[]
THE INFLEXIBLE CAPTIVE.
A TRAGEDY.
BY Miss HANNAH MORE.
The Man reſolv'd, and ſteady to his Truſt,
In flexible to ill, and obſtinately juſt.
HORACE, Book III. Ode 3.
DUBLIN: Printed for J. WILLIAMS, No. 21, SKINNER-ROW, MDCCLXXV.
TO THE Honourable Mrs. BOSCAWEN.
[]MADAM,
IT ſeems ſomewhat extraordinary, that altho' with perſons of merit, no virtue ſtands in higher eſtimation than the love of truth; yet the ſureſt means to offend them in addrſſes of this nature, is a ſtrict ad⯑herence to it; and it will be a ſingular cir⯑cumſtance to ſee a Dedication without praiſe, to a Lady poſſeſſed of every quality and ac⯑compliſhment, which can juſtly intitle her to it.
I am, Madam, with great Reſpect, Your moſt obedient, And moſt humble Servant, H. MORE.
BRISTOL, March 1, 1774.
THE ARGUMENT.
[]AMONG the great names, which have done honor to antiquity in general, and to the Roman Republic in particular, that of Marcus Attilius Regulus has, by the general conſent of all ages, been conſidered as one of the moſt reſpectable, ſince he not only ſacrificed his labours, his liberty, and his life for the good of his country; But by a greatneſs of ſoul, almoſt peculiar to himſelf, contrived to make his very misfortunes contribute to that glorious end.
After the Romans had met with various ſucceſſes in the firſt Punic War, under the command of Regulus, victory at length declared for the oppoſite party, the Roman Army was totally overthrown, and Regulus himſelf taken priſoner, by Xantip⯑pus, a Lacedoemonian General in the ſervice of the Cartha⯑ginians: the victorious enemy, exulting in ſo important a conqueſt, kept him many years in cloſe impriſonment, and loaded him with the moſt cruel Indignities. They thought it was new in their power to make their own terms with Rome, and determined to ſend Regulus thither, with their Ambaſſador, to negotiate a peace, or at leaſt, an exchange of captives, thinking be would gladly perſuade his coun⯑trymen to diſcontinue a war, which neceſſarily prolonged his captivity. They previouſly exacted from him an oath to return ſhould his embaſſy prove unſucceſsful; at the ſame time giving him to underſtand, that he muſt expect to ſuffer a cruel death if he failed in it; this they artfully intimated, as the ſtrongeſt motive for him to leave no means unattempt⯑ed to accompliſh their purpoſe.
At the unexpected arrival of this venerable hero, the Ro⯑mans expreſs'd the wildeſt tranſports of joy, and would have ſubmitted to almoſt any conditions to procure his en⯑largement; [] but, Regulus ſo far from availing himſelf of his influence with the Senate to obtain any perſonal advan⯑tages, employed it to induce them to reject propoſals ſo evi⯑dently tending to diſhonour their country, declaring his fixed reſolution to return to bondage, and death, rather than violate his cath.
He at Laſt extorted from them their conſent; and depart⯑ed amidſt the tears of his family, the importunities of his friends, the applauſes of the Senate, and the tumultuous oppoſition of the people; and as a great poet of his own na⯑tion beautifully obſerves, ‘he embarked for Carthage as calm and unconcerned, as if, on finiſhing the tedious law-ſuits of his clients, he was retiring to Vena [...]rian fields, or the ſweet country of Tarentum.’ 1
In the above, and many other important parti⯑culars, the Author has paid the ſtricteſt regard to hiſtorical truth: In ſome leſs eſſential points, where ſhe thought it would rather obſtruct than advance her purpoſe, ſhe has ventured to deviate from it; parti⯑cularly, in fixing the return of Regulus to Rome, poſterior to the death of his wife Martia. In this, and in the general conduct of the ſtory, ſhe has followed the Italian poet Metaſtaſio in his Opera of three acts: of which ſhe has given a free tranſlation, and made ſuch additions, as were neceſſary to form it into a tragedy of five acts.
PROLOGUE
[]DEEP in the boſom of departed days,
Where the firſt gems of human glory blaze;
Where, crown'd with flowers, in wreaths immortal dreſt,
The ſacred ſhades of ancient virtue reſt;
With joy they ſearch, who joy can feel, to find
Some honeſt reaſon ſtill to love mankind.
There the fair foundreſs of the ſcene to night,
Explores the paths that dignify delight;
The regions of the mighty dead pervades;
The ſybil ſhe that leads us to the ſhades.
O may each blaſt of ruder breath forbear
To waſt her light leaves on the worthleſs air,
Since ſhe, as heedleſs, ſtrives not to maintain
This tender offspring of her teeming brain:
For this poor birth was no proviſion made,
A flower that ſprung, and languiſh'd in the ſhade.
On Avon's banks, forſaken and forlorn,
This careleſs mother left her elder born;
And tho' unlike that Avon hail'd of yore,
Thoſe giant ſons that Shakeſpeare's banners bore,
Yet may we yield this little offspring grace,
And love the laſt and leaſt of ſuch a race.
Shall the ſtrong ſcenes, where ſenatorial Rome
Mourn'd o'er the rigour of her patriot's doom;
Where melting nature, aw'd by virtue's eye,
Hid the big drop, and held the burſting ſigh;
Where all that Majeſty of ſoul can give,
Truth, honor, pity, fair affection, live;
Shall ſcenes like theſe, the glory of an age,
Gleam from the preſs, nor triumph on the ſtage
Forbid it, Britons! and, as Romans brave,
Like Romans boaſt one citizen to ſave.
Dramatis Perſonae.
[]MEN.
- REGULUS.
- PUBLIUS, his Son.
- MANLIUS, the Conſul.
- LICINIUS, a Tribune.
- HAMILCAR, the Carthaginian Ambaſſ.
WOMEN.
- ATTILIA, Daughter of Regulus.
- BARCE, a Carthaginian Captive.
Guards, Lictors, People, &c.
SCENE, near the Gates of ROME.
THE INFLEXIBLE CAPTIVE.
A TRAGEDY.
[]ACT I.
SCENE, a Hall in the Conſul's Palace.
Enter LICINIUS, ATTILIA, Lictors and People.
Licin.
AH, my Attilia, do I find thee here?
Is this a place for Regulus's daughter?
Juſt Gods! muſt that incomparable maid
Aſſociate here with Lictors and Plebeians?
Attil.
Yes, on this threſhold patiently I wait
The Conſul's coming; I would make him bluſh
To ſee me here his ſuitor. O Licinius,
This is no time for form, and cold decorum;
Five lagging years have crept their tedious round
And Regulus, alas! is, ſtill a ſlave;
A wretched ſlave, unpitied, and forgotten;
No other tribute paid his memory,
Than the ſad tears of his unhappy child;
If ſhe be ſilent who will ſpeak for Regulus?
Licin.
Let not her ſorrows make my Fair unjuſt.
Is there in Rome a heart ſo dead to virtue
That does not beat in Regulus's cauſe?
That wearies not the Gods for his return?
That does not think all ſubjugated Afric,
A ſlender, unimportant acquiſition,
If, in return, for all this added empire,
The freedom of thy father be the purchaſe?
[2]Theſe are Rome's feelings, for my lov'd Attilia,
If were ſuperfluous, to declare my own.
If thy Licinius were to weigh his merit,
That he's thy father were ſufficient glory.
He was my leader, train'd me up to arms,
And if I boaſt ſome ſparks of Roman honor,
I owe them to his precepts and his virtues.
Attil.
And yet I have not aught obſerv'd, Li⯑cinius—
Licin.
Ah! ſpare me thy reproaches—what could I
When but a private Citizen perform?
'Tis not the luſt of power, or pride of rank,
Has made me ſeek the dignity of Tribune;
No, my Attilia, but I fondly hop'd
'Twould ſtrengthen and inforce the juſt requeſt,
Which as a private man I vainly made;
But now, the people's repreſentative,
I ſhall demand, Attilia, to be heard.
Attil.
Ah! let us not too haſtily apply
This dang'rous remedy; I would not rouſe
Freſh tumults 'twixt the people and the ſenate:
Each views with jealouſy the idol, power,
Which, each poſſeſſing, would alike abuſe.
Whatever wiſh'd-for boon the one demands,
The other thro' reluctant pride denies.
Might I adviſe you, try a gentler method;
I know that every moment Rome expects
Th' Ambaſſador of Carthage, and I've heard
The Conſcript Fathers are already met
To give him audience in Bellona's temple.
There might the Conſul at my ſuit, Licinius,
Propoſe the ranſom of my captive father.
Licin.
Ah! think, Attilia, who that Conſul is,
Manlius, thy father's rival, and his foe:
His ancient rival, and his foe proſeſs'd;
To hope in him, my fair, were fond deluſion.
Attil.
Yet, tho' his rival, Manlius is a Roman:
Nor will he think of private enmities,
Weigh'd in the balance with the good of Rome.
Let me at leaſt make trial of his honour.
Licin.
Be it ſo, my fair, but elſewhere make thy ſuit,
[3]Let not the Conſul meet Attilia here,
Confounded with the refuſe of the people;
Attil.
Yes, I will ſee him here, e'en here, Lici⯑nius.
Let Manlius bluſh, not me: Here will I ſpeak,
Here ſhall he anſwer me.
Licin.
Behold he comes.
Attil.
Do thou retire.
Licin.
O bleſs me with a look,
One parting look at leaſt.
Attil.
Know, my Licinius,
That at this moment I am all the daughter,
The filial feelings now poſſeſs my ſoul,
And other paſſions find no entrance there.
Licin.
O ſweet, yet powerful influence of virtue,
That charms tho' cruel, tho' unkind ſubdues,
And what was love exalts to admiration!
Yes, 'tis the privilege of ſouls like thine
To conquer moſt when leaſt they aim at conqueſt.
Yet, ah! vouchſafe, thou nobleſt among women,
Sometimes to think with pity on Licinius,
Nor fear to rob thy father of his due;
For ſurely Virtue, and the Gods, approve
Unwearied conſtancy, and ſpotleſs love.
Exit Licinius.
Enter MANLIUS.
Attil.
Ah! Manlius ſtay, a moment ſtay, and hear me.
Manl.
I did not think to meet thee here, Attilia,
Here, in a place ſo little worthy of thee.
Attil.
It were unworthy, did Attilia boaſt
A godlike father free from cruel bondage;
But for the daughter of a ſlave to Carthage,
It ſurely is moſt ſitting.
Manl.
Say, Attilia,
What is the purpoſe of thy coming hither?
Attil.
What is the purpoſe, patience, patience,
Heaven!
Tell me, how long, to Rome's eternal ſhame,
To fill with horror all the wond'ring world,
My father ſtill muſt groan in Punic chains,
[4]And waſte the tedious hours in ſad captivity?
Days follow days, and years to years ſucceed,
And Rome forgets her hero is a ſlave.
Has he, alas! deſerv'd to be forgotten?
What is his crime? is it to have preferr'd
His country's profit to his children's good?
Is it th' unſhaken firmneſs of his ſoul,
Juſt, uncorrupt, invariably good?
Perhaps his pov'erty has been his fault,
Poor in the higheſt dignities of Rome:
Illuſtrious error, glorious poverty!
Manl.
But know, Attilia —
Attil.
Yet awhile attend.
And can ungrateful Rome ſo ſoon forget?
Can thoſe who breathe the air he breath'd forget
The great, the godlike virtues of my father?
There's not a part of Rome but ſpeaks his praiſe.
The ſtreets—thro' them the hero paſs'd triumphant
The Forum—there the Legiſlator plann'd
The wiſeſt, wholſomeſt, and pureſt laws;
The Senate-houſe—there ſpoke the patriot Roman,
There oft' his voice ſecur'd the public ſafety:
The wiſdom of his councils match'd his valor.
Enter the Temples—mount the Capitol.—
And tell me, Manlius, to what hand but his
They owe their trophies, and their ornaments,
Their foreign banners, and their boaſted enſigns,
Tarentine, Punic, and Sicilian ſpoils?
Nay ev'n thoſe Lictors, who precede thy ſteps,
This Conſul's purple, which inveſts thy limbs.
All, all were Regulus's, were my father's.
And yet this hero, this exalted patriot,
This man of virtue, this immortal Roman,
In baſe requital for his ſervices,
Is left to linger out a life in chains,
No honors paid him but a daughter's tears,
O Rome! O Regulus! O thankleſs Citizens!
Manl.
Juſt are thy tears:—Thy father well deſerves them
But know thy cenſure is unjuſt, Attilia.
The fate of Regulus is felt by all:
[5]We know and mourn the cruel woes he ſuffers
From barbarous Carthage.
Attil.
Manlius, you miſtake,
Alas! it is not Carthage, which is barbarous;
'Tis Rome, ungrateful Rome is the Barbarian;
Carthage but puniſhes a foe profeſs'd,
But Rome betrays her hero, and her father;
Carthage remembers how he ſlew her ſons,
But Rome forgets the blood he loſt for her;
Carthage revenges an acknowledg'd foe,
But Rome with baſeſt perfidy rewards
The glorious hand, that bound her brow with laurels.
