University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Cicero's Palace.
TULLIA, FRUGI.
TULLIA.
Alone; unguarded; to the house of Clodia,
The sister of my father's deadliest foe?
She tempts you to your ruin: This late hour
Appointed for your meeting; her pretence
To reconcile her brother to our house,
Each circumstance about it breathes contrivance,
And meditated mischief. Do not go:
Trust her not, Caius; ah! she is a woman,
The wiliest of her sex.

FRUGI.
What can I do?
A sinking man will catch at slender holds.

TULLIA.
A sinking man?—Was ever friend like thee?
In his full tide of pow'r my father stood,
Like some tall rock, around whose worship'd sides
The climbing surges hung, by prosperous gales
Driv'n gladly on; but when the veering wind
And fickle current chang'd, the ebbing waves
Roll'd back and left him bare. Why then alone
Dost thou, unlike the false ones of the world,
Embrace a falling fabrick, whose vast ruin
Shall bury thee, and dash thy youthful hopes?

FRUGI.
And, tell me, hast thou never, O my Tullia,
Ask'd of thy heart that question? Never yet
Bid it resolve thee, why with anxious zeal
For Marcus Cicero, I have stak'd my hopes
An uninvited friend, and drawn the rage
Of the whole Clodian faction on my head?

TULLIA.
Alas, I know not. Whither would you lead me?

FRUGI.
Then if thou know'st not why I have done this,
It is because my Tullia's charms outweigh,
Great as it is, the virtue of her father;
Because it is in love to do and suffer,
More than the warmest sense of friendship dare.

TULLIA.
Take care; I'd not conceive a less'ning thought
Of Frugi's friendship—interested friendship?—
An interested service?—How that sounds!
Oh! how it loses the great name of virtue,
And the sweet praise that gratitude bestows
On clear intent, and pure beneficence.

FRUGI.
Her father speaks within her: How she awes me?
Fir'd with thy just reproof, I could explore
The farthest regions of th'untravell'd earth,
Beyond the sound of thy great father's fame,
And arm the barbarous nations in his cause,
If that would gain thy love. But this is raving,
And Clodia's hour is come; farewell! awhile,
If it be possible, I will forget
How much I love thee, Tullia.
(Exit Frugi.

TULLIA.
Is he gone?
For ever gone? O stay; return, my Caius.

FRUGI Returns.
FRUGI.
Behold thy Caius—that alluring voice
Has music in't of such a heav'nly sort,
As might awake attention in the grave,
And harmonize the drowsy ear of death.

TULLIA.
Ah! spare my blushes; spare a doating maid,
Nor scorn the easy conquest of my heart,
Which sixt on thee, and with thy virtues charm'd,
Bursts its confinement and that modest guard,
Which prudent virgins plant upon their lips;
And do not think it weak and slightly pois'd,
For each vain blast of flattery to o'erturn;
Nor charge the softness you alone inspire,
To female frailty and defective nature.

FRUGI.
No, thou art all that's elegant and fair,
And perfect upon earth; and Caius happy
Beyond whatever gratitude express'd,
Or fancy drew, when glowing raptures catch
The poet's breast, and set the soul on fire.

TULLIA.
Why must I only answer thee with sighs?
What is it hangs thus heavy on my heart,
And weighs it down, when it should spring with joy?
Alas! 'tis conscience; 'tis the pride of honour;
'Tis the severe condition of my fate,
Which makes it ruin to be lov'd by Tullia,
And warns me to suppress the guilty flame.

FRUGI.
Sure virtue will not be renounc'd of Heav'n:
The Gods are just; thy father must not perish.
Clodia, I come. Fate holds her balance forth,
That wavers doubtful betwixt death and life.

TULLIA.
Ah! do not rush upon assur'd destruction;
Perhaps that life, which you so rashly venture,
Tullia may hold far dearer than her own.

FRUGI.
Then let me stay, till Clodius finds me here,
And fate arrests me in my Tullia's arms.

TULLIA.
O horror! how, and what shall I resolve?

FRUGI.
The pity, that now springs in Clodia's heart,
If scorn'd, will turn to unrelenting rage,
And burst in ruin on thy father's head.

TULLIA.
How soon that name recalls me to myself!
Fly, Caius, fly; e're love revokes the doom,
And drives out nature from my vanquish'd heart.

FRUGI.
O Tullia, take, for thou hast won my soul!
Now I'm o'erpaid for all that fate can do.

