Must I on hardily like them—Oh! would

I could as blindly and remorselessly!—

Lo, where he comes!—Be still, my heart! they are

Thy foes, must be thy victims: wilt thou beat

For those who almost broke thee?

Enter Guards, with young Foscari as Prisoner, etc.

Guard.‍Let him rest.

Signor, take time.

Jac. Fos.‍I thank thee, friend, I'm feeble;

But thou mayst stand reproved.