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I. Ber. My lord, you are much moved : it is not now That such things must be dwelt upon. Doge. Your patience A moment — I recede not : mark with me The gloomy vices of this government. From the hour they made me Doge, the Doge THEY made me— Farewell the past ! I dicol to all that had been, Or rather they to me: no friends, no kindness, No privacy of life—all were cut off: They came not near me, such approach gave umbrage; They could not love me, such was not the law; They thwarted me, 't was the state's policy; They baffled me, 'twas a patrician's duty; They wrong'd me, for such was to right the state; They could not right me, that would give suspicion; So that I was a slave to my own subjects; So that I was a foe to my own friends; Begirt with spies for guards—with robes for power— With pomp for freedom—gaolers for a council— Inquisitors for friends—and hell for life I had one only fount of quiet left, And that they poison'd : My pure household gods Were shiver'd on my hearth, and o'er their shrine Sate grinning Ribaldry and sneering Scorn. I. Ber. You have been deeply wrong'd, and now shall be Nobly avenged before another night. Doye. I had borne all—it hurt me, but I bore it— Till this last running over of the cup Of bitterness—until this last loud insult, Not only unredress'd, but sanction'd; then, And thus, I cast all further feelings from me – The feelings which they crush'd for me, long, long Before, even in their oath of false allegiance 1 Even in that very hour and vow, they abjured Their friend and made a sovereign, as boys make Playthings, to do their pleasure—and be broken I I from that hour have seen but senators In dark suspicious conflict with the Doge, Brooding with him in mutual hate and fear; They dreading he should snatch the tyranny From out their grasp, and he abhorring tyrants. To me, then, these men have no private life, Nor claim to ties they have cut off from others; As senators for arbitrary acts Amenable, I look on thern-as such Let them be dealt upon." Cal. And now to action : Hence, brethren, to our posts, and may this be

(“I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl, any thing, but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when I stood alone upon my hearth, with my household gods shivered around me. Do you suppose I have forgotten or forgiven it 2 It has, comparatively, swallowed up in me every other feeling, and t an only a spectator upon earth till a tenfold opportunity offers. It may come yet." Byron Letters, 1819.

* (The struggle of feelings with which the Doge undertakes the conspiracy is admirably contrasted with the ferocious eagerness of his low-born associates; and only loses its effect, because we cannot but be sensible that the man who felt thus could not have gone on with his guilty project, unless stimulated by some greater and more accumulated injuries than are, in the course of the tragedy, brought before the perception of the reader. - Heugh.J

* [“Nor turn aside to strike at such a †—Ms.

“[the great defect of Marino Faliero is, that the nature and character of the conspiracy excite no interest. It matters little that Lord Byron has been faithful to history, if the event ls destitute of a poetic character. Like Alfieri, to whom

The last night of mere words: I'd fain be doing!
Saint Mark's great bell at dawn shall find me wakeful I
I. Ber. Disperse then to your posts: be firm and
Think on the wrongs we bear, the rights we claim.

This day and night shall be the last of peril 1

Watch for the signal, and then march. I go
To join my band; let each be prompt to marshal
His separate charge: the Doge will now return
To the palace to prepare all for the blow.
We part to meet in freedom and in glory ! lyou
Cal. Doge, when I greet you next, my homage to
Shall be the head of Steno on this sword :
Doge. No ; let him be reserved unto the last,
Nor turn aside to strike at such a prey, 3
Till nobler game is quarried : his offence
Was a mere ebullition of the vice,
The general corruption generated
By the foul aristocracy: he could not.—
He dared not—in more honourable days
Have risk"d it. I have merged all private wrath
Against him, in the thought of our great purpose.
A slave insults me — I require his punishment
From his proud master's hands; if he refuse it,
The offence grows his, and let him answer it.
Cal. Yet, as the immediate cause of the alliance
Which consecrates our undertaking more,
I owe him such deep gratitude, that fain
I would repay him as he merits; may I ?
Doge. You would but lop the hand, and I the head;
You would but smite the scholar, I the master;
You would but punish Steno, I the senate.
I cannot pause on individual hate,
In the absorbing, sweeping, whole revenge,
Which, like the sheeted fire from heaven, must blast
Without distinction, as it fell of yore,
Where the Dead Sea hath quench'd two cities' ashes.
I. Ber. Away, then, to your posts l l but remain
A moment to accompany the Doge
To our late place of tryst, to see no spies
Have been upon the scout, and thence I hasten
To where my allotted band is under arms.
Cal. Farewell, then, – until dawn 1
I. Ber. Success go with you!
Consp. We will not fail—Away! My lord, farewell."
[The Conspirators salute the Dogz and Israel.
BERTuccio, and retire, headed by PHILIP CALEN-
DARo. The DoGE and Israel BERTuccio
I. Ber. We have them in the toil—it cannot fail :
Now thou'rt indeed a sovereign, and wilt make

