Foscari and Julian. Tragedies

Preface

. The subject of the following Play is taken from a domestic tragedy in the history of Venice, and was suggested to the Authoress by an interesting narrative of that event in Dr. Moore's Travels. It is scarcely, perhaps, necessary to say here in prose, what the Prologue repeats in verse, that her piece was not only completed, but actually presented to Covent Garden Theatre, before the publication of Lord Byron's well-known drama : a fact which happily exculpates her from any charge of a vain imitation of the great Poet, or of a still vainer rivalry. a2

Prologue

. For riches famed of yore, and once as free As her own element, the bounding sea, Fair Venice now, fall'n from her " palmy state," Broods o'er her palace-city desolate ; Each mart deserted, each Palladian hall Vacant and ruinous proclaims her fall. Yet still one triumph of her ancient fame Gilds her decay, and lingers round her name ; 'Tis that beneath the proud Venetian dome The Tragic Muse hath fixed her favourite home ; 'Tis that her very name makes young hearts glow With deep remembrance of some glorious woe. There Shylock whetted his relentless knife ; There poor Othello won his murdered wife; vi prologue. There Pierre, stout traitor, the awed State defied ; There Jaffier lov'd, and Belvidera died. And there the immortal Bard, who all too soon Fell in the blaze of Fame's effulgent noon, Lamented Byron ! twice a tale hath told Of princely anguish in the days of old : How 'gainst the Senate Faliero fired With vengeful hate by their stern doom expired ; And his severer fate, condemned to try His guiltless son, the good Doge Foscari.

That tale of woe, but with an humbler flight And weaker wing, our Authoress of to-night Hath brought before ye. Deem not of it worse That 'tis a theme made sacred by his verse. Ere his bold Tragedy burst into day, Her trembling hand had closed this woman's play, A different track she follows — Oh ! forgive Her errors ye, who bid the Drama live ! To your indulgence she commends her cause, And hopes, yet dares not ask, your kind applause. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Fosca in, Doge of Venice. Francesco Foscari, his Son. Count Erizzo, -\ Count Zeno, /• Venetian Senators. Donato, * Cosmo, Donato' s Son. Celso, a follower of Count Erizzo. Senators, Jailors, Officers, and Gentlemen. Camilla, Donato's Daughter. Laura, his Niece. Ladies. Scene — Ven ice. i B FOSCARI. ACT I. SCENE I. St. Mark's Place. Count Erizzo and Celso meeting Donato.

Don. GooD-morrow, Count Erizzo, you are early. Are you bound to the Palace ? Eriz. Aye, Donato, The common destination ; but I go With an old friend. Don. What, Celso, thou turned courtier Cel. I am a suitor to his Highness, Sir, With Count Erizjp's aid. Don. What is your suit ? [act I. 2 FOSCARI. Eriz. One of the procurators died last night ; And honest Celso here would fain succeed To that good office. Don. None more capable. You will not fail. Eriz. Scarcely, I think ; and yet I hardly know. The old Doge likes me not : There have been murmurs in the senate, cousin, At these long wasting wars ; and he, I hear, Suspects me. I have doubts. From you, indeed, One word Don. It shall be said. Give me the paper. Yes, at one word from me — the Doge and I Are friends, old friends, the friends of forty years; Besides we have a pair of hopeful sons, Friends from the cradle upwards.

Eriz. And those friends May soon be brothers. Will not thy Camilla Be Foscari's bride, when his rough mistress War Shall loose him from her arms ? SCENE I.] 3 FOSCARI. Don. Aye ; he'll return Too soon, whene'er he comes, to steal away My age's darling. Y'et is he a boy Full of high thoughts, a noble, princely boy, Kindly and generous ; one that may deserve Even her. Well, give me this petition, Count. Look on the post as certain. [Exit. Cel. How can I Repay He's gone. Think'st thou he will succeed ? Eriz. I know not. Either way works well for us. If he succeed, then will our party gain A firmer foot in Venice ; if he fail, We gain Donato. Cel. Say'st thou so ? Eriz. I know him. He's of a temper kind, and quick, and warm ; A powerful partizan, but easily sway'd flattery or anger. Of such tools Are Faction's ranks composed, not officered.

Celso, we'll have this Doge unbonncted, b [act 4 FOSCARI. I 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 Cel. 'Tis, my Lord, 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 couits and wooes SCENE I.] FOSCARI.

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. The Senate hates them. Eriz. Aye, but the Senate — Cel. Well, my Lord, the Senate — 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 Finds there an echo ; and besides, the Doge Hath friends. Here comes one. Enter Count Zeno. A fair morning to you, Count Zeno. I have scarcely seen you since Your lingering sickness. You look cheerily. Zeno. The air of this new day is sweet and fresh ening, [ACT I 6 FOSCARI. And breathes a health into the veins. I trust You need no renovating ; yet to step From a sick bed and a dark silent room Into the pure and balmy air of June, With the bright sun lighting so blue a sky, And sparkling on the waters all around, Full of the living noise of trade or mirth, Air, earth, and sea, all motion — it is like Returning from the tomb to this fair world Of life and sunshine !

Such delight is well Worth a sharp fever. Eriz. Nevertheless am I Content with your report. A homelier joy Suffices me. Zeno. You are the happier man. Are you for the palace ? £riz. No. We wait a friend. Zeno. Then I must say good-morrow. I am somewhat In haste to-day. Eriz. Good-morrow, Count. [Exit Zeno. SCENE I.] 7 FOSCARI. That man Wears in his courtly smile the consciousness Of his high influence — the prime favourite he ! Did you not see how graciously he stooped To me his equal, even as he had been Himself a prince — proud minion ! Doge, beware ! Beware ! Look, look, Donato too hath found A check ! See, how he chafes ! See ! Enter Donato. Don. Take thy paper ! I am refused. Good-morrow ! Eriz. Nay, come back. Can this be possible ? Refused ! Donato Refused by Foscari ! Don. I was a fool To ask ;— a double fool to pin my faith Upon this Doge's ermine.

Celso. I regret More than my failure the indignity [ACT i. 8 FOSCARI. Don. Forget it, Sir. How go these Milan wars ? — I say, Erizzo, could'st thou have believed The proudest he in Venice would have dared To treat me with such scorn ? Eriz. What ! did he scorn thee ? Don. He chid me, schooled me, blamed my easy temper, That lent an ear to every cunning tale, A voice to every false designing knave. Cel. Dared he ! Don. And this to me ! Why art thou not Amazed, Erizzo? Eriz. No. It but confirms What I have heard and scarce believed. The Doge Is grown so old that he forgets his friends. Men say — it can't be true — and yet men say — Don. What? Eriz. That the Doge repents his son's betrothment To thy Camilla. Don. He shall never wed her. SCENE I.] 9 FOSCARI. Sir, if this Doge were king of all the earth He might have found a higher, prouder title In father to Camilla !

They are free. Camilla's claims shall never interrupt What is his project ? Eriz. Our great enemy, TheJJuke 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. This is not a place For such discourse. Come with me to my palace. [ACT I FOSCARI. Don. I thought he loved my daughter ! Cel. Thou art s Thou art sure [Exeunt SCENE II. An Apartment in the Ducal Palace.

The Doge and Count Zeno. Zeno. Good-morrow to your Highness. Doge. Dearest Zeno, This is no common pleasure. Thou the latest Of our late revellers, whom the sun scarce sees Till half his course be run — Zeno. Oh ! good my Lord, I meet him often ere 1 go to bed, The bright reproachful tell-tale ! Doge. To see thee, But lately risen from a sharp sickness too, Afoot so early ! There must be some cause, Some kind or pleasant cause— What brings thee, Count ? Zeno. This letter ! ' FOSCARI. * Doge. No petition for the post Vacant by poor Venoni's death ? Zeno. Oh ! no. Doge. I should have grieved within one little hour To say twice No to two dear friends. You met Donato ? Zeno. Yes, so chafed he saw me not. Your Highness knows his temper. Doge. And I fear Tried it too much. He asked of me that office For a known villain, an unusual compound Of ruffian and of knave, the follower Of his kinsman, Count Erizzo.

Zeno. Then the Count Was waiting for Donato. I am grieved He should be so companioned. Doge. He flung from me Ere I could tell him that the post was given To Signor Loredano, a ripe scholar Pining in penury, at the pressing instance [ACT I. 12 FOSCARI. Of his own son. Zeno. Cosmo ! How like is that To his unwearied kindness. Doge. There is not, Unless I may except my Foscari, A youth in Venice who can vie in aught With Cosmo. Zeno. And they are as different As the bright sun and gentle moon, the sea In sparkling motion and the quiet land. The one a stirring, brave, and honest soldier, The other a pale student. Doge. Bless them both My noble boys ! They have always loved like brothers, And soon I hope my pretty sweet Camilla Will give them that dear title. Zeno. Have you had Tidings of Foscari lately ?

