University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Scene returns to the Temple of VESTA.
CICERO, TERENTIA, TULLIA, ATTICUS, CAIUS FRUGI.
CICERO.
Urge me no more; 'tis fixt for Sicily:
The Justice of my Government, the Grace
I've ever shewn the Island, still are fresh
In all men's memories; if Gratitude
Yet dwells in human hearts, it must be there.

ATTICUS.
Fated to conquer and corrupt the world,
Victorious Rome in every soil and clime
Hath sow'd her fertile vices; Virtue ever
Bleeds at the side of Freedom: Greece alone,
Triumphant in her fall, hath with her arts
Made Captive her Despoiler, and remains
A land of refuge 'gainst oppressive wrong,
The Nurse of Science and the Seat of Peace.
Thither, my Friend, betake thee.

CICERO.
Ah! no more;
My heart I give amongst you; for my body,
Which Rome thus casts away, fall where it may,
It is a sorry thing, nor worth the purchase
Of so much soil as it will cover.

TERENTIA.
Athens
Has my voice; but, where'er you bend your flight,
Be still thyself, my Marcus; no retirement
Can hide a great man from the world, for Rome
Hath eyes in every sphere, and they will watch you,
Tho' buried deep within Sicilian shades,
As when you stood the foremost of mankind,
And sway'd the Fate of Empires.

CICERO.
O Terentia,
'Tis hard, but just withall; for mine's a Heart
Slightly made up by Nature, in whose compound
Preside the soft and sensible Affections,
And bend to every pressure. But why speaks not
My dearest Tullia? has thy Caius yet
Allay'd the wild disorder of thy mind,
And sooth'd it into peace?

TULLIA.
The storm is past;
Sorrows as deep, tho' calmer, now succeed;
My soul shuts out each soft and joyful sense,
Ev'n Love itself, to entertain thy wrongs.
For thee each morn e're Phoebus streaks the East,
With early Orisons I'll waken Heaven;
For thee each night shall find me on my knees;
No note of mirth, no ill-according joy,
Shall break the tenor of my pious task,
Till the wish'd hour, when wearied Fate relents,
And Heav'n recalls her exil'd Patriot home.

CICERO.
Be it your care to wean her from her griefs,
And lead her with a watchful hand thro' Life;
Yet at some times indulge her in her tears,
Nor grudge that tribute to a Father's name.
Now with Pomponius to the Capuan Gate
Depart: My bursting Heart must have its vent;
And trust me he's the best Philosopher,
Who keeps the moments of his weakness private.

FRUGI.
Yet e're we part, before this awful shrine,
Here in the presence of the Guardian Goddess;
Let me conjure thee by the name of Father,
O crown my hopes, and consecrate my Love.

TULLIA.
Why wilt thou urge us both to our destruction?
Ah! wherefore tempt this black ill-omen'd hour,
For Treason only fit, for Lust and Murder,
And magic Incantations. This a time
To ask a blessing in? hence must we date
Our inauspicious nuptials? here commence
Our dark unhallow'd course? Forbid it, Heav'n!

CICERO.
Be wise, be virtuous, and defy the Stars.
Come near me both.—Here o'er this holy flame.
I join your hands, an emblem of your hearts:
Henceforth be one.—Like this perennial fire,
So be your Loves aspiring, ardent, pure,
Perpetual; ceasing not till this expires.

The Flame is seen to sink gradually, and at length goes out. They stand amazed at the Omen, when suddenly a great Noise is heard without.
FRUGI.
Hark! they assault the Temple; we're beset;
Clodius is at our doors: Impious attempt!

(Atticus and Frugi go out.
TULLIA.
O Heav'n and Earth! where run you, Caius, Husband?
Help, help, they murder my dear, dear, defender.

A clashing of swords. Frugi retreats fighting, and falls at Tullia's feet. Clodius and Gabinius enter with Followers: Clodius aduances to Cicero.
CLODIUS.
So; you are found.

CICERO.
Hangs the roof o'er thee yet?
Gods! Gods! why sleep ye? wherefore rise ye not
Ye violated Fires? in our defence
Why blaze not forth your Altars, and avenge
This Sacrilege?

CLODIUS.
Must I despise thee too?
Rail on thou credulous and shallow Pedant,
Till thy Gods hear thee, or till I relent.
But know to thy confusion, not the Winds,
That sweep the Scythian desart, are more deaf,
Than are thy fancied Deities; nor Rocks,
That shake those Winds from off their icy sides,
More hard, or more unfeeling than my heart.

CICERO.
Villain profest and shameless!

GABINIUS.
Time is short;
Pomponius is escap'd; Caius yet breathes.

CLODIUS.
What, was my sword too short? this dagger then
Shall piece it out, and find his Heart.

TULLIA.
Away!
Thou'st done thy work too well, inhuman wretch!
The sternest murderers will turn aside,
Nor dare to look upon the deed they've done;
Thou only tak'st a cool delight in blood,
Can'st reason and descant upon thy trade,
And, butcher-like, deface and carve the slain.