in many so his genius approximates, he is settered by an intractable story, which is wholly remote from the instincts and feelings of mankind. How elevated soever may be, his diction, how vivid soever his colouring, a moral truth is wanting — that charm, so difficult to define, so easy to ap[..." which, diffused over the scene, excites in generous

osoms an exalted enthusiasm for the great interests of humanity. This is the poesy of history. It is the charm of the William Tell of Schiller; it is felt in the awful plot of Brutus, and, to a certain degree, in the conspiracy of Pierre and Jaffier; for the end and purpose of these conspiracles were, to redeem their country from insult, and oppression. But in Marino Faliero's attempt against the state, we contemplate nothing but the project of a sanguinary ruthian seeking to grasp unlimited authority, and making, after the established precedents of all usurpers, the wrongs and sufferings of the commonalty his pretence ; while, in another aspect of his character, we see him goaded, by an imagined injury, into an enterprise which would have inundated Venice with her best blood. Is this a sublime spectacle, calculated to purge the mind, according to the abhorism of Aristotle, by means of terror or pity ? Ecl. Rev.

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Act III.

A name immortal greater than the greatest: Free citizens have struck at kings ere now ; Caesars have fallen, and even patrician hands Have crush'd dictators, as the popular steel Has reach'd patricians: but, until this hour, What prince has plotted for his people's freedom 7 Or risk’d a life to liberate his subjects 2 For ever, and for ever, they conspire Against the people, to abuse their hands To chains, but laid aside to carry weapons Against the fellow nations, so that yoke On yoke, and slavery and death may whet, Not glut, the never-gorged Leviathan 1 Now, my lord, to our enterprise ; – 'tis great, And greater the reward ; why stand you rapt 2 A moment back, and you were all impatience 1 Doge. And is it then decided ? must they die 2 I. Ber. Who? Doge. My own friends by blood and courtesy, And many deeds and days — the senators 2 I. Ber. You pass'd their sentence, and it is a just one. Doge. Ay, so it seems, and so it is to you ; You are a patriot, plebeian Gracchus— The rebel's oracle, the people's tribune— I blame you not—you act in your vocation ; They smote you, and oppress'd you, and despised you; So they have me : but you ne'er spake with them ; You never broke their bread, nor shared their salt; You never had their wine-cup at your lips; You grew not up with them, nor laugh'd, nor wept, Nor held a revel in their company; Ne'er smiled to see them smile, nor claim'd their smile In social interchange for yours, nor trusted Nor wore them in your heart of hearts, as I have : These hairs of mine are grey, and so are theirs, The elders of the council: I remember When all our locks were like the raven's wing, As we went forth to take our prey around The isles wrung from the false Mahometan ; And can I see them dabbled o'er with blood 2 Each stab to them will seen my suicide. " I. Ber. Doge : Doge ; this vacillation is unworthy A child ; if you are not in second childhood, Call back your nerves to your own purpose, nor Thus shame yourself and me. By heavens ! I'd rather Forego even now, or fail in our intent, Than see the man I venerate subside From high resolves into such shallow weakness: You have seen blood in battle, shed it, both Your own and that of others; can you shrink then From a few drops from veins of hoary vampires, Who but give back what they have drain'd from millions 2 Doge. Bear with me : Step by step, and blow on blow, I will divide with you; think not I waver: Ah! no ; it is the certainty of all Which I must do doth make me tremble thus.

