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LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS. AN HISTORICAL PLAY.

[Price Three Shillings.]

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LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS; OR, THE EXPULSION OF THE TARQUINS: AN HISTORICAL PLAY.

BY HUGH DOWNMAN.

—Manus haec inimica Tyrannis.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. WILKIE, NO. 71, ST. PAUL'S-CHURCH-YARD; FIELDING AND WALKER, PATER-NOSTER-ROW; G. KEARS⯑LEY, FLEET-STREET; P. ELSMLEY, STRAND; W. DAVIS, PICCADILLY. MDCCLXXIX.

PREFACE.

[i]

Tthoſe who judge of dramatic merit from the Greek models, the rules of French critics, or the examples of modern writers, a juſtifica⯑tion of the following piece would be attempted in vain. They would call it a motley perfor⯑mance, deficient in almoſt every article, which conſtitutes a true and proper tragedy. If the author was to alledge, that he never meant to compoſe a tragedy, according to their accep⯑tation of the word, but that his intention was to fill up a picture of real life, in a certain given time, the outlines of which were taken from hiſtorical facts, his reaſon would be deemed un⯑ſatisfactory.

Regardleſs of the end propoſed, they would continue to exclaim, that the unities were neg⯑lected, that the grave was intermingled with the ludicrous; that the buſineſs of the drama frequently ſtood ſtill; that the dialogue was too familiar, and the metre little better than mea⯑ſured proſe.

How far ſome of theſe objections may be valid, and how many more might, perhaps, with [ii] reaſon be urged againſt particular paſſages, the author would not determine. The force of others of them he would endeavour to dimi⯑niſh, by anſwering, that they militate equally againſt human life itſelf; and that while he ſhould be ſorry to have this denominated an ar⯑tificial poem, he would flatter himſelf, it cannot be juſtly thought an unnatural one.

Dr. Johnſon indeed, in the preface to his edi⯑tion of Shakeſpeare, ſeems to have ſufficiently vindicated this particular ſpecies of writing, to which, thoſe who pleaſe, may (inſtead of tra⯑gedy) give the more ſimple name of hiſtory. Neither are there wanting many good judges of compoſition, who wiſh that the leſs ſtudied diction, and more plain and level metre of the ſchool of that immortal poet, (which ſeems to have ended with Southern) had been conti⯑nued to the preſent time. Even this perfor⯑mance, with all its imputed irregularities and deficiencies, will, perhaps, be preferred by them, to thoſe tranſlated tragedies or imitations, which of late years have, through novelty, lived their nine nights on the ſtage, and been damned for ever after in the cloſet: tho' they had been cor⯑rected and metamorphoſed by managers, calcu⯑lated to afford to favourite actors or actreſſes op⯑portunities of ſhining, and curtailed by lord chamberlains.

[iii] A diverſification of characters hath been at⯑tempted in this piece; and to give to every cha⯑racter the mode of ſentiment and expreſſion, peculiarly ſuited to it. It is not at all difficult for a man of a very middling genius, to contrive a regular plot, to pen down a certain number of ſounding lines; and though his Dramatis Per⯑ſonae are diſtinguiſhed by particular names, to put his own ſentiments in their mouths through⯑out five acts. Had the author been ſolicitous of adapting his plan to the ſtage, or wiſhed to conciliate the favour of the indiſcriminating multitude, he might probably have followed the ſame method.

However it may appear to us, when we are reading, no ſmall attention is requiſite in writ⯑ten dialogue of any kind, for an author entirely to caſt off ſelf. This was the characteriſtic of Shakeſpeare; and perhaps after all, the author of this play hath deceived himſelf, and it may with reaſon be applied to him.

—Sudet multum fruſtra (que) laboret

Auſus idem.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

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MEN.

TARQUIN,
TITUS,
ARUNS,
SEXTUS,
L. J. BRUTUS,
COLLATINUS,
LUCRETIUS,
VALERIUS,
HORATIUS,
HERMINIUS,
CLAUDIUS,
Meſſengers, Guards, &c.

WOMEN.

LUCRETIA,
Lucretia's Maids.
- LAVINIA,
- CLELIA.
- CAMILLA, and others,

[1]LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS.

ACT 1.

SCENE 1. Rome.VALERIUS, LUCRETIUS.
VALERIUS.
YES, we may weep the ruin of our country,
And ſo muſt all good men; but there's no remedy;
The evil is too rank t' admit a cure.
Oppreſſion wide hath ſpread her bane, and tainted
The univerſal air; ſcarce are our ſouls
Our own, much leſs our words. The ſecret curſe
Is frequent, offer'd up to all the gods
The midnight ſilent deprecation calls
For vengeance on the proud, the imperious Tarquin.
But in the day each wears the face of loyalty,
Nor dares, ſo jealous are theſe groveling times,
E'en in his brother's boſom pour the ſecret
Which ulcerating preys upon his heart.
How we two thus have dared communicate
Our thoughts either to other, is to me
Moſt ſtrange and paſſing marvel.
LUCRETIUS.
Had I not known thee long, thou nobleſt Roman,
Amid theſe worſt of times immoveable
[2] In honour's ſteady courſe, invariably
Upright and juſt, in thy domeſtic life
Untainted too, I would not thus have open'd
My inmoſt breaſt, or given the paſſing wind
An opportunity to bear my words
On its licentious wing to th' tyrant's ear.
VALERIUS.
A mutual confidence henceforth be ours.
Scarcely can I expreſs with what abhorrence
I look upon this monſter of a man.
Scan the whole catalogue of horrid crimes,
And if you find one he hath not committed,
I will retract my words, and call him virtuous.
His brother firſt he poiſon'd, to poſſeſs
His wife; to gain the crown, aſſaſſinated
Moſt ruffian like, the good old king, by marriage
His father: I beheld the elder thrown
Down from the ſenate-houſe, his aged limbs
Bruiſed by the flinty pavement, his white locks
Which from the lawleſs robber would have gain'd
Reſpect and veneration, wildly ſcatter'd
Over his ſace, defiled with clotted gore;
Raiſed from the ground with utmoſt difficulty,
And tottering t'ward his home, he met his death.
Still did inſatiate cruelty purſue
His breathleſs corſe, denied the common rites
Of burial; all men ſtruck with horror, ſhunn'd
Th' accurſed ſpot: yet then his ſavage wife
Drunk with hot draughts of empire, or poſſeſs'd
By the infernal furies, every tie
Of human nature caſt aſide, drove on
High in her ſtately chariot, and impell'd
Th' affrighted horſes o'er him where he lay,
O'er the dead body of her murder'd father.
LUCRETIUS.
Had I been told the fact, as perpetrated
[3] In any foreign country, my belief
Would have rebell'd. I wonder that the ſun
Turn'd not his courſe, as at th' inhuman feaſt
Of Grecian Atreus: ever to reflection
As the deed riſes in its native hue,
My blood runs cold. No wonder if his throne
Founded by means like theſe. ſhould be ſupported
By the ſame means. Hence in what copious ſtreams
Hath flow'd the blood of princely ſenators!
Their crimes were worth or riches; hath he ſpared
One, but whom abſolute neceſſity
Compell'd, or mean opinion of his faculties
Suffer'd to live?
VALERIUS.
To this, his cruel policy
He adds ſuperior talents; with a ſoul
That penetrates mankind, he bears conjoin'd
The fiery ſpirit of the warrior God.
Talents by virtue guided, which might place him
Among the firſt of kings, but now ſerve only
To make him bold and reſolute in vice,
And what is worſe, create an awe, a dread,
On which, as on a baſe not to be ſhaken,
Stands fix'd high-towering tyranny.
LUCRETIUS.
Yet we
Need not complain: us he hath ſpared; and me
While 'gainſt the Ardeates he wages war,
In truſt exalted to be governor
Of this fair city.
VALERIUS.
Indeed, were life alone to be eſteem'd,
We ſhould not murmur; but to breathe the air,
To walk about at large, eat when we pleaſe,
Sleep at our will; this is not life—the beaſt
Upon the mountain leads a life like this.
[4] When I'm ſo ſelfiſh as to center all
My ſenſe of pleaſure here, when I caſt off
Tender humanity, which feels, as relative
To all the members of ſociety,
Joy or affliction, may I then be curſed
With ſuch a life as this.
LUCRETIUS.
Didſt thou remember
Among the ſenators by Tarquin ſlain,
The name of Marcius Junius?
VALERIUS.
Well I knew him;
But what of him?
LUCRETIUS.
Oh! He was placed above
The ſtrain of men; his many virtues made him
Reſpected as a god by th' ſons of Rome:
His anceſtors came hither with Aeneas
From flaming Troy, the valour of his race,
Th' heroic ardor which inflames the breaſt
Of conſcious greatneſs, and uplifts mankind
To ſomething of divinity, dwelt in him.
He was a man, that had he 'ſcaped the wreck
Of thoſe tempeſtuous days, would ne'er have ſuffer'd
Gigantic tyranny to take ſuch ſtrides.
At leaſt ſome check he would have been, ſome curb
Upon the mouth of headſtrong appetite,
And wild ambition. This our Tarquin knew:
And at the ſame time looking with an eye
Of greedineſs upon his large poſſeſſions, ſent
And ſlew him and his elder ſon, a youth
Of gracious hopes; the younger being abſent
Eſcaped the ruin.
VALERIUS.
And now dwells with Tarquin,
[5] Lucius, the fool, the laughing-ſtock o' th' court:
Whom the young princes always carry with them
To aid their ſport and jocund merriment;
The but, at which they ſhoot their ſhafts of wit;
Whoſe paucity of ſenſe, and mode uncouth.
Aukward and blundering, hath deſervedly
Got him the name of Brutus—But why waſte
Our talk on this ſame ideot?
LUCRETIUS.
'Solve the queſtion:
I did but hint him, ſpeaking of his father.
VALERIUS.
Indeed, why talk at all, when all muſt end
As bootleſs as began?—There is a bound
Which checks, they ſay, all evils in their courſe,
And good enſues.—Our evils know no change;
Nor have they this extremeſt limit proved.—
Tho' that they ſhould be in progreſſion ſtill,
Is paſt belief.—Yet there's no chance in nature,
No poſſibility of alteration,
No man alive to aim at alteration:
And his three ſons, Titus, and Aruns, Sextus,
All equal to their father in ability,
Beyond, if poſſible, in the black deeds
Of villainy, of luſt, and treachery,
Are three firm pillars added to the pile
Which threats to ſtand for ages. Oh! theſe thoughts
Are capable to baniſh moderation
From the prepared breaſt, and make the wiſe
Turn fools and madmen.
LUCRETIUS.
Let us drop the ſubject.
Who knows the ſecrets of avenging Jove?
Perhaps though we, ſhort-ſighted as we are,
Think liberty bound in eternal thraldom,
His counſels otherwiſe decree: e'en now
[6] Haply the dread events are burſting forth,
Like light'ning from the gloomy firmament,
To ſweep this race of hell-hounds from the earth.
VALERIUS.
What may be, I'll not ſay; but hope long ſince
Hath ceaſed with me to wear her ſanguine hue.
Why ſhould free agents e'en on Jove depend,
To ſway the will he gave?—Man rules himſelf—
His own fate's arbiter.—Tho' o'er theſe times
Broods deſperation, ſhall we not beneath
Her wings immew'd, this galling, tempting theme
Again revive?—Words cannot pluck the thorn,
But ſoothe the ſmart.—Farewel—I'll to my houſe—
Whither if in the evening you will come,
Still on a genuine Roman citizen
My Lares ſmile.
LUCRETIUS.
I would attend unbidden.
But thy inviting voice ſhould charm me thither,
Spite of diſeaſe or pain. At evening cloſe
I come; then farewel.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Camp before Ardea.TITUS, ARUNS.
TITUS.
Why, Aruns, in what corner ſits the wind?
What! not a word to ſay! quite down i' th' mouth!
ARUNS.
I am, and ſtranger, cannot gueſs the cauſe,
Unleſs 'tis living in inaction thus.
I would I was in Rome, or Rome was here,
Or that theſe coop'd-up Ardeats would but ſight.
I wonder that our father ſits contented
Lounging in's camp. Plague on their petty ſallies!
Why doth he not attack the neſt at once
[7] With fire and ſword, and rouſe up all the ſwarm?
It was not thus he triumph'd o'er the Sabines,
Or wreſted from the warlike Volſci's hands
Sueſſa Pometia, with whoſe glorious ſpoils
Turning religious all at once, he built
The temple in the capitol to Jupiter.
Though had he aſk'd of me, I could have told him
A better way of laying out his money.
TITUS.
I do believe thee, Aruns, well I know
To what divinity thou would'ſt have rear'd
Thy golden altars.
ARUNS.
Aye, and wiſely too.
Pleaſure's my deity, my Jupiter,
My Juno, and Minerva. Titus too,
If I miſtake not, is no Atheiſt there,
But worſhips with as warm enthuſiaſm
As any votary of them all; 'tis true
He wears a graver brow, and commits ſin
With a more ſerious philoſophic face,
There's all the difference between me and thee,
A touch of feature only, in our hearts
We are moſt cordially alike.
TITUS.
Alike!
Why now indeed thy airy ſpirits dance,
Sparkling in either eye; but when I met thee,
What wert thou then? Inwrapp'd in diſcontent.
What wilt thou be anon? Chiding at ſtraws
For lying in thy path; then quick, by th'ſparks
Of angry paſſion, kindled into flame;
Still varying like the wind.—Thy heart like mine!
When didſt thou find my ſkittiſh temper ſtart,
And fly like thine from one to to'ther ſide?
ARUNS.
[8]Well, be it ſo, heaven ſpeed us both! But Sextus!
I envy that ſame Sextus; for his genius
Soars o'er us both, and robs us of our birthright.
Not that I think, we halt behind him much
In our deſign'd intentions; but ſucceſs
Befriends him farther, one would ſwear he kept
Fortune in pay, and that the blind-eyed goddeſs
Accepted bribes from him. There's not a woman
He looks on with deſire but he poſſeſſes;
He ſays but to an enemy, Fall down,
And down he falls. Hah! ſay'ſt thou, is he not
A ſon of Tarquin, and a glorious villain?
TITUS.
Glorious I grant, but not a villain, Aruns.
Pſhaw! that's a name may ſuit a vulgar mouth,
A tradeſman talking of his brother knave;
But rank and ſtation ſanctify men's deeds;
A king ſucceſsful, cannot be a tyrant,
Nor a king's ſon deſerve a title leſs
Than that of prince.
ARUNS.
Thou reaſon'ſt well, by Mars!
When I want oracles to be delivered,
I need not go to Delphos.—Out! Alas!
My blood's again obſtructed, and I feel
A pain here in my head, or in my heart,
A ſort of creeping kind of lethargy.—
Are you e'er ſeiz'd thus? Hah! here comes my antidote.
TITUS.
Brutus! true; he's a doctor for the ſpleen.
You mention'd Delphos; when we two went thither
Through the unknown ſeas of Greece, ſent by our father
T'enquire the meaning of the prodigy,
The ſnake portentous, which with dreadful creſt
[9] Appearing in his palace hiſs'd aloud
A direful omen! Brutus then went with us.
Oh! I remember well the precious ſcenes
Of folly which he acted. When we gave
Rich preſents to the God; He offer'd him
A walking ſtick; as if the god would walk,
And take the air, but that the god was lame.
Coming from out the temple, gazing back,
As loath to leave a place ſo fine, he fell
Over the threſhold, and plough'd up the ground,
Fixing his face i' th' earth.
ARUNS.
You may remember
The oracle too ſaid, that he ſhould bear
Chief ſway in Rome, who firſt ſhould kiſs his mother.
When we came home, both at one time we kiſs'd her.
In that I think we are at leaſt before
Our brother Sextus, jointly we reign
After our father.
Enter Brutus.
TITUS.
Brutus where ſo faſt?
Why, thou art running like a loaded horſe.
ARUNS.
Or like a ſlave with fetters on his legs.
What! have the Rutili attack'd the camp,
That thou art poſting in this plaguy hurry?
BRUTUS.
Pray, my Lords, ſtop me not; I'm ſent to you
On ſpecial ord'nance from the king; farewel,
I muſt return again.
ARUNS.
But wert thou ſent
Only to ſee us? Tell the king our father
[10] We're in good health; we thank him for the meſſage,
Which thou haſt well remember'd to deliver.
BRUTUS.
Oh! my good Lord, I had forgot indeed.
But in the multitude of public cares
And daily buſineſs—if my memory fails
A little—'tis no wonder—and you know
Memory is ſuch a thing as—
TITUS.
As a cart-wheel.
BRUTUS.
Indeed, my Lord, you've hit it; mine turns round,
And round—ſometimes I think my head is turn'd.
ARUNS.
I too have thought it oft.
BRUTUS.
Have you my Lord?
I'm always glad when you and I agree:
You have juſt ſuch a wit as I ſhould chooſe.—
Would I could purchaſe ſuch an one, and put it
Into my brain! Yet ſo I fear 'twould ſplit
My head, as air ſhut up does water bubbles.
TITUS.
Thou haſt ſpoke wittier, Brute, than thou'rt aware.
ARUNS.
But what wilt give me now for a recipe
To make a wit? I had it from the Sibyl,
Her thou ſaw'ſt t'other day, who ſold to th' king
Her books at ſuch a rate.
BRUTUS.
Pray let me ſee it;
What will I give!—Ten acres of my land.
ARUNS.
Thy land! where lies it?
BRUTUS.
[11]Aſk the king my couſin:
He knows full well: I thank him, he's my ſteward,
And takes the trouble off my hands.
TITUS.
Who told thee ſo?
BRUTUS.
The king himſelf.—Now twenty years are paſt,
And more, when he ſent for me from the farm
Where I had liv'd ſome time ſtudying philoſophy,
And ſuch like ſerious matters.
TITUS.
Noble ſophiſt,
I bend with the profoundeſt admiration
Of thy rare, hidden knowledge.
BRUTUS.
Yes, yes, all men
Muſt grant that I have no ſmall ſmattering.
But where was I? Oh—Kinſman, ſays the king,
Says he, and ſmiled moſt graciouſly upon me,
For deeds of blackeſt and moſt treaſonous nature,
Thy father and thy brother were accuſed of,
They've paid the forfeit with their lives: for thee,
Who knew'ſt not of their crimes, as I love mercy,
Nor take delight in wanton deeds of cruelty,
Live, and be happy; the ingenuous heart,
And ſimple manners ſpeaking in thy face—
ARUNS.
Aye, 'tis a ſimple manners-ſpeaking face.
BRUTUS.
Nay, is it right to interrupt me thus?
ARUNS.
Pardon, moſt noble Brutus.
BRUTUS.
Theſe thy qualities.
[12] Promiſe, ſays he, thou ne'er wilt form a plot
Of damn'd conſpiracy againſt thy ſovereign—
TITUS.
Indeed for that, I'll be thy bondſman, Brutus.
BRUTUS.
Live in my houſe, companion of my children.
As for thy land, to eaſe thee of all care,
I'll take it for thy uſe; all that I aſk
Of thee, is gratitude.
TITUS.
And art thou not
Grateful for goodneſs ſo unmerited?
BRUTUS.
Am I not? Never, by the holy Gods,
Will I forget it! 'tis my conſtant prayer
To heaven, that I may one day have the power
To pay the debt I owe him.—But the charm
For wit you told me of.
ARUNS.
Oh—take it gratis—
Firſt then; attend with caution—But the meſſage
You brought from Tarquin.—
BRUTUS.
Father Romulus,
That I ſhould loiter thus! Why would you keep me
Engaged in talk? The king your father calls
A council, to conſider of the ſiege
Of Ardea, and the future operations
Againſt the ſtubborn Rutili: your preſence
Is aſk'd immediately; ſhall I before,
And ſay you're coming?
ARUNS.
If thou wilt, good Brutus;
Or elſe behind; or otherwiſe in th' middle:
Come, we'll all go together; or ſtay there,
And follow at thy leiſure.
[Exeunt Aruns and Titus.
BRUTUS alone.
[13]Yet, 'tis not this which ruffles me—the gibes
And ſcornful mockeries of ill-govern'd youth—
Or flouts of painted ſycophants and jeſters,
Reptiles, who lay their bellies on the duſt
Before the frown of majeſty. All this
I but expect, nor grudge to bear; the face
I carry too demands it.—But what then?
Is my mind faſhion'd to the livery
Of dull ſtupidity, which I have worn
Theſe many a day? Is't bent aſide, and warp'd
From its true native dignity? Elſe why,
How is't that vengeance now hath ſlept ſo long?
O prudence! ill delayer of great deeds,
And noble enterprizes!—Yet—not ſo.
Chance may, and accidental circumſtance
Crown bold and lucky raſhneſs with ſucceſs—
But oftener not. There is perhaps a time,
A certain point, which waited for with patience,
Seiz'd on, and urg'd with vigour, will go near
To baniſh chance, and introduce aſſurance
And fixedneſs in human actions.—
T' avenge my father's and my brother's murder!
(And ſweet I muſt confeſs would be the draught)
Had this been all, oft hath the murderer's life
Been in my hands; a thouſand opportunities
I've had to ſtrike the blow—and my own life
I had not valued as a ruſh.—But ſtill—
There's ſomething farther to be done—my ſoul!
Enjoy the ſtrong conception; Oh! 'tis glorious
To free a groaning country from oppreſſion;
To vindicate man's common's rites, and cruſh
The neck of arrogance.—To ſee Revenge
Spring like a lion from his den, and tear
Theſe hunters of mankind!—Give but the time,
Give but the moment, gods! If I am wanting,
[14] May I drag out this ideot-feigned life
To late old age; and may poſterity
Ne'er know me by another name, but that
Of Brutus, and the Tarquin's houſehold fool.
[Exit.

