 | Lucius Junius Brutus ; Father of his Country |  |
61
ACT. V.
SCE. I.
Valerius, Horatius, Herminius, Mutius.Hor.
His Sons condemn'd?
Val.
Doom'd to the Rods and Axes.
Hor.
What both of 'em?
Val.
Both, Sir, both, both his Sons.
Hor.
What, Titus too?
Val.
Yes, Sir, his Darling Titus.
Nay, tho he knows him innocent as I am,
'Tis all one, Sir, his Sentence stands like Fate.
Hor.
Yet I'll intreat him,
Mut.
So will I.
Her.
And I.
Val.
Intreat him! yes, you may, my Lords, and move him,
As I have done: why, he's no more a man;
He is not cast in the same Common mould,
His Spirit moves not with our Springs and wards.
He looks and talks, as if that Jove had sent him
To be the Judge of all the under World;
Tells me, this Palace of the Universe,
With that vast Moat, the Ocean, running round us,
Th' eternal Stars so fiercely rowling o're us,
With all that Circulation of Heav'ns Orbs,
Were so establish'd from before all Ages
To be the Dowry of Majestick Rome:
Then looks, as if he had a Patent for it
To take account of all this great expence,
And see the layings out of the round World.
Her.
What shall be done then? for it grieves my Soul
To think of Titus loss.
Val.
There is no help;
But thus to shake your head, and cross your arms,
And wonder what the Gods and he intend.
Her.
There's scarce one man of this Conspiracy
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To Junius Brutus: some of the Aquilians
Are Nephews to him; and Vitellius Sister,
The grave Sempronia, is the Consul's Wife.
Val.
Therefore I have ingag'd that groaning Matron
To plead the Cause of her unhappy Sons.
Enter Titus, with Lictors.
But see, O Gods, behold the Gallant Titus,
The Mirror of all Sons, the white of Virtue;
Fill'd up with blots, and writ all o're with blood,
Bowing with shame his body to the ground;
Whipt out of breath by these Inhuman Slaves!
O, Titus! is this possible? this shame?
Tit.
O, my Valerius, call it not my shame;
By all the Gods, it is to Titus honor,
My constant suff'rings are my only glory:
What have I left besides? but ask Valerius,
Ask these good men that have perform'd their duty,
If all the while they whipt me like a Slave,
If when the blood from every part ran down
I gave one groan, or shed a Womans tear:
I think, I swear, I think, O my Valerius,
That I have born it well, and like a Roman.
But, O, far better shall I bear my death,
Which, as it brings less pain, has less dishonor.
Enter Teraminta wounded.
Ter.
Where is he? where, where is this God-like Son
Of an inhuman barbarous bloody Father?
O bear me to him.
Tit.
Ha! my Teraminta!
Is't possible? the very top of Beauty,
This perfect face drawn by the Gods at Council,
Which they were long a making, as they had reason,
For they shall never hit the like again,
Defil'd and mangled thus! What barbarous wretch
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Ter.
For me it matters not, nor my abuses;
But, Oh, for thee, why have they us'd thee thus?
Whipt, Titus, whipt! and could the Gods look on?
The glory of the World thus basely us'd?
Lash'd, whipt, and beaten by these upright Dogs?
Whose Souls, with all the Virtue of the Senate
Will be but Foyls, to any fault of thine,
Who hast a beauty ev'n in thy offending.
And did thy Father Doom thee thus? Oh Titus,
Forgive thy dying part, if she believes
A wretch so barbarous never could produce thee:
Some God, some God, my Titus, watch'd his absence,
Slipt to thy mothers bed and gave thee to the World.
Tit.
O this last wound, this stab to all my courage!
Had'st thou been well, I could have born my lashes:
And is it thus my Father does protect thee?
Ter.
Ah Titus! what, thy murd'rer my Protector!
No, let me fall again among the People,
Let me be whooted like a common strumpet,
Toss'd, as I was, and drag'd about the streets,
The Bastard of a Tarquin, foil'd in Dirt,
The cry of all those Bloodhounds that did hunt me
Thus to the Goal of death, this happy end
Of all my miseries, here to pant my last,
To wash thy gashes with my Farewel tears,
To murmur, sob, and lean my aking head
Upon thy breast, thus like a Cradle Babe
To suck thy wounds and bubble out my Soul,
Enter Sempronia, Aquilia, Vitellia, Mourners &c.
Semp.
Come Ladies, hast, and let us to the Senate;
If the Gods give us leave, we'll be to day
Part of the Council. Oh, my Son, my Titus!
See here the bloody Justice of a Father,
See how the Vengeance rains from his own bowels!
Is he not mad? If he refuse to hear us,
We'll bind his hands, as one bereft of reason.