CLODIUS.
Drag 'em asunder.

TULLIA.
That ye shall not do;
Thus will I screen his poor remains of Life.
Now, now, transfix us both; the Wife and Husband;
The living and the dying; 'tis enough,
So I can hold off Death one moment from him,
And meet it in its passage to his Heart.

CLODIUS.
Then take thy wish.

(Offers to kill her.
CICERO.
Ah! stop thy desperate hand.
Let this alone; behold! a Father kneels.
O Clodius, thou hast brought me to the Earth;
Enjoy my shame, but spare my daughter's life.

CLODIUS.
Hah! this is vengeance. Let me view thee well:
Kneel'st thou, proud Spirit? Wou'd all Rome were here
Spectators of my triumph! Come what may,
I've liv'd enough.

GABINIUS.
Hoa! Catiline, where art thou?
Burst from thy sleep of Death; this is a sight
To weigh against Elysium.

TERENTIA.
Rise for shame;
Rise and defy 'em; their insulting mockery
Is sharper than their swords.

CICERO.
What have I done?
O coward Nature! is there no way left
To save a Child, but by a Father's shame?
Each drop of blood about me that is Roman
Rebels against this weakness: But remember,
When you report this deed, report withal
That he who kneel'd to save a Daughter's life,
Disdain'd to ask his own.

TULLIA.
Who asks for life,
When this dear youth expires? Death grows upon him,
Nor needs your daggers to ensure his victim.
How piteously his eyes are fix'd on me!
Convulsion shakes each joint; he cannot utter,
Yet his lips move most speakingly. Where are ye?
Ye talk'd of daggers; who will plant one here?
Or must I linger till distraction ends me,
And on this pavement dash my desperate brains?

GABINIUS.
That groan's his last. My vengeance asks no more.

CLODIUS.
This consolation comes too late for thee,
Unhappy Clodia: Yet it glads me well.
Hence with these women to the Public Court,
And there in full assembly urge their crimes;
Be it my task to cast this Exile forth,
And execute the Doom my Country past.

(Guards seize Terentia.
CICERO.
Unhallow'd villains! loose your brutal hold.
O my Terentia; how this wrings my Heart!

TERENTIA.
Fear not, my Marcus; we shall meet again;
If not, I will not shame thee at my Death,
But suffer as a Roman Matron should.

(They force her off.
Guards take away Frugi's body, and force Tullia away.
TULLIA.
Where do you drag me? We must part, my Caius;
Relentless monsters, can ye view that face
And pay no reverence? Howsoe'er ye treat
The living, do no violence to the dead.
These are my nuptial joys.—Alas, my Father!
And dost thou weep? O agonizing sight!
Come, let me go—for evermore farewel!

(Exit.
CICERO, CLODIUS, and Guards.
CICERO.
Well, my Tormentor, can'st thou aught invent
Deeper and keener than the pangs I feel;
Or is thy vengeance wearied?

CLODIUS.
I have liv'd
To laugh at thee, and all thy patriot schemes,
To see thy Palace dust, thyself an Exile,
A prostrate Beggar bending to the earth;
Thy House of all its borrow'd splendor strip'd,
And to its first obscurity reduc'd:
Henceforth I think not of thee.

CICERO.
Not think of me?
Dream on, till Vengeance wake thee, till thy Conscience
Bloated and swell'd, from Pleasure's guilty feast
Starts up aghast, turns suddenly upon thee,
And stings thee to the Heart; and mark me, Traitor,
In the great scale and order of Creation
All have their parts; but your's are servile uses,
Monsters of Vice; yet in the hand of Heaven
Ye minister to Good, and are the instruments
To tent the hollow-hearted, and distinguish
Between the similar back-sliding hypocrite,
And the long-suffering single-hearted man:
When you have done your work, you're thrown aside,
As such base tools should be.

CLODIUS.
Base do you call me?
O thou more wretched than the basest Beggar!
For he unquestion'd breathes the liberal air,
Drinks health and pleasure at the running fount;
'Gainst thee the elements are shut, the Earth
Our common parent disavows thee, thee,
Thy Country's out-cast, and the sport of Nature.

CICERO.
Blush thou, for having made me what I am.
I sav'd my Country; thou hast driven me from it.
All good men bless me; thee all ill ones serve.
Thus by the larger portion of mankind
I'm banish'd; thou condemned by the best:
Farewell; Posterity decide betwixt us!

(Exit.
CLODIUS
Remains.
His words go thro' my soul; my cause is weak,
And my good Genius fails me: Must I own
There is a dignity, a grace in Virtue,
Which Vice in all its pomp can never reach?
With all the ensigns of his power about him,
I saw, and sigh'd not at the Consul's greatness:
Now he appears so awful in distress,
That I most envy when I most oppress.