SCENE III.HORATIUS, HERMINIUS.
HORATIUS.
Whither away, Herminius? to the council?
HERMINIUS.
I go to the aſſembly call'd by th' king;
I know not if you juſtly can term that
A council, where there is no conſultation.
HORATIUS.
We need not now be nice i' th' definition
Of words, Horatius, which become a ſoldier
But ill at any time, at no time more
Perhaps than now. If we are not conſulted,
We ſhall be told what Tarquin and his ſons
Have pre-determined: no ſmall ſhare of confidence.
As in the city they're the only ſource
Of government and law, ſo in the camp
They form each enterprize, direct each motion.
And, by the gods! were government and law
Temper'd with equity, or war with juſtice,
I would not wiſh for abler lawgivers,
Or leaders.
HERMINIUS.
Hold—No more, Horatius—
What! know you not that tents have often ears
Hearing diſtinctly? If the times are bad,
Heav'n in its mercy mend them! Pray however
But ſoftly, leſt the ſtatues of the gods
[15] Should turn informers too. Who paſſes there,
Acroſs our path, beyond that farther tent?
HORATIUS.
Is it not Collatine, who lately married
Lucretius's daughter?
HERMINIUS.
Truſt me, ſhe's reported
The faireſt, and the worthieſt of her ſex.
HORATIUS.
Fairer than ever was a form created
By youthful fancy, when the blood ſtrays wild,
And never-reſting thought is all on fire.
The worthieſt of the worthy; not the nymph
Who met old Numa in his hallow'd walks,
And whiſper'd in his ear her ſtrains divine,
Can I conceive beyond her; the young choir
Of veſtal virgins bend to her. 'Tis wonderful
Amid the darnel, hemlock, and baſe weeds
Which now ſpring riſe from the luxurious compoſt
Spread o'er the realm, how this ſweet lily roſe,
How from the ſhade of theſe ill-neighbouring plants,
Her father ſhelter'd her, that not a leaf
Is blighted, but array'd in pureſt grace
She blooms unſullied verdure. Such her beauties,
As might call back the torpid breaſt of age
To long-forgotten rapture; ſuch her mind,
As might abaſh the boldeſt libertine,
And turn deſire to reverential love,
And holieſt affection.
HERMINIUS.
From a praiſe
So warm, a ſtranger might form ſome concluſions.
HORATIUS.
I ſpeak as an acquaintance, as a friend,
But yet impartially, not ſway'd by paſſion,
But as I really think; had life's gay prime
[16] Preſented ſuch an object to my view,
You would have thought me mad in my applauſe,
I ſhould have flown above the ſhining ſpheres
Of th' azure vault for new compariſons,
Yet then not thought them hyperbolical.
I loved my wife; I praiſed her; but the height
I raiſed her to, reached not to this Lucretia;
Though ſince I've thought it much ſurpaſs'd the truth.
Here tranſport would have urged me far beyond
All ſober bounds, and yet cloſe by my ſide
Reaſon would have ſtood, ſmiling to ſee herſelf
So juſtly ſuperſeded.
HERMINIUS.
Such a prodigy
Should have a huſband of no vulgar mould;
But Collatine, I ſee him ev'ry where,
The princes intimate, at their carouſals,
The firſt in noiſe, and mirth, and jollity,
Of the unruly crew.
HORATIUS.
You are deceiv'd,
He's young, perhaps unſteady, flexible,
And yielding to example: though indeed
As a relation, and being near to th' king,
I don't ſee how, if 'twas his inclination,
He could do otherwiſe: but he poſſeſſes
Many good qualities, is gentle, kind,
And generous, wants not courage, and I know
Doats with the moſt impaſſion'd tenderneſs
Upon Lucretia. Haply 'tis in hopes
To eaſe his mind from the ſharp grief of abſence,
That thus he mingles with the feſtive train,
And joins the roar of idle rioting
And diſſipation; though I ne'er obſerv'd
He join'd it heartily. I've ſeen him oft
Loſt in reflection there, and oft alone
[17] Muſing in melancholy, as juſt now
Thou ſaw'ſt him when he paſs'd us, meditating
With his eyes caſt on th' ground. But let us haſte
To the king's tent.
HERMINIUS.
Before—I'll follow you.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Collatia.LUCRETIA, LAVINIA.
LUCRETIA.
How long is it, Lavinia, ſince my lord
Hath chang'd his peaceful manſion, for the camp
And reſtleſs ſcenes of war?
LAVINIA.
Why, in my ſimple eſtimation, Madam,
'Tis ſome ten days, or thereabout, for time
Runs as it ſhou'd with me, in yours it may be
Perhaps ten years.
LUCRETIA.
And what ſhould make thee think ſo?
LAVINIA.
Nay, I know not; but I have heard folks ſay—
I think my grandam—yes, my grandam 'twas—
That ſhe, when ſhe was young, in days of yore,
And parted from her newly-married huſband,
Found the whole method of time's progreſs chang'd,
Inſtead of wings t' his back, poſting in haſte,
And flitting by ſo quick, you could not ſeize him
By his lank lock, a gouty, hobbling wretch,
That noting of the pain he took in walking,
Gave ſympathetic pangs.—She was a ſhrewd one,
And had, if I'd believe her, in her ſpring
Felt all the power of love. Oh, ſhe could talk
E'en then of purling ſtreams, and cooing doves,
[18] And of the arms claſp'd thus, and brow bent thus,
Of aking hearts, and ſuch a deal of ſtuff,
That had I not e'en from my tender years
Been guarded well by the ſuperior powers,
I ſhould have ſought me out a ſwain and married,
And now perhaps been moaning for the abſence
Of my true trutle.
LUCRETIA.
So thy heart ne'er knew
What 'twas to love?
LAVINIA.
No, I thank holy Veſta,
Never; I've caſt indeed ſometimes the eyes
Of approbation on a proper man,
But never ſent deep glances; off they darted
From him upon another; O, my heart!
What 'twas to love! Why men are all alike,
All mothers' ſons.
LUCRETIA.
Thou haſt a gadding tongue,
But ſtill thy mind is right; thou haſt no meaning
Affix'd to what thou utter'ſt.
LAVINIA.
None to ſpeak of.—
All that I mean, is, that if I were married,
And that my huſband were call'd forth to th' wars,
I ſhould not ſtray through the grove next my houſe,
Invoke the penſive ſolitude, and wooe
The dull and ſilent melancholy, brood
O'er my own thoughts alone, or keep myſelf
Within my houſe mew'd up a priſoner.
I ſhould do like the reſt of my ſex, repair
To company and noiſe; 'tis for philoſophers
To love retirement; women were not made
To ſtand up like to ſtatues in a niche,
Or feed on their own ſecret contemplations.
LUCRETIA.
[19]Go to; thou know'ſt not what thou ſay'ſt, Lavinia,
'Tis for the light of heart, to range abroad,
To brave the general and licentious eye,
To mingle with the fickle, trifling crew
Of merriment, who laugh aloud, if Folly
Shake but the cap upon her head, or lift
Her finger up before their face. The praiſe
Of woman is to play the houſewife well;
Ambitious in her huſband's ſight t' appear
Grateful and amiable, not indeed careleſs
Of others, but preferring him to all,
And his ſociety; not cloying neither,
But manifeſted in a way known only
To nice affection, and diſtinguiſhed by it:
'Tis hers with care to overſee his family,
And govern with ſure reins of government,
No eaſy taſk.
LAVINIA.
Jove bleſs us! what is this?
If a ſuperior place in life give not
The power of taſting greater liberty,
Of dancing to the honey'd notes of gladneſs,
And walking hand in hand with dainty pleaſure,
If that the dame of rank muſt act the houſe-cat,
Sit at the hole and watch, and cry bo-peep,
Or ſing herſelf aſleep; the peaſant's wife,
Or dull mechanick's, is as happy, nay
And happier, as by neceſſity
Tied ever down, ſhe knows ſhe muſt comply,
And feels ſhe can't attain what moſt ſhe wiſhes.
LUCRETIA.
And why ſhould I believe ſhe wiſhes more
Than ſhe poſſeſſes? Why not think there is
A jewel call'd content? Why circumſcribe
The habitation of true happineſs
[20] Within the narrow, gawdy, idle circle
Of ſwelling wealth, and air-blown, empty pomp?
Why think ſhe cannot dwell with humble duty
Beneath the hut of uncemented ſtones
Covered with flags, well pleas'd to tend her children
Healthy and ſmiling babes, and when her huſband
Comes from the field, and pacing by his ſide
Her elder ſturdy boy, ſpring t'ward the door,
And give them that ſincerity of welcome
Which greatneſs never ſaw? with buſy care
And ſedulous prepare their evening viands;
Liſt to the ſcant adventures of the day,
What paſſing ſtranger rowſed their faithful dog,
What tree ſecured them from the ſcatter'd ſhower,
What diſtant undiſtinguiſh'd noiſe they heard,
And having drawn in their brief chronicle,
And thereto added her own little journal,
With mutual interchanged looks of love,
Retire to reſt unbroken? No, Lavinia,
The true delight, I'm well convinced, dwells there
With nature and her offspring; and if thoſe
To whom 'tis giv'n beneath the cedar roof
High over-arch'd to ſit, would reliſh life,
They muſt as far as poſſible purſue
Her paths unhackney'd, and muſt imitate
Her unaffected ſimpleneſs.
LAVINIA.
Ah, me!
I much ſuſpect there are two natures then;
For ever ſince I was a tiny thing,
Not higher than this, I warrant, I have thought
Of nothing all the live-long day, but ſhew,
And glitter, and rich toys, and ornaments;
And I have gone to bed, and in my ſleep
Have dream'd I had them; then with the greateſt pleaſure
Have waked, and wept full bitterly to find.
[21] That I was diſappointed. I muſt own
I have no notion of that other nature.
Give me things quite the ontrary, give me
To enjoy life, like I know who; ſome ladies
And thoſe of the beſt quality in Rome
Poſſeſs a pretty comfortable ſhare
Of that ſame nature I eſteem the beſt.
LUCRETIA.
Let others act as they think fit, nor let it
Be call'd in them a fault to pleaſe themſelves,
In me a virtue.—But I thank the gods
Who made me what I am; who gave to me
A father whoſe indulgent tenderneſs
More than ſupplied a mother's loſs, who died
E'er memory ſet her ſtamp on my heart's tablet;
Who taught me wealth was droſs, and that the mind
Poſſeſs'd of conſcious virtue, is more rich
Than all the ſunleſs hoards which Plutus boaſts.
Oft would he ſay, O, my beloved daughter,
I've tried (nor yet in vain) to ſet thee right;
To ope' thine eyes againſt the Siren charms
Of vanity, deluding womankind;
Act to approve thyſelf to thine own heart;
Deſpiſe the ideot cuſtom, which breaks down
The fence which ever ſhould remain ſtrong built
Between the ſexes: woman's chiefeſt glory
Is in retirement, and her higheſt pleaſure
Reſults from home-born and domeſtic joys.
Hear me, Lucretia! ſo ſhalt thou obtain
The crown of woman, a deſerving huſband;
Who not a priſoner to the eye alone,
A fair complexion, or melodious voice,
Shall read thee deeper, nor ſhall time which palls
The rage of paſſion, ſhake his firmer love
Increaſing by poſſeſſion.—This, (again I thank
The gracious gods) this huſband too is mine.
LAVINIA.
[22]I ſhould be glad to ſee this huſband now:
Theſe eyes are not the ſharpeſt in the world:
Is not that he, gay as the morning lark,
And laughing with the ſons of Tarquin there?
His heart is bent on mirth: he thinks not, he,
(Like other abſent men) of his Lucretia:
He did not hear a ſyllable o' th' praiſe
Her tongue juſt now beſtow'd.
LUCRETIA.
No more, no more
Leſt I be angry with thee for a fault
Thou can'ſt not help, thy tongue runs idly.—
Yet ſay e'en what thou wilt, I'm not offended.
LAVINIA.
Then I will ſay, I don't believe that lady
Hath truer lord, more fix'd in loyalty.
And how can he be otherwiſe? Were I
In his condition, fickle as I am,
And wavering in affection, a true woman,
Unſchool'd, untaught by father or by mother,
I ſhould caſt anchor, and forbid my bark
Ever to leave the port.—What ſhall I ſay?
Unleſs I ſay, that now I ſpeak the truth
E'en from my heart.
LUCRETIA.
I know full well thy honeſty.
Come, let us in, and we will talk together
Of the ſtern dangers which attend on war,
And rouſe the paſſion fear. I know not how,
But there is ſomething grateful to the ſoul
Even in terror; though we dread th' event,
'Tis pleaſing while 'tis but imagined.
That my fears ever may be realiz'd
In thee, O Collatine, ye gods forbid!
[Exeunt.

ACT II.

[23]