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But that I fear his orders are gon out
For something worse, for death, to take the heads
Of all the Kindred of these wretched Women.
Ter.
Come then: I think I have some Spirits left,
To joyn thee, o most pious, best of Mothers,
To melt this Rocky heart: give me your hand;
Thus let us march before this wretched Host,
And offer to that God of blood our vows:
If there be ought that's human left about him,
Perhaps my wounds and horrible abuses,
Helpt with the tears and groans of this sad Troop
May batter down the best of his resolves.
Tit.
Hark, Teraminta.
Ter,
No, my Lord, away.
[Exeunt:
Tit.
Oh, my Valerius! was there ever day
Through all the Legends of recorded time
So sad as this? But see, my Father comes!
Enter Brutus, Tiberius, Lictors.
Tiberius too has undergone the Lash.
Give him the patience, Gods, of Martyr'd Titus,
And he will bless those hands that have chastis'd him.
Tib.
Enjoy the bloody Conquest of thy Pride,
Thou more Tyrannical than any Tarquin,
Thou fiercer Sire of these unhappy Sons,
Than impious Saturn or the gorg'd Thiestes:
This Cormorant sees, and owns us for his Children,
Yet preyes upon his entrails, tears his bowels
With thirst of blood, and hungar fetch'd from Hell,
Which Famish'd Tantalus would start to think on;
But end, Barbarian, end the horrid vengeance
Which thou so impiously hast begun,
Perfect thy Justice, as thou, Tyrant, call'st it,
Sit like a Fury on thy black Tribunal,
Grasp with thy monstrous hands these gory heads,
And let thy Flatt'ring Orators adore thee,
For Triumphs which shall make the smile at horror.
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Lead to the Senate.
Tib.
Go then to the Senate,
There make thy boast how thou hast doom'd thy Children
To Forks and Whips; for which, the Gods reward thee:
Away: my Spirit scorns more conference with thee.
The Ax will be as laughter; but the whips
That drew these stains, for this I beg the Gods
With my last breath, for every drop that falls
From these vile wounds, to Thunder curses on thee.
Exit.
Bru.
Valerius, hast; the Senate does attend us.
Exit.
Tit.
Valerius, ere you go, let me conjure thee
By all the Earth holds great or honorable,
As thou art truly Roman, stampt a man,
Grant to thy dying Titus one request.
Val.
I'll grant thee any thing, but do not talk
Of dying yet; for much I dare confide
In that sad company that's gone before:
I know they'l move him to preserve his Titus;
For, tho you mark'd him not, as hence he parted
I could perceive with joy a silent shower
Run down his silver beard: therefore have hope.
Tit.
Hope, say'st thou! O the Gods! what hope of life?
To live, to live! and after this dishonor!
No my Valerius, do not make me rave;
But if thou hast a Soul that's sensible
Let me conjure thee, when we reach the Senate,
To thrust me through the heart.
Val.
Not for the World.
Tit.
Do't; or I swear thou hast no Friendship for me
First, thou wilt save me from the hated Ax,
The Hangman's hand; for by the Gods I tell thee
Thou may'st as well stop the eternal Sun,
And drive him back, as turn my Father's purpose:
Next, and what most my Soul intreats thee for,
I shall perhaps in death procure his pity;
For to dye thus, beneath his killing frown,
Is damning me before my execution.
Valer.
'Tis granted: by the Gods, I swear to end thee
For when I weigh with my more serious thought
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I find it is impossible to save thee.
Come then, I'll lead thee, O thou glorious Victim,
Thus to the Altar of untimely death,
Thus in thy trim, with all thy bloom of youth,
This Virtues on thee, whose eternal Spring
Shall blossom on thy Monumental Marble
With never fading glory.
Tit.
Let me clasp thee,
Boyl out my thanks thus with my Farewel Spirits:
And now away, the Taper's almost out,
Never, Valerius, to be kindled more!
Or, if it be my friend, it shall continue,
Burn through all winds against the puff of Fortune,
To dazle still, and Shine like the fix'd Stars,
With beams of glory that shall last for ever.
Exeunt.
Scena ultima.
Senate.Bru.
Health to the Senate! To the Fathers hail!
Jupiter Horscius and Diespiter
Hospital and Feretrian, Jove the Stayer,
With all the hundred Gods and Goddesses,
Guard and defend the Liberty of Rome.
It has been found a famous truth in Story,
Left by the ancient Sages to their Sons,
That on the change of Empires or of Kingdoms,
Some sudden Execution, fierce and great,
Such as may draw the World to admiration,
Is necessary to be put in Act
Against the Enemies of the present State.
