_ I sought not
A place within the sanctuary; but being
Chosen, however reluctantly so chosen,
I shall fulfil my office.
A place within the sanctuary; but being
Chosen, however reluctantly so chosen,
I shall fulfil my office.
Byron
_ And must I leave them--_all_?
_Lor. _ You must.
_Jac. Fos. _ Not one?
_Lor. _ They are the State's.
_Mar. _ I thought they had been mine.
_Lor. _ They are, in all maternal things.
_Mar. _ That is,
In all things painful. If they're sick, they will
Be left to me to tend them; should they die, 390
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?
_Lor. _ 'Twas so
When I came here. The galley floats within
A bow-shot of the "Riva di Schiavoni. " 400
_Jac. Fos. _ Father! I pray you to precede me, and
Prepare my children to behold their father.
_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. _ And present
Liberation.
_Doge_. 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 them,
But I reproach not.
_Lor. _ The time narrows, Signor. 410
_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, 420
But would not gratify yon wretch so far.
Let us proceed. Doge, lead the way.
_Lor. _ (_to the 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 hand.
_Jac. Fos. _ Alas!
Must youth support itself on age, and I
Who ought to be the prop of yours?
_Lor. _ Take mine.
_Mar. _ Touch it not, Foscari; 'twill sting you. Signor,
Stand off! be sure, that if a grasp of yours
Would raise us from the gulf wherein we are plunged, 430
No hand of ours would stretch itself to meet it.
Come, Foscari, take the hand the altar gave you;
It could not save, but will support you ever. [_Exeunt_.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. --_A Hall in the Ducal Palace_.
_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.
_Bar. _ And have you confidence in such a project?
_Lor. _ I have.
_Bar. _ 'Tis hard upon his years.
_Lor. _ Say rather
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? 10
_Lor. _ In his own portion of the palace, with
His son, and the whole race of Foscaris.
_Bar. _ Bidding farewell.
_Lor. _ A last! as, soon, he shall
Bid to his Dukedom.
_Bar. _ When embarks the son?
_Lor. _ Forthwith--when this long leave is taken. 'Tis
Time to admonish them again.
_Bar. _ Forbear;
Retrench not from their moments.
_Lor. _ Not I, now
We have higher business for our own. This day
Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign,
As the first of his son's last banishment, 20
And that is vengeance.
_Bar. _ In my mind, too deep.
_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. 30
_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. _ We'll elect another,
And make him null.
_Bar. _ But will the laws uphold us? [69]
_Lor. _ What laws? --"The Ten" are laws; and if they were not,
I will be legislator in this business.
_Bar. _ At your own peril?
_Lor. _ There is none, I tell you, 40
Our powers are such.
_Bar. _ But he has twice already
Solicited permission to retire,
And twice it was refused.
_Lor. _ The better reason
To grant it the third time.
_Bar. _ Unasked?
_Lor. _ It shows
The impression of his former instances:
If they were from his heart, he may be thankful:
If not, 'twill punish his hypocrisy.
Come, they are met by this time; let us join them,
And be _thou_ fixed in purpose for this once.
I have prepared such arguments as will not 50
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 aimed at.
_Bar. _ But discarded Princes 60
Are seldom long of life.
_Lor. _ And men of eighty
More seldom still.
_Bar. _ And why not wait these few years?
_Lor. _ Because we have waited long enough, and he
Lived longer than enough. Hence! in to council!
[_Exeunt_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.
_Enter_ MEMMO[70] _and a Senator_.
_Sen. _ A summons to "the Ten! " why so?
_Mem. _ "The Ten"
Alone can answer; they are rarely wont
To let their thoughts anticipate their purpose
By previous proclamation. We are summoned--
That is enough.
_Sen. _ For them, but not for us;
I would know why.
_Mem. _ You will know why anon, 70
If you obey: and, if not, you no less
Will know why you should have obeyed.