Which now is the barbarian, Rome, or Carthage?
Manl.
What can be done?
Attil.
Need I inſtruct you what?
Convene the Senate; let them ſtrait propoſe
A ranſom, or exchange for Regulus,
To Africa's Ambaſſador. Do this,
And heav'n's beſt bleſſings crown your days with peace.
Manl.
Thou ſpeakeſt like a daughter, I, Attilia,
Muſt as a Conſul act; I muſt conſult
The good of Rome, her glory, her renown.
Would it not tarniſh her unſpotted fame,
To ſue to Carthage on the terms thou wiſheſt?
Attil.
Ah! rather own thou art ſtill my father's foe.
Manl.
Is it my fault, Attilia, if thy father
By Carthaginian power was overcome?
Attil.
Before that fatal period oft' he taught you—
Manl.
Farewel! ere this the Senate is aſſembled—
My preſence is requir'd.—Speak to the fathers,
And try to ſoften their auſterity,
My rigor they may render vain, for know,
I am Rome's Conſul not her King, Attilia.
Exit Manlius with the Lictors, &c.
Attil.
(alone.)
This flattering hope, alas! has prov'd abortive.
One Conſul is our foe, the other, abſent.
What ſhall the ſad Attilia next attempt?
Shall I then try for popular aſſiſtance?
Ah! my unhappy father, on what hazards,
What ſtrange viciſſitudes, what various turns,
Thy life, thy liberty, thy all depends!
[6] Enter BARCE, in haſte.
Ah my Attilia!
Attil.
Whence this eager haſte?
Barce.
Th' Ambaſſador of Carthage is arriv'd.
Attil.
And why does that excite ſuch wondrous tranſ⯑port?
Barce.
I bring another cauſe of greater ſtill.
Attil.
Name it, my Barce.
Barce.
Regulus comes with him.
Attil.
My father! can it be?
Barce.
Thy father—Regulus.
Attil.
Thou art deceiv'd, or thou deceiv'ſt thy friend.
Barce.
Indeed I ſaw him not, but every tongue
Speaks the glad tidings.
Enter PUBLIUS.
Attil.
See where Publius comes.
Pub.
My ſiſter, I'm tranſported! Oh Attilia,
He's here, our father—Regulus is come!
Attil.
I thank you, Gods: O my full heart! where is he?
Haſten, my brother, lead, O lead me to him.
Pub.
It is too ſoon, reſtrain thy fond impatience.
With Africa's Ambaſſador he waits,
Until th' aſſembled ſenate give him audience.
Attil.
Where was he, Publius, when thou ſaw'ſt him firſt?
Pub.
You know, in quality of Roman Quaeſtor,
My duty 'tis to find a fit abode
For all Ambaſſadors of foreign ſtates.
Hearing the Carthaginian was arriv'd,
I haſten'd to the port, when, O juſt Gods!
No foreigner, no foe, no African
Salutes my eye, but Regulus—my father!
Attil.
Oh mighty joy! too exquiſite delight!
What ſaid the hero? tell me, tell me all,
And eaſe my anxious breaſt.
Pub.
Ere I arriv'd,
My father ſtood already on the ſhore,
Fixing his eyes with anxious eagerneſs,
[7]As ſtraining to deſcry the Capitol.
I ſaw, and flew with tranſport to embrace him,
Pronounc'd with wildeſt joy the name of father—
With reverence ſeiz'd his venerable hand,
And wou'd have kiſs'd it; when the awful hero
With that ſtern grandeur which made Carthage tremble,
Drew back—ſtood all collected in himſelf,
And ſaid auſterely, know, thou raſh young man,
That ſlaves in Rome have not the rights of fathers.
Then aſk'd, if yet the ſenate was aſſembled,
And where; which having heard, without indulging
The fond effuſions of his ſoul, or mine,
He ſuddenly retir'd. I flew with ſpeed
To find the Conſul, but as yet, ſucceſs
Attends not my purſuit. Direct me to him.
Barce.
Publius, you'll find him in Bellona's temple.
Attil.
Then Regulus returns to Rome a ſlave!
Pub.
Yes, but be comforted, I know he brings
Propoſals for a peace; his will's his fate.
Attil.
Rome may perhaps refuſe to treat of peace.
Pub.
Did'ſt thou behold the univerſal joy
At his return, thou would'ſt not doubt, my ſiſter.
There's not a man you meet but wild with tranſport,
Proclaims aloud that Regulus is come!
The ſtreets are fill'd with thronging multitudes,
Preſſing with eager gaze to catch a look.
The happy man who can deſcry him firſt
Points him to his next neighbour, he to his,
Then what a thunder of applauſe goes round;
What muſic to the ear of filial love!
Attilia! there was not a Roman eye
But ſhed pure tears of exquiſite delight.
Judge of my feelings by thy own my ſiſter,
By the large meaſure of thy fond affection.
Attil.
Where is Licinius? find him out, my Brother,
My joy is incompleat till he partakes it.
When doubts, and fears have rent my anxious heart,
In all my woes he kindly bore a part:
Felt all my ſorrows with a ſoul ſincere,
Sigh'd as I ſigh'd, and number'd tear for tear;
[8]Now favouring Heav'n my ardent vows has bleſt,
He ſhall divide the tranſports of my breaſt.
Exit Attilia.
Pub.
Barce, adieu!
Barce.
Publius, a moment hear me.
Know'ſt thou the name of Africa's Ambaſſador?
Pub.
Hamilcar.
Barce.
Son of Hanno?
Pub.
Yes! the ſame.
Barce.
Ah me! my lover—How ſhall I ſupport it!
[Aſide.]
Pub.
Ah charming maid! the blood forſakes thy cheek,
Is he the rival of thy Publius? ſpeak
And tell me all the rigor of my fate.
Barce.
Hear me, my lord. Since I have been thy ſlave,
Thy goodneſs, and the friendſhip of Attilia,
Have ſoften'd all the horrors of my fate.
'Till now I have not felt the weight of bondage.
'Till now—ah Publius!—think me not ungrateful,
I would not wrong thee—I will be ſincere—
I will expoſe the weakneſs of my ſoul.
Know then, my lord—how ſhall I tell thee all?
Pub.
Stop, cruel maid, nor wound thy Publius more,
I dread the fatal frankneſs of thy words;
Spare me the pain of knowing I am hated;
And if thy heart's devoted to another,
Yet do not tell it me; in tender pity
Do not, my fair, diſſolve the fond illuſion,
The dear delightful viſions I have form'd,
Of future joy, and fond exhauſtleſs love.
Exit Publius.
Barce,
(alone.)
And ſhall I ſee him then, ſee my Hamilcar,
Pride of my ſoul, and lord of all my wiſhes?
The only man in all our burning Afric,
Who ever taught my boſom how to love!
Down, fooliſh heart! be calm, my buſy thoughts;
If at his name I feel theſe ſtrange emotions,
How ſhall I ſee, how meet my conqueror?
[9]O let not thoſe preſume to talk of joy
Who ne'er have felt the pangs of deep diſtreſs.
Such tender tranſport thoſe alone can prove,
Who long, like me, have known diſaſtrous Love;
The tears that fell, the ſighs that once were paid,
Like grateful incenſe on his altar laid,
The lambent flame now brighten, not deſtroy;
And woes remember'd turn to preſent joy.
Exit.
ACT II.
Scene the Inſide of the Temple of Bellona, Seats for the Senators and Ambaſſadors, Lictors guarding the En⯑trance.
MANLIUS, PUBLIUS, and Senators.
Manl.
LET Regulus be ſent for to our preſence,
And with him the Ambaſſador of Carthage.
Is it then true the foe would treat of peace?
Pub.
They wiſh at leaſt our captives were ex⯑chang'd,
And ſend my father to declare their purpoſe:
If he obtain it, well: if not, then Regulus
Returns to meet the vengeance of the foe,
And pay for your refuſal with his blood:
He ratified this treaty with his oath,
And, ere he quitted Carthage, heard, unmov'd,
The fatal preparations for his death,
Should he return. O Romans, O my countrymen,
Can you reſign your Hero to their rage?
Say, can you give up Regulus to Carthage?
Manl.
Peace, Publius, peace, for ſee thy father comes.
Enter HAMILCAR and REGULUS.
Hamil.
Why doſt thou ſtop? doſt thou not know this Temple?
I thought theſe walls had nothing new to Regulus.
Reg.
Hamilcar! I was thinking what I was
[10]When laſt I ſaw them, and what now I am.
Hamilc.
[To the Conſul.]
Carthage by me to Rome her greeting ſends,
And wearied out at length with bloody war,
If Rome inclines to peace ſhe offers it.
Manl.
We will at leiſure anſwer thee. Be ſeated.
Come, Regulus, reſume thine ancient place.
Reg.
Who then are theſe?
[Pointing to the Senators.]
Manl.
The Senators of Rome.
Reg.
And who art thou?
Manl.
Her Conſul, Regulus.
Haſt thou ſo ſoon forgotten Manlius?
Reg.
And ſhall a ſlave then have a place in Rome,
Among her Conſuls and her Senators?
Manl.
Yes!—For her Heroes, Rome forgets her Laws;
Softens their harſh auſterity for thee,
To whom ſhe owes her conqueſts, and her triumphs.
Reg.
Rome may forget, but Regulus remembers
Manl.
Was ever man ſo obſtinately good?
[Aſide.]
Pub.
[Riſing.]
Fathers! your pardon. I can ſit no longer.
[To the Senators.]
Reg.
Publius, what doſt thou mean?
Pub.
To do my duty:
Where Regulus muſt ſtand, ſhall Publius fit?
Reg.
Alas, O Rome, how are thy manners chang'd!
When laſt I left thee, ere I fail'd for Afric,
It was a crime to think of private duties
When public cares requir'd attention.—Sit,
[To Publius.]
And learn to occupy thy place with honour.
Pub.
Forgive me, Sir, if I refuſe obedience:
My heart o'erflows with duty to my father.
Reg.
Publius, alas that duty's at an end,
Thy father died when he became a ſlave.
Manl.
Now urge thy ſuit, Hamilcar, we attend.
Hamil.
Afric hath choſen Regulus her meſſenger,
In him, both Carthage and Hamilcar ſpeak.
Man. to Reg.
We are prepar'd to hear thee.
Hamil. to Reg.
Ere thou ſpeakeſt,
Maturely weigh what thou haſt ſworn to do,
Should Rome refuſe to treat with us of peace.
Reg.
[11]What I have ſworn I will fulfil, Hamilcar.
Be ſatisfied.
Pub.
Ye guardian Gods of Rome,
Inſpire his ſoul with your own eloquence!
Reg.
Carthage by me this embaſſy has ſent;
If Rome will leave her undiſturb'd poſſeſſion
Of all ſhe now enjoys, ſhe offers peace;
But if you rather wiſh protracted war,
Her next propoſal is, exchange of captives;—
If you demand advice of Regulus,
Reject them both.—
Hamil.
What doſt thou mean?
Pub.
My father!
Manl.
Exalted fortitude! I'm loſt in wonder.
[Aſide.]
Reg.
Romans! I will not idly ſpend my breath,
To ſhew the dire effects of ſuch a peace;
The foes, who beg it, ſhew their dread of war.
Manl.
But the exchange of priſoners thou propoſeſt?
Reg.
That artful ſcheme conceals ſome Punic fraud.
Hamil.
Roman, beware! haſt thou ſo ſoon forgotten?
Reg.
I will fulfil the treaty I have ſworn to.
Pub.
All will be ruin'd.
Reg.
Conſcript fathers! hear me.—
Tho' this exchange teems with a thouſand ills,
Yet 'tis th' example which alarms me moſt.
This treaty fix'd, Rome's honor is no more.
Her fame, her valor, military pride,
Her glory, virtue, fortitude, all loſt,
Should her degenerate ſons, for recompence,
Be promis'd life, and liberty inglorious.
What honeſt captive of them all would wiſh▪
With ſhame to enter her imperial gates,
The ſervile ſcourge of ſlavery on his back?
None, none, my friends, would wiſh a fate ſo vile,
But thoſe baſe cowards who reſign'd their arms,
Unſtain'd with hoſtile blood, and poorly ſued,
Thro' ignominious fear of death, for bondage;
The ſcorn, the laughter of th' inſulting foe.
O ſhame! ſhame! ſhame! eternal infamy!
Manl.
However hurtful the exchange may be,
The life, and liberty of Regulus,
[12]More than compenſate for it.
Reg.
Thou art miſtaken,—
This Regulus is but a mortal man,
Yielding apace to all th' infirmities
Of weak, decaying nature—I am old,
Nor can my future, feeble ſervices
Aſſiſt my country much; but know, the young,
Ferocious heroes you'd reſtore to Carthage,
In lien of this old man, are her chief bulwarks.
