_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[65] 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[66] 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._ [Illustration] 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.