Mar. Nothing more easy. He partakes it nowAy, he may veil beneath a marble brow

And sneering lip the pang, but he partakes it.

A few brief words of truth shame the devil's servants

No less than master; I have probed his soul

A moment, as the eternal fire, ere long,

Will reach it always. See how he shrinks from me!
With death, and chains, and exile in his hand

To scatter o'er his kind as he thinks fit:
They are his weapons, not his armour, for

I have pierced him to the core of his cold heart.

I care not for his frowns! We can but die,

And he but live, for him the very worst
Of destinies each day secures him more
His tempter's.

Jac. Fos. This is mere insanity.

Mar. It may be so; and who hath made us mad? Lor. Let her go on; it irks not me. Mar. That's false ! You came here to enjoy a heartless triumph Of cold looks upon manifold griefs! You came To be sued to in vain-to mark our tears, And hoard our groans-to gaze upon the wreck Which you have made a prince's son-my husband; In short, to trample on the fallen-an office The hangman shrinks from, as all men from him! How have you sped? We are wretched, signor, as Your plots could make, and vengeance could desire us, And how feel you?

Lor.

Ματ.

As rocks.

By thunder blasted: They feel not, but no less are shiver'd. Come,

[If the two Foscari do nothing to defeat the machinations of their remorseless foe, Marina, the wife of the younger, at least revenges them, by letting loose the venom of her tongue

Mar. I would that they beheld their father in A place which would not mingle fear with love, To freeze their young blood in its natural current. They have fed well, slept soft, and knew not that Their sire was a mere hunted outlaw. Well, I know his fate may one day be their heritage, But let it only be their heritage,

And not their present fee. Their senses, though Alive to love, are yet awake to terror;

And these vile damps, too, and yon thick green wave
Which floats above the place where we now stand-
A cell so far below the water's level,

Sending its pestilence through every crevice,
Might strike them: this is not their atmosphere,
However you- and you

-and, most of all, As worthiest you, sir, noble Loredano! May breathe it without prejudice.

In all things painful. If they're sick, they will
Be left to me to tend them; should they die,
To me to bury and to mourn; but if
They live, they'll make you soldiers, senators,
Slaves, exiles-what you will; or if they are
Females with portions, brides and bribes for nobles!
Behold the state's care for its sons and mothers!

Lor. The hour approaches, and the wind is fair. Jac. Fos. How know you that here, where the genial wind

Ne'er blows in all its blustering freedom?

Exchange of chains for heavier chains I owe him.
He knows this, or he had not sought to change them.
But I reproach not.

Lor.
The time narrows, signor.
Jac. Fos. Alas! I little thought so lingeringly
To leave abodes like this: but when I feel
That every step I take, even from this cell,
Is one away from Venice, I look back
Even on these dull damp walls, and
Doge.
Boy! no tears.
Mar. Let them flow on: he wept not on the rack
To shame him, and they cannot shame him now.
They will relieve his heart-that too kind heart
And I will find an hour to wipe away
Those tears, or add my own. I could weep now,
But would not gratify yon wretch so far.
Let us proceed. Doge, lead the way.

Lor. (to the Familiar).

Mar. Yes, light us on, as to a funeral pyre,

The torch, there!

Kind to relieve him from the cares of state.
Bar. "Twill break his heart.
Lor.

Age has no heart to break.
He has seen his son's half broken, and, except
A start of feeling in his dungeon, never
Swerved.

Bar. In his countenance, I grant you, never; But I have seen him sometimes in a calm So desolate, that the most clamorous grief Had nought to envy him within. Where is he? Lor. In his own portion of the palace, with His son, and the whole race of Foscaris. Bar. Bidding farewell. Lor.

Bid to his dukedom.

Bar.

A last. As soon he shall

When embarks the son?

Lor. Forthwith-when this long leave is taken. 'Tis Time to admonish them again.

Bar.

Retrench not from their moments.

Lor.

Forbear;

Not I, now This day

We have higher business for our own. Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign, As the first of his son's last banishment, And that is vengeance.

Bar. And did not this shake your suspicion?
Lor.

Bar. But if this deposition should take place By our united influence in the Council,

It must be done with all the deference
Due to his years, his station, and his deeds.
Lor. As much of ceremony as you will,

So that the thing be done. You may, for aught
I care, depute the Council on their knees,
(Like Barbarossa to the Pope,) to beg him
To have the courtesy to abdicate.

Bar. What, if he will not?
Lor.

And make him null.

I will be legislator in this business.
Bar. At your own peril?
Lor.

Our powers are such.

Bar.

There is none, I tell you,

But he has twice already

Lor.

To grant it the third time.

The better reason

The impression of his former instances:

If they were from his heart, he may be thankful:
If not, 't will punish his hypocrisy.

Come, they are met by this time; let us join them,
And be thou fix'd in purpose for this once.
I have prepared such arguments as will not
Fail to move them, and to remove him: since
Their thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do not
You, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause,
And all will prosper.

Bar.

Could I but be certain

This is no prelude to such persecution
Of the sire as has fallen upon the son,

I would support you.
Lor.

He is safe, I tell you; His fourscore years and five may linger on As long as he can drag them: 'tis his throne Alone is aim'd at.

Mem. Being worth our lives If we divulge them, doubtless they are worth Something, at least to you or me.

You ever were my dearest offspring, when
They were more numerous, nor can be less so
Now you are last; but did the state demand
The exile of the disinterred ashes

Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth,
And their desponding shades came flitting round
To impede the act, I must no less obey

A duty, paramount to every duty.

