English drama -- Restoration, 1660-1700; Tragedies (Drama); Venice (Italy) -- History -- 1508-1797 -- Drama
The seal of Providence is sure upon thee:
And thou wert born for yet unheard-of wonders.
Oh! thou wert either born to save or damn me.
By all the power that's given me o'er thy soul,
By thy resistless tears and conquering smiles,
By the victorious love that still waits on thee.
Fly to thy cruel father, save my friend,
Or all our future quiet's lost for ever.
Fall at his feet, cling round his reverend knees,
Speak to him with thy eyes, and with thy tears,
Melt his hard heart, and wake dead nature in him,
Crush him in th' arms, torture him with thy softness;
Nor, till thy prayers are granted, set him free,
But conquer him, as thou hast conquer'd me. [_exeunt._
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I. AN APARTMENT IN PRIULI'S HOUSE.
_Enter Priuli._
_Pri._ Why, cruel heav'n, have my unhappy days
Been lengthen'd to this sad one? Oh! dishonour
And deathless infamy is fallen upon me.
Was it my fault? Am I a traitor? No.
But then, my only child, my daughter wedded;
There my best blood runs foul, and a disease
Incurable has seiz'd upon my memory.
_Enter Belvidera, in a long mourning veil._
_Bel._ He's there, my father, my inhuman father,
That for three years has left an only child
Expos'd to all the outrages of fate,
And cruel rain!--oh!----
_Pri._ What child of sorrow
Art thou, that comes wrapt in weeds of sadness,
And mov'st as if thy steps were tow'rds a grave?
_Bel._ A wretch who from the very top of happiness
Am fall'n into the lowest depths of misery,
And want your pitying hand to raise me up again.
_Pri._ What wouldst thou beg for?
_Bel._ Pity and forgiveness. [_throws up her veil._
By the kind, tender names of child and father,
Hear my complaints, and take me to your love.
_Pri._ My daughter!
_Bel._ Yes, your daughter.
_Pri._ Don't talk thus.
_Bel._ Yes, I must; and you must hear too.
I have a husband.
_Pri._ Damn him.
_Bel._ Oh! do not curse him;
He would not speak so hard a word towards you
On any terms, howe'er he deals with me.
_Pri._ Ha! what means my child?
_Bel._ Oh! my husband, my dear husband,
Carries a dagger in his once kind bosom,
To pierce the heart of your poor Belvidera.
_Pri._ Kill thee!
_Bel._ Yes, kill me. When he pass'd his faith
And covenant against your state and senate,
He gave me up a hostage for his truth:
With me a dagger and a dire commission,
Whene'er he fail'd, to plunge it through this bosom.
I learnt the danger, chose the hour of love
T' attempt his heart, and bring it back to honour.
Great love prevail'd, and bless'd me with success!
He came, confess'd, betray'd his dearest friends
For promis'd mercy. Now they're doom'd to suffer.
Gall'd with remembrance of what then was sworn,
If they are lost, he vows t' appease the gods
With this poor life, and make my blood th' atonement.
_Pri._ Heav'ns!
_Bel._ If I was ever then your care, now hear me;
Fly to the senate, save the promis'd lives
Of his dear friends, ere mine be made the sacrifice.
_Pri._ Oh, my heart's comfort!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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