_Jaf._ _[Returning--she runs into his arms.]_ 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-- Oh, that my arms were riveted Thus round thee ever! But my friends! 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 give't him truly.
_Jaf._ Heav'n knows, forever! all good angels guard thee! _[Exit, L._
_Bel._ All ill ones, sure, had charge of me this moment! Oh, give me daggers, daggers, _[Returns, C.]_ fire, or water! How I could bleed, how burn, how drown, the waves Huzzing and foaming 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: (R. C.) Hell! hell! Burst from the centre, (R.) rage and roar aloud, If thou art half so hot, so mad as I am! _[Exit, R._
_Scene IV.--St. Mark's Place,--A Scaffold in the back ground, and a Wheel, prepared for the Execution of Pierre._
_Enter Captain, Pierre, Guard, Executioner, and Rabble._
_Jaf._ Oh, Pierre! _[Falling on his knees._
_Pierre._ (C.) 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'm the vilest creature--worse than e'er Suffered the shameful fate thou'rt going to taste of.
_Capt._ (R.) The time grows short; your friends are dead already.
_Pierre._ Yes, dead, Jaffier! they've all died like men, too, Worthy their character.
_Jaf._ Speak aloud thy burdened soul, And tell thy troubles to thy tortured friend.
_Pierre._ Friend! Couldst thou yet be a friend, a generous friend, I might hope comfort from thy noble sorrows. Heaven knows, I want a friend!
_Jaf._ And I a kind one, That would not scorn thus my repenting virtue, Or think, when he's to die, my thoughts are idle.