University of Virginia Library

ACT the Fourth.

The SCENE Continues. Enter Portius meeting Izadora.
Port.
Thou hapless Daughter of my dearest Friend,
Hard-fated Offspring of my Sister's Love,
Forgive this rude Intrusion on thy Griefs,
That begs to join thee in a Kindred Woe:
In thee, methinks, dead Martias Looks revive,
Such were thy Mother's Youthful Charms, that Bloom,
The same distressful Lustre in her Eyes,
In such Heart-wounding Grace of Woe she mov'd,
When the victorious happier Blacius then
From dear-bought Conquest home return'd, in Tears
Ran through the Battel past, and clos'd it with
The mournful Story of her Father's Death.

Iza.
O fatal Omen! Is then Blacius dead?

Port.
Not dead, but dying—doom'd to dye!

Iza.
Heart-breaking Thought!

Port.
Fierce Hannibal, to make his Rage appear
More the effect of Justice, than Revenge
Against his Life in all the cruel Forms
Of seeming Law proceeding has condemn'd him,
Tho' the sole proof of his pretended Charge
Was a late Letter from the Consul sent
To Blacius, by Pacuvius intercepted:
But where's the need of proof, when his vile Judges knew
That Innocent or Guilty found of this,
They for his Cordial Constancy to Rome
Had pre-resolv'd his Death.
Ev'n now I heard his Bloody Sentence given,
Which e're the Morrow's Noon decrees him Dead,
And (which the Fell Pacuvius mov'd) his Head
Upon the Brutian Gate erected on a Spear to stand
In vengeful Terror to the Friends of Rome.

Iza.
O Ruful Sound! O Deluge of
Redundant Woe! O Blacius! Blacius!
Where's now the pitying Hand that can Redeem thee?

Port.
Can we not start a Thought to his relief?

Iza.
Alas I fear 'tis now too late: But yet
(For I too well foresaw what since has fall'n)
Last Night, when first my moderated Tears
Wou'd give my ebbing Reason leave to flow,
By a near Friend, a Letter I dispatch'd
To brave Perolla in the Roman Camp,
In hope t'avert my wretched Father's Fate,
Tho' what it begs I fear's too late propos'd.

Port.
But is there yet no Answer to these Hopes?

Iza.
None yet's arriv'd, which makes me now despair.

Port.
Have you inform'd my Brother of this Letter?

Iza.
Alas! I durst not yet, lest it
Shou'd more incense his disappointed Rage
Against my vain Assurance in Perolla.

Enter a Page to Izadora.
Pag.
Madam, the Messenger, whom you last Night
Dispatch'd, is just return'd, and brings you This.

[Gives a Letter.
Iza.
My trembling Fears! Perolla's Hand.

Port.
Good News! Dear Fortune!

Iza.
Quick let me Read, it can't be worse to know
Now Portius! For our Hope's Relief or Ruine!
(Reads)
‘For Blacius as the Cordial Friend of Rome,
‘I've gain'd o'th'Consul your propos'd Relief.
O joyful Tidings!
‘But as I knew him Izadora's Father,
‘I thought my Friendship was but half perform'd,
‘Till I had farther begg'd to be my self
‘The sole Commission'd Envoy in his Cause.
Generous Perolla!

Port.
A Friend indeed?

Iza.
‘This first Advice not long will reach you, e're
‘You'll hear Perolla is arriv'd to ask
‘Of Hannibal his Audience, and Dispatch.
Yes, cruel Father, now my Heart grows bold,
Now I wish Courage can reproach that Rage
That cou'd so ill repay thy wrong'd Preserver's Love.

Port.
What in this Juncture can my Care perform
To help my Brother's Fortune?

Iza.
To Lord Pacuvius House, where Hannibal
Resides, instant repair to meet Perolla:
Your Entrance on th'Occasion will be free
To hear his Audience, and their whole Debate,
While I to my afflicted Father fly
To raise his sinking Spirits from despair.

Port.
I'm gone, and hope t'oretake you soon
With his confirm'd Relief.—
[Exit Portius.

Iza.
O Godlike Youth! O truly great Perolla!
Who tho' my cruel Father's Hate to thee
Had render'd thy Neglect of him too just,
Yet in this second Service to forget that Wrong,
Has so Excus'd, my endless Gratitude to thee,
That what his Passion late miscall'd my Disobedience,
His Reason must at last confess my Virtue.—

[Exit.
The SCENE Opening, Discovers Hannibal on a Chair of State giving Audience to Perolla; Pacuvius, Portius, and Others attending.
Han.
Renown'd Perolla! 'Tis with Grief we see
Such early Virtue erring in its Sword:
Methinks th'Example of thy Father's Care,
Whose early Application to our Friendship
Has wisely sav'd his Fortunes from our Spoil,
Might better have instructed thee to act,
Than blindly thus to hold thee in a Cause,
Whom neither Gods befriend, nor Arms can save.

Per.
My Lord, great Hannibal,
Admit what but your Hopes suppose were true,
Can Honour find my Virtue an excuse
To leave my Country for its sinking Cause?
Which most distress'd then most commands my Sword.

Han.
When Pleading Nature, or when Filial Love,
Bespeak you to regard a Parent's Peace,
Th'Excuse were not so difficult to find.

Per.
I wou'd be just to both, and hope I am;
I love my Country, I revere my Father;
And while I bleed for Rome,—I weep for him.

Han.
Yet draw your Sword, resolv'd against his Cause.

Per.
I cannot leave my Country, if I wou'd,
'Tis to forsake my self, or to suppose me born
But for my self, and not in general Good
Of my defended Fellow-Creatures Lives:
Creatures Irrational, the Birds, the Beasts,
For common safety flock and herd together;
Wou'd it not start ev'n Nature to behold
The homebred Dove forsake her fruitful Nest,
And fetch the Vulture to destroy her Young?
The Horned Ram t'oreleap the Ev'ning Fold,
And call the Wolf to prey upon his Kind?
Such seems to me the startling Horror of
Forsaking Rome: I know not if I err:
My Father sent me early to the War,
Perhaps but half instructed in the World:
For if for Interest, for Fear, or Love,
A Man, unsham'd, may leave his Country's Cause,
'Tis, I confess, a depth in Politicks,
His eager Fondness never taught my Youth.

Han.
Now then be better to thy Good inform'd,
Our Friendship to thy Father's Merit has
Inclin'd our Mercy to preserve his Son:
Thy Terms, Perolla, shall be Honourable,
Rewards far Nobler than thy Sword can gain,
If thou'lt in time embrace our Cause, and not
By vain Resistance make thy Ruine sure.

Per.
That's yet to know, or say 'twere known, so much
I prize the Warlike Hannibal's Esteem,
I'll not derive it from another but my self,
Not my great Birth, but Virtue shall deserve it:
For Rome succesless, as she seems, shall find
Sh'as then a faster Friend of firm Perolla.
In all our Camp there's not a Roman Heart,
But thinks his single Sword a better Guard
Than the best proffer'd Mercy of our Foes:
But that my Vanity no longer may
Seem pleas'd to see you court my Sword in vain,
To all your Greatness has or can propose,
This is the final Answer I shall make:
That Death's not half so terrible to me,
As Life in Friendship with the Foes of Rome.

Han.
Since to our proffer'd Mercy thou'rt so deaf,
I've said; and leave thee to thy Fate deserv'd.

Pac.
(Aside)
O! that Revenge without a Pang wou'd let
Me love the stubborn Virtue of this Boy!

Han.
Nor Hope, when soon thy Ruine falls, that then
Thy Birth or thy Submission shall arrest
[Turning short to Perolla.
The vengeful Fury of our Sword defy'd.
Proceed we now to the Affairs in hand,
Discharge thee strait, we are prepar'd to hear
What in the Consul's Name thou woud'st demand.

[Takes his Chair,
Per.
Thus then
From Fabius, Consul of the Roman Arms,
To Hannibal his Martial Foe renown'd,
Have I in fair Commission to propose:
The Consul late inform'd, that Blacius Life
On some pretence stands forfeit to those Laws,
Which thy new started Arbitrary Force.
Upon the Enslav'd Salapians has impos'd,
Yet waves the Wrong, or Justice of his Cause,
Presuming that thy Will condemns his Life,
And from his grateful Sense of Blacius Virtues,
Knowing his Faith to Rome has stirr'd thy Rage,
To bribe thy Fury from the Brave in Chains,
He yields thee offer'd for his Life preserv'd,
Thrice fifty Libian Captives free restor'd,
Which by the Morrow's dawn shall joyn thy Force,
From their disgraceful, swordless Bonds redeem'd,
New Arm'd for Battel to retrieve their Honour:
This, if approv'd, shall now be ratify'd;
If not, I'm farther bid to tell thee then,
Such Mercy, as thou shew'st to Blacius Life,
Will he thy Brother Asdrubal with all
That now are Captive to his Arms afford;
Who when this wrong'd Patrician bleeds, shall fall
With him reveng'd, a mutual Sacrifice.

Han.
Tell the warm Consul, Hannibal presumes,
That when his Rashness sent so bold a Message,
He thought not sure of Cannæ's fatal Field,
Forgot the measur'd Rings from the dead Hands
Of Roman Knights despoil'd sent thence to Carthage,
Or had he ponder'd our Victorious Arms
Near Fam'd Trebias Flood, or Thrasimene,
At late Ticinum, or Salapia, now
He'd known that Hannibal might smile when threatned.
We'll give the Romans proof, that we our Laws
Due Course and Execution more regard
Than all the Threats of their presumptious Arms:
Nor if we fear'd cou'd we those Lives deplore,
Who being Captives will deserve their Fate:
For Blacius Death, it stands irrevocable,
Nor shou'd the Fate of Hannibal prevent it.
My Lord, Pacuvius, give our Orders strait
T'erect a Scaffold in th'Allarum place,
On which, before the Morning Sun declines,
The Traytor Blacius, as condemn'd, shall bleed:
For thee, Perolla, four Hours are thy Time allow'd
For thy Departure to the Roman Camp;
And those expiring, thy Protection ends,
Found in Salapia then we treat thee as
The Foe of Carthage, and the Spy of Rome.
Thus tell the flatter'd Consul we resolve:
And so farewel—

[Exit Hannibal and his Officers.
Per.
I've yet a Life which can't be better lost,
Than in the Cause of Rome and Izadora.
—It shall be so—and Hannibal may yet
Repent those Hours allow'd me for my stay.
[Aside.
My Friends, before we leave Salapia, I
[To his Followers.
Shall want your ablest Counsel, and your Courage.

Pacuvius Returns.
Pac.
(Apart ...)
I know not why—but cannot part, methinks,
Till, as I ought, I've shewn this wilful Boy
My glad Resentment of his Hope's Defeat. (... Apart)


Per.
But soft—my Father!

Pac.
Now violent Perolla, art thou yet
Convinc'd, the Gods assert Pacuvius Cause?
Blacius my hateful Foe, thou seest at last
Not all thy disobedient Friendship cou'd
Preserve: His Life now bleeds within the Law,
And with the Morn expiring, gluts my full Revenge.

Per.
The Gods, that gave me Sense of Right or Wrong,
Gave me my Virtue to abide my Choice;
And Virtue tells me, They alone shou'd fear,
Who know the wilful Errors of their Hearts;
But there's a Native Courage in the Life
Of Innocence, that never knows Despair.

Pac.
Know then, at once to crush thy Hopes for ever,
This Moment I from Hannibal receiv'd
Repeated Orders for curs'd Blacius Death,
For which my self am going now to bar
Him close, and bid his ebbing Hours prepare.

Per.
And can you think, while he's of Roman Blood,
But it must fill his Heart with Pride, and Joy
To hear you bring the News, that tells him of
His own full Glory, and his Foes Dishonour!

Pac.
Honour from thee! Thou Son of Blacius!

[In Passion.
Per.
Of lost Pacuvius, and deserted Rome!

[Tenderly.
Pac.
Remember Izadora!

Per.
Carthage!

Pac.
Izadora!

Per.
Rome! Dishonour!

Pac.
Love!

Per.
Forsaken Rome!

Pac.
Revenge! Revenge!

[Exeunt severally.
Blacius in Prison, and Izadora.
Bla.
Why wilt thou still on this ungrateful Theme
Pursue my latest Hours with new Disquiet?

Iza.
Is it such Pain to lose your Hate for one
That has to such Extreams deserv'd your Love?
O! Hard Severity!
Is what your own Instructions have advanc'd
In my Observance urg'd to my Reproach?
That I'm a little Grateful, where so far oblig'd?
Oft have you said, 'Twas Honour rul'd your Hate,
Still be that sacred Principle obey'd,
And Honour now as full demands your Love,
Such Obligations, and such Friendship prov'd,
'Tis now impossible your Hate can slight
Without that Stain, which most I know you loath,
The hateful Stain of scorn'd Ingratitude.

Bla.
Fond Thoughtless Girl! Have I
Not giv'n him, for my Life preserv'd, his Life!
And for this second Service, which thou boast'st
What is it more-than Honour binds him to?
Am I not Fetter'd in the Cause of Rome?
Which he (in Care of me) but justly serves,
His Country serv'd is Service to himself.
Had he Not come my Advocate for Life,
The Generous Consul still some other wou'd
Have sent more welcome to my grateful Thoughts:
Now, on my Soul, I rather think in him,
To ask the Office seems the close Result
Of Brooding Malice, and Insulting Pride,
He knew my Temper was not to be mov'd
By ought his Soul was capable to act,
And therefore thought this Glare of Friendship wou'd,
If slighted, sink me in the World's Esteem,
And so revenge him on my honest Scorn:
But he shall find, ev'n in these humble Chains,
My Mind's yet free, nor bends to tame Dishonour:
While I have Sense, I still with Pride shall shew
My Hate to curs'd Pacuvius Blood, which never shall
But with my last Breath'd Life expire.

Enter Pacuvius, with the Provost.
Pac.
Why then, before the Morrow's friendly Noon,
Expiring Blacius is no more my Foe!

Iza.
Some Guardian God protect my Father!

Pac.
I come to take of thee my last Triumphant Leave:
Thy Hope in vain, Perolla's Friendship's lost,
This Moment Hannibal has warn'd him hence
With fruitless Labour for thy Life's Reprieve,
And to compleat thy Woes, Pacuvius comes
With prosperous Power to warn thee to thy Fate.

Iza.
Support me Heav'n!

Bla.
—Why then, Farewel, Pacuvius!
Nor cou'd my Fate more please my parting Soul,
Than to conceive how dear thy Hate to me
Has cost thee in thy Fame: Thy Honour lost,
Thy Native Country's Weal betray'd, have made
Thy Vengeance mine, in thee abhorr'd to Ages;
My Triumph's Purchas'd with Inferiour Blame,
I've held my Hate, and yet preserv'd my Fame.

[Ex. Bla. with the Prov.
Iza.
O! Whither is my wretched Father born?
If to devouring Death, support me to
His Aged Arms, to bathe his Bosom with
My latest Tears, and with his Hopes expire.

Pac.
You cannot pass—let me survey thee full—
Art thou the flatter'd Beauty, that presumes
With subtile Arts t'enslave the stubborn Son
Of wrong'd Pacuvius, and debase his Blood?

Iza.
Not so: Tho' I'm that wretched Maid forlorn,
Whose long obedient Hate to you and yours,
The forceful Virtues of Perolla have
Dissolv'd: I cou'd not with relentless Eyes
Behold his Passion, and his-Faith to Rome;
Tho' less the Lover than the Hero mov'd me.
O! had our jarring Parents feud not been
To the last Sense of Nature deaf: Their Hate
Like ours subdu'd had made lost Rome Victorious,
Their Children happy, and their Fames immortal.
But that remorseless Fury now has plung'd us all
In one Inevitable Ruine: Blacius dies,
The bleeding Heart of Izadora's broke:
Perolla, hopeless in the Cause of Rome,
Resign'd to Sorrow, drags a wretched Being,
And lost Pacuvius, if he's Human, must despair.

Pac.
Despair's a Passion, that such Love-sick Minds
As thine in Disappointments only feel;
Weak Souls, that from their Fears are Slaves to Virtue,
Pacuvius Heart is warm'd by Nobler Fire,
And owns no Passion but untam'd Revenge;
Revenge insatiate to curs'd Blacius Blood;
A Rage, that now demands thy Vows revok'd
From lost Perolla's vile deluded Love,
Give me this Instant back his Recreant Heart,
Or to thy own receive our Shame reveng'd.

[Offering a Dagger.
Iza.
Strike home, and stamp me with Immortal Fame,
To die in proof of Vows preserv'd to him,
Of Faith unshaken to Perolla's Love,
Adds unexpected Glory to my Death:
Yet when this mortal Blow is given, your Arm
Must strike again to reach me in Perolla's Heart,
Ev'n after Death, I there shall haunt you still,
And in his pining Griefs insult your Peace.

Pac.
I thank thee, Sorceress, for that hateful Thought,
Which fires me now to an improv'd Revenge.
I see thy Soul from young Perolla has
Been taught unmov'd to meet the Frowns of Death:
I'll therefore try if Smiles can stir thy Fears;
My smooth Revenge now wears a softer Look,
And more t'exert my Hate has put on Love:
Receiv'd or slighted, by consent or force,
Enjoy'd alike, my End is serv'd: I know
That either spoils thee for Perolla's Taste;
So take thy choice, on one I am determin'd.

Iza.
You cannot mean so horrible a Thought!

Pac.
And why so Horrible? Thou hast confest
The Son belov'd, why not as well the Father?
Perolla's but the Stream that flows from me,
And I the Fountain's Head of thy Desire.

Iza.
If you've a Human Soul—

Pac.
None of thy Sex's little Arts to me,
I fathom all your shallow Wiles, and know
You'll use Resistance to be more desir'd.
But such Attempts on me are vain: Thy Beauty
Adds not one Spark to my inflam'd Desire,
I'll taste thy Sweets, and yet despise 'em too:
For hadst thou all thy Sex's Charms, yet know
My Rapture's not from Love, but sweet Revenge wou'd flow.

Provost,
(Within)
What ho! my Lord! Pacuvius! help!

Enter Provost Bleeding.
Pac.
Audacious Slave! Is this a time t'intrude?
Begone, or—

Prov.
—O! my Lord! we're lost! undone!
Some Africans Disguis'd have seiz'd the Prison;
Forc'd ope' the Dungeon, where doom'd Blacius lay,
His Fetters loos'd, and arm'd him to escape;
My self disputing to resign the Keys,
Receiv'd this ghastly Wound, and fled to warn you.

Pac.
Confusion! O my lost Revenge!

Iza.
O double Joy! O my transported Hopes!

Pac.
Say Slave, are none allarm'd t'oppose 'em?

Prov.
None but our menial Servants were at hand:
For they, before they enter'd, had secur'd
The Centinels; the rest surpriz'd,
They, desperate, drive before 'em.

Pac.
Ha! They're here?
Enter Perolla, and others in African Habits mask'd, driving several before them. Pacuvius draws, and presents his Point to Blacius.
Hold Traytor! yet there is a Sword to reach thee.

Bla.
Fortune, I thank thee now! Thou giv'st at least
A Chance for my Revenge.

[While they fight, Iza. kneels.
Iza.
Immortal Jove! to thee I bend for Aid,
Be now the Stayer once again, again
The dire Avenger of the Roman Cause—
My Prayers are heard, and Blacius has prevail'd.

[Blacius closes with Pacuvius, and gets him down.
Bla.
Now Traytor! Have the Gods o'erta'en thee?

Blacius offers to stab him, and Perolla returning, interposes.
Per.
Hold! hold! Disarm but Hurt him not: Your Life
Preserv'd is all we sought, and that's secure.

Bla.
You, Sir, have Title to command me.

Per.
My Friends, this Lady too must be our Care,
'Tis now no time to talk: Bar fast the Doors
On those that are within, that none may scape
T'allarm the Guards—Come, Sir, here lies our Way.

Bla.
Such Actions are above the reach of Thanks.

Iza.
The Bounteous Gods reward 'em.

[Exeunt all but Pac.
Pac.
The horrid Furies from Remorseless Hell
Revenge it on the curs'd Conspirer's Head!
Why do I bear this Burthen of a Life,
That weighs me down with Disappointments?
No Means! No Thought! that can redeem my Hopes!
Dull Brain! not to pursue 'em all this while;
They cannot far be fled, I yet may forth
[Goes to the Door.
T'allarm the Streets, and overtake their Flight!
[Finds it barr'd.
Confusion! Bolted! Barr'd again to my Despair!
My Foe set free, and I his Prisoner! Help ho!
Without there! Treason! Murther! No one hear!
If I mistake not, yon dark Avenue leads
Me to an open Court—Call there aloud!
This is no time for Thought but Execution.
[Ex. Pac.

The SCENE Changes to Portius his House. Enter Portius, Perolla still Disguis'd, Blacius and Izadora.
Port.
My Brother from his Chains redeem'd: By what
Strange Turn of Fate is our Despair reliev'd?

Bla.
O Portius! Here! see here's the Arm that sav'd me.

Port.
Such Obligations, and conceal'd, create my Wonder.

Per.
Here, Sir, my Service ends—you now are free:
But for the farther Means of your Escape,
I must commend it to Lord Portius Care,
You'll pardon, Sir, my haste to leave you here,
Since my own Safety and my Friend's require
Our speedy Flight, and change of our Disguises.

Bla.
Hold, Sir! the Pleasure of my Freedom's lost,
Not knowing whom to thank for my Deliverance.

Per.
Not to disturb that Pleasure, I must still
Conceal my Name: But if you will suppose
Your Freedom worth a grateful Thought: Then there
'Tis due! To Izadora's Filial Love,
Whose Piety alone engag'd me to attempt it.
And my Reward is paid in Thanks from her.
Your Pardon, and your Leave—

[Ex. Perolla.
Bla.
So Blunt a Virtue never have I seen!
He own'd himself to thee reveal'd my Daughter,
On thy Obedience I conjure thee speak;
Be just to his Desert, and let me know him;
Be just to me, and point me to be Grateful.

Iza.
You heard my Father, he but ask'd my Thanks;
Leave then to me your Care of Gratitude:
Remember once Perolla sav'd your Life;
But when discover'd, what was his Reward?

Bla.
His Action ought not to be nam'd, compar'd
Perolla, but by chance preserv'd a Stranger;
But this design'd to save the Life of Blacius.

Iza.
And whom cou'd Izadora most engage
To save it?—

[Weeping.
Bla.
Ha! my Daughter! O! I find thy Fears!
Well might'st thou warn me from my curious Search,
A Thousand Recollected Thoughts convince
Me now, it must, it can be only he;
Pacuvius Life defended, speaks him Plain,
Nay, spite of my Aversion, speaks him Great;
If it be so, if thou confirm'st it Him,
If 'tis Perolla, then indeed the Soul
Of vain Resisting Blacius is subdu'd,
By his Victorious Virtues bound a Slave,
And now must kneel to him in shame for Pardon.
[Iza. kneels weeping.
Alas! thou need'st not speak! thy flowing Eyes
Too tenderly confess thy modest Joy!
My Izadora! O! I cannot bear my Thoughts!
I see thy Passion now so greatly Just,
So justly Grateful to Perolla's Love,
I burn with Blushes, that I've stood so long
Unmov'd against his Cordial Obligations;
Nay, I will flatter yet my pride of thee,
And fancy thy Inspiring Virtues taught
Him first to reach this Greatness of the Soul.

Iza.
O! my kind Father! till he'd conquer'd you,
I knew not that Perolla had so far
Engag'd my Heart: I only thought before
'Twas Gratitude: But now (if 'tis a Fault,
O yet forgive it! for) I own 'tis Love.

Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Fly! fly, my Lords, if possible, and save your Lives!
The Guards of Hannibal surround the House,
And he himself's this Moment upon Entrance.

Port.
O horror to our Hopes!

Iza.
Distressful Woe!

Port.
No thought to save us?

Bla.
None—For see our Fate approaches.

Enter Hannibal, Pacuvius, and Guards. Provost.
Han.
So, Sir, you yet are in the reach of Justice.

Bla.
Changes of Fortune are to me so frequent,
Now nothing gives me Fear or Wonder.
I know my Fate, and I expect it.

Han.
And thou shalt meet it with the Rising Morn:
Let Portius too be seiz'd, whose dar'd attempt
To hide a Traytor, by the Law condemn'd,
Shall make him now the Partner of his Fate.

Bla.
My Brother's Blood! that strikes indeed!

Han.
The Maid is innocent, and therefore free,
For these conduct 'em to their Doom deserv'd.

Iza.
O miserable Fortune!—

[Ex. Bla. Port. Iza. and Guards.
Han.
My Lord, Pacuvius, these vile Traytors Lives
Are scanty Vengeance for insulted Justice:
Our chiefest Foe i'th'open Face of our
Authority redeem'd, our Arms disgrac'd,
A Traytor on the Eve of Execution
In our Head Quarters freed by force from Justice,
More stirs my Rage, than all vile Blacius Crimes,
And we're obliged with double Vengeance to Resent it.

Pac.
What if your Orders on the Instant shou'd
Proclaim to those, that shall discover strait
Th'Audacious Hands, that set this Traytor free,
Rewards unlimited, some tempting Bribes,
That Honour, Love, nor Friendship can resist.

Han.
Thou'st warm'd my Thoughts: Be it immediate done,
And the Reward, whatever shall be ask'd
Of Hannibal, within his power to grant.
For Traytors in the strongest state conceal'd,
Like unforeseen Distempers in the Blood,
May bring the healthiest Body to the Grave;
Therefore we never can too dearly buy
The Knowledge of a secret Enemy.

[Exeunt.