University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
  
  
  

expand section1. 
expand section2. 
expand section3. 

SCENE VII.

A royal apartment with pictures.
Honoria, Varus.
Hon.
I ask thee of the victor not his conquests:
Of these I've heard enough—How does he bear
The crowd's applauses? Do his looks preserve
The sternness of the warrior? Has his triumph
Given him new pride, or soften'd him to gentleness?
This, Varus, tell me, not his deeds of arms.

Varus.
Honoria, pardon me, if I believ'd
That Cæsar's sister rather wish'd to hear
The deeds of Ætius, than to ask of aught
Pertaining to himself. These strict enquiries
Resemble more the lover than the sovereign.

Hon.
Hard is the slavery of our wretched sex!
Scarce can our lips but twice repeat a name,
And we are titled lovers. While so many
Dwell on his valour and exalt his praise;
While wondering throngs hail Ætius' glad return,
Honoria still alone remains behind;

319

Clos'd in these walls she seeks not to behold him
Yet this reserve escapes not censuring tongues.

Varus.
Too much reserve is oft a sign of love.

Hon.
Yes, Varus, to thy long-tried faith and service
Such freedom is indulg'd. But sure the distance
'Twixt Ætius and Honoria, from thy mind
Should banish such suspicion.

Varus.
All admire
The fortitude of Ætius: Rome adores him;
The universe is fill'd with his renown:
His foes with reverence name him: 'twere injustice
Here to refuse that love his worth demands.

Hon.
Since you appear so far the friend of Ætius,
You should not thus extol his rising power:
Augustus, in his nature, is too prone
To admit suspicion: while you to my brother
Exalt your friend, you serve his cause but ill.
The time may come—you understand me, Varus.

Varus.
I that am Ætius' friend, with greater caution
Will speak his praise: but, princess, if you love him
Be less ingenious to torment yourself.

320

If gentle love thy soul inspire,
Why should'st thou blush to own the fire?
Why scorn the shaft that rives thy breast?
Ætius, whose deeds so glorious shine,
Has rais'd his state to equal thine,
By Fortune's hand in vain depress'd.

[Exit.