University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Rome.
A State Apartment in the Palace of Tullia.
Enter Tullia, preceded by Guards, Banner Bearers, Ladies,—and followed by Valerius. She appears perturbed, and speaks apart.
Tul.
(apart.)
Why should the steady mind to shadows yield?
And yet this vision shakes my frame with horror?
I thought his spirit thunder'd in my ear
“Remember, when, with wild ambition's frenzy
“And all Rome's empire in your view, you drove
“You chariot wheels o'er your dead father's body,
“Up to the shouting forum!” Why, my soul,
Dost thou not shun remembrance of that hour?
'Twas but the cause—the cause—For this base clay
How differs it from the dull earth we tread on
When the life's gone?—But, next, the Sybil came.
Whose mystic book at such a price we bought
And cried, “The race of Tarquin shall be Kings
“Till a fool drive them hence and set Rome free!”
Strange prophecy!—What fool?—It cannot be
That poor dolt, the companion of my sons—
—Hark thee, Valerius—Know'st thou that same fool
Now in the camp.

Val.
I know him well.—A man
Who, when he had a name, was Lucius Junius:—
A braver citizen Rome never boasted,
And wise and learn'd withal; now chang'd, alas!
A spectacle which humbles me to look on!

Tul.
But is he harmless in his moody humours?

Val.
Tame as my horse, which though devoid of reason
Shall turn, shall stop, and at my angry bidding
Shall kneel, till I am throned on his back!
And this shall Junius; the like instinct stirs
Junius and him,—no more.

Tul.
(apart)
Hence, idle fears!
—Yet, when he went to Delphi, 'tis giv'n out
The oracle address'd him with strange portents
And each night since, my dreams have been disturb'd
By a wild form, too much resembling his,
Leading our soldiers forth with sword and flame,
Revolters from the camp, to storm the palace.
But he is sent from thence and shall be watch'd.

Enter Horatius.
Hor.
Your orders are obey'd. Lucius awaits

Tul.
Set him before us.
[Exit Hor.
(To Valerius.)
Tell me, will he answer
If we do question him?

Val.
I think he will:
Yet sometimes when the moody fit doth take him
He will not speak for days; yea, rather starve
Than utter nature's cravings; then anon,
He'll prattle shrewdly, with such witty folly
As almost betters reason.

Horatius returns with Lucius Junius.
Tul.
Hark thee, fellow,
How art thou call'd?

Lucius.
A fool.

Tul.
Fool for thy nature;
Thou answers't well,—but I demand thy name.

Lucius.
Nothing but fool.

Tul.
His faculties are brutish;—
BRUTUS shall be thy name.

Brutus.
Thanks to your grace!

Hor.
Dost like thy new name, gentle brute?

Br.
So well,
Who will may take the fool. I care not who—
Your Highness, an it like you.

Hor.
I the fool!
Sirrah, good words, or I will have thee beaten.

Br.
A fool thou wilt not beat—a brute thou dar'st not,
For the dull ass will kick against his striker,
If struck too harshly.

Tul.
Let me hear no more;
There's mischief in his folly. Send him hence.
But stay—I'll search him farther.—hark thee, Brutus,
Thou wast at Delphi, with our sons the Princes—
Tell me—what questions put they to Apollo?

Br.
Your sons, did ask who should be chief in Rome.

Tul.
Hah! What replied the oracle to that?

Br.
With pains and strugglings the prophetic dame
This destiny reported from her god—
“Great and most glorious shall that Roman be,
“Who first shall greet his mother with a kiss.”

Tul.
That is fulfill'd by Sextus.

Hor.
Aye, he straight
Hasten'd from thence and kissed the queen his mother.

Br.
Woe for me, I have no mother!—
And yet I kiss'd her first.

Tul.
Thou kiss'd her? Thou?

Br.
Yea, madam, for just then my foot did slip
In the fresh blood of a new-slaughter'd victim,
And, falling, I did kiss my mother—earth.

Tul.
Oh, that the earth had swallow'd thee outright
Till thou hads't kiss'd the centre! I perceive,
The gods are leagued with folly to destroy us.
My very blood chills at my heart.—Away.

[Exit Tullia, with Guards and Ladies.
Hor.
Hark thee, thou Brutus; I in part suspect
Thou ap'st this folly; if I find thee trifling
Or juggling with the Pythia for predictions,
By all the gods I'll have thee flay'd, thy skin
Strip'd into thongs, to strangle thee withal,
Dissembling varlet!—Strikes Brutus, who seizes him.

Val.
Shame, my lord! forbear!
Threat'ning a fool you do but wrong yourself.

Hor.
But that the princes love his son, brave Titus,
My dagger should have pierc'd his threat ere now
And sent him to his mother earth for ever!
He shall be watch'd.—Come, come with me, Valerious.
[Exit Horatius

Val.
The gods restore thee, Brutus, to thyself,
And us to thee! Farewell!