* [The unmix’d selfishness of the motives with which the Dose acredes to the plot perpetually escares him. Not that he is wholly untouched by the computictious visitings of nature. But the fearful unity of such a character is broken by assigning to it the throbbings and the pangs of human feelings, and by making him recoil with affrisht from slaughter and desolation. In the roar and whirlwind of the mighty passions which precede the acting of a dreadful plot, it is wholly unreasonable and out of secring to put into his mouth the sentimental effusions of affectionate pity for his friends,

But let these last and lingering though's have way,
To which you only and the Night are conscious,
And both regardless; when the hour arrives,
"Tis mine to sound the knell, and strike the blow,
Which shall unpeople many palaces,
And hew the highest genealogic trees
Down to the earth, strew’d with their bleeding fruit,
And crush their blossoms into barrenness:
This will I— must I—have I sworn to do,
Nor aught can turn me from my destiny ;
But still I quiver to behold what I
Must be, and think what I have been : Bear with me.
I. Ber. Re-man your breast; I feel nosuch remorse,
I understand it not: why should you change 2
You acted, and you act, on your free will.
Doge. Ay, there it is—you feel not, nor do I,
Else I should stab thee on the spot, to save
A thousand lives, and, killing, do no murder;
You feel not—you go to this butcher-work
As if these high-born men were steers for shambles 1
When all is over, you'll be free and merry,
And calmly wash those hands incarnadine;
But I, outgoing thee and all thy fellows
In this surpassing massacre, shall be,
Shall see and feel—oh God t oh God! 'tis true,
And thou dost well to answer that it was
“My own free will and act," and yet you err,
For I will do this Doubt not—fear not; I
Will be your most unmerciful accomplice :
And yet I act no more on my free will,
Nor my own feelings—both compel me back ;
But there is hell within me and around.
And like the demon who believes and trembles
Must I abhor and do. Away away :
Get thee unto thy fellows, I will hie me
To gather the retainers of our house.
Doubt not, Saint Mark's great bell shall wake all
Except her slaughter'd senate: ere the sun
Be broad upon the Adriatic there
Shall be a voice of weeping, which shall drown
The roar of waters in the cry of blood :
I am resolved—come on.
1. Ber. "ith all my soul :
Keep a firm rein upon these bursts of passion ;
Remember what these men have dealt to thee,
And that this sacrifice will be succeeded
By ages of prosperity and freedom
To this unshackled city: a true tyrant
Would have depopulated empires, nor
Have felt the strange compunction which hath wrong
To punish a few traitors to the people.
Trust me, such were a pity more misplaced
Than the late mercy of the state to Steno.
Doge. Man, thou hast struck upon the chord which
All nature from my heart. Hence to our task :


whom he thinks of rather too late to give these touches of remorse and mercy any other character than that of hypocritical whining. The sentiments are certainly good. but lanentably out of time and place, and remind of Scarron's remark upon the moralizing Phlesyas in the infernal resions.—

* Cette sentence est vrai et belie,

Mais dans enfer de quoi sert-elle 2"

Yet, though wholly repugnant to dramatic congruity, the passage has great poetic power. — Ect. Rce-l



Act IV. schen E. I.



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Lioni. I will to rest, right weary of this revel, The gayest we have held for many moons, And yet, I know not why, it cheer'd me not; There came a heaviness across my heart, Which, in the lightest movement of the dance, Though eye to eye, and hand in hand united Even with the lady of my love, oppress'd me, And through my spirit chill'd my blood, until A damp like death rose o'er my brow; I strove To laugh the thought away, but 'twould not be: Through all the music ringing in my ears A knell was sounding as distinct and clear, Though low and far, as e'er the Adrian wave Rose o'er the city's murmur in the night, Dashing against the outward Lido's bulwark: So that I left the festival before It reach'd its zenith, and will woo my pillow For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness. Antonio, take my mask and cloak, and light The launp within my chamber.

