Oh that my breath could breathe a pest among ye! Then am I made the murderer of my wife! Nay, even worse than that. Then-(in a tone of contempt) Then do these eyes Commit an oversight, and my own sword Is buried in her bosom ! (Laughing bitterly.) This is a master-piece! (The whole of the CONSPIRATORS lean pensively on their weapons.-Several wipe the tears from their eyes.—A pause of some moments.-FIESKO, weak and exhausted, contemplating the assembly.) And is there any here that sorrows for Fiesko? Yes, yes, by Heavens! a Prince's Murderers weep, But wherefore do ye weep my Countrymen ? Is it Death's sacrilege, (pointing to the body.) That wakes your pity? Or weep ye to behold Ambition's fall? (Bending over the body in an attitude of tenderest sympathy.) Forgive me, Leonora ! Repentance comes too late. I cannot weep! When the hard hearts of murderers melt in pity, Fiesko's noblest sorrow isdespair! (Sinking down by the body, and proceeding in a tone of softest tenderness.) And is it come to this? Years in advance I pictur'd to myself the blessed hour, When I should shew the Genoese, their Princess. The rising blush that would suffuse thy cheek, Heavens! how I gloried in a Prince's name, Lavagna triumphs! Thy Fiesko, reigns! Genoa is mine! -And the poor Wretch, That begs from door to door, would scruple To exchange his fortunes with me; would balance To lay down his tatter'd weeds, and take Fiesko's anguish, with his Purple. (Strongly affected.) A wife partakes his sorrows! But who have I, To share my glories, and partake my joys? (He bursts into tears and hides his face upon the body.) KALKAGNO. She was indeed a noble lady! ZIBO. Be cautious how you let the people hear it, FIESKO (rising collectedly and with resolution.) If right I understand the will of Heaven, My soul is ready to embrace its greatness. Said you not Genoa waits me? Come then my friends, I will present my country with a Prince, Such as no power in Europe yet could boast of. Come, I will prove deserving of a Throne, And answer every wish your hearts desire ! luckless Princess! The last sad honors, We can give, be paid thee! I'll celebrate Thy funeral with such pomp, that Life shall lose Apparel'd like a bride ! Now follow me, my Countrymen ! (Exeunt amid martial music) SCENE XIII. ANDREAS DORIA.-LOMELLIN. ANDREAS. Hear'st thou those shouts of triumph ? LOMELLIN. Their success Has blinded them, the gates are left defenceless. The people rush in crowds to the Signoria ! LOMELLIN. What say you, Duke? Surely you do not still Encourage Hope? ANDREAS (earnestly.) How dar'st thou sport With my misfortunes? It is a mockery LOMELLIN. But only think, my Lord! A raging nation, My trust in Heaven! LOMELLIN. Angels have ceas'd to fight, Since powder was invented! ANDREAS. Poor wretched miscreant! Would'st thou take away, the last support these Silver hairs have left them, dependance on their God? (In a commanding tone.) Go! make it known that yet Andreas lives, |