 | Lucius Junius Brutus ; Father of his Country |  |
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ACT I.
SCE. I.
Titus, Teraminta.Tit.
O Teraminta , why this face of tears?
Since first I saw thee, till this happy day,
Thus hast thou past thy melancholly hours,
Ev'n in the Court retir'd; stretch'd on a bed
In some dark room, with all the Cortins drawn;
Or in some Garden o're a Flowry bank
Melting thy sorrows in the murmuring Stream;
Or in some pathless Wilderness a musing,
Plucking the mossy bark of some old Tree,
Or poring, like a Sybil, on the Leaves:
What, now the Priest should joyn us! O, the Gods!
What can you proffer me in vast exchange
For this ensuing night? Not all the days
Of Crowning Kings, of Conquering Generals,
Not all the expectation of hereafter,
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Should purchase thee this night one minute from me.
Ter.
O, Titus! if since first I saw the light,
Since I began to think on my misfortunes,
And take a prospect of my certain woes,
If my sad Soul has entertain'd a hope
Of pleasure here, or harbor'd any joy,
But what the presence of my Titus gave me;
Add, add, you cruel Gods, to what I bear,
And break my heart before him.
Tit.
Break first th'eternal Chain; for when thou'rt gone
The World to me is Chaos. Yes, Teraminta,
So close the everlasting Sisters wove us,
When e're we part, the Strings of both must crack:
Once more I do intreat thee give the Grave
Thy sadness; let me press thee in my arms,
My fairest Bride, my only lightness here,
Tune of my heart, and Charmer of my eyes;
Nay, thou shalt learn the extasie from me,
I'll make thee smile with my extravagant passion,
Drive thy pale fears away; and e're the morn
I swear, O Teraminta, O my Love,
Cold as thou art, I'll warm thee into blushes.
Ter.
O, Titus! may I, ought I to believe you?
Remember, Sir, I am the blood of Tarquin;
The basest too.
Tit.
Thou art the blood of Heav'n,
The kindest influence of the teeming Stars;
No seed of Tarquin; no, 'tis forg'd t'abuse thee:
A God thy Father was, a Goddess was his Wife;
The Wood-Nymphs found thee on a bed of Roses,
Lapt in the sweets and beauties of the Spring,
Diana foster'd thee with Nectar dews,
Thus tender, blooming, chast, she gave thee me
To build a Temple sacred to her Name;
Which I will do, and wed thee there again.
Ter.
Swear then, my Titus, swear you'l ne're upbraid me,
Swear that your Love shall last like mine for ever;
No turn of State or Empire, no misfortune,
Shall e're estrange you from me: Swear, I say;
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Have something still to answer to my Fate;
Swear, swear, my Lord, that you will never hate me,
But to your death still cherish in your bosom
The poor, the fond, the wretched Teraminta.
Tit.
'Till death! nay, after death if possible.
Dissolve me still with questions of this nature,
While I return my answer all in Oaths:
More than thou canst demand I swear to do.
This night, this night shall tell thee how I love thee:
When words are at a loss, and the mute Soul
Pours out her self in sighs and gasping joys,
Life grasps, the pangs of bliss, and murmuring pleasures,
Thou shalt confess all language then is vile,
And yet believe me most without my vowing.
[Enter Brutus with a Flamen.
But see, my Father with a Flamen here!
The Court comes on; let's slip the busie Croud.
And steal into the eternal knot of Love.
[Exeunt.
Brut.
Did Sextus, say'st thou, ly at Collatia,
At Collatin's house last night?
Fla.
My Lord, he did.
Where he, with Collatine and many others,
Had been some nights before.
Brut.
Ha! if before,
Why did he come again?
Fla.
Because, as Rumor spreads,
He fell most passionately in love with her.
Brut.
What then?
Fla.
Why, is't not strange?
Brut.
Is she not handsom?
Fla.
O, very handsom.
Brut.
Then 'tis not strange at all.
What, for a King's Son to love another man's Wife!
Why, Sir, I've known the King has done the same.
Faith, I my self, who am not us'd to caper,
Have sometimes had th'unlawful Itch upon me:
Nay, pr'ythee Priest, come thou and help the number.
Ha! my old Boy; the company is not scandalous:
Let's go to Hell together; confess the truth,
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To mumble a new Prayer—
With a young fleshy Whore in a baudy corner? ha!
Fla.
My Lord, your Servant. Is this the Fool? the Madman?
Let him be what he will, he spoke the truth:
If other Fools be thus, they're dangerous fellows.
[Exit.
Brut.
solus.
Occasion seems in view; something there is
In Tarquin's last abode at Collatine's:
Late entertain'd, and early gone this morning?
The Matron ruffled, wet, and dropping tears,
As if she had lost her wealth in some black Storm!
As in the Body, on some great surprise,
The heart still calls from the discolour'd face,
From every part the life and spirits down:
So Lucrece comes to Rome, and summons all her blood.
Lucrece is fair; but chast, as the fann'd Snow
Twice bolted o're by the bleak Northern blasts:
So lies this Starry cold and frozen Beauty,
Still watch'd and guarded by her waking Virtue,
A pattern, tho I fear inimitable,
For all succeeding Wives. O Brutus! Brutus!
When will the tedious Gods permit thy Soul
To walk abroad in her own Majesty,
And throw this Vizor of thy madness from thee?
O, what but infinite Spirit, propt by Fate,
For Empire's weight to turn on, could endure
As thou hast done, the labours of an Age,
All follies, scoffs, reproaches, pities, scorns,
Indignities almost to blows sustain'd,
For twenty pressing years, and by a Roman?
To act deformity in thousand shapes,
To please the greater Monster of the two,
That cries, bring forth the Beast, and let him tumble:
With all variety of Aping madness,
To bray, and bear more than the Asse's burden;
Sometimes to whoot and scream, like midnight Owls,
Then screw my Limbs like a distorted Satyr,
The World's Grimace, th'eternal Laughing-stock,
Of Town and Court, the Block, the Jest of Rome;
Yet all the while not to my dearest Friend,
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Disclose the weighty Secret of my Soul.
O Rome, O Mother, be thou th'impartial Judge
If this be Virtue, which yet wants a name.
Which never any Age could parallel,
And worthy of the foremost of thy Sons.
[Enter Horatius, Mutius.
Mut.
Horatius, heard'st thou where Sextus was last night?
Hor.
Yes, at Collatia: 'tis the buz of Rome;
'Tis more than guess'd that there has been foul play,
Else, why should Lucrece come in this sad manner
To old Lucretius house, and summon thither
Her Father, Husband, each distinct Relation?
[Enter Fabritius, with Courtiers.
Mut.
Scatter it through the City, raise the People,
And find Valerius out: away, Horatius.
[Exeunt severally.
Fabr.
Pr'ythee, let's talk no more on't. Look, here's Lord Brutus:
Come, come, we'll divert ourselves; For 'tis but just, that we
who sit at the Helm, should now and then unruffle our State affairs
with the impertinence of a Fool. Pr'ythee, Brutus, what's
a Clock?
Brut.
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos; the Fates are three: let
them but strike, and I'll lead you a Dance, my Masters.
Fab.
But hark you, Brutus, dost thou hear the news of
Lucrece?
Brut.
Yes, yes; and I heard of the wager that was lay'd among
you, among you whoring Lords at the Siege of Ardea;
Ha, Boy! about your handsome Wives:
Fab.
Well; and how, and how?
Brut.
How you bounc'd from the Board, took Horse, and
rode like madmen, to find the gentle Lucrece at Collatia: but
how found her? why, working with her Maids at midnight.
