 | The Sybil or the Elder Brutus |  |
5
ACT I.
A Square before the Palace of Tarquin. A number of common people collected together are discovered upon the drawing up of the curtain.First Roman.
Will any body say to me that he has seen this
thing?
2 Rom.
What thing, neighbour, are you speaking
of?
1 Rom.
Marry, sir, a thing to puzzle those
that be wiser than either you or me—A woman—
if indeed that can be a woman, which every
body talks of and nobody hath seen; whose
prophecies are in every man's mouth, yet no
man is bold enough to say he has heard them,
or aver that he believes in them.
2 Rom.
If it is the Sybil you are speaking of—
1 Rom.
It is the Sybil we are speaking of;
who speaks of any other thing?
2 Rom.
Then I am he that hath seen her, and
these are the ears that have heard her prophecy.
6
May we believe you?
2 Rom.
As you list for that; but I will rehearse
to you the manner of it, then judge ye for yourselves.
Certain idle fellows of the city, to the
number of a score or upwards, had collected
themselves in the square of the Capitol for the
purpose of making mockery of a poor witless
ideot, whom you all know, Lucius Junius by
name. For this unmanly pastime of theirs, I
was reproving them somewhat angrily, when lo!
in a moment there stood before my eyes a female
figure, tall and comely in person, wild in her
attire, and of an aspect such as awed me to
behold. The scoffers fled; I kept my post and
silently awaited the event, perceiving she address'd
herself to speak—“Thou hast well done,”
she cried, “honouring a fool, for, mark my words
—A fool shall set Rome free.”—This said, she
vanish'd from my sight.
1 Rom.
I'll mock no more at Junius for one.
3 Rom.
Nor I, but reverently accost his worship
as oft as I encounter him.
4 Rom.
This will bring fools in credit with
the people.
1 Rom.
And humble those that in their self-esteem
are oracles of wisdom.
3 Rom.
Look, look! what comes?
2 Rom.
It is the Sybil; it is she herself!—
Run, run, and save yourselves. How her eyes
glare! she's terrible to look at.
1 Rom.
Oh! that I were fool enough to be in
her favour, and not so over-wise as to run away
from her!
[Exeunt omnes.
The Sybil.
Awake, ye torturers of the human heart!
7
Ye furies, that with scorpions sting the soul!
I, the Cumæan prophetess, the Sybil,
Fate's awful harbinger, invoke your presence.
The winds, which in my native caves are pent,
Blow me from the Æolian shores to Rome
O'er the curl'd waves, which my light feet ne'er touch'd.
This is thy palace, Tarquin! hither late
I brought the mystic volume, which thou, wretch,
Three times repuls'd and scorn'd the friendly fates.
The last sun rises on thy bloody house.
Come night, and this proud palace shall be ashes.
Did not my warning voice cry out—A fool,
A fool shall set Rome free? Behold, he comes!
Brutus, the fool predicted—He shall seize
The dagger reeking from Lucretia's wound,
And with that violated matron's blood
Cement the fabric of immortal Rome.
[Exit.
Scene changes. A state Apartment in the Palace of Tarquin.
Tullia, and Sextus Tarquinius.
Tul.
Away! thou'rt mad.
Sex.
I've privilege for that;
I am in love.
Tul.
Yes, with thy kinsman's wife:
Out on thee, wanton!
Sex.
With the wife of Jove,
So she'll put by her cloud and take the form
Of my Lucretia.
Tul.
Thy Lucretia! thine!
Is Collatinus dead? Thus would'st thou sport
With a chaste matron's fame?
Sex.
Is't nothing, then,
8
To have powers, opportunities and means,
With strong desires to push them on? Ye Gods,
Give reason to mechanics! I'll be mad,
Mad as my mother Tullia.
Tul.
Peace, reviler!
When was I mad?
Sex.
When was you mad, good mother?
When with ambition's phrenzy in your soul,
And all Rome's empire in your view, you drove
Your chariot wheels o'er your dead father's body
Up to the shouting Forum.
Tul.
'Twas the cause,
The cause, my Sextus; and for this base clay,
How differs it from the dull earth we tread on,
When the life's gone?
Sex.
Nay, if you talk of cause,
Mine is a cause to bring the Gods amongst us:
Why, Jove, the king of Gods, hath left Olympus,
And turn'd himself into a grazing beast
For one not half so fair as my Lucretia.
Tul.
Into what beast, what reptile art thou chang'd?
