He's of a temper kind, and quick, and warm;
A powerful partizan, but easily sway'd
By flattery or anger. Of such tools
Are Faction's rank composed, not officered.
Celso, we'll have this Doge unbonneted,
This Doge who wears his load of four-score years
Easier than I my forty. He contemns
Me and my brother nobles; he may learn
To know and fear our power. I tell you, Sir,
These brows of mine do ache for that same bonnet.
And ere this day be ended-
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A golden moment. The young Foscari
Is safe with Sforza in the Milan wars.
Eriz. Would I were sure of that! This is indeed
The only moment. Celso, I have here,
How intercepted boots not, letters from
Both generals to the Senate. They have gained
A signal victory; Brescia is freed;
And Sforza gives the unshared, unmingled praise
To Foscari. We must unthrone the Doge
Ere this news reach the city; for the people
Adore the Foscari. Faugh! I am weary
Of this good Doge, this venerable Doge,
This popular Doge, this Doge who courts and wooes
The noisy rabble, whilst the Senators
He elbows from their seats. And for the son,
With his hot valour and proud lack of pride-
I hate them both. We must not lose an hour-
The people must not hear-
Cel.
Eriz. Ay, but the Senate-
Cel.
Eriz. Fy! I am one of them; I must not tell
The secrets of the Council. We are not
So stubborn as we seem; the popular voice
Well, my Lord, the Senate
Is grown so old that he forgets his friends. Men say it can't be true-and yet men say—
Doge.
He flung from me
Ere I could tell him that the post was given
To Signor Loredano, a ripe scholar
Eriz. That the Doge repents his son's betrothment Pining in penury, at the pressing instance
The Duke of Milan, hath a young, fair daughter,
And she, they say-
Don.
Tush! I have seen her, man!
A dark-browed wench, a beetle-browed--no more
To match with my Camilla than that Gondola
With the Bucentaur!-I will back, and tell him
That Foscari is free. Mine own Camilla!
My prattling, pretty one! I'll back and tell him.
Eriz. No; rather come with me. What I have said
Is hearsay or conjecture; what is true
Is the misgovernment, the public wrongs
Of this old Foscari, too old to sway
The power of Venice.
For such discourse. Come with me to my palace.
Don. I thought he loved my daughter!
Cel.
Sure we shall hear to-day,-Now, dearest Count,
What is your will? You led the old man on
To talk of his dear children, till in sooth
He had forgotten the whole world. Now say
What is that scroll?
Zeno.
My lord-I almost fear-
Dost thou believe in soothsayers?
Doge.
Not much. Why dost thou ask?
Zeno.
Doge. Count Zeno, thou art one to whom, being
A wise man may confess the cherished folly That lurks within his breast. But tell it not To fools, good Zeno.
Then thou dost believe? Doge. I have some cause. What! didst thou never hear
Of the old prediction that was verified
When I became the Doge?
Doge. Some seventy years ago-it seems to me As fresh as yesterday-being then a lad
No higher than my hand, idle as an heir,
And all made up of gay and truant sports,
I flew a kite, unmatched in shape or size,
Over the river-we were at our house
Upon the Brenta then; it soared aloft,
Driven by light vigorous breezes from the sea,
Soared buoyantly, till the diminished toy
Grew smaller than the falcon when she stoops
To dart upon her prey. I sent for cord,
Servant on servant hurrying, till the kite
Shrank to the size of a beetle: still I called
For cord, and sent to summon father, mother,
My little sisters, my old halting nurse,
I would have had the whole world to survey
Me and my wondrous kite. It still soared on,
And I stood bending back in ecstasy,
My eyes on that small point, clapping my hands,
And shouting, and half envying it the flight
That made it a companion of the stars,
When close beside me a deep voice exclaimed-
Ay, mount! mount! mount!-I started back, and saw
A tall and aged woman, one of the wild
Peculiar people whom wild Hungary sends
Roving through every land. She drew her cloak
About her, turned her black eyes up to Heaven,
And thus pursued:-Ay, like his fortunes, mount,
The future Doge of Venice! And before
For very wonder any one could speak,
She disappeared.
The seeds of faith lay dormant; till at last
As youth's gay wildness sobered, and ambition
Grew stronger in my soul, the prophecy
Knocked at my thoughts, and I by fits believed
That which I wished were true. Now for thy scroll;-I trust, fair maids.
Whence comes it?
Zeno.
Even such an aged crone,
So tall, so habited, stayed me last night
At my own door, and with an earnest voice,
Her shaking hand prest on my arm, implored
That, as I loved the good Doge Foscari,
I would at his first waking give him this.
Doge. She must be dead! Full seventy years ago
And then her locks were grizzled!-She is dead.
And what, at fourscore years, have I to do
With fate or fortune! My long race is run.
Zeno.
Doge. (reads.) "The ducal bonnet trembles on thy "brow, Doge of Venice, trembles-and will fall, though "the stars themselves show me not when. Grant the "first boon that shall be asked of thee to-morrow, or "before the next sun rises thy very heart shall be rent " in twain."
Grant the first boon! Why, my good Signor Celso,
This is too palpable. Grant the first boon!
Make thee the Procurator! Fy! Fy! Fy!
Erizzo's talent hath forsaken him;
This cheat is shallow. They have heard the tale
I told thee, and this paltry poor device-
Off to the waves and winds!
We were speaking of thee.
Let not thy blushes answer.
'Tis thou art clothed in blushes. Why the dawn
Opening her ardent eyes, and shaking wide
Her golden locks on the Adriatic wave,
The bright Aurora, she is sad and pale
And spiritless compared to thee. Hast thou
Been Psyche's errand? Or hath some fair vision
Lapt thee in loveliness?
Cam.
Of heaven; for I was in a place where care
And fear and sorrow came not, self-sustained
On wings such as the limner's cunning lends
To the Seraphim, and singing like a bird
From the deep gladness of a merry heart
The whole night long. And when the morning came
And I awakened in this work-day world,
The spell was on me still; and still is on
The buoyancy, the joy, the certain hope
Of happiness. Brother, are there no news
Of Foscari?
Cos. None certain. Yet is there
A balminess of hope; and stirring rumours
Come pattering round us, with a pleasant sound,
Like the large drops before a summer shower.
They talk of Foscari and victory—
Cam. There hath then been a battle. Is he safe?
Cos. As safe as I myself.
Or any man of us? Lords, have ye changed
Your purpose? That the Doge may be deposed
Is the fixed law of Venice. Are ye firm?
This is the moment.
Eriz. Then be it done to-day.
Donato, thou wilt best propose
Cam. Good tidings, Cosmo. Cos.
Dear Cosmo, and farewell.
[Exit Cosmo. Now, Laura mine,
Don.
Eriz. Then his misgovernment, his tedious wars,
His waste of blood and treasure, that his son,
That idol of the soldiery, may glut
His lust of glorious battle! Senators,
Why should we thus submit to what we hate?
Why bow to whom we made? The Doge is now
Too old for his high office. Good my lords,
Let us resume our power. Is there no brow
In Venice that may bear this ducal crown
Save one? Will it not sit as gracefully
On vigorous manhood's clustering curls? On thine,
Donato? Or Pisani, upon thine?
loved him
We are old friends.
Sen.
Do it thyself, Erizzo.
Don. But gently, reverently.
Enter Doge, Count Zeno, and other Senators.
Doge.
My gracious lords,
I greet ye well! We are no truants, Sirs,
This full assemblage honours our fair Venice,
Honours her senators. Signor Donato-
Nay shun me not-That post was promised to-
Thou wilt not hear! I have too often borne
With thy infirmity. Forget not, Sir,
That thou 'rt my friend, or I must needs remember
That I'm thy prince. Now to our business, lords.
Eriz. Are there no letters from the army y?
Doge.
But there is through the city a loud bruit
Of victory.
Eriz. In a well-ordered state
There is no pause for rumour; certainty
Outspeeds her lying rival.
Think'st thou, Count, That my old heart is quiet in this pause? Thou hast no boy in yonder battle-field, Or thou would'st know how thirstily the soul Of a father pants in his suspense for truth, One single drop of sweet or bitter truth.
Cosmo Donato, please you, Sir. Doge. Oh, our young Secretary! Sit by me, I had just missed thee, Cosmo. Was thy friend Content?
Cos. Oh never gratitude was clothed In such pure joy. I would your Highness saw The happiness you caused.
In calm serene repose the evening hours
Of his unsullied life. So shall his sun,
Setting in tranquil beauty, leave a train
Of pure and cloudless light; so praised and loved
Shall he sink down to rest.
Who shall remember in this state of Venice
There is another power great as himself,
And greater than the people. Howsoe'er
Thou hast the bearing, Doge, of a born prince,-
To us, thy subjects, thou art but the head
Of the Venetian nobles. Thy proud rank
Was given by them, thy equals. Each great name
That now surrounds thee hath in turn adorned
Thy splendid office. Not a noble house
But is a link in the resplendent chain
Of old Venetian story. We are born
Lords of the Adriatic; not a name
Are these my crimes? Oh I am doubly guilty!
I love them all, even ye that love me not!
I cannot choose but love you, for ye are
Venetians, quick, and proud, and sparkling-eyed,
Venetians brave and free. Ye are the lords
Of the bright sea-built city, beautiful
As storied Athens; or the gorgeous pride
Of Rome, eternal Rome; greater than kings
Are ye, Venetian nobles-ye are free;
And that is greatness and nobility,
The source and end of power. That I have made
Liberty common as the common air,
The sun-light, or the rippling waves that wash
Our walls; that every citizen hath been
Free as a Senator; that I have ruled
In our fair Venice, as a father rules
In his dear household, nothing intermitting
Of needful discipline, but quenching fear
In an indulgent kindness; these ye call
My crimes. These are my boasts. Yes, I do love
But hath been vowed her spouse. Think not such The honest artisans; there's not a face
Are common sounds; they have a music in them,
An odorous recollection, they are part
Of the old glorious past. Their country knows
And loves the lofty echo which gives back
The memory of the buried great; and we
That smiles up at me with a kindly eye
But sends a warmth into my heart, a glow
Of buoyant youthfulness. Age doth not freeze
Our human sympathies; the sap fails not,
Although the trunk be rugged. Age can feel,
And think, and act. Oh noble Senators,
Their sons-Oh our own names are watchwords to us Ye do mistake my crime. I am too young;
That call to valour and to victory,
To goodness and to freedom. This hast thou
Forgotten. Every creeping artisan,
Every hard-handed smoky slave is nearer
To our great Doge than we to them all smiles
And princely graciousness-to us all frowns
And kingly pride. Fitter for us a Doge
Of a congenial spirit, to preside
Over our councils, and to guard and guide
The Senate and the State.
Zeno.
Would deign to wear this care-encompass'd crown?
Fy! Fy!
Eriz. My voice is for Donato, Sir!
Cos. My father Doge of Venice? Never! Never!
He will not, must not, shall not! All the world
Would join in one reproach; the very stones
Of Venice would cry out; and we, his children-
Oh we should die of grief and shame! What, he
Supplant his friend, his dearest friend! Oh never!
Father, thou wilt not?
I am not like to die; and they who wait
Wax weary for my seat. I do not dote,
My Lord Erizzo; Yet-
Another hour and that most hated boy
Had been most welcome!
Fos. (to Cosmo.)
And still as true?
Assume the accustomed seat?
Doge.
My son, these lords,
These Senators, these mighty ones of Venice
Have found thy father old. Hadst thou returned
Some half hour later, thou hadst seen the throne
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