Marina. And Foscari? I do not think of Had thousands of such citizens, and shall, such things, So I be left with him. Doge. You shall be so; Thus much they cannot well deny. They should, I will fly with him. Marina. I know not, reck not— Any where, where we might respire unfetter'd, And live nor girt by spies, nor liable Doge. What, wouldst thou have a rene- And turn him into traitor? The country is the traitress, which thrusts forth Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny Charge me with such a breach of faith. Observ'st, obey'st, such laws as make old A code of mercy by comparison. Doge. I found the law; I did not make it. Were I A subject, still I might find parts and portions Fit for amendment; but as prince, I never Would change, for the sake of my house, the charter Left by our fathers. Marina. Did they make it for The ruin of their children? Doge. Under such laws Venice Has risen to what she is a state to rival In deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add, In glory (for we have had Roman spirits' Amongst us), all that history has bequeath'd Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when I trust, have still such, Venice were no city. Marina. Accursed be the city where the laws Would stifle nature's! Doge. Had I as many sons As I have years, I would have given them all, Not without feeling, but I would have given them To the state's service, to fulfil her wishes Marina. And this is patriotism? So far take on myself, as order that Marina. And what shall I say The laws. SCENE 1.-The Prison of JACOPO FOSCARI. J. Foscari (solus). No light, save yon faint gleam, which shows me walls Which never echo'd but to sorrow's sounds, The sigh of long imprisonment, the step Of feet on which the iron clank'd, the groan Of death, the imprecation of despair! And yet for this I have return'd to Venice, With some faint hope, 'tis true, that time, which wears The marble down, had worn away the hate Of men's hearts: but I knew them not, and here Must I consume my own, which never beat For Venice but with such a yearning as The dove has for her distant nest, when And the poor captive's tale is graven on Enter a Familiar of the Ten. J. Foscari. I pray you set it down; I am past hunger; but my lips are parch'd— Familiar. There. Marina. As I had been without it. J. Fosari. Nothing at first; but use and Familiarity with what was darkness; Was kinder to mine eyes than the full sun, J. Foscari. My name: look, 'tis there, The name of him who here preceded me, J. Foscari (after drinking). I thank you: If dungeon-dates say true. Familiar. I am commanded to inform Your further trial is postponed. That your illustrious lady be admitted. 'Twas time. Enter MARINA. Marina. My best beloved! J. Foscari (embracing her). My true wife, And only friend! What happiness! Marina. No more. We'll part Marina. And what of him? J. Foscari. These walls are silent of men's ends; they only Seem to hint shrewdly of them. Such stern Were never piled on high save o'er the dead, With the like answer - doubt and dreadful Unless thou tellst my tale. J. Foscari. And wherefore not? All then The tyranny of silence is not lasting, And, though events be hidden, just men's groans How! wouldst thou share a Will burst all cerement, even a living J. Foscari dungeon? Marina. Ay, The rack, the grave, all-any thing with thee, But the tomb last of all, for there we shall Why do I ask? Thy paleness— J. Foscari. 'Tis the joy Of seeing thee again so soon, and so For thou art pale too, my Marina! Marina. Tis The gloom of this eternal cell, which never thine eyes A music most impressive, but too transient: The mind is much, but is not all. The mind Hath nerved me to endure the risk of death, And torture positive, far worse than death (If death be a deep sleep), without a groan, Or with a cry which rather shamed my judges Than me; but 'tis not all, for there are things More woful-such as this small dungeon, where I may breathe many years. Marina. Alas! and this My doom is common, many are in dungeons, No, not thine eyes-they sparkle-how they But none like mine, so near their father's palace; J. Foscari. And thine! - but I am blinded But then my heart is sometimes high, and sparkle! by the torch. hope Will stream along those moted rays of light | And the sweet freedom of the earth and air, Last night in yon enormous spider's net, I would not cavil about climes or regions. J. Foscari. Well I know how wretched! Before the Tartar into these salt isles, J. Foscari. Ah! if it were so! I ask'd for even those outlines of their kind, Which men bequeath as portraits, and they were Refused me; so these walls have been my More faithful pictures of Venetian story, Hundreds of doges, and their deeds and dates. Last council on thy doom. J. Foscari. I know it-look! [He points to his limbs, as referring to the tortures which he had un- J. Foscari. Had I gone forth From my own land, like the old patriarchs, Another region, with their flocks and herds; And many thoughts; but afterwards address'd It was the lot of millions, and must be J. Foscari. Ay-we but hear Marina. No-no-no more of that: even The hearts which broke in silence of that they relent From that atrocity. J. Foscari. What then? Return to Candia. J. Foscari. Then