_Ber._ How's this? my fortune fails me, both alive! I thought by stirring Rivers to this quarrel, There was at least an equal chance against him. I work invisibly, and like the tempter My agency is seen in its effects. Well, _honest_ Bertrand! now for Julia's letter. (_Takes out a letter._) This fond epistle of a love-sick maid, I've sworn to give, but did not swear to whom. "Give it my love," said she, "my dearest lord!" Rivers she meant; there's no address--that's lucky. Then where's the harm? Orlando is a lord, As well as Rivers, loves her, too, as well. (_Breaks open the letter._) I must admire your style--your pardon, fair one. (_Runs over it._) I tread in air--methinks I brush the stars, And spurn the subject world which rolls beneath me.---- There's not a word but fits Orlando's case As well as Rivers';--tender to excess-- No name--'twill do; his faith in me is boundless; Then, as the brave are still, he's unsuspecting, And credulous beyond a woman's weakness. (_Going out, he spies the dagger._) Orlando's dagger!--ha! 'tis greatly thought. This may do noble service; such a scheme! My genius catches fire! the bright idea Is form'd at once, and fit for instant action! [_Exit._ ACT V. SCENE--_The Garden._ _Ber._ 'Twas here we were to meet; where does he stay? This compound of strange contradicting parts, Too flexible for virtue, yet too virtuous To make a flourishing, successful villain. Conscience! be still; preach not remorse to me; Remorse is for the luckless, failing villain. He who succeeds repents not; penitence Is but another name for ill success. Was Nero penitent when Rome was burnt? No: but had Nero been a petty villain, Subject to laws and liable to fear, Nero perchance had been a penitent. He comes:--this paper makes him all my own. _Enter_ ORLANDO. _Or._ At length this wretched, tempest-beaten bark Seems to have found its haven: I'm resolv'd; My wav'ring principles are fix'd to honour; My virtue gathers force, my mind grows strong, I feel an honest confidence within, A precious earnest of returning peace. _Ber._ Who feels secure stands on the verge of ruin. [_Aside._ Trust me, it joys my heart to see you thus: What have I not attempted for your sake! My love for you has warp'd my honest nature, And friendship has infring'd on higher duties. _Or._ It was a generous fault. _Ber._ Yet 'twas a fault. Oh, for a flinty heart that knows no weakness, But moves right onward, unseduc'd by friendship, And all the weak affections! _Or._ Hear me, Bertrand! This is my last farewell; absence alone Can prop my stagg'ring virtue. _Ber._ You're resolv'd: Then Julia's favours come too late. _Or._ What favours? _Ber._ Nay, nothing; I renounce these weak affections; They have misled us both. I, too, repent, And will return the letter back to Julia.