Jaff. I'm thinking, Pierre, how that damn'd starv
Call'd honesty, got footing in the world.
Pierre. 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 prac-
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 uncontroll'd above their betters.
Jaff. Then honesty is but a notion?
Pierre. Nothing else;
Like wit, much talk'd off, 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.
Jaff. Sure thou art honest?
Pierre. So, indeed, men think me;
But they are mistaken, Jaffier: I am 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 be-
Yet, Jaffier, for all this I am a villain.
Pierre. 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.
Pierre. We've neither safety, unity, nor peace, my friend,
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, t'enslave us deeper.
Now could this glorious cause but find out friends
To do it right, O Jaffier! then might'st thou
Not wear those 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. Curs'd be the cause, though I, thy friend, be
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.
Pierre. Too soon 'twill reach thy knowledge-
Jaff. Then from thee
Let it proceed. There's virtue in thy friendship, Would make the saddest tale of sorrow pleasing, Strengthen my constancy, and welcome ruin.
Pierre. Then thou art ruin'd!
Jaff. That I long since knew ;
I and ill fortune have been long acquainted.
Pierre. 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 an 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;
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.
Jaff. Now, thank Heaven!
Pierre. Thank Heaven! for what?
Jaff. That I'm not worth a ducat.
Pierre. Curse thy dull stars, and the worse fate of
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,
Whilst two young virgins, on whose arm 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
Jaff. I thank thee for this story, from my soul;
Since now I know the worst that can befall me.
Ah, Pierre! I have a heart that could have borne
The roughest wrong my fortune could have done me;
But when I think what Belvidera feels,
The bitterness her tender spirits taste 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.
Pierre. 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.
Pierre. Rats die in holes and corners, dogs run
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 churchyard, and mingle thy brave dust
With stinking rogues, that rot in winding-sheets,
Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung o'th' soil!
Jaff. Oh!
Pierre. Well said, out with't-swear a little
Jaff. Swear! By sea and air; by earth, by heav'n
I will revenge my Belvidera's tears!
Hark thee, my friend-Priuli-is-a senator!
Pierre. A dog!
Jaff. Agreed.
Pierre. Shoot him!
Jaff. With all my heart!
No more where shall we meet at night?
Pierre. 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
Jaff. Farewell!
Pierre. At twelve.
Jaff. At any hour; my plagues
Will keep me waking.
Tell me why, good Heaven,
Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the spirit,
Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires,
That fill the happiest man? Ah, rather, why
Didst thou not form me sordid as my fate,
Base-minded, dull, and fit to carry burdens?
Why have I sense to know the curse that's on me?
Is this just dealing, nature? Belvidera!
Poor Belvidera!
Bel. [Without.] Lead me, lead me, my virgins, To that kind voice.
My lord, my love, my refuge!
Happy my eyes, when they behold thy face!
My heavy heart will leave its doleful beating
At sight of thee, and bound with sprightful joys.
Oh, smile! as when our loves were in their spring,
And cheer my fainting soul!
Were in their spring! Has then my 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?
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