Why art thou not at Ardea? Why not foremost
To mount the breach, and shew these sullen nobles,
Who murmur at our greatness, that the race
Of Tarquins reigns by valor as by might.
[Trumpet.
Hark! 'tis thy father's trumpet—welcome, soldier!
Enter Vitellius.
What tidings from our royal lord and husband?
Vit.
Health and a happy greeting—Your brave sons,
Titus and Aruns, are return'd from Delphi.
Tul.
Where are the princes?
9
In the camp at Ardea.
The king determines with tomorrow's sun
To mount the breach. You are expected, Sextus.
Sex.
Love hath his duties, sir, as well as war.
Have our wise brothers brought their fool from Delphi?
Vit.
I left him with the pages in the court
Hustling for drachmas.
Tul.
Whom? What fool?
Vit.
A man,
Who, when he had a name, was Lucius Junius:
A braver citizen Rome never boasted,
And wise and learn'd withal; now chang'd, alas!
A spectacle which humbles me to look on.
Sex.
Now, by the Gods! I much desire to see him.
I want a fool, a ready antick thing,
To run on errands, and to make me sport.
Tul.
What pleasure can such spectacles afford?
Sex.
Oh, there is much good moral in a fool;
Besides, I dreamt of such a thing last night,
And I will see him.
Tul.
If thou wilt, thou must.
But is he harmless in his moody humours?
Sex.
Tame as my horse, which, tho' devoid of reason,
Shall turn, shall stop, and at my angry bidding
Shall kneel till I am throned on his back;
And this shall Junius; the like instinct stirs
Him and my horse—no more.
Tul.
Set him before us.
[Exit Vitellius.
He turn'd to folly on his brother's death:
That brother Tarquin kill'd. If there's on earth
A thing I dread, it is a fool. The Sybil,
Whose mystic book at such a price we bought,
Augur'd the race of Tarquins should be kings,
Till a fool drove us hence, and set Rome free.
10
A very foolish augury, good mother,
For Sabine superstition only fit.
But these are not good Numa's nursing days;
The world is grown from infancy to manhood.
Stand but our power till Junius pull it down,
And it shall be immortal—Lo! he comes:
This dread prediction of the frantic Sybil,
This scourge of kings, this terror of the Tarquins,
Rome's great deliverer.
Vitellius brings in Lucius Junius
Tul.
Gods, is this the man,
This Lucius Junius? 'Tis a goodly prison
For beggary to dwell in; a rich tomb
To harbour nought but emptiness. O Nature,
That thou should'st be thus prodigal in matter,
And yet forget a mind! Will he speak to us
If we do question him?
Vit.
I think he will:
Yet sometimes, when the moody fit doth take him,
He will not speak for days; yea, rather starve
Than utter nature's cravings: then anon
He'll prattle shrewdly, with such witty folly
As almost betters reason.
Tul.
Hark thee, fellow!
How art thou call'd?
L. Jun.
A fool.
Tul.
Fool, for thy nature;
Thou answer'st well, but I demand thy name.
L. Jun.
Nothing but fool.
Tul.
His faculties are brutish;—
Brutus shall be thy name.
L. Jun.
Thanks to your grace!
Sex.
Dost like thy new name, gentle Brute?
L. Jun.
So well,
11
Your Highness, an it like you.
Sex.
I the fool!
Sirrah, good words, or I will have thee beaten.
L. Jun.
A fool thou wilt not beat—a brute thou dar'st not,
For the dull ass will kick against his striker,
If struck too harshly.
Tul.
Let me hear no more;
There's mischief in his folly. Send him hence.
Sex.
Nay, let us hear him, for the fool's sententious.
I'll search him with more questions. Hark thee, Brutus,
Thou wast at Delphi with our princely brothers—
Stand the brave pair in health?
L. Jun.
Praise to the Gods!
They stood where others fell.
Sex.
What dost thou mean?
Explain thyself.
L. Jun.
They bore away the prize
From fourteen Grecian cities.
Sex.
Hah! what prize?
L. Jun.
The prize for drinking.
Sex.
Is it truth he speaks?
Vit.
I am his witness. 'Twas at Bacchus' feast
Giv'n by Hipparchus the Athenian tyrant—
Two Thericlean cups of mighty girth,
That would have puzzled Bitias. Oh! the Greeks
Drink deep, and dance more than our Salian priests.
I saw their comic scoffers mount the car,
With lees of wine besmear'd, in antick sport
Mocking the crowd—T'was a rare mummery.
