University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

PHILODAMUS, PHILIPPUS.
Philodamus.
Thank thee, my gallant son, thou'st sav'd my life.
Where is my Erato? Where is Euphemia?

Philippus.
Under strong guard Epicrates conducts them
To his own house—Alas! you bleed, my father.

Philodamus.
Fear not, for I am whole; yet the vile Rubrius
Had near subdued me; till a lucky struggle
Freed me, and pass'd my dagger through his arm.
Thence come these stains.

Philippus.
Would it had been his heart!
Or rather that of Verres.

Philodamus.
Who lies here?

Philippus.
This was Cornelius; fain I would have sav'd him,
But stupid duty forc'd him upon death.
What have we now to do?

[Cornelius carried off.
Philodamus.
Why this, Philippus.
To draw up our complaint against this Verres,
And send it to the Prætor.—Well, Epicrates,
Enter EPICRATES.
Say, are the women safe?

Epicrates.
Yes, they are safe.
But Verres and his crew had well nigh perish'd.
Fir'd with just indignation at your wrongs,
The populace pursu'd him to his palace,
Where, finding it impossible to enter,
They heap'd up faggots, ev'ry thing combustible,
To have reduc'd him and his house to ashes;
When, most unluckily for our revenge,
Arriv'd the Roman prætor Dolabella,
Whose presence stay'd them, and dispers'd the tumult.

Philodamus.
I'm glad they were prevented—

Philippus.
And I sorry.

Philodamus.
For justice, executed by the people,
Loses its name, and grows most dangerous—
What have we here? another Roman guard!

Enter Officer and Soldiers.
Officer.
Philodamus, and you, Philippus, Sirs,
Ye are my pris'ners, and must to the forum.

Philippus.
Pris'ners! for what? because we did not hold
Our throats conveniently, to have them cut;
Nor make the offer of our maidens honour
To the insatiate appetite of Verres?

Epicrates.
And is there no mistake, that you omit me?
Oh, take me too! I blush to be at liberty.

Officer.
You are not charg'd. Their lot deserves no envy.

Philodamus.
When Hadrian the prætor, by extortions,
Had rak'd th'inhabitants of Utica
Beyond the sufferance of human nature,
Despair, at last, gave vent to their resentment,
And they consum'd him, and his spoils, and palace
To dust, by fire, unquestion'd since of Rome.

Officer.
I am not here to reason, but command:
So come along.

Philodamus.
Do you, Epicrates,
Acquaint my daughters, and come after us.

[Exeunt all but Epicrates.
Epicrates.
Confusion, thou hast caught us in thy net!—

Enter EUPHEMIA.
Euphemia.
Where is Philippus? tell me, is he safe?

Epicrates.
Why hast thou ventur'd, desp'rate, to this roof?
Know you not, all beneath it is accurs'd?
Ruin and death inhabit the waste structure;
While over-head, like a black cloud, destruction
Low'rs on the whole, and meditates to burst
On all it finds in the devoted verge.
Escape, if yet you may: fly to my house,
There shelter from the storm. Why left you Erato?

Euphemia.
Ay! is he dead? and I survive him yet?—

Epicrates.
He lives. The prætor's guard conducts him chain'd,
Him and Philodamus, both, to the forum.
The Legate's fury drives at such a rate,
'Tis manifest at what it will arrive.

Euphemia.
He lives! Bless'd be the tongue that tells me so!
Heav'n and their innocence will soon acquit them,
And punishment must light, where due, on Verres.
Soon as the Roman prætor is inform'd,
He'll blush, they have been chain'd as criminals.

Epicrates.
Can power blush? or feels oppression shame?
Then I'll believe the crocodile may weep;
Nay more, surrender his uninjur'd prey.
Ah! let us not confide in innocence;
What is there else that tyranny can hate?
And what it hates, what hinders it to punish?

Euphemia.
Can any tyranny make self-defence
A punishable crime? The Roman virtue
Holds the first station in the world's esteem;
And their politeness has such gen'ral fame,
'Tis thought to overpay the wrongs of conquest.

Epicrates.
I've been at Rome. The insolence of conquerors
Coins their own fame, and we, their slaves, adopt
What character their pride stamps on themselves.
Virtue, at Rome, means to enslave the world.
Politeness is another name for luxury,
That gorges at a mess the wealth of nations.
Such justice as these principles afford,
We may expect to find, and nothing better.

Euphemia.
I catch your fears; yet hope you fear too much.

Epicrates.
Let us prepare us as the worst were certain.
'Tis my request, Euphemia, that you chuse
My house, my friendship, and the love of Erato,
As your protection in this dread calamity:
And lest you fear (seeing, in friendship's name,
How many seek to buy a slave a pennyworth)
Time and familiarity should shrink you
From parity into a mean dependence,
Soon as you pass my threshold, twenty talents
Wait your acceptance.—

Euphemia.
Worthy of Philippus!
Thou art his match in virtue as in friendship!
Such thanks as my poor gratitude can pay—

Epicrates.
The time will not admit of farther reasoning.
Let me prevail, and wish you back to Erato.
Farewell. Each minute I'll dispatch a messenger,
Who shall inform you both of all that passes.

[Exit.
Euphemia.
Success attend thy steps. [Kneels.]
All-ruling Power!
We know not how to name; and therefore wander
Thro' almost infinite denominations,
To mark thy various attributes and functions,
Who must love justice; Oh! if ever, now
Exert thyself, free from thy gen'ral laws,
And speak in prodigies; enact, and vindicate
Thy equitable mandates. Villain Man
Will construe else thy patience a connivance,
And deal out wrong, secure of punishment.

[Exit.