University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

TRAULISTA and GAUDENTIUS.
Traulista.

Gaudentius.
A heart like thine—insensible to love—
Dead to the soft sensations of the soul—
Only to fierce Bellona's voice awake—
Though all the sex were offer'd to thy choice,
Knows not the joy, nor feels the tender pang,
Fear may excite, or expectation raise.

Traulista.
What hast thou got by all thy love sick dreams?
Go shew the mighty Goths thy baby face,
And see if one would know it was Gaudentius,
Who fought and conquer'd on the Danube's banks;
Tell them you've whin'd for more than twenty moons—
Crest fallen, sigh'd before a puling chit,
The daughter of thy most inveterate foe—
The murderer of thy sire.

Gaudentius.
But he's aveng'd—
And, like the frighted hare, she fled my sight—
Suspects me an accomplice, charg'd me home,
With treason, murder, perfidy and blood

Traulista.
Come, be thyself again; nor longer bask
Upon the silken, downy lap of hope;
Leave her to sigh, and whisper to the winds—
Else snatch by force, and bear her o'er the wilds,
Through growling forests—hideous, broken cliffs,
And frozen seas—to Scythia's icy banks,
Where rugged winds pour from the brindled north
Adown the mountain's brow—a blast may cool
The transports of thy love.

Gaudentius.
Heaven blast a wretch, whose fierce barbarick heart
Would violate in thought so chaste a fame—
A purity allied to heaven itself.
Alas! the charms that have subdu'd my heart
Have something more than human in their birth.

Traulista.

Gaudentius.
Forbear, Traulista—nor sport thus with my pain.

Traulista.
Come then, erect the scymitar of Mars,
And twang the bow string at the trumpet's sound.

Gaudentius.
Go, clear my wounded fame—assure the princess
That I did not strike—that her fair image,
Hovering round his head, held back my hand—
Repell'd the pointed sword—for aught I did,
Her father might have liv'd.

Traulista.
I know ye acted as a coward would—
But half resolv'd, and trembling at thyself:
Yes, I will see Eudocia is inform'd,
She's made a poltroon of a noble prince.

Gaudentius.
Hah!—this from thee?—yet know he has a sword,
That will not fail to reach a villain's heart,
And let the venom out that rankles there.

[Lays his hand on his sword.
Traulista.
For this I love thee—come on and try its mettle—
I fear'd thou had'st forgot who was thy sire,
And that the lustre of his burnish'd blade,
Wielded by him in many a hardy field,
Had hurt the opticks of the gentler son
Of noble Ætius.

Gaudentius.
Draw and defend thyself.— (Draws)


Traulista.
What shall I tell Eudocia, when she chides,
If I should scratch, or let out Roman blood?

(Insultingly)
Gaudentius.
The empress comes—forbear—I, on the morrow,
Meet thee in the Circus.

Traulista.
Come on, my boy—
The morrow may have other work to do;
This day shall tilt thee swiftly out of time,
If thou art weary of thy silken chain.
[Exit Traulista.

Enter EDOXIA.
Edoxia.
My son—my friend—my injur'd friend Gaudentius,
Canst thou forgive the noble Ætius' death?
Thou lov'st Eudocia with the purest flame:
Remember Valentinian was her sire,
Then vindicate the honour of her house.

Gaudentius.
While life glows warm in this my faithful breast,
Eudocia holds my fortune and my fate.

Edoxia.
I know thou'rt noble, generous and just,
And not less brave than Ætius thy sire;
He wore a sword, he dar'd to draw
In injur'd virtue's cause—nor fear'd the frowns
Of tyrants or of kings—it is thy birthright,
Durst thou grasp it hard, and boldly venture,
For Eudocia's sake, to extricate
Her mother from the arms—the hated bed
Of an usurper of her father's throne?

Gaudentius.
There's nought, true courage prompts the brave to do,
Or virtue justifies, or honour calls,
But what I dare attempt.
But if it mars the peace of Rome—

Edoxia.
The peace of Rome is an ideal thing;
Lost in the tide of every shameful vice,
Rapine and blood; and violence and lust
But mock the story of her ancient fame.
Canst thou a moment balance in the scale
The tranquil scenes of harmony and peace,
With all the lustre that adorns a crown?
Eudocia gives an empire with her hand.

Gaudentius.
My sword—my services—my life are thine—
Ambition burns, and love and glory join—
Yet name no task that more distracts my country.

Edoxia.
Then thou canst see the empress bath'd in tears,
Drag'd by Petronius to the sacred altar—
Compell'd to be his bride—the fair Eudocia,
But a moment lent, to dry the filial tear,
Ere she's compell'd to wed his worthless heir?

Gaudentius.
Not all the powers of earth, or hell combin'd,
Shall rob me of my wife, my lov'd Eudocia.

Edoxia.
Wilt thou apply to Genseric—my friend?

Gaudentius.
A dangerous expedient indeed—
A faithless friend—a treacherous ally.

Edoxia.
The time forbids evasion, or excuse—
Admits of no delay—my purpose is
Irrevocably fix'd.—Say, wilt thou,
At the port of Ostia, meet Genseric—
Bear him my signet—bring him on to Rome?

Gaudentius.
Not for the golden treasures of the east,
Or all the wealth the tempting world bestows;
No, though Eudocia were the bright reward,
Could I betray the capitol of Rome,
And sell my country to the Vandal king?

Edoxia.
Wilt thou betray the mother of Eudocia,
And blast my hopes of most severe revenge?

Gaudentius.
Though great thy wrongs, much greater must thou fear,
If Genseric's rapacious brutal hosts
Should enter Italy—my sovereign forbear,
And like the gods, benignantly forgive;
Nor let resentment kindle up anew
The flames of war; nor introduce in Rome,
Those savage, hostile guests to riot there,
To subjugate the state—subvert thy house,
To extirpate thy name, and rudely reign
And triumph o'er the West.

Edoxia.

Gaudentius.
Thou hast struck deep—a sure and deadly blow.

Edoxia.
The tangled lion can't escape the toils.

Gaudentius.
Nor thou—nor Rome—nor all thy house, perdition.

Edoxia.
Secure thyself, and leave the rest to me.

[Trumpets without.
Gaudentius.
Hark! the shrill trump!—Genseric's herald
Cannot yet be nigh.—

Edoxia.
Like a brave friend, he instantly prepar'd
To plant his banners round the towers of Rome.

Gaudentius.
The senate—people—all the royal house,
For slaughter ripe, in its most dreadful form—
Proud Rome the seat of arms, and arts, and fame,
Stands tottering on the verge of mighty ruin.
A soldier's duty calls; I haste away;
Fate may do much before we meet again;
She has a busy hand, and swiftly rides
On revolution's wheel—Rome may be sack'd,
And crowns and sceptres toss'd from shore to shore,
Transplanted, or despoil'd.

[Exeunt.