rave. Mr. Hamerton.
Spinosa Mr. Elrington. Mr. Claremont.
Theodore Mr. J. West. Mr. King.
Durand Mr. Wallack. Mr. Grant.
Mezzana Mr. Buxton. Mr. Norris.
Officers { Messrs. Ray and Messrs. Jeffrey and
{ Cooke. Tooley.

Belvidera Miss Smith. Miss O'Neill.

Officers, Guards, Senators, Executioner, &c.

VENICE PRESERVED.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I. A STREET IN VENICE.

_Enter Priuli and Jaffier._

_Pri._ No more! I'll hear no more! Be gone and leave me.

_Jaf._ Not hear me! By my suffering, 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?

_Pri._ Have you not wrong'd me?

_Jaf._ Could my nature e'er
Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrongs,
I need not now thus low have bent myself
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.
Wrong'd you?

_Pri._ Yes, wrong'd 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 home
From travel, with such hopes as made you look'd on,
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation,
Pleas'd with your growing virtue, I receiv'd 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 us'd 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 practis'd to undo me.

_Jaf._ Yes, all, and then adieu for ever.
There's not a wretch, that lives on common charity,
But's happier than me: for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night
Have slept with soft content about my head,
And never wak'd, but to a joyful morning;
Yet now must fall, like a full ear of corn,
Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening.

_Pri._ Home, and be humble; study to retrench;
Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,
Those pageants of thy folly:
Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife
To humble weeds, fit for thy little state:
Then, to some suburb cottage both retire;
Drudge to feed loathsome life; get brats and starve--
Home, home, I say. [_exit._

_Jaf._ Yes,