Ant. Yes, my lord: Command you no refreshment? Lioni. Nought, save sleep,

Which will not be commanded. Let me hope it,
[Erit ANtonio.
Though my breast feels too anxious; I will try
Whether the air will calm my spirits; 'tis
A goodly night; the cloudy wind which blew
From the Levant hath crept into its cave, [ness!
And the broad moon has brighten’d. What a still-
[Goes to an open lattice.
And what a contrast with the scene I left,
Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'
More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls,
Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts
Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries
A dazzling mass of artificial light,
Which show'd all things, but nothing as they were.
There Age essaying to recall the past,
After long striving for the hues of youth
At the sad labour of the toilet, and
Full many a glance at the too faithful mirror,
Prank'd forth in all the pride of ornament,
Forgot itself, and trusting to the falsehood
Of the indulgent beams, which show, yet hide,
Believed itself forgotten, and was fool'd.
There Youth, which needed not, nor thought of such
Wain adjuncts, lavish'd its true bloom, and health,
And bridal beauty, in the unwholesome press
Of flush'd and crowded wassailers, and wasted
Its hours of rest in dreaming this was pleasure,
And so shall waste them till the sunrise streams

1 sthe fourth act opens with the most poetical and brilliantly written scene in the play—though it is a soliloquy, and altogether alien from the business of the piece. ioni, a young nobleman, returns home from a splendid assembly, rather out of spirits; and, opening his palace window for air, contrasts the tranquillity of the night scene which lies hefore him, with the feverish turbulence and glittering enchantments of that which he has just quitted. Nothing can be finer than this picture, in both its compartments. There is a

On sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, which should not
Have worn this aspect yet for many a year.
The music, and the banquet, and the wine–
The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers –
The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments—
The white arms and the raven hair—the braids
And bracelets; swanlike bosoms, and the necklace,
An India in itself, yet dazzling not
The eye like what it circled; the thin robes,
Floating like light clouds 'twixt our gaze and heaven;
The many-twinkling feet so small and sylphlike,
Suggesting the more secret symmetry
Of the fair forms which terminate so well–
All the delusion of the dizzy scene,
Its false and true enchantments—art and nature,
Which swam before my giddy eyes, that drank
The sight of beauty as the parch'd pilgrim's
On Arab sands the false mirage, which offers
A lucid lake to his eluded thirst,
Are gone. — Around me are the stars and waters—
Worlds mirror'd in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Soften’d with the first breathings of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls
Of those tall piles and sea-girt palaces,
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad canal,
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed
Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants
Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,
Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have
No other record. All is gentle: nought
Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,
Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit.
The tinklings of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, showing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand,
Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part,
So delicately white, it trembles in
The act of opening the forbidden lattice,
To let in love through music, makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight; — the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle
Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir
Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse;
Some dusky shadow checkering the Rialto;
Some glimmering palace roof, or tapering spire,
Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade
The ocean-born and earth-commanding city—
How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm I
I thank thee, Night ! for thou hast chased away
Those horrid bodements which, amidst the throng,
I could not dissipate ; and with the blessing

truth and a luxuriance in the description of the rout, which mark at once the hand of a master, and raise it to a very high rank as a piece of poetical painting ; – while the moonlight view from the window is equally grand and beautiful, and reminds us of those magnificent and enchanting lookings forth in “Manfred,” which have left, we will contess, far deeper traces on our fancy, than anything in the more elaborate work before us. – Jeff REY.]

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Of thy benign and quiet influence,—
Now will I to my couch, although to rest
Is almost wronging such a night as this—
[A knocking is heard from without.
Hark! what is that ? or who at such a moment 2 3

Enter ANToNIo. Ant. My lord, a man without, on urgent business, Implores to be admitted. Lioni. Is he a stranger? Ant. His face is muffled in his cloak, but both His voice and gestures seem familiar to me; I craved his name, but this he seem'd reluctant To trust, save to yourself; most earnestly He sues to be permitted to approach you. Lioni. 'T is a strange hour, and a suspicious bearing ! And yet there is slight peril: 'tis not in Their houses noble men are struck at ; still, Although I know not that I have a foe In Venice, 't will be wise to use some caution. Admit him, and retire; but call up quickly Some of thy fellows, who may wait without. — Who can this man be 2 – [Erit ANToNio, and returns with BERTRAM muffled. Ber. My good lord Lioni, I have no time to lose, nor thou — dismiss This menial hence; I would be private with you. Lioni. It seems the voice of Bertram — Go, Antonio. [Erit ANToNio. Now, stranger, what would you at such an hour? Ber. (discovering himself). A boon, my noble patron; you have granted Many to your poor client, Bertram ; add This one, and make him happy. Lioni. Thou hast known mo From boyhood, ever ready to assist thee In all fair objects of advancement, which Beseem one of thy station ; I would promise Ere thy request was heard, but that the hour, Thy bearing, and this strange and hurried mode Of suing, gives me to suspect this visit Hath some mysterious import—but say on– What has occurred, some rash and sudden broil 2 – A cup too much, a scuffle, and a stab?— Mere things of every day; so that thou hast not Spilt noble blood, I guarantee thy safety; But then thou must withdraw, for angry friends And relatives, in the first burst of vengeance, Are things in Venice deadlier than the laws. Ber. My lord, I thank you; but Liont. But what ? You have not Raised a rash hand against one of our order 7 If so, withdraw and fly, and own it not; I would not slay — but then I must not save thee : He who has shed patrician blood Ber. I come To save patrician blood, and not to shed it ! And thereunto I must be speedy, for Each minute lost may lose a life; since Time Has changed his slow scythe for the two-edged sword,