_Sen. _ I mean not
To oppose them, _but_----
_Mem. _ In Venice "_but_"'s a traitor.
But me no "_buts_" unless you would pass o'er
The Bridge which few repass. [71]
_Sen. _ I am silent.
_Mem. _ Why
Thus hesitate? "The Ten" have called in aid
Of their deliberation five and twenty
Patricians of the Senate--you are one,
And I another; and it seems to me
Both honoured by the choice or chance which leads us 80
To mingle with a body so august.
_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[br]
Chosen delegates, a school of wisdom, to
Be thus admitted, though as novices,
To view the mysteries.
_Sen. _ Let us view them: they,
No doubt, are worth it.
_Mem. _ Being worth our lives
If we divulge them, doubtless they are worth 90
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 depart,
Yet--yet--I pray you to obtain for me 100
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 annexed they please,
But let me still return.
_Doge_. Son Jacopo,
Go and obey our Country's will:[72] '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 110
Now you are last; but did the State demand
The exile of the disinterred ashes
Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth,[73]
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 summoned yet;
The galley's sails are not unfurled:--who knows?
The wind may change.
_Mar. _ And if it do, it will not 120
Change _their_ hearts, or your lot: the galley's oars
Will quickly clear the harbour.
_Jac. Fos. _ O, ye Elements!
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 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! 130
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
Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives
Of such support! But for myself alone,
May all the winds of Heaven howl down the Gulf, 140
And tear the vessel, till the mariners,
Appalled, 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 150
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?
_Jac. Fos. _ Double,
Triple, and tenfold torture! But you are right,
It must be borne. Father, your blessing.
_Doge_. Would
It could avail thee! but no less thou hast it.
_Jac. Fos. _ Forgive----
_Doge_. What?
_Jac. Fos. _ My poor mother, for my birth, 160
And me for having lived, and you yourself
(As I forgive you), for the gift of life,
Which you bestowed 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
Chastened 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!
_Mar. _ Fear not: _that's_ reserved 170
For your oppressors.
_Jac. Fos. _ Let me hope not.
_Mar. _ Hope not?
_Jac. Fos. _ I cannot wish them _all_ they have inflicted.
_Mar. _ _All! _ the consummate fiends! A thousandfold
May the worm which never 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! 180
_Jac. Fos. _ No--you mistake; 'tis yours that shakes, my father.
Farewell!
_Doge_. Farewell! Is there aught else?
_Jac. Fos. _ No--nothing.
[_To the Officer_.
Lend me your arm, good Signor.
_Offi. _ You turn pale--
Let me support you--paler--ho! some aid there!
Some water!
_Mar. _ Ah, he is dying!
_Jac. Fos. _ Now, I'm ready--
My eyes swim strangely--where's the door?
_Mar. _ Away!
Let me support him--my best love! Oh, God!
How faintly beats this heart--this pulse!
_Jac. Fos. _ The light!
_Is_ it the light? --I am faint.
[_Officer presents him with water_.
_Offi. _ He will be better,
Perhaps, in the air.
_Jac. Fos. _ I doubt not. Father--wife-- 190
Your hands!
_Mar. _ There's death in that damp, clammy grasp. [74]
Oh, God! --My Foscari, how fare you?
_Jac. Fos. _ Well! [_He dies_.
_Offi. _ He's gone!
_Doge_. He's free.
_Mar. _ No--no, he is not dead;
There must be life yet in that heart--he could not[bs]
Thus leave me.
_Doge_. Daughter!
_Mar. _ Hold thy peace, old man!
I am no daughter now--thou hast no son.
Oh, Foscari!
_Offi. _ 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 200
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! [_Exit Officer_.
_Mar. _ And I must live!
_Doge_. 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 210
Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother
Had been so!
_Doge_. My unhappy children!
_Mar. _ What!
_You_ feel it then at last--_you! _--Where is now
The Stoic of the State?
