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A bond upon the soul against disgrace! 'Tis no vain pride that looketh to their honours, And taketh thence a high security That we prove not unworthy of such names.

I cannot bear this. (Aloud.) The banquet waits!

A little while, I pray you, let it wait. I like this gallery much—our history, Our Lucca's history, is on its walls; Her noblest, and her bravest, and her best, Keep the time-honour'd life of memory. Now, if a man had plann'd some low vile deed, He dared not act it here.

Can he suspect? (Aloud.) Some men are resolute.

Yonder is one who reign'd our doge in Lucca; 'Tis now some fifty years—I know the face. The public monument the public raised In gratitude for a long life of service. His statue looks upon the town he ruled, An honour unto both. It is the past Redeems the present, and that bids us look To the dim future with a lofty hope. Cold and unworthy were the actual hours, If they look'd only to themselves; but life Is conscious of its immortality, Urged by high duty—animate by power; The present, in the shadow of the past,