SCENE I. The King's tent.TARQUIN, TITUS, ARUNS, SEXTUS.
TARQUIN.
MY glory, and my pride! my three bold ſons!
Whom I rejoice in more, than in th' increaſe
Of empire and dominion! Where's the king
Can ſay with me, his children are his ſenators,
His judges, and his generals? while you
The firſt ſupply, I find they were as I
Eſteem'd them juſtly, mere ſuperfluous branches
To the commonweal, which I with prudent hand
Have lopp'd. For government can't be too ſimple,
Torn by variety of ranks and orders,
Action is loſt in fruitleſs canvaſſing,
Empty harrangues, and vain deliberation:
While vigorous enterprize, amid the jar
Of bickering parties dares not ſhew his face.
No ſecrecy obſerved, the enemy
Knows well the bent of every expedition
As ſoon as plann'd, and as th' event's foreſeen,
Prepares againſt it warily, and ſtrongly.
Is this to be a king? Oh, only name
Of royalty! in fact a vaſſal ſlave
Tied down and manacled, condemn'd to act
Not from himſelf, but as by others tutor'd.
While ſome bold party ſwallowing up the reſt,
Seizes the reins of empire, and beſtows
All the offices of truſt. He, flimſy ſhadow,
Titular monarch, cannot help himſelf:
[24] But like a wretched fiſher in a boat,
From which the ſails are rent by the rude winds,
The rudder clove aſunder, and oars loſt,
Still rides indeed upon the billows backs
Born by the flux and reflux of the tides
At random, till deſpair and famine end
His miſerable life, or the crazed hulk
Admit the briny wave, then both together
Sink in the deep, and ne'er are heard of more:
Who'd be a king like this?
SEXTUS.
Who would, my father!
Rather would I betake me to the plough,
And till with utmoſt toil a land ungrateful,
A barren deſart, where but here and there
A blade of corn would riſe, and my whole harveſt
Scarce ſerve to keep body and ſoul together,
Till the next year's return, Such ſervitude
Were not to be ſuſtain'd, 'twere worſe than death.
TARQUIN.
Still keep theſe ſentiments, my ſon; they ſhew
The man, not the poor-ſpirited mean creature
That generally is call'd ſo, but the man
Born to command, to lord it o'er theſe earth-worms,
To ſit in the exalted ſeat of empire,
And wield the ſceptre; to be plac'd a god
Above the reſt, as the gods are 'bove him.
Had I been guided by the moderate maxims
Of doating politicians, had I not
Acted on principles which my ſoul ſtarted,
And hands dared execute, I ſhould have lived
Coop'd up within the walls of Rome, and call'd
Only that petty city, thoſe few acres,
My ſum of territory: have purſued
The canting ſuperſtitions of old Numa;
Or thought, with Ancus, that to build a bridge
[25] Or thought, with Ancus, that to build a bridge
Over the Tiber was a wonderous work;
Or, like old purblind Servius, have recorded
Offices, ages, deaths, births, marriages,
And kept the public regiſter o'th' ſtate.
But I reſolved to riſe above controulment,
To ſeize the glorious ſubſtance of true majeſty,
To be a king indeed; and men are not
The reſtive beings ſome have but ſuppoſed:
They on timidity encroach, but dare not
Look ſettled reſolution in the face.
Habit makes even ſlavery eaſy. Hence
I turn'd my conquering arms 'gainſt all the ſtates
Around, and made Hetruria pale with fear:
Now may the proudeſt nation yield to Rome,
And own her its ſuperior; hence I'm honour'd,
Dreaded abroad, and courted; hence at home
Abſolute lord; and hence ſhall leave my children
A ſtable throne, which ſhall continue firm
To lateſt ages, if not wantonly,
Or fooliſhly, they deviate from my ſteps.
TITUS.
May Titus periſh, if he deviate wantonly!
ARUNS.
And Aruns, if he deviate fooliſhly!
SEXTUS.
And Sextus, if he deviate either way!
TARQUIN.
I know you better each, than to ſuſpect you;
Nor think that my example, or my precepts,
Have been ſo little view'd, or weigh'd ſo lightly.
Keep but you three together, in the band
Of mutual fix'dneſs, and you may defy
Time, and th' adverſity of accident,
Or force of malice.—But, my ſons, the reaſon
[26] Of this our meeting; this ſtrong city Ardea,
Like to a mighty mound, dams up the current
Of our progreſſion; were but this our own,
The whole Rutilian ſtate of courſe would follow.
The queſtion is, how to attain this end?
Aſſault we've tried, and wept our hardy veterans
Slain in th' unequal taſk; their walls are high,
And in few places only they're aſſailable;
Th' inhabitants are numerous, and reſolv'd
To ſell their freedom dear; plenty as yet
Makes them high-mettled, and they laugh to ſcorn
Us and our ſtrength. Speak each what you adviſe,
Whether again t' advance our ſcaling-ladders,
And ſtrive with fire and ſword to gain admiſſion;
Or whether change our ſiege into blockade,
And ſtarve them to ſurrender. Titus, ſpeak.
TITUS.
I ſee no reaſon here for much debate,
Or many words to fix determination.
Our ſoldiers with their late ſucceſſleſs toil
Diſpirited and faint; theirs with the contrary
Valiant and bold: again, th' uncertainty
Of being more ſucceſsful than before,
The probability that we ſhall not;
Th' ill conſequences if we make th' aſſault
In vain; all tempt me to diſſuade from action;
To gird the city well, harraſs the country,
Debar them from ſupplies, ſap their high walls,
Wait till we gain a lucky time for onſet,
Or deep-laid ſtratagem; this gives a conqueſt
Certain, tho' ſlow; and this do I adviſe.
ARUNS.
Think not I ſpeak through contradiction, Titus:
But I can bring as many arguments,
As cogent too, and couch them full as briefly,
[27] Why we ſhould not delay; in every ſally
Made ſince that trial, they've been beat to th' gates;
This hath reſtored the courage of our ſoldiers;
And ſhame now adds a double ſting to bravery.
Delay breeds relaxation in our duty.
The Rutili and their allies may join,
Hem us between them and the walls of Ardea,
Or march to Rome itſelf. Delay breeds danger.
I do not like delay; it is a word
I hate; 'tis ominous as the raven's croak;
It bears with it a cold and death-like ſound.
Might I but lead the army once again
To the attack, I'd be myſelf the firſt
To mount the wall, and anſwer for th' event:
If not, let the events ſpeak for themſelves,
Or ſpeak you for them who determine otherwiſe.
SEXTUS.
Could I by ſly impoſture hope to win
This Ardea, as I did the town of Gabii,
I would again ſubmit my back to th' ſcourge,
And from my father's cruelty, a ſuppliant,
Intreat the gull'd inhabitants; nor wait
His hint, by cutting down the talleſt poppies
I'th' preſence of the meſſenger I ſent him,
To ſlay their leaders. If this could be done,
Or any thing like this, I'd not adviſe
Speedy aſſault, or to protract the ſiege,
In both of which I can eſpy no ſmall
Degree of danger. Titus well adviſes,
And ſo doth Aruns. A ſmall grain would turn
The ſcale in either's favour. If our father
Determine for th' aſſault, about it ſpeedily,
I'll climb to the top o'th' wall as ſoon as Aruns.
If Titus ſhall be thought t' have better counſell'd,
I'll watch the turn of every circumſtance;
And hard it ſhall be, if ſome dexterous craft
[28] Suit not with th' opportunity which muſt
I'th' courſe of things preſent itſelf.
TARQUIN.
I wiſh
That circumſtance may offer; if it doth,
I doubt not of thy ready apprehenſion.
Aruns muſt be o'er-ruled; he knows my temper
As little brooks delay as his, but ardour
Muſt yield to the neceſſity o'th' times.
ARUNS.
Aruns is pleaſed, if every one is pleaſed,
He yields contentedly, is quite reſign'd.
Enter Brutus.
TARQUIN.
Say, what would'ſt thou?
BRUTUS.
Horatius and Herminius
And others the centurions of the army,
Came with me to the door o'th' tent; they aſk
If 'tis your pleaſure they ſhould be admitted?
TARQUIN.
Horatius and Herminius may come in,
Let the reſt to their tents, theſe two ſhall bear
Our orders.
Enter Horatius and Herminius.
Say, Horatius and Herminius,
Whether you, either of you, know a reaſon
Of any force, why we ſhould not block up
This town of Ardea, and by protracting
The time, render ourſelves more ſure of conqueſt?
With freedom ſpeak.
HERMINIUS.
[29]I have but only one.
Kept from their homes ſo long, the populace
Already thither caſt a longing eye;
They had been taught t'expect an eaſy prey,
With ſpeed to be obtain'd; I fear their murmurs—
TARQUIN.
Say'ſt thou, the murmurs of the populace!
Shall I be moved by th' many-headed beaſt?
No: if thou doſt not know theſe truths already,
Learn them of me. The groſſer herd of men
Nature hath mark'd for ſervitude, to bear
The yoke with paſſive neck, and walk in trammels.
Woe to the king, who gives a tittle up
To th' unſoul'd brutal rabble! He ſhall find,
When 'tis too late, and ſorely rue his folly.
Stop a wild horſe when he hath ſlipp'd his bit,
Stick cloſe your knees, and make him ſlack his pace
At your command; guide him with gentle words,
And tell him that he ſhould not throw his rider.
Who talks of liberty, he means licentiouſneſs;
Let the fat ſoil put forth that dangerous weed
But one poor inch, and you ſhall ſee it riſe
With growth gigantic, till it reach to heaven
And blaſt the golden firmament. He knows
But little of mankind, who thinks by mild
And gentle uſage to exact obedience.
What follows? Mean opinion of his talents,
Contempt, then Diſcontent is quickly ſeen
To ope her muttering mouth, cloſe on whoſe heels
Treads bold Conſpiracy and rank Rebellion.
I know them well; fond of variety,
And novel change; bold where they ſee no ſign
Of oppoſition, like the high-ſwoln tide,
[30] Through every open gap they ruſh amain.
I know them well, the ſlaviſh animals,
Let them but ſee the ſternly-frowning face
Of awful majeſty, let but authority
Lift high her iron whip, and they will cringe
And creep before your face like ſpaniel dogs,
Nor dare to wag a tongue, or move a limb,
Or even draw their breath, or let the ſtrokes
Of their quick-palpitating hearts be heard.
I know them well; they cannot bear indulgence,
It breeds corrupted humours in their minds,
And ſubtile venom, which would blaſt the world
Like the wing'd plague.—The murmurs of the populace!
Why let the populace ſtill murmur on;
Like the vague murmurs of the empty gale,
They blow at random, and ſoon paſs away:
You cannot trace the wrinkles which they made
On the ſmooth ocean's face; 'tis the fierce voice
O'th' ruinating whirlwind which muſt rouſe
The godhead from his deep abode, and cauſe him
Diſplay his angry trident.
TITUS.
Might I ſpeak,
I would preſume to ſay, Herminius meant not
Aught derogating from your power of majeſty;
But from his real fears, and his good-will—
TARQUIN.
I do not think he did: but let him learn
Henceforth, if he will needs produce his reaſons,
To produce better; nor dare tell a lion,
That he muſt not chace down his prey, becauſe
A ſwarm of gnats buz in the path he takes.
ARUNS.
There's one, ere Tarquin tells his reſolution,
Whoſe ſage opinion hath not yet been aſk'd.
TARQUIN.
[31]I beg his pardon, and will aſk it ſtrait.
Well, kinſman Lucius, what is thy advice?
Shall we with ſpeedy onſet, or delay,
Subdue theſe Ardeates?
BRUTUS.
Humph! humph!—No, no—
That ſcheme won't do—I have it here, but cannot
Expreſs myſelf in preſence quite ſo full
As I could wiſh: but e'er long time is paſs'd,
I hope t'acquaint you with a plan of mine,
By which the greateſt enemies of Rome
Shall ſink before her; but as yet excuſe,
If I conceal the principles I go on.
TARQUIN.
We do, and render thanks for thy good-will:
And, Lucius, when thy plot is ripe, acquaint us.
Full many a year have we experience had
Of thy ſagacity in admonition,
And quick diſpach in buſineſs.—'Tis determined
To ſlack the arm of war, and give it reſt.
The ſword be ſtill; but let pale meagre hunger
Scowl in their ſtreets, and let the torrid thirſt
Parch them without remorſe; extremity
Muſt conquer, and to that theſe haughty Ardeates
Muſt yield perforce. Be't yours, Horatius,
And yours, Herminius, to acquaint the people
With our reſolves; tell them, that tho' 'tis ſlow,
Yet the poſſeſſion of the town is ſure.
Enlarge upon the riches of the place,
Which muſt be theirs, if patience be but theirs.
Quiet their murmurs, if they will be quieted;
If not, our will is fix'd, and dread example
Shall puniſh the ſeditious.
HORATIUS.
[32]We ſhall do
As we're commanded.
[Exit Tarquin.
SEXTUS.
Has any one ſeen Collatine this evening?
HORATIUS.
We ſaw him as we came towards this tent;
He croſs'd our way to th' right, and we ſoon miſs'd him.
SEXTUS.
He ſhould be with us at our feaſt to-night.
ARUNS.
I know his haunts. The gentleman of late,
Since he was married, is grown melancholy—
No wonder that, you'll ſay: I'll undertake
To find him out, however, and produce him
At the appointed time.
[Exit Aruns.
SEXTUS.
You'll ſup with us.
HORATIUS, HERMINIUS.
We ſhall, my Lord.
SEXTUS.
And thou, without all doubt.
BRUTUS.
I pray excuſe me. May I be excuſed
This once?
SEXTUS.
By no means. Why, I tell thee what;
Thou art the life, the ſoul of company;
Such wit, ſuch humour, and facetiouſneſs,
As thou poſſeſſeſt, more eſpecially
When the briſk flagon hath been circling round,
And the young god, with laughter in his eye,
Expands the liberal ſoul; why I would rather
Not feaſt for half an age, than want thy company.
Without thy flighty burſts of merriment,
[33] Wine would be quite inſipid, and the hours
Drag ſluggiſhly their heavy heels along.
BRUTUS.
Say you ſo? There's my hand, if I don't meet you,
And be as merry as the beſt of you,
And rally with as good an air and ſmart,
And cut my joke, and laugh at it myſelf
As loud as you, and ſhew the wit in my teeth,
Call me an aſs, the ſtupid animal
I moſt abhor.
TITUS.
Strange that he ſhould abhor
His neareſt of kin.
SEXTUS.
Come, let us hence; this night our brows ſhall ſhine
With the gay glories of the god of wine;
We'll ſeize the leiſure which this calm ſhall yield,
And for the foaming bowl, lay by the ſpear and ſhield:
If ne'er relax'd war's ſinews would be faint,
The bow is uſeleſs which is always bent.
[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE II. Another Part of the Camp.ARUNS, CLAUDIUS.
ARUNS.
Where was he when thou ſaw'ſt him, Claudius?
CLAUDIUS.
My lord, between the camp, and where our troops
Poſſeſs the neighbouring heights, where thrown acroſs
The haſty brook, a rafter bridge is ſeen
O'erlain with ſod which totters as you paſs;
There, where beyond, a path winds up the bank
Trod only by the cottager, who lived
Hard by, at morn, and 'eve, while fortune ſmiled,
[34] Now exiled by our arms; beneath an oak
Whoſe bare top, of its leaves bereaved, and trunk
Dented with thunder, like a veteran looks,
Who many a hard campaign hath weather'd out,
Cover'd with ſcars, yet tho' with ſinews ſhrunk
And pithleſs limbs now bending o'er his ſtaff,
Still claiming veneration: there lay Collatine
In muſing wiſe, a knotted root o'th' tree
Upheld him half-reclined, his eyes were fix'd,
Nor did he ſee me as I quick bruſh'd by;
When I had paſſed the bridge, I turn'd me round,
And ſaw him ſuddenly ſpring from the earth,
And dart into the grove, where 'mid the boughs
And thickening under-wood I loſt him ſoon.
ARUNS.
And where haſt thou been ſchool'd? Where haſt thou got
This tedious dull prolixity? this quaint
Deſcriptive fribbling coxcomb-like minuteneſs?
This web ſpun from the vacant brain? O Jove!
Laſh me, and laſh me well theſe trite deſcribers!
Theſe murderers of clear language and intelligence!
I aſk'd thee where thou mett'ſt with Collatine?
Hadſt thou but told me, in the neighbouring wood
South of the camp, ſay ſhould I not have found him
As eaſily as now? Beſides the trouble
Of ſeeing in my mind a clumſy painting
Drawn by a bungling artiſt? Pr'ythee learn,
At leaſt when I aſk a plain queſtion of thee,
To give as plain an anſwer. Gracious powers!
And is the gift of ſpeech of ſo ſmall value
That we muſt laviſh it away thus prodigally
As 'twere a trifling knick-knack? Oh, reform,
Reform—No words; reform, and hold thy tongue.
CLAUDIUS.
My lord, to pleaſure you in every thing
Shall ſtill be my endeavour.
ARUNS.
[35]No, it will not,
I bade thee but this moment lock thy lips;
Why, but becauſe I liked thy ſilence beſt?
But hence; thou know'ſt the horſe we ſaw to-day;
Doſt thou not recollect it? Find me out
Its owner; underſtand'ſt thou? 'Tis the horſe
Which I ſo much admired; doſt thou remember?
The cheſnut with the hyacinthin mane:
Enquire me out its owner; let him know
I would poſſeſs that horſe.
CLAUDIUS.
My lord, I will.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Grove near the Camp.COLLATINUS alone.
Whence are thy charms, ambition? I have look'd
With piercing eyes but none can I perceive.
Why art thou ſo purſued by human kind?
Is it that thou lift'ſt thy aſpiring front,
Deſpiſing earth, and all her groveling ſons
And bidding bold defiance to the gods?
Is it that, cruelty thy foſter-mother,
Thou laugh'ſt at pity, dropping the humane
And tender briny drop o'er ſacred miſery?
Is it that, like a whore, thou leaveſt thy lovers,
And to the firſt new-comer brought by fortune,
Thy ancient bawd, giveſt all thy joys? the joys
Which uneſſential power preſented to thee,
Begot on lawleſs thirſt of fancied greatneſs?—
For what is power, if taught not its due aim
By wide-diſpenſing goodneſs? What is greatneſs,
If ſingular it ſtands, ſelf-vivified,
Self-taught, ſelf-loving, ſelf-poſſeſſing, all
Center'd in ſelf, detach'd from what gives to it
[36] Its ſubſtance, its ineſtimable worth,
And true original intrinſic value.
The willing tributary love of thoſe
Who feel its warm irradiance, and rejoice?
I ſee no graces in thy towering look,
In thy unfeeling mind, in thy deceit
And treacherous air, thy ſceptre ſway'd in vain,
And grandeur dazzling fools.—Thou curſed ſorcereſs!
Whoſe birth the furies ſmiled when they beheld,
And ſhook their ſnaky locks! Thou bane of peace!
Of every pure, and every holy tie,
Connecting man with man!—Could prayers avail,
Oh, hear me, heaven! drive to her native hell
This harpy peſt, and chain her firmly there,
That ſhe may ne'er embroil the world again,
But harmony may reign, and peace, and love,
And friendſhip's bright, unſullied, maiden fire,
And every grace and virtue.
Enter ARUNS.
Whom have we here?
Say, man of melancholy mood, what doſt thou
Moping alone? Beneath th' umbrageous boughs
Of this deep wood, what ſecret wizard ſpells
Exert'ſt thou to enſlave the ſtruggling moon?
To make the wolves howl, and the ſhepherd-dogs
Start from their unſound ſleep? To make the trees
Set free their earth-clench'd roots, the rivers turn
Back to their ſource, and the old bed-rid earth
Tremble for fear? Nay, do not think I view thee
With dreadful apprehenſion. Did thy eyes
Glance fire, as ſure I think the rays are dim;
Thy mouth ſpit flames, as ſure it never will;
Didſt thou lead growling in thy right hand chain'd
Th' infernal triple-headed dog, as now
I think I only ſpy a pine-branch there,
I'd tell thee with unterrified aſpect
[37] Thou art my priſoner. Come along with me.
Doſt thou draw back? What reaſon can'ſt thou urge?
Sextus expects thee at his feaſt to-night;
I am for thy appearance bound to anſwer;
I heard that thou wert here, and come to bear thee
Willing or not. Come, leave to-night thy love
Of ſolitude e'en in this place, and meet her
To-morrow morning if thou wilt and welcome.
COLLATINUS.
My lord, I am not well, I'm very ſick.
ARUNS.
Sick! and by what phyſician's wiſe advice
Walk'ſt thou expos'd to the damp evening air?
Hangs not the dew upon the dropping leaves?
And doth not Philomela, at the pauſe
Of every penſive ſtrain, turn back her head
And wipe the trickling moiſture from her wing?
Go to, thou art not ſick.
COLLATINUS.
Indeed, I am.
ARUNS.
Indeed thou art! thy hand: ah! ah! I know
A lover's pulſe: rather a wencher's: ah!
Were I to beat the buſhes well around
'Tis ten to one but up the hare would ſtart.
There are three kinds of men, whom I have found
Moſt notable that way.—Firſt your ſhy fellows,
Who hang the head, and if you ſpeak to them,
Are bluſhing ripe immediately. Next thoſe
Who ſhun ſociety, and ſwear that man
Is a curſt creature whom they cannot live with.
Thirdly and laſtly, all religious,
Of all denominations. Theſe three kinds
Of men, have all hot amorous blood, which tingles
Through every vein, and will not give them reſt.
Among the ſecond thou comeſt in point blank,
[38] A mixture haſt thou of the firſt and third;
Though were the gods to ſhake thee, thy religion
Might fall from thee for aught I know, as faſt
As leaves blown from a ſapleſs tree in Autumn.
COLLATINUS.
Doſt thou then think it hangs ſo looſely round me?
Were it indeed bound with firm bands of braſs,
And knit with pins of hardeſt adamant,
Whatever of religion I might have,
Were Aruns but permitted, ſoon he'd ſtrip me,
And leave me naked as himſelf.
ARUNS.
I own, I have no notion of theſe tricks,
Theſe ceremonial farces, ſacrifices,
Prophetic entrails, truth-foreſeeing birds,
Chicken who teach by hieroglyphic peaſe,
And all the holy jugglings, which our prieſts
Would fain perſuade us owe their origin
To th' eſſences divine.—Wilt thou deny
That Numa's nymph Egeria, was a ſtrumpet,
Who met him often in a wood like this?
COLLATINUS.
What profits my denying or affirming?
But ſay, is Aruns likewiſe ignorant
Of that pure incenſe which the breaſt unſpotted
Offers to heaven; that fine ethereal fire
Which by the gods created firſt, and placed
I' th' human boſom, ſed by the fair deeds
Of moral goodneſs, rectitude, and truth,
Flies upward to its native origin?
Hath he no notion of that holy inſtinct
Which bids us look with awe, t'ward the great Ruler
Of heaven and Earth? and of that conſcious pleaſure
Ariſing in the ſoul, when bending low,
In humble reverence, we pay homage due
To the prime Power of all? Who call'd us forth
[39] From the abyſs of nothing into being?
Placed us above th' unthinking grazing herd?
Gave to us reaſon, by whoſe power we ſtand,
Foremoſt of all his works, lords of this world?
Who framed the univerſe for us alone;
And, for our pleaſure? hung the flaming ſky
With all its glowing orbs? Adorn'd the earth
With fruits, with flowers, and herbs of various ſorts?
Fill'd earth, and air, and ocean's womb immenſe
With ſubject creatures, who might yield him homage,
Or be to him for food? Haſt thou no notion?
ARUNS.
Plague on thy notions! Plague upon thy queſtions!
Think'ſt thou the gods high-throned (if ſuch there be)
E'er heed ſuch ſneaking abject two-legg'd animals
As thou and I are? From our praiſe what glory
Can they obtain? Or from our firſt exiſtence
What ſatisfaction? Speculative dreamers
May fancy things like theſe; but chief your buſy
Crafty pretenders, who well know to ſoothe
The ear of ignorance, tell theſe curious tales.
They know to profit by't. The eaſy fool
Swallows their canting potion glibly down,
And looks on them as heaven's own oracles.
'Tis all a jeſt, a may-game, or what's worſe;
Whatever knaves may teach, or aſſes credit,
Eaſe is the pleaſure of th' immortal gods,
And intereſt is the god of mortal men.
COLLATINUS.
Eaſy 'twould be to prove, how ill they merit
The name of deities, who ſit inactive
In ſlothful ſtate, while chance, that is, while nothing
Governs the world, and turns heaven's hinges round.
To prove, that man is from contemptible
Far, far removed; that there are ſome of real
And undiſſembled piety, who feel
[40] What they profeſs, and from theſe feelings teach;
Who in the exerciſe of their devotion,
Taſte greater joy than kings have power to give:
Nor would for th' unlock'd wealth of the wide earth,
Offend 'gainſt that fixt monitor within.
Eaſy it were theſe things to prove to ears
Of ſober ſenſe, and ſerious meditation.
ARUNS.
Oh, mock me not! I am as ſerious
As father Winter, when the cold north-eaſt
Blowing between his ſhoulders through a chink,
Brooding he ſits, and rakes the embers up,
In his ill-furniſhed heart.—To prove it, hence!
Take it, ye winds! 'Tis my religion—hence!
Lighten'd of this, now Collatine and I
May talk together without quarrelling.
I know not what 'tis good for, but to make
Men ſour, and ſplenetic: I'll ne'er ſpeak more
Or for it, or againſt it. Pr'ythee, Collatine,
Forgive me, if in too impertinent
And bold a ſtrain I ſpake in its defence:
'Twas irony, my friend, ſheer irony,
I thank thee that thou didſt retaliate;
I ſee th' abſurdity, and bid a long
Adieu to it for ever.—Hold thy tongue.—
'Tis gone, 'tis hence, 'tis no where, 'tis a theme
For prieſts, for ideots: thou haſt cured me quite;
I have no qualms, not one, away! away!
Adieu!—'tis well.—And now, my Collatine,
I pr'ythee tell me, nay without a jeſt,
In earneſt ſeriouſneſs, what doſt thou here?
And what employ'd thy meditations
When firſt I ſaw thee?
COLLATINUS.
Wilt thou tell me, Aruns,
How I ſhall anſwer thee? for never yet
That I remember did I give to thee
[41] An anſwer thou wert pleaſed withal; if grave,
'Twas mighty dull, if gay, 'twas vaſtly ſilly;
E'en anſwer for me, Aruns, here I am:
Look round; what ſay the objects which thou ſee'ſt?
What ſay the objects which thou left'ſt behind?
ARUNS.
The objects which I left behind, are good;
The objects which I ſee are good; all's good;—
I ſhould not ſpeak at all.—A camp, a wood,
A wood, a camp.—Why I might beat my brains
For ever, e'er rouſe up one new idea.—
Thou art indeed a moralizer, thou
Canſt pick a ſentence out of every ſtone,
And make the ſpringy graſs on which thou tread'ſt
Thy monitor. I'm ſtupid; fancy with me
Is long ſince dead; to each external thing
I'm as indifferent as if they never
Fill'd up their corner of exiſtence. Bleſſing
Upon the Powers above! who ſteel'd my nerves,
And blunted every ſentient faculty,
So that in vain, they'd dart before my ſight
Their flaming thunderbolt.—But what of me?
I from this time appoint thee my preceptor.
I have improved already, I'll improve
Still more, tell me thy meditations.
COLLATINUS.
I will, nor do I think, what I'd not utter
To all mankind. I wiſh with equal truth
All the whole world could ſay ſo.—I will own
I came not to the camp with my good will:
I have no quarrel 'gainſt the Ardeates,
They never injur'd me, nor do I know
A Roman whom they did: but 'twas my duty,
I was commanded, and obey'd; where danger
Raged in the fight, I was not backward: thou
Canſt witneſs for me, 'mid the foremoſt bands
I braved the ruffian Death.—My mind's my own;
[42] My ſervice is my king's. I own I pitied
Thoſe againſt whom I fought; nor wiſh'd to conquer
The brave, the injured. 'Mid the roar of war
I long'd for peace, and when the fight was o'er,
I would have found it in my tent; but there
It was denied; if I gave up one moment
To ſhort reflection, ſtrait intruded on me
Shoals of your new-created officers:
Pert coxcombs, who in words flame in the front,
And ſtare each terror of the field i'th' face;
Though when in arms, half-dead, they only know
Each motion by report: theſe brother ſoldiers
(For ſuch they ſcruple not to call themſelves)
Worried my ears to death: I left the camp.
ARUNS.
No wonder: ſuch as theſe diſgrace the name
Of manhood; oft I've ſeen them pale and wan
Not dare to lift an arm againſt the foe,
Yet talk at ſuch a ſwelling boiſterous rate,
As they would equal our god anceſtor,
And ſlay whole hoſts alone.
COLLATINUS.
Quite diſcontented with myſelf and them,
I hither came.—I caſt my eyes around,
I ſaw the labours of the huſbandman
Deſtroy'd; I ſaw the ſmoaking villages;
A thouſand horrid thoughts of miſery
Struck on my mind; I heard a thouſand groans
Of fathers, mothers, children.—I could not
Refrain from tears, I could not as I live,
To think that induſtry, and innocence,
And ſweet content, and genial home-bred joy,
Should from their native manſions be expell'd,
And their poſſeſſors ſlain perhaps by th' hands
Of brutal violence; or doom'd to lead
A life not worth the name, the prey of want,
[43] Of woe, of anguiſh; 'twas indeed with tears
I thought upon it, and each human glory
Faded before me.
ARUNS.
'Twas moſt lamentable,
And melancholious; I could weep methinks,
At the relation, had I not ſworn ſolemnly,
When ſome years ſince loſt in the melting mood
I play'd the fool egregiouſly, ne'er more
To weep at any rate.—Theſe are ſweet feelings;
I loſe a deal of joy, I know full well,
By not indulging them: but 'tis no matter.—
What a fine tale haſt thou been telling me,
Of troubleſome companions, diſmal ſights,
And ſoft compaſſion melting into tears!—
Think'ſt thou I can't ſee through all theſe pretences?
Once, but not lately, once, when yet a boy,
I felt I know not what of odd emotions;
The peeviſh, amorous, whining, doating god
Had with his arrow pierced my liver through.
When abſent from my love; but not my wife;
I ſigh'd, and groan'd, and ſhook my penſive head,
And ſought out deſert rocks, and nodding pines,
And murmuring ſtreams to ſoothe my ſickening ſoul.
And if a friend by chance had found me out,
And aſk'd what ail'd me, Ail me, gravely ſaid I,
I'm pitying the vices of the world,
And thinking of its follies; though myſelf
Was then a child of folly, and as true a one
As any ſhe e'er bore; a woman's fool.—
But do not weep again: when theſe ſame wars,
Theſe curſed wars, are over, it ſhall ſee
Its own true love again; yes, that it ſhall,
It ſhall, it ſhall.
COLLATINUS.
Now may I die—
ARUNS.
[44]No falſe profeſſions, good my friend; die ſay'ſt thou!
No, live; live while thou may'ſt;—we ſtand upon
A hanging bank faſt crumbling in the ſtream
Of headlong time; if ſwoll'n by rains, or vex'd
By raging winds, perhaps an hour, a moment,
Sweeps us away; and ſhall we aid, ourſelves,
Each fatal accident? Heap up a load
Upon our ſhoulders, doubling our own weight,
And plunging in the waves before our day?—
Likeſt thou the metaphor? Come then with me;
And we'll to-night laugh off theſe clogging weights;
So that at leaſt we will inſure ourſelves
Some twelve hours longer; hence with diſcontent;
Why ſhould we purſe our brows up, when the hand
Of youth, would keep them ſmooth? Come we're ex⯑pected;
Sextus will have no Nay; and go with me
Willing or not, you muſt.
COLLATINUS.
Well, I will follow;
Go you before.
ARUNS.
No, thou ſhalt with me go.
If once the fowler caſt aſide his eyes,
The ſtricken bird he thought a deſtined prize,
Hides in the ſedge; he looks around in vain,
The ſhy eluder ne'er ſhall he obtain.
[Exeunt.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

[45]