Was not this monstrous, and quite out of the fashion? Fine stuff
indeed, for a Lady of Honor, when her Husband was out of the
way, to sit weaving, and pinking, and pricking of Arras? Now,
by this light, my Lord, your Wife made better use of her Pincushion.
Fab.
My Wife, my Lord? by Mars, my Wife!
Brut.
Why should she not, when all the Royal Nurses do the
same? What? what, my Lord, did you not find 'em at it? when
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yours Flaminius? with Tullia's Boys, turning the Cristals up,
dashing the Windows, and the Fates defying? Now, by the
Gods, I think 'twas Civil in you, discreetly done, Sirs, not to
interrupt 'em. But for your Wife, Fabritius, I'll be sworn for
her, she would not keep 'em company.
Fab.
No marry would she not; she hates Debauches: How
have I heard her rail at Terentia, and tell her next her heart
upon the qualms, that drinking Wine so late and tipling Spirits,
would be the death of her?
Brut.
Hark you, Gentlemen, if you would but be secret now,
I could unfold such a business; my life on't, a very Plot upon the
Court.
Fab.
Out with it; we swear secresie.
Brut.
Why thus then. To morrow Tullia goes to the Camp;
and I being Master of the Houshold, have command to sweep the
Court of all its Furniture, and send it packing to the Wars:
Pandars, Sycophants, upstart Rogues; fine Knaves and surly
Rascals; Flatterers, easie, supple, cringing, passing, smiling
Villains: all, all to the Wars.
Fab.
By Mars, I do not like this Plot.
Brut.
Why, is it not a Plot? a Plot upon your Selves, your
Persons, Families, and your Relations; even to your Wives,
Mothers, Sisters, all your Kindred: For Whores too are included,
Setters too, and Whore-procurers; Bag and Baggage; all, all
to the Wars. All hence, all Rubbish, Lumber out; and not a
Baud be left behind, to put you in hope of hatching Whores
hereafter.
Fab.
Hark, Lartius, he'll run from fooling to direct madness,
and beat our Brains out. The Devil take the hindmost:
your Servant, sweet Brutus; noble, honorable Brutus.
[Exeunt.
Enter Titus.
Tit.
'Tis done, 'tis done, auspicious Heav'n has joyn'd us,
And I this night shall hold her in my arms.
Oh, Sir!
Brut.
Oh, Sir! that exclamation was too high:
Such Raptures ill become the troubled times;
No more of 'em. And by the way, my Titus,
Renounce your Teraminta.
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Ha, my Lord!
Brut.
How now, my Boy?
Tit.
Your counsel comes too late, Sir.
Brut.
Your reply, Sir,
Comes too ill-manner'd, pert and saucy, Sir.
Tit.
Sir, I am marry'd.
Brut.
What, without my knowledge?
Tit.
My Lord, I ask your pardon; but that Hymen—
Brut.
Thou ly'st: that honorable God would scorn it.
Some baudy Flamen shuffled you together;
Priapus lock'd you, while the Bachanals
Sung your detested Epithalamium.
Which of thy blood were the curs'd Witnesses?
Who would be there at such polluted Rites
But Goats, Baboons, some chatt'ring old Silenus;
Or Satyrs, grinning at your slimy joys?
Tit.
Oh, all the Gods! my Lord, your Son is marry'd
To Tarquin's—
Brut.
Bastard.
Tit.
No, his Daughter.
Brut.
No matter:
To any of his Blood; if it be his,
There is such natural Contagion in it,
Such a Congenial Devil in his Spirit,
Name, Liniage, Stock, that but to own a part
Of his Relation, is to profess thy self
Sworn Slave of Hell, and Bondman to the Furies.
Thou art not Marry'd.
Tit.
O, is this possible?
This change that I behold? no part of him
The same; nor Eyes, nor Meen, nor Voice, nor Gesture!
Brut.
Oh, that the Gods would give my Arm the vigor
To shake this soft, effeminate, lazy Soul
Forth from thy bosom. No, degenerate Boy,
Brutus is not the same; the Gods have wak'd him
From dead Stupidity, to be a Scourge,
A living Torment to thy disobedience.
Look on my face, view my eyes flame, and tell me
If ought thou seest but Glory and Revenge,
A blood-shot Anger, and a burst of Fury,
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Fetch him, you Judges of th'eternal Deep,
Arraign him, Chain him, plunge him in double fires:
If after this thou seest a tenderness,
A Woman's tear come o're my resolution,
Think, Titus; think, my Son, 'tis Nature's fault,
Not Roman Brutus, but a Father now.
Tit.
Oh, let me fall low as the Earth permits me,
And thank the Gods for this most happy change,
That you are now, altho to my confusion,
That aw-ful, God-like, and Commanding Brutus
Which I so oft have wish'd you, which sometimes
I thought imperfectly you were, or might be,
When I have taken unawares your Soul
At a broad glance, and forc'd her to retire.
Ah, my dear Lord, you need not add new threats,
New marks of Anger to compleat my Ruin,
Your Titus has enough to break his heart
When he remembers that you durst not trust him:
Yes, yes, my Lord, I have a thousand frailties;
The mould you cast me in, the breath, the blood,
And Spirit which you gave me are unlike
The God-like Author; yet you gave 'em, Sir:
And sure, if you had pleas'd to honor me,
T'immortalize my Name to after Ages
By' imparting your high cares, I should have found
At least so much Hereditary Virtue
As not to have divulg'd them.
Brut.
Rise, my Son;
Be satisfy'd thou art the first that know'st me:
A thousand Accidents and Fated Causes
Rush against every Bulwark I can raise,
And half unhinge my Soul. For now's the time,
To shake the Building of the Tyrant down.
As from Night's Womb the glorious Day breaks forth.
And seems to kindle from the setting Stars:
So from the blackness of young Tarquin's Crime
And Fornace of his Lust, the virtuous Soul
Of Junius Brutus catches bright occasion,
I see the Pillars of his Kingdom totter:
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That lights my Genius down to the Foundation.
Leave me to work, my Titus; O, my Son;
For from this Spark a Lightning shall arise
That must e're Night purge all the Roman Air:
And then the Thunder of his ruin follows.
No more; but haste thee to Lucretius:
I hear the Multitude, and must among them.
Away, my Son.
Tit.
Bound, and obedient ever.
[Exit.
Enter Vinditius with Plebeians.
1. Cit.
Jupiter defend us! I think the Firmament is all on
a light fire. Now, Neighbour, as you were saying, as to the
Cause of Lightning and Thunder, and for the Nature of Prodigies.
Vin.
What! a Taylor, and talk of Lightning and Thunder?
why, thou walking Shred, thou moving Bottom, thou upright
Needle, thou shaving edging Skirt, thou Flip-flap of
a Man, thou vaulting Flea, thou Nit, thou Nothing, dost
thou talk of Prodigies when I am by? O tempora, O mores!
But, Neighbours, as I was saying, what think you of
Valerius?
All.
Valerius, Valerius!
Vin.
I know you are piping hot for Sedition; you all gape for
Rebellion: but what's the near? For look you, Sirs, we the
People in the Body Politic are but the Guts of Government;
therefore we may rumble and grumble, and Croke our hearts
out, if we have never a Head: why, how shall we be nourish'd?
therefore I say, let us get us a Head, a Head my Masters.
Brut.
Protect me, Jove, and guard me from the Fantom!
Can this so horrid Apparition be;
Or is it but the making of my Fancy?
Vin.
Ha, Brutus! what, where is this Apparition?
1. Cit.
This is the Tribune of the Celeres
A notable Head-piece, and the King's Jester.
Brut.
By Jove, a Prodigy!
Vin.
Nay, like enough; the Gods are very angry:
I know they are, they told me so themselves;
For look you Neighbours, I for my own part
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Brut.
But this is a whole one. O, most horrible!
Look, Vinditius, yonder, o're that part
O'the Capitol, just, just there man, yonder, look.
Vin.
Ha, my Lord!
Brut.
I always took thee for a quick-sighted Fellow:
What, art thou blind? why, yonder, all o'fire;
It vomits Lightning; 'tis a monstrous Dragon.
Vin.
O, I see it: O Jupiter and Juno! By the Gods I see it:
O Neighbours, look, look, look, on his filthy Nostrils!
'T has eyes like flaming Saucers; and a Belly
Like a burning Caldron: with such a swinging Tail!
And O, a thing, a thing that's all o' fire!
Brut.
Ha! now it fronts us with a Head that's mark'd
With Tarquin's name: and see, 'tis Thunder-strook!
Look yonder how it whizzes through the Air!
The Gods have strook it down; 'tis gone, 'tis vanish'd.
O, Neighbours, what, what should this Portent mean?
Vin.
Mean! why, it's plain; did we not see the Mark
Upon the Beast? Tarquin's the Dragon, Neighbours,
Tarquin's the Dragon, and the Gods shall swinge him.
All.
A Dragon! a Tarquin!
1. Cit.
For my part, I saw nothing.
Vin.
How, Rogue? why, this is Prodigy on Prodigy!
Down with him, knock him down; what not see the Dragon?
1. Cit.
Mercy: I did, I did; a huge monstrous Dragon.
Brut.
So; not a word of this, my Masters, not for your lives:
Meet me anon at the Forum; but not a word.
Vinditius, tell 'em the Tribune of the Celeres
Intends this night to give them an Oration.
[Exit Vendit. and Rabble.
Enter Lucrece, Valerius, Lucretius, Mutius, Herminius, Horatius, Titus, Tiberius, Collatinus.
Brut.
Ha! in the open Air? so near, you Gods?
So ripe your Judgments? nay, then let 'em break,
And burst the hearts of those that have deserv'd them.
Lucrece.
O Collatine! art thou come?
Alas, my Husband! O my Love! my Lord!
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O Lucrece! see, I have obey'd thy Summons:
I have thee in my Arms; but speak, my Fair,
Say, is all well?
Lucrece.
Away, and do not touch me:
Stand near, but touch me not. My Father too!
Lucretius, art thou here?
Luc.
Thou seest I am.
Haste, and relate thy lamentable Story.
Lucrece.
If there be Gods, O, will they not revenge me?
Draw near, my Lord; for sure you have a share
In these strange woes. Ah, Sir, what have you done?
Why did you bring that Monster of Mankind
The other Night, to curse Collatia's walls?
Why did you blast me with that horrid Visage,
And blot my Honor with the Blood of Tarquin?
Coll.
O all the Gods!
Lucrece.
Alas, they are far off;
Or sure they would have help'd the wretched Lucrece.
Hear then, and tell it to the wondring World,
Last night the Lustful bloody Sextus came
Late, and benighted to Collatia.
Intending, as he said, for Rome next morning;
But in the dead of Night, just when soft sleep
Had seal'd my eyes, and quite becalm'd my Soul,
Methought a horrid voice thus thunder'd in my ear,
Lucrece, thou'rt mine, arise and meet my Arms:
When strait I wak'd, and found young Tarquin by me,
His Robe unbutton'd, red and sparkling eyes,
The flushing blood that mounted in his face,
The trembling eagerness that quite devour'd him,
With only one grim Slave that held a Taper,
At that dead stilness of the murd'ring Night
Sufficiently declar'd his horrid purpose.
Coll.
O, Lucrece, O!
Lucrece.
How is it possible to speak the Passion
The fright, the throes, and labour of my Soul?