Mar. My husband! let us on: this but prolongs Our sorrow.

Jac. Fos. But we are not summon'd yet; The galley's sails are not unfurl'd: — who knows? The wind may change.

The Bridge which few repass.

O, ye elements !

Sen. Mem.

I am silent.

Why

Thus hesitate? "The Ten" have call'd in aid Of their deliberation five and twenty

Will nothing calm you?

Never yet did mariner

Jac. Fos.

Put up to patron saint such prayers for prosperous
And pleasant breezes, as I call upon you,
Ye tutelar saints of my own city! which
Ye love not with more holy love than I,
To lash up from the deep the Adrian waves,
And waken Auster, sovereign of the tempest !
Till the sea dash me back on my own shore
A broken corse upon the barren Lido,
Where I may mingle with the sands which skirt
The land I love, and never shall see more!

Mar. And wish you this with me beside you?
Jac. Fos.
No-
No not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st thou
Live long to be a mother to those children

Let me go home. My son,' returns the Doge, Mastering his grief, if thou art indeed my son, Obey. Thy country wills it.'"'— ROGERS.]

Of such support! But for myself alone,
May all the winds of heaven howl down the Gulf,
And tear the vessel, till the mariners,
Appall'd, turn their despairing eyes on me,
As the Phenicians did on Jonah, then
Cast me out from amongst them, as an offering

To appease the waves. The billow which destroys me
Will be more merciful than man, and bear me,
Dead, but still bear me to a native grave,
From fishers' hands upon the desolate strand,
Which, of its thousand wrecks, hath ne'er received
One lacerated like the heart which then

Will be-But wherefore breaks it not? why live I?
Mar. To man thyself, I trust, with time, to master
Such useless passion. Until now thou wert
A sufferer, but not a loud one: why,

What is this to the things thou hast borne in silence
Imprisonment and actual torture?

Away!

Triple, and tenfold torture! But you are right,
It must be borne. Father, your blessing.
Doge.

It could avail thee! but no less thou hast it.
Juc. Fos. Forgive-

Jac. Fos. I cannot wish them all they have inflicted. Mar. All! the consummate fiends! A thousand fold May the worm which ne'er dieth feed upon them! Jac. Fos. They may repent. Mar. And if they do, Heaven will not Accept the tardy penitence of demons.

Enter an Officer and Guards.

Offi. Signor the boat is at the shore-the wind Is rising-we are ready to attend you.

Jac. Fos. And I to be attended. Once more, father, Your hand!

Doge. Take it. Alas! how thine own trembles ! Jac. Fos. No-you mistake; 't is yours that shakes, my father.

Offi.

Hold thy peace, old man! -thou hast no son.

We must remove the body.

Mar. Touch it not, dungeon miscreants! your base

office

Ends with his life, and goes not beyond murder,
Even by your murderous laws. Leave his remains
To those who know to honour them.

Offi.
I must
Inform the signory, and learn their pleasure.
Doge. Inform the signory from me, the Doge,
They have no further power upon those ashes:
While he lived, he was theirs, as fits a subject-
Now he is mine-my broken-hearted boy!

Mar. And I must live! Doge.

[Exit Officer.

Your children live, Marina. Mar. My children! true- they live, and I must live To bring them up to serve the state, and die As died their father. Oh what best of blessings Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother Had been so ?

Enter LOREDANO and BARBARIGO.

Lor. What's here? Mar. Ah! the devil come to insult the dead! Avaunt!

Incarnate Lucifer! 'tis holy ground.

A martyr's ashes now lie there, which make it
A shrine. Get thee back to thy place of torment!
Bar. Lady, we knew not of this sad event,
But pass'd here merely on our path from council.
Mar. Pass on.

Mar. (pointing to the Doge, who is still on the ground by his son's body). He's busy, look,

About the business you provided for him.

Now, I'm ready –

Are ye content?

My eyes swim strangely - where's the door?

This edict.

Bar.

No-not now.

Lor.

Let him call up into life My sire and uncle-I consent. Men may Even aged men, be, or appear to be, Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindle An atom of their ancestors from earth. The victims are not equal: he has seen His sons expire by natural deaths, and I My sires by violent and mysterious maladies. I used no poison, bribed no subtle master Of the destructive art of healing, to Shorten the path to the eternal cure. His sous-and he had four-are dead, without My dabbling in vile drugs. And art thou sure

Bar.

Lo! there is the blood beginning To flow through the dead lips of FoscariThe body bleeds in presence of the assassin.

And foreign traitor?

Lor.

:

Even so when he, After the very night in which "the Ten" (Join'd with the Doge) decided his destruction, Met the great Duke at day-break with a jest, Demanding whether he should augur him "The good day or good night?" his Dogeship answer'd,

"That he in truth had pass'd a night of vigil, In which (he added with a gracious smile), There often has been question about you.' 'T was true; the question was the death resolved Of Carmagnuola, eight months ere he died; And the old Doge, who knew him doom'd, smiled [hand

on him

With deadly cozenage, eight long months before-
Eight months of such hypocrisy as is
Learnt but in eighty years. Brave Carmagnuola
Is dead; so is young Foscari and his brethren-

You have consented to
All that's essential-leave the rest to me.
Bar. Why press his abdication now?
Lor.

Of private passion may not interrupt
The public benefit; and what the state
Decides to-day must not give way before
To-morrow for a natural accident.

Bur. You have a son.
Lor.

I have and had a father.

Destroy'd by him, or through him, the account
Were fearfully against him, although narrow'd
To private havoc, such as between him
And my dead father.

An historica! fact. See Daru, tom. ii.