I've left of life,
Forget myself, and this day's guilt and falsehood.
Cruel remembrance, how shall I appease thee? [_exit._

_Offi._ [_without_] More traitors; room, room, room, make room, there.

_Duke._ How's this? guards!
Where are our guards? Shut up the gates, the treason's
Already at our doors.

_Enter Officer._

_Offi._ My lords, more traitors,
Seiz'd in the very act of consultation;
Furnish'd with arms and instruments of mischief,
Bring in the prisoners.

_Enter Pierre, Renault, Theodore, Elliott, Revillido, and
other Conspirators, in fetters._

_Pier._ You, my lords, and fathers
(As you are pleas'd to call yourselves) of Venice;
If you sit here to guide the course of justice,
Why these disgraceful chains upon the limbs
That have so often labour'd in your service?
Are these the wreaths of triumph ye bestow
On those, that bring you conquest home, and honours?

_Duke._ Go on; you shall be heard, sir.

_Ant._ And be hang'd too, I hope.

_Pier._ Are these the trophies I've deserv'd for fighting
Your battles with confederated powers?
When winds and seas conspir'd to overthrow you,
And brought the fleets of Spain to your own harbours;
When you, great duke, shrunk trembling in your palace,
And saw your wife, the Adriatic, plough'd,
Like a lewd whore, by bolder prows than yours,
Stepp'd not I forth, and taught your loose Venetians
The task of honour, and the way to greatness?
Rais'd you from your capitulating fears
To stipulate the terms of sued-for peace?
And this my recompense! if I'm a traitor,
Produce my charge; or show the wretch that's base
And brave enough to tell me I'm a traitor.

_Duke._ Know you one Jaffier? [_Conspirators murmur._

_Pier._ Yes, and know his virtue.
His justice, truth, his general worth, and sufferings
From a hard father, taught me first to love him.

_Enter Jaffier, guarded._

_Duke._ See him brought forth.

_Pier._ My friend too bound! nay then
Our fate has conquer'd us, and we must fall.
Why droops the man whose welfare's so much mine,
They're but one thing? These reverend tyrants, Jaffier,
Call us traitors. Art thou one, my brother?

_Jaf._ To thee, I am the falsest, veriest slave,
That e'er betray'd a generous, trusting friend,
And gave up honour to be sure of ruin.
All our fair hopes, which morning was t' have crown'd,
Has this curs'd tongue o'erthrown.

_Pier._ So, then all's over:
Venice has lost her freedom, I my life.
No more! Farewell!