_Venoni._ Nor shall mine perish even then, Benvolio. In the hands of those virtuous men to whom I shall confide my treasures, they will become the patrimony of the widow and the orphan, of the wanderer in a foreign land, and of him on whom the hand of sickness lies heavy. When my bones shall be whitened by time, still shall my riches feed the fainting beggar. When this heart, itself so heavy, shall be mouldered away into dust, my bounty shall still make light the heavy hearts of my fellow-sufferers! yes; even in his grave, Venoni shall still make others happy! _Vice._ And how can you hope that these friars will perform that duty hereafter, which you now through indolence refuse to perform yourself? you, who decline the task of distributing your wealth to advantage, how can you expect to find in strangers the spirit of benevolence more active?-- would you have your fortune well administered, at least set yourself an example to your heirs: summon your fortitude, return to the world once more, and---- _Venoni._ I cannot! tis impossible! I am here!-- here I must remain. My understanding impaired-- a wretched creature, quite alone in the wide, wide, world-- a feeble reed, crushed and broken by the tempest-- I required support-- I require it still-- the superior of this house-- the good man regrets my beloved, and mingles his tears with mine. I have found no one but him whose heart was open to my affliction-- who would listen to my complaints unwearied-- who would talk to me of Josepha. I am here-- and Josepha-- she is here too! nothing separates us except those bars. I am near her grave-- I am near her-- I live near her-- I will die near her! (_leaning against the grate_) _Vice._ The superior of this house? and are you sure you know his real character? mark me, unfortunate! yet should we be overheard---- _Venoni._ We are alone-- proceed. _Vice._ Know you a friar, called in this monastery by the name of Michael? _Venoni._ I have seen the man; and now it strikes me that unusual care has been always taken to prevent our being left alone. _Vice._ This Michael has written to me-- but I know not if I ought-- Venoni, should you betray---- _Venoni._ How, Benvolio? you doubt---- _Vice._ I doubt the soundness of your head, not the sentiments of your heart-- yet it must be risked-- Venoni, I came hither in search of father Michael-- I heard your voice, and hastened to embrace you once more. Doubtless, I shall not be permitted to see this friar; be that your care. He writes, that what he has to disclose is of extreme importance; that it concerns-- but you shall hear his letter-- (_reading_) “I have secrets to divulge of consequence too great to be confided to paper. Suffice it, that your friend Venoni is in danger; totally in the power of his most cruel enemy----” [At this moment the _prior_ enters; the viceroy hastily conceals the letter in his bosom.]