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BORON’S WORKS.

Do not the laws of man say blood for honour,—And, less than honour, for a little gold ?

Say not the laws of nations blood for treason ?Is’t nothing to have filled these veins with poisonFor their once healthful current ? is it nothingTo have stained your name and mine—the noblestnames ?

Is’t nothing to have brought into contemptA prince before his poople ? tp have fail’dIn the respect accorded by mankindTo youth in woman, and old age in man ?

To virtue in your sex, and dignityIn ours P—But let them look to it who havesaved him.

Ang. Heaven bids us to forgive our enemies.Doge. Doth Heaven forgive lier own ? Is Satansaved

From wrath eternal ?

Ang. Do not speak thus wildly-

Heavcn will alike forgive you and your foes.

Doge. Amen ! May Heaven forgive them!

Ang. And will you ?

Doge. Yes, when they are in heaven!

Ang. And not till then ?

Doge. What matters my forgiveness ? an oldman’s,

Worn out, scorn’d, spurn’d, abused; whatmatters then

My pardon more than my resentment, bothBeing weak and worthless ? I have lived too longBut let us change the argument.—My child!

My injured wife, the child of Loredano,

The brave, the chivalrous, how little deem’dThy father, wedding thee unto his friend,

That he was linking thee to shame !—Alas !Shame without sin, forthouarefaultless. Hadstthou

But had a different husband, any husbandIn Venice save the Doge, this blight, this brand,This blasphemy had never fallen upon thee.

So young, so beautiful, so good, so pure,

To suffer this, and yet be unavenged!

Ang. I am too well avenged, for you still loveme,

And trust, and honour me; and all men knowThat you are just, and I am true : what moreCould I require, or you command PDoge. ’Tis well,

And may be better; but whate’er betide,

Be thou at least kind to my memory.

Ang. Why speak you thus PDoge. It is no matter why;

But I would still, whatever others think,

Have your respect both now and in my grave.Ang. Why should you doubt it ? has it everfail’d? .

Doge. Come hither, child; I would a word withyou.

Your father was my friend; unequal fortuneMade him my debtor for some courtesiesWhich bind the good more firmly: when, op-press'd

With his last malady, he will’d our union,

It was not to repay me, long repaidBefore by his great loyalty in friendship ;

His object was to place your orphan beautyIn honourable safety from the perilsWhich, in this scorpion nest of vice, assailA lonely and undower’d maid. I did notThink with him, but would not oppose thethought

Which soothed his death-bed.

Ang. I have not forgotten

The nobleness with which you bade me speakIf my young heart held any preferenceWhich would have made me happier; nor youroffer

To make my dowry equal to the rankOf aught in Venice , and forego all claimMy father’s last injunction gave you.

Doge. Thus,

’Twas not a foolish dotard’s vile caprice,

Nor the false edge of aged appetite,

Which made me covetous of girlish beauty, 4 *

And a young bride : for in my fieriest youth

I sway’d such passions; nor was this my age

Infected with that leprosy of lust

Which taints the hoariest years of vicious men,

Making them ransack to the very last

The dregs of pleasure for their vanish’d joys;

Or buy in selfish marriage some young victim,Too helpless to refuse a state that’s honest,

Too feeling not to know herself a wretch.

Our wedlock was not of this sort; you hadFreedom from me to choose, and urged in answerYour father’s choice.

Ang. I did so; I would do so

In face of earth and heaven; for I have neverRepented for my sake; sometimes for yours,

In jjondering o’er your late disquietudes.

Doge. I knew my heart would never treat youharshly;

I knew my days could not disturb you long;

And then the daughter of my earliest friend,

His worthy daughter, free to choose again,Wealthier and wiser, in the ripest bloomOf womanhood, more skilful to selectBypassing these probationary yearsInheriting a prince’s name and riches,

Secured, by the short penance of enduringAn old man for some summers, against allThat law’s chicane or envious kinsmen mightHave urged against lier right; my best friend’schild

Would choose more fitly in respect of years,

And not less truly in a faithful heart.

Ang. My lord, I look’d but to my father’swishes,

Hallow’d by his last words, and to my heartFor doing all its duties, and replyingWith faith to him with whom I was affianced.Ambitious hopes ne’er cross’d my dreams; andshould

The hour you speak of come, it will be seen so.

Doge. I do believe you; and I know you true:For love, romantic love, which in my youthI knew to be illusion, and ne’er sawLasting, but often fatal, it had beenNo lure for me, in my most passionate days,

And could not be so now, did. such exist.

But such respect, and mildly paid regardAs a true feeling for your welfare, andA free compliance with all honest wishes,—

A kindness to your virtues, watchfulnessNot shown, but shadowing o’er such little failing 3As youth is apt in, so as not to checkRashly, but win you from them ere you knewYou had been won, but thought the change yon*choice;

A pride not in your beauty, but your conduct;

A trust in you; a patriarchal love,

And not a doting homage; friendship, faith,—*Such estimation in your eyes as theseMight claim, I hoped for.