University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Corvus.

SCENE II.

Corvus, Mutius.
Corvus.
Mutius, what means this;—Is it a Truth I hear?—
Does Carthage think of Peace? and will Himilco—
(O perjur'd faithless Man!) disclaim all Compacts?—
Does he refuse my Services for Carthage,
And send the Contract back, broken and void?—
Curse on all Trust—

Mutius.
Why this disjointed Rage?—
'Tis true that Carthage seeks from Rome a Peace;
But hear the Motives—

Corvus.
Motives for a Peace?
I shall run wild!—Can my Designs prevail
By any Motives that conclude a Peace?
Am I not ruin'd?—say, if Rome and Carthage
Shake Hands in friendly Parle, and bend to Peace,
What must become of me?—Naked I stand
The Scorn of one, and Vengeance of the other;
Both will deliver me, to Peace a Victim,
And sign the Bond of Union in my Blood.

Mutius.
Corvus, is Carthage yet no better known?
Dost thou by first Appearance judge Events?
No surer hast thou learn'd to make Distinction
Betwixt Necessity and Choice? Thou hast forgot
Her rooted Hatred, Altar-vow'd Destruction
To Rome and Romans:—Is she not at present
Barren of Men, and destitute of Gold:
She wants to breathe, and to recover Strength;
Then with collected Force pursue Advantage:
More sure we strike beneath the Mask of Friendship,
Than in an open fair Hostility.

Corvus.
But wherefore this Delay?—and why, good Mutius,
Was I not pre-inform'd?—'Tis general News;
No private, no particular Dispatch
Has been addressed to me:—Cou'd I expect,
If Carthage had not shamefully betray'd me,
To be almost the last in Rome to hear it?
What should I think?

Mutius.
Not what your Rage suggests:
Hear all and then determine:—Your Concern
Is with Himilico only, safe with him
The trusted Secret lies; had it been lodg'd
With the whole Senate, Rome had long since known it:
Therefore be calm, Himilco is most just:
Sudden was the Resolve, the Causes many—
The Principal were these—Their Coffers empty;
Allies fall'n off, revolted Mercenaries;
A Battle lately lost; in which, Metellus
Has weaken'd their main Strength, and sunk their Hopes:
These were strong Calls, such as Himilco's Wisdom
Cou'd not but listen to—As to the Notice—
They but resolv'd one Day, and sent the next:—
Now chide your Rashness.

Corvus.
Well, but tell me, Mutius,
Art thou not charg'd upon this sudden Turn,
With some Dispatches from Himilco?

Mutius.
No;
His Hurry, and the Shortness of the Time,
Forbad his Writing; to my Memory
He therefore trusted what he had to send:
His first Injunction was to warn your Care
To further this same Peace—for, much hung on it—
The Expectation of his Hopes and yours,
Many Advantages that ripen slow;
And therefore wait the mellowing Warmth of Time;
He prays you to be constant, and secure
Of him and Carthage—Secret above all,
And not to wear the Colour of a Doubt,
But that all Compacts shall be ratify'd.

Corvus.
I thank thee, Mutius; thou hast giv'n me Ease;
O what a State is Guilt—how wild! how wretched!
When Apprehension can form nought but Fears,
And we distrust Security herself!—
But will Rome grant a Peace?—She must conclude
That Carthage wou'd not sue, but her Condition
Is weak indeed:

Mutius.
Therefore with well-aim'd Choice
Have they determined on a proper Man
To urge their Suit to Rome; one, whose Advice
Will with Affection's Ear be listen'd to;
And by the Senate made the Voice of Rome.

Corvus.
What Man?

Mutius.
I know but one—'tis Regulus.

Corvus.
Damnation! He?—but 'tis impossible—
Thou speak'st to feel my Temper:—Cou'd Himilco
From all Mankind chuse out no other Agent?
(My Fury must have Vent) No Man but him—
But Regulus to send?—And is he coming?

Mutius.
I left him onward, and my swiftest Haste
Cannot have far out-strip'd him.

Corvus.
Shame and Death!
Thou know'st, and so does he, with what Aversion,
What Hatred unappeasable my Soul
Has held that Man: Has he not follow'd me
With jealous Observation my whole Life?
Oppos'd my mounting to the Consul's Chair?
Made me obnoxious to the Eye of Rome,
Sowing the Seeds of Doubt in every Breast?
Consider too—if he returns to Rome,
How are we sure our Practices are secret?
Will not his Penetration mar our Schemes?
His ever-waking Care, his fix'd Attachment
To the romantick Service of his Country,
Will shake our Cause with Danger's strongest Blast;
I say again, 'twas wrong;—'twas unadvised
To send him here; and my divining Soul
Anticipates the dreadful Consequence.

