University of Virginia Library

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?