Sex.
Why then we might have kept our fool at home,
12
What said the Pythia to our prodigy,
The snake i'th' Capitol?
L. Jun.
An ugly reptile;
She will'd us not to speak of it—The Gods
Endure it not; Hercules was scar'd i'th' cradle,
And young Apollo, since he fought the Python,
Cannot abide to look upon a snake.
Tul.
Put you none other questions to Apollo?
[To Vitellius.
Vit.
Your sons did ask who should be chief in Rome.
Tul.
Hah! what replied the oracle to that?
Vit.
With pains and strugglings the prophetic dame
This destiny reported from her God:
“Great and most glorious shall that Roman be,
Who shall first greet his mother with a kiss!”
Sex.
Hail, mother!
[Salutes the Queen.
L. Jun.
Woe for me, I have no mother—
And yet I kiss'd her first.
Tul.
Thou kiss'd her? thou—?
L. Jun.
Yea, madam, for just then my foot did slip
In the fresh blood of a new-slaughter'd victim,
And falling I did kiss my mother—Earth.
Tul.
Oh, that the earth had swallow'd thee outright
Till thou had'st kiss'd the center! I perceive
The Gods are leagu'd with folly to destroy us.
My very blood chills at my heart—Away!
[Exit.
Sex.
Hark thee, thou Brutus, I in part suspect
Thou ap'st this folly; if I find thee trifling,
Or juggling with the Pythia for predictions,
By all the Gods, I'll have thee flay'd, thy skin
Strip'd into thongs to strangle thee withal,
Dissembling varlet!
[Seizes him.
13
Take away your hands;
They come too near my throat.
[They struggle.
Vit.
My lord, forbear!
Threat'ning a fool you do but wrong yourself.
Sex.
But that I love his son, the noble Titus,
My dagger should have pierc'd his throat ere now,
And sent him to his mother Earth for ever.
He shall be watch'd.—Vitellius, follow me.
[Exit.
Vit.
The Gods restore thee, Brutus, to thyself,
And us to thee! Farewell!
[Exit.
L. Jun.
A little longer,
A little longer yet support me, patience!
The day draws on: it presses to the birth—
I see it in the forming womb of time—
The embryo liberty. Hah! 'tis my son—
Down, rebel nature, down!
Titus enters.
Tit.
Welcome to Rome!
Would I might welcome thee to reason too!
Ah, woe is me, that ever I was born
To call thee father; rather would I cross
My direst foe on earth than meet this ruin.
Yes, thou hast lips that utter, limbs that move,
An outward form and fashion of a man,
But where's the light o' the building, where's the soul,
Which should inform those lips, direct those limbs,
And lead thee back to the lost road of glory?
L. Jun.
Give me thy hand—nay, give it me—
Tit.
What would'st thou?
Speak to thy son.
L. Jun.
I had a thing to say,
But I have lost it. Let it pass—no matter.
14
Look not upon me with those eyes, but speak;
Utter thy cravings—Art at ease, poor creature?
Who injures, who annoys thee? Tell thy friend.
How can I serve thee? What dost lack?
L. Jun.
Preferment.
Thou can'st do much at court.
Tit.
Ah! this is nothing.
L. Jun.
So much the fitter for a fool's petition,
And a court promise.
Tit.
Oh, this trifling racks me.
L. Jun.
Lend me thine ear: I'll tell a secret to thee
Worth a whole city's ransom. This it is;
Nay ponder it and lock it in thy heart—
There are more fools, my son, in this wise world
Than the gods ever made.
Tit.
Say'st thou, my father?
Expound this riddle. If thy mind doth harbour
Aught that imports a son like me to know,
Or knowing to atchieve; if there be aught
Of grace or comfort to be done to thee,
Or to thy weeping country, so it stand
Within the order of things possible,
How hard soe'er, declare it.
L. Jun.
Now, my son,
Should the great Gods, who made me what thou seest,
Repent, and in their vengeance cast upon me
The burden of my senses back again—
What would'st thou say?
Tit.
Oh, my lamented father,
Would the kind Gods restore to thee thy reason—
L. Jun.
Then, Titus, then I should be mad with reason.
Had I the sense to know myself a Roman,
This hand should tear this heart from out my ribs,
15
If, therefore, thou dost love me, pray the Gods
To keep me what I am—Where all are slaves,
None but the fool is happy.
Tit.
We are Romans,
Not slaves.
L. Jun.
Indeed! why, who art thou?
