MARINO PALIERO,

Enter the DOGE and PIETRO.

Doge (musing). There is a certain Philip Calcn-daro

Now in the Arsenal, who holds commandOf eighty men, and has great influenceBesides on all the spirits of his comrades:

This mail, I hear, is bold and pojiular,

Sudden and daring, and yet secret: ’twouldBe well that he were won : I needs must hopeThat Israel Bertuccio has secured him,

But fain would be-

Pic. My lord, pray pardon me

For breaking in upon your meditation;

The Senator Bertuccio, your kinsman,

Charged me to follow and inquire your pleasureTo fix an hour when he may speak with you.

Doge. At sunset.—Stay a moment—let me see—Say in the second hour of night. [Exit Pietro.Ang. My lord I

Doge. My dearest child, forgive me—why delaySo long approaching me ?—I saw you not.

Ajmj. You were absorb’din thought, and. he whonow

Has parted from you might have words of weightTo bear you from the senate.

Doge. Prom the senate ?

Any. I would not interrupt him in his dutyAnd theirs.

t Doge. The senate’s duty! you mistake ;

Tis we who owe all service to the senate.

Ang. I thought the Duke had held command inVenice.

Doge. He shall.—But let that pass.—We will bejocund.

How fares it with yon ? liavo you been abroad?The day is overcast, but the calm wavefavours the gondolier’s light skimming-oar;

Or have you held a levee of your friends ?

Or has your music made you solitary ?

Say—i s there aught that you would will withinThe little sway now left the Duke ? or aughtOf fitting splendour, or of honest pleasure,

Social or lonely, that would glad your heart,

To compensate for many a dull hour, wastedOn an old man eft moved with many cares ?

Speak, and ’tis done.

T Ang. You’re ever kind to me.

A have nothing to desire, or to request,

■Sxcept to see you oftener and calmer.

Doyc. Calmer?

.Ang. Ay, calmer, my good lord.—Ah, whyDo you still keep apart, and walk alone,

And let such strong emotions stamp your brow,As not betraying their full import, yetDisclose too much ?

Doyc. Disclose too much !—of what ?

"hat is there to disclose?

. A»g. A heart so ill

At ease.

Doge. ’Tis nothing, child—But in the state^ou know what daily cares oppress all thoseWho govern this precarious commonwealth;

•«ow suffering from the Genoese without,

And malcontents within—’tis this which makestvt me

•“lore pensive and less tranquil than my wont.

This existed long before, and neverTrvr ^ tIaes0 days did 1 see you thus,vr^ive me j there is something at your heartw ? e thau the mere discharge of duties,

»nich long use anu a talent like to yours

DOGE OF VENICE.

4GO

Havo render’d light, nay, a necessity,

To keep your mind from stagnating. ’Tis notIn hostile states, nor perils, thus to shake you,—You, who have stood all storms and never sunk,And climb’d up to the pinnacle of powerAnd never fainted by the way, and standUpon it, and can look down steadilyAlong the depth beneath, and ne'er feel dizzy.Were Genoa’s galleys riding in the port,

Were civil fury raging in Saint Mark’s,

You are not to be wrought on, but would fall,

As you have risen, with an unalter’d brow;

Your feelings now are of a different kind;Something has stung your pride, not patriotism.Doyc. Pride ! Angiolina ? Alas! none is left

me.

Any. Yes—the same sin that overthrew theangels,

And of all sins most easily'besetsMortals the nearest to the angelic nature :

The vile are only vain; the great are proud.

Doge. I had the pride of honour, of your honour,Deep at my heart—But let ns change the theme.Aug. All no!—As 1 have ever shared yourkindness

In all things else, let me not be shut outProm your distress: were it of public import,You know I never sought, would never seekTo win a word from you ; but feeling nowYour grief is private, it belongs to meTo lighten or divide it. Since the dayWhen foolish Steno’s ribaldry detectedUnfix’d your quiet, you are greatly changed,

And 1 would soothe you bacx to what you were.Doge. To what I was!—have you heard Steno’ssentence ?

Ang. No.

Doge. A month’s arrest.

Ang. Is it not enough ?

Doge. Enough!—yes, for a drunken galleyslave,

Who, stung by stripes, may murmur St hismaster j

But not for a deliberate, false, cool villain,

Who stains a lady’s and a prince's honourEven on the throne of his authority.

Ang. There seems to me enough in the convic-

tion

Of a patrician guilty of a falsehood:

All other punishment were light unto

His loss of honour.

Doge. Such men have no honour;

They liave but their vile lives—and these arespared.

Ang . You would not have him die for hisoffence ?

Doge. Not now .—being still alive, I’d have himlive

Long as he can; he has ceased to merit death ;

The guilty saved hath damn’d his hundred judges,

And he is pure, for now his crime is theirs.

Ang. Oh! had this false and flippant libeller

Shed his young blood for his absurd lampoon,

Ne’er from that moment could his breast haveknown

A joyous hour, or dreamless slumber more.

Doge , Does not the law of heaven say blood forblood?

And he who faints kills more than he who shedsit.

Is it the pain of blows, or shame of blows,That makes such deadly to the sense of man ?