University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

ROSCIUS, SYLLA.
SYLLA.
Now, Roscius, speak with freedom.

ROSCIUS.
Rather bid me
The more keep silence—it hath made you mark
How deep a grief this moment fills my breast.
And why?—for ever tears, for ever bloodshed!
Unceasing sorrows and eternal fears!
Thou, formed by Heaven to conquer heroes, thou
Who'st signalized thy name by godlike labours,
Whose genius all-submissive earth attests;—
Oh! while thou reignest as her lord and master
Within the bosom of thy country, while
All, all thy sovereign orders prompt obey,
For what crimes, Sylla, dost oppress the Romans?

SYLLA.
Their crimes?—that they accept the chains I give them,
Yet dare to hope for Sylla's pardon;—Roscius,
Thou know'st me not, I see it, and my soul
Is still to thee a mystery—Liberty
Was e'er the darling idol of my vows,
Though victim of my power;—I've fought for her,
Ay, in the Senate, in the Forum, in
The fields of Cheroneus, on the sands
Of Arpinum; it was for all I sought her.
But on the Tiber's banks none save myself
Saw I that courted liberty—the tribunes
Shewed rivals of the consuls, and intrigue
Upreared her fasces at the price of gold;—
Nought could I find but venal dignities,
Insolent slaves, long saturnalia,
Unpunished crimes, degenerate hearts, that with
Impunity their own sole interests watched;—
Too proud of his own baseness, a stern soldier
'Neath the plebeian yoke drove the patricians.
From that time did I promise me to make
The tribune Marius some not distant day
Account for all his haughty scorn;—his name
For more than one proud victory was vaunted,
And yet by nobler deeds I paled his glory—
More, I've beheld that hateful rival forced
(And in the capitol) to thank the Gods for't.
My hope was to preserve the State, and ruin
And exile was my recompense.—I veiled
My head, t'avoid the lictor's fasces; quitted,
Proscribed my country;—I return dictator.
In times like these I deem it little worth
To tell the blood from which I'm sprung, or shew
The scorn I bear mankind;—the Romans have
No claim upon me, save 'tis as their foe.
Unbiassed I have judged them, without hate
As without pity.—I have broke your fetters
Spite of yourselves, I cried;—What, citizens,
And will you still be slaves? poor cowards!—No,—
I deem you worthy of a nobler fate.
You ask for chains—behold, I give you death!
And as you die thank me for this last favour,
That to the Gods you yield your souls still free-born.

ROSCIUS.
Oh! Sylla, soften down your proud disdain;
There are, there are souls still how truly Roman.

SYLLA.
I know it:—Cesar, glorious in his valour,
And high exalted by illustrious birth—
Pompey the hope of Rome, and the young Cato—
Noble Metellus, and the eloquent Cicero—
By challenging the world's regards, have rather
O'ercome mine anger than aroused my hatred.

ROSCIUS.
If such is Sylla, if his angry soul
Would give us freedom but by blood, oh! let
Him then be satisfied—she lives in tears;
By her youths' parting breath her flames are fanned,
And she will one day triumph past your wishes!
Remark the generous crowds that fill the theatre,
When I in antique toga to the Romans
Identify myself with those great men,
The honour of the State, proud sons of Mars,
The noble pillars of our laws in battle,
Warriors, yet true-born citizens:—There's Curtius
That sought an unknown glory,—Cincinnatus
Rolling his victor chariot,—stern Camillus
That weighed his sword against the gold of Rome,
And saved her,—Decius, crowning his exploits
By death,—and Brutus, he who played the fool
But to mature th'idea of hardiest daring,—
Lucretia plunging in her breast the dagger,
And arming freedom to expel the Tarquins,—
Triumphant, though in bondage, Regulus,
And thy sire, Scipio, who so well avenged him,
E'en at the gates of Carthage:—Roused by these
Recitals of their valour, they're transported
To those same days of glory, and their breasts
Glow with the fires of renovated life,
And rise renascent for their country's safety.

SYLLA.
On these young Romans, then, go try thy power;
I'll nor deceive thy wishes nor their hopes.

ROSCIUS.
Son of Cornelius! call to mind that deed,
That generous deed, thy glory's opening dawn,
When, erst upon proud Nola's ramparts saved,
Her citizens for Sylla's brow enwove
The civic wreath.—Oh! pardon Claudius!

SYLLA.
I hear, admire thee, Roscius, and I know
Thine empire o'er my heart; 'tis with regret
That I withdraw me, but it is my duty,
And I must list to things of deeper interest.

ROSCIUS.
He's thy son's friend.

SYLLA.
His sentence is decreed.

ROSCIUS.
But thou know'st not the man that prompted it!

SYLLA.
I may p'rhaps change my purpose; my decrees
Are fixed as those of fate—they never change.
Yet Claudius may be absent when arrives
The order which regret...

ROSCIUS.
Sylla, I trust
I understand your meaning.

[Rushes out in haste.