Speaks from its cloudy shrine.—Oh! much I fear
The fathers of our city are grown stern,
And sacrifice to gold and foul ambition
Treasures of youthful love.
Foscarini (aside.)
I dare not utter
The doubt that’s at my heart—(aloud)—The bridegroom, said you?
Vincentio.
Is stern and haughty—though in courtesy
Well skilled—as noble senator should be. (ironically.)