SCENE I. The Tent of Sextus.SEXTUS, TITUS, ARUNS, BRUTUS, COLLATINUS, HORATIUS, HERMINIUS, And others, as drinking after the Banquet.
BRUTUS, pretending drunkenneſs.
I Say it was not right, it was not right, [To Herminius.
And had you been in Greece you'd have learn'd other⯑wiſe;
Contrary to all the rules of war! Why, look ye,
Sir;—What's your name?—You know no more o'th' matter
Than a crack'd egg.—A general indeed!—
What ſignify numbers?—Superiority!
I ſay ſuperiority is a word
I have no complaiſance for;—No, Sir, none;—
And I would beat the Rutili, though their armies
Were full of ſuperiorities.
ARUNS.
He would, indeed.
You ſtand no chance, Herminius, if you talk
With Brutus on the art of war.
BRUTUS.
I think ſo;
I think ſo truly; let my head alone
For th' art of war; I have a brain, I have;—
Look ye—the art of war—is a fine art:
You muſt not talk with me, indeed you muſt not:
No, no.—Hard, grating taſk! But 'tis the end, the end.
Lie ſtill each ſpark of reaſon, deep obſcured [Aſide.
Beneath diſſimulation's cloſe-drawn veil.
HERMINIUS.
[46]I humbly aſk your wiſdom's pardon, Brutus;
I did not mean offence; and know in argument
I ſhould come off with you at ſecond beſt.
BRUTUS.
I do believe 't, indeed—the art of war!
You talk of th' art of war!
SEXTUS.
No more, no more;
Come, fill your glaſſes round till they o'erflow;
Here's to the art of war, and noble Brutus!
ALL.
Here's to the art of war, and noble Brutus?
SEXTUS.
Would I'd a crown of laurel here to bind
Around the brow of Brutus, green as that
Which ſhades Apollo's ever-youthful front,
Ne'er fear'd by th' blaſting light'ning, or burnt up
By the ſun's ſcorching ray!—But I have none;—
What honours ſhall we give to noble Brutus?
TITUS.
Reſign thy ſeat; create him arbiter;
And bend before him.
BRUTUS.
Yes, I'll be arbiter;—
What! we've more virtue's friends than one or two:—
Bacchus himſelf is but a fool to me:
I will cry Iö longer than he ſhall.—
I'll teach you how to drink. Come, never flinch it.—
Here's to the cultivation now of Ethics,
Ethos, our Mos, it is of Greek extraction.
Aye, and I'd have you all to know it too,
I am a ſcholar, that I am; and learning,
I ſuck'd it with my milk.
COLLATINE, [Aſide.]
O miſerable, and degraded type
[47] Of man! unhandy and half-finiſh'd work
Of nature! Is this a thing to laugh at? No.
I could not laugh, though ſmiles were plenty with me
As th' hairs upon my head.
SEXTUS.
Come, my good Brute! why ſit we ſtill? Our lips
Are thirſty, and with earneſtneſs deſire
The beverage of the god; put round, put round.
BRUTUS.
We will ſo, when we pleaſe. Brute ſay you! Brute!
Are we not arbiter? Are we not royal?
King of the feaſt?—Brute! Brute, Sir, in your teeth.
What! Brute indeed!
ARUNS.
Moſt noble arbiter!
TITUS.
Moſt royal king o'th' feaſt! if it pleaſe your greatneſs,
The dignity, and height of your large excellency!
SEXTUS.
Moſt worthy and renown'd! abſolute Sir!
BRUTUS.
We're molliſied; and bear not callous ears.
SEXTUS.
Come then, here's to the faireſt nymph in Italy;
And ſhe's in Rome.
ARUNS.
Here's to the faireſt nymph in Italy;
And ſhe is not in Rome.
SEXTUS.
Where is ſhe then?
ARUNS.
Aſk Collatine; he'll ſwear ſhe's at Collatia.
SEXTUS.
His wife!
ARUNS.
E'en ſo.
TITUS.
[48]Is it ſo, Collatine?
Well, 'tis praiſe-worthy in this vicious age
To ſee a young man true to his own ſpouſe.—
Oh! 'tis a vicious age.—When I behold
One who is bold enough to ſteer againſt
The wind and tide of cuſtom, I behold him
With veneration; 'tis a vicious age.
HERMINIUS, to HORATIUS.
True things are ſpoke in jeſt; I like not this.
HORATIUS.
Nor I.
BRUTUS. [Aſide.]
Our youths are waxing warm.—To my feign'd part
Pretended ſleep ſhall give ſome little pauſe.
COLLATINUS.
Princes, I aſk you not to ſtay
Your mirth, though I'm the ſubject; if to love
My wife's ridiculous, I'll join the laugh;
Though haply I ſhall not laugh at myſelf.
ARUNS.
The conſcious wood was witneſs to his ſighs,
The conſcious Dryads wiped their watery eyes,
For they beheld the wight forlorn to-day,
And ſo did I;—but I ſhall not betray.—
Here now he is however, thanks to me;
That is, his ſemblance, for his ſoul dwells hence.—
How was it when you parted? She;—My love
Fear not, good ſooth I'll very conſtant prove.—
He;—And ſo will I, for wherefoe'er I ſteer,
'Tis but this mortal clay, my ſoul is here.
SEXTUS.
And pr'y thee, Collatine, in what array
Did the god Hymen come to thee? How dreſs'd,
And how equipp'd? I fear me much he left
His torch behind, ſo that thou could'ſt not ſee
[49] A fault in thy beloved, but haſt ſince
Judg'd by the touch alone; or was the blaze
So burning bright, that thy bedazzled eyes
Have ſince refuſed their office?
COLLATINUS.
And doth Sextus
Judge by his own experience then of others?
To him, I make no doubt, hath Hymen's torch
Diſcovered faults enow: what pity 'twas
He had not likewiſe in his other hand
A mirror brought, wherein t' have read himſelf.
SEXTUS.
'Tis well; I like thee now: and this I anſwer;
Now thou art gay, I will be mighty grave,
And much we ſhall not loſe by th' interchange.
In ſober ſadneſs, this my own experience
Hath taught me; this is my opinion,
Of which I would not give a tittle up,
Though ſtrait-laced Pallas ſhould appear in perſon.
That women are moſt dear, delicious,
Inconſtant creatures, artful, amorous,
Fruitful in ſchemes to pleaſe their changeful fancies,
And fruitful in reſources when diſcovered.
Before aſſurance, and a tongue well-hinged,
They fall by thouſands; a ſtrait back, a leg
Well-turn'd, and nimble, cutting quick vaults well,
A lively eye, yet in their preſence bending
As if o'er-awed; theſe, with th' aforeſaid graces,
Will madden them by millions; from the girl
Who feeds on chalk, to the grave married matron
Who is ſo chaſte, forſooth, ſhe wipes her mouth
After her huſband, leſt the breath of man,
If ſettling there too long, ſhould taint her virtue.
I uſe them as they are; their native paſſion,
I know, is love of novelty; however,
Others more ſubaltern, as love of riches,
[50] Grandeur, and ſhew, may ſeem to over-ſway it;
Hence, tho' they ſwear they love me wonderous well
After ſome little time, I know the gentle
And pretty creatures heed not the ſtrict truth:
I know it is not for myſelf they love me;
So delicacy bids me rove again;
I pleaſe their darling paſſion, and am bleſs'd.
COLLATINUS.
This is the common cant; the ſtale, groſs, idle,
Unmeaning jargon of all thoſe who, conſcious
Of their own littleneſs of ſoul, avoid
With timid eye the face of modeſt virtue,
All thoſe who to the name of womanhood
Join dignity of ſoul, and innocence
Unſtain'd by inward baſe deſire; who fluſh'd
With triumphs over thoſe they dare attack,
The weak, or forward, thoſe whoſe lines of feature
Proclaim there's no reſiſtance to be made,
Or thoſe who ſpring obtruſive forth, and meet
Half-way the doughty champions; ſtrait declare,
(And fain would make their ſhallow notions current)
That woman-kind are all alike, all arrant
And willing daughters of the game, and hoot
At virtue, whereſoever ſhe paſſes by them.
I have ſeen ſparks like theſe, and I have ſeen
A little worthleſs village cur all night
Bay with inceſſant noiſe the ſilver moon,
While ſhe ſerene, throned in her pearled car
Sail'd in full ſtate along.—But Sextus' judgment
Owns not his words, and the reſemblance glances
On others, not on him.
SEXTUS.
Let it glance where and upon whom it will,
Sextus is mighty careleſs of the matter.
When to the moon we ſtray for ſimiles,
'Tis to be fear'd, our wit is lunatic.
[51] However, my intent went with my words.
Now hear what I have ſeen: I've ſeen ſome fathers
Who have with care kept up their daughters houſed,
For no deformity of mind or perſon;
No, not i'th' leaſt; though wherefore otherwiſe
They chain them thus, heaven knows: I have ſeen men
Who have theſe monſters married; pardon me,
I meant theſe extraordinary beauties;
Young men indeed, and novices that way,
And they at ſuch a rate have doated on them—
COLLATINUS.
Sextus, no more, leſt I forget myſelf,
And thee. I tell thee, prince—
ARUNS.
I tell you both—Great king of gods and men!
Why muſt we tongue-tied ſit, and mute, attending
To brawls like theſe? Are theſe fit offerings
For Bacchus' ſhrine? He, peaceful god, delights
In other gifts; a plague upon you both!
If ye muſt needs rail thus, ſtay till to-morrow,
And to it faſting.—Collatine, think not
I diſcommend thy warmth, it is becoming.
TITUS.
Indeed I rate it high in eſtimation;
Fidelity in love is a rare quality,
And merits praiſe: but how much rarer is it,
And more deſerving praiſe in married life?
Hold, Sextus, hold for ſhame.
SEXTUS.
Why, pray, good Sir, may I not praiſe the wife
Of this ſame teſty froward gentleman?
Her ſhape ſlender and delicate? her face
Breathing the air of beauty? her ſweet eyes,
Their fire mellowly temper'd? (though I never
Beheld her in my life) yet why might not
My tongue, prompted by pregnant fancy, form her
[52] A type of excellent perfection?
And from her perſon turning, (as I ſhould,
Had I not been withheld by interruption)
Have on her many virtues deſcanted,
But on his cheek offence muſt quivering ſit,
And dream'd-of inſult, the abortive child
Of miſconſtruction, whoſe near-ſighted eye
Diſcerns not jeſt from real?
COLLATINUS.
And would Sextus
Perſuade me, that I am indeed ſo weak,
As that my brain confuſed, blends oppoſite
And ſundry kinds of phantaſies together,
Letting go all diſtinction? that I read
The acts and words of others, always contrary
To their intent? E'en think ſo, there's no harm in it;
I heed it not; jeſt on; I'll aid your humour:
Let Aruns uſe me for his mirth and laughter,
And Titus deck me with ironic praiſe;
With all my care I'll foſter the miſtake;
Nor ſhall my ſelf-importance undeceive you.
But when you touch a nearer, dearer ſubject,
Periſh the man, nay, may he doubly periſh,
Who can ſit ſtill, and hear with ſneaking coolneſs,
The leaſt abuſe, or ſhadow of a ſlight,
Caſt on the woman whom he loves! though here
Your praiſe and blame are equally alike,
Nor really add the leaſt, or take away
From her a hundredth minim of a grain
Of her true value, more than they would add
To th' holy gods, or from their ſtate diminiſh.
ARUNS.
If that a man might dare to ope his lips
When Collatinus frowns, he, I preſume,
Without incurring cenſure of prophaneneſs,
Or blaſphemy 'gainſt his domeſtic, private,
[53] Conjugal goddeſs, might enlarge upon
The qualities belonging to his own.
I grant you that Lucretia is divine,
I don't deny her apotheoſis:
Yet will I ſay my wife is not amiſs,
That is, taken as a woman; your divinities
Need not regard the duties of the houſe,
Their minds are too ſublime: 'tis theirs to range
In queſt of pleaſure: pleaſure is divine,
And mortals muſt not think to graſp at it:
Yet as a woman, could my eyes but reach
As far as Rome, I make no doubt they'd ſee
My wife far otherwiſe employ'd, and better,
Far better, as a woman, than the deity
Reſiding at Collatia.
TITUS.
And mine beyond them both employ'd; more careful,
More houſe-wife like.
SEXTUS.
Well-timed; I'll ſeize th' occaſion:
View this Lucretia e'er I ſleep, and ſatisfy
My ſenſes whether bruiting Fame ſays true. [Aſide.
I'll ſtake my life, and let us mount our horſes,
And poſt away this inſtant toward Rome,
That we ſhall find thy wife, and his, and his,
Making the moſt of this their liberty.
What! 'tis the ſex: enjoying to the full
The ſwing of licence which their huſbands' abſence
Affords. I'll ſtake my life that this is true.
And that my own (ill as I may deſerve it)
Knows her ſtate beſt, keeps beſt within the bounds
Her ſituation claims; that ſhe is with her family,
While yours are feaſting at their neighbours' houſes,
Or rioting at home.—What ſay'ſt thou, Collatine?
COLLATINUS.
[54]Had I two lives I'd ſtake them on the trial,
Nor fear to live both out.
SEXTUS.
Let us away then.
ARUNS.
With all mine heart.
TITUS.
And mine.
COLLATINUS.
What mean you, pray?
You are not really mad!
SEXTUS.
He would retract
What he hath ſaid; but we'll proceed to trial;
You go with us, by Jupiter.
COLLATINUS.
Is't right,
Think you, had we a cauſe more urgent, thus
To quit the camp? Should Tarquin hear of it—
SEXTUS.
Oh, heed not Tarquin: pray you, good Sir, peace.
We'll wing our horſes; well we may get there,
And back again, e'er the ſhrill-ſounding bird
Pipe to the morning ſtar. Yet e'er we go,
Once let the flagon circle to our wives:
What ſays our arbiter?
BRUTUS, ſtarting out of his feigned ſleep.
Wives! aye, aye, yes, yes, wives! there's mine
A paragon when time was; aye, and virtuous,
Chaſte as the lily, aye, and prudent too,
And a good houſewife; ſour a little or ſo;
Tart, tart and humourſome. Sextus Tarquin, Sextus,
You old king's youngeſt ſon, ſay am I drunk?
I am not drunk, by Saturn: you are Aruns;
No, you are Sextus; ah, I love thee, Sextus;
[55] I will be heard: what doſt thou laugh at, villain? [To Claudius, who attends.
I'm arbiter I ſay, I'm arbiter;
And to be laugh'd at! Why Herminius,
Laugh'd at! why how, what, Oh— [Pretends to ſleep again.
SEXTUS.
What my unconquerable Brute, again
Deceas'd! quite gone! Come, crown the arbiter!
The empty bowl, ſit emblem of the head
It ſits upon.—Come, let us haſte to horſe:
I long to ſee this phoenix of her ſex,
This earthly deity, this divine mortal,
Who hath alone poſſeſſion ta'en of heaven,
And keeps out all the reſt of women: a plague!
'Tis rather hard on them: rather in her
Shews not an over-burthen of good-nature,
To hoard up all perfection in herſelf.
Her qualities dealt forth among the reſt,
Would make them oreads, dryads, no contemptible
Objects of worſhip—Collatine, why grave?
Tut, man, thou'rt not the firſt, that hath miſtaken
A cloud for a ſubſtance; women have fine outſides,
Fair bluſhing cheeks, and modeſt-looking eyes,
And tongues more ſoſt—aye, and hearts too, hearts, hearts,
My Collatinus; and in them—Come, come
Be gay.
COLLATINUS.
I am not ſad.
SEXTUS.
But fearful for th' event.
COLLATINUS.
Not in the leaſt.
SEXTUS.
A little.
COLLATINUS.
[56]Not a whit,
You do not know Lucretia.
SEXTUS.
But we ſhall.
Come, without more delay. Do you along
Horatius and Herminius?
HORATIUS.
We are ordered
On duty by the king your father.
SEXTUS.
Well,
E'en what you will.
ARUNS.
But what of Brutus there?
Shall we take him with us?
SEXTUS.
Oh, by all means:
His ſhallow brain is ſoon o'erflowed with wine,
And ſoon the quick tide ebbs, and leaves him dry.
We'll to thy tent, Aruns; let him ſleep here:
Juſt e'er we mount our horſes, we'll ſend for him,
Though he's ſo poor a brute, yet ſome how cuſtom
Makes neceſſary vile ſociety.
Come, will you hence?
[Exeunt.
BRUTUS alone.
Poor, poor indeed; for no one is my friend,
And I am friend to none: but I ſay falſe,
For I'm a friend to all mankind but tyrants.
Yet have I never known the dear affinity
Which ſprings from mutual truſt, when the full heart
Bounds to meet heart; ne'er felt the double joy
Caught from communication; and fierce grief
Hath in my breaſt emptied his ſtore of arrows:
Nor have I dared ſeek out one kind phyſician
To pour his lenient balm. Pitied by ſome;
[57] Laugh'd at by moſt; by my own wife deſpiſed;
Who for convenience wedded, as did I
For ſake of offspring. Would to heaven I had not!
For I have been no father to my ſons;
I could be none; their minds unſchool'd, nay worſe,
Corrupt; which they, I fear, and I ſhall rue;
And let us rue it; friendſhip I give up,
And tear each private tie from my fix'd heart;
Happy beyond all poſſibility
Of ſmall contracted life, could I achieve
That purpoſe.—Could achieve! aye, that is it—
Why can I not achieve it? Oh, that gnaws!
I feel it deeply here.—The tyrant lives,
A politic tyrant; curſe on 's policy!
Forever hath he kept the ſtate in motion,
Nor given a reſting-place on which to ſet
A foot againſt him. War eternally
Abroad, or works of ſlavery at home,
Buſy the youth of Rome: theſe laſt, I know,
Ill ſuit their free-born minds; and diſcontent
Sat lowering in their looks when they left Rome.
The hopes of plunder only drew them thence,
And that forced ardour cool'd by this delay,
They murmur in their hearts, and curſe the power
And wild ambition which hath brought them hither.
Enter CLAUDIUS.
Ho! Brutus!
BRUTUS.
Say, what would'ſt thou?
CLAUDIUS.
Come with me.
BRUTUS.
Thou might'ſt at leaſt have ſaid, if I ſo pleaſe.
CLAUDIUS.
[58]So pleaſe! the princes did not pleaſe to ſay ſo.
BRUTUS.
Go tell the princes then, whether they pleaſe
Or thou, I beat thee thus, and thus.
CLAUDIUS.
O Jove!
I'll ne'er jeſt with a fool more when he's drunk:
His wit lies in his hand.
BRUTUS.
Begone, unleſs
Thou waiteſt for the other blow; and pleaſe
To tell the princes I'll be with them ſtrait.
[Exit Claudius.
BRUTUS.
This bears a face. Hold!—Let me ſee—To give
Theſe madmen now the ſlip: and when they're gone,
Ruſh in the midſt o'th' camp, put on myſelf,
And with th' impetuous language of the ſoul
Rouſe up th' enthuſiaſt flame.—
The ſoldiers, without doubt, will ſee the change
With wonder, and amaze: and to poſſeſs them,
Some god had wrought the miracle, would be
An holy lie, which they perhaps would ſwallow:
And ſo their paſſions might be work'd t' a pitch
Even of deſperation, which would prove
Fatal to the arch-tyrant. But theſe paſſions
Will ſoon ſubſide: and, fond of novelty,
They'll from the ſon expect a milder reign;
And by fair words, and ſilver promiſes,
Again be bubbled, and repent too late.
And what becomes of me? I die, nought done;
Or ſkulk away my life in baniſhment,
For ever prey'd on by remorſe, not chear'd
By one faint gleam of what hath long ſuſtain'd me,
Hope, and which ſtill forſakes me not. Beſides
[59] His ſons may have poſſeſſion of the city:
And there are hoſtages, the wives, the children
Of all the ſoldiery; ſure, certain pledges
Of their fidelity: Of this no more.—
As I am known to none for what I am,
To me all men are open, and diſcover
Their inmoſt thoughts; though not in words expreſs,
Yet in the ſpeaking motions of their eyes
And lines of face, in which my mind, unſeen
As th' airy miniſters, reads thoſe of others.
Valerius is the ſoul of honeſty,
Brave, generous, hating arbitrary ſway;
So is Lucretius, ſo are th' prime o'th' army:
Horatius and Herminius; ſay to theſe
I ſhould unſold myſelf? I will. To-night,
When I reach Rome, I'll ſeek out the two firſt;
And if I find, on trial, they are apt,
Will lay ſome ſhare o'th' load on them, which I
Have borne ſo long alone; I think together,
E'er leaden time ſhall creep on many a day,
We may contrive ſome glorious means to free
Our bleeding country from the ſavage gripe
Of lawleſs power, heal all her feſtering wounds,
And once again attire her in the robes
Of godlike freedom.
[Exit.

SCENE II. Rome.

LUCRETIUS, to a Servant.

If any meſſenger comes from the camp,

Or with particular and urgent buſineſs,

You'll find me with Valerius: otherwiſe,

To whomſoe'er enquires, give for an anſwer

That I am gone abroad you know not whither.

SERVANT.

[60]

I ſhall, my lord.

LUCRETIUS.

This night, in undiſturb'd ſociety,

I'll commune with Valerius. What a man!

In whom I doubt which moſt t' admire, the ſtrict

Severity of manners he poſſeſſes,

And unaffected virtue, which might well

Become the days of yore, e'er Saturn left

Theſe our Heſperian fields, and the juſt maid

Sought the ſupernal manſions; or th' unfeign'd

And pious love he bears his bleeding country;

Or the ſincere, ſtrong-beaming warmth of friendſhip.

Friendſhip! Oh, truly glorious name! not that,

Giddy and thoughtleſs, which inſtinctively

Leads t'ward a fancied good, deluded youth,

By health begotten, and quick flow of ſpirits,

Oft fading from the moment it is born:

Not that which courtiers deal in, and the knave

Profeſſes to his mate, which laſts no longer

Than ſhines the ſun of fortune; but which, proved

By true experiment, and frequent uſe,

Is found a ſettled principle, a tie

Strength'ned by habit; what is fair and honeſt

Link'd to what's fair and honeſt; ſure the man

Who knows not this is wretched; he who knows it,

Can ne'er be totally unhappy.

[Exit.

Enter BRUTUS, to the Servant.

Belong'ſt thou to Lucretius?

SERVANT.

Yes.

BRUTUS.

I pr'y thee

[61] Tell him, unleſs buſineſs of conſequence

Employs his time, I fain would ſpeak with him.

SERVANT.

He that would ſpeak with him at preſent, wants

What he's not likely to obtain.

BRUTUS.

Why ſo?

If he's at home—

SERVANT.

But if he's not at home.—

My if for yours.

BRUTUS.

But know'ſt thou where he is?

SERVANT.

Perhaps I do; what then?

BRUTUS.

Acquaint me where

He may be ſpoke withal.

SERVANT.

Bring you a meſſage?

Came you from Tarquin?

BRUTUS.

No.

SERVANT.

Then I know not

Where you can find him.

BRUTUS.

But he muſt be found;

Matters of moment have I to impart,

And what concern him nearly.

SERVANT.

Nothing material can he have, I warrant,

His company may always well be ſpared.

[Aſide.

I know not where he is, nor can I give

[62] Directions where to find him; but ſome time

E'er midnight he'll return: or if you ſtay

Until the morning, chance is on your ſide

But you may ſee him.

BRUTUS.

Pr'ythee, honeſt friend—

SERVANT.

Honeſt indeed, but not a fool, I trow.

BRUTUS.

Doſt thou know me?

SERVANT.

Oh, mighty well; good night;

I mean not to get cold by waiting on you.

[Exit.

BRUTUS alone.

Thus 'tis we plan; and thus our favourite ſchemes

Are blaſted in the bud; we travel on

The road of life; we caſt our ſight far forward;

We think we ſpy the goal, our eyes are fix'd,

And fancy gives us earneſt of poſſeſſion:

Meanwhile ten thouſand, thouſand accidents,

Each as minute, and imperceptible,

As the fine floating threads of Midſummer,

Obliquely croſs us; ſmall, yet ſtrong as fate.

Our progreſs is denied; the nerves of action

Are firmly fetter'd; as with idle toil

We ſtrive to extricate ourſelves, dark night ſteals on,

We fall, and haply never riſe again,

Ne'er ſee the ruddy face of morn: or loſt

In fogs and miſts rove darkling, till arriv'd

At where we firſt ſet out, we ſtrive again,

Again are baffled by the ſturdy trifles,

And ſink at laſt fatigued, and quite o'ercome,

Into the arms of death. Sorrowful thought!

But yet in ſtrictneſs true.—Come life, come death,

He hath not lived in vain, who ſo hath lived

To ſatisfy himſelf.—Poor argument!

[63] In reaſon good, in practice weak.—For me,

I am not ſatisfied, nor will be ſatisfied,

Miſſing the mark.—Tut—This is woman's play,

Meer words, meer words—deeds are the teſt of man.

And there I fail; a pufillanimous,

Tame, indolent, vile driveler.—But ceaſe, ceaſe;

Can I command occaſion? Wreſt the ſway

Of mortal things from the ſtrong rule of Heaven?

And to my will bend the reluctant ſtep

Of coy contingency? O you high Powers!

Into your hands do I reſign myſelf.

Might I be uſed the humble inſtrument

To free my country, Oh, how bleſs'd were I!

If Rome muſt ſink, if I muſt live in vain,

And die as I have lived, I will not murmur;

I'm nothing; you are wiſe, and juſt, and good.—

Yet why not ſeek Valerius? Heaven, and earth!

It is too late; here come the rioters;

I can't eſcape them; yet a time may be—

Yet, hence deſpair; ſtill thou and I are twain.

Enter SEXTUS, TITUS, COLLATINUS, ARUNS.

ARUNS.

May they all hang, or ſtarve, or drown themſelves!

And may each ſeveral kind of death be mine,

When I again preſume to promiſe aught

Upon a woman's head.

TITUS.

We're trapp'd indeed,

And Collatine will bear away the bell.

SEXTUS.

I do not think ſo, man. What, though our wives

Love muſic? there is muſic at Collatia.

What, though they love dancing and jollity?

There are trim gallants at Collatia.

[64] What, though they love feaſting and revelry?

Are they not feaſts and revels at Collatia?

ARUNS.

But ſuch a hubbub, ſuch a monſtrous din,

So wild a roar, I never heard before.

I could have ſworn, the frantic Bacchanals

Were come from Thrace. The ſhrieks o'th' Sabine maids

When raviſh'd, were not heard ſo far away

As this ſhrill mirth. I fear'd to paſs the threſhold,

And trembled for my head; yet it was well

That they were all together; for it ſaved

Our precious time. Yet do not triumph, Collatine;

Or rather triumph now, for now thou may'ſt,

Creſt-fallen ſhalt thou be anon.

COLLATINUS.

For me

To triumph, were abſurd; more ſober joy,

Believe me, ſhall be mine. As for my creſt,

I truſt, a ſingle fibre of the plume

Shall not be ſoil'd to-night.

SEXTUS.

We'll try that ſoon.

Whom have we here? Hah, 'tis our run-away.

Come hither, fugitive, where haſt thou been?

How daredſt thou leave us? What art doing here?

BRUTUS.

Doing here! I was doing nought at all.

At yonder corner of the ſtreet I miſs'd you,

And thought you turn'd this way.

SEXTUS.

My witty Brute,

Give thee a poſſibility of wrong,

And thou wilt ne'er go right.

BRUTUS.

I could not help it, 'twas no fault of mine;

I came this way, and deem'd that I was right,

[65] Though baulk'd by fortune, I could not attain

The ſought-for end. But will you turn again

Toward my houſe? Shall we not ſee my wife?

SEXTUS.

Thy wife! without a doubt we'll ſee thy wife:

But not at preſent; ſome weeks hence or months

Will ſerve the turn: and in the interim

Take heed thou giveſt her warning of our purpoſe,

That ſhe may be at home.—Now to our horſes.

Come, hurry, it grows late; I'm all impatience

To place this haughty Sir, on an equality

With thoſe he ſeems to mock: a little hour

Will turn the laugh, when he may dear repent

This fancied maſterſhip.

COLLATINUS.

Proceed, and try,

Speak at your leiſure.

SEXTUS.

So ſanguine ſtill! ſo full of hopes!

COLLATINUS.

So ſure

In ſtable knowledge.

SEXTUS.

Vain ſelf-flattery!

I'll hear no more; haſte, haſte! Brutus, before,

And lead the way!—Th' alertneſs of our chief,

Methinks, ſhould animate us.

TITUS.

Certainly.

ARUNS.

It doth; I haſte with all convenient ſpeed.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Collatia.

[66]

LUCRETIA, at work with her maids.

LUCRETIA.

I thank thee for thy tale, Lavinia,

Though little heeded; it would raiſe my mirth

Sometimes; though now I could not but retreat,

To that which Clelia had before related.

And didſt thou know the youth, my Clelia?

CLELIA.

Full well I knew him; 'twas my ſiſter's ſon.

Oft e'er he died, for he was long a dying,

I went to ſee him; oftimes he ran o'er

Each circumſtance of his unhappy love,

And the cold ſcorn which prey'd upon his heart.

And when his cheeks were wan, and his fair eyes,

Which once the livelieſt that e'er glanced the flame

Of ardent faithful paſſion, were grown dim,

And ſcarce to be perceiv'd; when his ſtrength ſail'd,

And in a low weak tone he call'd me to him,

Entreated me, if ever I eſteem'd him,

To keep the ſecret from the cruel maid,

Nor offer his departed ſoul a violence,

By giving of her pain; then, with a feeble

And trembling motion, preſs'd my hand t' his boſom,

Till I was almoſt dead as well as he.

LUCRETIA.

And what became of her? I think thou ſaid'ſt,

She with remorſe was ſeiz'd; and at the hour

Of midnight, ſtarting from her bed, ſought out

The grave where he was buried.

CLELIA.

There ſhe died.

I think, that with th' aſſiſtance of Camilla,

[67] I can make out a dittie, which was framed

On that occaſion; but 'tis melancholy,

And you have heard enough of woe already.

LAVINIA.

Oh! for the ſake of heaven, keep to yourſelf

Your gloomy dirge; remember, that my miſtreſs

Lies all alone; ſhe will not wink an eye;

Or if ſhe does, will dream of them, and wake

In ſad affright.

LUCRETIA.

Oh, fear not, my Lavinia:

Though much I like theſe tales of native woe,

I have no ſuperſtition, and no fears,

Which will diſturb repoſe. How thou art moved,

I know not; but to me, a pleaſing calm

Succeeds theſe narratives of grief o'erpaſt;

And though I ſympathiſe, when they are told,

It is a joy I would not be without:

For always, in my mind, Lavinia,

The ſoft delight, which feeling pity brings,

Though but indulged a moment, far excels

An age of wanton gay feſtivity,

Which the vague ſoul enjoys not while it taſtes.

Clelia, begin; Camilla, you aſſiſt her.

BALLAD.

1.Daughter of fruitleſs woe ariſe!
And quit this yew-tree's noxious ſhade;
O'er Nature midnight brooding lies,
And poiſonous vapours load the glade.

[68]II.

Ah, gentle ſtranger, leave, I pray,

A wretch with woe forlorn, like me;

I wiſh to be alone; thy ſtay

Doth but augment my miſery.

III.Daughter of fruitleſs woe, ariſe!
The clouds of heaven begin to lour,
The cold north-eaſt now bleakly flies,
And drives along the ſleety ſhower.

IV.Stranger, in vain thou ſeek'ſt to move,
This pillow ſhall ſupport my head;
This grave, in which lies my true love,
Ah, when alas, ſhall I be dead!

V.Daughter of fruitleſs woe, ariſe!
Doſt thou not know how vain thy tears?
Canſt thou recall him by thy ſighs?
Will he return to all thy prayers?

VI.Stranger, thou didſt not know the youth;
Nor yet the love to me he bore;
Thou wert no witneſs to his truth,
Ne'er heard'ſt thou his perſuaſive lore.

VII.Too well, I know, my fruitleſs woe,
Can ne'er recall his vital breath;
But I to his embrace can go,
And ſeek him in the houſe of death.

VIII.Daughter of fruitleſs woe, ariſe!
Alas! to ears all deaf I ſpeak;
Cold damps ſuffuſe her dying eyes,
Life's quivering beam forſakes her cheek.

LUCRETIA.

[69]

Thanks, Clelia; thanks, Camilla. (In this humour,

I'll pray unto the gods, and then to reſt.)

[Aſide.

How wears the night, my damſels? Are your taſks

Near ended?—Gracious Powers! who enters here!

My lord! moſt welcome.—

Enter COLLATINUS, TITUS, SEXTUS, BRUTUS, ARUNS.

COLLATINUS.

Welcome, theſe my friends,

Lucretia, our right royal maſter's ſons;

Paſſing this way, I have prevail'd with them,

To honour our poor houſe.

LUCRETIA.

Welcome, yourſelf!

And doubly welcome, that you bring ſuch friends!

To whom I offer ſilent thankfulneſs.

My heart is full of joy.—Retire, my damſels,

And think on other work.

ARUNS.