In youth, with well-ſtrung ſinews this bold arm
Fought for my country— fought and conquer'd for her:
Now, weak and nerveleſs, let the foe poſſeſs it;
Let Carthage have the poor, the wretched triumph
To cloſe theſe failing eyes;—but, O my Country⯑men!
Check their vain hopes, and ſhew aſpiring Afric
That heroes are the common growth of Rome.
Manl.
Unequall'd fortitude!
Pub.
O fatal virtue!
Hamil.
What do I hear? this conſtancy confounds me.
MANLIUS to the SENATORS.
Let honor be the ſpring of all our actions,
Not intereſt, Fathers. Honor diſallows
Ingratitude to this exalted patriot.
Reg.
If Rome wou'd thank me, I will teach her how.
—Know, Fathers, that theſe ſavage Africans
Thought me ſo baſe, ſo very low of ſoul,
That the poor wretched privilege of breathing
Would force me to betray my country to them.
Have theſe barbarians any tortures, think you,
To match the cruelty of ſuch ſuſpicions?
Revenge me, Fathers! and I'm ſtill a Roman.
Arm, arm yourſelves, prepare your Citizens,
Ruſh eager onwards to the gates of Carthage,
Snatch the impriſon'd Eagles from their Fanes,
Dye every Roman ſword in Punic blood—
And do ſuch deeds—that when I ſhall return,
(As I have ſworn, and am reſolv'd to do)
I may behold, with exquiſite delight,
[13]The terrors of your rage in the dire viſages
Of my aſtoniſh'd executioners.
Ham.
Surpriſe has chill'd my blood! I'm loſt in wonder!
Pub.
Does no one anſwer? muſt my father periſh?
Manl.
Romans, we muſt defer th' important queſ⯑tion,
Matureſt councils muſt determine on it.
Reſt we awhile;—Nature requires ſome pauſe
From high-rais'd admiration. Thou, Hamilcar,
Shalt ſhortly know our final reſolution.
Mean time we go to ſupplicate the Gods.
Reg.
Have you a doubt remaining? Manlius, ſpeak.
Manl.
Yes, Regulus, I think the danger leſs
To loſe th' advantage thy advice ſuggeſts,
Than would accrue to Rome in loſing thee,
Whoſe wiſdom might direct, and valour guard her;
A thirſt for glory thou wouldſt ruſh on death,
And for thy country's ſake wouldſt greatly periſh.
Too vaſt a ſacrifice thy zeal requires,
For Rome muſt bleed when Regulus expires.
Exeunt Conſul and Senators.
Manent REGULUS, PUBLIUS, HAMILCAR, to them enter ATTILIA, and LICINIUS.
Hamil.
Does Regulus fulfil his promiſe thus?
Reg.
I've promis'd to return, and I will do it.
Attil.
My Father; think a moment.
Licin.
Ah! my friend!
Lic. and Att.
O by this hand we beg,—
Reg.
Away, no more.
Thanks to Rome's guardian Gods I'm yet a ſlave!
Attil.
Was the exchange refus'd? Oh eaſe my fears.
Reg.
Publius! conduct Hamilcar, and myſelf
To the abode thou haſt for each provided.
Pub.
And will my father then no more enjoy
The ſmiling bleſſings of his cheerful home?
Reg.
Doſt thou not know the laws of Rome for⯑bid
A foe's Ambaſſador within her gates?
Pub.
This rigid law does not extend to thee.
Reg.
Yes; did it not alike extend to all,
'Twere tyranny, not law.
Attil.
[14]Then, O my father,
Allow thy daughter to partake thy fate!
Reg.
Attilia! no. The preſent exigence
Demands far other thoughts, than the ſoft cares,
The fond effuſions, the delightful weakneſs,
The dear affections 'twixt the child and parent.
Attil.
How is my father chang'd from what I've known him!
Reg.
The fate of Regulus is chang'd, not Re⯑gulus.
I am the ſame in laurels as in chains!
'Tis the ſame virtue which informs my mind,
Unalter'd ſtill, tho' circumſtances change;
It ſtruggles with, and conquers adverſe fortune.
The native, free-born vigor of my mind
Soars above ſlavery.—My ſoul's invincible.
Exeunt Reg. and Pub.
ATTILIA, HAMILCAR going, enter BARCE.
Barce.
Ah! my Hamilcar.
Hamil.
Ah! my long-loſt Barce,
Again I looſe thee. Regulus rejects
Th' exchange of priſoners Africa propoſes.
Attil. and Barce.
Ah! cruel fate.
Hamil.
Farewel! my all of joy—
My heart's too full.—Oh I have much to ſay!
Barce.
Yet you unkindly leave me, and ſay no⯑thing.
Hamil.
Ah! didſt thou love, as thy Hamilcar loves,
Words were ſuperfluous; in my eyes, my Barce,
Thou'dſt read the tender eloquence of love,
Th' uncounterfeited language of my heart.
A ſingle look betrays the ſoul's ſoft feelings,
And ſhews imperfect ſpeech of little worth.
If but a ſigh eſcape my gentle Barce,
I catch it's meaning, and am bleſs'd indeed!
Exit Hamilcar.
Attil.
My father then conſpires his own deſtruction.
Is it not ſo?
Barce.
Indeed I fear it much;
But as the Senate has not yet reſolv'd,
There is at leaſt ſome room for hope, Attilia.
Haſten, my friend, loſe not a ſingle moment,
[15]And, ere the conſcript Fathers are aſſembled,
Try all thy powers of winning eloquence,
Each gentle art of feminine perſwaſion
The love of kindred, and the faith of friends,
To bend the rigid Romans to thy purpoſe.
Attil.
Yes, Barce, I will go, I will exert
My little pow'r, tho' hopeleſs of ſucceſs.
Undone Attilia! in a moment fall'n
From the high pinnacle of flattering hope,
Down the vaſt precipice of ſad deſpair.
So ſome tir'd mariner the coaſt eſpies,
And his lov'd home explores with ſtraining eyes;
Prepares with joy to quit the treacherous deep,
Huſh'd every wave, and every wind aſleep;
But ere he lands upon the well-known ſhore,
Wild ſtorms ariſe, and furious billows roar,
Tear the fond wretch from all his hopes away,
And drive his ſhatter'd bark again to ſea.
ACT III.
Scene a Portico of a Palace without the Gates of Rome, the Abode of the Carthaginian Ambaſſador.
Enter REGULUS, and PUBLIUS meeting.
Reg.
AH! Publius here, at ſuch a time as this?
Know'ſt thou th' important queſtion that the Senate
This very hour debate?—Thy country's glory,
Thy father's honour, and the public good?
And lingereſt here?
Pub.
They're not yet met.
Reg.
Away—
Support my counſel in th' aſſembled Senate,
Confirm their wav'ring virtue by thy courage,
And Regulus ſhall glory in his boy.
Pub.
Ah! ſpare thy ſon the moſt ungrateful taſk.
What!—ſupplicate the ruin of my father?
Reg.
The good of Rome can never hurt her ſons.
Pub.
[16]In pity to thy children, ſpare thyſelf.
Reg.
Doſt thou then think that mine's a frantic brav'ry,
That Regulus wou'd raſhly ſeek his fate?
Publius! how little doſt thou know thy fire!
Misjudging youth! learn, that like other men,
I ſhun the evil, and I ſeek the good,
But that I find in guilt, and this in virtue.
Were it not guilt, guilt of the blackeſt dye,
Even to think of freedom at th' expence
Of my dear, bleeding country? therefore life
And liberty wou'd be my heavieſt evils;
But to preſerve that country, to reſtore her,
To heal her wounds tho' at the price of life,
Is virtue—therefore ſervitude and death,
Are Regulus's good—his wiſh—his choice.
Pub.
Yet ſure our country—
Reg.
is a whole, my Publius,
Of which we all are parts, nor ſhould a citizen
Regard his intereſts as diſtinct from her's;
No hopes, or fears, ſhou'd touch his patriot ſoul
But what affect her honor, or her ſhame.
Ev'n when in hoſtile fields he bleeds to ſave her,
'Tis not his blood he loſes, 'tis his country's;
He only pays her back a debt he owes.
To her he's bound for birth, and education:
Her laws ſecure him from domeſtic feuds,
And from the foreign foe her arms protect him.
She lends him honors, dignity, and rank,
His wrongs revenges, and his merit pays;
And, like a tender and indulgent mother,
Loads him with comforts, and wou'd make his ſtate
As bleſt, as nature, and the Gods deſign'd it.
Such gifts, my ſon, have their alloy of pain,
And let th' unworthy wretch, who will not bear
His portion of the public burthen, loſe
Th' advantages it yields;—let him retire
From the dear bleſſings of a ſocial life,
Renounce the civiliz'd abodes of man,
And with aſſociate brutes a ſhelter ſeek
In horrid wilds, and dens, and dreary caves,
And with their ſhaggy tenants ſhare the ſpoil;
[17]Or, if the ſavage hunters miſs their prey,
From ſcatter'd acorns pick a ſcanty meal;—
Far from the ſweet civilities of life;
There let him live, and vaunt his wretched freedom.
Pub.
With reverence and aſtoniſhment I hear thee!
Thy words, my father, have convinc'd my reaſon,
But cannot touch my heart—nature denies
Obedience ſo repugnant to her feelings.
Alas! can I forget I am a ſon?
Reg.
A poor excuſe, unworthy of a Roman!
Brutus, Virginius, Manlius—they were fathers.
Pub.
'Tis true they were; but this heroic greatneſs,
This glorious elevation of the ſoul,
Hath been confin'd to fathers.—Rome 'till now
Boaſts not ſon of ſuch ſurpaſſing virtue,
Who, ſpurning all the ties of blood and nature,
Hath labor'd to procure his father's death.
Reg.
Then be the firſt to give the great example—
Go, haſten, be thyſelf that ſon, my Publius.—
Pub.
My father! ah!
Reg.
Publius, no more, be gone—
Attend the Senate—let me know my fate,
'Twill be more glorious if announc'd by thee.
Pub.
Too much, too much thy rigid virtue claims
From thy unhappy ſon. Oh nature, nature!
Reg.
Publius! am I a ſtranger, or thy father?
If thou regard'ſt me as an alien here,
Learn to prefer to mine the good of Rome;
If as a father—reverence my commands.
Pub.
Ah! could'ſt thou look into my inmoſt ſoul
And ſee how warm it burns with love, and duty,
Thou would'ſt abate the rigor of thy words.
Reg.
Could I explore the ſecrets of thy breaſt,
The vir [...]ue I wou'd wiſh ſhou'd flouriſh there
Were fortitude, not weak, complaining love.
Pub.
If thou requir'ſt the blood of wretched Publius,
I'll ſhed it all, and grieve to do ſo little;
But when thou doſt injoin the harſher talk
Of lab'ring to procure his father's death,
Forgive thy ſon—he has not ſo much virtue.
Exit Publius.
Manet Reg.
[18]Th' important hour approaches, and my ſoul
Loſes her wonted calmneſs, leſt the Senate
Should doubt what anſwer to return to Carthage.
O ye protecting deities of Rome!
Ye guardian Gods, look down propitious on her,
Inſpire her Senate with your ſacred wiſdom,
And call up all that's Roman in their ſouls!
Enter MANLIUS, ſpeaking.
See that the lictors wait, and guard the entrance—
Take care that none intrude.
Reg.
Ah! Manlius here?
What can this mean?
Manli.
Where where is Regulus?
The great, the god-like, the invincible?
Oh let me ſtrain the hero to my breaſt.—
Reg.
(avoiding him)
Manlius, ſtand off, remem⯑ber I'm a ſlave!
And thou Rome's Conſul.—
Manl.
I am ſomething more:
I am a man enamour'd of thy virtues;
Thy fortitude and courage have ſubdued me.
I was thy rival—I am now thy friend,
Allow me that diſtinction, dearer far
Than all the honors Rome can give without it.
Reg.
This is the temper ſtill of noble minds,
And theſe the bleſſings of an humble fortune.
Had I not been a ſlave, I ne'er had gain'd
The treaſure of thy friendſhip.
Manl.
I confeſs,
Thy grandeur caſt a veil before my eyes,
Which thy reverſe of fortune has remov'd.
Oft have I ſeen thee on the day of triumph,
A conqueror of nations enter Rome,
Now, thou haſt conquer'd fortune, and thyſelf.
Thy laurels oft have mov'd my ſoul to envy,
Thy chains awaken my reſpect and reverence;
Then Regulus appear'd a hero to me,
He riſes now a God.
Reg.
Manlius, enough.
Ceaſe thy applauſe; for praiſes ſuch as thine
[19]Might tempt the moſt ſevere and cautious virtue.
Bleſs'd be the Gods, who gild my latter days
With the bright glory of the Conſul's friendſhip!
Manl.
Forbid, it Jove! ſaid'ſt thou thy latter days?
