No more ! I 'll hear no more ! Begone and leave me ! Have you not wronged me ? Yes , wronged me ! In the nicest point , The honour of my house , you 've done me wrong . You may remember 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 ! 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 . 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 . ‘ T would , by heaven ! And she , too , with thee : For , living here , you 're but my cursed remembrances , I once was happy ! You dare not do't . No more . 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 : Could words express the story I 've to tell you , Fathers , these tears were useless , these sad tears That fall from my old eyes ; but there is cause We all should weep , tear off these purple robes , And wrap ourselves , in sackcloth , sitting down On the sad earth , and cry aloud to heaven : Heav'n knows , if yet there be an hour to come , Ere Venice be no more . Nay , we stand Upon the very brink of gaping ruin . Within this city 's formed a dark conspiracy To massacre us all , our wives and children , Kindred and friends ; our palaces and temples To lay in ashes : nay , the hour , too , fixed ; The swords , for aught I know , drawn ev'n this moment , And the wild waste begun . From unknown hands I had this warning : but , if we are men , Let 's not be tamely butchered , but do something That may inform the world in after ages , Our virtue was not ruined , though we were . Why , cruel Heav'n , have my unhappy days Been lengthened to this sad one ? Oh ! dishonour , And deathless infamy have fall'n upon me . Was it my fault ? Am I a traitor ? No . But then , my only child , my daughter wedded ; There my best blood runs foul , and a disease Incurable has seized upon my memory . What child of sorrow Art thou , that com'st , wrapt up in weeds of sadness , And mov'st as if thy steps were towards a grave ? What wouldst thou beg for ? My daughter ! Do n't talk thus . Damn him ! Ah ! what means my child ? Kill thee ! Heavens ! Oh , my heart 's comfort ! By Heav'n , I will ! Not one of them but what shall be immortal ! Canst thou forgive me all my follies past ? I 'll henceforth be indeed a father ! never , Never more , thus expose , but cherish thee , Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life : Dear as these eyes , that weep in fondness o'er thee : Peace to thy heart . Farewell ! Strengthen her heart with patience , pitying Heav'n ! News ! what news ? Oh ! lead me to some place “ that 's fit for mourning ; “ Where the free air , light , and the cheerful sun , “ May never enter ; hang it round with black , “ Set up one taper that may last a day , “ As long as I 've to live ; and there all leave me : “ Sparing no tears when you this tale relate , “ But bid all cruel fathers dread my fate . ”