Rather, fair lady,

You ſhould be angry, that unſeaſonably,

And with abrupt intruſion, we've thus broke

Upon your privacy.

LUCRETIA.

No, my good lord;

Thoſe t' whom my love, and my reſpect is due,

Can ne'er intrude upon me; had I known

This viſit, you, perhaps, might have been treated

With better cheer, not a more kind reception.

This evening, little did I think my houſe

Would have poſſeſs'd ſuch lodgers.

TITUS.

Rather, lady,

Such birds of paſſage; we muſt hence to-night.

LUCRETIA.

[70]

To night! Doth not my lord, ſay no to that?

COLLATINUS.

I would, Lucretia; but it cannot be.

If the houſe yields a ſmall collation,

To ſet before your gueſts, I pray prepare it:

We muſt be at the camp, e'er morning dawn;

An hour or two will be the utmoſt limit

Allow'd us here.

LUCRETIA.

With all the ſpeed, I can,

I'll play the caterer; though I am tempted,

Would that delay your journey, to be tardy,

And prove a ſluggiſh houſewife.

[Exit.

ARUNS.

This is, indeed, a wife! here the diſpute

Muſt end. Henceforth, there's no compariſon.

I could have ſworn it was not in my nature,

To envy any married man his bargain;

Nor do I envy thee: but 'tis a wife

Of wives, I can't but own, a jewel pick'd

From out the common pebbles. To have found her

At work among her maids, at this late hour,

Plying the needle, is not ſtrange at all,

When I have ſeen what I beheld juſt now,

(And yet I could not have believ'd e'en that)

But to be pleas'd at our rude interruption,

Not to ſqueeze out a quaint apology,

As, "I am quite aſham'd; ſo unprepar'd;

"Who could have thought! Would I had known of it!"

And ſuch-like tacit hints, to tell her gueſts

She wiſhes them away; this carriage cauſes

Some little wonder.—Envy! No—Yes—No.

I give thee joy, my friend; and yet her beauty,

Might in ſome men, raiſe envy; but I know not

What envy means.—Thou'rt happy, Collatine;

[71] Thou muſt be happy, if thou know'ſt thy happineſs.

What think'ſt thou, Brutus?

BRUTUS.

Happineſs conſiſts

In thought, in thinking; that's to ſay, that happineſs

Is ours if we are happy—that's to ſay,

We're happy, if we think that happineſs

Is ours, then we are happy.

ARUNS.

That's all true;

Or, that's to ſay, in verity thy words

Are truly wiſe; the cream of rhetoric,

And marrow of morality, is thine.

TITUS.

I muſt expreſs my ſatisfaction too;

And glad I am, that our diſpute occaſion'd

This journey hither; if once Collatine

Complain'd of my ironic praiſe, his conſcience

Muſt tell him I'm ſincere, when I affirm

I think him bleſs'd beyond compariſon

In ſuch a peerleſs dame.

COLLATINUS.

Enough, enough.

The gods forbid I ſhould affect indifference,

And ſay you flatter me; I am moſt happy.

But Sextus heeds us not; he ſeems quite loſt.

ARUNS.

Regard him not; theſe reveries you know

Are common to him. He will ſoon recover.

SEXTUS, to himſelf.

Had ſhe ſtaid here till now, I ſhould have done

Nothing but gaze. Nymphs, goddeſſes,

Are fables; nothing can, in heaven or earth,

Be half ſo fair; Venus in fleſh and blood!

Love's true divinity! If ſuch the charms

[72] Which meet the eye, Oh, what delicious beauties!

With what a frenzy of delight—But theſe

The huſband muſt alone—to me the ſenſes

Are bounded; yet my warm imagination,

Pregnant with rapture—

ARUNS.

Brutus, go and wake

Yon abſent dreamer.

BRUTUS.

What ho! Sextus, Sextus!

SEXTUS.

What ho! Sir Brute! Come, Sir, a Salian dance!

Well done, moſt briſk and active! Why a nimbler

And lighter heel, an attitude more graceful

I ne'er beheld: by Jove, I'll recommend thee

To th' prieſts, and thou ſhalt head the band; what ſay'ſt thou?

And ſpite of thy nick-name, we'll have it poſted

In flaming characters upon thy back,

"This is a man," leſt by thy motions cheated,

The people take thee for a bear.—What mean'ſt thou?

How dareſt thou laugh at me? Am I thy jeſt?

Say, Sir?

BRUTUS.

I know not what you mean, not I.

I did not laugh. Say, did I, Aruns, Titus?

ARUNS.

You did, I needs muſt ſay it.

TITUS.

And at him.

BRUTUS.

At him! I never laugh'd at him in all my life.

TITUS.

Nay then, thou didſt at us.

ARUNS.

What doſt thou ſee

In us ridiculous? Are our faces changed?

[73] Look we like monkeys? Are our noſes flatten'd?

And tails grown out?

BRUTUS.

Nay, now I ſee you laugh

At me; now are you not in jeſt, I pray?

Was you not, Sextus? Yes, you think, perhaps,

I can't ſee through it, when you laugh at me;

But I, perhaps, read men a little deeper

Than you imagine.

ARUNS.

Why I never doubted

Of thy ſagacity; I always found thee

Moſt wiſe, moſt apt, ſhrewd, quick, and capable;

Yet when thou pleaſeſt to relax, thy wit

Leaves me in doubt, whether I ſhould prefer

The mirth-engendering friend, or cool adviſer.

BRUTUS.

That's ſpoken like himſelf now, that's like Aruns.

TITUS.

Brutus, I heard the ſtrangeſt thing laſt week!—

BRUTUS.

Aye, aye! What was it? Tell me.

[Ar. Brut. Tit. Coll. apart.

SEXTUS.

I muſt and will—What then? I do not care.

Marriage! A trick; nature ne'er meant it—marriage!

Why how dare any man aſſume a right

To keep from me that beauty Heaven created

T'inflame my ſoul when look'd on, and placed there

Paſſions to take th' alarm, and with wild wing

Ruſh maddening t'ward the object they deſire?

I muſt poſſeſs her. But, her chaſtity—

Away, froſty idea!—Others chaſte

Have ſeem'd, and but have ſeem'd. The ſnow would lie

For ages, unaſſail'd by the warm air.

[74] But ſhould ſhe—Force! no, no. And yet why not?

Peace, undigeſted thoughts! Down, down, till ripen'd

By farther time ye bloom.

[Titus and Aruns laughing.

ARUNS to TITUS.

Who, Sextus? Yes, I have ſeen ſuch an one;

I ſaw him at the ſiege of Ardea.

I thought he was a ſoldier of indifferent,

Moderate valour; 'twas reported though,

A little fearful: but being ſon to th' king,

The common people dared but mutter it.

SEXTUS.

I thank you; what you think me meditating

I know not: but both now, and heretofore,

My mind was in the camp. How wine could heat us

To ſuch a mad exploit, at ſuch a time,

Is ſhameful to reflect on; let us mount

This inſtant, and return.

COLLATINUS.

Now we are here,

We ſhall incroach but little on our time,

If we partake the ſlender fare together,

Which will by this await us. Pray, my lords,

This way.

SEXTUS.

Along; I'll follow ſtrait.—Ye walls, diſcloſe not

My dark conceptions; I'll ere long return.

Till when, my ſoul, by this fierce ſting tormented,

Will rage unſatisfied, and feel no reſt.

[Exit.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

[75]

SCENE I. The Camp.ARUNS, TITUS.
ARUNS.
A Knave! a baſe-born knave! But if he doth not
Severely pay for th' inſult.—Such a villain!
I offer'd him the value of his horſe;
He would not part with it, not he: he would not?
But force perforce he ſhall. A ſlave—a traitor—
I'll have the horſe, were there a guard around it
Of fifty thouſand men, all of them knights—
Aye, and his head to boot.
TITUS.
What, brother, hath the wind affronted you?
Talk you to air? And chide the paſſing gale
For blowing in your face?
ARUNS.
He had th' aſſurance
To reaſon with me too: but if I do not
Marr all his reaſoning for the future, may I—
What, Titus?
TITUS.
Even he.
ARUNS.
You ſee me moved—
Would you have thought it? Such a paltry, baſe,
I'll-manner'd groom! A Roman knight d'ye call him?
A Roman hind—a vile unpoliſh'd hind—
An unlick'd cub—
TITUS.
[76]Say, who is this, my brother?
ARUNS.
Who is this? He, there—what d'ye call him? Fabius.
A knight! a villain: but may all the gods
Lay on me all their heavieſt puniſhments,
If he within theſe two hours doth not treat
The hungry worms! Nay, and I'll mount his horſe,
The horſe he loves ſo well; the horſe he would not
Part with to me; I'll mount that very horſe,
And make him prance upon the very ſpot
Where his warm corpſe lies buried, and ram in
His earthen bed full cloſely round about him.
Then ſee who'll reaſon, who'll pretend to prate;
Then ſee—
TITUS.
Why what is this? I hear of Fabius,
Of Fabius and a horſe, and threats on threats.
Be calm, be cool.
ARUNS.
I've not been in a paſſion;
No, not in the leaſt: but if I don't make him
A fearful ſpecimen of my revenge,
A leſſon to be read with ſhivering horror
By all the knights i'th' army—If I do not,
Ne'er may my pallid cheek again be red;
Ne'er may my wrinkled brow again be ſmooth;
Ne'er may the flaſh of anger quit my eye;
May my whole viſage ne'er regain its turn
Of native feature! If I'm not revenged,
May all the complicated ills of life
Aſſail me!
TITUS.
Oh, ye gods! how paſſion alters
The nobleſt of your works! And is this Aruns?
[77] Is this the ſon of Tarquin? This the brother
Of Sextus and of Titus? Fie, fie, fie!
What, turn'd a woman! Had my wife thus raged
In impotence of words, denied a bauble,
I ſhould not thus have wonder'd. Oh, for ſhame!
Had'ſt thou deſir'd what thou could'ſt not poſſeſs,
I might forgive thee; could'ſt thou not revenge,
I might excuſe this ſtorming with thy tongue.
But when thou may'ſt poſſeſs what thou deſireſt,
And when revenge attends upon thy beck,
Ready to puniſh inſult, why this clamour?
This idle ineffectual rhapſody
Of empty words?
ARUNS.
Empty or not, I reck not.
I ſpake to pleaſe myſelf. Muſt I be curb'd
By every one? Not ſpeak? Nay, Titus, ſtay,
You leave me not.
TITUS,
Then pr'ythee ſpeak to th' purpoſe.
ARUNS.
I'll ſpeak of this ſame horſe, no other theme,
And of the baſe-born varlet who beſtrode it;
A curriſh miſcreant; but that's no matter.
Should one of Phoebus' ſteeds tire in his wain,
This would ſupply its place. A whoreſon ſlave!
I aſk'd him if he would exchange with me,
And bade him cull my ſtud.—The head ſo form'd!
Anſwering in niceſt ſymmetry each limb—
Such harmony of ſhape! Such juſt proportion!
I ne'er ſaw ſtrength with beauty ſo combined.
An eye of fire! A neck clad in effulgence,
And glorious as the arched bow of heaven!—
He told me, 'twas the only thing he loved,
His ſole delight, his pride; aſk'd me, if I
[78] Would willingly give up the thing I loved;
Suppoſe my miſtreſs; begg'd I'd not deſire him;
Was ſorry that he muſt refuſe me; would I
Give him the beſt Italia e'er produced,
Nay, give him three for one; in brief, he could not,
He would not part with it.—Such a fine creature!
It ne'er was got by mortal ſire; the dam
Muſt have been by the northern wind impregn'd.
The graſs bends not beneath his feet; he's ſwifter
In his career than is a morning ſun-beam;
And graceful as the wing of Mercury,
Sliding to earth upon an azure cloud,
The herald of the gods. A vital ſpirit
Informs each fibre, and directs its motions.
TITUS.
Enough, enough.
ARUNS.
No, it is not enough.
This horſe is mine, it ſhall be mine at leaſt;
I would not part with it for half a kingdom.
Poor, fooliſh Fabius! Little doth he think
My miniſter of vengeance dogs his heels.
When thou diſmounteſt, Fabius, clap his neck,
Speak lovingly to him, as thou wert wont,
Take thy laſt leave, nor ſee the hand of death
Aim'd at thy unarm'd ſide.
Enter CLAUDIUS.
ARUNS.
Is the deed done?
CLAUDIUS.
Fabius is fled, my Lord.
ARUNS.
Fled, ſay'ſt thou? Whither?
CLAUDIUS.
[79]Suſpecting, as I think, my Lord, ſome ill,
And conſcious of his juſt deſerts, he rode
Toward the poſtern gate; I follow'd him,
Reſolv'd to execute what you commanded.
Far off upon the diſtant hills appear'd
A band of the Rutilian foragers.
He both his ſpurs ſtuck in his horſe's ſides,
Gave him the reign, and mingled with them ſtrait.
They ſhouted, wheel'd away toward the right,
And ſoon eſcap'd my eye.
ARUNS.
Thou wert too ſlow.
My purpoſe known, thou ſhould'ſt have put on wings
As quick as thought: thou wert too ſlow, too ſlow.
CLAUDIUS.
My Lord, unleſs I had been more than human,
And could have trod with ſtep inviſible,
And ſwifter than the paſſing moments do,
I could not have done more, it was impoſſible,
ARUNS.
Impoſſible! tut, there's a word: impoſſible!
There's no ſuch thing, but in the vapid brain
Of fools and cowards. Why, thou ſluggiſh varlet,
Doſt thou not know it?
CLAUDIUS.
What, my gracious Lord?
ARUNS.
If thou doſt not, go hence about thy buſineſs,
And dream of it by th' way. [Exit Claud.]
 No matter, tho':
He that lets ſlip an opportunity,
Deſerves to loſe the ſight of it for ever.
'Tis but an accident; it doth not ſignify.
TITUS.
Why thou art quite become the ſlave of humour:
[80] Tetchy and froward as a ſqualling child
Of two months old; ever diſſatisfied
Unleſs he feels the nipple in his mouth,
Or cries himſelf aſleep.
ARUNS.
Oh, Heavenly Wiſdom!
I ſee thy ſhining progreſs mid the ſtars,
Brightening the galaxy! To thee the orbs
Pay adoration from their lucent ſpheres!
Thou crown'ſt the everlaſting fount of day
With dazzling radiance! Thou lead'ſt on the year!
The ſeaſons in their varied liveries!
And, more than all the reſt, inſpir'ſt the ſoul
Of thy warm votary Titus!—Let me feel,
Oh, ſacred goddeſs! but the fainteſt touch
Of thy benignity, and I will look
With ſuch a gravity, an air ſo ſolemn,
As doth thy bird from out the hollow oak,
Circled with claſping ivy!—Oh, what pity
That I ſhould pray in vain, who pray ſo ſeldom!
What then remains? To hurl a curſe or two
At that blind ſtrumpet Fortune, who takes care
Always to break my ſhins with her damn'd wheel;
To laugh in ſpite of her, a peeviſh laugh;
To wiſh all men no happier than myſelf;
To wiſh that I were ſuch a fool as Brutus,
(As they are happieſt whoſe ſenſe is ſmalleſt)
Since I can't be ſo wiſe, ſo ſage as Titus.
And ſo, farewel! I'll e'en go to my tent,
And try if I can ſleep out this long ſiege;
For waking ſlumber is the worſt of ſleep.
And ſo, farewel!
TITUS.
Farewel!
ARUNS.
[81]But ſtay, inform me,
If all thy gravity and wiſdom knows,
Where Sextus leads his vagrant feet? Laſt night
I miſs'd him. Privately, as I'm inform'd,
He left the camp; but for his deſtination
I could not learn it: know'ſt thou?
TITUS.
No, I know not.
ARUNS.
I might have gueſs'd ſo; 'twere a thing as eaſy
To ſay when laſt Jove put on his diſguiſe,
Slunk out at heaven's back gate, and what Alcmena
Received him to her arms. A plague on ſecret
Myſterious hidden letchery, I ſay!
Why can't a man be open in his dealings?
Give me the eaſy fair who will not bluſh,
Though the broad ſun ſhould ſtare her full i'th' face.
A plague on pains taking! Your fly intriguers
Are th' only whoremaſters; all the reſt are chaſte,
And fornication is neceſſity.
Imagination muſt forſooth be tickled;
Your ſqueamiſh ſtomachs muſt be tantalized,
E'er they'll be hungry. Hence your amorous parlies,
Whiſpering from windows, ſqueezing of the hand,
Glances, the lewd interpreters of thought;
Hence all the monkey tricks, which e'en the woman
Who cauſes, laughs at—Foh! I'm ſick to death—
Such worſe than aſſes in the ſhape of men!
A pimping pleaſure too, not worth the toil
Of ſtretching out an arm thus far. When Juno
Will be my paramour, I'll turn gallant,
Get me a pair of wings, and every night
Mount up to her etherial bed-chamber.
[82] Till when, I leave intrigues to thee and Sextus.
And ſo, farewel! I'll to my contemplations.
[Exit.
TITUS.
I know thy contemplations well; beneath
That garb of chiding ſpleen, and diſcontent,
Ambition couches, though thou ſeem'ſt unſteady
As the vague moon; now, gay as Florio ſpring
Intent upon delight; now, clouded o'er,
And four as bleak December; rating i'th' morn,
What thou i'th' evening prized'ſt; yet the eagle
Looks not with eye more fix'd upon the ſun,
Than thou on royalty. I've ſeen thee through.
And Sextus is not ſo enſlaved to pleaſure,
But that ambition claims the upper ſeat
In his aſpiring mind. I've ſeen through both.
Three kings at once! no, that can never be.
One only bird ariſes from the aſhes
Of the imperial phoenix; in the ſky
There's but one glorious light. Let Tarquin die,
And theſe young ſcyons muſt not ſpoil the growth
Of th' elder towering oak; t' o'ertop their heads,
And keep them down, cannot perhaps be done;
They grow too quick. But ſtill they may be blaſted;
The canker-worm may prey on them in ſecret;
Or one good blow of a keen axe urged home,
In all their pride of foliage, lays them low.—
But peace! Sextus, I ſee, is near at hand.
Enter SEXTUS.
Sextus, well met. What, you've, I'll warrant you,
From when the ſun left his wave-quilted couch,
Full of anxiety and watchful care,
Been traverſing the camp? How ſtand the ſoldiers
Affected to their duty? Doſt thou think
[83] Our ditch and paliſades will guard us well?
And is the rampart ſtrong in every quarter?
Or haſt thou been a ſpy toward the city?
Keep they the guard o'th' wall with uſual ſtrictneſs?
Haſt thou found out a weaker place unknown?
Or hath thy working brain yet wove the net,
Or limed the twig, or dug the fatal pit-fall,
For their deſtruction?
SEXTUS.
Every hour of time
Hath got its buſineſs allotted to it.
There is an hour for war and vigorous action;
There is an hour for counſel and advice;
There is an hour for wine, and noiſe, and madneſs;
There is an hour for pleaſure, and the feats
Which wanton Venus ever joys to look on.
Laſt night, my Titus—
TITUS.
Was the hour of time
When Sextus—
SEXTUS.
Pr'ythee take the fact at once.
Lay with Lucretia—Why that moon-eyed ſtare?
Lay with Lucretia—Doſt thou underſtand me?
Lay with Lucretia—Need I to repeat it?
'Tis what my tongue could dwell upon with rapture,
Through th' infinite deſcent of rolling ages.
Let my eyes ſparkling with the new-caught joy;
Let my cheeks ſtain'd with a more genial hue;
Let all the dancing tranſports which play o'er
My face; let theſe two arms which held her cloſe
In twined embrace; let theſe two lips which kiſs'd her,
Suck'd in her charms, and now ſtill taſte th' impreſſion;
Let every atom of this body tell thee
That I enjoy'd Lucretia.
TITUS.
[84]What, the wife
Of Collatine! thy friend! thy kinſman!
SEXTUS.
The wife of Collatine, my friend, my kinſman;
Nearer related now indeed than ever.
But what, is Titus' conſcience then grown ſqueamiſh?
Was it debauch'd laſt night, that 'tis ſo ſickly,
So puling in the morning?
TITUS.
Not a whit;
But ſtruck with ſome aſtoniſhment, however,
Lucretia! and the wife of Collatine!
By her conſent too!
SEXTUS.
Yes.
TITUS.
By ſome ſly trick then;
Some damn'd inſidious circumvention,
Some dark thick plot, ſome artifice cloſe-couch'd,
Of cunning ſtratagem; or elſe through fear
Of ſome worſe ill than death. Say now, how was it?
For if there ever was among the ſex,
Or purity, or innocence, 'twas there.
She could not be a hypocrite; her face,
Her look, her outward manners, ſpake a heart
Unknowing of deceit; a ſoul of honour,
Where frozen chaſtity had fix'd her feat,
And unpolluted nuptial ſanctity.
I do ſuſpect thee much; 'tis but a boaſt,
Or elſe an act of low, of mean revenge,
To blaſt that virtue, which thy utmoſt efforts
Can ne'er ſubdue.
SEXTUS.
Sextus is wont to boaſt
[85] Of favours which he ne'er received, or take
A pleaſure in thin unſubſtantial miſchief.
TITUS.
No; I acquit thee there.
SEXTUS.
E'en as thou wilt.
But I ſuſpect ſhrewdly thou envieſt me:
Which more to raiſe: know that this ſoul of honour,
This piece of unthaw'd ſnow, this pattern rare
Of nuptial purity, I found to be
A woman; found her all alone, at midnight;
Found her in bed, undreſs'd, found her reluctant,
Found her, indeed, chaſte to outrageouſneſs,
(Tho' that but added fuel to the flame)
Yet uſed no violence, and yet enjoy'd her.
TITUS.
Thou talk'ſt in riddles.
SEXTUS.
Hear then the plain truth.
Now two nights ſince, when firſt we ſaw Lucretia,
Her air, her voice, her look, her every motion,
Inkindled paſſion in me e'en to madneſs.
Thou doſt remember how my ſoul was buried
In ſenſeleſſneſs to every object round;
Though then, perhaps, thou didſt not gueſs the cauſe.
I ſwore then to poſſeſs her. All that evening
She unadviſedly with new incentives
Stirr'd up my purpoſe; but quite unreſolved
How to purſue that purpoſe, I laſt night
Again went thither, only one attendant
Accompanied me; buſineſs of importance
Feign'd for my quick return. Her huſband's friend,
And Tarquin's ſon, ſhe could not but receive
A nightly gueſt; yet in her eye, methought,
She bore no great good-will to Tarquin's ſon.
[86] She, without doubt, had heard his character,
And hard 'twas to diſſemble. I nought heeded
This air of coldneſs, but with ſage diſcourſe,
And temperate, entertain'd her; talk'd of modeſty,
Of ſelf-denying virtue, of ſtrict honour,
And mutual holy faith 'twixt man and man;
Of wedlock's happy league, and the young brood
Of ſmiling innocents: then turn'd my talk
To battles, ſieges, dreadful deeds of arms,
Adventures rare, by martial proweſs won:
A ſubject, to the which all woman-kind,
Open a greedy ear; but not a word
Of love, nor yet a ſally of looſe thought
Eſcap'd me; thus I fell in with her humour,
And, unſuſpecting, ſhe retired to reſt.
TITUS.
And whither thou? But I'll not interrupt thee.
SEXTUS.
Now was the depth of midnight; ſilence reign'd
Through all the houſe; not the leaſt ſound was there;
You might have heard a feather fall to the ground;
And ſleep on every brow had fix'd his dead
And leaden hand, as Nature lent her aid
To my deſign. Kind Nature lent her aid,
Nor I refus'd the call: with cautious tread,
Suppoſe thou ſeeſt me entering the room,
Where lay that ſleepy Venus; in one hand
My ſword, a lamp in th' other; think thou ſeeſt me
Reading her naked charms; think (but thou canſt not,
It is impoſſible, had'ſt thou not ſeen her)
What I then felt; my ſoul was all on fire,
My limbs all trembled; and my ſalient heart
Beat, as 'twould find a paſſage through my ribs.
Half between ſleep and wake, Lucretia cries,
Art come, my lord? But, when ſhe thoroughly waked,
What a wild look of horror and ſurprize!
[87] She knew my purpoſe well; or, if ſhe did not,
I kept her not in long ſuſpence, nor waſted
The time in vain apology; my ſword
Threatened her inſtant death, without compliance;
And, willingly, ſhe cried, yes, willingly,
I'll die ten thouſand deaths; Oh, my dear lord!
Where, where art thou; Oh, Sextus! I conjure thee
By every ſacred, every tender name,
Make me not deſpicable to myſelf,
But ſlay me, and I'll thank thee.—All, that feeling
Paſſionate nature could ſuggeſt, ſhe utter'd.
TITUS.
And didſt thou ſtill proceed? Didſt thou not find
Thy boſom mov'd?
SEXTUS.
I did, but with deſire.
For fear, had from her every other thought
Remov'd, her hair diſhevel'd, hid but looſely
Her blaze of beauties, as ſhe kneeling ſtrove
To claſp my knees; I rais'd her and embraced;
She ſhriek'd aloud; fearing ſhe might awake
The menial train, I had but one reſource:
I ruſh'd forth to the door, where I had placed
My truſty ſlave, and dragging him by 's locks,
Swore I would ſlay them both upon her bed,
And publiſh to the world, I caught them there
I'th' act of ſhame: ſhe found reſiſtance vain;
The conflict 'twixt the dread of public infamy
And private crime, inwrapp'd her in deſpair;
I mark'd the ſtrugglings of her ſoul, and ſeiz'd
The joy ſhe would, but dared not to refuſe.
TITUS.
Thus having ſpoke, forever hold thy tongue.
My breaſt is not caſt in that tender mould,
Strongly to feel the goadings of compunction:
Nor have I dealt in thoſe punctilious niceties,
[88] Which bind the vulgar. But this act of thine,
Almoſt calls up the water in my eye,
And raiſes new emotions in my heart:
For her, I'm touch'd with pity; and on thee,
I look with ſomething tending toward horror.
Oh, hold thy tongue! ne'er mention what thou'ſt done,
Leſt that the very earth, on which thou tread'ſt,
Cry out againſt thee.
SEXTUS.
This rebuke from thee!
This to a ſtranger urge, to him who knows thee not.
And he may be deceived. I can't but laugh,
When I behold hypocriſy array'd
In th' unbecoming robe ſhe ſtole from virtue,
Not hiding half her nakedneſs. Come, ſwear
By all the gods, and gulp down th' perjury,
That all thy life hath been inculpable,
That thou haſt never broke the chains of wedlock,
Nor ever wilt; and then, to prove thy truth,
Luſt after the next Roman dame thou ſeeſt,
And as thou'rt wont, purſue her to poſſeſſion.
TITUS.
Whatever artifice I may have uſed;
Howe'er, with bribes corrupted, or with prayers
Aſſail'd the ſilly ſoul of yielding woman,
Ne'er did I uſe the argument of force.
SEXTUS.
Becauſe thou never met'ſt with the temptation.
TITUS.
'Tis juſt, I well deſerve his infidelity,
Nor have ſo lived as to be credited. [Aſide.
But ſetting this apart, doſt thou behold
No future perils from this bold effect
Of unreſtrain'd deſire? Compell'd to ſuffer
What ſhe deteſted, in the frantic rage,
Or deep deſpair of violated virtue,
[89] May ſhe not to her huſband, or her father,
Diſcloſe the cauſe?
SEXTUS.
What then, thou think'ſt her ſomething ſuper-human!
Did I not tell thee that ſhe was a woman?
And on my life, ſhe'll act like any woman:
With words like theſe, ſhe'll lull her frantic rage,
And puff the depth of her deſpair away.
'Tis done, and can't be undone; 'tis not known;
So there's no harm; guilt is no guilt in ſecret:
Why ſhould I make myſelf a wretch by blabbing?
Why tell my huſband what he can't find out?
Sextus muſt love me wonderfully well,
Or he would ne'er have undergone this hazard;
No marvel though, when beauty, ſuch as mine,
Enticed him; then ſhe looks upon her mirrour,
Vanity ſhews her figure paſſing fair,
She ſmiles, and thus proceeds; beauteous as ever:
Why, what a peeviſh thing this virtue is!
And Sextus is a prince; and what is Collatine?
(Now comes ſhe, mark me, to compariſons)
What's Collatine? A private man. Ambition
Now flits before her eyes, and ſhe is blinded:
To hold the prince a captive in her chains!
Grandeur is hers, and pomp, and dignity,
And all the world holds dear and precious.
Oh, your ſtrong-working paſſions ne'er laſt long!
She cool'd e'er I had mounted on my horſe;
E'er I had rode ten paces, ſhe ſaw things
In the ſame light which I have repreſented.
And now, no longer coy, reſerv'd, and ſtubborn,
Sends off a meſſenger t' invite me back;
Oh, I ſhall riot after this, my Titus,
And ſhall poſſeſs her to ſatiety.
TITUS.
[90]If thou art not found a deceitful prophet,
I'll give up all pretenſions to the reading
Any event hereafter. It can't be.
I wiſh we may not all repent of this:
At leaſt, I ſee perplexity and trouble,
Which will enſue inevitably.
SEXTUS.
Whence
Can danger come? Her father! and her huſband!—
And will they dare to think of a revenge?
They may as well contrive to wreſt the club
From th' hand of Hercules. But leſt miſchance
Should work a miracle; as for the huſband,
I'll give, e'er long, a good account of him,
If he doth not meet death; placed in the way
Of every mortal ſally, there are means
To bring him to his grave, and mother earth,
Is a moſt admirable vengeance-cooler.
As for the father, riches are a crime,
Which th' hand of Tarquin never fails to puniſh
Upon due accuſation.—But, our father!
Hath he enquired for me? Or found me abſent?
TITUS.
I do believe he hath not.
SEXTUS.
Well, we'll go
This inſtant to his tent; from thence to mine,
Where we will hold ſome farther intercourſe,
Touching theſe looſe imperfect hints I've offer'd.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

