No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me

Wast the one sacred being, before thee

I dared not to dissemble; love alone,

Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all.

MARINA. What's that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded

Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant

Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then

At least thou shouldst have merited success,

And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep,

And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield

Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank

And maiden modesty, unite my fate

With thine, when thou thyself impetuously

Dost thus with such simplicity reveal

Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me!

I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship

Disclosed thyself ere now before my father,

Or else before our king from joy, or else

Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal

Of a devoted servant.

PRETENDER. I swear to thee

That thou alone wast able to extort

My heart's confession; I swear to thee that never,

Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup

Of folly, not in friendly confidence,

Not 'neath the knife nor tortures of the rack,

Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets.

MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe,

Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest?

Is it not by the name of God, as suits

The Jesuits' devout adopted son?

Or by thy honour as a high-born knight?

Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone