University of Virginia Library

ACT the Second.

The SCENE, a Garden to Pacuvius his House.
Enter Pacuvius, and Three Romans.
Pac.
You saw how Hannibal receiv'd his Answer.

1st Rom.
Be sure it stung his Pride to be so slighted.

2d Rom.
Blacius methinks from Magius Death
Might better have been warn'd,
Than to insult his Conqueror.

3d Rom.
What hinders Hannibal to use him then like Magius?

Pac.
Why this, Magius was hot, a headstrong Foe;
But Hannibal in Blacius hop'd a Friend,
And therefore gave his Honour when he enter'd here
To be himself his Guard—Now that's the Bar:
But shall we think, that Blacius Death wrought by
Some private means unknown to Hannibal
(Whatever Face in show he might put on)
In his close Heart wou'd not to the last oblige him?

1st Rom.
Impossible but so.

2d Rom.
It must of course.

Pac.
When Great Men frown upon a stubborn Foe—

3d Rom.
They seldom count him such, that ends him.

Pac.
Right—All Actions can't have publick Thanks,
But this I know,
That Minister, who lays up no Rewards
For secret Service will have little done,
Or in the Camp or State: Shall I be plain?
I think you are my Friends, I'm sure I've cause
To think you are, since at my suit the Cause
Of Rome with me disdaining you've deserted;
Which Thought alone consider'd, 'twere in me
The worst Ingratitude, shou'd I neglect
To push your friendly Fortunes with my own:
What need I words? You've now th'Occasion in
Your hands: One Blow compleats your Wishes;
Shew your selves Men, and I'm in Honour bound
To whisper your Deserts to Hannibal.

3d Rom.
My Lord, you have propos'd us well; but each
Man speak his own Opinion: For my self
I ever thought in Actions desperate
Long Pauses shew'd a cold Consent.

Pac.
My Friends—you see—I'm plain—who likes the offer?

1st Rom.
I.

2d Rom.
And I.

3d Rom.
Then all of us.

Pac.
Pacuvius then's the Agent of your Fortunes,
[Bowing to them all.
You know the Platform, where his own House stands,
There every silent shiny Night alone
He moody walks, and chews his Discontent,
The properest place, I think, to end his Cares;
I need not say he's sure: For you are Three,
The Fact once done, and you unknown escap'd.
With secret pleasure Hannibal receives
The News: Yet in his seeming Rage proclaims
Rewards for them that bring th'Assassins forth,
On which I smiling tell him in his Ear,
That were these barb'rous honest Fellows known,
The Troops now vacant need not want Commanders.

3d Rom.
If I don't head one soon, it sha'nt be want
Of Merit.

2d Rom.
—Push, as far as any Man.

1st Rom.
I long to meet this Blacius.

Pac.
I long to bring you all Commissions.

3d Rom.
Why do we loyter then?

Pac.
'Tis now about his Hour.

3d Rom.
His last, my Lord—you'll hear of us.

[Ex. Romans.
Pac.
Here at my own House I shall expect you—so!
Now Blacius, our Accounts are even.

Enter a Servant with a Light.
Ser.
My Lord, a Roman now without presents
You this, and begs your speediest Answer.

Pac.

Perolla.

[Ex. Serv.

Enter Perolla.
Per.
In Thanks thus bending, I receive your Love,
The time has been when I durst meet you free
In open Day, and unassur'd Protection:
Why are these hateful Forms between us now?

Pac.
Those Times are chang'd.

Per.
And not Pacuvius?

Pac.
No—for I was always constant to the Cause
Of Honour; therefore left the Cause of Rome.

Per.
Therefore!
Stupendious Paradox! Now chang'd indeed!

Pac.
Rome basely did me wrong, and what I've done
Was a Revenge my Conscience ow'd my Merit.
The frosty Sieges, and the scorching Camps,
Which I had felt in her ungrateful Cause,
Deserv'd a better Treatment, than to see
My mortal Foe preferr'd before me, Blacius!
Why was not I Salapias Governour?

Per.
In Posts of such Concern
Sometimes the high Distempers of a State
Necessitate a Wrong like what you think one;
The Inclinations of Senate were,
I dare affirm more fond of you, than Blacius;
But at that time, as Physick to its Feavour,
To Purge a Faction, which disturb'd the State,
They were content the Clamours of a Party shou'd
Extort Preferment for their Leader Blacius.

Pac.
Mean Slaves!

Per.
—But since the fatal Consequence.
With what Sincerity 'tis now repented,
This from the Senate better will convince you.

[Offering a Letter.
Pac.
Ha! Is't possible! What I treat with me? Alas!
Perolla, thou mistakest the Man, Pacuvius! No!
No Matter, he's tame unthinking Wretch,
Contented with the Burthen of Dishonour! Dogs!
I hate 'em more for Fawning than their noisy bark;
Yet 'tis a Transport to my Soul to say
I have disdain'd to Read their servile Offers;
And thou too now, as well as they, shall find
I am the same, the constant Roman still;
Whose fix'd Resentment of my Honours Wrongs
Has made Revenge my Virtue.

Per.
If not for Rome, for my sake yet at least,
Peruse the Terms: For by my Honour's Life
They're such as you with Honour may receive:
To my Discretion did the Senate yield
And gladly offer, what your Son (I hope
Your Friend) Proposes.

Pac.
Nor yet for thy sake will I deign to read 'em:
Canst thou too think thy Father's Soul so tame,
As to suppose their Provinces cou'd drive me back?
What! Bow to Shame! With humble, down cast Looks,
Repent a Crime of which my Heart is proud!
And in the Vote of an imperious Senate, live
A branded, poor, forgiven Rebel! No!
Tell 'em, I scorn their Friendship, and their Power,
And will with Hannibal chastize their insolence.

Per.
Nay then I see, all hope to move you's vain,
A sateless Passion eats your Reason up,
And leaves you but the Fragment of your self.
Lost is the Father, and the Roman deaf.
Rome, and Perolla bid you now Farewel for ever:
Farewel ye Pleasures of exalted Virtue,
Whose generous Effects my flatter'd Youth
Propos'd shou'd give a new and vital Joy
To my declining Father's Age: Now I
With dread shall draw my guilty Sword in War,
Since every Drop it sheds of hostile Blood
Must flow from an offended Father's Wounds!
Rome too farewel; thy Cause is desp'rate now!
Pacuvius, that supported thee, is lost,
Firm Leagu'd with Hannibal to lead thy Sons
In Chains, and lay thy Towers in Ashes—
—The Gods can tell—Perhaps it may be so,
And your prevailing Arms success in time
May bring the hoary Senate to your Feet
Bound, and imploring Pardon of your Wrongs,
Which you Triumphant possibly Refuse:
Suppose this done, and your best Hopes accomplish'd,
Yet where's the Pleasure of this deaf Revenge?
To see the Partners of your happier, Life.
In their Estates, their Wives, and their Posterity
From a Caprice of your impatient Temper made
Hereditary Slaves? Can Human Sense
Retain a Taste of Joy, that flows from such a Spring?
Is the loud World's Applause and Censure priz'd
Alike? Or has it more of Happiness
To live mistrusted 'mong her Cautious Foes,
(For your Revenge, and not your Interest serves 'em)
Than in your Country's Cause he try'd a Friend,
And end your Days in Native Honour?
O! when to future Time our Story shall
Be told, how will it stun the Faith of Men
To think Perolla had a Roman Father?

Pac.
Perolla! O what wou'd I not endure
One Moment to enjoy thy honest Mind?
Thou'st found (I know not how) the wakeful means
To Rouze me to a Sense of my Condition;
I'll strive a while to Man my Virtue forth,
And if I find thee act the like, if thou
Like me canst starve thy most Voracious Passion,
To feet the joint Revenge of our insulted Honour,
'Tis possible, I yet may read the Terms of Rome.

Per.
Give me a Proof, my Honour's touch'd with Wrong,
My greatest Joys were tasteless to Revenge.

Pac.
There spoke th'inspir'd Soul of my Perolla,
I'll tell thee then, 'tis not so much, I own,
Revenge to Rome, as to my mortal Foe,
Curs'd Blacius, that has made me leave her Cause:
On Him and His the Drouth of my Revenge
Is never to be slak'd, but in avow'd Perdition:
Now if in that thou provest but half my Son,
To Rome and thee I'm whole a Friend and Father.
To which how firm my Virtue is inclin'd,
Judge by the Violence I do my Heart,
When this to Blacius, from thy Hand, I pardon.

[Gives him his Letter to Blacius.
Per.
Thus let me bend in Thanks, and beg to know
(For that's the Rock from which you'd steer my Virtue)
Wherein my Honour's so concern'd t'avoid
My Love! O tell me! For the Thought's a Rack.

Pac.
(Aside)
He warms to my Design.
Not then to mind thee of our Houses Hate.

Per.
That's old, I know it Sir, but on—

Pac.
To tell thee then
What I this Day from Blacius have endur'd,
When I presuming on thy honest Hate,
Smil'd at the Fondness of his Blood subdu'd,
And urg'd how light thou mad'st of Izadora,
Hadst thou beheld with what Insulting Spleen
That Letter to my Pride's Confusion he produc'd,
With what transported Eyes, and big Disdain,
He warn'd his Daughter's Scorn t'avange his Hate on thee.
That! that alone might start thee into Madness:
It stabs me but to think, that I need Words
T'inflame thee to be foremost in thy Pride,
And from this glorious Hour to leave with scorn
Th'abandon'd Izadora.

Per.
Foremost wou'd I always be in starts of Honour:
But have you proof, that Blacius Dread commands
Prevail'd upon his perjur'd Daughter's Faith?
Did she, did Izadora yield her Love,
And join his Fury in pursued Revenge?

Pac.
I cannot say I saw her, but be sure
His Prayers or Vows against her threatned Life
By this time must have mov'd her to abjure thee.

Per.
If I believ'd, that Prayers or Threats, that Bribes
Or Dangers, cou'd unlock the Treasure of her Faith,
This Heart, disdainful of her worthless Charms,
Shou'd turn her loose, the Mistress of Mankind,
To sate the gross Desires of vulgar Love:
But as she is, as now my grateful Heart
Supposes her, unshaken in her Truth,
Tho' with her Father's fatal Rage pursued,
Methinks I see him 'gainst her Life resolv'd!
Now, now perhaps th'obdurate Blacius Hand
Furious directs his lifted Dagger's Point
To her unchanging Heart, while she in Plaints
And Tears succesless begs for Mercy, then
Looks up in Sighs submissive to his Rage,
Swells forth her beauteous Bosom to the stroke,
When to her Charms Distress—he drops the Ponyard down.

Pac.
Suppose, what but thy Fancy paints were true—

Per.
Shall I for such Extremities endur'd
Turn Recreant Rebel, and desert her Love?
Shall she, whose Temper like a Rock withstood
The forceful Onset of the tend'rest Passion,
Crown'd with the Merit of her Life preserv'd;
Yet when her Country's Cause requir'd the Change,
When at her Feet the grateful Virgins kneel'd
T'implore her Pity on my Love's Despair,
With what Confusion for her Heart with-held,
Broke she through all the Bars of ancient Hate,
And at Petilia on my Sword's success
Resign'd the vast Profusion of her Charms?
Shall she in Bloom of Beauty too be left?
Such matchless Virtues, and such Love forlorn?
O! 'tis an Act so horrid to my sense,
It starts my Reason into Fury at the Thought.

Pac.
No more, I charge thee on thy Life, no more!
Canst thou suppose my Sense is pleas'd to hear
Thee chaunt the Raptures of thy hateful Passion?
Are thy vile Bonds to one my Blood abhors,
Yet stronger than thy boasted Zeal to Rome?
Is my Alliance too so low esteem'd,
Thou'lt rather lose it, than abjure my Foe?
What canst thou hope, but in these Thoughts provok'd,
I too like thee confin'd by Honour now,
Shou'd seize thee lawful Captive of the War,
And in the Prisoner chain the Headstrong Son?
Be dumb! lest I should yet forego my Mercy:
For spite of all thy obstinate Desires,
There's something in the Folly of my Pride,
That's pleas'd (tho' drawn against thy Father's Cause)
To see the young successes of thy Sword;
And tho' I now shou'd hold thee as a Foe,
Yet Nature pleads, and Father—bids thee go.

[Ex. severally.
The SCENE Opens to the Street: Blacius crosses the Stage, and at some distance, the Three Romans observe him.
1st Rom.
Yonder he walks, let's take him while his Back
Is towards us.

3d Rom.
—That's not so well:
At least dispatch him with the Face of Honour;
First hold him in Discourse a while
Provoke him with Affronts beyond his Patience, then
In Heat of his Resentment end him.

2d Rom.
I like that Thought—it gives my Conscience ease.

1st Rom.
Hark! I hear the Tread of some Approaching us,
Let's on before they reach us—

[Exeunt.
Enter Perolla, and Strato his Page.
Stra.
Must we away to Night, my Lord?

Per.
To Night, my Strato,
My Business disappointed so requires:
Thou know'st not where the House of Blacius stands.

Stra.
Not I, my Lord; for tho' I serv'd her long,
My Lady Izadora never once
Was then within Salapias Walls: But you,
My Lord, I thought had long resided here.

Per.
When I was Young, I am inform'd, I did,
But since my Memory can witness, never.
Where do the Horses wait us?

Stra.
Near half a Mile without the Town, my Lord.

Per.
On then before, my Strato, and prepare 'em:
I'll walk a Turn, and overtake thee.—
[Ex. Page
I know not why, but cannot leave this place;
And tho' apparent Danger's in my stay,
Yet where my Love resides, my Heart will hover,
Fain wou'd I stay, if possible to learn
How Beauteous Izadora's Prayers succeed,
How far they're lost, or may have gain'd on Blacius.
Ha! What sudden Clash of Swords! This way it comes!
Either the Moon's pale Light deceives me too,
Or I perceive in shameful odds Three Men
With Points determin'd upon One Retreating!
Enter Blacius, Retreating before the Three Romans. Perolla draws, and Interposes.
How now! What means this Midnight Outrage! Hold!

Bla.
Fortune, I thank thee, yet there's left an Hope.

Per.
If you are Men that hold your Honour dear,
For shame, lay by these most Unmanly, Odds,
And singly Hand to Hand decide your Difference.

3d Rom.
Presumptious Slave retire, lest on thy self
Thou draw'st a Fate design'd alone for him.

Per.
Nay then his Cause is worthy, of my Sword;
Take Courage, Sir, your stronger than you were,
They now have me to kill, before they reach you.

Bla.
O generous Stranger! see how thy Fire has warm'd me.

[They Fight.
Per.
There, Sir:
[Kills one.]
Now Slaves we are of equal force.

2d Rom.
No, Sir, your Courage we have prov'd, and now
'Tis time to try your speed.

[They run off.
Per.
Notorious Villains.

Bla.
O Godlike Youth! This Generous Act demands
More Thanks than this poor Life preserv'd can pay.

Per.
The Action Sir rewards it self: I must
Believe you wrong'd, because your Enemies
More trusted in their Numbers than their Cause.

Bla.
The Gods defend you, Sir you bleed—

Per.
'Tis nothing, Sir, I feel no pain.

3d Rom.
Oh!

Bla.
Ha! What Voice was that?

Per.
One of th'Assassins dying I suppose.

Bla.
'Tis so indeed—if thou would'st hope relief
From him, whose Life thou hast tempted, speak,
Who set thee on?

3d Rom.
With large Rewards and Promises deluded,
Pacuvius wrought me to attempt thy Life.

Bla.
Pacuvius! Damn'd infernal Treachery.

Per.
My Father! Hail O shameful, Thought!

[Aside.
3d Rom.
As I am dying what I've told you's true.
If this Confession can deserve forgiveness,
(For all Relief's too late) O Blacius, pardon!

[Dies
Per.
Ha! Blacius!
O my transported Heart! Well have I lost
My dearest Blood, if the last Drops of Life
[Aside.
Have sav'd the Father of my Love.
Ha! What means this Flood within my Bosom?

Bla.
How is it, Sir; You tremble and your Cheek turns pale.

Per.
I doubt I'm hurt to danger.

Bla.
Now all good Stars forbid: My House is near,
Be pleas'd a while to make it, Sir, your own;
There Surgeons shall be call'd to your Relief.

Per.
In my Condition, Sir, The Favour's not
To be refus'd.

Bla.
—Recline upon my Arm.

Per.
I thank you, Sir,—This Care o'er-pays my Service.
The Hope's too great! my Pulsive Heart be still,
If Izadora's there, the Wounds I feel,
Tho' deeper, yet her beauteous Eyes wou'd heal.

[Exeunt.
Enter Pacuvius alone, with a close Light.
Pac.
The Noise of Clashing Swords is hush'd, and now
The sawcy Blacius presume's at peace,
What's that!—By my fierce Flood of Joys, 'tis He!
[Treading against the dead Roman.
Supine and Speechless, as a Dunghill Dog!
My Blades, I see, have well, perform'd their Work;
How now, Friend Blacius! lyest thou at last so low!
Cou'd not thy Churlish Breath one Moment more
Have lagg'd to let me feed my gloried Ears
On the last Groans oft thy Expiring Life?
This all the gather'd Fruit of my Revenge
To see thee Sensless at my Joy? I want
To have thee know my Transport at thy Death.
But let me see, perhaps there's left a Grin!
On thy distorted Face may flatter me
Thou dy'dst in Curses on Pacuvius living.
[Opens his Light, and looks on his Face.
Distraction! Tortures! Hell! What is't I see?
Not Blacius! but the Coward Carkass of
The Slave that shou'd have kill'd him. Sure no Wretch
Was ever torn by Fortune like Pacuvius!
As if the Gods had vow'd my vain Revenge
To this excessive Violence shou'd swell
To be it self its greater Punishment!
Enter Decius.
Be hush'd my Thoughts, some one approaches.

Dec.
This must be sure the House:
'Tis near th'appointed Hour,—yet he's not come:
He said himself would privately walk forth.
And here expect an Answer from the Consul! Ha!
I think I see him! Hist! Lord, Blacius!

Pac.
Who's there?

Dec.
'Tis I, Decius.

Pac.
Ha!

Dec.
This from the Consul: All goes well:
[Gives him a Letter.
Be punctual, and the Consequence will thank you.

Pac.
Stay, Sir.

Dec.
It may be dangerous, my Lord, and needs not
You'll find it asks for no Reply: Farewell.
[Ex. Decius.

Pac.
[He reads by his Light.]
‘To Morrow, near the Midnight Hour,
‘Three lighted Torches from the Cittadel
‘Let be the Sign, that then the Brutian Gate
‘Is open to our Force's Entrance:
‘Pacuvius, for Perolla's sake, we first
‘With friendly Offers by his Son have try'd
‘To call again into our Cause, who not
‘Complying shares the Fate of Hannibal,
‘Be careful of thy Health: Farewell. The Consul

Fabius.

[Exit.