May gracious Heav'n to a far diſtant hour
Protract thy valued life. Be it my care
To crown the hopes of thy admiring country,
By giving back her long loſt hero to her.
I will exert my power to bring about
Th' exchange of captives Africa propoſes.
Reg.
Manlius, and is it thus, is this the way
Thou doſt begin to give me proofs of friendſhip?
Ah! if thy love be ſo deſtructive to me,
Tell me, alas! what wou'd thy hatred be?
Shall I then loſe the merit of my ſufferings,
Be thus defrauded of the benefit
I vainly hop'd from all my years of bondage?
I did not come to ſhew my chains to Rome,
To move my country to a weak compaſſion;
I came to ſave her honor, to preſerve her
From tarniſhing her glory, by accepting
Propoſals ſo injurious to her fame.
O Manlius! either give me proofs more worthy
A Roman's friendſhip, or renew thy hate.
Manl.
Doſt thou not know, that, this exchange refus'd,
Inevitable death muſt be thy fate?
Reg.
And has the name of death ſuch terror in it
To ſtrike with dread the mighty ſoul of Manlius?
'Tis not to-day I learn that I am mortal.
The foe can only take from Regulus
What wearied nature would have ſhortly yielded;
It will be now a voluntary gift,
'Twould then become a neceſſary tribute.
Yes, Manlius, tell the world that as I liv'd
For Rome alone, when I cou'd live no longer,
'Twas my laſt care how, dying to aſſiſt,
To ſave that country I had liv'd to ſerve.
Manl.
O worth unparallel'd! thrice happy Rome!
Unequal'd in the heroes thou produced!
Haſt thou then ſworn, thou awfully-good man!
Never to bleſs the Conſul with thy friendſhip?
Reg.
[20]If thou wilt love me, love me like a Roman.
Theſe are the terms on which I take thy friendſhip.
We both muſt make a ſacrifice to Rome,
I of my life, and thou of Regu'us:
One muſt reſign his being, one his friend.
It is but juſt, that what procures our country
Such real bleſſings, ſuch ſubſtantial good,
Shou'd coſt thee ſomething—I ſhall loſe but little.
Go then, my friend! but promiſe, ere thou goeſt,
With all the Conſular Authority,
Thou wilt ſupport my counſel in the Senate.
If thou art willing to accept theſe terms,
With tranſport I embrace thy proffer'd friendſhip.
Manl.
(after a pauſe.)
Yes, I do promiſe.
Reg.
Bounteous Gods, I thank you!
Ye never gave, in all your round of bleſſing,
A gift ſo greatly welcome to my ſoul,
As Manlius' friendſhip on the terms of honor!
Manl.
Immortal powers! why am not I a ſlave?
Reg.
My friend! there's not a moment to be loſt;
Ere this perhaps the Senate is aſſembled.
To thee, and to thy virtues, I commit
The dignity of Rome— my peace and honor.
Manl.
Illuſtrious man, farewell!
Reg.
Farewell, my friend!
Manl.
O what a flame thou haſt kindled in my ſoul!
It raiſes me to ſomething more than man,
Glows in each vein, and trembles in each nerve.
My blood is fired with virtue, and with Rome,
And every pulſe beats an alarm to glory.
Who wou'd not ſpurn the ſceptre of a King
As an unworthy bauble, when compar'd
With chains like thine? Thou man of every virtue,
Farewell! may all the Gods protect, and bleſs thee!
Exit Manlius.
Enter LICINIUS.
Reg.
Now I begin to live. Propitious Heaven
Inclines to favour me.—Licinius here?
Licin.
With joy, my honor'd friend, I ſeek thy preſence.
Reg.
And why with joy?
Licin.
Becauſe my heart once more Beats [21]high with flattering hope. In thy great cauſe
I have been laboring.
Reg.
Say'ſt thou in my cauſe!
Licin.
In thine, and Rome's. Does it excite thy wonder?
Could'ſt thou then think ſo poorly of Licinius,
That baſe ingratitude cou'd find a place
Within his boſom?—that he cou'd forget
Thy thouſand acts of friendſhip to his youth,
Forget it too at that important moment
When moſt he might aſſiſt thee?—Regulus,
Thou waſt my leader, general, father,—all.
Didſt thou not teach me early how to tread
The noble path of virtue and of glory;
Point out the way, and ſhew me how to love it?
—Ev'n from my infant years.—
Reg.
But ſay, Licinius,
What haſt thou done to ſerve me?
Licin.
I have defended
Thy liberty and life!
Reg.
Ah! ſpeak—explain.—
Licin.
Juſt as the fathers were about to meet,
I haſten'd to the temple—at the entrance
Their paſſage I retarded, by the force
Of ſtrong intreaty; then addreſs'd myſelf
To each ſucceſſively, from each obtain'd
A declaration, that their utmoſt power
Should be exerted for thy life, and freedom.
Reg.
Great Gods! what do I here? Licinius too?
Licin.
Not he alone, no, 'twere indeed unjuſt,
To rob the fair Attilia of her claim
To filial merit.—What I cou'd, I did.
But ſhe—thy charming daughter—Heav'n and earth,
What did ſhe not to ſave her father!
Reg.
Who?
Lic.
Attilia, thy belov'd—thy age's darling!
Was ever father bleſs'd with ſuch a child?
Gods! how her looks took captive all who ſaw her!
How did her ſoothing eloquence ſubdue
The ſtouteſt hearts of Rome! How did ſhe rouſe
Contending paſſions in the breaſts of all!
How ſweetly temper dignity with grief!
[22]With what a ſoft, inimitable grace,
She prais'd, reproach'd, intreated, flatter'd, ſooth'd!
Reg.
What ſaid the Senators?
Licin.
What could they ſay?
Who could reſiſt the lovely conqueror?
See where ſhe comes—Hope dances in her eyes,
And lights up all her beauties into ſmiles.
Enter ATTILIA.
Attil.
Once more my deareſt father—
Reg.
Ah, preſume not
To call me by that name. 'Till now, Attilia,
I did not number thee among my foes.
Attil.
What do I hear? thy foe? my father's foe
Reg.
His worſt of foes—the murd'rer of his glory.
Attil.
Ah! is it then a proof of enmity
To wiſh thee all the good the Gods can give thee,
To yield my life, if needful for thy ſervice?
Reg.
Thou raſh, imprudent girl! thou little know'ſt
The dignity and weight of public cares.
Who made a weak, and inexperienc'd woman
The Arbiter of Regulus's fate?
Licin.
For pity's ſake, my Lord!
Reg.
Peace, peace, young man.
Her ſilence better than thy language pleads.
That bears at leaſt the ſemblance of repentance.
Immortal powers!—a daughter, and a Roman
Attil.
Becauſe I am a Roman, I preſum'd
Licin.
Becauſe I am a Roman, I aſpir'd
T' oppoſe th' inhuman rigor of thy fate.
Reg.
Peace, peace, Licinius. He can ne'er becall'd
A Roman who can live with infamy.;
Or how can ſhe be Regulus's daughter
Whoſe coward mind wants fortitude and honor?
Unhappy children? now you make me feel
The burthen of my chains: your feeble ſouls
Have made me know I am indeed a ſlave
Exit Reg.
Attil
Tell me, Licinius, and oh! tell me truly,
If thou believ'ſt, in all the round of time,
There ever breath'd a maid ſo truly wretched?
To weep, to mourn, a father's cruel fate—
To love him with ſoul-rending tenderneſs—
[23]To know no peace by day, or reſt by night—
To bear a bleeding heart in this poor boſom,
Which aches, and trembles but to think he ſuffers:
This is my crime—in any other child.
'Twould be a merit.
Licin.
Oh! my beſt Attilia,
Do not repent thee of the pious deed:
It was a virtuous error. That in us
Is a juſt duty, which the god-like ſoul
Of Regulus would think a ſhameful weakneſs.
If the contempt of life in him be virtue,
It were in us a crime to let him periſh.
Perhaps at laſt he may conſent to live:
He then will thank us for our cares to ſave him:
Let not his anger fright thee. Tho' our love
Offend him now, yet, when his mighty ſoul
Is reconcil'd to life, he will not chide us.
The ſick man loaths, and with reluctance takes
The remedy by which his health's reſtor'd:
Attil.
Licinius! his reproaches wound my ſoul.
I cannot live and bear his indignation.
Licin.
Wou'd my Attilia rather loſe her father
Than, by offending him, preſerve his life?
Attil.
Ah! no. If he but live I am contented.
Licin.
Yes, he ſhall live, and we again be bleſs'd:
Then dry thy tears, and let thoſe lovely orbs
Beam with their wonted luſtre on Licinius,
Who lives but in the ſun-ſhine of thy ſmiles.
Exit Licinius.
Attil. alone:
O fortune, fortune, thou capricious Goddeſs!
Thy frowns and favours have alike no bounds:
Unjuſt, or prodigal in each extreme.
When thou wou'd'ſt humble human vanity,
By ſingling out a wretch to bear thy wrath,
Thou cruſheſt him with anguiſh to exceſs:
If thou wou'd'ſt bleſs, thou mak'ſt the happineſs
Too poignant for his giddy ſenſe to bear.—
Immortal Gods, who rule the fates of men,
Preſerve my father! bleſs him, bleſs him, Heav'n!
If your avenging thunderbolts muſt fall,
Strike here—this boſom will invite the blow,
[24]And thank-you for it: But, in mercy ſpare,
Oh! ſpare his ſacred venerable head:
Reſpect in him an image of yourſelves;
And leave a world, who wants it, an example
Of courage, wiſdom, conſtancy and truth.
Yet if, eternal Powers who rule this ball!
You have decreed that Regulus muſt fall;
Teach me to yield to your divine command,
And meekly bow to your correcting hand;
Contented to reſign, or pleas'd receive,
What wiſdom may with-hold, or mercy give.
ACT IV.
Scene, a Gallery in the Ambaſſador's Palace.
Reg. alone.
BE calm, my ſoul, what ſtrange emo⯑tions ſhake thee?
Emotions thou haſt never felt till now,
Thou haſt defied the dangers of the deep,
Th' impetuous hurricane, the thunder's roar,
And all the terrors of the burning South:
Yet, now thou trembleſt, fearful, and diſmay'd
With anxious expectation of thy fate.—
Yes — thou haſt ampleſt reaſon for thy fears;
For till this hour, ſo pregnant with events,
Thy fame and glory never were alarm'd.
Soft—let me think—what is this thing call'd glory?
'Tis the Soul's tyrant, that ſhou'd be dethron'd,
And learn ſubjection like her other paſſions!
Ah! no! 'Tis falſe: This is the coward's plea;
The ſpecions language of refining vice.
That man was born in vain, whoſe pow'r of ſerving
Is circumſcrib'd within the wretched bounds
Of ſelf—a narrow miſerable ſphere!
Glory exalts, enlarges, dignifies,
Abſorbs the ſelfiſh in the ſocial feelings,
And teaches virtue how to charm mankind.—
It is this principle, this ſpark of deity,
[25]Reſcues debaſed humanity from guilt;
And elevates it by her ſtrong excitements.—
It takes off ſenſibility from pain,
From peril, fear; plucks out the ſting from death;
Changes ferocious into gentle manners;
And teaches men to imitate the Gods.
It ſhews—but ſee, alas! where Publius comes.
Ah! he advances with a down-caſt eye,
And ſtep irreſolute.—
Enter PUBLIUS.
Reg.
My Publius, welcome!
What tidings doſt thou bring? what ſays the Senate?
Is yet my fate determin'd? quickly tell me.—
Pub.
I cannot ſpeak, and yet, alas! I muſt.
Reg.
Tell me the whole.—
Pub.
Wou'd I were rather dumb!
Reg.
Publius, no more delay:—I charge thee ſpeak.
Pub
The Senate has decreed you ſhall depart.
Reg.
Bleſt ſpirit of Rome! thou haſt at laſt pre⯑vail'd—
I thank the Gods, I have not liv'd in vain!
Where is Hamilcar?—find him—let us go,
For Regulus has nought to do in Rome;
I have accompliſh'd her important work,
And muſt depart.
Pub.
Ah my unhappy father!
Reg.
Unhappy, Publius, didſt thou ſay unhappy?
Can the diſtinguiſh'd man deſerve that name
Who, to his lateſt breath, can ſerve his country?
Pub.
Like thee, my father, I adore my country,
Yet weep with anguiſh o'er thy cruel chains.
Reg.
Doſt thou not know that life's a ſlavery!
The body is the chain that binds the ſoul;
A yoke that every mortal muſt endure.
Wou'd'ſt thou lament—lament the general fate,
The chain that nature gives, entail'd on all,
Not theſe I wear.
Pub.
Forgive, forgive my ſorrows:
I know, alas! too well, thoſe fell barbarians
Intend thee inſtant death.
Reg.
[26]So ſhall my life
And ſervitude together have an end.—
Publius, farewell! nay do not follow me.—
Pub.