! [This soliloquy is exquisite, and increases our regret that, with such powers of pleasing, Lord Byron should not always have condescended to please. — Heber.]

* The soliloquy of Lioni is a fine instance of repose, as the painters term #. amidst the horrors of the scene, and of that obscure but ruthless presentinent of evil, of which Shakspeare frequently made a use somewhat similar. Yet this splendid passage, with reference to the romantic character

Saw us together—happy, heart-full hours : ; Oh God the difference 'twixt those hours and this

And is about to take, instead of sand,
The dust from sepulchres to fill his hour-glass : —
Go not thou forth to-morrow :

Lioni. Wherefore not? – What means this menace 2 Ber. Do not seek its meaning,

But do as I implore thee;—stir not forth,
Whate'er be stirring; though the roar of crowds –
The cry of women, and the shrieks of babes –
The groans of men — the clash of arms—the sound
Of rolling drum, shrill trump, and hollow bell,
Peal in one wide alarum ! – Go not forth
Until the tocsin's silent, nor even then
Till I return I
Lioni. Again, what does this mean 2
Ber. Aguin, I tell thee, ask not; but by all
Thou holdest dear on earth or heaven—by all
The souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope
To cmulate them, and to leave behind
Descendants worthy both of them and thee —
By all thou hast of bless'd in hope or memory —
By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter—
By all the good deeds thou hast done to me,
Good I would now repay with greater good,
Remain within-trust to thy household gods,
And to my word for safety, if thou dost
As I now counsel — but if not, thou art lost :
Lior. i. I am indeed already lost in wonder;
Surely thou ravest what have I to dread 2
Who are my foes? or if there be such, why
Art thou leagued with them 2–thou ! or if so leagued,
Why comest thou to tell me at this hour,
And not before ?
Ber. I cannot answer this.
Wilt thou go forth despite of this true warning 2
Lioni. I was not born to shrink from idle threats,
The cause of which I know not : at the hour
Of council, be it soon or late, I shall not
Be found among the absent.
Ber. Say not so I
Once more, art thou determined to go forth 2
Lioni. I am. Nor is there aught which shall im-
pede me !
Ber. Then Heaven have mercy on thy soul : —
Farewell [Going.
Lioni. Stay—there is more in this than my own
safety [thus:
Which makes me call thee back; we must not part
Bertram, I have known thee long.
Ber. From childhood, signor,
You have been my protector: in the days
Of reckless infancy, when rank forgets,
Or, rather, is not yet taught to remember
Its cold prerogative, we play'd together;
Our sports, our smiles, our tears, were mingled oft;
My father was your father's client, I
His son's scarce less than foster-brother; years

Lioni. Bertram, 'tis thou who last forgotten them.

of the poem, is adventitious, and obviously transplanted from the mind of the poet. It is the habitual cast of thought, tinged with misanthropy, which is peculiar to Lord Byron, and does not adapt itself to the situation or feelings of the personages, of his poem. It is the cool contemplation of a mind raised above the storms of human life, and the perturbation of its passions, and viewing, as from “a peculiar mount,” the strife and conflicts of a world in which it disdains to mix. — Ecl. Rev.]

