_Bel._ Still so kind?

Still then do you love me?

_Jaf._ Man ne'er was blest Since the first pair met, as I have been.

_Bel._ Then sure you will not curse me?

_Jaf._ No, I'll bless thee.

I came on purpose, Belvidera, to bless thee.

Tis now, I think, three years, we've liv'd together.

_Bel._ And may no fatal minute ever part us, Till, reverend grown for age and love, we go Down to one grave, as our last bed, together; There sleep in peace, till an eternal morning.

_Jaf._ Did I not say, I came to bless thee?

_Bel._ You did.

_Jaf._ Then hear me, bounteous heav'n: Pour down your blessings on this beauteous head, Where everlasting sweets are always springing With a continual giving hand: let peace, Honour, and safety, always hover round her; Feed her with plenty; let her eyes ne'er see A sight of sorrow, nor her heart know mourning: Crown all her days with joy, her nights with rest, Harmless as her own thoughts; and prop her virtue, To bear the loss of one that too much lov'd; And comfort her with patience in our parting.

_Bel._ How! Parting, parting!

_Jaf._ Yes, for ever parting; I have sworn, Belvidera, by yon heav'n, That best can tell how much I lose to leave thee, We part this hour for ever.

_Bel._ O! call back Your cruel blessing; stay with me and curse me.

_Jaf._ Now hold, heart, or never.

_Bel._ By all the tender days we've liv'd together, Pity my sad condition; speak, but speak.

_Jaf._ Oh!--oh!--

_Bel._ By these arms, that now cling round thy neck, By these poor streaming eyes--

_Jaf._ Murder! unhold me: By th' immortal destiny that doom'd me [_draws dagger._ To this curs'd minute, I'll not live one longer; Resolve to let me go, or see me fall---- Hark, the dismal bell [_pa.s.sing-bell tolls._ Tolls out for death! I must attend its call too; For my poor friend, my dying Pierre, expects me: He sent a message to require I'd see him Before he died, and take his last forgiveness.

Farewell, for ever.

_Bel._ Leave thy dagger with me, Bequeath me something--Not one kiss at parting?

Oh! my poor heart, when wilt thou break?

[_going out, looks back at him._

_Jaf._ Yet stay: We have a child, as yet a tender infant.

Be a kind mother to him when I'm gone; Breed him in virtue, and the paths of honour, But never let him know his father's story; I charge thee, guard him from the wrongs my fate May do his future fortune, or his name.

Now--nearer yet-- [_approaching each other._ Oh! that my arms were rivetted Thus round thee ever! But my friend! my oath!

This and no more. [_kisses her._

_Bel._ Another, sure another, For that poor little one you've ta'en such care of.

I'll giv't him truly.

_Jaf._ So now, farewell.

_Bel._ For ever?

_Jaf._ Heav'n knows, for ever; all good angels guard thee. [_exit._

_Bel._ All ill ones sure had charge of me this moment.

Curs'd be my days, and doubly curs'd my nights.

Oh! give me daggers, fire, or water: How I could bleed, how burn, how drown, the waves Huzzing and booming round my sinking head, Till I descended to the peaceful bottom!

Oh! there's all quiet, here all rage and fury: The air's too thin, and pierces my weak brain; I long for thick substantial sleep; h.e.l.l! h.e.l.l!

Burst from the centre, rage and roar aloud, If thou art half so hot, so mad, as I am. [_exit._

SCENE III. A SCAFFOLD, AND A WHEEL PREPARED FOR THE EXECUTION OF PIERRE.

_Enter Officer, Pierre, Guards, Executioner, &c._

_Pier._ My friend not come yet?

_Enter Jaffier._

_Jaf._ Oh, Pierre!

_Pier._ Yet nearer.

Dear to my arms, though thou'st undone my fame, I can't forget to love thee. Pr'ythee, Jaffier, Forgive that filthy blow my pa.s.sion dealt thee; I'm now preparing for the land of peace, And fain would have the charitable wishes Of all good men, like thee, to bless my journey.

_Jaf._ Good! I am the vilest creature, worse than e'er Suffer'd the shameful fate thou'rt going to taste of.

_Offi._ The time grows short, your friends are dead already.

_Jaf._ Dead!

_Pier._ Yes, dead, Jaffier; they've all died like men too, Worthy their character.

_Jaf._ And what must I do?

_Pier._ Oh, Jaffier!

_Jaf._ Speak aloud thy burthen'd soul, And tell thy troubles to thy tortur'd friend.

_Pier._ Friend! Couldst thou yet be a friend, a generous friend, I might hope comfort from thy n.o.ble sorrows.

Heav'n knows I want a friend.

_Jaf._ And I a kind one, That would not thus scorn my repenting virtue, Or think, when he's to die, my thoughts are idle.

_Pier._ No! live, I charge thee, Jaffier.

_Jaf._ Yes, I will live: But it shall be to see thy fall reveng'd At such a rate, as Venice long shall groan for.

_Pier._ Wilt thou?

_Jaf._ I will, by heav'n.