_Pier._ Not of her! _Jaf._ Oh, no! _Pier._ Not name her! May be I wish her well. _Jaf._ Whom well? _Pier._ Thy wife; thy lovely Belvidera. I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well, And no harm done? _Jaf._ Y' are merry, Pierre. _Pier._ I am so: Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile: We'll all rejoice. Here's something to buy pins; Marriage is chargeable. [_gives him a purse._ _Jaf._ I but half wish'd To see the devil, and he's here already. Well! What must this buy? Rebellion, murder, treason? Tell me, which way I must be damn'd for this. _Pier._ When last we parted, we'd no qualms like these, But entertain'd each other's thoughts like men Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world Reform'd since our last meeting? What new miracles Have happen'd? Has Priuli's heart relented? Can he be honest? _Jaf._ Kind heav'n, let heavy curses Gall his old age; cramps, aches, rack his bones, And bitterest disquiet wring his heart. Oh! let him live, till life become his burden: Let him groan under't 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 stretch'd the curse to all The senate round, as to one single villain? _Jaf._ 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. Oh! for a curse To kill with! _Pier._ Daggers! daggers are much better. _Jaf._ Ha! _Pier._ Daggers. _Jaf._ But where are they? _Pier._ Oh! a thousand May be dispos'd of, in honest hands, in Venice. _Jaf._ Thou talk'st in clouds. _Pier._ But yet a heart, half wrong'd As thine has been, would find the meaning, Jaffier. _Jaf._ A thousand daggers, all in honest hands! And have not I a friend will stick one here! _Pier._ Yes, if I thought thou wert not cherish'd T' a nobler purpose, I would be thy friend; But thou hast better friends; friends whom thy wrongs Have made thy friends; friends worthy to be call'd so. I'll trust thee with a secret. There are spirits This hour at work.--But as thou art a man, Whom I have pick'd and chosen from the world, Swear that thou wilt be true to what I utter; And when I've told thee that which only gods, And men like gods, are privy to, then swear No chance or change shall wrest it from thy bosom. _Jaf._ When thou wouldst bind me, is there need of oaths? For thou'rt so near my heart, that thou may'st see Its bottom, sound its strength and firmness to thee. Is coward, fool, or villain, in my face? If I seem none of these, I dare believe Thou wouldst not use me in a little cause, For I am fit for honour's toughest task, Nor ever yet found fooling was my province; And for a villainous, inglorious, enterprise, I know thy heart so well, I dare lay mine Before thee, set it to what point thou wilt.