Had Hector, when the Greeks and Trojans met
Upon the Truce, and mingled with each other,
Brought to the Banquet of those Demy-Gods
The Fatal head of that illustrious Whore;
Troy might have stood till now; but that was wanting:
Jove having from eternity set down
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Rais'd with this thought, and big with Prophesie
Of what vast good may grow by such examples,
Brutus stands forth to do a dreadful Justice:
I come, O Conscript Fathers, to a deed
Wholly Portentous, New, and Wonderful,
Such as, perhaps, has never yet been found
In all Memorials of Former Ages,
Nor ever will again. My Sons are Traytors,
Their Tongues and Hands are Witnesses confest;
Therefore I have already past their Sentence,
And wait with you to see their Execution.
Hor.
Consul, the Senate does not ask their deaths;
They are content with what's already done,
And all intreat you to remit the Ax.
Bru.
I thank you, Fathers, but refuse the offer.
By the assaulted Majesty of Rome,
I swear there is no way to quit the Grace,
To right the Common-wealth, and thank the Gods,
But by the Sacrifycing of my Bowels:
Take then, you sad revengers of the Publick,
These Traytors hence; strike off their heads, and then
My Sons. No more: their Doom is past. Away.
Thus shall we stop the mouth of loud Sedition,
Thus show the difference betwixt the Sway
Of partial Tyrants, and of a Free-born People,
Where no man shall offend because he's great,
Where none need doubt his Wives or Daughter's honor,
Where all injoy their own without suspicion,
Where there's no innovation of Religion,
No change of Laws, nor breach of Priviledge,
No desperate Factions gaping for Rebellion,
No hopes of Pardon for Assassinates,
No rash advancements of the Base or stranger,
For Luxury, for Wit, or glorious Vice;
But on the contrary, a Balanc'd Trade,
Patriots incourag'd, Manufactors cherish'd,
Vagabonds, Walkers, Drones, and Swarming Braves,
The Froth of States, scum'd from the Common-wealth:
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And Riots check'd by Sumptuary Laws.
O, Conscript Fathers, 'tis on these Foundations
That Rome shall build her Empire to the Stars,
Send her Commanders with her Armies forth,
To Tame the World, and give the Nations Law,
Consuls, Proconsuls, who to the Capitol
Shall ride upon the Necks of Conquer'd Kings;
And when they dye, mount from the gorgeous Pile
In Flames of Spice, and mingle with the Gods.
Hor.
Excellent Brutus! all the Senate thanks thee,
And says, that Thou thy self art half a God.
Enter Sempronia, Teraminta, with the rest of the Mourners; Titus, Valerius, Junius.
Sem.
Gon, gon to death! already Sentenc'd! Doom'd!
To lose the light of this dear World for ever?
What, my Tiberius too! Ah, Barbarous! Brutus!
Send, hast, revoke the Order of their Fate.
By all the pledges of our Marriage bed,
If thou, Inhuman Judge, hast left me one
To put the yet in mind thou art a Father;
Speak to him, Oh you Mothers of sad Rome,
Sisters and Daughters, ere the Execution
Of all your blood, hast, hast, and run about him,
Groan, sob, howl out the terrors of your Souls,
Nay, fly upon him like rob'd Savages,
And tear him for your young.
Bru.
Away, and leave me.
Sem.
Or if you think it better for your purpose,
Because he has the pow'r of Life and Death,
Intreat him thus: throw all your heartless brests
Low at his feet, and like a God Adore him;
Nay, make a Rampier round him with your Bodies
And block him up: I see he would be going;
Yet that's a Sign that our complaints have mov'd him,
Continu'd falls of ever streaming tears,
Such, and so many, and the chastest too
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Perhaps may melt this Adamantine temper.
Not yet! nay, hang your Bodies then upon him,
Some on his arms, and some upon his knees,
And lay this Innocent about his neck,
This little smiling Image of his Father:
See how he bends, and stretches to his bosom!
Oh all you pittying pow'rs of the Darling weeps;
His pretty eyes ruddy and wet with tears,
Like two burst Cherries rowling in a storm,
Plead for our griefs more than a thousand Tongues.
Jun.
Yes, yes, my Father will be good to us,
And spare my Brothers; Oh, I know he will:
Why, do you think he ever was in earnest?
What, to cut off their heads? I warrant you
He will not; no, he only meant to fright 'em,
As he will me, when I have done a fault:
Why, Mother, he has whipt 'em for't already,
And do you think he has the heart to kill 'em?
No, no, he would not cut their little fingers
For all the World; or if he should, I'm sure
The Gods would pay him for't.
Bru.
What hoa! without there!
Slaves, Villains, Ha! are not my Orders heard?
Hor.
Oh Brutus, see, they are too well perform'd!
See here the Bodies of the Roman youth
All headless by your Doom, and there Tiberius.
