Jaff. I do, by all those glittering stars
And yond great ruling planet of the night!
By all good powers above,
and ill below!
By love and friendship, dearer than my life!
No power or death shall make me false to thee.
Pierr. Here we embrace, and I’ll unlock my heart.
A council’s held hard by, where the destruction
Of this
great Empire’s hatching: there I’ll lead thee!
But be a man, for thou’rt to mix with men
Fit to disturb the
peace of all the world,
And rule it when it’s wildest—
Jaff. I give thee thanks
For this kind warning: yes, I will be a man,
And charge thee, Pierre, whene’er thou
seest my fears
Betray me less, to rip this heart of mine
Out of my breast, and show it for a coward’s.
Come,
let’s begone, for from this hour I chase
All little thoughts, all tender human follies
Out of my bosom: vengeance
shall have room:
Revenge!
Pierr. And liberty!
Jaff. Revenge! revenge!
[Exeunt.
[SCENE III.]—The Scene changes to A
Renault. Why was my choice ambition, the first ground
A wretch can build on? it’s indeed at distance
A
good prospect, tempting to the view,
The height delights us, and the mountain top
Looks beautiful, because
it’s nigh to heaven,
But we ne’er think how sandy’s the foundation,
What storm will batter, and what tempest
shake us!
Who’s there?
Enter S
Spin. Renault, good morrow! for by this time
I think the scale of night has turned the balance,
And weighs
up morning: has the clock struck twelve?
Ren. Yes, clocks will go as they are set. But Man,
Irregular Man’s ne’er constant, never certain:
I’ve spent
at least three precious hours of darkness
In waiting dull attendance; ’tis the curse
Of diligent virtue to be
mixed like mine,
With giddy tempers, souls but half resolved.
Spin. Hell seize that soul amongst us, it can frighten!
Ren. What’s then the cause that I am here alone?
Why are we not together?
Enter E
O sir, welcome!
You are an Englishman: when treason’s hatching
One might have thought you’d not have
been behindhand.
In what whore’s lap have you been lolling?
Give but an Englishman his whore and
ease,
Beef and sea-coal fire, he’s yours for ever.
Eliot. Frenchman, you are saucy.
Ren. How!
Enter B
Beda. At difference, fie!
Is this a time for quarrels? Thieves and rogues
Fall out and brawl: should men of
your high calling,
Men separated by the choice of Providence,
From the gross heap of mankind, and set
here
In this great assembly as in one great jewel,
To adorn the bravest purpose it e’er smiled on,
Should
you like boys wrangle for trifles?