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
As a king’s son?  Is it not so?  Declare.

Pretender. (Proudly.) The phantom of the Terrible hath made me
His son; from out the sepulchre hath named me
Dimitry, hath stirred up the people round me,
And hath consigned Boris to be my victim. 
I am tsarevich.  Enough!  ’Twere shame for me
To stoop before a haughty Polish dame. 
Farewell for ever; the game of bloody war,
The wide cares of my destiny, will smother,
I hope, the pangs Of love.  O, when the heat
Of shameful passion is o’erspent, how then
Shall I detest thee!  Now I leave thee—­ruin,
Or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia;
Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier
In honourable fight, or as a miscreant
Upon the public scaffold, thou shalt not
Be my companion, nor shalt share with me
My fate; but it may be thou shalt regret
The destiny thou hast refused.

Marina.  But what
If I expose beforehand thy bold fraud
To all men?

Pretender.  Dost thou think I fear thee?  Think’st thou
They will believe a Polish maiden more
Than Russia’s own tsarevich?  Know, proud lady,
That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles trouble
Whether my words be true, whether I be
Dimitry or another.  What care they? 
But I provide a pretext for revolt
And war; and this is all they need; and thee,
Rebellious one, believe me, they will force
To hold thy peace.  Farewell.

Marina.  Tsarevich, stay! 
At last I hear the speech not of a boy,
But of a man.  It reconciles me to thee. 
Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see
Again Dimitry.  Listen; now is the time! 
Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops
Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take
Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then
Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me,
Until thy foot be planted on its steps,
Until by thee Boris be overthrown,
I am not one to listen to love-speeches.

Pretender.  No—­easier far to strive with Godunov. 
Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court,
Than with a woman.  Deuce take them; they’re beyond
My power.  She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out
Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites.  Ah, serpent! 
Serpent!  ’Twas not for nothing that I trembled. 
She well-nigh ruined me; but I’m resolved;
At daybreak I will put my troops in motion.