Ter.
See, Sir, behold, is not this horrid Slaughter
This cutting off one limb from your own Body,
Is't not enough? Oh, will it not suffice
To stop the mouth of the most bloody Law?
Oh, it were highest Sin to make a doubt,
To ask you now to save the Innocent Titus,
The common wish, and general Petition
Of all the Roman Senate, Matrons, Wives,
Widdows, and Babes; nay, ev'n the madding People,
Cry out at last that Treason is reveng'd,
And ask no more: Oh, therefore spare him, Sir.
Bru.
I must not hear you, Hark, Valerius,
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By all these wounds upon my Virgin breast,
Which I have suffer'd by your cruelty,
Altho you promis'd Titus to defend me,
Sem.
Yet hold thy bloody hand, Tyrannick Brutus,
And I'll forgive thee for that headless horror:
Grant me my Titus, Oh in death I ask thee,
Thou hast already broke Sempronia's heart;
Yet I will pardon that, so Titus live.
Ah, cruel Judge! thou pittyless avenger!
What art thou whisp'ring? Speak the horror out,
For in thy glaving eyes I read a Murder.
Bru.
I charge thee, by thy Oath, Valerius,
As thou art here Deputed by the Gods,
And not a Subject for a Woman's folly,
Take him away, and drag him to the Ax.
Val.
It shall be thus then; not the Hangman's hand.
[Runs him through, the Women shriek.
Tit.
Oh bravely strook! thou hast hit me to the Earth
So nobly, that I shall rebound to Heav'n,
Where I will thank thee for this galiant wound.
[Semp. swoons.
Bru.
Take hence this Woman; hast, and bear her home.
Why, my Valerius, did'st thou rob my Justice:
Tit.
I wrought him to it, Sir, that thus in death
I might have leave to pay my last obedience,
And beg your blessing for the other World.
Ter.
Oh do not take it, Titus; what e're comes
From such a monstrous nature must be blasting.
Ah, thou inhuman Tyrant! but, alas,
I loiter here, when Titus stayes for me:
Look here, my Love; thou shalt not be before me.
[Stabs her self.
Thus, to thy arms then: Oh, make hast, my Titus,
I'm got already in the Grove of Death;
The Heav'n is all benighted, not one Star
To light us through the dark and pathless Maze:
I'have lost thy Spirit; Oh, I grope about
But cannot find thee: now I sink in shaddows.
[Dyes.
Tit.
I come, thou matchless Virtue. Oh, my heart!
Farewel, my Love; we'll meet in Heav'n again.
My Lord, I hope your Justice is aton'd;
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Thus water'd by the blood of both your Sons,
Will get Imperial growth and flourish long.
Bru.
Thou hast so nobly born thy self in dying,
That not to bless thee were to curse my self;
Therefore I give thee thus my last embrace,
Print this last kiss upon thy trembling lips:
And, ere thou goest, I beg thee to report me
To the great Shades of Romulus and Numa,
Just with that Majesty and rugged Virtue
Which they inspir'd, and which the World has seen.
So, for I see thou'rt gon, Farewel for ever:
Eternal Jove, the King of Gods and Men,
Reward and Crown thee in the other World.
Tit.
What happiness has Life to equal this?
By all the Gods I would not live again;
For what can Jove, or all the Gods give more:
To fall thus Crown'd with Virtu's fullest Charms,
And dye thus blest, in such a Father's arms?
[Dyes.
Val.
He's gone; the gallant Spirit's fled for ever.
How fares this noble Vessel, that is rob'd
Of all its Wealth, spoil'd of its Top-mast glory,
And now lyes floating in this World of ruin?
Bru.
Peace, Consul, peace; let us not soil the pomp
Of this Majestick Fate with Womans brawls.
Kneel Fathers, Friends, kneel all you Roman People,
Hush'd as dead Calms, while I conceive a pray'r
That shall be worthy Rome, and worthy Jove.
Val.
Inspire him, Gods; and thou, oh Rome, attend.
Bru.
Let Heav'n and Earth for ever keep their bound,
The Stars unshaken go their constant Round;
In harmless labour be our steel employ'd,
And endless peace thro all the World enjoy'd,
Let every Bark the Waves in safety Plough,
No angry Tempest curl the Ocean's brow;
No darted flames from Heav'n make Mortals fear,
Nor Thunder fright the weeping Passenger;
Let not poor Swains for storms at Harvest mourn,
But smile to see their hoards of bladed Corn:
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No venom fall, nor poys'nous Vapors rise.
Thou, Jove, who dost the Fates of Empires Doom,
Guard, and Defend the Liberty of Rome.
FINIS.
| Lucius Junius Brutus ; Father of his Country | |