no shape. For whence should danger come?
We are at peace with all. Our former foe
Is now our dearest friend; the Prince Asander,
Though of a hasty spirit and high temper,
Dwells in such close, concordant harmony
With his loved wife that he is wholly ours;
And yet though thus at peace, rumours of war
And darkling plots beset us. Is it not thus?
Have ye heard aught?

_1st Sen._ Zetho, 'tis true. Last night, a citizen
Sware he heard clang of arms and ring of mail
At midnight by the house of Lamachus!

_2nd Sen._ My freedman, coming home at grey of dawn,
Saw a strange ship unload her merchandise,
And one bale chanced to fall, and from it came
Groanings and drops of blood!

_3rd Sen._ Two nights ago,
The ways being white with snow, I on the quay
Saw the thick-planted marks of armed feet;
But, rising with the dawn, I found the place
Swept clean with care!

_Zet._ Brethren, I know not what
These things portend.

_Enter_ GYCIA.

But see, she comes! Good daughter,
Why is thy cheek so pale?

_Gycia._ This is the wont
Of women. Grief drives every drop of blood
Back to the breaking heart, which love calls forth
To mantle on the cheek. Sirs, I have come
On such an errand as might drive a woman
Stronger than I to madness; I have come
To tell you such a tale as well might fetter
My tongue and leave me speechless. Pity me
If I do somewhat wander in my talk!
'Tis scarce an hour ago, that in my house,
Drawing some secret panel in the wall,
I saw the long hall filled with armed men
Of Bosphorus, and at their head--O Heaven,
I cannot say it!--at their head I saw
My husband, my Asander, my own love,

[Senators _rise with strong emotion._

Who ordered them and bade them all stand ready
To-morrow night at midnight. What means this?
What else than that these traitorous bands shall slay
Our Cherson's liberties, and give to murder
Our unsuspecting people, whom the feast
Leaves unprepared for war? I pray you, sirs,
Lose not one moment. Call the citizens
To arms while yet 'tis time! Defeat this plot!
Do justice on these traitors! Save the city,
Though I am lost!

_Zet._ Daughter, thy loyal love
To our dear city calls for grateful honour
From us who rule. In thy young veins the blood
Of patriot Lamachus flows to-day as stron