_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,[67] 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?