_Doge_ (_throwing himself down by the body_). _Here! _
_Mar. _ Aye, weep on!
I thought you had no tears--you hoarded them
Until they are useless; but weep on!
_Lor. _ You must.
_Jac. Fos. _ Not one?
_Lor. _ They are the State's.
_Mar. _ I thought they had been mine.
_Lor. _ They are, in all maternal things.
_Mar. _ That is,
In all things painful. If they're sick, they will
Be left to me to tend them; should they die, 390
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?
_Lor. _ 'Twas so
When I came here. The galley floats within
A bow-shot of the "Riva di Schiavoni. " 400
_Jac. Fos. _ Father! I pray you to precede me, and
Prepare my children to behold their father.
_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. _ And present
Liberation.
_Doge_. 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 them,
But I reproach not.
_Lor. _ The time narrows, Signor. 410
_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, 420
But would not gratify yon wretch so far.
Let us proceed. Doge, lead the way.
_Lor. _ (_to the 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 hand.
_Jac. Fos. _ Alas!
Must youth support itself on age, and I
Who ought to be the prop of yours?
_Lor. _ Take mine.
_Mar. _ Touch it not, Foscari; 'twill sting you. Signor,
Stand off! be sure, that if a grasp of yours
Would raise us from the gulf wherein we are plunged, 430
No hand of ours would stretch itself to meet it.
Come, Foscari, take the hand the altar gave you;
It could not save, but will support you ever. [_Exeunt_.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. --_A Hall in the Ducal Palace_.
_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.
_Bar. _ And have you confidence in such a project?
_Lor. _ I have.
_Bar. _ 'Tis hard upon his years.
_Lor. _ Say rather
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? 10
_Lor. _ In his own portion of the palace, with
His son, and the whole race of Foscaris.
_Bar. _ Bidding farewell.
_Lor. _ A last! as, soon, he shall
Bid to his Dukedom.
_Bar. _ When embarks the son?
_Lor. _ Forthwith--when this long leave is taken. 'Tis
Time to admonish them again.
_Bar. _ Forbear;
Retrench not from their moments.
_Lor. _ Not I, now
We have higher business for our own. This day
Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign,
As the first of his son's last banishment, 20
And that is vengeance.
_Bar. _ In my mind, too deep.
_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. 30
_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. _ We'll elect another,
And make him null.
_Bar. _ But will the laws uphold us? [69]
_Lor. _ What laws? --"The Ten" are laws; and if they were not,
I will be legislator in this business.
_Bar. _ At your own peril?
_Lor. _ There is none, I tell you, 40
Our powers are such.
_Bar. _ But he has twice already
Solicited permission to retire,
And twice it was refused.
_Lor. _ The better reason
To grant it the third time.
_Bar. _ Unasked?
_Lor. _ It shows
The impression of his former instances:
If they were from his heart, he may be thankful:
If not, 'twill punish his hypocrisy.
Come, they are met by this time; let us join them,
And be _thou_ fixed in purpose for this once.
I have prepared such arguments as will not 50
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 aimed at.
_Bar. _ But discarded Princes 60
Are seldom long of life.
_Lor. _ And men of eighty
More seldom still.
_Bar. _ And why not wait these few years?
_Lor. _ Because we have waited long enough, and he
Lived longer than enough. Hence! in to council!
[_Exeunt_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.
_Enter_ MEMMO[70] _and a Senator_.
_Sen. _ A summons to "the Ten! " why so?
_Mem. _ "The Ten"
Alone can answer; they are rarely wont
To let their thoughts anticipate their purpose
By previous proclamation. We are summoned--
That is enough.
_Sen. _ For them, but not for us;
I would know why.
_Mem. _ You will know why anon, 70
If you obey: and, if not, you no less
Will know why you should have obeyed.
_Sen. _ I mean not
To oppose them, _but_----
_Mem. _ In Venice "_but_"'s a traitor.
