University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

BRUTUS, TITUS, MESSALA, LICTORS.
BRUTUS.
Titus, haste!
Rome is in danger; every hope of safety
Is fix'd on thee. By secret information
The senate is apprized of an assault,
At midnight's silent hour to be expected,
The desperate effort of our foes. I sued,
And have obtain'd for thee, my son, for thee,
Whose soul heroic I regard with love
More than paternal, the command in chief;
Illustrious station from th'extremity
Of peril, more illustrious; sacred proof
Of confidence; and which th'assembled fathers
Unanimous bestow'd. Take then thy arms,
Son of my fond affection, lead the war,
Again preserve thy country, pour thy blood
Unsparing, nobly prodigal of life,
And give a nation freedom. Go, my son,
In such an hallow'd cause, if pale in death,
Or on the car triumphant, I shall view thee
With generous envy.

TITUS.
All-o'er-seeing gods!

BRUTUS.
Hah! Whence! And what—

TITUS.
To other hands commit
The senate's favours, and the fate of Rome.

MESSALA.
What dire confusion in his troubled soul
Now reigns!

BRUTUS.
Canst thou reject the splendid meed
By glory offer'd?

TITUS.
Said'st thou, that on me?—
Shall I—

BRUTUS.
Amazement! Doth thy erring heart
Foster so long its wrath against the senate?
Still rankling with the wound? Is this a time
To listen to the dictates of caprice?
And brood o'er fancied injuries? Myself
Could not but see, and own thy claim unjust.
Can he repine, whose virtue hath preserved
His country from destruction? That high prize
Immortally thy own, methinks should bound,
Should satiate young ambition's utmost wish.
Ne'er may a son of mine, before his years,
Before the laws permit him to expect it,
Dare ask the consulate! Seek thou no more,
What justice must deny. Dost thou aspire
To honour? I have placed thee in the rank,
On which thick fall its radiant beams. There stand
Conspicuous, and let tyrants only stir
Thy kindling breast to anger. Both for thee,
And for the state, warm beats my glowing heart
With all a father's feelings. Consecrate
Thy life to Rome, but nothing in return
Demand. For ever cherish in thy soul
A hero's sentiments, but add to these
What still more nobly grace the citizen.
Yet a few lagging steps, and I shall reach
The period of my journey. Soon, my son,
Shall thy victorious hands these eye-lids close.
But in the bloom of thine, defying death,
My name shall fresh survive. A new existence
I shall enjoy, devoted to my country,
And live in Titus.—Wherefore this?—My thoughts
Now urge me where the present danger calls,
Thy guidance to pursue. Tho' feeble age
(Such is heaven's will) its active vigour lost,
Breathes ineffectual courage; yet these eyes
Shall see thee vanquish, or these limbs shall press
The bloody dust with thine, th'avenger still
Of Rome, still free, nor crouching to a tyrant.

TITUS.
Messala! Oh, what tortures!