Ang. And have ever had.
Doge. I think so. For the difference in our yearsYou knew it, choosing me, and chose; I trustedNot to my qualities, nor would have faithIn such, nor outward ornaments of nature,
Were I still in my five and twentieth spring;
I trusted to the blood of LoredanoPure in your veins; I trusted to the soulGod gave you—to the truths your father taughtyou—
To your belief in Heaven—to your mild virtues—To your own faith and honour, for my own.
Ang, You have done well—I thank you for thattrust
Which I have never for one moment ceasedTo honour you the more for.
. Doge. Where is honour,
innate and precept-strengthened, ’tis the rockOf faith connubial; where it is not—whereLight thoughts are lurking, or the vanitiesOf worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,
Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know’Twere hopeless for humanity to dreamOf honesty in such infected blood,
Although 'twere wed to him it covets most;
An incarnation of the poet’s godIn all his marble-chiselled beauty, orThe demi-deity, Alcides, inHis majesty of superhuman manhood,
Would not suffice to bind where virtue is not;
It is consistency which forms and proves it;
Vice cannot fix, and virtue cannot change.
The once fall'n woman must for ever fall;
For vice must have variety, while virtueStands like the sun, and all which rolls aroundDrinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect.Ang. And seeing, feeling thus this truth inothers,
(I pray you, pardon me;) but wherefore yieldm you
J-o the most fierce of fatal passions, andDisquiet youn great thoughts with restless hateGf such a thing as Steno ?
Doge. You mistake me.
H is not Steno who could move me thus;
Had it been so, he should-bub let that pass.
■Ang. What is’t you feel so deeply, then, evennow ?
. Doge. The violated majesty of Venice ,
At once insulted in her lord and laws.
Ang. Alas! why will you thus consider it ?
Doge. I have thought on’t till-but let me
lead you back
1° what I urged; all these things being noted,i wedded you; the world then did mo justiceDpon the motive, and my conduct provedthey did me right, while yours was all to praise ;.*ou had all freedom, all respect, all trust« rom me and mine; and, born of those who madePrinces at home, and swept kings from theirn thrones
G& foreign shores, in all things you appear’dWorthy to be our first of native dames.
Ang. To what does this conduct ?
. Doge. To thus much—that
A miscreant’s angry breath may blast it all—
A villain, whom for his unbridled bearing,
^ven in the midst of our great festival,caused to be conducted forth, and taughtT^ow to demean himself in ducal chambers;Th Wl kr C k kke this may leave upon the wallAfie blighting venom of his sweltering heart,
DOGE OF VENICE. 471
And this shall spread itself in general poison;And woman’s innocence, man’s honour, passInto a by-word ; and the doubly felon(Who first insulted virgin modestyBy a gross affront to your attendant damselsAmidst the noblest of our dames in public)Requite himself for his just expulsionBy blackening publicly his sovereign’s consort,And be absolved by his upright compeers.
Ang. But he has been condemn’d into captivity.Doge. For such as him a dungeon were ac-quittal ;
And his brief term of mock arrest will passWithin a palace. But I’ve done with him;
The rest must be with you.
Ang. With me, my lord ?
Doge. Yes, Angiolina. Do not marvel; IHave let this prey upon me till I feelMy life cannot be long; and fain would have youRegard the injunctions you will find within
This scroll (Giving herapaper) -Fearnotjthey
are for your advantage.
Read them hereafter at the fitting hour.
Ang. My lord, in life, and after life, you shallBe honour’d still by me; but may your daysBe many yet—and happier than the present!This passion will give way, and you will boSerene, and what you should b^-what you were.
Doge . I will be what I should be, or be nothing;But never more—oh! never, never more,
O’er the few days or hours which yet awaitThe blighted old age of Faliero , shallSweet quiet shed her sunset ! Never moreThose summer shadows rising from the pastOf a not ill-spent nor inglorious life,
Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches,Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest.
I had but little more to ask, or hope,
Save the regards duo to the blood and sweat,
And the soul’s labour through which I had toil’dTo make my country honour’d. As her servant—Her servant, though her chief—I would have goneDown to my fathers with a name sereneAnd pure as theirs; but this has been denied me*Would I had died at Zara!
Ang. There you saved
The state ; then live to save her still. A day,Another day like that would be the bestReproof to them, and sole revenge for you.
Doge. But one such day occurs within an age;My life is little less than one, and ’tisEnough for Fortune to have granted once,
That which scarce one more favour’d citizenMay win in many states and years. But whyThus speak I ? Venice has forgot that day—Then why should I remember it ?—Farewell,Sweet Angiolina! I must to my cabinet;There’s much forme to do—and the hour hastens.Ang. Remember what you were.
Doge. It were in vain 1
Joy’s recollection is no longer joy,
While sorrow’s memory is a sorrow still.
Ang. At least, whate’er may urge, let me im-plore
That you will take some little pause of rest •Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid,That it had been relief to have awaked you,
Had I not hoped that Nature would o’erpowerAt length the thoughts which shockyour slumbersthus.
An hour of rest will give you to your toilsWith fitter thoughts and freshened strength,