Scene III A Public Place. A Scaffold and Wheel in Centre
Enter Officers, Pierre, and Guards, a Friar, Executioner, and a great Rabble.
Offi. Room, room there—stand all by, make room
for the prisoner.
Pier. My friend not come yet?
Friar. Why are you so obstinate?
Pier. Why you so troublesome, that a poor wretch
Can’t die in peace,
But you like ravens will be croaking round him?
Friar. Yet Heaven—
Pier. I tell thee Heaven and I are friends:
I ne’er broke peace with it yet, by cruel murders,
Rapine or perjury, or vile deceiving;
But lived in moral justice towards all men;
Nor am a foe to the most strong believers,
Howe’er my own short-sighted faith confine me.
Friar. But an all-seeing Judge—
Pier. You say my conscience
Must be my accuser: I have searched that conscience,
And find no records there of crimes that scare me.
Friar. ’Tis strange you should want faith.
Pier. You want to lead
My reason blindfold, like a hampered lion,
Checked of its nobler vigour; then, when baited
Down to obedient tameness, make it couch,
And show strange tricks, which you call signs of faith:
So silly souls are gulled, and you get money.
Away, no more! Captain, I’d have hereafter
This fellow write no lies of my conversion,
Because he has crept upon my troubled hours.
Enter Jaffier.
Jaff. Hold: eyes, be dry; heart, strengthen me to bear
This hideous sight, and humble me to take
The last forgiveness of a dying friend,
Betrayed by my vile falsehood to his ruin!
O Pierre!
Pier. Yet nearer.
Jaff. Crawling on my knees,
And prostrate on the earth, let me approach thee:
How shall I look up to thy injured face,
That always used to smile with friendship on me?
It darts an air of so much manly virtue,
That I, methinks, look little in thy sight,
And stripes are fitter for me than embraces.
Pier. 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.
Jaff. Good! I’m the vilest creature, worse than e’er
Suffered the shameful fate thou’rt going to taste of.
Why was I sent for to be used thus kindly?
Call, call me villain, as I am; describe
The foul complexion of my hateful deeds;
Lead me to the rack, and stretch me in thy stead,
I’ve crimes enough to give it its full load,
And do it credit: thou wilt but spoil the use on’t,
And honest men hereafter bear its figure
About them, as a charm from treacherous friendship.
Offi. The time grows short; your friends are dead already.
Jaff. Dead!
Pier. Yes, dead, Jaffier; they’ve all died like men too,
Worthy their character.
Jaff. And what must I do?
Pier. Oh, Jaffier!
Jaff. Speak aloud thy burthened soul,
And tell thy troubles to thy tortured friend!
Pier. Friend! Couldst thou yet be a friend, a generous friend,
I might hope comfort from thy noble sorrows.
Heaven knows I want a friend!
Jaff. And I a kind one,
That would not thus scorn my repenting virtue,
Or think, when he’s to die, my thoughts are idle.
Pier. No! live, I charge thee, Jaffier.
Jaff. Yes, I will live,
But it shall be to see thy fall revenged
At such a rate as Venice long shall groan for.
Pier. Wilt thou?
Jaff. I will, by Heaven!
Pier. Then still thou’rt noble,
And I forgive thee. Oh—yet—shall I trust thee?
Jaff. No; I’ve been false already.
Pier. Dost thou love me?
Jaff. Rip up my heart, and satisfy thy doubtings.
Pier. Curse on this weakness! [He weeps.
Jaff. Tears! amazement! tears!
I never saw thee melted thus before;
And know there’s something labouring in thy bosom
That must have vent: though I’m a villain, tell me.
Pier. Seest thou that engine? [Pointing to the wheel.
Jaff. Why?
Pier. Is’t fit a soldier, who has lived with honour,
Fought nations’ quarrels, and been crowned with conquest,
Be exposed a common carcass on a wheel?
Jaff. Ha!
Pier. Speak! is’t fitting?
Jaff. Fitting?
Pier. Yes, is’t fitting?
Jaff. What’s to be done?
Pier. I’d have thee undertake
Something that’s noble, to preserve my memory
From the disgrace that’s ready to attaint it.
Offi. The day grows late, sir.
Pier. I’ll make haste. Oh, Jaffier,
Though thou’st betrayed me, do me some way justice.
Jaff. No more of that: thy wishes shall be satisfied;
I have a wife, and she shall bleed; my child too
Yield up his little throat, and all to appease thee—
[Going away, Pierre holds him.
Pier. No—this—no more! [He whispers Jaffier.
Jaff. Ha! is’t then so?
Pier. Most certainly.
Jaff. I’ll do it.
Pier. Remember.
Offi. Sir.
Pier. Come, now I’m ready.
[He and Jaffier ascend the scaffold.
Captain, you should be a gentleman of honour;
Keep off the rabble, that I may have room
To entertain my fate, and die with decency.
Come! [Takes off his gown. Executioner prepares to bind him.
Friar. Son!
Pier. Hence, tempter!
Offi. Stand off, priest!
Pier. I thank you, sir.
You’ll think on’t. [To Jaffier.
Jaff. ’Twon’t grow stale before to-morrow.
Pier. Now, Jaffier! now I’m going. Now;—
Jaff. Have at thee, [Executioner having bound him.
Thou honest heart, then—here! [Stabs him.] And this is well too.
[Stabs himself.
Friar. Damnable deed!
Pier. Now thou’st indeed been faithful.
This was done nobly. We have deceived the Senate.
Jaff. Bravely.
Pier. Ha, ha, ha! Oh, oh! [Dies.
Jaff. Now, ye cursed rulers,
Thus of the blood you’ve shed I make libation,
And sprinkle it mingling: may it rest upon you,
And all your race! Be henceforth peace a stranger
Within your walls! Let plagues and famine waste
Your generations!—O poor Belvidera!
Sir, I’ve a wife; bear this in safety to her,—
A token that with my dying breath I blessed her,
And the dear little infant left behind me.
I’m sick—I’m quiet— [Dies.
Offi. Bear this news to the Senate,
And guard their bodies till there’s farther order:
Heaven grant I die so well! [The Scene closes.