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[Two Senators pass over the stage, as in their way to "the Hall of the Council of Ten." You see the number is complete.

Follow me.

[Exit Loredano. Bar. (solus). Follow thee! I have follow'd long Thy path of desolation, as the wave

Sweeps after that before it, alike whelming

The wreck that creaks to the wild winds, and wretch

Who shrieks within its riven ribs, as gush

The waters through them; but this son and sire
Might move the elements to pause, and yet

Must I on hardily like them-Oh! would

I could as blindly and remorselessly!

Lo, where he comes! Be still, my heart! they are
Thy foes, must be thy victims: wilt thou beat
For those who almost broke thee?

Enter Guards, with young Foscari as prisoner, &c.

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And the chief judge, the Doge?

And might be the last, did they
Who rule behold us.

No-he,

With more than Roman fortitude, is ever
First at the board in this unhappy process
Against his last and only son.

Lor.

His last.

True true

Bar. Will nothing move you?
Lor.

Bar. He shows it not.

Lor.

Bar. (advancing to the Guard). There is one who

does :

Yet fear not; I will neither be thy judge

Nor thy accuser; though the hour is past,
Wait their last summons- I am of "the Ten,"
And waiting for that summons, sanction you

Feels he, think you? Even by my presence: when the last call sounds,
We'll in together. Look well to the prisoner!

I have mark'd that the wretch!
Bar. But yesterday, I hear, on his return
To the ducal chambers, as he pass'd the threshold
The old man fainted.

Lor.
It begins to work, then.
Bar. The work is half your own.
Lor.
And should be all mine-
My father and my uncle are no more.
Bar. I have read their epitaph, which says they died
By poison. 2

Lor. When the Doge declared that he
Should never deem himself a sovereign till
The death of Peter Loredano, both

The brothers sicken'd shortly: he is sovereign.
Bar. A wretched one.
Lor.

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What should they be who make

But did the Doge make you so?

Yes.
When princes set themselves

Bar. What solid proofs ?
Lor.

1 Composed at Ravenna, between the 11th of June and the 10th of July, 1821, and published with "Sardanapalus" in the following December.-E.

2" Veneno sublatus." The tomb is in the church of Santa Elena.-E.

Jac. Fos. What voice is that?-Tis Barbarigo's!
Ah!

Our house's foe, and one of my few judges.

Bar. To balance such a foe, if such there be,
Thy father sits amongst thy judges.
Jac. Fos.

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True,

Then deem not the laws too harsh

Which yield so much indulgence to a sire,
As to allow his voice in such high matter
As the state's safety-

Jac. Fos.

And his son's. I'm faint;

Let me approach, I pray you, for a breath

Of air, yon window which o'erlooks the waters.

Enter an Officer, who whispers Barbarigo.
Bar. (to the Guard). Let him approach. I must not
speak with him

Further than thus: I have transgress'd my duty
In this brief parley, and must now redeem it
Within the Council Chamber.

[Exit Barbarigo.
[Guard conducting Jacopo Foscari to the window.
Guard.
There, sir, 't is

Open-How feel you?
Jac. Fos.

Like a boy - Ob Venice! limbs ?

Guard. And your
Jac. Fos. Limbs how often have they borne me

Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimm'd
The gondola along in childish race,

And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,

Raced for our pleasure, in the pride of strength;
While the fair populace of crowding beauties,
Plebeian as patrician, cheer'd us on
With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,
And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,
Even to the goal!- How many a time have I
Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,
The wave all roughen'd; with a swimmer's stroke
Flinging the billows back from my drench'd hair,
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,
Which kiss'd it like a wine-cup, rising o'er
The waves as they arose, and prouder still
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down
Into their green and glassy gulis, and making
My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen
By those above, till they wax'd fearful; then
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens
As show'd that I had search'd the deep: exulting,
With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep
The long-suspended breath, again I spurn'd
The foam which broke around me, and pursued
My track like a sea-bird. I was a boy then.
Guard. Be a man now: there never was more need
Of manhood's strength.

