ACT 1.     

      Scene I.—St. Mark's. Enter Priuli and Jaffier, L. Priuli. (r.) No more! I'll hear no more! Begone and leave me! Jaf. Not hear me! By my sufferings, but you shall! My lord—my lord! I'm not that abject wretch You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws Me back so far, but I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me? Priuli. Have you not wronged me? Jaf. Could my nature e'er Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrongs, I need not now thus low have bent myself To gain a hearing from a cruel father.—      Wronged you? 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, [8]     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.      

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