[91]

COLLATINE, BRUTUS.

COLLATINE.

No more—My buſineſs is not of that conſequence,

Or private nature, but that thy ſociety

Upon the road will be acceptable.

Nay, and when we arrive at Rome, we'll go

Together to the dwelling of Lucretius;

And I'll take care no ſervant ſhall again

Refuſe thee enterance: what then would'ſt with him,

If thou wilt not reveal, keep to thyſelf,

I ſhall not trouble thee.

BRUTUS.

Whate'er it is,

You'll know in time, perhaps too, with no ſmall

Degree of pleaſure.

COLLATINE.

Yes, it may be ſo.

Enter a MESSENGER.

Whence comeſt thou thus begrim'd with duſt? and faint

And breathleſs with fatigue? How is Lucretia?

Is all well?—

MESSENGER.

I know no more, than that I bring this letter,

Which I was order'd to convey to you

With utmoſt ſpeed; another meſſenger

Was ſent at the ſame time, with the ſame orders,

To Rome, unto Lucretius.

COLLATINE.

Reading.

A deed too dreadful for my pen to write—

Extremity—without delay—bring with you

[92] One only friend—Eternal gods! what means this!

A friend! the time is precious, I'll take him—

A moment can't be loſt to cull and chooſe.

Wilt thou with me, Lucius? I know thou wilt.

Haſte then, this moment bring our horſes forth.

What dire portending myſtery! My mind

Attempts in vain to fathom it—If ſickneſs—

That cannot be; ſhe would have told me ſo.—

Her father ſent for too with equal ſpeed!

Thought waſtes but time; come, Lucius, hence with me!

We go not now to Rome, but to Collatia.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Collatia.LUCRETIA, alone.
Oh, agony of agonies! down, heart—
Down, ſwelling boſom—O ſhame! ſhame! ſhame!
Cover'd with ſhame!—Oh, conſcious innocence!
Where art thou fled? Long inmate in my breaſt,
Are we forever parted? Shall my ſoul
No more attend thy gentle whiſperings,
Or when I riſe in early morn, or when
I ſeek my bed of ſlumber, where by thee
Shadow'd, calm ſleep and happy dreams were mine?
No more. No more. Muſt I ne'er ſee again
My huſband's face with joy? Ne'er to my heart
Strain him with rapture? While he too with joy
Would liſten to my tale of tenderneſs?
No, never, never. No, Lucretia,
Thou that wert once chaſte, pure, and virtuous,
Art now polluted, vile, abominable.
How I deteſt myſelf! wretch that I am,
How loathſome to my ſoul! which fain would fly
From out its odious priſon!—Why had I not
Braved the adulterer's ſword? So had I fallen
A ſpotleſs victim. Yet, ſo too my name
[93] Would have been render'd infamous, declared
A moſt abandon'd proſtitute, no tongue
My vindicator, and the bleeding proof
Of my ſuppoſed ſin weltering by my ſide.—
Bitter alternative! dreadful to think on!
Turn, turn, reflection! for acroſs thy courſe
Lies madneſs, and each deſperate deed of frenzy.
I cannot bear it.
Enter LAVINIA.
Say, did you call, my miſtreſs?
LUCRETIA.
No—begone—
Yet ſtay: come hither: is thy lord arrived?
LAVINIA.
He is not, madam.
LUCRETIA.
Would to heaven he were! [Fixing her eyes on the ground.
LAVINIA.
What fatal accident hath cauſed this miſery,
I know not: but ſo good, ſo kind a miſtreſs
Never had ſervants: never till this inſtant
Heard I a word expreſſive of impatience
Come from her lips. Good heavens, what load of grief
Works in her breaſt, and labours for its birth!
Would that I could remove that look of woe
From that ſweet face! I would myſelf endure
No ſmall misfortune.—That ſtill ſilent anguiſh
Pierces me through: I'd ſpeak to her, but ſobs
Won't ſuffer me.
LUCRETIA.
What ails thee? Art not well?
Why doſt thou weep?
LAVINIA.
[94]Ah, can you aſk me, madam!
What ails thee! do I not behold you miſerable?
LUCRETLA.
I am indeed, Lavinia.—But thy lord's
Arrival will heal all.—I pr'ythee go,
And quickly, to the end o'th' garden wall,
And when thou ſeeſt him at a diſtance, haſte,
And bring me word.
LAVINIA.
I will. Oh, you good gods,
Give her relief! Pour comfort in her boſom!
[Exit.
LUCRETIA.
That was a look of prayer, of prayer for me;
May it with bleſſings fall on her own head
A thouſand fold! For me, the time is o'er:
Fruitleſs are all petitions; unleſs Jove
Could bid the paſt be as it had not been;
Could render void exiſtence, root out memory.
Poor honeſt wretch! I could, methinks, drop tears
In ſympathy with her: but for myſelf,
Not one have I to ſpare; my grief's too great:
'Tis all within; no tears, but tears of blood,
Can ſpeak my feelings, or waſh off my guilt.
What though with all th' abhorrence virtue knows,
When forced to look on ſin, I ſaw the deed?
Yet, 'twas committed: 'twas permitted too.
Fatal neceſſity! Oh, wherefore was I
Form'd all alive to honour's niceſt ſenſe!
Why from my mother's breaſt did I imbibe
Its generous pride! Why foſter it with care!
Brood over it delighted! hold it here,
More precious than a diamond of price!
If thus—
[95] Enter LAVINIA.
LAVINIA.
Madam, my lord is juſt arriv'd;
With him, your father, and Valerius,
And Lucius Junius.
LUCRETIA.
'Tis well.—Tremble not, heart!
Keep faſt thy fix'd intent, form'd from that moment.
This dagger's point is ſharp; but ſharper far
The tongue of calumny, its wounds more painful.
Sharper the loſs of that ſelf-ſatisfaction,
With which, in th' happier days of purity,
Thou could'ſt thyſelf contemplate and admire.
Can I endure to move the ſpectacle
Perhaps of inſult, and exulting baſeneſs,
Glorying o'er humbled virtue? Can I bear
To ſee the gaze of curioſity?
The nod, the whiſpers? Or to be at all
Mark'd out as ſomething that's peculiar?
Or can I bear myſelf? and my own thoughts?
No: thou muſt die, Lucretia, thou muſt die.
Hark! hark! 'tis they—How ſhall I bear my huſband's
And father's faces! Oh, ſupport me, heaven!
This once ſupport me, in this interview,
The thoughts of which almoſt take life away!
Oh, how ſhall I go through it!
Enter COLLATINE, LUCRETIUS, VALERIUS, BRUTUS.
COLLATINE.
How is't, Lucretia?
How does my deareſt wife?
LUCRETIUS.
My daughter, ſay,
Why haſt thou ſent for us?
LUCRETIA.
[96]Nay, come not near me—
Thou muſt not call me wife, thou, my dear lord,
Prized by me as my ſoul; nor thou, my father,
Whom, from my infancy unto this day,
I have beheld almoſt with adoration,
Thou muſt not call me daughter: thou, Valerius,
Muſt not call me thy friend; nor, Lucius, thou;
I am not now myſelf; cut off, deprived
Of every near relationſhip; each name
Of tender eſtimation; I am loſt—
Loſt to my friends, loſt to myſelf.
COLLATINE.
What accident
Of more than human power can cancel thus
Thy intereſt in my breaſt? I muſt embrace thee;
Preſs thee cloſe to my heart; call thee my wife,
My beſt beloved faithful wife! Aſſure thee
That all thy grief is mine.—Oh, calm this extaſy!
Thou ſhak'ſt all o'er as in an ague fit,
And deadly pale, now throws upon thy cheek,
A hue like to the grave, now ſuddenly
Glowing with hot vermilion.
LUCRETIUS.
Oh, Lucretia!
Believe me, when I tell thee, not thy mother
Was dearer to me, when as chaſte and pure
As Dian's ſelf, blooming in innocence,
I led the virgin to her bridal bed,
Than thou, her pledge and lively pourtraiture.
No, nothing can withdraw my love from thee,
While like that pattern of her ſex thou liveſt,
And ſo thy life hath been; in thee, well-pleaſed,
I have beheld her form revived, her virtues,
And female-gracing ornaments of ſoul.
LUCRETIA.
[97]There was a time, when praiſes from that mouth
Would have thrill'd thro' my ſecret mind with pleaſure,
Tuned to harmonious ſelf-complacency,
Diſcover'd in each correſponding action,
Wing'd with alacrity and joy. But now
'Tis far, far otherwiſe. Thou good old man!
Theſe words have pierced me to the quick—My pain
Was keen enough before, why would'ſt thou make it
Doubly excruciating? Why bring my guilt
In ſtronger colours to my view?
COLLATINE.
Thy guilt!
Not heaven itſelf is freer from all taint
Of guilt, or the leaſt ſtain of blame, than thou.
Is reaſon thine?
LUCRETIA.
Reaſon is mine, indeed—
Though I could envy thoſe who are diſtracted.
The mad is happier on his bed of ſtraw,
Than the poor wretch bereaved of innocence,
Who yet eſteems that innocence though loſt,
And who with fixed eye gazing on her,
Is hurried into evil.
LUCRETIUS.
Explain thyſelf—
How dreadful is thy prelude! keep not thus
In torturous ſuſpence thy father, huſband,
And friends.
LUCRETIA.
Oh, would one word could tell it all!
Can you not gueſs the whole, when I name Sextus,
The youngeſt ſon of Tarquin?
BRUTUS. [Aſide.]
Curſe on the name!
I fear—I fear—Luckleſs, undone Lucretia!
VALERIUS.
[98]Say what of him?
LUCRETIUS.
Speak, daughter, ſpeak.
COLLATINE.
From him, what ill could flow to thee? Thou never
Saw'ſt him but once, and that, the other night,
Brought here by me; ſay, what is this, Lucretia?
LUCRETIA.
Would I had ſeen him, but that other night!
Or would that other night that I had died
A ſudden death! But a ſad fatal night
Hath paſs'd between. Oh, tongue, perform thine office!
And tell my huſband, that theſe eyes beheld him
That ſecond night: tell him—Oh, Collatine!
Oh, hide me! hide me from myſelf!—How vain!
No, let me ſtand, and dare your piercing eyes
With bold aſſurance; wherefore are they fix'd,
All fix'd in ſilence on the ground? On me
Direct them full; Lo! here I ſtand, the mark
Of ſhame, of ignominy.
LUCRETIUS.
Daughter, patience.
If without thy conſenting heart this deed—
LUCRETIA.
No, 'twas by my conſent. He would have ſlain
His ſlave and me; laid both on the ſame bed,
Then publiſh'd to the world, that I with him
Was a vile, baſe adultereſs.
LUCRETIUS.
Oh, woe is me! Off, off, ye hoary hairs!
Oh, daughter ruin'd! Ruin'd, yet in virtue!
COLLATINE.
Burſt, heart! Oh, how ſhall I find utterance!
VALERIUS.
[99]Damn'd be the wretch! Doubly and trebly damn'd!
When forth he walks, may the red flaming ſun
Strike him with livid plagues! May he be ſhunn'd
By all mankind! be odious to himſelf!
Breed vipers in his conſcience! gnawing vipers!
Wiſh hourly for his death, yet be in tortures
A thouſand years expiring!—If this fate
Attends on virtue, let us to the ſtews
For wives, bring up our daughters proſtitues;
No more let holy wedlock be eſteem'd,
But rank commixture, like the general herd
Of beaſts, inform the dwellings of mankind!
BRUTUS. [Aſide.]
Oh, noble warmth, from forth a generous mind!
With ſuch a colleague might I ſhake the Tarquins
From off their throne. Now is the time arrived—
But ſtay—nor yet let me unfold myſelf.
COLLATINE.
When came he hither? Say, Lucretia.
LUCRETIA.
Laſt evening, in the dark. Affairs of conſequence
Brought him, he told me, to Collatia;
My ſoul, above ſuſpicion, thought no ill.
I entertain'd him as became myſelf
And him. At midnight to my chamber ſtole
The ruffian—Witneſs, all ye powers above!
I heeded not the ſword which arm'd his hand;
I pray'd for death with greater earneſtneſs
Than the departing miſer prays for life.
He told me of his love, his odious love,
Intreated, promiſed, intermingled threats,
Aſſail'd on every ſide my woman's ſoul.
At length dragg'd in his ſlave, and would have ſlain us
Together on the bed.
COLLATINE.
[100]Oh, fool! fool! fool!
Vain-glorious boaſter! that could'ſt not conceal
Thy treaſure, but rather than not be known
To be poſſeſs'd of wealth, muſt take the thief,
The firſt notorious thief thou met'ſt, and ſhew him
The glittering ſtore; unhooded let him trace
Each winding avenue, and give to him
A guiding clue, by which whene'er he pleaſed
He might return, and bear it all away!
Oh, my Lucretia, all the fault is mine;
To me may guilt with juſtice be imputed;
Thou art as free, as the young innocent
Hid in its mother's womb.
LUCRETIA.
Yes, Collatine,
Believe me when I tell thee, not the leaſt wiſh
That e're was form'd in deepeſt ſecrecy,
Hath my ſoul breathed toward another man.
Yet, though my mind is free, my body's guilty;
The load from thence recoils upon my mind,
Which ſhrinks beneath, as ſhunning intercourſe
With its polluted yoke-mate. Death muſt break
Theſe links of union, e're ſhe can be happy.
LUCRETIUS.
What ſay'ſt thou? Death! Oh, daughter, hold, I charge thee!
The thought is horrible, it harrows up
My ſoul, committing there the wildeſt waſte.
I charge thee, if thou haſt the leaſt regard
For this old hoary head, which many a time,
When thou, unconſcious young one, ſlept'ſt full ſound,
Hung o'er thee, and ſurvey'd thy infant face
With tenderneſs, fondeſt love, unſay that word;
Let me conjure thee, by thy mother's memory,
By all her ſoft anxieties for thee;
[101] Her ſleepleſs nights, and buſy days, attendant
Upon thy welfare, from thy breaſt unharbour
That raſh, intruding thought!
LUCRETIA.
Can any word
Fall from that tongue unheeded by thy daughter?—
But death's the only teſt, the only evidence
I now can give, of my integrity
And undefiled intentions.
COLLATINE.
No one can
Suſpect thee, my Lucretia; heſitation
Will not againſt thee dare to elevate
Her ſtuttering tongue. No: many happy days
Shall yet be ours, many ſweet ſocial years,
Bleſſing and bleſs'd—and our delighted children—
Alas! what ſudden thought, what new emotion,
Scatters a wilder terror o'er thy face,
Dyed with a deeper pale!
LUCRETIA.
Didſt thou ſay children!—
Oh, 'tis a thought which darted croſs my brain,
Like to the blaſting lightning—Children, ſaidſt thou!
Who knows—how if—the raviſher!—That thought
Would of itſelf determine. As to him,
Be't yours to judge what chaſtiſement is due.
For me, when I am dead, the babbling world
Perhaps will do me juſtice; in your minds
At leaſt, my memory ſhall ſurvive unſullied.
Though I abſolve myſelf from wilful crime,
I can't from puniſhment; nor ſhall a woman
Hereafter, by the example of Lucretia,
Outlive her loſs of honour. [Stabs herſelf.
COLLATINE.
Oh, hold thy hand—What doſt thou?—'Tis too late—
[102] Who could have thought ſo ſuddenly? Raſh action!
Too ſurely done.—That groan; life iſſued with it.
Oh, could my arms bring back thy fleeted breath,
Thus ever would I hold thee; even thus
In one indiſſoluble union,
Ne'er to be ſever'd would we live. Lucretia,
That blow hath kill'd us both. Oh, wife! wife! wife!
LUCRETIUS.
Horror of horros! Wherefore did I wed?
Why get a daughter? Why with pride elated,
Behold—Oh, ruin'd virtue! Damned monſter!
Had he e'er lov'd a child with my affection—
No breath—quite ſtill and ſilent—Come, Deſpair,
And welcome, to my breaſt!—Fix'd are her eyes;
Ne'er ſhall I drink their genial beams again;
Ne'er hear that voice—Now, now could I blaſpheme.
Oh, gods!—Patience, patience—here I ſtand
Mute and reſign'd to your eternal wills.
But is it thus the good meet their reward?
Art thou my daughter—Oh! oh! oh!
VALERIUS.
No tongue can blame this grief. Thou gentleſt! beſt!
Bedeck'd with every grace, each ornament,
Which dignifies, exalts—
BRUTUS, graſping the dagger.
Now by this blood I ſwear, immaculate
Before the Tarquin rape, (and you, Oh, gods!
Bear witneſs to my oath!) that I'll purſue,
With fire and ſword, and every other means
Which righteous indignation ſhall ſupply,
Tarquin the proud, his impious wife, his ſons,
And all th' accurſed race, nor ſuffer them,
Or any other, to be kings in Rome!
If that I break one tittle of this vow,
May death be mine! but not like thine, Lucretia,
[103] Triumphant, glorious; but deteſted, baſe,
And ignominious as the meaneſt ſlave's,
The moſt contemptuous, vileſt malefactor's!
VALERIUS.
What do I ſee? What hear? Surely my ſenſes
Are baſſled by ſome vain illuſion—
And my eyes ſee not, nor my ears draw in,
What I ſuppoſe they ſee and hear.
[While Brutus is ſpeaking, Lucretius and Collatinus are divided, ſometimes looking with aſtoniſhment on Brutus, ſometimes with grief on Lucretia; when he ceaſes, the latter gets the maſtery, and they are wholly taken up with her.
COLLATINE.
Oh, wife!
Dear, deareſt half of me! Gone, gone for ever.
LUCRETIUS.
Child of my ſoul! Supporter of my being!
But ſoon my heart will burſt, and I ſhall be
Lock'd in the arms of death, as thou art now.
Staff of my age! Loſt, loſt, for ever loſt.
BRUTUS.
What, are ye men? There lies your bleeding child;
There lies your tender wife; will tears again
Her lifeleſs corſe reanimate? Will tears
Revenge her timeleſs death? I now, methinks,
Behold the ruffian glorying in the deed,
Telling the tale of ſhame to his lewd brothers,
And riotous aſſociates, who agape
Liſten with greedy ear, and grin applauſe
To the rank act of luſt; while thus, ſays he,
I ſaid, thus did, and thus, and thus the wife
Of Collatinus, and Lucretius' daughter.
You chooſe to have your names garniſh the tale
Of foul obſcenity; without a doubt
You like it well, and to be bandied round
[104] Mid bawdy revellers. Think you to live
Thus branded with ignominy? Go, ſhew
Your blood-ſhot eyes and furrow'd cheeks to Tarquin,
And beg him on your knees, for that his ſon
Hath done this damned deed, to ſpare your lives.
Tell him, you are meek men, you bear no malice,
Your hearts are form'd for injuries, your weapons
Are ſhort-drawn ſighs, and briny flowing tears:
He will believe you, he is credulous;
So are his ſons; an inoffenſive race,
And merciful; witneſs that bleeding wound!
Witneſs this reeking ſteel! Is this a time
For tears; for vain laments? Now rouſe up all
That is of manhood in us! Swear with me,
Swear all upon this dagger, to revenge
This execrable deed, unparallel'd;
This deed, at which the conſcious night which ſaw it,
Turn'd pale with horror; at which nature ſhudders.
Oh, Jove Supreme! And thou, paternal Mars!
And unpolluted Veſta! hear again
My oath repeated! To the death I ſwear,
I will purſue the two prime regal monſters,
And all their progeny! Should they take wings,
They ſhall not 'ſcape my vengeance! Should they hide
In deepeſt caverns, there I'll penetrate,
And drag them forth! nor reſt, till they are ſwept
From off the earth, which groans beneath their wicked⯑neſs!
This from the bottom of my ſoul I ſwear.
Deeds ſoon ſhall follow words. Here, take it; ſwear,
Lucretius.
LUCRETIUS.
Wonder and aſtoniſhment
Seize on—
BRUTUS.
Of that hereafter ſpeak. Now ſwear.
LUCRETIUS.
[105]I ſwear.
BRUTUS.
Swear, Collatine.
COLLATINE.
I ſwear.
BRUTUS.
Valerius,
Swear.
VALERIUS.
I ſwear.
BRUTUS.
And now, my friends, the firſt I e'er could call ſo,
Let me embrace you round! Now, after long,
Long penance done, I am again myſelf.
I ſee you hardly yet believe your eyes;
Wondering, but ſcarce convicted; in ſuſpence,
Though ſtrong perſuaſion tell you all is real.
Think, my good friends, that hitherto you ſaw
My ſhadow only, and my mock reſemblance,
The mimic of myſelf, and ape ridiculous;
Never till now appear'd I as I am.
Heretofore in my place, to th' eyes of men,
Hath an impoſtor, a poor ſtupid wretch,
Inſenſible to inſult, void of ſhame,
Contemn'd by all, though in his own opinion
Of great importance, (which but ſerved to make
His folly more conſpicuous;) to the eyes
Of men, I ſay, this brutiſh character
Hath in my place appear'd; now is he vaniſh'd:
And I rouſed up from that lethargic ſlumber,
In which I lay for twenty years or more,
Now take again my rank i'th' file of men,
Call reaſon mine, and boaſt me in the name
Of long-loſt late-aſſumed humanity.
[106] My ſoul feels double ſtrength from this inertneſs;
I burn for action, for the glorious day,
When freedom ſhall be ours; when I may ſay
To the chaſte manes of Lucretia,
Now reſt at peace, ye are at full revenged.
When I ſhall ſay, Rejoice, imperial Rome,
For tyranny is extinct, and oppreſſion
No more ſhall rule you with an iron rod.—
Bear forth the body to the market-place;
Then ſhut the gates, that none may from Collatia
Bear any news to the camp; go you before,
And tell the melancholy tale; myſelf
Will follow after, and diſcourſe the people.
Thence unto Rome.—And Oh, you powers on high,
Propitious prove, and let your aid be nigh!
Still prompt the generous thought; keep firm, my ſoul,
That I may ſafely reach the purpoſed goal;
That I may pull Ambition to the ground,
And Liberty may pour her gifts around.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

