[Exit.
Isa. Perfidious cowards, stain of nobility!
Venetians, and be reconciled with words!
O that I had Gniaca once more here, 20
Within this prison made of flesh and bone,
I’d not trust thunder with my fell revenge,
But mine own hands should do the dire exploit,
And fame should chronicle a woman’s acts!
My rage respects the persons, not the facts:
Their place and worths hath power to defame me;
Mean hate is stingless, and does only name me:
I not regard it. ’Tis high blood that swells,
Give me revenge, and damn me into hells!
Enter Don Sago, a Coronel,[278] with a band of Soldiers and a Lieutenant.
A gallant Spaniard, I will hear him speak; 30
Grief must be speechless, ere the heart can break!
Sago. Lieutenant, let good discipline be used
In quart’ring of our troops within the city—
Not separated into many streets.
That shows weak love, but not sound policy:
Division in small numbers makes all weak;
Forces united are the nerves of war.
Mother and nurse of observation—
Whose rare ingenious sprite fills all the world,
By looking on itself with piercing eyes— 40
Will look through strangers’ imbecilities.
Therefore be careful.
Lie. All shall be order’d fitting your command,
For these three gifts which makes a soldier rare,
Is love and duty with a valiant care.
[Exeunt Lieutenant and Soldiers.
Sago. What rarity[279] of women feeds my sight,
And leads my senses in a maze of wonder?