But me no "_buts_" unless you would pass o'er
The Bridge which few repass. [71]
_Sen. _ I am silent.
_Mem. _ Why
Thus hesitate? "The Ten" have called in aid
Of their deliberation five and twenty
Patricians of the Senate--you are one,
And I another; and it seems to me
Both honoured by the choice or chance which leads us 80
To mingle with a body so august.
_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[br]
Chosen delegates, a school of wisdom, to
Be thus admitted, though as novices,
To view the mysteries.
_Sen. _ Let us view them: they,
No doubt, are worth it.
_Mem. _ Being worth our lives
If we divulge them, doubtless they are worth 90
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 depart,
Yet--yet--I pray you to obtain for me 100
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 annexed they please,
But let me still return.
_Doge_. Son Jacopo,
Go and obey our Country's will:[72] '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 110
Now you are last; but did the State demand
The exile of the disinterred ashes
Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth,[73]
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 summoned yet;
The galley's sails are not unfurled:--who knows?
The wind may change.
_Mar. _ And if it do, it will not 120
Change _their_ hearts, or your lot: the galley's oars
Will quickly clear the harbour.
_Jac. Fos. _ O, ye Elements!
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 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! 130
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
Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives
Of such support! But for myself alone,
May all the winds of Heaven howl down the Gulf, 140
And tear the vessel, till the mariners,
Appalled, 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 150
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?
_Jac. Fos. _ Double,
Triple, and tenfold torture! But you are right,
It must be borne. Father, your blessing.
_Doge_. Would
It could avail thee! but no less thou hast it.
_Jac. Fos. _ Forgive----
_Doge_. What?
_Jac. Fos. _ My poor mother, for my birth, 160
And me for having lived, and you yourself
(As I forgive you), for the gift of life,
Which you bestowed 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
Chastened 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!
_Mar. _ Fear not: _that's_ reserved 170
For your oppressors.
_Jac. Fos. _ Let me hope not.
_Mar. _ Hope not?
_Jac. Fos. _ I cannot wish them _all_ they have inflicted.
_Mar. _ _All! _ the consummate fiends! A thousandfold
May the worm which never 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! 180
_Jac. Fos. _ No--you mistake; 'tis yours that shakes, my father.
Farewell!
_Doge_. Farewell! Is there aught else?
_Jac. Fos. _ No--nothing.
[_To the Officer_.
Lend me your arm, good Signor.
_Offi. _ You turn pale--
Let me support you--paler--ho! some aid there!
Some water!
_Mar. _ Ah, he is dying!
_Jac. Fos. _ Now, I'm ready--
My eyes swim strangely--where's the door?
_Mar. _ Away!
Let me support him--my best love! Oh, God!
How faintly beats this heart--this pulse!
_Jac. Fos. _ The light!
_Is_ it the light? --I am faint.
[_Officer presents him with water_.
_Offi. _ He will be better,
Perhaps, in the air.
_Jac. Fos. _ I doubt not. Father--wife-- 190
Your hands!
_Mar. _ There's death in that damp, clammy grasp. [74]
Oh, God! --My Foscari, how fare you?
_Jac. Fos. _ Well! [_He dies_.
_Offi. _ He's gone!
_Doge_. He's free.
_Mar. _ No--no, he is not dead;
There must be life yet in that heart--he could not[bs]
Thus leave me.
_Doge_. Daughter!
_Mar. _ Hold thy peace, old man!
I am no daughter now--thou hast no son.
Oh, Foscari!
_Offi. _ 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 200
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! [_Exit Officer_.
_Mar. _ And I must live!
_Doge_. 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 210
Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother
Had been so!
_Doge_. My unhappy children!
_Mar. _ What!
_You_ feel it then at last--_you! _--Where is now
The Stoic of the State?
_Doge_ (_throwing himself down by the body_). _Here! _
_Mar. _ Aye, weep on!
I thought you had no tears--you hoarded them
Until they are useless; but weep on!
