 | The Fall of Saguntum |  |
13
ACT I.
SCENE, before the Temple.Enter Fabius and Curtius.
Fab.
The Day returns, and with it our Reproach,
Th' eternal Infamy of guilty Rome.
Shall then the Sun, O Curtius, shame a Roman?
And must we shrowd ourselves in Night's dark Covert?
The Night, that scantling gives the Villain Comfort,
His short Vicissitude from conscious Thought.
Curt.
Partaker in the Grief, unable to refute,
I hear these Words fall from a Roman Tongue;
Fruitless the Search, nor can we ought alledge,
To salve the wounded Honour of our Country:
What shall our Foes report?
Fab.
—Ah, rather say,
What shall our Friends, the greatly wrong'd Saguntines?
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Than meet one injur'd Friend; yet here, alas!
Thy self excepted, I see none but such.
Nay, thou art injur'd too; thy constant Friendship
Has drawn thee into a long Train of Woes.
Curt.
Fabius; no more, I beg thee, on that Subject;
Can'st thou then think me recreant at the last?
Or will my Friend grudge me my Share of Glory,
The late, but sure, Reward of manly Bearing?
Know, I rejoice that I am with thee here;
Know, I rejoice that I shall with thee fall:
For fall, 'tis sure, we must; nor let thy Love
For fair Timandra give thee other Thoughts.
We must not live to see the City taken;
But, bravely dying in Saguntum's Cause,
May our Blood expiate our Country's Shame.
Fab.
When Life with Honour comes in Competition,
To thee I need not, sure, point out my Choice;
And yet thy Words have rais'd a Tempest in me,
A Storm that shatters, and o'erbears all Reason.
Did'st thou not, Curtius, say, The City taken?
Shall Fabius live to see that dismal Scene?
Oh, no; and yet, methinks, I should; for where
Shall poor Timandra, lovely, wretched Maid,
Then fly for Refuge from some Lybian's Lust?
O Torture, Torture! can I bear the Thought!
Shall she not then, in Bitterness of Soul,
In the sharp Anguish of her bleeding Heart,
When the hot Slave, fir'd at her nearer Charms,
Shall drag her from the Altar to Pollution,
With unavailing Shrieks call out for Fabius?
Oh, Curtius, Oh!
[Leans upon him.
Curt.
Cease to torment thy brave, yet tender Heart
With Ills imaginary, which the Gods,
If I aright divine, shall never suffer.
Nor would the Maid, so far I deem her noble,
Protract her Life to such a fatal Period.
For, sure, in that soft Mould are often cast
15
Of Clelia and Lucrece adorn our Annals.
Their fair Example, and the Roman Blood,
That warms the generous Timandra's Heart,
Should fire her Soul to worthy Emulation.
Thus, do I think, would act thy noble Captive,
The fam'd Candace, Amazonian Queen;
She, who submitted to thy Arm alone;
While circling Foes stood at a Bay around her.
But say, how bears her haughty Soul Restraint,
The double Bonds of Servitude and Love?
Fab.
'Tis there, alas! begins my doubled Woe;
'Tis there I find Alternatives of Grief.
To love and be belov'd, yet not possess,
Is Pain sufficient to a doating Heart;
To be belov'd, yet have not to repay,
Is ample Torture to a grateful Soul.
Yet so stands my Account. 'Tis sure, the Queen
But ill would brook Captivity, did not Love,
Superiour to all Cares, take up her Soul:
Love there's a turbulent, unruly Guest;
For what in others of the Sex is Softness,
In her seems but a gentler kind of Frenzy:
While, with becoming Pride, that chides my Coldness,
Sh' avows a Passion which I dare not see.
Curt.
But, lo! the Temple of Alcides opens,
Saguntum's Founder, and her Tutelar God.
Fab.
In him we also boast as near a Claim,
The mighty Author of the Fabian Race;
Let us go in, and pay our Morning Worship.
Curt.
Yet stay thee, Fabius; for the Priests come forth,
As in some grave Procession, two by two,
Preceding their great Chief.
[Enter, as from the Temple, Theron, attended by the Priests; who, after waiting on him out, retire back into the Temple.]
Fab.
—The Warriour Theron.
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Or warlike Toils, the brave and pious Priest
Labours his Country's Cause; his lofty Stature
Suits well the Ensigns of his God; which see
This Day he wears, to many a sooty Lybian
Portending sure Destruction; he approaches.
Hail to thee, worthy Theron!
Curt.
—Theron, hail!
Ther.