Ber. Nor now, nor ever; whatsoe'er betide, I would have saved you: when to manhood's growth We sprung, and you, devoted to the state, As suits your station, the more humble Bertram Was left unto the labours of the humble, Still you forsook me not; and if my fortunes Have not been towering, 'twas no fault of him Who ofttimes rescued and supported me When struggling with the tides of circumstance Which bear away the weaker: noble blood Ne'er mantled in a nobler heart than thine Has proved to me, the poor plebeian Bertram. Would that thy fellow senators were like thee I

Ilioni. Why, what hast thou to say against the

Senate 2

Ber. Nothing.

Lioni. I know that there are angry spirits
And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason,
Who lurk in narrow places, and walk out
Muffled to whisper curses to the night;
Disbanded soldiers, discontented ruffians,
And Jesperate libertines who brawl in taverns;
Thou herdest not with such , 'tis true, of late
I have lost sight of thee, but thou wert wont
To lead a temperate life, and break thy bread
With honest mates, and bear a cheerful aspect.
What hath come to thee 7 in thy hollow eye
And hueless cheek, and thine unquiet motions,
Sorrow and shanne and conscience seem at war
To waste thee.

Ber. Rather shame and sorrow light
On the accursed tyranny which rides 1
The very air in Venice, and makes men
Madlen as in the last hours of the plague
Which sweeps the soul deliriously from life :

Ilioni. Some villains have been tampering with

thce, Bertram ;

This is not thy old language, nor own thoughts;
Some wretch has made thee drunk with disaffection :
But thou must not be lost so; thou wert good
And kind, and art not fit for such base acts
As vice and villainy would put thee to :
Confess—confide in me—thou know'st my nature—
What is it thou and thine are bound to do,
Which should prevent thy friend, the only son
Of birn who was a friend unto thy father,
So that our good-will is a heritage
We should bequeath to our posterity
Such as ourselves received it, or augmented;
I say, what is it thou must do, that I
Should deem thee dangerous, and keep the house
Like a sick girl 7

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Ber. Sooner than spill thy blood, I peril mine; Sooner than harm a hair of thine, I place In jeopardy a thousand heads, and some As noble, nay, even nobler than thine own. Lioni. Ay, is it even so 7 Excuse me, Bertram; I am not worthy to be singled out From such exalted hecatombs—who are they That are in danger, and that make the danger? Ber. Venice, and all that she inherits, are Divided like a house against itself, And so will perish ere to-morrow's twilight ! Lioni. More mysteries, and awful ones | But now, Or thou, or I, or both, it may be, are Upon the verge of ruin; speak once out, And thou art safe and glorious; for 'tis more Glorious to save than slay, and slay i' the dark too— Fie, Bertram that was not a craft for thee . How would it look to see upon a spear The head of him whose heart was open to thee, Borne by thy hand before the shuddering people 2 And such may be my doom; for here I swear, Whate'er the peril or the penalty Of thy denunciation, I go forth, Unless thou dost detail the cause, and show The consequence of all which led thee here : Ber. Is there no way to save thee 7 minutes fly, And thou art lost 1–thou / my sole benefactor, The only being who was constant to me Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor : Let me save thee—but spare my honour ! Lioni. Can lie the honour in a league of murder 2 And who are traitors save unto the state 2 Ber. A league is still a compact, and more binding In honest hearts when words must stand for law; And in my mind, there is no traitor like He whose domestic treason plants the poniard Within the breast which trusted to his truth. Lioni. And who will strike the steel to mine 2 Ber. Not I; I could have wound my soul up to all things Save this. Thou must not die 1 and think how dear Thy life is, when I risk so many lives, Nay, more, the life of lives, the liberty Of future generations, not to be The assassin thou miscall'st me; – once, once more I do adjure thee, pass not o'er thy threshold 1 Lioni. It is in vain — this moment I go forth. Ber. Then perish Venice rather than my friend I will disclose — ensnare — betray — destroy— Oh, what a villain I become for thee : Lioni. Say, rather thy friend's saviour and the state's 1– Speak — pause not — all rewards, all pledges for Thy safety and thy welfare; wealth such as The state accords her worthiest servants; nay, Nobility itself I guarantee thee, So that thou art sincere and penitent. Ber. I have thought again : it must not be—I love thee — Thou knowest it — that I stand here is the proof, Not least though last; but having done my duty By thee, I now must do it by my country I Farewell — we meet no more in life – farewell Lioni. What, hol — Antonio — Pedro — to the door : See that none pass — arrest this man :


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