Alas! my father, if thou ever lov'd'ſt me,
Rufuſe me not the mournful conſolation,
To pay the laſt ſad offices of duty
I e'er can ſhew thee.—
Reg.
No!—Thou can'ſt fulfill
Thy duty to thy father, in a way
More grateful to him: I muſt ſtrait embark.
Be it mean-while thy pious care to keep
The poor Attilia from a ſight, I fear,
Would rend her gentle heart —Her tears, my ſon,
Would dim the glories of thy father's triumph.
Her ſinking ſpirits are ſubdu'd by grief;
And ſhou'd her ſorrows paſs the bounds of reaſon,
Publius, have pity on her tender age,
Compaſſionate the weakneſs of her ſex;
We muſt not hope to find, in her ſoft ſoul,
The ſtrong exertion of a manly courage.—
Support her fainting ſpirit, and inſtruct her,
By thy example, how a Roman ought
To bear misfortune. O indulge her weakneſs!
And be to her the father ſhe will loſe.
I leave my daughter to thee— I do more—
I leave to thee the conduct of—thyſelf.
—Ah Publius! I perceive thy courage fails—
I ſee the quivering lip, the ſtarting tear;—
That lip, that tear calls down my mounting ſoul.
Reſume thyſelf—Oh! do not blaſt my hope!
Yes—I'm compos'd—thou wilt not mock my age—
Thou art—thou art a Roman—and my ſon.
Exit.
Pub.
And is he gone?—now be thyſelf, my ſoul—
Hard is the conflict, but the triumph glorious.
Yes.—I muſt conquer theſe too tender feelings,
The blood that fills theſe veins demands it of me,
My Father's great example too requires it.
Forgive me, Rome, and glory, if I yielded
To nature's ſtrong attack:—I muſt ſubdue it.
Now Regulus I feel I am thy ſon.
[27] Enter ATTILIA and BARCE.
Attil.
My brother, I'm diſtracted, wild with fear—
Tell me, O tell me what I dread to know.
Is it then true?—I cannot ſpeak—my father!
Barce.
May we believe the fatal news?
Pub.
Yes, Barce.
It is determin'd. Regulus muſt go.
Attil.
Immortal Powers!—What ſay'ſt thou?
Barce.
Can it be?
Thou canſt not mean it.
Attil.
Then you've all betray'd me.
Pub.
Thy grief avails not.
Enter HAMILCAR and LICINIUS.
Barce.
pity us, Hamilcar!
Attil.
Oh help, Licinius, help the loſt Attilia!
Hamil.
My Barce! there's no hope.
Licin.
Ah I my fair mourner.
All's loſt.
Attil.
What all, Licinius, ſaidſt thou all?
Not one poor glimpſe of comfort left behind?
Tell me at leaſt where Regulus is gone:
The daughter ſhall partake the father's chains,
And ſhare the woes ſhe knew not to prevent.
Going
Pub.
What wou'd thy wild deſpair? Attilia, ſtay,
Thou muſt not follow; this exceſs of grief
Wou'd much offend him.
Atil.
Doſt thou hope to ſtop me?
Pub.
I hope thou wilt reſume thy better ſelf,
And recollect thy father will not bear—
Attil.
I only recollect I am a daughter,
A poor, defenceleſs, helpleſs, wretched daughter!
Away—and let me follow.
Pub.
No, my ſiſter.
Attil.
Detain me not—Ah! while thou hold'ſt me here,
He goes, and I ſhall never ſee him more.
Barce.
My friend, be comforted, he cannot go
Whilſt here Hamilcar ſtays.
Attil.
O Barce, Barce!
[28]Who will adviſe, who comfort, who aſſiſt me?
Hamilcar, pity me.—Thou wilt not anſwer?
Hamil.
Rage and aſtoniſhment divide my ſoul.
Attil.
Licinius, wilt thou not relieve my ſorrows?
Licin.
Yes, at my life's expence, my heart's beſt treaſure,
Would'ſt thou inſtruct me how.
Attil.
My brother too—
Ah! look with mercy on thy ſiſter's woes!
Pub.
I will at leaſt inſtruct thee how to bear them.
My ſiſter—yield thee to thy adverſe fate;
Think of thy father, think of Regulus;
Has he not taught thee how to brave misfortune?
'Tis but by following his illuſtrious ſteps
Thou e'er canſt merit to be call'd his daughter.
Attil.
And is it thus thou doſt adviſe thy ſiſter?
Are theſe, ye Gods, the feelings of a ſon?
Indifference here becomes impiety—
Thy ſavage heart ne'er felt the dear delights
Of filial tenderneſs—the thouſand joys
That flow from bleſſing, and from being bleſs'd!
No—did'ſt thou love thy father as I love him,
Our kindred ſouls wou'd be in uniſon;
And all my ſighs be echoed back by thine.
Thou would'ſt—alas!—I know not what I ſay.—
Forgive me, Publius,—but indeed, my brother,
I do not underſtand this cruel coldneſs.
Hamil.
Thou may'ſt not — but I underſtand it well.
His mighty ſoul, full as to thee it ſeems
Of Rome, and glory— is enamour'd — caught—
Enraptur'd with the beauties of fair Barce.—
She ſtays behind if Regulus departs.
Behold the cauſe of all the well-feign'd virtue
Of this mock patriot—curſt diſſimulation!
Pub.
And canſt thou entertain ſuch vile ſuſpicions?
Gods! what an outrage to a ſon like me!
Hamil.
Yes, Roman! now I ſee thee as thou art,
Thy naked ſoul diveſted of it's veil,
It's ſpecious colouring, it's diſſembled virtues:
Thou haſt plotted with the Senate to prevent
Th' exchange of captives. All thy ſubtle arts,
[29]Thy ſmooth inventions have been ſet to work—
The baſe refinements of your poliſh'd land.
Pub.
In truth the doubt is worthy of an African.
Hamil.
I know—
Contemptuouſly.
Pub.
Peace, Carthaginian, peace, and hear me.
Doſt thou not know, that on the very man
Thou haſt inſulted Barce's fate depends?
Hamil.
Too well I know, the cruel chance of war
Gave her, a blooming captive, to thy mother;
Who, dying, leſt the beauteous prize to thee.
Pub.
Now, ſee the uſe a Roman makes of power.
Heav'n is my witneſs how I lov'd the maid!
O ſhe was dearer to my ſoul than light!
Dear as the vital ſtream that feeds my heart!
But know my honor's dearer ſtill than her.
I do not even hope thou wilt believe me;
Thy brutal ſoul, as ſavage as thy clime,
Can never taſte thoſe elegant delights,
Thoſe pure refinements, love and glory yield:
'Tis not to thee I ſtoop for vindication,
Alike to me thy friendſhip or thy hate;
But, to remove from others a pretence
For branding Publius with the name of villain,
That they may ſee no ſentiment but honor
Informs this boſom—Barce, thou art free.
Thou haſt my leave with him to quit this ſhore.—
Now learn, Barbarian, how a Roman loves!
Exit.
Barce.
He cannot mean it!
Hamil.
Oh exalted virtue!
Which challenges eſteem tho' from a foe.
Looking after Publius.
Attil.
Ah! cruel Publius, wilt thou leave me thus?
Thus leave thy ſiſter?
Barce.
Didſt thou hear, Hamilcar?
Oh! didſt thou hear the god-like youth reſign me?
HAMILCAR and LICINIUS ſeem loſt in Thought.
Attil. to Licin.
Wilt thou not ſpeak to me?
Barce.
My lov'd Hamilcar
Ungrateful I not'one word, one ſmile, one look.
Hamil.
Farewel, I will return.
Licin.
Farewel, my love!
To Attilia.
Barce.
Hamilcar, where—
Attil.
[30]Alas! where art thou going?
To Licin.
Licin.
If poſſible, to ſave the life of Regulus.
Attil.
But by what means!—Ah! how canſt thou effect it?
Licin.
Since the diſeaſe ſo deſperate is become,
We muſt apply a deſperate remedy,
HAMILCAR, after a long Pauſe.
Yes—I will mortify this generous foe;
I'll be reveng'd upon this ſtubborn Roman;
Not by defiance bold, or feats of arms,
But by a means more ſure to work its end;
By emulating his exalted worth.
And ſhewing him a virtue like his own;
Such a refin'd revenge as noble minds
Alone can practiſe, and alone can feel.
Attil.
If thou wilt go, Licinius, let Attilia
At leaſt go with thee.
Licin.
No, my gentle love,
Too much I prize thy ſafety and thy peace.
Let me in treat thee ſtay with Barce here.
Barce.
I go with my Hamilcar.
Hamil.
Barce, no;
I do conjure thee by our former loves,
Thou wilt not follow me!
Attil.
Then, ere ye go,
Explain the latent purpoſe of your ſouls.
Licin.
Soon ſhalt thou know it all—Farewel!
Farewel!
Let us keep Regulus in Rome, or die.
[To Hamilcar as he goes out.]
Hamil.
Yes—Theſe ſmooth, poliſh'd Romans ſhall confeſs
The ſoil of Afric too produces heroes.
What, tho' our pride perhaps be leſs than their's,
Our virtue may be equal: They ſhall own
The path of honor's not unknown to Carthage,
Nor, as they arrogantly think, confin'd
To their proud Capitol:—Yes.—They ſhall learn
The Gods look down on other climes than their's.
Exit.
Attil
What gone, both gone? What can I think or do?
Licinius leaves me, led by love and virtue,
[31]To rouſe the citizens to war and tumult,
Which may, alas! be fatal to himſelf,
May injure Rome, and yet not benefit
My father. Ah! my Barce, I am loſt
In a wild labyrinth of doubt and fear.
Protecting Deities! preſerve them both I
Barce.
Nor is thy Barce more at eaſe, my friend;
I dread the fierceneſs of Hamilcar's courage;
Rous'd by the grandeur of thy brother's deed,
And ſtung by his reproaches, his great ſoul
Will ſcorn to be outdone by him in glory.
Who, who can tell what perils he may run,
To what alarming accidents expoſe
A life, to Barce dearer than her own?
Attil.
Ah me! what dangers may attend them both,
I tremble but to think!—My brother too!
Bar.
Come, let us riſe to courage and to life,
Forget the weakneſs of our helpleſs ſex,
And mount above thoſe coward woman's fears.
Hope dawns upon my mind—my proſpect clears,
And every cloud now brightens into day.
Attil.
How different are our ſouls! Thy ſanguine temper
Fluſh'd with the native vigor of thy ſoil,
Supports thy ſpirits, while the ſad Attilia,
Sinking with more than all her ſex's fears,
Sees not a beam of hope; or, if ſhe ſees it,
'Tis not the bright, warm ſplendor of the ſun;
It is a ſickly and uncertain glimmer,
A feeble ray, which, like a languid glare
Of inſtantaneous light'ning, paſſes by.
It ſhews, but not diminiſhes the danger,
And leaves my poor benighted ſoul, as dark
As it had never ſhone.
Barce.
Come, let us go.
Yes, Joys unlook'd for now ſhall gild thy days;
And brighter ſuns reflect propitious rays.
Exeunt.
Scene, a Hall looking towards the Garden.
Enter Regulus ſpeaking to one of Hamilcar's Attendants.
Where's your Ambaſſador? where is Hamilcar?
Ere this he doubtleſs knows the Senate's.will.
[32]Go ſeek him out—Tell him we muſt depart—
Rome has no hope for him, or wiſh for me.
Longer delay were criminal in both.
Enter MANLIUS.
Reg.
He comes. The Conſul comes! my noble friend!
O let me ſtrain thee to this grateful heart,
And thank thee for the vaſt, vaſt debt I owe thee!
But for thy friendſhip I had been a wretch—
Had been compell'd to ſhameful liberty.
To thee I owe the glory of theſe chains,
My faith inviolate, my fame preſerv'd.
My honor, virtue, glory, bondage,—all!
Man.
But we ſhall loſe thee, ſo it is decreed—
Thou muſt depart?
Reg.
Becauſe I muſt depart,
You will not loſe me; I were loſt indeed
Did I remain in Rome
Man.
Ah! Regulus,
Why, why ſo late do I begin to love thee?
Alas! why have the adverſe fates decreed,
I ne'er muſt give thee other proofs of friendſhip,
Than thoſe ſo fatal and ſo full of woe?
Reg.
Thou haſt perform'd the duties of a friend:
Of a juſt, faithful, true and noble friend;
Yet, generous as thou art, if thou conſtrain me
To ſink beneath a weight of obligation,
I con'd—yes, Manlius—I could aſk him more.
Man.
Explain thyſelf.
Reg.
I think I have fulfill'd
The various duties of a citizen;
Nor have I aught beſide to do for Rome.
Now, nothing for the public good remains.
Manlius! I recollect I am a father!
My Publius! my Attilia! ah! my friend,
They are—(forgive the weakneſs of a parent)
To my fond heart, dear as the drops that warm it.
