Pretender.  Nay!  Enough—­
I have no wish to share with a dead body
A mistress who belongs to him; I have done
With counterfeiting, and will tell the truth. 
Know, then, that thy Dimitry long ago
Perished, was buried—­and will not rise again;
And dost thou wish to know what man I am? 
Well, I will tell thee.  I am—­a poor monk. 
Grown weary of monastic servitude,
I pondered ’neath the cowl my bold design,
Made ready for the world a miracle—­
And from my cell at last fled to the Cossacks,
To their wild hovels; there I learned to handle
Both steeds and swords; I showed myself to you. 
I called myself Dimitry, and deceived
The brainless Poles.  What say’st thou, proud Marina? 
Art thou content with my confession?  Why
Dost thou keep silence?

Marina.  O shame!  O woe is me!

(Silence.)

Pretender. (Sotto voce.) O whither hath a fit of anger led me? 
The happiness devised with so much labour
I have, perchance, destroyed for ever.  Idiot,
What have I done? (Aloud.) I see thou art ashamed
Of love not princely; so pronounce on me
The fatal word; my fate is in thy hands. 
Decide; I wait.

(Falls on his knees.)

Marina.  Rise, poor pretender!  Think’st thou
To please with genuflex on my vain heart,
As if I were a weak, confiding girl? 
You err, my friend; prone at my feet I’ve seen
Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this
Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk—­

Pretender. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues
May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy
Of Moscow’s throne, even of thy priceless hand—­

Marina.  Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch!

Pretender.  I am to blame; carried away by pride
I have deceived God and the kings—­have lied
To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina,
To judge me; I am guiltless before thee. 
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.