hatching, One might have thought you'd not have been behind hand. Elliot. Frenchman, you are saucy. Ren. (L. C.) How? [Puts his hand to his sword. Enter Bedamar, Mezzana, Durand, and Theodore, L.—      Mezzana, Durand, and Theodore stand back, L. Beda. [Crossing, C.] At difference? fie! Is this a time for quarrels? Thieves and rogues Fall out and brawl: should men of your high calling, Men, separated by the choice of Providence From the gross heap of mankind, and set here In this assembly, as in one great jewel, T' adorn the bravest purpose it e'er smiled on; Should you, like boys, wrangle for trifles? Ren. (R. C.) Boys!       Beda. (C.) 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. Elliot, 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—      United thus, we are the mighty engine, Must twist this rooted empire from its basis. Totters it not already? Elliot. (L.) 'Would 'twere tumbling! Beda. Nay, it shall down: this night we seal its ruin. Enter Pierre, L. D. Oh, Pierre! thou art welcome. [22]     Come to my breast; for, by its hopes, thou look'st Lovelily dreadful; and the fate of Venice Seems on thy sword already. Oh, my Mars! The poets that first feigned a god of war, Surely prophesied of thee! Pierre. (L.) Friends, was not Brutus      (I mean that Brutus, who, in open senate, Stabbed the first Caesar that usurped the world), A gallant man? Ren. (R. C.) 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. (L. C.) And ours as much above it, As, Renault, thou'rt superior to Cethegus, Or Pierre to Cassius. Pierre. Then to what we aim at! When do we start? Or must we talk forever? Beda. (C.) 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 or hand amongst us, But what is firm and ready. Elliot. (L. C.) All. We'll die with Bedamar. Beda. Oh, men, Matchless, as will your glory be hereafter:      The game is for a matchless prize, if won; If lost, disgraceful ruin. Pierre. Ten thousand men are armed at your nod, Commanded all by leaders fit to guide A battle for the freedom of the 

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