University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Rome.
An Apartment in the House of Brutus.
Enter Brutus.
Br.
(alone.)
Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look around
And start at every footstep, lest it bring
The fatal news of my poor son's conviction!—
Oh Rome, thou little know'st—No more. It comes.

Enter Valerius.
Val.
My friend, the senate have to thee transferr'd
The right of judgment on thy son's offence.

Br.
To me?

Val.
To thee alone.

Br.
What of the rest?

Val.
Their sentence is already pass'd.
Ev'n now, perhaps, the Lictors' dreaded hand
Cuts off their forfeit lives.

Br.
Say'st thou that the senate have to me referr'd
The fate of Titus?

Val.
Such is their sovereign will.
They think you merit this distinguish'd honor:
A Father's grief deserves to be rever'd:
Rome will approve whatever you decree.

Br.
And is his guilt establish'd beyond doubt?

Val,
Too clearly.

Br.
(with a burst of tears)
Oh, ye gods! ye gods!
(collecting himself)
Valerius!

Val.
What would'st thou, noble Roman?

Br.
'Tis said thou hast pull'd down thine house, Valerius,
The stately pile that with such cost was rear'd.

Val.
I have, but what doth Brutus then infer?

Br.
It was a goodly structure: I remember
How fondly you survey'd its rising grandeur,—
With what a—fatherly—delight you summon'd
Each grace and ornament, that might enrich
The—child—of your creation,—till it swell'd
To an imperial size, and overpeer'd
The petty citizens, that humbly dwelt
Under its lofty walls, in huts and hovels,
Like emmets at the foot of towering Etna:
Then, noble Roman, then with patriot zeal,
Dear as it was and valued, you condemn'd
And level'd the proud pile; and in return
Were by your grateful countrymen sirnam'd,
And shall to all posterity descend,—
Poplicola.

Val.
Yes, Brutus, I conceive
The awful aim and drift of thy discourse—
But I conjure thee, pause! Thou art a father.

Br.
I am a Roman Consul!—What, my friend,
Shall no one but Valerius love his country
Dearer than house, or property, or children?
Now, follow me;—and in the face of Heaven
I'll mount the judgment-seat: there see, if Brutus
Feel not for Rome as warmly as Poplicola.

[Exeunt Brutus and Valerius.