(Embracing her,
TULLIA.
Ah! look not, speak not: I relapse apace.
Let me not turn a parricide; away!
If I recall thee, come not back. Adieu!
While I have strength to speak the word, adieu!

(Exit Frugi.
TULLIA
, Alone.
What have I done, and whither is he gone?
To Clodia.—Ah! I fear that is to death:
For she perhaps hath laid this midnight plot,
To seize my unsuspecting Frugi's life;
Perhaps, (ah! that were worse) to seize his heart;
For she is mistress of a thousand charms.
O Love, thou wear'st a smiling Cupid's face,
Till we fond virgins take thee in our arms;
There warm'd, thou grow'st into an ugly fiend,
And strik'st a thousand daggers in our hearts.

(Exit.

SCENE II.

A Street in Rome.
CLODIUS and GABINIUS.
CLODIUS.
Now thou shalt feel me, Rome. Come on, my friend;
Loud as the orgies of the God of wine,
Let our bold revels wake the sleeping night,
And rock the throne of Jove. I tread on air;
My mounting spirits lift me from the earth,
Gay dancing pleasures play around my heart,
And the full Bacchus revels in my veins.

GABINIUS.
Excellent Piso! O most potent Consul!
Divine philosopher! why, what a lecture
Hath yon old thirsty stoic read us, Clodius,
In the Symposia? Gods! with what a throat
He quaft the rich Falernian, till the fumes
Wrapp'd round the giddy roof, and breath'd a gale
Mix'd with Sabean odors; all the while
A female band of Grecian dancers trod
Their wanton measures to the melting sound
Of breathing flutes, that caught the ravish'd soul,
And sooth'd it into harmony and love.

CLODIUS.
Never did lust and luxury assume
So sanctified a form; by the great Gods!
Methinks your collegue, Aulus, hath a swallow
As deep as Erebus; he is a man
Fit to sit down at a celestial banquet,
And pledge the Gods in nectar.—But behold!
Yon sober orb hath turn'd her back on night,
And leans tow'rds morning;—the choice minutes fly,
My soul is up in arms and pants for action:
Oh! for some master-deed of glorious mischief;
Something, I know not what, but full of wonder,
Lofty and bold, of the true Clodian stamp;
A deed to add new terror to my name,
Silence the cavils of proud prying gownsmen,
And fright the world from its dull dream of virtue.

GABINIUS.
Agreed; let's up together to mount Palatine;
Fire Cicero's palace; pull the dreaming dotard
By the long lazy neck, from the stale arms
Of shrill Terentia; force his pale-fac'd daughter
Before his eyes; then send her weeping back
To her beloved Caius; bid him take her
Fresh from her wrongs to his fond foolish bosom,
And glean the sordid refuse of our joys.

CLODIUS.
Hah! that were well; a great and apt revenge
Is my soul's health.—Yet stay—It dawns upon me,
A bold, sublime, and unattempted deed:
By Heaven! the glorious face of danger charms me,
And my soul rushes ardent to embrace it.

GABINIUS.
What is it, speak; oh! how I burn to hear it.

CLODIUS.
If there be thunder, and a Heaven, and Gods,
They must revenge; befall that as it may:
I think not with the vulgar; let Heaven strike,
So shall I perish by no earthly hand;
But if the light'ning sleep, farewell these horrors,
Hell is a dream, Religion is a jest,
And nothing real, but this world we live in.

GABINIUS.
Why are you rapt? let me partake your thoughts.

CLODIUS.
My purse, my mistress, and my best of means
Freely partake; in danger and in fame
I brook no rival, and admit no friend:
All else is open to thee.

GABINIUS.
Take, O Clodius,
Take the full glory of thine own attempt,
Give me the merit only to have known it.

CLODIUS.
Honest and brave, I know thee; yet, my friend,
Were this place where we stand a desart waste,
No living creature but thyself to hear me,
And yon pale conscious planet o'er our heads,
I would not tell it in the ears of night,
Lest things inanimate should take a voice
And blazon it to the world: farewell, farewell!
(Exit Clodius.

GABINIUS.
Fortune and fame go with thee, crown thy wishes,
And bring thee back in safety to thy friend.

(Exit.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in Clodia's House. FRUGI, and Attendant of Clodia's.
FRUGI.
Thro' what blind entries lies the Cave of Guilt!
Say, whither wouldst thou lead me, thou dark guide?
I'll on no further.

ATTENDANT.
What! do you shrink, my Lord,
And from a harmless woman? from a fair one?
Fie, fie, for shame! how these unmanly fears
Belie that noble presence?

