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 My fate, this hour decides. And yet, if peace Should be the choice of Venice, shall I cling Still poorly to ignoble safety here, Secluded as a homicide, who cowers Within a temple's precincts? Shall not he Who made a kingdom's fate, control his own? Is there not one amidst the many lords Of this divided Italy, not one With soul enough to envy that bright crown Encircling Philip's head? And know they not 'Twas won by me from many a tyrant's grasp, Snatch'd by my hand, and plac'd upon the brow Of that ingrate, from whom my spirit burns Again to wrest it, and bestow the prize On him who best shall call the prowess forth Which slumbers in my arm?

Marco, a senator, and a friend of the Count, now arrives, and announces to him that war is resolved upon, and that he is appointed to the command of the armies, at the same time advising him to act with caution towards his enemies in the Republic.

Car. Think'st thou I know not whom to deem my foes? Aye, I could number all.

Mar. And know'st thou too What fault hath made them such?—'Tis, that thou art So high above them; 'tis, that thy disdain Doth meet them undisguised. As yet not one Hath done thee wrong; but who, when so resolv'd, Finds not his time to injure? In thy thoughts, Save when they cross thy path, no place is theirs; But they remember thee. The high in soul Scorn, and forget; but to the grovelling heart There is delight in hatred. Rouse it not, Subdue it, while the power is yet thine own. I counsel no vile arts, from which my soul Revolts indignantly; thou know'st it well. But there is yet a wisdom, not unmeet For the most lofty nature,—there is power Of winning meaner minds, without descent From the high spirit's glorious eminence, And, would'st thou seek that magic, it were thine.

The first scene of the second act represents part of the Duke of Milan's camp near Maclodio. Malatesti, the commander-in-chief, and Pergola, a Condottiere of great distinction, are