Of destinies each day secures him more His tempter's.

Jac. Fos. Not long.

tar. Jac. Fos.

Jac. Fos.

Repeat-not long.

Lor.

A year's imprisonment

In Canea-afterwards the freedom of

The whole isle. Jac. Fos.

This is mere insanity.

As more generous! We say the 'generous steed' to express the purity Of his high blood. Thus much I've learnt, a.though

[coasts

Venetian (who see few steeds save of bronze),
From those Venetians who have skimm'd the
Egypt and her neighbour Aráby :
And why not say as soon the 'generous man ?'
race be aught, it is in qualities
Mre than in years; and mine, which is as old
As yours, is better in its product, nay-
Ik not so stern-but get you back, and pore
1 on your genealogic tree's most green

eaves and most mature of fruits, and there *sh to find ancestors, who would have blush'd such a son-thou cold inveterate hater ! Jac. Fos. Again, Marina! Mar.

Again! still Marina. e you not, he comes here to glut his hate Arth a last look upon our misery? Let him partake it! Jac. Fos.

That were difficult.

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 hus-
band;

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
And how feel you?
[desire us.
Lor.
As rocks.
Mar.

By thunder blasted.
They feel not, but no less are shiver'd. Come,
Foscari; now let us go, and leave this felon
The sole fit habitant of such a cell,
Which he has peopled often, but ne'er fitly
Till he himself shall brood in it alone.

Enter the DOGE.

Jac. Fos. My father!

[son!

Doge [embracing him]. Jacopo! my son-my Jac. Fos. My father still! How long is it since I

Have heard thee name my name-our name!
Doge.

Couldst thou but know-
Jac. Fos.

My boy!

I rarely, sir, have murmur'd. Doge. I feel too much thou hast not. Mar.

Doge, look there! [She points to LOREDANO. Doge. I see the man- -what mean'st thou? Mar. Caution!

You may know him better. Mar. Yes worse he could not. Jac. Fos.

Father, let not these Our parting hours be lost in listening to Reproaches, which boot nothing. Is it-is it, Indeed, our last of meetings? Doge. These white hairs! Jac. Fos.

You behold

[ren:

And I feel, besides, that mine Will never be so white. Embrace me, father! I loved you ever-never more than now. Look to my children-to your last child's childLet them be all to you which he was once, And never be to you what I am now. May I not see them also? Mar.

No-not here.

Jac. Fos. They might behold their parent anywhere.

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 a heritage; But let it only be their heritage, And not their present fee. Their senses, though Alive to love, are yet awake to terror; [wave And these vile damps, too, and yon thick green Which floats above the place where we now A cell so far below the water's level, [standSending 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. Jac. Fos.

Reflected upon this, but acquiesce.

I have not

I shall depart, then, without meeting them? Doge. Not so: they shall await you in my

chamber.

Jac. Fos. And must I leave them-all? Lor.

Jac. Fos.

You must.
Not one?
I thought they had been mine.
Lor. They are, in all maternal things.
Mar.
That is

Lor. They are the state's.
Mar.

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.
[genial wind

'Twas so

Jac. Fos. How know you that here, where the
Ne'er blows in all its blustering freedom?
Lor.
When I came here. The galley floats within
A bow-shot of the Riva di Schiavoni.'
Jac. Fos. Father! I pray you to precede me,
Prepare my children to behold their father. [and
Doge. Be firm, my son!
Jac. Fos.
I will do my endeavour.
Mar. Farewell! at least to this detested
dungeon,

And him to whose good offices you owe
In part your past imprisonment.

Lor.

Liberation. Doge.

And present

He speaks truth. Jac. Fos. No doubt! but 'tis Exchange of chains for heavier chains I owe him. He knows this or he had not sought to change But I reproach not. [them. Lor. The time narrows, signor. Fac. Fos. Alas! I little thought so lingeringly To leave abodes like this: but when I feel

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 Familiar].
The torch, there'

Mar. Yes, light us on, as to a funeral pyre,
With Loredano mourning like an heir.
Doge. My son, you are feeble; take this har
Jac. Fos.

Must youth support itself on age, and I
Who ought to be the prop of yours?

Lor.

Take m

Bar. Lor.

'Tis hard upon his years.

