 | Regulus |  |
SCENE VIII.
Corvus, Mutius, Scaurus.Corvus.
Now, Mutius, we must work with both our Hands,
And fashion Business to suppos'd Events:
Say that this stern, this Virtue-clouded Man,
Repugnant to the Hopes of suing Carthage,
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Say too, that mindless of the Oath impos'd,
He shou'd determine to continue here;
And not return to Carthage?—Where are then
Our full-blown Hopes, our ripen'd Expectations?
How must we act?—If we are Friends to Carthage,
We must approve it by some bold Attempt,
Some noble Deed, where Danger wins Success:—
To be secure, we must be bloody, Mutius—
He must not live—at all Events—he must not:
If he returns to Carthage—then indeed
He will be well dispos'd of—if he stays—
(The Supposition shakes me)—no, 'tis fix'd
If he succeeds for Carthage, still he dies—
Rome cannot hold us both—Mutius, be near me—
I must be now indebted to thy Aid
Good Scaurus:
Scaurus.
I am wholly thine.
Corvus.
I know it:
Repair thou to his House and wait my Orders:
Thou art our chief, our Master-Instrument;—
We can but shake the Oak—'tis thou must fell him;
The Means are in thy Hands—
Scaurus.
Command my utmost
Corvus.
I thank thee, Scaurus—we must watch him close:
We shou'd not always wait the Throws of Nature:
We must be cruel sometimes to be kind,
And rip out Safety from the Womb of Time:
Propitious Fortune! aid this grand Event;
Lend thy Assistance—to this Birth be kind,
And thou, with me, shalt never more be blind.
| Regulus | |