University of Virginia Library


28

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Corvus, Mutius.
Corvus.
Still this tumultuous Noise! this Burst of Joy,
Rending the Skies?—O Breath of publick Praise!
Short-liv'd and vain! Oft gain'd without Desert,
As often lost unmerited: Composed
But of Extreams;—thou first begin'st with Love
Enthusiastick, Madness of Affection: Then,
(Bounding o'er Moderation, and o'er Reason)
Thou turn'st to Hate as causeless, and as fierce.
Did'st thou behold the Patriot-Cheat proceed,
Cheek-flush'd with all the Insolence of Virtue?—
Virtue?—Pride light up into Zeal—a specious Shew,
At once himself deceiving—and Mankind:—
And in his Way, when he beheld the Temple
Sacred to Liberty, he cry'd aloud—
“Here let us sacrifice, my noble Friends,
“To this best Blessing that adorns our Rome:
“To Liberty, that makes our Name rever'd;
“To sacred Liberty—the Gift of Gods—
“To Liberty—their Gift and their Enjoyment;
“Which, did they want—they cou'd not be immortal.
He spoke—and with what Violence of Joy,
Did the base Crowd applaud!—Their fever'd Shout
Was Liberty and Regulus—I cou'd not bear it—
But breaking thro' the Throng, came here to vent

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The Spleen and Indignation of my Soul.

Mutius.
Will you not to the Senate?

Corvus.
Mutius, I must;
My Safety urges:—didst thou not observe
With what a deep Distrust his Eye revil'd me;
And when my Salutations reach'd his Ear,
What Distance dwelt upon his haughty Brow;
Such a contemptuous Length, an Innocence,
'Twixt Guilt and her, still insolently keeps:—
Perhaps our Practices have been betray'd;—
But how?—by whom?—No—certain Carthage wou'd not:
I must be there—Absence wou'd give Advantage:—
It is the Master-piece of Villany
To smooth the Brow, and to out-face Suspicion:
Again these Shouts?—they warn us to be gone.

SCENE II.

The Senate.
Manilius.
To Jove the Stayer, and the guardian Gods,
Protectors of the Roman Liberty,
Be paid the Homage of this grateful Senate:
Fathers Conscript! why are we thus assembled,
Each Roman knows, and knows I hope with Joy.

Corvus.
Yours is the Task, most venerable Fathers!
To lift the fallen, and protect the weak;
To make the proud Oppressor feel Oppression,
To teach Humanity, and free Mankind:
'Tis yours to seek for Merit thro' the World,

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To cherish Virtue, and to punish Guilt.
This Day a Roman, long rever'd at home,
Returns to Rome, again to join our Counsels
Let us receive him as his Worth deserves,
And as the Gratitude of Rome shou'd speak.

SCENE III.

The Senate, Regulus, Carthaginian Ambassadors.
Manilius.
E'er we can listen to the Voice of Carthage,
The Senate's Greeting must be first declared:
Cou'd Words, O Regulus, express the Joy,
The Fullness of our Joy at thy Return;
This welcome Office had not then been mine;
Then, every Grace that marks the Orator,
The Force of Rhetorick, the Flow'rs of Speech,
That Athens practis'd, or Minerva taught,
Had all been summon'd to perform the Task,
And all been baffled in the weak Attempt.
Since Oratory fails—let Truth be heard,
And for it's honest Plainess find respect:
Come then, Rome's Regulus, and to the Senate
(That has with unfeign'd Sorrow mourn'd thy Absence)
Give thy accustom'd Presence; mount the Seat,
Long vacant—and much longer wou'd remain so,
If only equal Merit were to grace it:
Come to the Senate's, to the People's Aid,
And be once more the Pillar of thy Country.

Regulus.
Most great, august, and venerable Fathers!
Whose awful Virtues strike the World with Wonder;

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I stand not here Patrician—but a Slave
These, my deputed Masters—Whose Commands
Over this Body bear undoubted Sway—
(My Mind tho' still unfetter'd) if—

First Ambassador.
Great Regulus!
With Wonder, and with Joy we view thee here;
Well pleas'd at thy Return to all thy Honours:
We do intreat—

Regulus.
I know my Duty better
Than to be twice commanded—I obey:

[Takes his Seat.
Attilius.
Say, what wou'd Carthage now? The Senate's Ear
Is bent to her Address.