FRUGI.
Well, proceed.
It is my Tullia's cause, the cause of Love.

(Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

An inner Apartment in Clodia's House.
PISO.
I'm here—so mighty is the force of gold.
Gold is the key that opes the bower of Love,
The Sybil branch that charms Hell's centinel;
Our passport to Elysium—

FRUGI, enters unseen by Piso.
FRUGI.
Hah! a man?
Amazement, Piso!—Can I trust my eyes?
Honour forgive me, if I turn a listener;
All means are lawful to detect a villain.

(Steps aside.
PISO.
And now inspire me, Wine, thou friend to Love!
My gold has done its part; complete the work,
And be my God for ever.—Yet what hope,
What hope for age? Curse on this wrinkled front,
Bow'd back, slow pulse, weak hams, and slack'ned nerves!
Cursed be Nature rather, trebly curst!
Who keeps not equal pace in our decay,
But pays us for the daily waste she makes
Of this poor body's strength, by throwing on
Fresh fuel to the unabating lusts,
And stirs the hell within us.

SCENE V.

Enter CLODIA.
CLODIA.
Where, where is he?
Thus let me fly to him.—Hah! who art thou?

PISO.
Not know me, Clodia? Your old faithful slave,
That throwing thus his age and cares aside,
Runs to thy arms with a young lover's ardor,
To claim thy transports, and return their warmth.

CLODIA.
Off, monster, off! nor blast me with thy touch.

PISO.
What can this mean? yet, yet, you know me not.

CLODIA.
Yes, yes, I know thee, (cursed be the mark!)
I thought to have flush'd an Eagle in my toils,
And find a filthy Raven in his place.

PISO.
It seems I come unwelcome then.

CLODIA.
You do,
Most fatally; and I would curse thee for it,
But that thou earriest every plague about thee,
That I could wish, or Hell itself inflict:
Who brought you here? At this late hour how dar'd you
To come unask'd?

PISO.
Unask'd, perfidious woman!
With your own lips you spoke, repeated welcomes;
The slave that brought 'em swore it.

CLODIA.
Like a slave
He lied; or if I did, my mind is chang'd,
And as 'twas then my pleasure you should come,
'Tis now my will that you depart.

PISO.
No more?—
Thus do you treat me, thus spurn from your doors,
Like a base lacquey, the first man in Rome?
But have a care, the trodden worm will turn;
And I have found thee, proud insatiate woman:
You have your private, cull'd, and midnight sparks,
Ready at hand against the hot fire takes you,
The hirelings of your lust.

CLODIA.
Blaspheming villain!
Oh! that the noble youth were here! I tell thee,
Pale, tott'ring coward! he would thrust that tongue,
That lying tongue, down thy base scurrilous throat.
Away, old hypocrite! you dare as well
With those blear blister'd eyes of thine look up
In the broad face of the meridian sun,
When he drinks up the Tyber, as abide
The terror of his frown.

PISO.
Would he were here!

Enter FRUGI.
FRUGI.
Behold, you have your wish.

CLODIA.
Gods! Gods! I thank ye.
Thrice welcome, my deliverer; what blest star
Led you unseen to save me? Now you see him;
Now you behold the slave, the midnight hireling;
Hah! looks he like a hireling, like a slave?
Down on your knees, your old weak trembling knees,
And wet his feet with supplicating tears.

PISO.
Peace, Clodia, peace: Young Lord, I joy to see you;
I came a suppliant to this lady's brother,
For our friend Cicero, and, how I know not,
Whether I spake too warm in his behalf,
Or whether my rude manners gave offence;
But I, alas! unwittingly have drawn
Displeasure from the fair.

FRUGI.
Alas! good man;
If I may boast an interest in her thoughts,
All shall be well; we'll all be reconcil'd;
I too have hopes of pardon from your favour.

PISO.
What pardon can the noble Frugi need?

FRUGI.
Alas! my offence is heinous.

CLODIA.
What intends he?
Where will this end?

(Aside.
PISO.
Fear not, but speak it boldly;
It cannot be too great for my forgiveness.

FRUGI.
First then the names of slave, and midnight hireling,
Which you bestow'd on me unseen, I take,
And wear them as my own.

CLODIA.
I'm dumb with wonder.

FRUGI.
For I have ta'en the office of a slave,
And been a spy upon you; turn'd a list'ner
To your most grave soliloquy, am witness
To this fair lady's most unkind disdain,
And your most patient bearing; am possest
Of your whole heart, and know you what you are.