Good Day to both, ye noble Pair of Romans;
Had two more such, with Hector and Æneas,
Defended Ilium's Walls, they now had stood;
It's Fate had been revers'd, and into Greece
The War's Destruction hurl'd; but Hostile Gods,
As then to Troy, now doom Saguntum's Fall:
And haughty Juno, unrelenting Step-dame
Of the great God, whose memorable Deeds
Have fill'd Fame's hundred Mouths, our glorious Founder,
Wreaks her insatiate Malice on his People.
Fab.
Rightly thou hast describ'd the vengeful Goddess,
Invet'rate Foe to the whole Dardan Race,
The partial Patroness of faithless Carthage:
But when I stile her faithless, how, oh Theron,
Shall I behold thy Face, or how throw off
The great Reproach, which thou, with upright Tongue,
Might'st well retort upon the Roman Name?
Ther.
I would not in that manner wrong thy Virtues,
Thou brave Young Man: Has not thy fatal Sword
Dealt Death and Havock to Saguntum's Foes?
Art thou not here amongst a wretched People
By thy own Choice, the City's great Defender,
Thy self attoning for an absent Host?
T'insult thy noble Nature were a Crime
My Soul disdains, and far beneath a Man:
Reproach and Obloquy are Female Vengeance.
Curt.
How gen'rously he waves the shameful Subject,
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If their own Eulogies the Brave may hear,
They're doubly welcome from a Mouth like thine.
Fab.
Theron, I know the Candour of thy Soul,
Too great to join the Guiltless with the Guilty;
Yet shall it be sufficient, that we Two
Have not to answer for the City's Ruin?
What shall our Fathers, Lentulus and Fabius,
What shall the Fathers of once glorious Rome,
Th'assembled Senate say? where heretofore
The Nations wide, next to the Gods themselves,
Appeal'd for Justice from th'Oppressor's Sword;
While now—Oh Heav'ns! I shame to say the rest.
Ther.
That Roman Parents, to their darling Glory,
Have sacrific'd their Offspring, well I know;
Witness stern Manlius, and the juster Brutus;
But then those Children had thrown off Obedience,
And to strict Justice paid their forfeit Lives:
But That, brave Youths, neither to you, nor us,
Can kindred Rome impute; in Nought have we
Swerv'd from the steady Principles of Honour.
If, to be firm and constant to our Leagues,
Be to offend, then greatly we've offended;
If, to endure the last Extremities
Of Sword and Famine merits Desolation,
Justly are we abandon'd:—
Fab.
Hold, I beg thee,
O gentle Theron, hold; thy Words, like Daggers,
Pierce my sad Heart, fill my swol'n Eyes with Tears,
And lay the great Calamity before them.
Ther.
If in the Contemplation of our Woes,
Full of the Miseries Saguntum feels,
My Tongue gave Utterance to some harsh Words,
Excuse a Weakness due to my lost Country;
Nor did I farther mean.
Curt.
—Sparing, indeed,
And lightly, dost thou touch on Rome's Offence;
But yet, for so would my sad Heart persuade,
18
Ther.
Too sure, alas! the well-appointed Vessel
With favourable Gales has plow'd her Passage,
And must, long since, have enter'd Tyber's Mouth.
But what I rather think, excuse me, Romans,
Some wretched Statesmen, aukward Politicians,
Rude in the Task, unequal to the Burthen,
Or brib'd, perchance, with Carthaginian Gold,
Now sway her Senate, and give up her Honour.
Fab.
Can there be such in that August Assembly?
If such there be, who to sinister Ends
To sordid Views now sacrifice her Fame;
The Roman Genius shall, I trust, hereafter
Find out the Perfidy; and with Reproach
To future Times, mark their distinguish'd Names.
Ther.
Mean while, let us perform the Tasks of Virtue,
That well become the Soldier and the Man:
I think, you came to worship; see, the Gates
Are open, and the Priests attend the Altar;
Enter and supplicate the God's Assistance.
[Exeunt.
Enter Eurydamas.
Eur.
Sure, Theron saw me not; for if he did,
He may expect I should attend his Rites;
But I have Work in hand of secret Purpose,
And secret need be all its wary Steps.
The Morn is waxing old; and e'er this Hour
My trusty Priest should from the adverse Camp
Return, and bring the Tyrian's last Resolves.—
Honour! why do'st thou rack my Breast in vain?
Fine, specious, airy Name, whose outward Show
Turns giddy Brains, and out of Fools makes Madmen!
