverend cruelty! damn'd bloody villain! _Ren._ During this execution, Durand, you Must in the midst keep your battalia fast; And, Theodore, be sure to plant the cannon That they may command the streets; This done, we'll give the general alarm, Apply petards, and force the ars'nal gates; Then fire the city round in several places, Or with our cannon (if it dare resist) Batter to ruin. But above all I charge you, Shed blood enough; spare neither sex nor age, Name nor condition; if there live a senator After to-morrow, though the dullest rogue That e'er said nothing, we have lost our ends. If possible, let's kill the very name Of senator, and bury it in blood. _Jaf._ Merciless, horrid slave! Ay, blood enough! Shed blood enough, old Renault! how thou charm'st me! _Ren._ But one thing more, and then farewell, till fate Join us again, or sep'rate us for ever. First let's embrace. Heav'n knows who next shall thus Wing ye together; but let's all remember, We wear no common cause upon our swords: Let each man think that on his single virtue Depends the good and fame of all the rest; Eternal honour, or perpetual infamy. You droop, sir. _Jaf._ No; with most profound attention I've heard it all, and wonder at thy virtue. Oh, Belvidera! take me to thy arms, And show me where's my peace, for I have lost it. [_exit._ _Ren._ Without the least remorse then, let's resolve With fire and sword t' exterminate these tyrants, Under whose weight this wretched country labours; The means are only in our hands to crown them. _Pier._ And may those pow'rs above that are propitious To gallant minds, record this cause and bless it. _Ren._ Thus happy, thus secure of all we wish. Should there, my friends, be found among us one False to this glorious enterprise, what fate, What vengeance, were enough for such a villain? _Ell._ Death here without repentance, hell hereafter. _Ren._ Let that be my lot, if as here I stand, Listed by fate among her darling sons, Though I had one only brother, dear by all The strictest ties of nature; could I have such a friend Join'd in this cause, and had but ground to fear He meant foul play; may this right hand drop from me, If I'd not hazard all my future peace, And stab him to the heart before you: who, Who would do less? Wouldst thou not, Pierre, the same? _Pier._ You've singled me, sir, out for this hard question, As if it were started only for my sake! Am I the thing you fear? Here, here's my bosom, Search it with all your swords. Am I a traitor? _Ren._ No: but I fear your late commended friend Is little less. Come, sirs, 'tis now no time To trifle with our safety. Where's this Jaffier? _Spin._ He left the room just now, in strange disorder. _Ren._ Nay, there is danger in him. I observ'd him; During the time I took for explanation, He was transported from most deep attention To a confusion which he could not smother; His looks grew full of sadness and surprise, All which betray'd a wavering spirit in him, That labour'd with reluctancy and sorrow. What's requisite for safety, must be done With speedy execution; he remains Yet in our power: I, for my own part, wear A dagger---- _Pier._ Well. _Ren._ And I could wish it---- _Pier._ Where? _Ren._ Buried in his heart. _Pier._ Away; we're yet all friends, No more of this, 'twill breed ill blood among us. _Spin._ Let us all draw our swords, and search the house, Pull him from the dark hole where he sits brooding O'er his cold fears, and each man kill his share of him. _Pier._ Who talks of killing? Who's he'll shed the blood That's dear to me? is't you, or you, or you, sir? What, not one speak! how you stand gaping all On your grave oracle, your wooden god there! Yet not a word! Then, sir, I'll tell you a secret; Suspicion's but at best a coward's virtue. [_to Ren._ _Ren._ A coward! [_handles his sword._ _Pier._ Put up thy sword, old man; Thy hand shakes at it. Come, let's heal this breach; I am too hot, we yet may all live friends. _Spin._ Till we are safe, our friendship cannot be so. _Pier._ Again! Who's that? _Spin._ 'Twas I. _Theo._ And I. _Ren._ And I. _Omnes._ And
{'title': 'Venice Preserved: A Tragedy by Thomas Otway', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}