Mutius.
But how cou'd Carthage act in such Distress,
But as sh' has done, or follow different Measures?
As she requires a Peace, 'tis only Regulus
That can secure it—nay, his Interest too,
His natural Fondness to continue here,
Will win him to employ his best Persuasion.

Corvus.
Carthage again is wrong—she knows him not—
His Head, Chimæra-fill'd, with vain Ideas
Of stedfast Honour, and of publick Good,
Turns not one Look to Interest or to Safety;
If he suspects his Country suffers by it,
The smallest Part of Honour or of Land,
No Views can bribe him to a Thought of Peace.

Mutius.
What, not when Life depends on the Success?
Hear the Conditions—e'er he parted thence,
In a full Senate he received an Oath,
Whose Tenor bound him to return to Carthage,
Failing at Rome; and then they told him, Mercy
Should be cut off, and Death shou'd be his Doom:
But such a Death—so dreadful and so horrid,
That the Thought shudders me; the Racks Extension
Is Ease and downy Slumber to the Pains
Which they describ'd to him: “If thou succeed'st not
(Such were their Words) “prepare to meet a Torture
“More exquisite than yet Invention practis'd;
“The Bull of Phalaris, Procrustes' Bed,
“That (lopping or extending) fitted all,
“Will in Idea wrong what thou shalt feel:
“Thy Eye-lids torn away, thou shalt be fix'd
“Against the Glare of the Meridian Sun,
“Till thou shalt weep thy Sight away; the Heat
“Impregnating the Nerves, shall fire the Brain
“And whirl consuming Madness; next, rib'd up
“Naked within a wooden Round, whose Sides
“Are arm'd with Steel inverted, and so thick
“They point sharp Pain almost at ev'ry Pore;
“Then from a Mountain's Height, whose broadspread Base
“Defies the rough Encounter of the Sea,
“Thou shalt be roll'd, in circling Agony,
“Wave-buried”—and to fill up their Description
They to his View presented their dire Engine,
Their Piece-meal Torture.

Corvus.
Gave he then no Answer?

Mutius.
Unmov'd, he view'd it with a careless Eye;
Then smil'd, and said—I'm ready to set forward.

Corvus.
Contempt of Death;—for me, I like it not—
The Consequence is fearful, but too late
To think of a Prevention—What must be done?
My private Fears are strong, nor can I shake
This heavy Apprehension from my Mind:—
But what of Decius?—Say not he is coming;
Good Mutius, say my Rival is at Carthage,
Detain'd the Hostage of his Friend's Return,
And not with Regulus;—

Mutius.
Your Hopes are vain:
Within this half Hour you may see him here.

Corvus.
Why there again—Misfortune every Way
Stares me broad-fac'd; Ruin in ev'ry Shape
Approaches—There my Love is sacrific'd;
Clelia, whom in Despite ev'n of myself,
I love—must then be his—that charming Maid!
Nor does it ought avail that I have feign'd
The Story of his Death, or she believ'd it;—
His curs'd Return will clear all Mysteries,
And bring Despair to me:—But I must hence
To make the best Advantage of thy News:—
I must conclude on something—see where Quintus,
My faithful Slave approaches; him I leave
To thy Occasions—We must work in Haste—
Good Mutius, hie thee to Valerius,
To him unbosom thy Intelligence:
He will conduct thee to him.

Mutius.
To Valerius?

Corvus.
To him, good Mutius;—since thy Absence from us,
He has been gain'd to join in our Designs;
And is my Colleague, if my present Aim
Lights on the Consulship—by him, at large,
Thou shalt be made acquainted with each Step
Already taken to complete our Wish:
Bid him (as we had Yester-Night appointed)
To meet the Tribunes, and excuse my Failing:—
I must confer with Scaurus, whom, thou know'st,
I long-since plac'd, for Purposes of Moment,
In Martia's Family, the Wife of Regulus:—
My All is on the Hazard—Mutius haste—
And after meet me at the City Gate,
E'er Regulus shall enter Rome,—dispatch—
My Fate seems wedded to this Day's Event,
And Ruin or Success attends its Close:
To Corvus' Mind, the Certainty of either
Can feel but light—'tis Doubt creates the Pain.

SCENE III.

Quintus, Mutius.
Quintus.
Mutius! My Lord!—what just return'd from Carthage?
How fares my ancient Master?—brooks he well
His lengthen'd Bondage?

Mutius.
He is now returning.

Quintus.
Returning, say'st thou?—wherefore this Confusion?
Why, fly the Spirits from the Seat of Life?

Mutius.
Why start'st thou, Quintus?

Quintus.
Mutius, at thy News,
So strange and unexpected.

Mutius.
He returns,
To restore Peace to Carthage and to Rome.

Quintus
apart.
Would he could give it to the Mind of Quintus!

Mutius.
What say'st thou?

Quintus.
But a Doubt of his Success—
For Rome is angry at the State of Carthage:
Saw you my Lord?

Mutius.
He parted hence this Moment:
Thou Quintus art to bring me to Valerius;
With him I must confer.

Quintus.
I'll shew you to him.

SCENE IV.

Corvus, Scaurus.
Corvus.
Hast thou, according to my strict Commands,
Us'd thy best Means to sound the Mind of Clelia?
To dive into the deep Recess, where Thought
Lies working inward; where the Spark Desire,
Cloath'd with the Ashes of Indifference,
Glows on, and keeps a latent Fire within;—
For to that Purpose have I plac'd thee here?

Scaurus.
I know it well; and my best Diligence
Has labour'd to that End:—The Death of Decius,
(Your first Injunction) have I propagated
With such Success, that she believes it certain:
Nay farther, having gain'd o'er to my Purpose
Calva, a Slave attending on her Person;
Whose necessary Office sees the Maid
Disrob'd of Form; whose trusted Care unlocks
The Door of ev'ry Wish, of ev'ry Fear:
Her Art has thrown in Doubts and Jealousies
Of Decius, while at Carthage; of his Falshood,
Other Engagements, and her Love neglected;
(Slights which no Woman can with Temper bear)
Which his long Silence (for you took right Care
To intercept his Letters) seem'd strong Proof of:
But all is vain to raze him from her Mind;
Nor Falshood nor his Death can yet efface
The deep Impression that her Fondness took;
Silent and motionless whole Days she sits,
Nor cou'd you know her from the Sculptor's Work
But for a starting Tear, or bursting Sigh.

Corvus.
Hast thou not felt her Temper as to me?

Scaurus.
Oft have I try'd with well-dissembled Soothing
To win her to Attention; and have prais'd
Your God-like Virtues, and your glorious Deeds—
But most, your Love—your fond Regard of her:
Abruptly wou'd she stop me in the midst,
And say, “I was not sad enough before,
“But you must start this Theme to make me worse:”
Sway'd by a strong Dislike she thinks of you!
Did I say hate—I should not wrong her Meaning.

Corvus.
Scaurus, thy well-meant Zeal, thy firm Attachment,
Have made it now my Interest to serve thee:
I have more Labour for thee—but more Confidence—
Th'Account of both shall answer to thy Wish;
Be this my Earnest of it—this assure thee,
Thy Welfare is as near me, as the Bosom
Which now thou clasp'st—inform her I am here,
And wait to tell her News that will surprize her.

SCENE V.

Corvus.
Such is the Fate of Guilt, to make Slaves, Tools,
And then to make 'em Masters—by our Secrets;—
But oh! this cruel, this disdainful Fair!—
Spite of her rooted Hate she must be mine:
But how?—The Death of Decius?—Ay—'tis fix'd:—
She must be borne away too, and made happy
Against her Will:—Be not Half-Villain, Corvus;
One Hand in Guilt—plunge in its Fellow too,
And let both wear the Colour of my Thoughts.
See where she comes—Can Love be Weakness call'd,
That charms the strongest Passions of the Mind?
That subjects Reason to the Tye of Sense,
And pulls Ambition from its high-fix'd Seat?

SCENE VI.

Corvus, Clelia.
Corvus.
O Clelia! still this Gloom?—must those bright Eyes
Be never seen but in a briny Tear,
Or through the half-clos'd Veil of Contemplation?
Wilt thou for ever bid Distress attend thee,
And listen to no Language but Despair?

Clelia.
I thought y' had Business—if you only came
To tell me I was wretched—'tis a Labour
You might have spar'd—for I have known it long.

Corvus.
You wrong me much—I come not to condole,
To sooth the anxious Sigh, or soften Pain;
An happier Motive sways my present Purpose:
I come to banish Sorrow from thy Breast,
For ever to dispel the sad'ning Gloom
That hangs upon thy Youth, and bring thee Tidings,
Such as thy Hope dispair'd of, and thy Heart
Will entertain with Rapture—O my Clelia!—

Clelia.
What mean'st thou, Corvus?

Corvus.
Regulus returns—

Clelia.
Ye heav'nly Powers!

