University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Fulvia's Apartment.
Octavia, Fulvia.
Octavia.
Oh! wherefore does Posthumius thus delay?

Fulvia.
Why thus uneasy?

Octavia.
Words cannot describe
How much I fear, lest the Dictator's Hate
Should burst in Ruin on his destin'd Head.

Fulvia.
Sylla will ne'er accuse him without Cause.

SCENE II.

To them Posthumius hastily.
Posthumius.
E'en now the proud Dictator has proposed—

Octavia.
What? dear Posthumius.

Posthumius.
To tear me from thy Bosom, he propos'd
The Rule of Sicily; but I refus'd.
Rely on me, and let us haste the Rites
To make us one, then fly this hated Place.

Fulvia,
What! shall you who 'scap'd alone of the proscrib'd,
Shall you thus dare oppose the great Dictator?

Posthumius.
What's the Dictator, while my Love's at stake?

SCENE III.

Octavia, Fulvia, Posthumius, and Lentulus.
Lentulus
(to Fulvia.
Madam! Chrisogonus attends you.

Fulvia.
I go.
[Exit Fulvia.

SCENE IV.

Octavia, Posthumius, and Lentulus.
Posthumius.
What would Chrisogonus?

Octavia.
Sylla, dishearten'd not that I reject
This thriftless Suit, now sends Chrisogonus
Anew to tempt my Mother to his Side;
But Force essays to sever us in vain.

Polthumius.
Say then, my Fair-one, when will you be mine?

AIR. (Duetto.)
Octavia.
When! when! shall we love uncontroll'd?

Posthumius.
How I long for the Day when I thee may enfold!

Octaaia.
When no Pow'r can ever divide us again.

Posthumius.
Hard Fate, with Grief, my lov'd Octavia clouds;

Octavia.
Hard Fate the Fortune of Posthumias shrouds.

SCENE V.

To them re-enter Fulvia.
Fulvia.
Sylla, my Daughter, by Chrisogonus,
Sollicits still impatiently your Hand,
Who says he will no longer be refus'd.

Octavia.
And can my Mother then—

Posthumius.
How the Tyrant!—

Fulvia.
Sylla's Dictator, and for me, Octavia,
Whose Parents, Sons, and Husband were proscrib'd,
It is not to oppose what he ordains.

Posthumius.
'Tis mine; who dares attempt to force her from me,
Shall earn the Capture with my forfeit' Life.

Lentulus.
What urges Fulvia, to befriend this Force?

SCENE VI.

To them Chrisognnus, followed by Sylla's Guards.
Chrisogonus.
By Sylla's Orders, Madam, you must quit
This Place, to go with us.

Posthumius.
How! Octavia!

Octavia.
Dares he commit such Outrage on a Roman!

Fulvia.

Chrisogonus.
AIR.
'Tis vain t'oppose the Will of Fate,
All worldly things it guides,
The Oracle is now complete;
O'er all below your Love presides,
And as a God on Earth is great.

Octavia.
Death to this cruel Bondage I prefer.

Chrisogonus.
Guards force her hence.
[Exit Chrisogonus.

Octavia.
Posthumius! Gods! what Violence!

[The Guards force off Octavia along with Fulvia. Posthumius is prevented from falling upon them by Lentulus.

SCENE VII.

Posthumius, Lentulus.
Posthumius.
Unhand me, Friend, and give my Vengeance room!

Lenulus.
Yes! when thy Sword has Reason for its Guide;
Vengeance, unless 'tis singular, is poor.

Posthumius.
AIR.

Lentulus.
AIR.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

Sylla's Apartment.
Sylla, Chrisogonus.
Chrisogonus.
You are obey'd; Octavia's in your Pow'r:
Her Mother too, my Lord, is half your Friend;
The Daughter still prefers and loves Posthumius.

Sylla.
This is Posthumius of the Marian Faction,
Who holds from me his Honours and his Life;
Whom I in Sicily had Prætor made.
Why! what a Rival!

Chrisogonus.
And shall he interpose 'twixt you and Bliss.

Sylla.
I'd have Octavia's Heart!

Chrisogonus.
Persist, you may!

Sylla.
See and bring forth this Object of my Love.

[Exit Chrisogonus.

SCENE IX.

Sylla
solus.
AIR.
I'm rack'd between Hope and Despair!
Or her Hate or Esteem shall I gain?
Her Heart with her Charms I must share,
Or else the wish'd Conquest refrain.
This Soul, amidst Perils, a Stranger to Fears,
Now trembles, when only a Woman appears.

SCENE X.

Sylla, Chrisogonus, Octavia, Fulvia.
Octavia.
Is this, my Lord, what Rome has to expect
From him who boasts the Virtues of a Sylla?
Are then our Liberties despis'd, our Gods, our Laws?