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

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

Bar. In his countenance, I grant you, neve But I have seen him sometimes in a cam So desolate, that the most clamorous grief Had nought to envy him within. Where is

Lor. In his own portion of the palace, w His son, and the whole race of Foscaris. Bar. Bidding farewell. Lor.

Bid to his dukedom.

Bar.

A last. As soon be st

When embarks the s Lor. Forthwith-when this long leave is tar Time to admonish them again.

Bar.

Retrench not from their moments. Lor.

Forbear,

Not I, te

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

Bar.

In my mind, too deep.

Enter MEMMO and a SENATOR.

Lor. 'Tis moderate-not even life for life, the rule

Denounced of retribution from all time;
They owe me still my father's and my uncle's.
Bar. Did not the Doge deny this strongly?
Lor.
Doubtless.
Bar. And did not this shake your suspicion?
Lor.

No.

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.

We'll elect another,

But me no buts,' unless
The Bridge which few repass.

Sen. Mem.

I am silent.
Why
Thus hesitate? The Ten' have call'd in aid
Of their deliberation five and twenty
Patricians of the senate-you are one,
And I another; and it seems to me
Both honour'd by the choice or chance which
To mingle with a body so august. [leads us

Sen. Most true. I say no more.
Mem.

As we hope, signor,
And all may honestly (that is, all those
Of noble blood may), one day hope to be
Decemvir, it is surely for the senate's
Chosen delegates a school of wisdom, to
Be thus admitted, though as novices,
To view the mysteries.

Sen.

No doubt are worth it. Mem.

Let us view them they

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

Sen.

I sought not A place within the sanctuary; but being Chosen, however reluctantly so chosen, I shall fulfil my office.

Mem.

Let us not

Be latest in obeying 'the Ten's' summons.
Sen. All are not met, but I am of your thought
So far-let's in.
Mem.

The earliest are most welcome In earnest councils-we will not be least so.

[Exeunt.

Enter the DOGE, JACOPO FOSCARI, and

MARINA.

Jac. Fos. Ah, father! though I must and will Yet-yet-I pray you to obtain for me [depart, That I once more return unto my home, Howe'er remote the period. Let there be A point of time, as beacon to my heart, With any penalty annex'd they please, But let me still return. Doge. Son Jacopo, Go and obey our country's will: 'tis not For us to look beyond. Jac. Fos.

But still I must

Look back. I pray you think of me. Doge.

Alas!

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

Mar. And if it do, it will not Change their hearts, or your lot: the galley's Will quickly clear the harbour. [oars O ye elements !

Jac. Fos.

Where are your storms? Mar.

In human breasts. Alas!

Will nothing calm you? Jac. Fos.

Never yet did mariner

Put up to patron saint such prayers for pros

perous

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. NoNo-not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st thou

[Gulf,

Live long to be a mother to those children
Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives
Of such support! But for myself alone,
May all the winds of heaven howl down the
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 de-
stroys me

Will be more inerciful 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 re-

ceived

One lacerated like the heart which then [I? Will be. But wherefore breaks it not? why live 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
Imprisonment and actual torture? [silence-
Jac. Fos.
Double,

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

It could avail thee! but no less thou hast it.
Jac. Fos. Forgive—
Doge.

What?

Jac. Fos. My poor mother, for my birth, And me for having lived, and you yourself (As I forgive you), for the gift of life, Which you bestow'd upon me as my sire. Mar. What hast thou done? Jac. Fos.

Nothing. I cannot charge My memory with much save sorrow: but I have been so beyond the common lot Chasten'd and visited, I needs must think That I was wicked. If it be so, may What I have undergone here keep me from A like hereafter !

Fear not that's reserved

Mar. For your oppressors. Jac. Fos. Mar.

Let me hope not. Hope not? Jac. Fos. I cannot wish them all they have inflicted.

Mar. All! the consummate fiends! a thorsand-fold.

May the worm which ne'er dieth feed upon them. Jac. Fos. They may repent.

Mar.

And if they do, Heaven will m2 Accept the tardy penitence of demons.

Enter an OFFICER and GUARDS. Offi. Signor! the boat is at the shore-thew. Is rising--we are ready to attend you. Jac. Fos. And I to be attended. Your hand!

Once more, father