Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  Oh, lead me to some desert wide and wild,

  Barren as our misfortunes, where my soul

  May have its vent; where I may tell aloud

  To the high Heavens, and every 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 fiend

  Is 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 then

  Hush 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 heart

  Should ‘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 love

  Into 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 know

  Tranquillity and happiness like mine:

  Like gaudy ships, the 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 wrecked,

  Like a poor merchant driven on unknown land,

  That had by chance packed up his choicest treasure

  In 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.

  ACT THE SECOND.

  SCENE I. — Before the House of Aquilina.

  Enter Pierre and Aquilina.

  Aquil. By all thy wrongs, thou’rt dearer to my arms

  Than 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 sells

  Her 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 think

  Of tasting any thing a fool has palled.

  Aquil. I loathe and scorn that fool thou mean’st, as much

  Or more than thou canst; but the beast has gold,

  That makes him necessary; power too,

  To qualify my character, and poise me

  Equal with peevish virtue, that beholds

  My liberty with envy: in their hearts

  They’re loose as I am; but an ugly power

  Sits 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 wretch

  E’er filled thy Aquilina’s arms with pleasure?

  Think’st thou, because I sometimes give him leave

  To 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 joys

  Thou ever gav’st me, his presence is my penance:

  The worst thing an old man can be is a lover,

  A mere memento mori to 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 weep

  Over the dying dotard, and kiss him too,

  In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the time

  Was come to pay my sorrows at his funeral,

  (For he has already made me heir to treasures

  Would 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 possession

  Even of the dismal vault where he lay buried;

  There, like the Ephesian matron dwell, till thou,

  My lovely soldier, com’st to my deliverance:

  Then throwing up my veil, with open arms

  And 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 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 passes

  Amongst his brethren; he’ll hide nothing from you:

  But pump not me for politics. No more!

  Give order, that whoever in my name

  Comes 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.

  SCENE II. — The Rialto.

  Enter Jaffier.

  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 fiend

  Knocks 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 night

  To 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?

  Enter Pierre.

  Pier. Sure I’ve stayed too long:

  The clock has struck, and I may lose my proselyte.

  Speak, who goes there?

  Jaff. 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?

  Jaff. The same. O Pierre! thou’
rt come in season;

  I was just going to pray.

  Pier. Ah, that’s mechanic;

  Priests make a trade on’t, and yet starve by’t too:

  No praying; it spoils business, and time’s precious.

  Where’s Belvidera?

  Jaff. For a day or two

  I’ve lodged her privately, till I see farther

  What fortune will do with me. Pr’ythee, friend,

  If thou wouldst have me fit to hear good counsel,

  Speak not of Belvidera —

  Pier. Speak not of her?

  Jaff. Oh, no!

  Pier. Nor name her? May be I wish her well.

  Jaff. Whom well?

  Pier. Thy wife, the lovely Belvidera;

  I hope a man may wish his friend’s wife well,

  And no harm done!

  Jaff. You’re merry, Pierre!

  Pier. I am so:

  Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile;

  We’ll all rejoice. Here’s something to buy pins;

  [Gives him a purse.

  Marriage is chargeable.

  Jaff. I but half wished

  To see the devil, and he’s here already.

  Well! —

  What must this buy, rebellion, murder, treason?

  Tell me which way I must be damned for this.

  Pier. When last we parted, we’d no qualms like these,

  But entertained each other’s thoughts like men

  Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world

  Reformed since our last meeting? What new miracles

  Have happened? Has Priuli’s heart relented?

  Can he be honest?

  Jaff. Kind Heaven! 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 it 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 stretched the curse to all

  The senate round, as to one single villain?

  Jaff. 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; but their wives and daughters

  Die of their own diseases. Oh for a curse

  To kill with!

  Pier. Daggers — daggers are much better!

  Jaff. Ha!

  Pier. Daggers.

  Jaff. But where are they?

  Pier. Oh, a thousand

  May be disposed in honest hands in Venice.

  Jaff. Thou talk’st in clouds.

  Pier. But yet a heart half wronged

  As thine has been would find the meaning, Jaffier.

  Jaff. 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 to be cherished

  To a nobler purpose, I would be that friend.

  But thou hast better friends; friends whom thy wrongs

  Have made thy friends; friends worthy to be called so.

  I’ll trust thee with a secret: there are spirits

  This hour at work. But as thou art a man

  Whom I have picked 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.

  Jaff. When thou wouldst bind me, is there need of oaths? —

  Green-sickness girls lose maidenheads with such counters —

  For thou’rt so near my heart that thou mayst 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 villanous 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 it:

  Openly act a deed the world shall gaze

  With wonder at, and envy when ’tis done.

  Jaff. For liberty?

  Pier. For liberty, my friend!

  Thou shalt be freed from base Priuli’s tyranny,

  And thy sequestered fortunes healed again;

  I shall be freed 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 pulled

  From wisdom’s seat, — those baleful unclean birds,

  Those lazy owls, who, perched near fortune’s top,

  Sit only watchful with their heavy wings

  To cuff down new-fledged virtues, that would rise

  To nobler heights, and make the grove harmonious.

  Jaff. What can I do?

  Pier. Canst thou not kill a senator?

  Jaff. 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!

  Jaff. I do, by all those glittering stars,

  And yon great ruling planet of the night!

  By all good powers above, and ill below!

  By love and friendship, dearer than my life!

  No power 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 —

  Jaff. I give thee thanks

  For this kind warning: yes, I will 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!

  Jaff. Revenge! Revenge! [Exeunt.

  SCENE III. — A Room in Aquilina’s House.

  Enter Renault.

  Ren. Why was my choice ambition, the worst ground

  A wretch can build on? ’Tis indeed at distance

  A goodly prospect, tempting to the view;

  The height delights us, and the mountain-top

  Looks beautiful, because ’tis nigh to Heaven;

  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 turned 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 t
hree precious hours of darkness

  In waiting dull attendance; ’tis the curse

  Of diligent virtue to be mixed, like mine,

  With giddy tempers, souls but half resolved.

  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 Eliot.

  O sir, welcome!

  You are an Englishman: when treason’s hatching,

  One might have thought you’d not have been behind-hand.

  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.

  Eliot. Frenchman, you are saucy.

  Ren. How!

  Enter Bedamar the Ambassador, Theodore, Brainville, 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,

  To adorn the bravest purpose it e’er smiled 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. Eliot, 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 it not already?

  Eliot. Would ‘twere tumbling!

  Bed. Nay, it shall down: this night we seal its ruin.

  Enter Pierre.

  O 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. O, my Mars!

  The poets that first feigned a god of war,

  Sure prophesied of thee.

  Pier. Friends! was not Brutus —

  I mean that Brutus who in open Senate

  Stabbed the first Cæsar that usurped the world —

  A gallant man!

  Ren. Yes, and Catiline too;

  Though story wrong his fame; for he conspired

  To prop the reeling glory of his country: