Venice Preserved | Page 8

Betray me less, to rip this heart of mine Out of my breast, and show it for a coward's. Come, let's be gone, for from this hour I chase All little thoughts, all tender human follies, Out of my bosom: vengeance shall have room-- Revenge! [Going, R.
Pierre. And liberty!
Jaf. Revenge! revenge! [Exeunt, r
Scene II.--A Room in the House of Aquilina. Enter Renault, L. S. E.
Ren. (C.) Why was my choice ambition The worst ground A wretch can build on! 'tis, indeed, at distance, A goodly prospect, tempting to the view; The height delights us, and the mountain top Looks beautiful, because 'tis nigh to heaven; But we ne'er think how sandy's the foundation, What storm will batter, and what tempest shake us. Who's there ]
Enter Spinosa, L.
Spin. (L. C.) Renault, good morrow, for by this time, I think, the scale of night has turned the balance, And weighs up morning. Has the clock struck twelve?
Ren. (R.) Yes; clocks will go as they are set: but man Irregular man's ne'er constant, never certain. I've spent at least three precious hours of darkness In waiting dull attendance; 'tis the curse Of diligent virtue to be mixed, like mine, With giddy tempers, souls but half resolved.
Spin. (L.) Hell seize that soul amongst us it can frighten!
Ren. (C.) What's then the cause that I am here alone? Why are we not together?
Enter Elliot, L.
Oh, sir, welcome! You are an Englishman: when treason's hatching, One might have thought you'd not have been behind hand.
Elliot. Frenchman, you are saucy.
Ren. (L. C.) How? [Puts his hand to his sword.
Enter Bedamar, Mezzana, Durand, and Theodore, L.-- Mezzana, Durand, and Theodore stand back, L.
Beda. [Crossing, C.] At difference? fie! Is this a time for quarrels? Thieves and rogues Fall out and brawl: should men of your high calling, Men, separated by the choice of Providence From the gross heap of mankind, and set here In this assembly, as in one great jewel, T' adorn the bravest purpose it e'er smiled on; Should you, like boys, wrangle for trifles?
Ren. (R. C.) Boys!
Beda. (C.) Renault, thy hand.
Ren. I thought I'd given my heart, Long since, to every man that mingles here; But grieve to find it trusted with such tempers, That can't forgive my froward age its weakness.
Beda. Elliot, thou once hadst virtue. I have seen Thy stubborn temper bend with godlike goodness, Not half thus courted. 'Tis thy nation's glory To hug the foe that offers brave alliance. Once more, embrace, my friends-- United thus, we are the mighty engine, Must twist this rooted empire from its basis. Totters it not already?
Elliot. (L.) 'Would 'twere tumbling!
Beda. Nay, it shall down: this night we seal its ruin.
Enter Pierre, L. D. Oh, Pierre! thou art welcome. Come to my breast; for, by its hopes, thou look'st Lovelily dreadful; and the fate of Venice Seems on thy sword already. Oh, my Mars! The poets that first feigned a god of war, Surely prophesied of thee!
Pierre. (L.) Friends, was not Brutus (I mean that Brutus, who, in open senate, Stabbed the first Caesar that usurped the world), A gallant man?
Ren. (R. C.) Yes, and Catiline too; Though story wrong his fame; for he conspired To prop the reeling glory of his country, His cause was good.
Beda. (L. C.) And ours as much above it, As, Renault, thou'rt superior to Cethegus, Or Pierre to Cassius.
Pierre. Then to what we aim at! When do we start? Or must we talk forever?
Beda. (C.) No, Pierre, the deed's near birth: fate seems to have set The business up, and given it to our care; I hope there's not a heart or hand amongst us, But what is firm and ready.
Elliot. (L. C.) All. We'll die with Bedamar.
Beda. Oh, men, Matchless, as will your glory be hereafter: The game is for a matchless prize, if won; If lost, disgraceful ruin.
Pierre. Ten thousand men are armed at your nod, Commanded all by leaders fit to guide A battle for the freedom of the world: This wretched state has starved them in its service; And, by your bounty quickened, they're resolved To serve your glory, and revenge their own: They've all their different quarters in this city, Watch for the alarm, and grumble 'tis so tardy.
Beda. I doubt not, friend, but thy unwearied diligence Has still kept waking, and it shall have ease; After this night, it is resolved, we meet No more, till Venice owns us for her lords.
Pierre. How lovelily the Adriatic, then, Dressed in her flames, will shine! Devouring flames! Such as shall burn her to the watery bottom, And hiss in her foundation!
Beda. Now, if any Amongst us here, that own this glorious cause, Have friends or int'rest he would wish to save, Let it be told--the general doom is sealed; But I'd forego the hopes of