Next to my country they're my all of life;
And, if a weak old man be not deceiv'd,
They will not ſhame that country.—Yes, my friend,
Young as they are, I think I can perceive
The love of virtue blazes in their ſouls.
[33]As yet theſe tender plants are immature,
And aſk the foſtering hand of cultivation;
Heav'n, in its wiſdom, would not let their father
Accompliſh this great work,—To thee, my friend,
The tender parent delegates the truſt:
Do not refuſe a poor man's legacy;
I do bequeath my orphans to thy love—
If thou wilt kindly take them to thy boſom,
Their loſs will be repaid with uſury.
O let the father owe his glory to thee,
The children their protection!
Manl.
Regulus,
With grateful joy I do accept the truſt:
Oh! I will ſhield, with jealous tenderneſs,
The precious bloſſoms from a blaſting world.
In me thy children ſhall poſſeſs a father,
Tho' not as worthy, yet as fond as thee.
The pride be mine to fill their youthful breaſts
With every virtue—'twill not coſt me much:
I ſhall have nought to teach, nor they to learn,
But the great hiſtory of their god-like fire.
Reg.
I will not hurt the grandeur of thy virtue,
By paying thee ſo poor a thing as thanks.
Now, all is over, and I bleſs the Gods,
I've nothing more to do.
Enter PUBLIUS, in Haſte.
O Regulus!
Reg.
Say what has happen'd?
Pub.
Rome is in a tumult—
There's ſcarce a citizen but runs to arms—
They will not let thee go.
Reg.
Is't poſſible?
Can Rome ſo far forget her dignity.
As to deſire this infamous exchange?
I bluſh to think it!
Pub.
Ah! not ſo, my father.
Rome cares not for the peace, nor for th' exchange;
She only wills that Regulus ſhall ſtay.
Reg.
How, ſtay? my oath—my faith—my honor! —ah!
Do they forget?
Pub.
[34]No: Every man exclaims
That neither faith, nor honor, ſhou'd be kept
With Carthaginian perfidy and fraud.
Reg.
Gods! Gods! on what vile principles they reaſon!
Can guilt in Carthage palliate guilt in Rome,
Or vice in one abſolve it in another?
Ah! who hereafter ſhall be criminal,
If precedents are us'd to juſtify
The blackeſt crimes.
Pub.
Th' infatuated people
Have call'd the Augurs to the ſacred fane,
There to determine this momentous point.
Reg.
I have no need of Oracles, my ſon,
Hon [...]r's the Oracle of honeſt men.
I gave my promiſe, which I will obſerve
With moſt religious ſtrictneſs. Rome, 'tis true,
Had power to chuſe the peace, or change of ſlaves;
But whether Regulus return, or not,
Is his concern, not the concern cf Rome.
That was a public, this a private care.
Publius! thy father is not what he was;
I am the ſlave of Carthage, nor has Rome
Power to diſpoſe of captives not her own.
Guards! let us to the port— Farewel, my friend.
Man.
Let me intreat thee ſtay; for ſhould'ſt thou go.
To ſtem this tumult of the populace,
They will by force detain thee: then, alas!
Both Regulus and Rome muſt break their faith.
Reg.
What! muſt I then remain?
Man.
No. Regulus,
I will not check thy great career of glory:
Thou ſhalt depart; Mean-while, I go to calm
This wild tumultuous uproar of the people.
The Conſular authority ſhall ſtill them.
Reg.
Thy virtue is my ſafeguard—but—
Man.
Enough.—
I know thy honor, and truſt thou to mine.
I am a Roman, and I feel ſome ſparks
Of Regulus's virtue in my breaſt.
The' fate denies me thy illuſtrious chains,
I will at leaſt endeavour to deſerve them.
Exit.
Reg.
[35]How is my country alter'd! how, alas,
Is the great ſpirit of old Rome extinct!
Reſtraint and force muſt now be put to uſe
To make her virtuous. She muſt be compell'd
To faith and honor.—Ah! what Publius here?
And doſt thou leave ſo tamely to my friend,
The honor to aſſiſt me? Go, my boy,
'Twill make me more in love with chains and death,
To owe them to a ſon.
Pub.
I go, my father—
I will, I will obey thee.
Reg.
Do not ſigh—
It will impede the progreſs of thy glory.
Pub.
Yes, I will own the pangs of death itſelf
Wou'd be leſs cruel than theſe agonies:
Yet do not frown auſterely on thy ſon:
His anguiſh is his virtue: If to conquer
The feelings of my ſoul were eaſy to me,
'Twou'd be no merit. Do not then defraud
The ſacrifice I make thee of it's glory.
Exeunt ſeverally.
MANLIUS, ATTILIA,
Attil.
(ſpeaking as ſhe enters.)
Where, is the Conſul?
—where, oh! where is Manlius?
I come to breathe the voice of mourning to him,
To ſupplicate his mercy, to conjure him
To whiſper peace to my afflicted boſom,
And heal the anguiſh of a wounded ſpirit.
Manl.
What would the daughter of my noble friend?
Attil.
(kneeling.)
If ever pity's ſweet emotions touch'd thee,—
If ever gentle love aſſail'd thy breaſt,—
If ever virtuous friendſhip fir'd thy ſoul;—
By the dear names of huſband, and of parent—
By all the ſoft, yet powerful ties of nature;—
If e'er thy liſping infants charm'd thine ear,
And waken'd all the father in thy ſoul,—
If e'er thou hop'ſt to have thy latter days
Bleſt by their love, and ſweeten'd by their duty—
Oh! hear a kneeling, weeping, wretched daughter,
Who begs, intreats, implores a father's life—
Nor her's alone—but Rome's — his country's father.
Manl.
[36]Riſe, gentle maid—nay, I conjure thee riſe.
Oh! ſpare this ſoft, ſubduing eloquence!—
Nay, riſe. I ſhall forget I am a Roman—
Forget the mighty debt I owe my country—
Forget the fame and glory of thy father.
I muſt conceal this weakneſs.
Turns from her.
Attil.
(riſes eagerly)
Ah! you weep!
Indulge, indulge, my Lord, the virtuous ſoftneſs:
Was ever ſight ſo graceful, ſo becoming,
As Pity's tear upon the Hero's cheek?
Manl.
No more—I muſt not hear thee.
Going.
Attil.
How! not hear me?
You muſt—you ſhall—nay, nay return my Lord—
Oh! fly not from me—look upon my woes,
And imitate the mercy of the Gods:
'Tis not their thunder that excites our reverence,
'Tis their mild mercy, and forgiving love.
'Twill add a brighter luſtre to thy laurels,
When men ſhall ſay, and proudly point Thee out,
"Behold the Conſul!—He who ſav'd his friend."
Oh! what a tide of joy will overwhelm thee!
Who will not envy thee thy glorious feelings?
Manl.
Thy father ſoorns his liberty and life,
Nor will accept of either, at th' expence
Of honour, virtue, glory, faith and Rome.
Attil.
Think you behold the god-like Regulus
The prey of unrelenting ſavage foes,
Ingenious only in contriving ill:—
Eager to glut their hunger of revenge,
They'll plot ſuch new, ſuch dire, unheard-of-tortures—
Such dreadful, and ſuch complicated vengeance,
As ev'n the Punic annals have not known;
And, as they heap freſh torments on his head,
With horrid exultation they'll applaud
Their curs'd, pernicious genius for deſtruction.
—Ah! Manlius—now methinks I ſee my father—
My faithful fancy full of his idea
Preſents him to me—mangled, gaſh'd, and torn—
Stretch'd on the rack in writhing agony—
The torturing pincers tear his quivering fleſh,
And the dire murderers view the gaping wounds
[37]With ſmiles malignant, and with fiend-like rapture—
His groans their muſic, and his pangs their ſport;—
And if they lend ſome interval of caſe,
Some dear bought intermiſſion, meant to make
The following pang more exquiſitely felt,
Th' inſulting executioners exclaim,
—"Now, Roman! feel the vengeance thon haſt ſcorn'd!"
Man.
Repreſs thy ſorrows—
Attil.
Ah!—repreſs my ſorrows!—
And can the friend of Regulus adviſe
His hapleſs daughter not to mourn his fate?
How cold, alas! is friendſhip when compar'd
To ties of blood—to nature's powerful impulſe;
Yes—ſhe aſſerts her empire in my ſoul,
'Tis nature pleads—ſhe will—ſhe muſt be heard;
With warm, reſiſtleſs eloquence ſhe pleads.—
Ah thou art ſoften'd—ſee—the Conſul yields—
The feelings triumph — tenderneſs prevails—
The Roman is ſubdued—the daughter conquers!
Catching hold of his Robe.
Man.
Ah! hold me not—I muſt not, cannot ſtay,
The ſoftneſs of thy ſorrow is contagious;
I too may feel when I ſhou'd only reaſon.
I dare not hear thee—Regulus and Rome,
The Patriot and the Friend—all, all forbid it.
Breaks from her and exit.
Manet Attil.
Oh feeble graſp!—and is he gone, quite gone?
Hold, hold thy empire, reaſon, firmly hold it,
Or rather quit at once thy feeble throne,
Since thou but ſerv'ſt to ſhew me what I've loſt,
To heighten all the horrors that await me;
To ſummon up a wild, diſtracted croud
Of fatal images, to ſhake my ſoul,
To ſcare ſweet peace, and baniſh hope itſelf.
Farewel! deluſive dreams of joy, farewel!
Come, fell Deſpair! thou pale-ey'd ſpectre, come,
For thou ſhalt be Attilia's inmate now,
And thou ſhalt grow, and twine about her heart,
And ſhe ſhall be ſo much enamour'd of thee,
[38]The pageant Pleaſure ne'er ſhall interpoſe
Her gaudy preſence to divide you more.
Stands in an Attitude of ſilent Grief.
Enter Licin.
At length I've found thee—ah, my charming maid!
How have I ſought thee out with anxious fondneſs!
Alas! ſhe hears me not—My beſt Attilia!
Ah! grief oppreſſes every gentle ſenſe,
Still, ſtill ſhe hears not—'tis Licinius ſpeaks,
He comes to ſooth the anguiſh of thy ſpirit,
And huſh thy tender ſorrows into peace.
Attil.
Who's he that dares aſſume the voice of love,
And comes unbidden to theſe dreary haunts;
Steals on the ſacred treaſury of woe,
And breaks the league Deſpair and I have made.
Licin.
'Tis one who comes the meſſenger of Heav'n,
To talk of peace, of comfort and of joy.
Attil.
Didſt thou not mock me with the ſound of joy.
Thou little know'ſt the anguiſh of my ſoul,
If thou believ'ſt I ever can again,
So long the wretched ſport of angry fortune,
Admit deluſive Hope to my ſad boſom
No—I abjure the flatterer and her train.
Let thoſe, who ne'er have been like me deceiv'd,
Embrace the fair fantaſtic ſycophant—
For I, alas! am wedded to deſpair,
And will not hear the ſound of comfort more.
Licin.
Ceaſe, ceaſe, my love, this tender voice of woe,
Tho' ſofter than the dying Cygnet's plaint:
She ever chaunts her moſt melodious ſtrain
When death and ſorrow harmonize her note.
Attil.
Yes—I will liſten now with fond delight;
For death and ſorrow are my darling themes.
Well!—what haſt thou to ſay of death and ſorrow?
Believe me, thou wilt find me apt to liſten,
And, if my tongue be ſlow to anſwer thee,
Inſtead of words I'll give thee ſighs and tears.
Licin.
I come to day thy tears, not make them flow;
The Gods once more propitious ſmile upon us,
Joy ſhall again await each happy morn,
[39]And ever-new delight ſhall crown the day!
Yes, Regulus ſhall live.—
Attil.
Ah me! what ſay'ſt thou?
Alas! I'm but a poor, weak, trembling woman—
I cannot bear theſe wild extremes of fate—
Then mock me not.—I think thon art Licinius,
The generous lover, and the faithful friend!
I think thou would'ſt not ſport with my afflictions.
Licin.
Mock thy afflictions? May eternal Jove,
And every power at whoſe dread ſhrine we worſhip,
Blaſt all the hopes my fond ideas form
Of tender tranſport in Attilia's love
If I deceive thee! Yes, my beauteous mourner,
Thy father yet ſhall live to give thee to Licinius' arms.
Oh! we will ſmooth his downward path of life,
By our kind cares and unremitting love;
And after a long length of virtuous years,
At the laſt verge of honourable age,
When nature's glimmering lamp goes gently out,
We'll cloſe, together cloſe his eyes in peace—
Together drop the ſweetly-painful tear—
Then copy out his virtues in our lives.
Attil.
And ſhall we be ſo bleſt? is't poſſible?
Forgive me, my Licinius, if I doubt thee.
Fate never gave ſuch exquiſite delight,
As flatt'ring hope hath imag'd to thy ſoul.
But how?—Explain this bounty of the Gods.
Licin.
