At yonder moon. What's he that asks the question?

_Pier._ A friend to dogs, for they are honest creatures,
And ne'er betray their masters: never fawn
On any that they love not. Well met, friend:
Jaffier!

_Jaf._ The same.

_Pier._ Where's Belvidera?--

_Jaf._ For a day or two
I've lodg'd her privately, till I see further
What fortune will do for me. Pr'ythee, friend,
If thou wouldst have me fit to hear good counsel,
Speak not of Belvidera--

_Pier._ Not of her!

_Jaf._ Oh, no!

_Pier._ Not name her! May be I wish her well.

_Jaf._ Whom well?

_Pier._ Thy wife; thy lovely Belvidera.
I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well,
And no harm done?

_Jaf._ Y' are merry, Pierre.

_Pier._ I am so:
Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile:
We'll all rejoice. Here's something to buy pins;
Marriage is chargeable. [_gives him a purse._

_Jaf._ I but half wish'd
To see the devil, and he's here already. Well!
What must this buy? Rebellion, murder, treason?
Tell me, which way I must be damn'd for this.

_Pier._ When last we parted, we'd no qualms like these,
But entertain'd each other's thoughts like men
Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world
Reform'd since our last meeting? What new miracles
Have happen'd? Has Priuli's heart relented?
Can he be honest?

_Jaf._ Kind heav'n, let heavy curses
Gall his old age; cramps, aches, rack his bones,
And bitterest disquiet wring his heart.
Oh! let him live, till life become his burden:
Let him groan under't long, linger an age
In the worst agonies and pangs of death,
And find its ease but late.

_Pier._ Nay, couldst thou not
As well, my friend, have stretch'd the curse to all
The senate round, as to one single villain?

_Jaf._ But curses stick not: could I kill with cursing,
By heaven I know not thirty heads in Venice
Should not be blasted. Senators should rot
Like dogs on dunghills. Oh! for a curse
To kill with!

_Pier._ Daggers! daggers are much better.

_Jaf._ Ha!

_Pier._ Daggers.

_Jaf._ But where are they?

_Pier._ Oh! a thousand
May be dispos'd of, in honest hands, in Venice.

_Jaf._ Thou talk'st in clouds.

_Pier._ But yet a heart, half wrong'd
As thine has been, would find the meaning, Jaffier.

_Jaf._ A thousand daggers, all in honest hands!
And have not I a friend will stick one here!

_Pier._ Yes, if I thought thou wert not cherish'd
T' a nobler purpose, I would be thy friend;
But thou hast better friends; friends whom