Corvus.
To the expecting Arms
Of his lov'd Martia; to the joy-shed Tears
Of his dear Children—and to grateful Rome;
To Rome that empties all her Streets to meet him,
And with a Triumph crown his wish'd-for Presence.

Clelia.
Blest he thy happy Tidings—blest the Bearer—
O Corvus, never did I hear thee speak,
With such Delight and Transport—let me fly,
Pour the glad Sounds into my Mother's Ears,
And welcome to her Heart the stranger Joy.

Corvus.
Stay Clelia—yet thou know'st not half thy Bliss—
Not half thy Rapture:

Clelia.
Wherefore speak'st thou so
Can there be added Happiness to what
My Father's Coming gives?

Corvus.
I know there can;
Know it with fatal Grief and dear Experience:
Hear then—but now my Resolution fails me—
I cannot tell—and yet I came to speak it—
To offer up this great Oblation to thee,
And be the Grave of all thy Griefs at once.

Clelia.
I am Amazement all!

Corvus.
And I Confusion—
O Clelia, tho' my Soul has held thee still
Dear as her Hopes of Immortality;
Tho' ev'ry Wish was center'd but in thee—
Here I disclaim 'em all, and give thee up
My Hope, my Happiness, my Peace of Mind,
And in Exchange will welcome thy Despair:
Thou wonder'st at my Words—

Clelia.
And well I may:—

Corvus.
Thou shalt not long—for know—thy Decius lives—

Clelia.
What say'st thou?

Corvus.
Certain—he returns to Rome,
Wing'd with the Transport of beholding thee:
Soon shalt thou see him prostrate at thy Feet,
Hear his known Voice, and feel his lov'd Embrace.

Clelia.
Is he not dead?—thou flatter'st Misery:—
Is he not dead?—Speak—ease me of my Hope,
And make the Tydings certain:—

Corvus.
'Tis as certain,
As that despairing Corvus must be wretched:
O charming Maid!—weigh but my Sufferings justly;—
I make no common Sacrifice—'Tis all—
My treasur'd Hoard of Happiness at once—
All lavish'd here—then, since my cruel Fate,
Has from thy Tablet raz'd the Lover's Name,
O yet, be just in making some Return,
And substitute the Friends.

Clelia.
O do not doubt;
My Gratitude shall never close her Eye,
Till she has found Advantage to convince you,
That I esteem this Action, as I ought.

Corvus.
I dare not think of more—and yet—who's here?

SCENE VII.

Decius, Corvus, Clelia.
Decius.
Forgive th'Abruptness of a Lover's Haste,
That thus intrudes—

Clelia.
O Decius!

Decius.
O my Love!
I thought I wore thy Image in my Mind
Beyond the Painter's Likeness—but I find,
Thou now out-shin'st thy former self as much,
As the Meridian Brightness of the Sun
Exceeds his Morning Ray.

Corvus.
Perdition seize him!
And add the Pains of Hell to that Embrace!
See how she welcomes him to Life, and her
With the wild Gaze of unexpected Rapture:—
I cannot bear it—

Clelia.
Never did I think,
O Decius! to behold those Eyes again!

Decius.
What means my Love?—Ha!—wherefore is he here?
But that my Faith is strong, my Love secure,
And doubt, a Stranger to an Heart like mine:
I should suspect the worst by seeing him:—
My Clelia speak—

Corvus.
Why, Decius, dost thou seem
So much alarm'd at me?—what can you fear—

Decius.
Not the best Vigour of thy Arm in Fight;
Not all thy open Manhood can do to me;
But when I fear—I fear with honest Men
Thy Treachery, thy Arts, thy deep-hid Guile,
The Baseness, native of thy gloomy Breast,
And every Vice that stains the worst of Men.

Corvus.
I have been told of Afric's Sun-scorch'd Clime,
And find it in thy Railing—

Decius.
Let us hence—
The Man so hardy to converse with Guilt,
Admits a Parley that may end in Shame.

SCENE VIII.

Corvus.
Curse on his coming—it has ruin'd all!—
For his Revilings—we were always Foes,
Nor shou'd I chuse to hear a kinder Language;
Well, since Deceit and Treachery are mine;
They shall be both employ'd to dig thy Fall;—
Do thou enjoy Distrust—and I Revenge;
Yes—he shall die—but while I speak he lives—
It shall be done this Night—Success attends
Th'uplifted Arm of rapid Execution,
While swift Prevention overtakes Delay:—
—But Regulus approaches—I must hence,
And meet him with the Mask of Friendship on:
Let honest Fools the Boast of Truth enjoy,
To look by Nature, and through Passions speak;
But Men like me th'inverted Art maintain
To weep in Pleasure, and to laugh in Pain.