Tit.
Thy son.
Dost thou not know me?
L. Jun.
You abuse my folly.
I know thee not—Wert thou my son, ye Gods!
Thou would'st tear off this sycophantic robe,
Tuck up thy tunic, trim these curled locks
To the short warrior cut, vault on thy steed;
Then, scampering thro' the city, call to arms
And shout for liberty—
Tit.
Defend me, Gods!
[Starts.
L. Jun.
Hah! does it stagger thee?
Tit.
For liberty?
Said'st thou for liberty?—It cannot be.
L. Jun.
Indeed! 'tis well—No more.
Tit.
What would my father?
L. Jun.
Begone, you trouble me.
Tit.
Nay, do not scorn me.
L. Jun.
Said I for liberty? I said it not:
The awful word breath'd in a coward's ear
Were sacrilege to utter. Hence, begone!
Said I you were my son? 'Tis false: I'm foolish;
My brain is weak and wanders; you abuse it.
Tit.
Ah, do not leave me; not in anger leave me!
L. Jun.
Anger? what's that? I am content with folly;
Anger is madness, and above my aim.
[Music.
Hark! here is music for thee, food for love,
And beauty to serve in the rich repast.
16
And let poor Brutus wither in the shade.
[Exit.
Tit.
Oh, truly said! bright as the golden sun
Tarquinia's beauty beams, and I adore.
Soft music. Tarquinia enters, preceded by Damsels bearing a Crown of gold, some with Censers, &c. proper for the Ceremonials of a dedication to Fortune.
What dedication or what holy service
Doth the fair client of the Gods provide,
Decking their shrines, and with these dulcet sounds
Making the fane harmonious? Mighty Jove,
Is there in thy celestial synod one,
Who will not listen to Tarquinia's prayer?
Tar.
I go to Fortune's temple, there to kneel
Before the blazing altar, and suspend
Upon the votive shrine this golden crown.
While incense fills the fane, and holy hymns
Are chanted for my brothers' safe return,
When the consenting Goddess smiles upon me,
What shall I ask for Titus?
Tit.
Though the Goddess,
In her blind bounty, should unthrone the world,
To make me one vast empire, my ambition,
If by thy love unblest, would slight the gift:
Therefore of Fortune I have nought to ask,
She hath no interest in Tarquinia's heart;
Nature, not Fortune, must befriend me there.
Tar.
Well hast thou said: Chance rules not my affections;
And, as I think thy heart like mine is true,
Truth with its own reflection must agree,
Honour to honour, love accord to love,
And I to Titus.
17
Oh, support me, Gods!
Am I so blest above all human kind?
Pitied, approv'd, belov'd? And may this heart,
So long the victim of conflicting passions,
At length repose in hope?
Tar.
Now hear and mark me—
Impressions, which low minds are taught to hide,
My soul, superior to reserve, avows;
Fearing no insult I affect no art:
Thy gentle manners, Titus, have endear'd thee,
Although a subject Roman, to Tarquinia:
My brother Sextus wears thee next his heart;
The queen herself of all our courtly youth
First in her favour holds the noble Titus:
And though my royal father well may keep
A jealous eye upon thy Junian race,
A race unfriendly to the name of King,
Yet thee he cherishes, with generous joy
The monarch sees thy early virtue shoot,
And with a parent's fondness rears its growth.
Tit.
Sweet fruits are sometimes couch'd in bitter rinds,
So is my love within a hostile name;
But neither name, nor nature, nor the voice
Of my lost father, could he wake to reason,
Not all the wrongs that tyranny could pile
On my afflicted head, not all the praise
That patriot gratitude could shower upon me,
Can shake the faithful purpose of my heart,
To sever it from love and my Tarquinia.
Tar.
Tis well! but ere you bind my faith, reflect!
You say your father, should he wake to reason,
Could not divide you from me; have you set
His awful form in a prospective view?
Can you resist the terrors of his voice,
If in a tone oracular he warn you
18
When this new inspiration may arouse him?
Tit.
The time I know not, but myself I know:
This life may be extinguish'd, and the heart
Must cease to beat, when death will have it so;
But whilst I live, I live to thee alone.
Tar.
Approve that firmness in the shock of trials,
And if my love can recompense thy virtue,
Nor tortures, nor temptations, nor the wreck
Of Rome and empire shall divide me from thee.
To this I pledge my hand. Now to the temple.
[Exeunt.
| The Sybil or the Elder Brutus | |