_Ber. F._ 'Tis the first time that honour has been doubted, And were the last, from any other sceptic. _Doge_. You know the full offence of this born villain, This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon, Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel,[db] And on the honour of--Oh God! my wife, The nearest, dearest part of all men's honour, Left a base slur to pass from mouth to mouth 160 Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments, And villainous jests, and blasphemies obscene; While sneering nobles, in more polished guise, Whispered the tale, and smiled upon the lie Which made me look like them--a courteous wittol, Patient--aye--proud, it may be, of dishonour. _Ber. F._ But still it was a lie--you knew it false, And so did all men. _Doge_. Nephew, the high Roman Said, "Cæsar's wife must not even be suspected,"[387] And put her from him. _Ber. F._ True--but in those days---- 170 _Doge_. What is it that a Roman would not suffer, That a Venetian Prince must bear? old Dandolo[dc] Refused the diadem of all the Cæsars,[388] And wore the ducal cap _I_ trample on-- Because 'tis now degraded. _Ber. F._ 'Tis even so. _Doge_. It is--it is;--I did not visit on The innocent creature thus most vilely slandered Because she took an old man for her lord, For that he had been long her father's friend And patron of her house, as if there were 180 No love in woman's heart but lust of youth And beardless faces;--I did not for this Visit the villain's infamy on her, But craved my country's justice on his head, The justice due unto the humblest being Who hath a wife whose faith is sweet to him, Who hath a home whose hearth is dear to him-- Who hath a name whose honour's all to him, When these are tainted by the accursing breath Of Calumny and Scorn. _Ber. F._ And what redress 190 Did you expect as his fit punishment? _Doge_. Death! Was I not the Sovereign of the state-- Insulted on his very throne, and made A mockery to the men who should obey me? Was I not injured as a husband? scorned As man? reviled, degraded, as a Prince? Was not offence like his a complication Of insult and of treason?--and he lives! Had he instead of on the Doge's throne Stamped the same brand upon a peasant's stool, 200 His blood had gilt the threshold; for the carle Had stabbed him on the instant. _Ber. F._ Do not doubt it, He shall not live till sunset--leave to me The means, and calm yourself. _Doge_. Hold, nephew: this Would have sufficed but yesterday; at present I have no further wrath against this man.