First Ambassador.
To Rome, grave Fathers!
She speaks in Voice less terrible and bold,
Than when she wore Defiance on her Brow,
And frown'd Destruction on the Roman Land:
Too long, she says, has greedy Ravage fed
Upon the Vitals both of Rome and Carthage;
Too much of Blood has dy'd each other's Fields,
And turn'd the Crops of Plenty into Waste:
Too oft has Earth re-eccho'd to our Cries,
Too often groan'd beneath our Hills of Slain:
Ev'n to great Neptune's Empire have we stray'd,
And held Contention on his Element;
How often has he seen our Fleets engage;
Now on a Mountain-surge disputing Conquest;
Now grappling close, where the divided Waves,
Had form'd a Valley thro' the Storm-plough'd Sea?—
Here let the doubtful Tug for Glory end;
Divide we here the well-disputed Wreath.

Manilius.
Long has your Carthage been renown'd for Fraud,

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The specious seeming, and the deep-hid Guile;
Sincerity is not the Growth of Africk,
Too hot the Climate for so mild a Fruit:
And therefore deem we not this offer'd Peace,
As the Result of soft Humanity;
The Joy that from another's Good should flow,
The Horror to see human-kind laid Waste:
Necessity, in spite of the Disguise,
Stares out behind, and shews her naked Head.

Regulus.
Tho' Carthage claims my Body, Conscript Fathers!
My greater, nobler Part—is Roman still;
My Mind, my Inclinations, and my Hopes,
Up-born by Liberty, are still with you—
Then, with a Roman Freedom let me speak:

Corvus.
'Tis as I fear'd—curse on his rigid Virtue!

[Apart.
Regulus.
Fathers! If my Persuasion be of Force,
Reject all Terms with Carthage: 'Tis unjust
To sink the Spirit of your warlike Legions,
In the calm Stillness of ignoble Peace:
Check not that Ardor which no Foes can curb,
And which in Time must make the World your own:
I know the Hardships of a lengthen'd War;
What Treasures it must cost—what Streams of Blood;
What vast Expences—what unnumber'd Toils,
Equipping Fleets, and mustering Armies ask:
But Perseverance is a Roman Virtue,
That wins each Godlike Act, and plucks Success
Ev'n from the Spear-proof Crest of rugged Danger.

First Ambassador.
Where will this end?

Second Ambassador.
Not where our Wishes point.


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Regulus.
Tho' you are weaken'd—look on Carthage weaker;
These Eyes can witness how infirm she is,
And how dispirited: She sues for Peace,
Because unable to continue War:—
Ev'n in her firmest Brace of Fortitude,
What cou'd her Arms against the Roman Pow'r?
You have been vanquish'd once—and then—O Shame!
My Rashness gave 'em—what they cou'd not win:
But brave Metellus has retriev'd that Loss,
And more than doubly recompens'd my Failure:
Throw Lilybæum, Drepanum aside—
All Sicily is yours:—Your Friends are firm;
Theirs doubtful—veering with the Wind of Interest,
Which blows not now from any Port in Africk:
Your Armies are compacted of one People,
Join'd by the double Tye of Friend and Country,
Theirs, Mercenaries only, who are paid
For every Blow they strike:—Consider too,
Each Day, some brave Allie falls from their Side,
Thinking with Horror, how the base Republick
Repaid Zantippus, who preserv'd their State.
Fathers, a Peace with Carthage carries Shame;
Nor lives the Thought in any Breast, I hope,
To wrong the Firmness of a Roman Mind,
That owns no Passion—but its Country's Glory.