PISO.
What am I, speak Sir!

FRUGI.
Pardon me, my Lord;
I'll tell you what you should be; honest, grave,
And sober; Consul you should be, and noble
As your birth speaks you; in one word,—a Roman!

CLODIA.
Hear you that, Sir? O how thou charm'st me, Caius!
My soul drinks love and wisdom from thy lips.

PISO.
Consul I am, and will be, and as Consul
Command you from my presence; hence, avoid!—

FRUGI.
Weak man, I will not, you mistake your office;
Your Fasces and your Lictors pass not here
Within a lady's chamber; your great title
Is here your shame not safe-guard.

PISO.
This to me?
Honour enough for thee to draw thy blood
At humble distance from the same great fount,
With which these veins are fill'd, audacious boy!

FRUGI.
Boast not your birth, lest your great father's tomb
Utter a voice against you; sheath your sword,
And hide one weakness more: I'll not betray you;
Live still a lie; hypocrisy in you
Stands in some rank of merit, and in time
By feigning virtue, may you learn to have it!

PISO.
Now by the Gods!—

FRUGI.
No more; O shame, shame, shame!
Is this to be a Consul? Go to Cicero,
Ponder the annals of his glorious aera;
Go to his sober couch, and learn of him
To watch and labour in thy country's service,
And be the guardian of expiring freedom.

(Exit Piso.

SCENE VI.

CLODIA, FRUGI.
CLODIA.
O Frugi, what a happy chance was this!
Andromeda ne'er blest wing'd Perseus more
Than I do thee.

FRUGI.
Blest rather be the cause,
And this auspicious hour that brought me here!
I pause for your commands.

CLODIA.
Ah! why so guarded?
You speak not before witnesses, but speak
To one alone, too much alas! your friend.
Say'st thou, commands?—O tell me first my power
E're I command. Wilt thou not understand?
Hast thou not, yes, I know thou hast, the art
To read a lady's wishes in her eyes?
If then thou hast the art, and had'st been kind,
Thou should'st have let thy wishes marshal mine,
Have importun'd me to my own desires,
And kneeling beg'd the joys yourself bestow'd.

FRUGI.
How wide you speak! Where's Cicero in this?

CLODIA.
Hah! Cicero?—my everlasting hatred
Pursue and overtake him! Nature feels not
Such horror at approaching dissolution,
As I to hear your lips pronounce his name.

FRUGI.
Farewell! I have my answer.

CLODIA.
Caius, stay.
You are his friend, and would do much to save him;
I yet will treat with you on terms of peace
And reconcilement; say, what would'st thou do?

FRUGI.
What would I do? As much as friend dare do;
And more than all your malice could invent,
Great as it is, to task me.

CLODIA.
O ingrateful!
My malice?—But I'll put you to the proof.
Now, Frugi, now you shall see Clodia's malice,
How very hard a task-mistress she is:
If you love Cicero, love him alone;
Renounce the daughter to preserve the father;
Abandon Tullia.

FRUGI.
Hah!

CLODIA.
Abandon Tullia;
And come, O come to these protecting arms:
With twice her ardor if they meet thee not,
With twice her fondness if they close not on thee,
Take her, my happy rival, take again,
And cast me off to wretchedness and shame.

FRUGI.
Can I do this and live?

CLODIA.
What! am I scorn'd?

FRUGI.
Your offers are, tho' bitterest death ensued
On the refusal.

CLODIA.
And what else will follow?
Your fates are in my keeping; Clodius' hand
Hangs o'er you, and but waits my nod to strike.

FRUGI.
I know with Clodius how great your power;
And know the damning price you bought it at:
But boast it not; blush, rather blush to death,
And deprecate the vengeance of the Gods.

CLODIA.
No, I'll not blush, nor ask the Gods forgiveness,
But glory rather that I've found the means
With these despised charms to blast thee yet,
And triumph o'er thy peace. Go to your Tullia:
The sun must soon go down upon your loves,
And night at last will bring on my revenge.
Then, when thou see'st the lofty palace flaming,
Thy mistress seiz'd by the dishevell'd locks,
Screaming and yelling in the spoiler's arms;
Thyself bound down, mad'ning with fruitless rage,
Then, then, remember me, then know 'tis I,
It is my Genius that directs thy fate,
And learn too late to reverence Clodia's charms.
(Exit Clodia.

FRUGI.