Br.
(alone)
A little longer,
A little longer yet support me, patience!
The day draws on: it presses to the birth—
I see it in the forming womb of time—
The embryo liberty.—Hah!—'tis my son—
Down, rebel nature, down!—

Enter Titus.
Tit.
Welcome to Rome!
Would I might welcome thee to reason too!

Br.
Give me thy hand—nay, give it me—

Tit.
What woud'st thou?
Speak to thy son.

Br.
I had a thing to say,
But I have lost it. Let it pass—no matter.

Tit.
Look not upon me with those eyes, but speak;
What is it that annoys thee? tell thy friend—
How can I serve thee? What dost lack?

Br.
Preferment.
Thou can'st do much at court.

Tit.
Ah, this is nothing!

Br.
So much the fitter for a fools petition,
And a court promise.

Tit.
Oh, this trifling racks me.

Br.
Lend me thine ear: I'll tell a secret to thee
Worth a whole city's ransom. This it is;
Nay, ponder it, and lock it in thy heart—
There are more fools, my son, in this wise world
Than the gods ever made.

Tit.
Say'st thou, my father?
Expound this riddle. If thy mind doth harbour
Aught that imports a son like me to know,
Or knowing to atchieve, declare it.

Br.
Now, my son
Should the great gods, who made me what thou see'st,
Repent and in their vengeance cast upon me
The burden of my senses back again—
What would'st thou say?

Ti.
Oh, my lamented father,
Would the kind gods restore thee to thy reason—

Br.
Then, Titus, then I should be mad with reason.
Had I the sense to know myself a Roman,
This hand should tear this heart from out my ribs
Ere it should own allegiance to a tyrant.
If, therefore, thou dost love me, pray the gods
To keep me what I am. Where all are slaves,
None but the fool is happy.

Ti.
We are Romans—
Not slaves—

Br.
Not slaves? Why, what art thou?

Ti.
Thy son.
Dost thou not know me?

Br.
You abuse my folly.
I know thee not—Wert thou my son, ye gods!
Thou would'st tear off this sycophantic robe,
Tuck up thy tunick, trim these curled locks
To the short warrior-cut, vault on thy steed;
Then scouring through the city, call to arms,
And shout for liberty—

Ti.
(starst)
Defend me, gods!

Br.
Hah! does it stagger thee?

Ti.
For liberty?
Said'st thou for liberty?—It cannot be.

Br.
Indeed!—'tis well—no more.

Ti.
What would my father?

Br.
Begone, you trouble me.

Ti.
Nay, do not scorn me.

Br.
Said I for liberty? I said it not;
The awful word breath'd in a coward's ear,
Were sacrilege to utter, Hence, begone!
Said I, you were my son?—'Tis false: I'm foolish;
My brain is weak and wanders; you abuse it.

Ti.
Ah, do not leave me; not in anger leave me.

Br.
Anger! What's that? I am content with folly;
Anger is madness, and above my aim!
(Musick heard)
Hark! here is musick for thee,—food for love,
And beauty to serve in the rich repast.
Tarquinia comes. Go, worship the bright sun,
And let poor Brutus wither in the shade.
[Exit. Brutus

Ti.
Oh, truly said! bright as the golden sun
Tarquinia's beauty beams, and I adore!
Soft musick. Tarquinia enters, preceded by damsels bearing a crown of gold, some with censers, &c. proper for the ceremonials of a dedication to Fortune.
What dedication, or what holy service
Doth the fair client of the gods provide?
In the celestial synod is there one
Who will not listen to Tarquinia's prayer?

Tar.
I go to Fortune's Temple, to suspend
Upon the votive shrine, this golden crown.
While incense fills the fane, and holy hymns
Are chanted for my brother's safe return.
What shall I ask for Titus?

Ti.
Tho' the goddess,
In her blind bounty should unthrone the world,
To build me one vast empire, my ambition,
If by thy love unblest, would slight the gift:
Therefore of Fortune I have nought to ask—
She hath no interest in Tarquinia's heart,
Nature, not Fortune, must befriend me there.

Tar.
Thy gentle manners, Titus, have endear'd thee!
Although a subject Roman, to Tarquinia:
My brother Sextus wears thee next his heart;
The Queen herself, of all our courtly youth
First in her favour holds the noble Titus:
And though my royal father well may keep
A jealous eye upon thy Junian race,—
A race unfriendly to the name of king,—
Yet, thee he cherishes; with generous joy
The monarch sees thy early virtue shoot,
And with a parent's fondness, rears its growth.

Ti.
Oh! neither name, nor nature, nor the voice
Of my lost father, could he wake to reason,
Not all the wrongs that tyranny could pile
On my afflicted head,—not all the praise
That patriot gratitude could shower upon me,
Can shake the faithful purpose of my soul
To sever it from love and my Tarquinia.

Tar.
Approve that firmness in the shock of trials,
And if my love can recompense thy virtue,
Nor tortures, nor temptations, nor the wreck
Of Rome and empire, shall divide me from thee.
To this I pledge my hand. Now to the Temple!

[Exeunt omnes.