_Bel._ By all the tender days we've liv'd together, Pity my sad condition; speak, but speak. _Jaf._ Oh!--oh!-- _Bel._ By these arms, that now cling round thy neck, By these poor streaming eyes-- _Jaf._ Murder! unhold me: By th' immortal destiny that doom'd me [_draws dagger._ To this curs'd minute, I'll not live one longer; Resolve to let me go, or see me fall---- Hark, the dismal bell [_passing-bell tolls._ Tolls out for death! I must attend its call too; For my poor friend, my dying Pierre, expects me: He sent a message to require I'd see him Before he died, and take his last forgiveness. Farewell, for ever. _Bel._ Leave thy dagger with me, Bequeath me something--Not one kiss at parting? Oh! my poor heart, when wilt thou break? [_going out, looks back at him._ _Jaf._ Yet stay: We have a child, as yet a tender infant. Be a kind mother to him when I'm gone; Breed him in virtue, and the paths of honour, But never let him know his father's story; I charge thee, guard him from the wrongs my fate May do his future fortune, or his name. Now--nearer yet-- [_approaching each other._ Oh! that my arms were rivetted Thus round thee ever! But my friend! my oath! This and no more. [_kisses her._ _Bel._ Another, sure another, For that poor little one you've ta'en such care of. I'll giv't him truly. _Jaf._ So now, farewell. _Bel._ For ever? _Jaf._ Heav'n knows, for ever; all good angels guard thee. [_exit._ _Bel._ All ill ones sure had charge of me this moment. Curs'd be my days, and doubly curs'd my nights. Oh! give me daggers, fire, or water: How I could bleed, how burn, how drown, the waves Huzzing and booming round my sinking head, Till I descended to the peaceful bottom! Oh! there's all quiet, here all rage and fury: The air's too thin, and pierces my weak brain; I long for thick substantial sleep; hell! hell! Burst from the centre, rage and roar aloud, If thou art half so hot, so mad, as I am. [_exit._ SCENE III. A SCAFFOLD, AND A WHEEL PREPARED FOR THE EXECUTION OF PIERRE. _Enter Officer, Pierre, Guards, Executioner, &c._ _Pier._ My friend not come yet? _Enter Jaffier._ _Jaf._ Oh, Pierre! _Pier._ Yet nearer. Dear to my arms, though thou'st undone my fame, I can't forget to love thee. Pr'ythee, Jaffier, Forgive that filthy blow my passion dealt thee; I'm now preparing for the land of peace, And fain would have the charitable wishes Of all good men, like thee, to bless my journey. _Jaf._ Good! I am the vilest creature, worse than e'er Suffer'd the shameful fate thou'rt going to taste of. _Offi._ The time grows short, your friends are dead already. _Jaf._ Dead! _Pier._ Yes, dead, Jaffier; they've all died like men too, Worthy their character. _Jaf._ And what must I do? _Pier._ Oh, Jaffier! _Jaf._ Speak aloud thy burthen'd soul, And tell thy troubles to thy tortur'd friend.