_Mar._ Lo! there is the blood beginning 240 To flow through the dead lips of Foscari-- The body bleeds in presence of the assassin. [_To_ LOREDANO. Thou cowardly murderer by law, behold How Death itself bears witness to thy deeds! _Doge_. My child! this is a phantasy of grief. Bear hence the body. [_To his attendants_] Signors, if it please you, Within an hour I'll hear you. [_Exeunt_ DOGE, MARINA, _and attendants with the body_. _Manent_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO. _Bar._ He must not Be troubled now. _Lor._ He said himself that nought Could give him trouble farther. _Bar._ These are words; But Grief is lonely, and the breaking in 250 Upon it barbarous. _Lor._ Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world, Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears. _Bar._ And therefore You would deprive this old man of all business? _Lor._ The thing's decreed. The Giunta[75] and "the Ten" Have made it law--who shall oppose that law? _Bar._ Humanity! _Lor._ Because his son is dead? _Bar._ And yet unburied. _Lor._ Had we known this when 260 The act was passing, it might have suspended Its passage, but impedes it not--once passed. _Bar._ I'll not consent. _Lor._ You have consented to All that's essential--leave the rest to me. _Bar._ Why press his abdication now? _Lor._ The feelings Of private passion may not interrupt The public benefit; and what the State Decides to-day must not give way before To-morrow for a natural accident. _Bar._ You have a son. _Lor._ I _have_--and _had_ a father. 270 _Bar._ Still so inexorable? _Lor._ Still. _Bar._ But let him Inter his son before we press upon him This edict. _Lor._ Let him call up into life My sire and uncle--I consent. Men may, Even agéd men, be, or appear to be, Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindle An atom of their ancestors from earth. The victims are not equal; he has seen His sons expire by natural deaths, and I My sires by violent and mysterious maladies. 280 I used no poison, bribed no subtle master Of the destructive art of healing, to Shorten the path to the eternal cure. His sons--and he had four--are dead, without _My_ dabbling in vile drugs. _Bar._ And art thou sure He dealt in such?