The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 5: PoetryByron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
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The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 5: Poetry
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
English drama; English poetry
_Mar._ Touch it not, dungeon miscreants! your base office
Ends with his life, and goes not beyond murder,
Even by your murderous laws. Leave his remains 200
To those who know to honour them.
_Offi._ I must
Inform the Signory, and learn their pleasure.
_Doge_. Inform the Signory from _me_, the Doge,
They have no further power upon those ashes:
While he lived, he was theirs, as fits a subject--
Now he is _mine_--my broken-hearted boy! [_Exit Officer_.
_Mar._ And I must live!
_Doge_. Your children live, Marina.
_Mar._ My children! true--they live, and I must live
To bring them up to serve the State, and die
As died their father. Oh! what best of blessings 210
Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother
Had been so!
_Doge_. My unhappy children!
_Mar._ What!
_You_ feel it then at last--_you!_--Where is now
The Stoic of the State?
_Doge_ (_throwing himself down by the body_). _Here!_
_Mar._ Aye, weep on!
I thought you had no tears--you hoarded them
Until they are useless; but weep on! he never
Shall weep more--never, never more.
_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.
_Lor._ What's here?
_Mar._ Ah! the Devil come to insult the dead! Avaunt!
Incarnate Lucifer! 'tis holy ground.
A martyr's ashes now lie there, which make it 220
A shrine. Get thee back to thy place of torment!
_Bar._ Lady, we knew not of this sad event,
But passed here merely on our path from council.
_Mar._ Pass on.
_Lor._ We sought the Doge.
_Mar._ (_pointing to the Doge, who is still on the ground
by his son's body_) He's busy, look,
About the business _you_ provided for him.
Are ye content?
_Bar._ We will not interrupt
A parent's sorrows.
_Mar._ No, ye only make them,
Then leave them.
_Doge_ (_rising_). Sirs, I am ready.
_Bar._ No--not now.
_Lor._ Yet 'twas important.
_Doge_. If 'twas so, I can
Only repeat--I am ready.
_Bar._ It shall not be 230
Just now, though Venice tottered o'er the deep
Like a frail vessel. I respect your griefs.
_Doge_. I thank you. If the tidings which you bring
Are evil, you may say them; nothing further
Can touch me more than him thou look'st on there;
If they be good, say on; you need not _fear_
That they can _comfort_ me.
_Bar._ I would they could!
_Doge_. I spoke not to _you_, but to Loredano.
_He_ understands me.
_Mar._ Ah! I thought it would be so.
_Doge_. What mean you?
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