Corvus.
Did not the Force of Praise break thro' my Wonder,
I had continu'd in this statu'd Senate,
Wrap'd up, like them, in silent Admiration,
But such disinterested Virtue claims
As well our Acclamations as our Wonder.
Yet when we weigh th'Importance of a Peace,
Against th'Extremities of doubtful War;
The long-expected Rest your Legions ask,
Against the Turmoils of fatiguing Marches;
A certain Safety, 'gainst a certain Danger—

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Perhaps the Scale may then incline to Peace:
Carthage is weak, drove to Extremities—
But then consider how the desperate Fight;—
Despair strikes wild—but often fatal too—
And in the mad Encounter wins Success:
I do not plead for Peace,—I but remonstrate
The State of each—and then remind you too—
We can but fight—th' Event is with the Gods.

Regulus.
Did I not know the Features of the Man
Who last address'd you, venerable Fathers;
That he was born at Rome, and is Patrician,
I had not doubted but that here he stood,
Charg'd with th'Affairs of Carthage; that his Speech
Had been debated in the Punic Senate,
And as a faithful Servant of their State,
Deliver'd here by him:—for cou'd a Roman,
At Rome, and in the Roman Senate, Fathers,
So far belie the Glory of his Country,
To think of Peace—and with a weaken'd Foe?
But, in my former Speech, perhaps I wrong'd
The State of Carthage; and she yet has Gold,
Whose Influence in our Councils more prevails,
Than by the Pay of mercenary Troops:

Corvus.
Dost thou impeach the Senate's Honesty?
And madly say—

Regulus.
Hear first what I wou'd say:
Not the whole Senate—nor the larger Part;—
But some who sit here may have felt that Influence,
And you can possibly, best point 'em out;

Corvus.
Perfidious Carthage!—Mutius we're betray'd—

Regulus.
How is Rome fallen! Can we forget, my Fathers,
When polish'd Cyneas stretch'd the loaded Hand,

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And the Bribe sparkled in the Matron's Eye;—
With what Contempt they view'd the Gift and him—
The vile Seducer—That was Roman Virtue.—
Ye gilded Slaves of Avarice and Pow'r,
Who hug, ev'n Bondage, in the Shape of Gold!
Look backwards to Dentatus' great Example,
Whose best Ambition was to serve his Country;
From Pyrrhus' Breast what Honours did he tear!
His Armies routed, and himself expell'd,
Driv'n like an Out-cast from Italian Land:
And when the Senate, for his glorious Deeds,
Thinking his Triumph (tho' by far more grand
Than e'er reach'd Rome on Wings of Acclamation)
Too poor to speak their Gratitude, decreed,
That tho' no Roman cou'd possess in Land
Above seven Acres—he shou'd be excepted,
And up to fifty swell'd the lavish Grant:
Did he accept the Offer of the Senate?—
Did he not tell 'em—that with Justice, Rome
Might with a jealous Eye behold that Man,
Who aim'd at more Possessions than the rest,
And stood the foremost in Distinction's Rank?—
If any in this Senate, grasp at Riches,
Blush, and be humble from his great Example.

Corvus.
Had I been conscious of th'imputed Guilt;
Or in the constant Progress of my Life,
Cou'd recollect one Act—or ev'n one Thought
That was not started for the publick Good:
Unjustified, I shou'd, with down-cast Eyes,
In silent Shame have hid my guilty Head:
But, thus erected, I confront the Falshood,
And, safe in Innocence, demand a Proof.

Regulus.
The Proof may come—be ready with your Answer:—
Other Affairs are now before the Senate.


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First Ambassador.
If not to Peace—for Carthage scorns to beg,
Nor feels that dire Necessity you speak;
At least to Pity bend the Roman Ear:
The tender Call of Kindred and of Friends,
Should plead successfully to Rome, as Carthage;
You hold us base, black with Ingratitude,
Yet we first ask to see our native Friends,
To taste the Pleasure of a dear Embrace,
And hear what Wonders they have seen of Rome:
If Peace dislikes you—we demand not Peace:
But let the Longings of so many Romans,
Who hope to see their Wives, their Children, Friends,
Plead for their just Release—Exchange we then;
And let the Sons of Carthage and of Rome,
Taste the dear Fragrance of their native Fields.

