It shows

Th' 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 remove him : since

Their thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do not
You, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause,
And all will prosper.

BARBARIGO.

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.

LOREDANO.

He is safe, I tell you;

His fourscore years and five may linger on
As long as he can drag them: 't is his throne
Alone is aim'd at.

BARBARIGO.

But discarded princes

Are seldom long of life.

LOREDANO.

Doubtless.

LOREDANO.

And men of eighty

BARBARIGO.

And why not wait these few years?

LOREDANO.

Because we have waited long enough; and he

JACOPO FOSCARI. But still I must 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.

MARINA.

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

JACOPO FOSCARI.

But we are not summon'd yet:

The galley's sails are not unfurl'd:-who knows? The wind may change.

MARINA.

And if it do, it will not

Change their hearts, or your lot; the galley's oars Will quickly clear the harbour.

JACOPO FOSCARI.

Where are your storms?

Will nothing calm you?

MARINA.

Oh, ye elements!

In human breasts. Alas!

JACOPO FOSCARI.

Never yet did mariner 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!

MARINA.

And wish you this with me beside you?

JACOPO FOSCARI.

No

No-not for thee, too good, too kind! Mayst thou

The earliest are most welcome

Live long to be a mother to those children
Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives
Of such support! But for myself alone,

We sought the Doge.

Be troubled now.

LOREDANO.

He said himself that nought

Could give him trouble farther.

BARBARIGO.

These are words; But grief is lonely, and the breaking in Upon it barbarous.

LOREDANO.

Sorrow preys upon

by his son's body).

From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.

BARBARIGO.

Because his son is dead?

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. Ilis sons, and he had four, are dead, without My dabbling in vile drugs.

BARBARIGO.

.And art thou sure

BARBARIGO.

Was Carmagnuola

LOREDANO.

He was the safeguard of the city. In early life its foe, but, in his manhood, Its saviour first, then victim.

BARBARIGO.

Ah! that seems

The penalty of saving cities. He
Whom we now act against not only saved
Our own, but added others to her sway.

LOREDANO.

The Romans (and we ape them) gave a crown To him who took a city; and they gave

A crown to him who saved a citizen

Now,

In battle: the rewards are equal.
If we should measure forth the cities taken
By the Doge Foscari, with citizens
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.

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 Doge-ship 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;

1 An historical fact.

BARBARIGO.

That's an error, and you 'll find it

Ere you sleep with your fathers.

LOREDANO.

They sleep not

In their accelerated graves, nor will

Till Foscari fills his. Each night I see them
Stalk frowning round my couch, and, pointing towards
The ducal palace, marshal me to vengeance.

BARBARIGO.

Fancy's distemperature! There is no passion
More spectral or fantastical than hate;

Not even its opposite, love, so peoples air
With phantoms, as this madness of the heart.
Enter an Officer.

Where go you, sirrah ?

LOREDANO.

OFFICER.

By the ducal order

To forward the preparatory rites
For the late Foscari's interment.
BARBARIGO.

Their