University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Titus, Lucia, Hortensia.
LUCIA.
I cannot fly, yet tremble at his Sight!

TITUS.
Princess, my Presence, I perceive, afflicts you,
And calls forth Tears from your offended Eyes.
In vain I try'd t'obey your rigid Order:
But you are summon'd hence—Allow me therefore,
Once more to see the loveliest of her Sex!
Receive this last Adieu from wretched Titus,
Who, for thy Sake, with Joy would Life resign,
And prizes nought above thee but his Country.
When call'd to Battel, in Defence of Rome,
I hop'd, at least, to end my Life with Glory,
Since it must still displease too cruel Lucia!

LUCIA.
Can You, the Leader of Rebellious Rome,
And Son of Brutus, Author of my Woes,
Oppress my Father, and yet pity Lucia?
Loaded with Honours, See! the Heroe comes
On his Triumphal Day, t'insult my Grief!
Retire. That pompous Glory may suffice.

TITUS.
The Gods have stain'd the Lustre of its Charms;
May the same Gods, henceforth more just to thee,
For Sorrows past, double thy future Joys!
You merited a Crown: A Crown they have bestow'd.
Go then and reign: Enjoy at once the Throne,
And raptur'd Heart of an enamour'd Monarch;
Throughout the World he is the only King,
Whose Happiness my jealous Heart could envy.

LUCIA.
Ah! wretched Lucia! check thy rising Tears!

[Aside.
TITUS.
What secret Impulse urges me along?
Lucia, I was thy Foe; but in Revenge,
The Gods have made me now thy faithful Slave.
This Flame, which I condemn, in Silence cherish'd,
Increas'd by thy Disdain, in these last Moments,
Impatient of Controul, bursts forth with Fury!
With Wrath deserv'd chastise this rash Confession;
Nor hope I Pardon, nor ev'n ask for Pity.

LUCIA.
Relentless Brutus, what a Load of Woes,
Thou heap'st upon me!

TITUS.
Punish his guilty Son;
'Tho' Tarquin's Foe he doats on Lucia—

LUCIA.
Hold—
You know my Birth, and that a Roman Subject
Ought to show more Respect to Tarquin's Daughter;
But I demand not from a Son of Brutus
The Honours of a Rank, which he disclaims.
I am at Rome, still here detain'd a Prisoner,
And deeply share in all my Father's Woes.
My Sorrows flow from You. I dare believe
Your Soul too gen'rous to insult th'Afflicted.
A Heroe train'd in Virtue's glorious Paths,
Will scorn an easy and ignoble Conquest.
But if a Roman Heart can yield Obedience;
If I may yet command, then shun my Presence,
Revere my Grief, and cease to load the Wretched!

[Exeunt Lucia and Hortensia.