Its merry hum of nations pierces here,

Even here, into these chambers of the unknown

Who govern, and the unknown and the unnumbered

Judged and destroyed in silence,—all things wear170

The self-same aspect, to my very sire!

Nothing can sympathise with Foscari,

Not even a Foscari.—Sir, I attend you.

[Exeunt Jacopo Foscari, Officer, etc.

Enter Memmo and another Senator.

Mem. He's gone—we are too late:—think you "the Ten"