Fulvia.
Pity, my Lord, the Troubles of her Breast,
And pardon this first Impulse of her Grief.

Sylla.
See, fair Octavia, the Dictator lays
His Triumphs, Heart, and Laurels at your Feet.

Octavia.
I see Oppression and tyrannic Sway,
One who to all that's amiable is lost,
And knows but Violence.

Sylla.
Oh! Madam, yet
Let my strong Passion for my Faults atone.

AIR. Duett.
Octavia.
Traitor, despair my Heart to gain,
Force never shall my Hand obtain.

Sylla.
Yet cruel! if my Heart you knew,
You'd pity what I feel for you.

Octavia.
If I my Bosom could unfold,
Its fix'd Aversion you'd behold.

Sylla.
Relent, and pity me, my Fair.

Octavia.
Gods, will you never end my Care!

Sylla.
Gods, will you never end my Care!

[Exit Octavia.

SCENE XI.

Sylla, Fulvia, and Chrisogonus.
Fulvia.
O'erlook, my Lord, these Transports of my Child,
And time at last shall sooth her to Compliance.

Sylla.
Her proud Resistance but enflames my Love.

Fulvia.
AIR.
[Exit Fulvia.

SCENE XII.

Sylla, Crysogonus, Metellus.
Metellus.
From whence, my Lord, can this Disturbance rise?
The People blame you; thro' the crouded Streets
Nothing but Murmurs and Seditions reign:
Posthumius, Lentulus, and Claudius
Assist the Uproar, echoing Complaint,
And much I fear your Life itself's in danger,

Sylla.
Is not the Person of the Tribune sacred?
Who then dares aim at a Dictator's Life?

Metellus.
Will you allow that I unfold my Heart?
For I have much to say, too long conceal'd.

Sylla.
Speak freely.

Metellus.
You know with what Fidelity I've follow'd,
How I have serv'd you all the Civil Wars;
Nor was I forc'd thy Partisans to join.
When Marius, Cinna, Mithridates dar'd
Oppose your Progress, this good Sword was yours,
And Rome's and Sylla's Foes the same to me.
Because I was a Roman thus I acted,
Because I thought you only could o'erthrow
The Citizens who dar'd abuse their Pow'r;
You only could our Enemies subdue;
You only give to Rome her Liberty:
I as a God rever'd, and I believ'd you
Th'Avenger and Deliverer of my Country;
And have I liv'd to find myself deceiv'd?
The Hand, the Heart that lov'd you stigmatis'd?
Why these Proscriptions which each Hour increase?
To a mean Freedman why this boundless Pow'r?
Why should Chrisogonus, a wretched Greek,
Dispose at Will our Fortunes and our Lives?
Have then our Fathers shed their sacred Blood,
And Acts atchiev'd which ne'er can be forgot,
To let at last a foreign Upstart rise,
Sully their Glories, and the Houses stain
Of boasted Scipio, of Æmilius brave,
And all th'immortal Heroes, whose blest Shades
Scoul on us from Elizium with Contempt?
And yet shall you, from whom the World has Peace,
You, who Rebellion stifled in its Birth,
And put the Foes of Liberties to flight,
Shall you oppress us? And maintain your Pow'r
Only to cherish Passions far beneath
Your Rank, your Honour, and your ripen'd Age?
And have I fought t'enable you to proscribe
Our best of Citizens, to force a Maid,
Betroth'd to good Posthumius, and restore
The odious Crimes of Tarquin to the Age.

Sylla.
Metellus, whence this Boldness? Am I then
T'account with thee? Does Rome her Int'rest trust
To the Dictator's Care or thine?

Metellus.
The Friend's Advice you answer like a Master.
I've liv'd too long. Here, take this honest Sword,
And plunge it in his Breast, whose only Fault
Was serving thee too well; repay him thus.

Chrisogonus.
You see at what his Insolence would aim.
[Exit Chrisogonus.

Sylla.
Is this the Friendship thou hast sworn, Metellus?

SCENE XIII.

Sylla, Metellus, Posthumius.
Posthumius
(angrily.)
Restore the Wife you ravish'd from my Side.

Sylla.
Posthumius, recollect to whom you speak.

Posthumius.
My Passion knows him not. Remember Brutus!

Sylla.
Fool-hardy! fear the Pow'r which you provoke!

AIR. (Trio.)
Posthumius.
Sylla, give me back my Love.

Metellus.
Do not thy Glories thus impair.

Sylla.
Tremble lest my Rage you prove.

Posthumius.
A Roman like yourself you dare.

Metellus.
Think that thy Country asks thy Care.

Sylla.
This Arm, which once made Cinna yield,
Can make its Foes still quit the Field.