This curs'd Distemper has possess'd the People;
Who, blindly doating on their own Destruction,
Seem fond of Havock, and enjoy a Famine.—
What Ties have I to Faith? In point of Kindred,
I am not bound; what, tho' Saguntine born?
The Daunian Blood flows not within my Veins:
19
A gen'rous Race, who, under great Alcides,
Fixt here their Seat, and rais'd these lofty Walls.
I'm anxious for this slow-pac'd Priest's Return:
But, soft! the Noise of Feet—Lycormas—
Enter Lycormas.
Lyc.
—He:
I've shifted Garb, and am again the Priest.
Eur.
What, from the Carthaginian?
Lyc.
—He expects,
In Confirmation that our Zeal is true,
The Captive Queen be made by our Procurement,
The trusty Pledge, and instantly restor'd.
Eur.
It shall be so—the Answer speaks him well;
At once declares the Gen'ral and the Lover.
Yet dang'rous, sure, and difficult the Task
To render back Candace to his Wishes!
But, what shall not aspiring Hopes attempt?
Lyc.
And with Success, perhaps; but should that fail,
At least we've play'd an artful Aftergame.
I've sown my Poyson thick i'th' Tyrian's Breast;
That his false Mistress feels her Victor's Charms,
And that the Roman meets her proffer'd Flame.
Hence, Fabius, when he next goes out to Battle,
Shall, with returning Steps, ne'er reach the City,
But fall a Victim to th'invented Tale.
Eur.
Too fine, I fear me, hast thou wove the Web
Of thy Design; true, the fictitious Part,
That he should love Candace, bears good Meaning;
But, then the Truth, that she indeed loves him,
Should, to my Thought, have never been reveal'd.
It may, perhaps, incline his haughty Soul
To slight the keeping of her fickle Heart.
Lyc.
Canst thou be such a Novice in that Passion?
Or, art thou such a Stranger to thy self?
Examine thy own Breast, and truly tell me,
Whence flows thy Hatred to the noble Fabius?
20
Shall the same Cause then in the Tyrian's Heart
Not have the same Effect? it shall, it has:
I tell thee, Friend, if Hannibal himself,
Joyn'd by the choicest of his Troops in War,
Can make the Roman bleed, his Fate is fix'd.
Eur.
Thy Words have Weight; sure, if there be a Joy
Transcends the Raptures ev'n of prosp'rous Love,
It must be when our disappointed Passion
Finds full Revenge upon a hated Rival,
And in the Fav'rite stabs th'ungrateful Fair.
Lyc.
Enjoy the Thought, for such shall prove th'Event;
The mighty Chief, inflam'd at my Relation,
Demanded how in Battle he should know him:
For, tho' his warlike Name he oft had heard;
And fatal Sword had made Candace Captive;
Yet such their Destiny and Chance of War,
They never in the bloody Field had met.
I answer'd short, his Arms might well denote him,
The Milk-white Plume that nodded on his Helmet,
And Roman Eagle that adorn'd his Shield;
But that beyond all these, his mighty Arm,
Cutting its Passage through the firmest Ranks,
With horrid Slaughter should distinguish Fabius.
Eur.
I think, thou wer't enamour'd on the Roman,
Thy Tongue grew lavish in his fulsome Praise,
And wonder much the Chief could bear thy Language.
Lyc.
Again, but ill the Tyrian dost thou measure;
My Words, indeed, inspired his Soul with Rage,
A gen'rous Flame that kindled for the Battle:
Invet'rate there would he pursue his Life,
When from the Field he knows to prize his Valour,
And own the Honours that his Virtue merits.
From Principles like these his Thoughts are form'd,
And hence, I think, it was he talk'd of Murrus.
Eur.
Ha! said'st thou, Murrus! did he speak of him?
21
He did; and with most honourable Mention,
That well became a noble Adversary;
He prais'd the gallant Actions of the Youth;
Wish'd him his Friend, that meriting his Favour,
Should Obstinacy still possess the City,
And our Designs to give it to his Hands
By some sinister Chance abortive prove,
Mercy might find him in the gen'ral Ruin.
Eur.
I will improve the Hint, and stir up Murrus;
He loves me well, and wishes me his Sister,
[Aside.
Irreconcilable in Hate to Fabius:
Then he is bold, vindictive, and impetuous,
Nor brooks a Rival in his Love, or Glory;
His Popularity, as well as Power,
Will, if we gain him, further much our Purpose:
Yet not at first will I disclose the Whole
Of our Intent; but playing with his Passions,
Win him, that in Concurrence with the People,
He from his Father shall demand Candace,
Thoughtless that we design to set her free.