Regulus.
Till I am certain that a private Good
Out-weighs an honest Benefit to all,
I must oppose the last Demands of Carthage:—
Our Country's Welfare is our first Concern,
And who promotes that best—best proves his Duty:
For Reasons manifold, the publick Welfare
Now pleads with me;—and first, the Number, Fathers,
Of Carthaginians that wear Chains in Rome,
Trebles th'Account of Romans now at Carthage:
Some of their best Commanders have we here;
The rest, the very Pride—the Flow'r of Africk,
Warm in their Mid-day Blood, active and strong:
Our have already offer'd to their Country
The Noon-Tide Stream, and now their Ev'ning Drop,
Scarce keeps 'em warm in Africk's Sun-parch'd Clime.
Fathers, debate no longer—send us hence;
And with Defiance charge these peaceful Heralds:

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Collect your Legions, and let Carthage feel
The just Rewards of Cruelty and Insult.

Manilius.
What can the Senate answer to thy Worth,
All Patriot as thou art?—Thy steddy View
But thro' one glorious Optick lets in Light;
Greatly rejecting all the lesser Ends
That point to Fortune, Friends, and Family:
Yet Iron-hearted Justice must, I think,
(Much more Humanity) at length confess
Thou hast out-gone the Precept, and the Teacher
Ne'er mean't the rigid Lesson so severe
As thou hast in Performance made it—'tis too much—
Nor must we lose thy Virtue; thy Example
Must teach our wond'ring Youth—

Regulus.
To do their Duty.
By such an Act of Honesty as this is:
I thank the Gods that they have honour'd me
To bear their great Commission; to illustrate
A Deed resembling their Divinities,
Where the first Virtue constitutes the Whole;
Fathers, regard not me—Alas! why shou'd you?
Think me not worth Exchange; I am, my Fathers,
Infirm with Age, and hast'ning to the Place
Where Death unites us to Eternity;
My Spirits, sunk with Bondage and Oppression,
No more can fill me out to Acts of Glory.
Let none object the tender Calls of Wife,
Of Children, Kindred, and intreating Friends;
A Roman has no Property that weighs
Against the Good, the Glory of his Country.
I do beseech the Senate to concur
With my most just Request—my virtuous Pray'r!

Atilius Regulus.
When Marcus Regulus is in the Senate,
No kind'red Voice need plead for Liberty:

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Our honour'd House—nobly upheld by him,
No longer stands, but as he props his Country;
Yet thus far let a Kinsman dare to boast,
To have at least so much of Regulus,
To be the first to follow his Resolves.

Regulus.
Thou art much more than Kinsman—thou art Roman.

Manilius.
To Carthage then;—tell her that Rome rejects
All Terms of Peace, and all Exchange of Prisoners:
We dare her bloodiest Battle, and we scorn
Her Arts, her Baseness, and her Cruelties:
We shall return this Message—but in Blood,
In War deep-dy'd, and hostile Desolation,
When we approach her Country: Regulus,
Is his own Arbiter; and what he judges
Most proper to be done—is so to us;
Let him return, or stay—as he thinks fit.
I hope I speak the Judgment of the Senate.

[They all rise as assenting.
Regulus.
Thanks to the Gods!—And to your just Resolves.

Manilius.
Jove the Feretrian, guard the Roman State!
And grant that such Examples still may rise,
To make Rome blest, and all her Nations happy!
The Senate is dissolv'd:—

[The Scene closes.
Second Ambassador.
Most wonderful!
Can we believe what we have seen this Day?

First Ambassador.
'Tis great indeed—look what a Brow he wears;
How calm and how serene!—have you determin'd?
And will you back with us?—


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Regulus.
Fear not my Conduct:
Doubt not but Regulus will act with Honour:—
Honour is by the World but ill defin'd,
The plighted Oath, or the contracting Word,
Strictly maintain'd:—No, 'tis an heav'nly Light,
Impregnating the Soul—secret it acts,
Unconscious of all Motives but its own;
Equal to Gods and Men, it forms its Laws,
And bears but one Effect—from one unalter'd Cause.

The End of the Third ACT.