Thou, know'ſt what influence the name of Tribune
Gives it's poſſeſſor o'er the people's minds;
That power I have exerted, not in vain;
All are prepar'd to ſecond my deſigns:
The plot is ripe,—there's not a man but ſwears
To keep thy god-like father here in Rome—
To ſave his life at hazard of his own.
Attil.
By what gradation does my joy aſcend?
I thought that if my father had been ſav'd
By any means, I had been rich in bliſs:
But that he lives, and lives preſerv'd by thee,
[...] ſuch a prodigality of fate,
I cannot bear my joy with moderation:
[40]Heaven ſhould have dealt it with a ſcantier hand,
And not have ſhower'd ſuch plenteous bleſſings on me,
They are too great, too flattering to be real;
'Tis ſome delightful viſion, which enchants,
And cheats my ſenſes, weaken'd by misfortune.
Licin.
Ador'd Attilin! now you overpay
A life of love, an age of expectation;
We'll ſeek thy father, and mean-while, my fair,
Compoſe and calm thy agitated ſoul,
And huſh it's ſweet emotions ere thou ſeeſt him.
Pleaſure itſelf is painful in exceſs;
For joys, like ſorrows, in extreme, oppreſs:
The Gods themſelves our pious cares approve,
And to reward our virtue crown our love.
Exeunt.
ACT V.
An Apartment in the Ambaſſador's Palace. Guards and other Attendants ſeen at a Diſtance.
Ham.
WHERE is this wondrous man, this matchleſs hero,
This arbiter of kingdoms and of kings,
This Delegate of Heaven, this Roman God?
I long to ſhew his ſoaring mind an equal,
And bring it to the ſtandard of humanity.
What pride, what glory will it be to fix
An obligation on his ſtubborn ſoul!
Oh! to conſtrain a foe to be obliged!
The very thought exalts me e'en to rapture.
Enter RECULUS and Guards.
Ham.
Well, Regalus!—At laſt—
Reg.
I know it all;
I know the motive of thy juſt complaint.—
Be not alarm'd at this licentious uproar
Of the mad populace. I will depart—
Fear not—I will not ſtay in Rome alive.
Ham.
What doſt thou mean by uproar and alarms?
Hamilcar does not come to vent complaints;
[41]He rather comes to prove, that Afric too
Produces heroes, and that Tiber's banks
May find a rival on the Punic coaſt.
Reg.
Be it ſo.—'Tis not a time for vain debate:
Collect thy people.—Let us ſtrait depart.
Ham.
Lend me thy hearing firſt.
Reg.
O patience, patience!
Ham.
Is it eſteem'd a glory to be grateful?
Reg.
The time has been when 'twas a duty only,
But 'tis a duty now ſo little practis'd,
That to perform it is become a glory.
Ham.
If to fulfil it ſhou'd expoſe to danger?
Reg.
It riſes then to an illuſtrious virtue.
Ham.
Then grant this merit to an African.
Give me a patient hearing—Thy great ſon,
As delicate in honor as in love,
Hath nobly given my Barce to my arms;
And yet, I know he doats upon the maid.
I come to emulate the generous deed;
He gave me back my love, and in return
I will reſtore his father.
Reg.
Ah! what ſay'ſt thou?
Wilt thou preſerve me then?
Ham.
I will.
Reg.
But how?
Ham.
By leaving thee at liberty to fly.
Reg.
Ah!
Ham.
I will diſmiſs my guards on ſome pretence,
Mean-while do thou eſcape, and lie conceal'd:
I will affect a rage I ſhall not feel,
Unmoor my ſhips, and ſail for Africa.
Reg.
Abhorr'd barbarian!
Ham.
Well, what doſt thou ſay?
Art thou not much ſurpris'd?
Reg.
I am indeed.
Hamil
Thou could'ſt not then have hop'd it?
Reg.
No! I could not.
Ham.
And yet I'm not a Roman.
Reg.
I perceive it.
Ham.
You may retire
[Aloud to the Guards.]
Reg.
No!—Stay, I charge you ſtay.
Hamil.
[42]And wherefore ſtay?
Reg.
I thank thee for thy offer,
But I ſhall go with thee.
Hamil.
'Tis well, proud man!
Thou doſt deſpiſe me then?
Reg.
No—but I pity thee.
Hamil.
Why pity me?
Reg.
Becauſe thy poor, dark ſoul
Hath never felt the piercing ray of virtue.
Know, African! the ſcheme thou doſt propoſe
Would injure me, thy country, and thyſelf.
Hamil.
Thou doſt miſtake.
Reg.
Who was it gave thee power
To rule the deſtiny of Regulus?
Am I a ſlave to Carthage, or to thee?
Hamil.
What does it ſignify from whom, proud Roman!
Thou doſt receive this benefit?
Reg.
A benefit!
O ſavage ignorance! is it a benefit
To lie, elope, deceive, and be a villain?
Hamil
What not when life itſelf, when all's at ſtake?
Know'ſt thou my countrymen prepare thee tortures,
That ſhock imagination but to think of?
Thou wilt be mangled, butcher'd, rack'd, impal'd.—
Does not thy nature ſhrink?
Rig.
(ſmiling at his Threats)
Hamilcar! no.
Doſt thou not know the Roman genius better?
We live on honor—'tis our food, our all,
The motive, and the meaſure of our deeds!
We look on death as on a common object;
The tongue nor faulters, nor the cheek turns pale,
Nor the calm eye betrays a ſingle terror;
We court, and we embrace him undiſmay'd;
We ſmile at tortures if they lead to glory,
And only cowardice and guilt alarm us.
Hamil.
Fine ſophiſtry! the valor of the tongue,
The heart diſclaims it; leave this pomp of words,
And ceaſe diſſembling with a friend like me.
I know that life is dear to all who live,
That death is dreadful,—yes, and muſt be fear'd;
E'en by the frozen Apathiſts of Rome.
Reg.
[43]Did I fear death when on Bagrada's banks,
I fac'd and ſlew the formidable ſerpent,
That made your boldeſt Africans recoil,
And ſhrink with horror, tho' the monſter liv'd
A native inmate of their own parch'd deſerts?
Did I fear death before the gates of Adis?—
Aſk Boſtar, or let Aſdrubal declare.
Hamil.
Or ſhall I rather of Xantippus aſk,
Who dar'd to undeceive deluded Rome,
And prove this vaunter not invincible?
'Tis even ſaid, in Africa I mean,
He made a priſoner of this Demi god.—
Did we not triumph then?
Reg.
Vain boaſter, no!
No Carthaginian conquer'd Regulus;
Xantippus was a Greek—a brave one too!
Yet what diſtinction did your Afric make
Between the man who ſerv'd her, and her foe;
I was the object of her open hate:
He, of her ſecret, dark malignity.
He durſt not truſt the nation he had ſav'd;
He knew, and therefore fear'd you—Yes, he knew
Where once you were oblig'd, you ne'er forgave;
Cou'd you forgive at all, you'd rather pardon
The man who hated, than the man who ſerv'd you.
Xantippus found his ruin ere it reach'd him,
Lurking behind your honors and rewards,
In your feign'd courteſies, and treacherous fawnings.
When vice intends to ſtrike a maſter ſtroke,
It's veil is ſmiles, it's language proteſtations.
The Spartan's merit threaten'd, but his ſervice
Compell'd his ruin.—Both you could not pardon.
Hamil.
Come, come, I know full well—
Reg.
Barbarian! peace.
I've heard too much—Go, call thy followers:
Prepare thy ſhips and learn to do thy duty.
Hamil.
Yes!—ſhow thyſelf intrepid, and inſult me;
Call mine the blindneſs of barbarian friendſhip;
On Tiber's banks I hear thee, and am calm:
But know, thou ſcornful Roman! that too ſoon
In Carthage thou may'ſt fear and feel my vengeance:
[44]Thy cold, obdurate pride ſhall there confeſs,
Tho' Rome may talk—'tis Africa can puniſh.
Exit.
Reg.
Farewel! I've not a thought to waſte on thet.
Where is the Conſul? why does Publius ſtay?
Alas! I fear—but ſee Attilia comes!—
Enter ATTILIA.
Reg.
What brings thee here, my child? what eager joy
Tranſports thee thus?
Attil.
I cannot ſpeak—my father!
Joy choaks my utterance—Rome, dear grateful Rome,
(Oh! may her cup with bleſſings overflow)
Gives up our common deſtiny to thee;
Faithful and conſtant to th' advice thou gav'ſt her,
She will not hear of peace, or change of ſlaves,
But ſhe inſiſts—reward and bleſs her, Gods.—
That thou ſhalt here remain.
Reg.
What! with the ſhame—
Attil.
Oh! no—the ſacred ſenate hath conſider'd
That, when to Carthage thou did'ſt pledge thy faith,
Thou waſt a ſlave, and in captivity
Thou could'ſt not bind thyſelf in covenant.
Reg.
He, who can die, is always free, my child!
Learn farther, he who owns another's ſtrength
Confeſſes his own weakneſs.—Let them know,
I ſwore I wou'd return becauſe I choſe it,
And will return, becauſe I ſwore to do it.
Enter PUBLIUS.
Pub.
Vain is that hope, my father.
Reg.
Who ſhall ſtop me?
Pub.
All Rome.—The citizens are up in arms:
In vain wou'd reaſon ſtop the growing torrent;
In vain wou'd'ſt thou attempt to reach the port,
The way is barr'd by thronging multitudes:
The other ſtreets of Rome are all deſerted.
Reg.
Where, where is Manlius?
Pub.
He is ſtill thy friend;
His ſingle voice oppoſes a whole people;
This moment threatens and the next intreats,
But all in vain, none hear him, none obey.
The general fury riſes ev'n to madneſs,
[45]The axes tremble in the Lictor's hands,
Who pale and ſpiritleſs want power to uſe them—
And one wild ſcene of anarchy prevails.
Reg.
Farewel! my daughter. Publius, follow me.
Exit Publius.
Attil.
Ah! where? I tremble.—
(Detaining Reg.)
Reg.
To aſſiſt my friend—
T' upbraid my hapleſs country with her crime—
To keep the glory of theſe chains to Regulus—
To go, my child, or periſh in th' attempt.
Attil.
Ah no! have mercy. Oh!
Reg.
Attilia! hold;
I have been patient with thee; have indulg'd
Too much the fond affections of thy ſoul;
I've ſpar'd thy gentle ſex, and tender age.
It is enough; thy grief would now offend
Thy father's honor; do not let thy tears
Conſpire with Rome to rob me of my triumph.
Attil.
Alas! it wounds my ſoul.
Reg.
I know it does.
I know 'twill grieve thy gentle heart to loſe me;
But think, thou mak'ſt the ſacrifice to Rome,
And all is well again.
Attil.
Alas! my father, In aught beſide—
Reg.
What would'ſt thou do, my child?
Canſt thou direct the deſtiny of Rome,
And boldly plead amid th' aſſembled ſenate?
Canſt thou, forgetting all thy ſex's ſoftneſs,
Fiercely engage in hardy deeds of arms?
Canſt thou encounter labour, toil and famine,
Fatigue and hardſhips, watchings, cold and heat?
Canſt thou attempt to ſerve thy country thus?
Thou canſt not:—but thou may'ſt ſuſtain my loſs
Without theſe agonizing pangs of grief,
And ſet a bright example of ſubmiſſion,
Worthy a Roman's daughter.
Attil.
Yet ſuch fortitude—
Reg.
Is a moſt painful virtue;—but Attilia
Is Regulus's daughter, and muſt have it.
Attil.
I will intreat the Gods to give it me.
Ah! thou art offended! I have loſt thy love.
Reg.
[46]Is this concern a mark that thou haſt loſt it?
I cannot, cannot ſpurn my weeping child.
Receive this proof of my paternal fondneſs;—
Thou lov'ſt Licinius—He too loves my daughter.
I give thee to his wiſhes, I do more,
I give thee to his virtues.—Yes, Attilia,
The noble youth deſerves this deareſt pledge
Thy father's friendſhip ever can beſtow
Attil.
My lord! my father! wilt thou, canſt thou leave me?
The tender father will not quit his child!
Reg.
I am, I am thy father! as a proof,
I leave thee my example how to ſuffer.
My child! I have a heart within this boſom;
That heart has paſſions—they require ſubjection.
Paſſion—which is thy tyrant—is my ſlave.
Attil.
Ah! ſtay, my father. Ah!
Reg.
Farewel! farewel!
Exit.
Attil
And is he gone? then hope is at end;
I'll find at leaſt ſome comfort in deſpair.
Yes, Regulus! I feel thy ſpirit here,
Thy mighty ſpirit ſtruggling in this breaſt,
And it ſhall conquer all theſe coward feelings,
It ſhall ubdue the woman, in my ſoul;
A Roman virgin ſhould be ſometh ng more—
Shou'd dare above her ſex's narrow limits—
And I will dare—and mis'ry ſhall aſſiſt me—
My father! now I am indeed thy daughter!