[107]

SCENE I. A Street in Rome.Enter two Citizens, one of Collatia, the other of Rome.
FIRST CITIZEN.
I Told you how this melancholy ſight,
The hiſtory of the deed ſhewn in its true
And native colours, by th' afflicted huſband
And father, with the artleſs eloquence
Of real grief; how the diſcovery
Of Brutus, and his ſpeech, affected us.
Each braver youth ſtood quickly by their ſide
Array'd in arms, burning with indignation
Pent in their breaſts. We left Collatia
And enter'd Rome; a ſight ſo new and ſtrange,
With the arm'd multitude, firſt ſtruck th' inhabitants
With fear and terror: but when they beheld
The order of our march, peaceful and ſolemn,
They ſoon put off their fears, and throng'd to gaze
Undreſs'd, unornamented, on her bier
Lay, ſcarce yet cold, Lucretia's chaſte remains,
Beauteous in death: you might have ta'en her ſo,
And placed her in a temple, 'twould be ſworn
'Twas Venus' image cut in alabaſter.
Or for her hair confuſedly ſcatter'd over
Her comely face and neck, Dian, reclined
After her toil upon a mount, expoſed
To the rude winds; while in her breaſt the wound
She gave herſelf, would cauſe you to admire
[108] What ſacrilegious hand ſhould dare to ſtab,
And give a deity to death.
SECOND CITIZEN.
Where now
Is this proceſſion? And how far behind you?
FIRST CITIZEN.
They muſt by this have well-nigh reach'd the forum;
Where Brutus, who is tribune of the guards,
(A place of truſt, which Tarquin only gave him,
As he appear'd an object of contempt)
Hath call'd together all the centuries.
He and Valerius are mean time to meet
The ſnators, who are by this convened,
(The few whom Tarquin's ſword hath left alive)
To lay before them his intent, his plans,
And to be guided by their wiſe advice;
While in the forum, with Lucretia's corſe
Laid forth to view, the father and the huſband
Relate the manner of her death; when this
Is finiſh'd, Brutus ſhall harangue the people.
SECOND CITIZEN.
Great matters, as I think, may riſe from this,
FIRST CITIZEN.
The greateſt that can riſe; the moſt deſired
And leaſt expected ever to have happened,
If you at Rome equal in generous ſentiments
Us at Collatia.
SECOND CITIZEN.
What they are, I gueſs;
And would myſelf with joy hazard my life,
Was there a probability ſhewn to me
Of gaining what we now ſo long have loſt.
But raſh adventurers ſeldom meet with profit,
And a dead ſleep of five and twenty years,
Is what men can't be eaſily awaked from.
[109] But curioſity, if nothing elſe,
Will lead me to the forum.
FIRST CITIZEN.
I'll attend you.
I came this nearer way to avoid the crowd,
And glad I am I found you.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Forum at Rome.

Lucretius and Collatinus ſtanding by the Body of Lucretia The Roman People round them. The Roſtrum behind.

LUCRETIUS.

Thus, thus, my friends, faſt as our breaking hearts

Permitted utterance, have we unfolded

This narrative of ſad diſtreſs; for us

What now remains, robb'd as we are, of all

Which gave a joy to life, but to purſue

The example ſhe hath ſet us, to invoke

The timeleſs deſtinies, and end our beings

With our own wretched hands?—Oh, vile old-age!

Which for her ſake alone I wiſh'd to ſee!

Oh, luckleſs youth, whoſe ſorrow equals mine!

For thou, alas, haſt loſt an equal bleſſing!

Mercileſs villain! Deareſt, deareſt daughter!

Yet let us mix our ſorrows, let us drop

Our tears together on her lifeleſs clay;

Nor will your tender hearts, my countrymen,

Forbear to ſympathize with us, and join

Your ſigh of grief to ours.

FIRST ROMAN.

Oh, piteous deed!

SECOND ROMAN.

Oh, lamentable ſight!

THIRD ROMAN.

Ill-fated huſband!

FOURTH ROMAN.

[110]

Oh, lamentable ſight!

THIRD ROMAN.

Ill-fated huſband!

FOURTH ROMAN.

Moſt wretched father!

FIFTH ROMAN.

Let us all attend,

And pay due honour to Lucretia's corſe.

SIXTH ROMAN.

Let all our matrons mourn, and let our virgins

Strew roſes on her bier.

FIRST ROMAN.

Come, then away,

And let us all prepare the funeral pile.

LUCRETIUS.

For this compaſſion—

FIRST ROMAN.

Silence all! attend!

LUCRETIUS.

For this your tenderneſs, my gentle friends,

I thank you from my ſoul. But know you not,

The tribune of the guards hath call'd you hither?

Hear Lucius Junius firſt! you know not what

He hath to impart to you; private affairs

Muſt yield to public; until he hath finiſh'd,

I will not ſuffer you beſtow a thought

On me, and mine; unuſual is this call:

Your meetings long neglected. Nay, I'll tell you,

(For why from you ſhould I hide any thing?)

It is for me and mine that he appears;

For me, for him, for every Roman here.

But, lo, he comes! Make way, my countrymen;

And, I beſeech you, liſt to what he utters,

With deepeſt ſilence.

FIRST ROMAN.

[111]

Room, there! room! make away!

SECOND ROMAN.

Let him aſcend the roſtrum.

THIRD ROMAN.

Surely this

Is errant madneſs; hear a fool harangue!

FOURTH ROMAN.

Be patient; fool or not, is he not tribune?

And don't the laws permit him to harangue?

FIFTH ROMAN.

Beſides, Lucretius hath deſired our ſilence.

SIXTH ROMAN.

Hiſt! he begins; methinks his looks are alter'd.

BRUTUS.

Romans and friends! you ſee before you now

No blundering ideot, bearing to your ears

The mandates of a tyrant, and diſgracing

This roſtrum with the ſervile repetition.

By many who are preſent, this aſſertion

May not be credited, ſo warily

I've play'd th' impoſture, which neceſſity

Compell'd me to aſſume. For when your king,

King do I call him? when the monſter Tarquin

Slew, as you moſt of you may well remember,

And thoſe who do not, may have heard reported,

My father Marcus, and my elder brother,

Envying their virtues, and with covetous

And greedy eye, deſiring to poſſeſs

Their tempting wealth, what treatment at that time

Could I have hoped for? Where could I have found

Protection, had I not put on the maſk

Of unſuſpected, unrevenging folly?

The maſk which having to this day preſerved me,

This day of my diſcovery, which I long

Have wiſh'd, I now forever throw aſide.

FIRST ROMAN.

[112]

Moſt wonderful!

SECOND ROMAN.

Who ever heard the like

THIRD ROMAN.

I'm loſt in admiration.

FOURTH ROMAN.

'Twas well thought on,

He had no other way to ſave himſelf;

I ſhould myſelf have done the very ſame.

FIFTH ROMAN.

How we were all deceived!

SIXTH ROMAN.

Aye, and the king,

And his three ſons, who uſed to laugh at him.

FOURTH ROMAN.

Well, I ſaw always ſomething in his face,

That look'd, I thought, like as if who ſhould ſay,

I am not what you take me for.

FIRST ROMAN.

Peace, peace;

He can't proceed; ſilence; he ſpeaks again.

BRUTUS.

Would you know why I ſummon'd you together?

Aſk you what brings me here? Behold this dagger

Clotted with gore! Behold that frozen corſe!

See theſe unhappy men, whoſe tale of woe,

Of horrid woe, you from their mouths have heard,

And mingled ſocial tears! Oh, chaſtity,

Is this thy fate! Oh, Rome, how wilt thou mourn

Thy thinn'd inhabitants, if goodneſs, virtue,

Treated as crimes, muſt meet the ſtroke of death!

If youth and beauty muſt be fingled out;

Firſt prey'd on by rapacious luſt, then murder'd!

Oh! I could mourn thy fate, Lucretia!

[113] Could, like thy father and thy huſband mourn;

Could in laments vie with each Roman ſoul

Who now beholds thee; and lament I will:

I can't refrain; my heart is wrung with grief,

Unutterable, inconceivable.

FIRST ROMAN.

Alas, Lucretia!

SECOND ROMAN.

Poor unhappy matron!

THIRD ROMAN.

Why wert thou good, and beautiful, and young?

FOURTH ROMAN.

Her father and her huſband are half dead.

FIFTH ROMAN.

Brutus, methinks, is moved as much they.

FOURTH ROMAN.

Brutus! Why, Brutus? Didſt not hear him ſay

He was no more an ideot?

FIFTH ROMAN.

True, I heard it;

But uſe is not ſo eaſily o'ercome.

SIXTH ROMAN.

Silence! attend: ſee! he proceeds again.

BRUTUS.

Did I, my countrymen, ſay, I could mourn

Lucretia's death?—What ſorrow muſt I feel,

When I beheld before my eyes, as now,

Methinks, I do, each Roman matron dead!

When I behold each Roman maid abus'd!

(For who ſhall circumſcribe the range of luſt?

What numbers ſhall fill up his ravenous gorge?

And bid his raging appetite be ſtill?)

When I behold each Roman citizen,

Who hath a much-lov'd wife, a darling daughter,

[114] Doom'd, like theſe two, to death, becauſe with grief

Surcharg'd, they do not ſit in ſilence down,

But dare proclaim their feelings?—Public murder,

For ſuch a crime ſhall ſnatch them from the world,

Or they ſhall fall by the midnight aſſaſſin;

Nor muſt their friends ſay how they met their death,

But lay the blame upon their own deſpair.

FIRST ROMAN.

They ſhall not die.

SECOND ROMAN.

We will protect them both.

THIRD ROMAN.

We will defend them from the tyrant's wrath.

BRUTUS.

Defend them, ſay you? Miſerable men!

You know not what you ſay. Protect them both!

Can you protect yourſelves? You have committed

Treaſon againſt the tyrant, and his brood

Of monſter ſons; you've dared to look with pity,

You've dropp'd a tear on murder'd innocence:

You've ſeen Lucretia, and have wept her fate:

You're partners with her father and her huſband,

In guilty ſorrow. You have liſten'd too

To me, a wretch, who twenty lingering years,

Have for your ſakes impoſed upon the tyrant,

And borne the groſſeſt inſults. You have done

All this: and do you not expect to feel

The weight of puniſhment which is your due?

Are you not Tarquin's ſlaves? (for ſo he calls you)

And don't you dread the whip? Doth he not name you

The herd? The beaſt with many heads? And will not

The fury Maſſacre, let looſe among you,

Revel knee-deep in blood?

FIRST ROMAN.

Inſtruct us, Brutus,

What we ſhall do.

SECOND ROMAN.

[115]

We'll follow thee in all things.

THIRD ROMAN.

Thou ſhalt direct us.

FOURTH ROMAN.

Give us thy commands,

And we'll obey.

FIFTH ROMAN.

Inſtruct us, Brutus.

BRUTUS.

Muſt you be taught then what to do? Look there,

Once more look that way. She one night alone,

Outrage and violence ſuſtain'd: not all

The entreaties of her friends, her weeping father

Begging, as he'd extort a gift from heaven,

Not all her huſband's tender ſupplication,

Could ſhake her purpoſe: with a fearful hand,

But an undaunted ſoul: a woman's feelings,

But more than manly thought, deep in her breaſt

She plung'd this ſharp-edged ſteel, which ſet her free.

Yes, thou art free, Lucretia! thou art gone,

Nobleſt of women, where no Tarquins dwell!

Luſt gloats not on the dead, nor cruelty

And beſtial fierceneſs riot in the grave.

Oh, moſt illuſtrious of thy ſex, inſpire

Our ſpirit-wanting minds with but a portion,

However ſmall, of thy bright excellence!

Yet even that, I fear, would be in vain.

We are inured too much to ſlavery,

To dare reſiſt; we are quite reconciled.

Determined ſtill to drudge beneath the yoke:

To ſhrink each hour at ſight of ſome new murder,

Some deed of baſeneſs, treachery, and horror,

Yet with our lips cry, Hail, all-gracious Tarquin.

To work in ſewers all day, ſhut up mid damps,

[116] Denied the ſight of heaven's bleſſed ſun,

Yet in the eve, when we half-choak'd, reviſit

The upper air, to praiſe benignant Tarquin.

To ſee his ſons ruſh into every houſe,

To ſee our wives raviſh'd before our eyes;

To ſee each ripening tender maid deflower'd;

To ſee them kill themſelves; to ſee their pale,

And aſhy corſes, in the public forum,

Ranged all arow—Yet then we are determined

To bleſs kind Tarquin, mercy-loving Tarquin,

And beg him to beget ſome dozen more

Of ſturdy ſons, with ſuch like acts of kindneſs,

To bleſs his humble, faithful citizens.

If this were not your fix'd determination,

Say, would you ſeek inſtructions? Would you aſk

What you ſhould do? Aſk ye yon conſcious walls,

Which ſaw his poiſon'd brother, ſaw the inceſt

Committed there, and they will cry, Revenge!

Aſk ye yon conſcious ſtreet, where Tullia drove

O'er her dead father's corſe, 'twill cry, Revenge!

Aſk yonder ſenate houſe, whoſe ſtones are purple

With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge!

Go to the tomb where lies his murder'd wife,

And the poor queen, who lov'd him as her ſon,

Their unappeaſed ghoſts will ſhriek, Revenge!

The temples of the gods, th' all-viewing heavens,

The gods themſelves, ſhall juſtify the cry,

And ſwell the general ſound, Revenge! Revenge!

ALL.

Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!

BRUTUS.

And we will be reveng'd, my countrymen!

Brutus ſhall lead you on; Brutus (a name

Which will when you're reveng'd, be dearer to him,

Than all the ſplendent titles earth can boaſt.)

Nor I alone; ſee where Valerius brings

[117] The nobleſt of the city! See where ſtand

Lucretius! Collatine! Nor age nor grief

Depreſs their ſpirits, ſo as not to ſeek

Glorious revenge.—You are this moment free.

I ſee the tyrant fled; his ſoul dies in him;

The voice of liberty hath reach'd the camp.

I ſee the gladful ſoldiers haſting home,

Big to enjoy that freedom you poſſeſs;

Each one claſps cloſe his friend, weeps on his neck,

Unable to expreſs the burſting pleaſure

Stretching his heart. But, when you name revenge,

His eyes flaſh living fire, and he reſolves,

With you, to hunt the monſters through the world.

For tyranny, once having found a foe,

Meets not with an upholder. Once again

Let me pronounce you free. Again 'tis yours

To bring your votes: and the firſt caſe before you,

Is, what becomes of Tarquin?

ALL.

We baniſh him the city, we baniſh him the city.

BRUTUS.

And now, what courſe will you yourſelves purſue?

ALL.

Arms, Brutus! arms! We'll march againſt the tyrant,

Lead us againſt him.

BRUTUS.

If you'll by my advice be over-ſway'd—

ALL.

Give it us, give it, we will follow it.

BRUTUS.

Myſelf, with ſome of the Patrician youth

Well-mounted, will away unto the camp.

Do you each man, furniſh'd with arms, prepared

For action, or advice, immediately

Haſte to the Campus Martius, there Valerius

[118] Shall, with the ſenate, to your ears impart,

And to be ratified by your conſent,

That plan of government by me delineated,

When in my fatuous ſtate each thought was buſied

For you, and Rome.—Guard well the city gates;

Pay the laſt duties to Lucretia's corſe:

And ſoon expect to ſee my ſafe return,

And with me, all your friends. Th' immortal gods

Are your defence, fear nothing, but be bold.

FIRST ROMAN.

Oh, noble Brutus!

SECOND ROMAN.

Giver of liberty!

THIRD ROMAN.

Father of Rome!

FOURTH ROMAN.

Deliverer of his country!

FIFTH ROMAN.

Our guardian god!

SIXTH ROMAN.

A temple ſhall be his

Next that of Romulus.

BRUTUS.

Oh, my dear countrymen! ſhould I pretend

T' expreſs the joy I feel for you, the gratitude

You raiſe within me, for this high applauſe

Shewn to my poor deſerts, the time we now

Poſſeſs, were much too ſcant, e'en years would fail.

I'm wholly yours, and long as I ſhall breathe

The breath of life, will only live for you.

Now I deſcend: and will accompany you

Without the forum; there we'll ſeparate;

You for your arms; I, to the camp at Ardea.

The gods who long have in the book of Fate

Foreſeen this time; the gods who hate injuſtice,

[119] Who puniſh perfidy, and cruel deeds,

Go with us both: their influence I obey,

The humble inſtrument they have appointed

To reſcue you from bondage, to reſtore

Your ancient rites, to give you days of peace,

And liberty, the attribute of man.

But grant me one requeſt: tho' real joy,

I know, ill brooks reſtraint, keep back this tumult

Of your applauſe; your love I'd fain acquire,

Heaven is my witneſs, I would die t' acquire it!

But clamour ever ſhews ill-guided counſels,

The voice of raſhneſs, th' argument of numbers,

Of reaſon deſtitute. Not ſo the plan

Which we purſue, the ſureſt grounds are ours,

Maturely founded, and late brought to light.

Let us accompliſh then the end propoſed,

With prudent zeal, with decent vigour, firm

Intrepid hope, and ſilent reſolution.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Camp: Tarquin's Tent.

TARQUIN, MESSENGER, GUARDS.

TARQUIN.

Take this Collatian ſcare-crow, guard him ſafe.

If that the news thou bring'ſt ſhall be found falſe,

Prepare thee for the tortures of the croſs.

MESSENGER.

My Lord, it is too true.

TARQUIN.

Away with him.

[Exeunt Meſſenger and guards.

Brutus! it cannot be. The gods themſelves

Could not beſtow on him the uſe of reaſon.

Brutus incite the people to ſedition!

As ſoon ſhall the Tarpeian rock turn vo [...]al;

[120] As ſoon the wooden Jove i'th' capitol

Hurl the Vulcanian bolt. This knave hath heard

Some vague report when drunk, or in his ſleep

Hath dream'd of this account, an unconnected,

Improbable, impoſſible adventure.

Enter an Attendant.

My Lord, another haſty meſſenger

Begs your immediate hearing.

TARQUIN.

Bring him before us.

MESSENGER [proſtrating himſelf.]

Pardon, moſt gracious Tarquin, e'er I ſpeak.

TARQUIN.

Speak boldly, man, for thou haſt nought to fear.

MESSENGER.

I come, dread ſovereign, from Rome, where Brutus

Hath urged the people to rebellion.

TARQUIN.

How, and which way?

MESSENGER.

My Lord, this morn a herald,

I'th' name o'th' captain of the guards, convok'd

The general people to the public forum.

Curious to know the cauſe, I too went thither.

Soon was brought forth the body of Lucretia,

Attended by Lucretius and her huſband,

And a large body of Collatian youth

In arms: by turns they ſpake unto the people;

Oft interrupted were their words, with ſighs

And tears—

TARQUIN.

Proceed, be brief.

MESSENGER.

They ſaid, Lucretia

[121] By Sextus raviſh'd, had foredone herſelf.

The people moved with pity, heard the tale,

And every eye was wet.

TARQUIN.

Thy tediouſneſs

Is inſupportable: haſte to the end.

MESSENGER.

Then Brutus came, and mounting in the roſtrum,

Firſt having ſhewn that his ſtupidity

Was only forged, proceeded—

TARQUIN.

'Tis enough.

No more. Without! Prepare with utmoſt ſpeed

A band of choſen horſe! Where are my ſons?

Why ſtand you thus? Where are my ſons, I ſay?

What follow'd after he had ſpoke?

MESSENGER.

The people

All with one voice, when he propoſed the queſtion,

Of what becomes of Tarquin? cried, We baniſh him.

TARQUIN.

How!—Dared they?—Hah! 'tis well. What after⯑wards;

MESSENGER.

He then directed them firſt to take arms;

And, while he haſted hither to the camp,

To meet Valerius and the ſenators

I'th' Campus Martius, who would lay before them

A ſcheme of government. This having heard,

I hurried ſtraight away.

TARQUIN.

Thy loyalty

Shall meet with its reward; for them—Who waits?

Where are my ſons? Quick bid thoſe horſemen mount

And wait for my commands. Deep hypocrite

Beyond example!—Oh, I ſee through all.

[122] But ſhort ſhall be his reign; myſterious, dark,

Unfathomable villain! But his life,

His forfeit life—and the quick, eaſy-wrought,

Inconſtant crowd, them I'll reduce much lower

Than beaſts of burthen; they have lived too fat;

Kick they their maſter thus?—Why did I leave

One ſenator alive? I had done well

T' have extirpated all, both root and branch.

Had done is paſs'd; the preſent hour is mine,

And that ſhall be well uſed. On danger's verge

To act unmoved, recoil into himſelf,

See every train of poſſible deſign,

And judge the beſt, is the great character

Of the ſuperior ſoul. This is the time

Of trial, Tarquin; this the grand event,

To ſtamp thee fortune-proof. This enemy,

The tenor of his life, his perſeverance,

Marks the moſt dangerous, thence the moſt worthy,

Thou ever hadſt to cope withal. But he,

If he hath gain'd not every mortal engine

To aid his purpoſe, draws upon his head

Sure ruin.—To leave Rome, and ſeek the camp!

He falls in his own ſnare.

Enter ARUNS and TITUS.

My ſons, you come

In wiſh'd-for time; you know theſe accidents?

TITUS.

We heard them with amazement.

TARQUIN.

Where is Sextus,

The raviſher of matrons; who inſpires

Idiots with ſenſe, and raiſes inſurrections

Againſt his father?

ARUNS.

[123]

We in vain enquired;

He was not in his tent.

TARQUIN.

Well may he fear

To meet my preſence; by th' immortal gods,

This hand ſhould ſlay him for a fool, a dolt!

A common thief would, ere he robb'd a houſe,

Firſt kill the maſtiff at the gate, who elſe

Might worry him returning. As this tale

By buſy rumour to the ſoldiers' ears

May get acceſs, and if it doth, his preſence

May be with fatal conſequence attended,

Bid him ſtill hide himſelf, or to withdraw

Entirely from the camp. Myſelf will hence,

And with theſe light-arm'd horſemen, intercept

This Brutus on the road, which being done,

I doubt not but to get ſpeedy admittance

Into the city, where th' unruly mob,

Diſtract with fear, and multitude of counſels,

Will of themſelves be ready for ſubmiſſion.

Should he eſcape my hands, in every avenue

Place truſty guards, and give ſtrict orders to them,

To ſlay him ere he reach the camp.

TITUS.

We ſhall not

Be wanting on our part.

TARQUIN.

Alas, my ſons!

ARUNS.

What ails my father?

TARQUIN.

I am well again.

A ſudden damp, and creeping horror, ſeiz'd me.

'Tis over now. I thought my throne fix'd firm

[124] As th' everlaſting baſis of the earth.

Fool that I was, to truſt to quibbling gods!

When to the Delphic fane you took your way,

What ſaid the dark expounder, who perplexes

In double maze what ſhe pretends t'unfold?