Doge, Not for long, Longer than common. Zeno. Last night at St. Mark's There was a rumour floating — none could trace Its source — of a great victory obtained Foscari and Sforza. Doge. Heaven grant it ! Sure we shall hear to-day, — Now, dearest Count, What is your will ? Yrou 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. No ! — Yes ! — Not much. Why dost thou ask ? Zeno. Wilt thou not answer ? Doge. Count Zeno, thou art one to whom, being wise, A wise man may confess the cherished folly That lurks within his breast. But tell it not To fools, good Zeno. Zeno. Then thou dost believe ? [ACT I 14 FOSCARI. Doge. I have some cause. What ! didst thou never hear Of the old prediction that was verified When I became the Doge ?

Zeno. An old prediction ! 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, — saw I would have had the whole world to survey Me and my wondrous kite. It still soared on, And I stood bending back in exstacy, 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 — Aye, mount ! mount ! mount ! — I started back, and 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 : — Aye, like his fortunes, mount, The future Doge of Venice ! And before For very wonder any one could speak She disappeared. Zeno. Strange ! Hast thou never seen That woman since ? Doge. I never saw her more. After a slight brief search, the wonder sank [act FOSCARI. I Into a jest. My mother for a while Called me her pretty Doge, her madcap Doge, And ran a thousand fondling changes through On that proud title ; and my sisters long Talked of the tall Hungarian. None believed But my old nurse. Zeno. And thou ? Doge. Long time in me 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 ; Whence comes it ? Zeno. Even such an aged crone, So tall, so habited, stayed me last night At roy 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. ] 17 FOSCARI. 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. Read it at least. Doge, (reads.) " The ducal bonnet trembles on thy " brow, Doge of Venice, trembles — and will fall, though " the stars themselves shew 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 ! Zeno. Yet hath the Count A party in the state ; and for Donato, c [ACT FOSCARI. I, Kind, hasty, generous and beloved, his power May vie with thine. Doge. But never will be used Against me, Zeno. I should hate myself Could I suspect Donato. Count, we'll go Together to the Senate. Thou shalt see The quick relenting of his sudden wrath, His graceful self-rebuke, his honest love. Zeno. I'll gladly be converted. Doge. Doubt him not. [Exeunt. SCENE III. An Apartment in the Donato Palace. Camilla and Laura. Cam. Laura, hast thou seen Cosmo ?

Lau. Not to-day. Cam. Sure, he'll not cheat us of his early smiles, His gay good-morrow, that best joy of home When dear friends meet in morning cheerfulness. FOSCARL Lau. And such a cheerfulness ! and such a smile ! None are like his. Cam. None ! Hast thou never seen The heaven of kindness that in Foscari's eyes Shines under those dark brows ? And I'm the sister Of that dear Cosmo, the selected bride Of that still dearer Foscari ! Oh, cousin, I am the blessedest creature that e'er trod This laughing earth ! There is but only one Can hope to be so happy ; — thou, perchance, When Cosmo Enter Cosmo. We were speaking of thee. Well, Cos. I trust fair maids. My gentle lady Laura, Say yes to that. Cum. Feed not man's vanity ; Let not thy blushes answer. Cos. Sister mine, c2 [act 20 FOSCARI. I 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. I think I dreamt 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 FOSCARI. ? 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. Cam. Fy ! what a fool Am I to tremble so ! And art thou sure ? Cos. There is no certainty, but such a hope As-is her forerunner. Hath not my father Heard of this victory ? Lau. He hath been long Gone to the palace, and wished you to follow. Cos. Gladly. I have a good man's gratitude To pay to the good Doge. I must away Or I shall miss the Senate. Cam. Thou wilt send The tidings, Cosmo ? Cos. Surely. Cam. Quickly ? [ACT I, 22 FOSCARI. Cos. Yes. Cam. Good tidings, Cosmo. Cos. . 1 Yes. My. pretty cousin, Hast thou no charge to give ? Lau. Why bring this tale, This happy tale thyself. Cam. Aye come thyself, Dear Cosmo, and farewell. [Exit Cosmo. Now, Laura mine, Let us to the high balcony.

I need Fresh air and sun and sparkling sights and sounds To help sustain this happiness, this hope, Which weighs almost like fear. My dearest, come. [Exeunt, END OF ACT THE FIRST. ACT II. SCENE I. The Senate. Count Erizzo, Donato, and Senators Eriz. He rules us as a king — this Foscari, An absolute king, haughty and imbecile As any Eastern sovereign ! He degrades The old Nobility, contemns the Senate, And cringes to the people — a mob courtier ! A greedy swallower of popular praise ! Sen. He hates the Nobles. Eriz. But this very day Did he refuse to my dear kinsman here A post, that he requested for a man Who long hath served the state. [act 24 FOSCARI. ir Sen. Refuse Donato ! Eriz. Even so. He is of the Senate, is the head Of an old powerful house, is rich, is noble, Is nobly loved. Are not these crimes enough To stir our Doge's wrath ?

