University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An Apartment in the Palace of the Consuls.
TITUS, MESSALA.
MESSALA.
No; friendship sensible to every touch,
Here feels th'inflicted wound. He who conceals
Half of his secrets, telling me too much,
Or not enough, both injures, and suspects me.

TITUS.
No more: my heart relies upon thy faith,
Unboundedly relies. Reproach me not.

MESSALA.
Hah! Thou, whose wrongs deep-piercing and severe
Urged thee so late with me t'inveigh against
The rigid Senate; trusting to my breast
Rome's most important secret, the complaints
Superior excellence pours forth, the tears
Indignant heroes shed; say, how so long
Couldst thou, within thy labouring bosom, hide
A grief more tenderly affecting? Pangs,
To whose nice touch the heart is all alive?
And e'en from me lock up th'imprison'd flame?
Say, could ambition, which imperious rules
O'er every thought, extinguish in thy mind
The soft, the dear sensations? Or the pain
The Senate caused, was that more exquisite?
And thy resentment stronger than the love
Thou bear'st to Tullia?

TITUS.
Oh! I love with transport,
And hate with fury; to their wild extremes
My passions always hurry me, I own it.
And conscious of the failings of my heart,
I struggle to subdue them.

MESSALA.
But why thus
Exasperate the wound, and give it force
By anguish self-applied? Conceal thy love,
And yet disclose thy injuries?

TITUS.
What mean
These questions, my Messala? Tho' I look'd
With indignation on this jealous Senate,
For them with lavish waste I spilt my blood.
Thou know'st it, and thy ardent bosom shared
With me the victory. Pleasing was the theme,
By my renown inspired; my heart elate,
Glowing with bright success, and trophies won,
Found a superior lustre in the thought
Of fighting for th'ungrateful. Ills o'ercome
We readily impart, but who can bear
Oppress'd and vanquish'd, to recount his shame?

MESSALA.
What is thy shame? Whence springs this mighty cause
For deep contrition, and repentant gloom?
What feelings of thy soul demand a blush?

TITUS.
I blush at my own weakness; at this rash,
This fond, this foolish passion, which rebels
Against my duty.

MESSALA.
Are ambition then,
And love with all its train of warm desires,
Passions unworthy of a noble mind?

TITUS.
Ambition, love, resentment, all conspire
To rack my soul; these senators, these kings,
Scoff at my youth, and with disdain refuse
The rank for which my valour sues in vain,
And purchased by my blood. Then while my heart
Is with this insult torn, that I may lose
All I hold dear, they snatch my Tullia from me.
From me! O fond delusion of the mind!
What right hast thou, or what pretence to mark
With jealous tongue the blessing as thy own?
Ah! I perceive the fire so long conceal'd,
Bursting from it's restraint, more fiercely burns,
And will not be extinguish'd. Yes, Messala,
I had sustain'd the conflict, she had left me,
Methought my heart already had subdued
This fatal passion, I beheld again
My native freedom, and rejoiced to find
That bondage was no more. Just Heaven! are these
Thy limits fix'd? Must resolution stop
E'en here, and pass no further? Hah! must I,
The son of Brutus, the sworn foe of kings,
Stoop ignominious to the Tarquin race?
Th'ungrateful fair rejects too with disdain
My offer'd love. On all sides scorn'd, my shame
Glares equally conspicuous. Rage, revenge,
Confusion, and desire, by turns possess
My soul, and rouse tumultuous faction there.

MESSALA.
Say, may I interrupt thee, and disclose
My thoughts with confidence?

TITUS.
To thy advice
I always listen'd with attentive awe,
For Prudence is thy guide; speak, let the sense
Of all its follies strike my conscious heart,
And all its devious frenzy.

MESSALA.
I approve
Thy love and thy resentment. Is it meet
That Titus should impart authority
To the tyrannic senate, whose proud souls
Would bend us to the earth? If thou must blush,
Blush at thy patience only, not thy love.
Is this the recompence of matchless valour
And warm affection? Without rank or power
A common citizen! A hopeless lover!
Thus to behold thee drooping and forlorn!
A victim of the state! By Tullia slighted!
Insulted by the senate! Oh! Were thine
Such sentiments, as haply I could give!
How speedily might'st thou possess the one!
And on the other satisfy revenge!

TITUS.
Lost as I am, why thus with flattering voice
Awake vain hope? What efforts can I try
To soothe her scorn of mind? Or overcome
Its settled principles?—No more—no more.
Observe what fatal barriers rise between us;
Our fathers, and our duty. Then reflect
That her disdain is equal to my love.
And must she go?

MESSALA.
She must, this day.

TITUS.
Indeed!
But I will not complain; for heaven is just
To her exalted merit; she was form'd
To grace a throne.

MESSALA.
The will of heaven perhaps
Had for her head propitiously decreed
A fairer crown, and had not this proud senate,
Had not these wars, nay had not Titus' self—
Forgive me; but thou know'st th'inheritance
Which is her due. Her brother being dead,
The throne of Rome became her legal right.
What have I said?—Yet if to serve my friend,
If to ensure his happiness, my life
Were needful; if my blood—

TITUS.
No—my resolves
Are fix'd; to duty's all-commanding voice
Lowly I bend. The man who hath determined
To gain his freedom, is that moment free.
I own this dangerous poison for a time
Forced reason from her native seat. But still
A warrior's heart can combat and o'ercome
Each soft insidious charm. Love, tyrant love
On our own weakness rears his boasted power.

MESSALA.
Lo! Where the Heuxrian envoy comes! to thee
This honour paid—

TITUS.
O fatal honour! say,
Wherefore? And what with me? He bears from hence
My much-loved Tullia; he makes sure my doom;
Compleats the sad misfortunes of my life,
And casts th'accumulated load upon me.