_Priuli._ Yes, wronged me! In the nicest point, The honour of my house, you've done me wrong. You may remember (for I now will speak, And urge its baseness) when you first came borne From travel, with such hopes as made you looked on By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation; Pleased with your growing virtue, I received you; Courted, and sought to raise you to your merits; My house, my table, nay, my fortune too, My very self was yours; you might have used me To your best service; like an open friend, I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine: When, in requital of my best endeavours, You treacherously practised to undo me; Seduced the weakness of my age's darling, My only child, and stole her from my bosom. Oh! Belvidera! _Jaf._ 'Tis to me you owe her: Childless you had been else, and in the grave Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of. You may remember, scarce five years are past, Since in your brigantine you sailed to see, The Adriatic wedded by our duke; And I was with you: your unskilful pilot Dashed us upon a rock; when to your boat You made for safety; entered first yourself;-- The affrighted Belvidera, following next, As she stood trembling on the vessel's side, Was, by a wave, washed off into the deep; When instantly I plunged into the sea, And buffeting the billows to her rescue, Redeemed her life with half the loss of mine. Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her, And with the other dashed the saucy waves, That thronged and pressed to rob me of my prize. I brought her, gave her to your despairing arms; Indeed, you thanked me; but a nobler gratitude Rose in her soul: for from that hour she loved me, Till for her life she paid me with herself. _Priuli._ You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her, At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose To rifle me of all my heart held dear. May all your joys in her prove false, like mine! A sterile fortune, and a barren bed, Attend you both: continual discord make Your days and nights bitter and grievous still: May the hard hand of a vexatious need Oppress and grind you; till at last you find The curse of disobedience all your portion. _Jaf._ Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain, Heav'n has already crowned our faithful loves With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty: May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire, And happier than his father. _Priuli._ Rather live To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears With hungry cries; whilst his unhappy mother Sits down and weeps in bitterness of want. _Jaf._ You talk as if 'twould please you. _Priuli._ 'T would, by heaven! _Jaf._ Would I were in my grave?