Jac. Fos. (looking from the lattice). My beautiful,

my own,

My only Venice-this is breath! Thy breeze,
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness! How unlike
The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,
Which howl'd about my Candiote dungeon, and
Made my heart sick.
Guard.
Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear
What more may be imposed! I dread to think on't.
Jac. Fos. They will not banish me again?-No-no,
Let them wring on; I am strong yet.
Guard.

I see the colour comes

And the rack will be spared you. Jac. Fos.

Confess,

I confess'd

Once- twice before: both times they exiled me.
Guard. And the third time will slay you.
Jac. Fos.

Let them do so,

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And the cold drops strain through my brow, as if -
But onward I have borne it I can bear it.-
How looks my father?
Offi.
With his wonted aspect.
Jac. Fos. So does the earth, and sky, the blue of

ocean,

The brightness of our city, and her domes,
The mirth of her Piazza, even now

Its merry hum of nations pierces here,
Even here, into these chambers of the unknown.
Who govern, and the unknown and the unnumber'd
Judged and destroy'd in silence,- all things wear
The self same aspect, to my very sire!
Nothing can sympathise with Foscari,
Not even a Foscari. Sir, I attend you.

[Exeunt Jacopo Foscari, Officer, &c.

Enter Memmo and another Senator.

Mem. He's gone we are too late: - think you "the Ten"

Will sit for any length of time to-day?

Sen. They say the prisoner is most obdurate, Persisting in his first avcwal; but

More I know not.

Mem.

And tha, is much; the secrets Of you terrific chamber are as hidden' From us, the premier nobles of the state, As from the people.

Sen.

Save the wonted rumours, Which like the tales of spectres, that are rife Near ruin'd buildings never have been proved, Nor wholly disbelieved: men know as little Of the state's real acts as of the grave's Unfathom'd mysteries.

Mem.

But with length of time We gain a step in knowledge, and I look Forward to be one day of the decemvirs. Sen. Or Doge? Mem. Why, no; not if I can avoid it. Sen. T is the first station of the state, and may Be lawfully desired, and lawfully Attain'd by noble aspirants.

Mem.

To such

I leave it; though born noble, my ambition
Is limited I'd rather be an unit

Of an united and imperial "Ten,"
Than shine a lonely, though a gilded cipher.-
Whom have we here? the wife of Foscari?

Enter Marina, with a female Attendant.
Mur. What, no one?-I am wrong, there still are

two; But they are senators. Mem. Command us.

Mar.

Most noble lady,

I command! - Alas! my life Has been one long entreaty, and a vain one. Mem. I understand thee, but I must not answer. Mar. (fiercely). True-none dare answer here save on the rack,

Or question save those

Mem. (interrupting her). Higa-oorn dame!1 bcthink thee Where thou now art.

Mar.

Where I now am! It was My husband's father's palace.

Mem.

The Duke's palace. Mar. And his son's prison!- True, I have not for. got it;

And if there were no other nearer, bitterer

1 She was a Contarini

"A daughter of the house that now among
Its ancestors in monumental brass
Numbers eight Doges."- ROGERS.

On the occasion of her marriage with the younger Foscari, the Bucentaur came out in its splendour; and a bridge of boats was thrown across the Canal Grande for the bridegroom, and his retinue of three hundred horse. According to Sanuto, the tournaments in the place of St. Mark lasted three days. E.

Remembrances, would thank the illustrious Memmo
For pointing out the pleasures of the place.
Mem. Be calm!

Mem.

Whose duty 't is to do so.
Mar.

'Tis their duty

Mar. (looking up towards heaven). I am; but oh, To trample on all human feelings, all

thou eternal God!

Canst thou continue so with such a world? Mem. Thy husband yet may be absolved. Mar.

He is,

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He does not, there are those will sentence both.
Mem. They can.
Mar.

They

Ties which bind man to man, to emulate
The fiends who will one day requite them in
Variety of torturing! Yet I'll pass.
Mem. It is impossible.

Mar.

That shall be tried. Despair defies even despotism: there is

That in my heart would make its way through hosts
With levell'd spears; and think you a few jailors
Shall put me from my path? Give me, then, way;
This is the Doge's palace; I am wife

Of the Duke's son, the innocent Duke's son,
And they shall hear this!
It will only serve

Mem.
More to exasperate his judges.
Mar.

What

And with them power and will are one Are judges who give way to anger? they
Who do so are assassins. Give me way.

In wickedness:- my husband's lost!
Mem.

Justice is judge in Venice.
Mar.

Not so;

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If it were so, There now would be no Venice. But let it Live on, so the good die not, till the hour

Of nature's summons; but " the Ten's" is quicker, And we must wait on 't. Ah! a voice of wail! [A faint cry within.

Sen. Even if she be so, cannot save her husband. But, see, the officer re urns.

[The Officer passes over the stage with another person. Mem. I hardly 'T was a cry of Thought that "the Ten" had even this touch of pity, No, no; not my husband's Or would permit assistance to this sufferer.

Sen. Hark!

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Sen. Pity! Is 't pity to recall to feeling
The wretch too happy to escape to death
By the compassionate trance, poor nature's last
Resource against the tyranny of pain?

Mem. I marvel they condemn him not at once.
Sen. That's not their policy: they 'd have him live,
Because he fears not death; and banish him,
Because all earth, except his native land,
To him is one wide prison, and each breath
Of foreign air he draws seems a slow poison,
Consuming but not killing.

Mem. Circumstance Confirms his crimes, but he avows them not.

Sen. None, save the Letter, which he says was written,

Address'd to Milan's duke, in the full knowledge
That it would fall into the senate's hands,

Though they sweep both the Doge and son from life; And thus he should be re-convey'd to Venice.

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1 The extraordinary sentence pronounced against him, still existing among the archives of Venice, runs thus: --"Giacopo Foscari, accused of the murder of Hermolao Donato, has been arrested and examined; and, from the testimony, evidence, and documents exhibited, it distinctly appears that he is guilty of the aforesaid crime: nevertheless, on account of his obstinacy, and of enchantments and spells, in his possession, of which there are manifest proofs, it has not been possible to extract from him the truth, which is clear from parole and written evidence; for, while he was on the cord. he uttered neither word nor groan, but only murmured something to himself indistinctly and under his breath; therefore, as the honour of the state requires, he is condemned to a more distant banishment in Candia." Will it be credited, that a distinct proof of his innocence, obtained by the discovery of the real assassin, wrought no change in his unjust and cruel sentence? See Venetian Sketches, vol. ii. p. 97.-E.

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The apparent crimes of the accused disclose-
But here come two of "the Ten;" let us retire.
[Exeunt Memmo and Senator.

Enter Loredano and Barbarigo.

The hall of our tribunal, and beheld
What we could scarcely look uvon, long used
To such sights. I must think no more of this,
Lest I forget in this compassion for
Our foes, their former injuries, and lose
The hold of vengeance Loredano plans
For him and me; but mine would be content

Bar. (addressing Lor.) That were too much: be- With lesser retribution than he thirsts for, lieve me, 't was not meet

The trial should go further at this moment.

And I would mitigate his deeper hatred
To milder thoughts; but for the present, Foscari

Lor. And so the Council must break up, and Justice Has a short hourly respite, granted at
Pause in her full career, because a woman
Breaks in on our deliberations?

Bar.

No,

That's not the cause; you saw the prisoner's state.
Lor. And had he not recover'd?

Bar.

Upon the least renewal.

Lor.

To relapse

'T was not tried.

Bar. 'Tis vain to murmur; the majority

In council were against you.

Lor.

Thanks to you, sir,
And the old ducal dotard, who combined

The worthy voices which o'er-ruled my own.
Bar. I am a judge; but must confess that part
Of our stern duty, which prescribes the Question,
And bids us sit and see its sharp infliction,

Makes me wish

Lor.