Don. No more of this ! 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 ? Or any man of us ? Lords, have ye changed Your purpose ? That the Doge may be deposed SCENE I.] FOSCARI. Is the fixed law of Venice. Are ye firm ? This is the moment. Sen. He must be unthroned. Eriz. Then be it done to-day. 2d Sen. I'll join thee, Count. 3d Sen. And I. Eriz.

Donato, thou wilt best propose- Don. Oh no ! He hath been harsh but I have 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 [act 26 FOSCARI. II 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 ? Doge. None, 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.

Doge. 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. Enter Cosmo. Who's that ? Sen. Cosmo Donato, please you, Sir. SCENE I.] 27 FOSCARI. 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. Doge. Hush ! Count Erizzo, You were about to speak. •> Eriz. I was ; and yet I gladly would delay, gladly resign A painful duty. Doge. If it touch me, Sir, Speak. Eriz. Is there not, my lord, a law in Venice, That if the Doge, by sickness, grief, or age, Become incapable, he be removed ?

Doge. There is. Say on. Eriz. What need I to say Know we not all the good Doge Foscari Is turned of fourscore years ? Fitter for him - more ! [act 28 FOSCARI. II To lay down the proud bonnet, which doth weigh So heavily on those white hairs, and pass 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. Doge. This is not all. On, on, my lord ! Eriz. Fitter for us a man 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 SCENE I.] FOSCARI. 29 Of old Venetian story. We are born Lords of the Adriatic ; not a name But hath been vowed her spouse. Think not such names 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 Their sons — Oh our own names are watchwords to us 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. Perhaps Erizzo [act FOSCARI. 30 II. 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 ? Sen. Silence ! Eriz. Signor Cosmo, Thou art not yet a Senator. Cos. My lords, I pray your pardon ; but if I had seen A venomed serpent coiling round his limbs And pressing him within its deadly clasp, Would ye have blamed the cry that Nature sent ?

Thou wilt not be the Doge ? Don. Never! SCENE I.] 31 FOSCARI. Cos. My father, Forgive me that I feared. How could I fear ! Forgive me. Doge. Noble boy ! — Hast thou said all ? That I am old, and that I love the people? Are these my crimes ? Oh I am doubly guilty ! I love them all, even ye that love me not ! I cannot chuse but love ye, 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 [act II, 32 FOSCARI.

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 The honest artizans ; there's not a face 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, Ye do mistake my crime. I am too young ; I am not like to die ; and they who wait Wax weary for my seat. I do not dote, My Lord Erizzo ; Yet — (Shouts without.) Foscari ! Foscari ! Doge. What mean those shouts ? Cos. Francesco Foscari ! SCENE I.] 33 FOSCARI. There lives no other, whom a grateful people Would greet as with one heart.

Enter Foscari. Zeno. My Lord Francesco ! Doge. My son, my very son! Now I am young And great and happy ! Now I reign again. My noblest son ! Fos. Father ! Why this is joy Deeper than victory ! Dost feel my heart ? Doge. Art thou unhurt ? Fos. Untouched. I almost shame To want one glorious scar. How well he is ! What fire is in his eyes ! Cosmo, thou too ! — But I have tidings that the Doge must hear Upon his throne. High tidings, gracious lords ! My father, — take thy state. Eriz. (aside.) Lost ! lost ! All lost ! Another hour and that most hated boy Had been most welcome ! D [ACT II FOSCARI. Fos. (to Cosmo.) Still as lovely, Cosmo ? And still as true ? Cos. Yes ! Yes ! Fos. Will not the Doge 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 Filled by Donato, or his cousin Count. Which hath thy voice, Francesco ? Fos. Thou not Doge ! Erizzo climb into thy honoured seat, Honoured by thee ! Or thou, Donato, thou Join with this false, ungrateful, heartless senate, This shadow and this mockery of wisdom, To cast aside the best and truest heart That ever made our Venice rich and proud And great and happy, to throw off thy Prince Like an old garment ! Shame ! Thou that didst call SCENE I.] FOSCART. 35 Thyself his friend ! Shame ! shame ! My dearest Cosmo, This was a grief to thee. Oh shame ! shame ! shame ! Don. Rated again, and by a boy ! I tell thee I would not be the Doge. Zeno. My Lord Francesco, Thy tidings Fos. Take thy state, Doge Foscari. From thee did I receive my maiden sword, From thee my high commission ; to none other Will I resign them.