Ah, Collatine! half dead I turn'd away
To hide my shame, my anger, and my blushes,
While he at first with a dissembled mildness
Attempted on my Honor;—
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He drew his Sword, and locking his left hand
Fast in my hair, he held it to my breast:
Protesting by the Gods, the Fiends and Furies,
If I refus'd him he would give me death;
And swear he found me with that swarthy Slave
Whom he would leave there murder'd by my side.
Brut.
Villain! Damn'd Villain!
Lucrece.
Ah Collatine! Oh Father! Junius Brutus!
All that are kin to this dishonor'd blood,
How will you view me now? Ah, how forgive me?
Yet think not, Collatine, with my last tears,
With these last sighs, these dying groans, I beg you
I do Conjure my Love, my Lord, my Husband,
Oh think me not consenting once in thought,
Tho he in act possess'd his furious pleasure:
For, oh, the name, the name of an Adultress!—
But here I faint; Oh help me:
Imagine me, my Lord, but what I was,
And what I shortly shall be; cold and dead.
Coll.
Oh you avenging Gods! Lucrece; my Love,
I swear I do not think thy Soul consenting:
And therefore I forgive thee.
Lucrece.
Ah, my Lord!
Were I to live, how should I answer this?
All that I ask you now is to Revenge me;
Revenge me Father, Husband, Oh revenge me:
Revenge me, Brutus; you his Sons revenge me;
Herminius, Mutius, thou Horatius too,
And thou Valerius; all; revenge me all:
Revenge the Honor of the Ravish'd Lucrece.
All.
We will Revenge thee.
Lucrece.
I thank you all; I thank you, noble Romans:
And that my life, tho well I know you wish it,
May not hereafter ever give example
To any that, like me, shall be dishonor'd,
To live beneath so loath'd an Infamy;
Thus I for ever lose it, thus set free
My Soul, my Life and Honour all together:
Revenge me; Oh Revenge, Revenge, Revenge.
[Dyes.
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Strook to the heart, already motionless.
Coll.
O give me way t'Imbalm her with my tears;
For who has that propriety of Sorrow?
Who dares to claim an equal share with me?
Brut.
That, Sir, dare I; and every Roman here.
What now? at your laments? your puling Sighs?
And Womans drops? Shall these quit scores for blood?
For Chastity, for Rome, and violated Honor?
Now, by the Gods, my Soul disdains your tears:
There's not a common Harlot in the Shambles
But for a Drachma shall out-weep you all.
Advance the Body nearer: See, my Lords,
Behold, you dazled Romans, from the wound
Of this dead Beauty, thus I draw the Dagger,
All stain'd and reeking with her Sacred blood,
Thus to my lips I put the Hallow'd blade,
To yours Lucretius, Collatinus yours,
To yours Herminius, Mutius, and Horatius,
And yours, Valerius: kiss the Ponnyard round:
Now joyn your hands with mine, and swear, swear all,
By this chast Blood, chast ere the Royal Villain
Mixt his foul Spirits with the spotless Mass,
Swear, and let all the Gods be witnesses,
That you with me will drive proud Tarquin out,
His Wife, th'Imperial Fury, and her Sons,
With all the Race; drive 'em with Sword and Fire
To the World's limits, Profligate accurst:
Swear from this time never to suffer them,
Nor any other King to Reign in Rome.
All.
We Swear.
Brut.
Well have you sworn: and Oh, methinks I see
The hovering Spirit of the Ravish'd Matron
Look down; She bows her Airy head to bless you,
And Crown th'auspicious Sacrament with smiles.
Thus with her Body high expos'd to view,
March to the Forum with this Pomp of Death.
Oh Lucrece! Oh!
When to the Clouds thy Pile of Fame is rais'd
While Rome is Free thy Memory shall be prais'd:
Senate and People, Wives and Virgins all,
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Cursing the Tarquins, they thy Fate shall mourn:
But, when the thoughts of Liberty return,
Shall bless the happy hour when thou wert born.
[Exeunt.
| Lucius Junius Brutus ; Father of his Country | |