Venice Preserved | Page 3

of the destitution of his latter days, and states, that he was reduced to the necessity of borrowing a shilling, to satisfy the cravings of hunger, from a gentleman, who, shocked at the distress of the author of "Venice Preserved," put a guinea into his hands; that Otway was choked with a piece of bread, which he had immediately purchased. He is said to have died the 14th April, 1685. at a public-house on Tower Hill. This story is contradicted by Dr. Warton, who says that the poet died of a distemper brought on by a severe cold.
Out of Shakspeare's unapproachable domain, we know of no tragedy in the English language to compare with this in the earnestness of its passion, the depth of its pathos, and the aptitude of its language. Although it has not been represented of late years as frequently as formerly, it will be long before it is superseded in its foremost rank in our acting drama.

VENICE PRESERVED

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, 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?
Priuli. And she, too, with thee: For, living here, you're but my cursed remembrances, I once was happy!
Jaf. You use me thus, because you know my soul Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat me Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs As you upbraid me with, what hinders me But I might