_Pier._ Ten thousand men are armèd 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. _Bed._ 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 own us for her lords. _Pier._ How lovelily the Adriatic whore, Dressed in her flames, will shine!--devouring flames, Such as shall burn her to the watery bottom, And hiss in her foundation! _Bed._ Now if any 'Mongst us that owns this glorious cause Have friends or interest he'd wish to save, Let it be told. The general doom is sealed; But I'd forego the hopes of a world's empire, Rather than wound the bowels of my friend. _Pier._ I must confess, you there have touched my weakness: I have a friend; hear it, such a friend! My heart was ne'er shut to him. Nay, I'll tell you: He knows the very business of this hour; But he rejoices in the cause, and loves it; We've changed a vow to live and die together, And he's at hand to ratify it here. _Ren._ How! all betrayed? _Pier._ No! I've dealt nobly with you; I've brought my all into the public stock; I'd but one friend, and him I'll share amongst you! Receive and cherish him: or if, when seen And searched, you find him worthless, as my tongue Has lodged this secret in his faithful breast, To ease your fears I wear a dagger here Shall rip it out again, and give you rest.-- Come forth, thou only good I e'er could boast of. _Enter_ JAFFIER _with a dagger_. _Bed._ His presence bears the show of manly virtue. _Jaff._ I know you'll wonder all, that thus uncalled I dare approach this place of fatal counsels; But I'm amongst you, and, by Heaven, it glads me To see so many virtues thus united, To restore justice, and dethrone oppression. Command this sword, if you would have it quiet, Into this breast; but, if you think it worthy To cut the throats of reverend rogues in robes, Send me into the cursed assembled Senate; It shrinks not, though I meet a father there. Would you behold this city flaming? here's A hand shall bear a lighted torch at noon To the arsenal, and set its gates on fire. _Ren._ You talk this well, sir.