Bar.

As I do always.

What?

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A Hall in the Doge's Palace.
The Doge and a Senator.

Sen. Is it your pleasure to sign the report

That you would sometimes feel, Now, or postpone it till to morrow?

Lor.
Go to, you 're a child,
Infirm of feeling as of purpose, blown
About by every breath, shook by a sigh,
And melted by a tear-a precious judge
For Venice! and a worthy statesman to
Be partner in my policy.

Bar.

No tears.

He shed

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It must have way, my lord:

I have too many duties towards you
And all your house, for past and present kindness,
Not to feel deeply for your son.
Doge.

In your commission?

Sen.

Doge.

Was this

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Of things you know not: but the treaty 's sign'd;
Return with it to them who sent you.

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child-
Mar. (abruptly).
Call me not "child!"
You soon will have no children you deserve none-
You, who can talk thus calmly of a son
In circumstances which would call forth tears
Of blood from Spartans! Though these did not weep
Their boys who died in battle, is it written
That they beheld them perish piecemeal, nor
Stretch'd forth a hand to save them?
Doge.

The sire's destruction would not save the son;
They work by different means to the same end,
And that is but they have not conquer'd yet.
Mar. But they have crush'd.
Doge.
Nor crush'd as yet I live.
Mur. And your son,- how long will he live?
Duge.

For all that yet is past, as many years
And happier than his father. The rash boy,
With womanish impatience to return,
Hath ruin'd all by that detected letter:
A high crime, which I neither can deny
Nor palliate, as parent or as Duke:
Had he but borne a little, little longer

I trust,

His Candiote exile, I had hopeshe has quench'd them

He must return.

Mar.

Doge.

To exile?

You well know

I have said it.
Mar. And can I not go with him?
Doge.
This prayer of yours was twice denied before
By the assembled "Ten," and hardly now
Will be accorded to a third request,
Since aggravated errors on the part

Of your lord renders them still more austere.
Mar. Austere? Atrocious! The old human fiends,
With one foot in the grave, with dim eyes, strange
To tears save drops of dotage, with long white
And scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and heads
As palsied as their hearts are hard, they council,
Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if life
Were no more than the feelings long extinguish'd
In their accursed bosoms.
Doge.
Mar. I do I do and so should you, methiaks-
That these are demons: could it be else that

You know not

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And feel it nothing.

Doge.

You know it well,

Oh, no doubt!

I have borne so much,
That words have ceased to shake me.
Mar.

You have seen your son's blood flow, and your flesh
shook not;

And after that, what are a woman's words?

No more than woman's tears, that they should shake you.

Doge. Woman, this clamorous grief of thine, I tell
thee,

Is no more in the balance weigh'd with that
Which but I pity thee, my poor Marina!

Mar. Pity my husband, or I cast it from me;
Pity thy son! Thou pity!-t is a word
Strange to thy heart how came it on thy lips?
Doge. I must bear these reproaches, though they
wrong me.
Couldst thou but read -
Mar.

'Tis not upon thy brow,

You behold me: Nor in thine eyes, nor in thine acts,-- where then
Should I behold this sympathy? or shall?
Doge (pointing downwards). There.

I cannot weep-I would I could; but if
Each white hair on this head were a young life,
This ducal cap the diadem of earth,

This ducal ring with which I wed the waves
A talisman to still them-I'd give all
For him.

Mar. With less he surely might be saved.
Doge. That answer only shows you know not Ve-
nice.

Alas! how should you? she knows not herself,
In all her mystery. Hear me - they who aim
At Foscari, aim no less at his father;

Mar.

Dege.

In the earth?
To which I am tending: when
It lies upon this heart, far lightlier, though
Loaded with marble, than the thoughts which press it
Now, you will know me better.

Mar.
Indeed, thus to be pitied?

Doge.

Shall ever use that
Cloak their soul

Are you, then,

Pitied! None base, with which men

ded triumph, as a fit one

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