Lyc.
Success attend th'Attempt, as a good Omen
To our chief Work; if Fortune favour that,
The City's Government shall then be thine,
The Gift of Hannibal, and mine the Priesthood.
[Exit.
Eur.
Perhaps, not so; should Murrus share the Conduct
Of this our dark and hardy Enterprize,
Too much already in the Tyrian's Favour:
Nor can I form a Thought, a Gleam of Hope,
His Honour is to be seduc'd so far:
Howe'er, at Leisure, I shall better weigh it,
For, to the present Purpose, here he comes.
Enter Murrus.
Mur.
Eurydamas, well met; I came to seek thee;
But, who was he that quitted now the Place?
Eur.
It was the Priest Lycormas; he, thou know'st,
Is of my Blood, as well as nearest Friendship;
A right good Man he is, and worthy well
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Gave from his just and elder Hopes to Theron.
Theron, who favours the perfidious Romans;
Theron, who palliates their base Treachery,
And speaks of Fabius as a new Alcides.
Mur.
Curse on his glossing Tongue! his artful Words,
That swell each Pigmy Action to a Giant.
The glaring Lights, in which he sets to view
The Romans Deeds, dazzle Saguntine Eyes,
And make them blind to their own Country's Merit.
What has his Sword done more than mine in Battle?
When in the labour'd Field was I behind him?
Unless returning from the warlike Toil.—
The Tale of slaughter'd Foes, if right computed,
Would set large Numbers upon Murrus Side;
And should their Names be weigh'd in Glory's Ballance,
His light and trifling Scale would kick the Beam.
Eur.
His Pride is gaul'd; now let me fire his Love.
[Aside.
Murrus, thou know'st I love thee as a Brother,
And such did my fond Heart once think to call thee,
'Till this curst Fabius robb'd me of that Hope;
Then sure thou can'st not doubt I hate the Roman,
Our commmon Rival, Bane to both our Passions;
'Tis true, he says, he only loves Timandra,
And seemingly neglects the Captive Queen;
Yet—
Mur.
—What?
Eur.
—'Tis but, perhaps, Surmise;—
Mur.
—Howe'er
Give it.
Eur.
Should Fabius, brave tho' we allow him,
Yet as a Roman he may well prove false,
Weighing Events, revolving in his Thoughts
The mighty Ruin that hangs hov'ring o'er us,
Fly with his Pris'ner to the Tyrian Camp,
And at her Ransom, buy his shameful Peace?
I say, this he may do—
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—Cease, cease to dwell
Upon that jarring String, it grates harsh Discord,
Ruffles my Soul, and shudders in my Blood.
Curst be the Day that she came forth to Battle,
Accurst the Chance that gave her to his Sword:
Had it been mine, our Fates had been more equal,
And we had each been Conquerour in turn,
She to my Arm, I to her Beauty, Captive.
What's to be done, Eurydamas?
Eur.
—Only this,
To spread Suspicions that the Queen's unsafe
Beneath the Roof of Fabius.—This believ'd,
Contrive she may become our Charge:—
Mur.
—The Means?
Eur.
The People. Thou wer't once their chiefest Darling:
Go, try what may be done by Blandishments;
Stoop from thy haughty Soul, and court their Favour;
Insinuate to them as a certain Truth,
What barely we surmise, th'intended Flight;
Enrag'd, they shall demand her of thy Father,
I'll follow strait, and join my utmost Arts.
Mur.
It shall be done, I will not lose a Moment:
[Going.
But haste thee after, for my Stay with them
Can be but short; my Father's Rising calls me.
[Exit.
Eur.
The Bait is swallow'd, and the hot-brain'd Youth
Ne'er gave himself the Leisure to consider.
Sedition, thou art up; and in the Ferment
To what may not the madding Populace,
Gather'd together for they scarce know what,
Now loud proclaiming their late whisper'd Griefs,
Be wrought at length? Perhaps, to yield the City.
Thus where the Alps their airy Ridge extend,
Gently, at first, the melting Snows descend,
From the broad Slopes with murm'ring Lapse they glide,
In soft Meanders down the Mountains Side;
24
From Rock to Rock, impetuously are tost,
'Till in the Rhone's capacious Bed they're lost;
United there, roll rapidly away
And roaring reach, o'er rugged Rocks, the Sea.
[Exit.
The End of the First Act.
| The Fall of Saguntum | |