_Pier._ Rats die in holes and corners, dogs run mad; Man knows a braver remedy for sorrow: Revenge! the attribute of gods; they stamped 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 interred In a church-yard, and mingle thy brave dust With stinking rogues that rot in dirty winding-sheets, Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung of the soil? _Jaff._ Oh! _Pier._ Well said, out with it, swear a little-- _Jaff._ Swear! By sea and air, by earth, by Heaven and hell, I will revenge my Belvidera's tears! Hark thee, my friend: Priuli--is--a senator! _Pier._ A dog! _Jaff._ Agreed. _Pier._ Shoot him. _Jaff._ With all my heart. No more. Where shall we meet at night? _Pier._ I'll tell thee; On the Rialto every night at twelve I take my evening's walk of meditation: There we will meet, and talk of precious mischief. _Jaff_. Farewell. _Pier_. At twelve. _Jaff_. At any hour: my plagues Will keep me waking.-- [_Exit_ PIERRE. Tell me why, good Heaven, Thou madest 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! _Enter_ BELVIDERA, _attended_. Poor Belvidera! _Belv_. 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. _Jaff_. As when our loves Were in their spring? has then my fortune changed? Art thou not Belvidera, still the same, Kind, good, and tender, as my arms first found thee? If thou art altered, where shall I have harbour? Where ease my loaded heart? oh! where complain? _Belv_. Does this appear like change, or love decaying When thus I throw myself into thy bosom, With all the resolution of strong truth? Beats not my heart, as 'twould alarum thine To a new charge of bliss? I joy more in thee Than did thy mother when she hugged thee first, And blessed the gods for all her travail past.