Theſe were the words o'th' Pythian ſorcereſs:

"Beaſts ſhall enjoy the reaſon of mankind,

"E'er Tarquin from the ſnake diſturbance find."

This is the beaſt, this is the fated ſnake,

Whom you and I have cheriſh'd in our boſoms;

And now he brandiſhes his forked ſting,

And caſts his baneful mortal venom round,

Threatening deſtruction. But, avaunt, vain fears!

I have been ſcared by omens: but the wretch

Who yields to ſuperſtition, well deſerves

To fall its ſacrifice. I'll haſte away.

Cowards and fools misfortunes antedate:

In his own hand the brave man holds his fate.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Sextus's Tent.ARUNS, SEXTUS, TITUS.
ARUNS.
I do not blame the deed, the ſimple deed!
Oh, you miſtake me quite! the deed might ſtand
Inroll'd; I'll read it rape, nothing but rape,
Plain rape; I'd turn my eyes another way,
Nor add one tranſient ſlight remark of mine
To thoſe of conſcientious, babbling, ſniveling,
Mouth-watering knaves, who envy every man
The dainty morſel they can't eat themſelves.
But I ſee wrote in equal characters,
Bad conſequences, ſuch as theſe, to wit,
Revenge, and mutiny, and inſurrection,
[125] And baniſhment, and loſs of empire; theſe
Denominate the deed with me, and theſe
I ſtill will harraſs and perplex thee with;
And ring thee ſuch alarms, that thou ſhalt wiſh
The cut-throat Brutus, or the cuckold Collatine,
Stood by thee rather, with their ſharpen'd ſwords
Levell'd againſt thy throat.
SEXTUS.
Pr'ythee, no more;
I don't repent the deed: as for the conſequences,
Thy words can't add a ſting to my reflections.
ARUNS.
Yet I will ſting thee, I will taunt thee ſtill.—
No, rather let me, like a loving brother,
Turn thy apologiſt, and make excuſes.
As thus. When luſt revels predominant,
Folly and frenzy cut wild capriols
In Reaſon's court. Or thus, with languid eye,
And whining tone—When beauty fires the ſenſe,
Beauty, ſoft tyrant! amiable invader!
Conſideration turns an hood-wink'd aſs.
Or thus, in grave and philoſophic vein—
What mortal man can with his finite glance
Survey the boundleſs waſte of future time,
And cull out the events which there are ſown
Crude, unexiſtent, till th' all-potent hand
Of Jove, uplifts them from the dark abyſs,
And gives them form ſubſtantial?—Oh, man! man!
What a vile fool art thou! By heaven and earth,
The ſtalking monſter man grows every day
More and more ſtupid and ridiculous.
See the erect machine! he lifts his head,
Proclaims himſelf a godling! Bend, ye abject,
Inferior animals!—Oh, could I ſet thee,
Proud miſcreant, in thy place, there's not a beaſt
But I would raiſe above thee. Reaſon thine!
[126] The matchleſs gift of ſpeech! An ox, an ape,
Could I interpret, talks as well as thou doſt;
His actions prove it.—Not foreſee events
With all thy reaſon! Inſtinct then is better.
Which of the herd will plunge into the tide?
Expect the liquid element to change,
And bear him as on land? Did e'er the eagle
Forth from his lofty ayerie dart to th' ground
And not expand his wings? E'er he enjoys
His loving miſtreſs, the ſtern bull knows well
That he muſt beat his rival from the paſture.
But why thus throw away my time on trifles!
The moſt inſipid theme that man can talk of
Is of mankind. Titus, ſee there! behold!
He too will boaſt his reaſon; yet he knows not
The verieſt inſect will, when trod upon,
Endeavour at reſiſtance.
TITUS.
To what purpoſe
This tends, I can't conceive. Oh, Aruns, Aruns!
E'er we ſet up for maſters, it were well
Did we ourſelves ſtill practiſe what we teach.
ARUNS.
Thou, with thy muſty rules!—Patience herſelf,
At opening of thy mouth, would ſtop her ears,
Or run away faſt as her heels could bear her,
Pour in thy potions, Titus; his hot blood
Wants cooling medicines, ſedative morality.
Sextus, attend; thy fever ſhall abate,
And thou ſhalt fall into a leaden ſlumber:
And ſo I leave you both, either to other.
Wiſe leach, may Phoebus aid thee at thy need!
So ſhall thy patient's health be ſound as thine.
[Exit.
SEXTUS.
Adieu, diſſatisfied, and chiding humoriſt!
TITUS.
[127]Did I not tell thee what I fear'd would follow?
SEXTUS.
I pr'ythee, do not thou reproach me too;
Rather adviſe me in this hour of danger
How I had beſt diſpoſe myſelf; to leave
The camp, would argue fear, would argue ſhame;
Nor would I mid the rabble ſo exalt
Their ſelf-conceit, to think I aught could do
To make me in their preſence hang my head
For one, or t'other cauſe. Beſides, I doubt not,
But that our father's ever-ready mind,
Which like the ſierce tide 'gainſt the ruſhing tempeſt
Still riſes ſtronger meeting oppoſition,
Will prompt him with the means of wiſh'd ſucceſs.
That he will gain admittance into Rome
I little queſtion; and ſhould Brutus turn
A different way toward the camp, thoſe bands,
Which with ſtrict orders watch each avenue,
Will render us as good account of him. [A Shout.
What ſound is that? Methought it was a ſhout
As of a multitude.
TITUS.
It was; perhaps the guards
Have taken Brutus priſoner, or ſlain him.
Enter CLAUDIUS.
CLAUDIUS.
Fly, fly, my Lords! Brutus is in the camp;
I ſaw him with theſe eyes; he waves aloft
The bloody dagger; all the ſoldiers hear him
With wildeſt admiration and applauſe.
He ſpeaks, as if he held the ſouls of men
In his own hand, and moulded them at pleaſure.
[128] They look on him as they would view a god,
Who, from a darkneſs which inveſted him,
Springs forth, and knitting his ſtern brow in frowns,
Proclaims the vengeful doom of angry Jove.
Herminius and Horatius too have join'd him.
All cry aloud, Revenge! Revenge on Tarquin!
Death to his ſons!—Fly! fly! and ſave yourſelves!
TITUS.
Herminius and Horatius! Traitors.—How
Paſs'd he the guards?
CLAUDIUS.
They brought him in triumphant.
TITUS.
Where's Aruns?
CLAUDIUS.
He is fled, my Lord, to Caere,
And bids you follow him with utmoſt haſte.
TITUS.
Whither wilt thou?
SEXTUS.
I ſhall ſtraitway to Gabii,
As to a ſafe aſylum. Fare thee well!
TITUS.
Farewel to Sextus!—Oh, pernicious fortune!
From this day forth, I date the utter ruin
Of Tarquin and his ſons.
[Exeunt.

SCENE V. The Walls of Rome.TARQUIN at the Gate; above, LUCRETIUS, COLLA⯑TINUS, VALERIUS, and Roman People.
LUCRETIUS.
Whate'er he ſays to you, ye gentle Romans,
Let me intreat you anſwer not a word.
Who's he that aſks admittance?
TARQUIN.
[129]Am I then
Alter'd ſo much of late, that old Lucretius
Knows not his king? Why are theſe gates faſt barr'd?
And who is it that dares refuſe me entrance?
LUCRETIUS.
This ſhall I anſwer ſtrait. As for my king
I know thee not: tho' Tarquin well I know,
And know him for a tyrant, who long time,
Many a dreadful year of ſervitude,
Held Rome inſlaved; againſt that cruel tyrant
Theſe gates are barr'd; thoſe who refuſe him entrance
Are all the Roman people, who have dared
Proclaim him baniſh'd from their land for ever.
TARQUIN.
Is this thy gratitude, old man? From me
Thou hadſt th' authority thou now uſurp'ſt,
The government of Rome.
LUCRETIUS.
When thou wert king
I held from thee the government, I own it.
Thou from the people then didſt hold thy crown,
Who've ſince depoſed thee; from the people now
I hold the interregal dignity.
When Brutus from the camp ſhall with him bring
Th' enfranchis'd army, if to him and Collatine,
As they've determin'd, they deliver up
The delegated truſt, their future conſuls,
I ſhall with readineſs and pleaſure yield
Into their hands my tranſitory ſway.
TARQUIN.
Had any others in the Roman ſtate
Fomented mid the people this rebellion,
I ſhould not thus have wonder'd: but that you,
You three, whom I've admitted to my councils,
[130] Loaded with honours, dignities, and gifts
Of price, that you ſhould, with th' ingrateful Brutus,
Whom as my child I've foſter'd, join to ruin
Your gracious maſter, and kind benefactor,
Is one of thoſe ſtrange accidents I labour
In vain to reconcile to probability.
LUCRETIUS.
For all the various favours I've received
From Tarquin and his race, I am moſt grateful;
But chiefly grateful for my murder'd daughter.
COLLATINE.
I for my raviſh'd and ſelf-ſlaughter'd wife.
VALERIUS.
I, in the name of all the Roman people,
Confeſs my gratitude; the many favours
On them beſtow'd, now for theſe many a year
My greateſt happineſs have conſtituted.
For Brutus, who is abſent, let me thank thee,
Both for his murder'd father and his brother.
TARQUIN.
Oh, Collatine, Lucretius, all the powers
Who rule this univerſe can witneſs for me,
How I deteſt that hateful deed; none feels
More for the injured father and the huſband;
None curſes more the impious perpetrator,
Though from theſe loins he ſprang, than I myſelf.
No; let the criminal bear all the weight
Of your juſt vengeance; let him be brought forth
Before the Roman people, ſtand his trial,
As by my royal word I ſwear he ſhall,
Were he three times my ſon; and is his death
Decreed, he ſurely dies. But muſt the innocent
Be with the guilty puniſh'd? Muſt the father
Bear the ſon's crimes? the crimes which he abhors?
Yes, when I heard the tale, Lucretius,
[131] I ſtarted back with horror, while my heart
Wept tears of blood.
LUCRETIUS.
Such tears thou ſhedd'ſt over thy poiſon'd brother.
COLLATINE.
Such o'er thy wife, brought to her timeleſs end.
VALERIUS.
Such tears thou ſhedd'ſt over thy good old king.
LUCRETIUS.
Such over each aſſaſſinated noble.
COLLATINE.
Such over every murder'd Roman knight.
VALERIUS.
Such over every death-doom'd citizen.
TARQUIN.
How much you wrong my nature, you yourſelves
Shall be the living judges. Prove my mercy,
Return to your allegiance, reconcile
To my authority the ductile croud
By you ſeduced: do this, and here I ſwear,
In preſence of the gods, by every tie
Which binds mankind, my eyes ſhall overlook
All that is paſs'd; nay more, I will ſubmit me
To your advice in all things, nor ſhall ought
That you can aſk, not be by me perform'd.
LUCRETIUS.
Canſt thou reſtore my daughter to my arms?
COLLATINE.
Canſt thou call forth my wife from her dark tomb?
VALERIUS.
Canſt thou bring back to life ten thouſand Romans,
By thy ambition ſlain, or cruelty?
TARQUIN.
Oh, Romans! Oh, my countrymen! to you
Do I appeal from theſe injurious men.
[132] Lo, here I ſtand, helpleſs, and deſtitute,
Imploring pity only, where I ought
To claim obedience; prayers are th' arms I uſe,
Does this beſpeak a tyrant?—See theſe locks,
Grey with the cares of government! theſe rather
Beſpeak the father. I have govern'd you
For five and twenty years, during which time
I've fought your battles 'gainſt your enemies,
From whom you have return'd with honour crown'd,
Loaded with ſpoils. I'm cover'd o'er with ſcars,
For you received; for ill doth he deſerve
The name of royalty, who braves not peril,
Who ſhrinks affrighted at the frown of death,
Yet tells his ſubjects he's not terrible,
And bids them meet the fury face to face.
For you, and for your glory, hath my life
Been ſtill employ'd, I'm wearied out with toil
Endured for you. To raiſe your name abroad,
And make each kingdom round you mention Rome,
And what belongs to Rome with awe—All this
I've done for you. For you have borne the froſt
Of keen December, and for you ſuſtain'd
The torrid dog-ſtar. Have I ever hoarded
My ſhare o'th' plunder? Fill'd my treaſury
With ſtuff which I deſpiſed, but as it ſerved
To add to Rome new luſtre?—Look behind you!
Are not for you theſe ſumptuous buildings rais'd?
And for your honour? Let the gods themſelves
Declare my motives, who now dwell in temples
Fitting their dignity, and Rome's magnificence.
For which of theſe my works am I exiled?
Oh, you have been deceived, groſsly deceived!
If I'm accus'd of any fancied crimes
Artfully lodged againſt me; till the time
You bid me reign, I ſhall, as it behoves me,
[133] Lay by my crown. Admit me then unarm'd;
Thus as a ſuppliant, with his naked head,
Admit your king; he begs at your tribunal
To plead his cauſe; he aſks but common juſtice;
But to be heard, before he is condemn'd.
LUCRETIUS.
Who can refrain from laughter at this ſight?
Tarquin, the moſt unjuſt of mortal men,
Requiring juſtice; Tarquin who ne'er heeded
A ſuppliant's prayers, or in his wrath remember'd
Sweet mercy, aſking pity of a people,
Whom he hath ever harraſs'd with oppreſſion?
Their glory didſt thou ſeek? No, 'twas thy own,
Proud man. Hadſt thou thy people's glory ſought,
Or hadſt thou truly known wherein thy own
Conſiſted, thou would'ſt have deſired to ſee them
Happy and free. What glory e'er did ſlaves
Receive from conqueſt? Or what happineſs
Can ſlaves enjoy, ſeeing a ſplendid palace
Or gorgeous temple?—While within the heart
Freedom ſits not inthron'd, and in that ſhrine,
Where heaven's pure flame ſhould dwell, lurks diſcontent,
And ſtruggling, though depreſs'd, the generous ardor
They from their anceſtors inherited,
What Roman is alive to any thought
But one, the ſecret wiſh of righteous vengeance?
Retire, falſe wretch, odious to gods and men,
Retire, e'er 'tis too late, leſt, now provok'd,
We ope our gates indeed, and ruſhing on thee,
Thy ſentence change from baniſhment to death.
[134] Enter CLAUDIUS to TARQUIN.
CLAUDIUS.
I come, ſent by the princeſs—
TARQUIN.
In thy face
I read thy news; draw nearer and diſcloſe it;
But whiſper low, that none may over-hear thee.
CLAUDIUS.
The guards, inſtead of ſeizing Brutus, brought him
Into the camp; he gain'd the ſoldiers there,
As he before had gain'd the citizens:
Titus and Aruns are to Caere fled,
Sextus to Gabii; Brutus is at hand,
With all the cavalry; if you delay,
My gracious lord, a moment, you are loſt.
TARQUIN.
Ye factious demagogues! and ſtubborn people!
Once more attend your king! This meſſenger
Brings me advice, the army is at hand
To aid their maſter; Brutus, the arch-rebel,
Is by their loyal ardor done to death;
Now then prepare to feel the utmoſt weight
Of my avengement; if I enter in
In all my terror, by th' immortal gods,
I will have no remorſe; I'll ſhew no pity;
I'll decimate the rebel crew, your limbs
Shall feed the foxes, and each bird obſcene,
Unburied, ſcatter'd o'er the blood-ſtain'd earth.
What do ye tremble?—Yet deluded people,
If e'er the army come you ope your gates,
Throw down your wearpons, aſk my clemency;
You ſhall, as little as you have deſerv'd it,
Or may expect ſuch clemency from me,
[135] All meet with mercy and a gracious pardon;
Nay, and at your requeſt, I'll ſpare your leaders,
Provided they exile themſelves from Rome.
VALERIUS.
Tyrant, thou ſpeak'ſt in vain, thy artifice
Is ſhallow, and pierced through; I ſaw pale fear
Sit on the chalk'd face of thy meſſenger.
The army can't degenerate ſo far
From thoſe brave men whom they have left behind;
They are not from thy native place Tarquinii,
But Romans born, and will with joy receive
Him who proclaims them free.—But ſhould he periſh,
Should Brutus (which avert, ye righteous powers!)
Have fail'd in his great enterprize, and met
A glorious death (glorious in ſuch a cauſe,
And hallow'd, though by th' hands of villains ſlain,
Of regal fools;) know, Tarquin, there are ſtill
Enough t' aſſume the part which he began;
Not one, but fifty Brutus's are here,
Who will, in the defence of liberty,
Reſiſt thy power, till the laſt drop ſhall leave
Their noble hearts: we are reſolved, while life
Is ours, to live like men; if die we muſt,
As ſoon or late all ſhall, like men to die. [Shout at a diſtance.
LUCRETIUS.
Hear, tyrant! hear! this is the ſound of fate,
Which peals forth thy deſtruction; 'tis the ſhout
Of liberty, the ſignal of ſucceſs;
Brutus returns in triumph; let us all
Prepare in worthy manner to receive
Our great deliverer. This is the hour,
By deſtiny decreed, to teach mankind,
But chiefly guilty kings, that there are gods
Who care for mortal deeds, and rule with juſtice
[136] The realms of heaven above, and earth below.
[Exeunt.
TARQUIN.
Ye furies, glut yourſelves! if there are gods,
Who bend ſo much from their prerogative,
To league with rebel ſubjects 'gainſt their kings;
Make ſure your work! ſtrike here! blaſt me at once!
Uſe me, as I would uſe the Roman people,
Were they all as one worm beneath my feet!
Thus would I trample them, and thus.—I leave thee,
High-towering city, keep thy bulwarks firm,
With double ſtrength cement thy ſtones together:
For if I err not, I'll raiſe ſuch a flame
Throughout Hetruria, as ſhall not be quench'd
Till thou and all thy ſons be burnt as ſtubble
Fired with one general blaze; ſhould to their aid
Their traitors' guardian gods deſcend, I'll bear
The hurrying ſtorm along the troubled air,
By vengeance rais'd, impell'd by brave deſpair.
[Exit.

SCENE VI. Rome.BRUTUS and COLLATINUS as Conſuls with Lictors, VA⯑LERIUS, LUCRETIUS, and others.
BRUTUS.
Indeed, my noble friends, you judge me rightly;
Theſe honours little move the mind of Brutus.
Ne'er did I covet gew-gaws, or the farce
Of wind-blown pomp. 'Tis not the purple robe,
The curule chair, the lictors' keen-edg'd ax
Inforcing homage, which e'er drew one thought
Of mine aſide. But to behold a ſtate
Deliver'd from oppreſſion, to expel
Baſe ignominious ſlavery, with thoſe
Who forg'd her chains for a free people's neck,
[137] To ſee that people bleſs'd with liberty,
And think that we ſhall hand down to our children
The moſt invaluable gift of heaven,
'Twas this expectancy alone, which caſt
A light through that black ſhade in which I dwelt,
And now this having ſeen, could I enjoy
Th' aſſurance of its being ſtill continued,
Again, without a ſcruple, I'd retreat
To my obſcurity, known to myſelf
Alone, hail'd by no tongue, ſeen by no eye.
VALERIUS.
That may not be; yet in her infancy,
Her joints quite ſlack, unable to perform
Their motions, and proceed alone, Rome wants
Thy thinking head, thy executive hand,
And father's care.—I will not ſay my joy
Superior is to thine, but ſure 'tis equal,
At leaſt the force of it can't ſtrain a point
Beyond its preſent ſtretch. Lucretius too,
And Collatine, may now feel comfort, calm
As a mild evening, when the ſun looks forth
Placidly ſhining, after the fierce ſtorms
Which overwhelm'd the day.
LUCRETIUS.
We do, we do.
COLLATINE.
Such fellow-feeling with my noble colleague,
Methinks my ſpirit hath, that I almoſt,
To ſee this hour, could venture to paſs through
Thoſe agonies, which tore my ſoul in twain.
Enter a Meſſenger.
MESSENGER.
All health to Rome! her ſenate! and her conſuls!
BRUTUS.
[138]Speak on what thou haſt farther to impart.
MESSENGER.
I hither come, ſent by th' inhabitants
Of Gabii; they deſire to mix with you
Their ſhare of pleaſure, for your late ſucceſs,
And pray the gods you daily may increaſe
In every earthly bleſſing. They intreat
You'll ſtill eſteem them as your firm allies,
And ancient friends. Chiefly they hail the man,
Who firſt conceived, and dared, with brave reſolve,
Reduce to action what his mind inſpired.
Laſtly, I bring advice of Sextus' death,
Who came no ſooner to the gates of Gabii,
Without his uſual train attending him,
Than mindful of their injuries ſuſtain'd,
Reſenting his moſt cruel deeds, to which
They had been long unwilling witneſſes,
The populace ſurrounding him, with clubs
And ſtones, the weapons which firſt came to hand,
Slew the unpitied homicide.
BRUTUS.
This meſſage
Thou muſt deliver to th' aſſembled fathers,
From them receive thy anſwer. Now, Lucretia,
Thy ghoſt may ceaſe to wander o'er the earth,
And reſt in peace.
LUCRETIUS.
Bleſſed inhabitants
Of Gabii! Oh, ye gods, your ways are juſt!
Now will I ſit me down, and try to bear
Hateful old age, th' affliction of mortality,
But haſtening on its remedy and cure.
COLLATINE.
Yet I regret the villain ſhould be ſlain
By any hand but mine.
[139] Enter CLAUDIUS.
CLAUDIUS.
Is Brutus here?
My buſineſs is with him.
BRUTUS.
Another meſſenger!
I know thee well; diſcloſe thy errand ſtrait.
CLAUDIUS
I come from Aruns; what he bade me utter,
If liberty of ſpeech be granted me,
I ſhall deliver.
BRUTUS.
Speak; thy words are free.
CLAUDIUS.
Then thus he ſays, tell Brutus, tell that traitor,
That fool who was, that knave who ever will be;
That ſhould I meet him in the field of battle,
Were his ſkull trebly thicker than it is,
I'd thoroughly examine its contents.
Is this denied me? When I bear the ſway
With Titus, which perhaps he may remember
We earn'd together, I will ſend to Delphi,
On purpoſe, for that cudgel he preſented
Unto the God; with which each day his ſhoulders
Shall be ſo flay'd, that he ſhall wiſh his feign'd
Were turn'd to real inſenſibility,
Treated with this correction during life.
Aſk him too, if his bravery wars with women,
And whether he hath ſlain the aged queen?
BRUTUS.
And doſt thou bring no other meſſage?
CLAUDIUS.
None.
BRUTUS.
[140]'Tis worthy of the ſender, and the ſent.
Go tell thy pleaſant maſter, that I bear
Jointly with Collatine, chief ſway in Rome:
Tell him the oracle is now fulfill'd;
Tell him I kiſs'd my mother when I fell,
E'en in the very portico o'th' temple,
The earth, the general parent of us all.
And if 'twill farther pleaſe him, that the cudgel,
I to the god preſented, was an emblem
Expreſſive of myſelf, a golden rod
Beneath a caſe of wood. As to his threats,
Tell him I heed them as the chiding gale,
Or th' ocean wave beating at the fix'd baſe
Of a high promontory. Though ſhould I meet him
Mid the enſanguin'd field in glorious fight,
Engag'd for the great cauſe of liberty,
I'll dare the proudeſt of my country's foes,
And with the ſword of vengeance, on his creſt
Engrave a mark indelible: tell him
No Roman murders women: that we leave
To Tarquin and his ſons; even the croud
Purſued her only through the ſtreets with curſes,
Invok'd the furies of her parents on her,
And ſaw her paſs the city gate; ſo hence
In ſafety go, to him who ſent thee hither.
[Exit Claudius.
VALERIUS.
That miſſionary did but ill deſerve
So civil a diſcharge.
BRUTUS.
Were Aruns us,
Neither would he have found it. Now, my friends,
To-morrow will Horatius and Herminius,
The Ardeates having to a truce agreed
For fifteen years, lead all the army homeward.
[141] Then in the common meeting of the people,
Leſt they ſhould think two kings inſtead of one
(Though choſen annually) may lord it o'er them;
One of us, Collatine, will lay aſide
Our ſymbols of command, only reſumed
Alternate month by month. The good Papirius,
King of the holy things, ſhall offer up
Our general ſacrifice, while we again,
And every individual then aſſembled,
Both for ourſelves and our poſterity,
Renew our ſolemn oath ne'er to admit
One of the Tarquin race. This night (more grateful
Than clouds-of inconſe) let our ſecret prayers,
Our private gratitude, and thanks, aſcend
To the high-ruling powers. For howſoe'er,
Vain man may think he plans with arduous care,
'Tis they alone his ſentiments inſpire,
They fill his breaſt with more than mortal fire,
'Tis they alone light up the patriot flame,
They lift the humble, and the haughty tame,
They every human accident foreſee,
To them not accident, but certainty.
[140] [...]
[141] [...]

FINIS.

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Citation Suggestion for this Object: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4604 Lucius Junius Brutus or the expulsion of the Tarquins an historical play By Hugh Downman. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-6084-2