f again; again am fit for the dead,
and I hasten to thee my Josepha! (_turning to the grate_) I salute ye,
cruel bars, which separate my beloved and me: another day has past, and
again I mourn beside you! ye are cold: (_kissing them_) so is Josepha's
heart; so too will mine be shortly. (_rapidly_) Yet while still that
heart shall palpitate, while one spark of that fire still lives in it
which was kindled by her eyes, still will I mourn beside you, cruel
bars; still kneel and mourn beside you! (_kneeling, and resting his head
against the grate_)

The _viceroy_ enters.

_Viceroy._ That plaintive voice-- I cannot be mistaken. Tis he! tis
Venoni! my friend!

_Venoni._ (_starting_) Benvolio! you within these walls! ah, did I not
entreat-- I told you, I repeat it now, I'm dead to the world. I exist
for no one-- for nothing-- but grief and the memory of Josepha. Leave
me! leave me! (_he resumes his despondent attitude_)

_Vice._ Not till I have obtained one last, last interview. Venoni,
I claim it in the name of that paternal friendship which I have borne
you for so many years, and which even now I feel for you as strong as
ever. I claim it in the name of that sacred union, once so near
connecting us by the most tender ties: I claim it in the name of her,
who while living was alike the darling of both our hearts, and in whose
grave the affection of both our hearts alike lies buried-- Venoni,
I claim it in the name of Josepha.

_Venoni._ (_quitting the grate_) Of Josepha? say on you shall be heard.

_Vice._ Tell me then, cruel friend, what is your present object? why
bury yourself in this abode of regret and sorrow, of repentance and
despair? what reason, nay, what right have you to deprive society of
talents, bestowed on you by Nature to employ for the benefit of mankind?
and what excuse can you make for resigning into the hands of strangers
that wealth which it is your sacred duty to distribute with your own?
heaven has endowed you with talents capable of making your own existence
useful; and your ungrateful neglect renders the gift of no avail: heaven
has bestowed on you wealth, capable of making the existence of others
happy; and your selfish indolence declines an office which the saints
covet, and for which even the angels contend!

_Venoni._ Friend! Benvolio! in pity!

_Vice._ You are neither weak nor credulous: vulgar prejudices,
superstitious terrors, enthusiastic dreams have never subjugated a mind
whose