my last hope's gone. In my native air that buoy'd my spirits up, And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded. J. Foscari. At once-by better means, What! would they even deny me my sires' As well as home and heritage? I have sued to accompany thee hence, parting, Or after their departure; of that malady view From the rough deep, with such identity That melody, which out of tones and tunes And dies. You call this weakness! It is I say, the parent of all honest feeling. Marina. Obey her, then; 'tis she that J. Foscari. Ay, there it is: 'tis lik mother's curse Upon my soul-the mark it set upon me. The exiles you speak of went forth by nations, Their hands upheld each other by the way, J. Foscari. My best Marina! — and our | And thus far I am also the state's debtor, children? Marina. They, I fear, by the prevention of the state's Will not be suffer'd to proceed with us. By duties paramount; and 'tis our first J. Foscari. Have I not borne? From tyrannous injustice, and enough To teach you not to shrink now from a lot Which, as compared with what you have undergone Of late, is mercy. J. Foscari. Ah! you never yet Were far away from Venice, never saw Her beautiful towers in the receding dis tance, While every furrow of the vessel's track Seem'd ploughing deep into your heart; you never Saw day go down upon your native spires Marina. I will divide this with you. Of our departure from this much-loved city (Since you must love it, as it seems), and this Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you. Our children will be cared for by the Doge, And by my uncles: we must sail ere night. J. Foscari. That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father? Marina. You will. J. Foscari. Where? Marina. Here or in the ducal chamber— And shall be more so when I see us both Floating on the free waves-away-awayBe it to the earth's end, from this abhorr'd, Unjust, and J. Foscari. Curse it not. If I am silent, Who dares accuse my country? Marina. Men and angels! The blood of myriads reeking up to heaven, The groans of slaves in chains, and men in dungeons, Mothers, and wives, and sons, and sires, and subjects, Held in the bondage of ten bald-heads; and Though last, not least, thy silence. Couldst thou say Aught in its favour, who would praise like thee? J. Foscari. Let us address us then, since so it must be, To our departure. Who comes here? Enter LOREDANO, attended by Familiars. Lored. (to the Familiars) Retire, But leave the torch: Such presence hither. Lored. 'Tis not the first time I have visited these places. Marina. Nor would be The last, were all men's merits well rewarded. Came you here to insult us, or remain Lored. Neither are of my office,noble lady, I am sent hither to your husband, to Announce the Ten's decree. Marina. That tenderness Marina. I have inform'd him, not so gently, Doubtless, as your nice feelings would prescribe, He said not which. I would that you could The indulgence of your colleagues; but he bear Your exile as he bears it. J. Foscari. Blame him not. I sometimes murmur for a moment; but He could not now act otherwise. A show Of feeling or compassion on his part Would have but drawn upon his aged head Suspicion from the Ten, and upon mine Accumulated ills. Marina. Accumulated! What pangs are those they have spared you? 'twas Marina. That is true, knew it. If you come for our thanks, take them, and hence! To nurse them wisely. Foscari-you know | No less than master; I have probed his soul Your sentence, then? If she so wills it. Marina. Who obtain'd that justice? Lored. One who wars not with women. Marina. But oppresses Men: howsoever, let him have my thanks For the only boon I would have ask'd or taken From him or such as he is. Lored. He receives them As they are offer'd. Marina. May they thrive with him So much!-no more. J. Foscari. Is this,sir,your whole mission? Because we have brief time for preparation, And you perceive your presence doth disquiet This lady, of a house noble as yours. Lored. How nobler? Marina. As more generous! We say the "generous steed" to express the purity Of his high blood. Thus much I've learnt, although Venetian (who see few steeds save of bronze), From those Venetians who have skimm'd the coasts Of Egypt, and her neighbour Araby: For such a son-thou cold inveterate hater! J. Foscari. That were difficult. takes it now— Ay, 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 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. J. Foscari. This is mere insanity. Marina. It may be so; and who made us mad? Lored. Let her go on; it irks not me. Marina. 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? Lored. As rocks. Marina. 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. J. Foscari. My father! Doge (embracing him). Jacopo! my son— my son! J. Foscari. My father still! How long it is since I Have heard thee name my name-our name! Doge. My boy! Couldst thou but know J. Foscari. I rarely, sir, have murmur'd. Doge. I feel too much thou hast not. Marina. Doge, look there! [She points to LOREDANO. Doge. I see the man-what meanst thou? Marina. Caution! Lored. Being The virtue which this noble lady most May practise, she doth well to recommend it. Marina. Wretch! 'tis no virtue, but the |