Ren. Boys!

Beda. Renault, thy hand!

Ren. I thought I’d given my heart
Long since to every man that mingles here;
But grieve to find it trusted with such tempers,
That can’t forgive my froward age its weakness.

Beda. Eliot, thou once hadst virtue; I have seen
Thy stubborn temper bend with godlike goodness,
Not half thus courted: ’tis thy nation’s glory,
To hug the foe that offers brave alliance.
Once more embrace, my friends—we’ll all embrace—
United thus, we are the mighty engine
Must twist this rooted Empire from its basis!
Totters it not already?

Eliot. Would it were tumbling!

Beda. Nay, it shall down: this night we seal its ruin.

Enter PIERRE.

O Pierre! thou art welcome!
Come to my breast, for by its hopes thou look’st
Lovelily dreadful, and the fate of Venice
Seems on thy sword already. O my Mars!
The poets that first feigned a god of war
Sure prophesied of thee.

Pierr. Friends! was not Brutus
(I mean that Brutus who in open senate
Stabbed the first Cæsar that usurped the world)
A gallant man?

Ren. Yes, and Catiline too;
Though story wrong his fame: for he conspired
To prop the reeling glory of his country:
His cause was good.

Beda. And ours as much above it,
As Renault thou art superior to Cethegus,
Or Pierre to Cassius.

Pierr. Then to what we aim at
When do we start? or must we talk for ever?

Beda. No, Pierre, the deed’s near birth: Fate seems to have
set
The business up, and given it to our care;
I hope there’s not a heart nor hand amongst us
But is firm and ready.

All. All!
We’ll die with Bedamar.

Beda. O men,
Matchless, as will your glory be hereafter.
The game is for a matchless prize, if won;
If lost, disgraceful ruin.

Ren. What can lose it?

The public stock’s a beggar; one Venetian
Trusts not another: look into their stores
Of general safety; empty magazines,
A tattered fleet, a murmuring unpaid army,
Bankrupt nobility, a harassed commonalty,
A factious, giddy, and divided Senate,
Is all the strength of Venice: let’s destroy it;
Let’s fill their magazines with arms to awe them,
Man out their fleet, and make their trade maintain it;
Let loose the murmuring army on their masters,
To pay themselves with plunder; lop their nobles
To the base roots, whence most of ’em first sprung;
Enslave the rout, whom smarting will make humble;
Turn out their droning Senate, and possess
That seat of empire which our souls were framed for.

Pierr. Ten thousand men are armed 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 th’ alarm, and grumble ’tis so tardy.