The hero ſhall no more diſdain his child;
Attilia ſhall not be the only branch
That yields diſhonor to the parent tree.
Enter BARCE.
Attilia! is it true that Regulus,
In ſpite of Senate, People, Augurs, Friends,
And Children, will depart?
Attil.
Yes, it is true.
Barce.
Oh! what romantic madneſs!
Attil.
You forget—
Barce, the deeds of heroes claim reſſpect.
Barce.
And does Attilia then applaud the deed?
Attil.
Thy friend adores the virtues of her father!
Barce.
[47]Doſt thou approve a virtue which muſt lead
To chains, to tortures, and to certain death?
Attil.
Barce! thoſe chains, thoſe tortures, and that death
Will be his triumph.
Barce.
Thou art pleas'd, Attilia,
By heaven thou doſt exult in his deſtruction!
Attil.
Ah pitying powers!
Barce.
I do not comprehend thee. Wee's.
Attil.
No, Barce, I believe it—Why how ſhould'ſt thou?
If I miſtake not, thou waſt born in Carthage,
In a barbarian land, where never child
Was taught to triumph in a father's chains.
Barce.
Yet thou doſt weep—thy eyes at leaſt are honeſt,
For they refuſe to ſhare thy tongue's deceit,
They ſpeak the genuine language of affliction,
And tell the ſorrows that oppreſs thy ſoul.
Attil.
Grief, that diſolves in tears, relieves the heart.—
When congregated vapors melt in rain,
The ſky is calm'd, and all's ſerene again.
Exit.
Barce.
Why—what a ſtrange, fantaſtic land is this!
This love of glory's the diſeaſe of Rome?
It makes her mad, it is a wild delirium,
An univerſal and contagious frenzy;
It preys on all, it ſpares nor ſex nor age:
The Conſul envies Regulus his chains—
He, not leſs mad, contemns his life and freedom—
The daughter glories in the father's ruin—
And Publius, more diſtracted than the reſt,
Reſigns the object that his ſoul adores,
For this vain phantom, for this empty glory.
This may be virtue; but I thank the Gods,
The ſoul of Barce's not a Roman ſoul.
Exit.
Scene within ſight of the Tiber, ſhips ready for the em⯑barkation of Regulus and the Ambaſſador, Tribune and People ſtopping up the paſſage, Conſul and Lictors en⯑deavouring to clear it.
MANLIUS and LICINIUS advance.
Licin.
Rome will not ſuffer Regulus to go.
Manl.
I thought the Conſul and the Senators
Had been a part of Rome.
Licin.
[48]I grant they are—
But ſtill the people are the greater part.
Manl.
The greater, not the wiſer
Licin.
The leſs cruel.—
Full of eſteem and gratitude to Regulus,
We wou'd preſerve his life
Manl.
And we his honor.
Licin.
His honour—
Manl.
Yes. Time preſſes. Words are vain.
Make way there—clear the paſſage.
Licin.
On your lives Stir not a man.
Manl.
I do command you, go.
Licin.
And I forbid it.
Manl.
Clear the way, my friends.
How dares Licinius thus oppoſe the Conſul?
Licin.
How dar'ſt thou, Manlius, thus oppoſe the Tri⯑bune?
Manl.
I'll ſhew thee what I dare, imprudent boy!—
Lictors, force thro' the paſſage.
Licin.
Romans, guard it.
Manl.
Gods! is my power then refiſted with arms?
Thou doſt affront the Majeſty of Rome.
Licin.
The Majeſty of Rome is in the people;
Thou doſt inſult it by oppoſing them.
People.
Let noble Regulus remain in Rome.
Manl.
My friends, let me explain this treacherous ſcheme.
People.
We will not hear thee—Regulus ſhall ſtay.
Manl.
What none obey me?
People.
Regulus ſhall ſtay.
Manl.
Romans, attend —
People.
Let Regulus remain.
Enter REGULUS, followed by PUBLIUS, ATTILIA, HAMILCAR, BARCE, &c
Reg.
Let Regulus remain! What do I hear?
Is't poſſible the wiſh ſhould come from you?
Can Romans give, or Regulus accept,
A life of infamy, reproach and ſhame?
Where is the ancient virtue of my country?
Riſe, riſe, ye mighty ſpirits of old Rome!
I do invoke you from your ſilent tombs;
[49]Fabricius, Cocles, and Camillas, riſe,
And ſhew your ſons what their great fathers were.
My countrymen, what crime have I committed?
Alas! how has the wretched Regulus
Deſerv'd your hatred?
Licin.
Hatred! ah! my friend, It is our Love would break theſe cruel chains,
Reg.
If you deprive me of my chains, I'm nothing;
They are my honors, riches, tit [...]es,—all!
They'll ſhame my enemies, and grace my country,
Convey her glory to remoteſt climes,
Beyond her provinces and conquer'd realms,
Where her victorious eagles never flew;
Nor ſhall ſhe bluſh hereafter if ſhe find
Recorded with her worthieſt Citizens
The name of Regulus, the Captive Regulus.
My countrymen I what, think you, kept in awe
The Volſci, Sabines, Aequi and Hernici?
The arms of Rome alone? no, 'twas her virtue;
That ſole ſurviving Good, which men may keep
Tho' fate and warring worlds combine againſt them;
This ſtill is mine—and I'll preſerve it, Romans!
The wealth of Plutus ſhall not bribe it from me!
If you, alas! require this ſacrifice,
Carthage herſelf was leſs my foe than Rome;
She took my freedom—ſhe could take no more;
But Rome, to crown her work, wou'd take my honor.
My friends I if you deprive me of my chains,
I am no more than any other ſlave:
Yes, Regulus becomes a common captive,
A wretched, lying, perjur'd ſugitive!
But if, to grace my bonds, you leave my honor,
I ſhall be ſtill a Roman, tho! a ſlave.
Licin.
What faith ſhould be obſerv'd with ſavages?
What promiſe ſhould be kept with bonds extort?
Reg.
Unworthy ſubterfuge! ah! let us leave,
To the wild Arab and the faithleſs Moor,
Theſe wretched maxims of deceit and fraud:
Examples ne'er can juſtify the coward:
The brave man never ſeeks a vindication,
Save from his own juſt boſom and the Gods;
From principle, not precedent, he acts:
[50]As that arraigns him, or as that acquits,
He ſtands, or falls; condemn'd, or juſtify'd.
Licin.
Rome is no more if Regulus departs.
Reg.
Let Rome remember Regulus muſt die!
Nor wou'd the moment of my death be diſtant,
If nature's work had been reſerv'd for nature.
What Carthage means to do, ſhe wou'd have done,
As ſpeedily perhaps, at leaſt as ſurely.
My wearied life has almoſt reach'd it's goal;
The once-warm current ſtagnates in theſe veins,
Or thro' it's icey channels ſlowly creeps:
View the weak arm, and the pale, ſurrow'd cheek,
The ſlacken'd finew, and the dim, ſunk eye,
And tell me then I muſt not think of dying!
How can I ſerve you elſe? My feeble limbs
Wou'd totter now beneath the armour's weight,
The burthen of that body it once ſhielded.
You ſee, me friends, you ſee, my countrymen,
I can no longer ſhew myſelf a Roman,
Except by dying like one.—Gracious Heaven
Has pointed out a glorious way to crown
A life of virtue with a death of honor.
Oh! do not fruſtrate then the will of Jove,
And load my lateſt hours with infamy.
Come, come, I know my noble Romans better;
I ſee your ſouls. I read repentance in them;
Yon all applaud me—nay, you wiſh my chains:
'Twas nothing but exceſs of love miſled you,
And, as you're Romans, you will conquer that.
Yes!—I perceive your weakneſs is ſubdu'd.—
Seize, ſeize the moment of returning virtue;
Throw to the ground, my ſons, thoſe hoſtile arms:
Retard no longer Regulus's triumph:
I do requeſt it of you, as a friend,
Exhort you to your duty, as a patriot,
And, were I ſtill your Gen'ral, would command you.
Licin.
Lay down your arms—Let Regulus depart.
To the People, who clear the Way, and quit their Arms.
Reg.
Gods! Gods! I thank you—you indeed are righteous.
Pub.
See every man difarm'd. Oh, Rome! oh, father!
Attil.
Hold, hold my heart. Alas! they all obey.
Reg.
The way is, clear. Hamilcar, I attend thee.
Hamil.
[51]Why I begin to envy this old man!
Aſide.
Manl.
Not the proud Victor on the day of triumph,
Warm from the ſlaughter of diſpeopled realms,
Tho' conquer'd princes grace his chariot wheels,
Tho' tributary monarchs wait his nod,
And vanquiſh'd nations bend the knee before him,
E'er ſhone with half the luſtre that ſurrounds
This voluntary ſacrifice for Rome!
Who loves his country will obey her laws;
Who moſt obeys them is the trueſt Patriot.
Reg.
Be our laſt parting worthy of ourſelves.
Farewel! my friends.—I bleſs the Gods who rule us,
Since I muſt leave you, that I leave you Romans.
Preſerve, preſerve the mighty name untainted,
And you ſhall be the rulers of the globe,
The arbiters of earth; the fartheſt eaſt,
Beyond where Ganges rolls his rapid flood,
Shall proudly emulate the Roman name.
Kneels.
Ye Gods, the guardians of this glorious people,
Ye Goddeſſes, who watch Aeneas' race,
This land of heroes I commit to you;
This ground, theſe walls, this people be your care!
Oh! bleſs them, blefſs them with a liberal hand!
Let fortitude and valor, truth and juſtice,
For ever flouriſh and increaſe among them:
And if ſome baneful planet threat the Capitol
With it's malignant influence, oh! avert it.—
Be Regulus the victim of your wrath.—
On this white head be all your vengeance pour'd,
But ſpare, oh! ſpare, and bleſs immortal Rome!
Ah! tears? my Romans weep! Farewel! farewel!
Attilia ſtruggles to get to Regulus, is prevented—ſhe faints—he fixes his Eyes ſteadily on her for ſome time, and then departs to the ſhips.
Manl.
(looking after him.)
Farewel! farewel, thou glory of mankind!
Protector, father, ſaviour of thy country!
Thro' Regulus the Roman name ſhall live,
Triumph o'er future time, and mock oblivion.—
Farewel! thou pride of this immortal coaſt!
'Tis Rome alone a Regulus can boaſt.
FINIS.
EPILOGUE
[]WHAT ſon of phyſic, but his art extends,
As well as hand, when call'd on by his friends?
What landlord is ſo weak to make you faſt,
When gueſts like you beſpeak a good repaſt?
But weaker ſtill were he whom ſate has plac'd
To ſooth your cares, and gratify your taſte,
Should be neglect to bring before your eyes
Thoſe dainty dramas which from Genius riſe;
Whether your luxury be to ſmile or weep,
His and your profits juſt proportion keep.
To night he brought, nor fears a due reward,
A Roman patriot by a female bird.
Britons who feel his flame, his worth will rate,
No common ſpirit his, no common fate,
INFLEXIBLE and CAPTIVE muſt be great.
"How," cries a ſucking fop, thus lounging, ſtraddling,
(Whoſe head ſhews want of ballaſt by its noddling)
"A woman write? learn, madam, of your betters,
"And read a noble Lord's Poſt-hu-mous Letters.
"There you will learn the ſex may merit praiſe,
"By making puddings—not by making plays:
"They can make tea and miſchief, dance and ſing;
"Their heads, tho' full of feathers, can't take wing."
I thought they cou'd, Sir;—now and then by chance,
Maids fly to Scotland, and ſome wives to France.
He ſtill went noddling on—"Do all ſhe can,
"Woman's a trifle—play-thing—like her fan;
Right, Sir, and when a wife the rattle of man.
And ſhall ſuch things as theſe become the teſt
Of female worth? the faireſt and the beſt
Of all heaven's creatures? for ſo Milton ſung us,
And with ſuch champions, who ſhall dare to wrong us?
Come forth, proud man, in all your powers array'd;
Shine out in all your ſplendor—Who's afraid?
Who on French wit has made a glorious war,
Defended Shakeſpear, and ſubdu'd Voltaire?
Woman†—Who, rich in knowledge, knows no pride,
Can boaſt ten tongues, and yet not ſatisfied?
Woman‡—Who lately ſung the ſweeteſt lay?
A woman, woman, woman‖ ſtill I ſay.
Well then, who dares deny our power and might?
Will any married man diſpute our right?
Speak boldly, Sirs,—your wives are not in ſight.
What! are you ſilent? then you are content;
Silence, the proverb tells us, gives conſent.
Critics, will you allow our honeſt claim?
Are you dumb too? This night has fix'd our fame.
Notes
1
HOR. Book III. Ode 5.
†
Mrs. Montaga [...], author of an [...] writings of Shakeſpeare.
‡
Mrs.Carter, well known for her [...] and modern languages.
‖
Miſs Aikin, who latly publiſhed ſome excellent poems.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4003 The inflexible captive A tragedy By Miss Hannah More. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5E70-D