University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Regulus.

SCENE II.

Regulus, Messenger.
Regulus.
What wou'd thy Message?

Messenger.
At the City's Gate,
Th'Ambassadors of Carthage wait thy Presence.

Regulus.
I will not long detain 'em—let 'em know so.

SCENE III.

Regulus.
I must be thrifty of my little Time.

SCENE IV.

Regulus, Decius, Clelia.
Regulus.
Decius thou com'st to warn me—from the Senate
What Message bring'st thou?

Decius.
Heart-deliver'd Greetings!
Such as no Love, no Friendship ever breath'd:
The Fervency of Thanks for his Deliverance,
When the wreck'd Sailor finds himself on Land
Gives but a faint Idea of their Zeal:
Nothing is seen or heard throughout the Senate,
But Tears and Exclamations:—For the Traytors,
Proofs were so plain, that with a general Voice,
The Rock Tarpeian was pronounc'd their Doom—
Which they have leap'd e'er this.

Regulus.
I thank their Loves;
They've given me Strength I wanted:—O my Friend!
Long hast thou follow'd with unwearied Steps,
My worst of Fortunes, to their present Close;
(An uncouth Office for thy gentle Youth)
Here shall we part, and all I can bestow
Of Happiness, approaches thee in her:
Come nearer, Clelia—Decius take her Hand;
Unwealth'd—but not undowr'd; accept a Maid,
Whom Virtue will make rich, and Honour great:
I know your mutual Loves, and Heav'n prolong it,
Ev'n to the latest Moment of your Lives.

Decius.
On any other but this sad Occasion,
This Gift had been too great for common Joy:—
This was my utmost Wish—yet at the present
'Tis so embittered with the losing thee,
The Sweet is scarcely tasted—O my Father!—

Regulus.

Clelia.
I hope I shall not profit by my Father
So little, not to prove myself his Daughter:
My Conduct shall be form'd on such a Plan,
That were my Father witness of each Step,
He shou'd not find Occasion to disown me.

Regulus.
'Tis well resolv'd:—Decius, my Time is short—
And yet another tender Call invites me,
E'er I go hence for ever—yet, my Son,
I will devote a little of that Time,
To leave thee my last Precepts—my last Counsel.

Decius.
Impart—and I will wear 'em in my Heart,
Dear as the Memory of him that gave 'em.

Regulus.

Decius.
I hope this Caution is unnecessary:

Regulus.

Decius.
How shall I fill Rome's Offices with Justice,
When thou, my great Instructor art away?
What great Example shall direct my Steps,
When Regulus is silent and no more?

Regulus.

Decius.
Farewel, my Father!—O I must retire—
Lest I shou'd shame thy Manhood with my Weakness:—
'Tis not I find to common Natures given
To bear Misfortunes like a Regulus.

SCENE V.

Regulus, Martia, Clelia, two Children.
Martia.
My Regulus!—my Love!—

First Child.
My Father!

All.
Oh!

Regulus.
Martia, no more Complaint—while yet I stay;
While yet a few fond Moments are indulg'd;
Let it be spent in Triumphs and Rejoicings,—
Not in Condolement and the Voice of Sorrow.

Martia.
Is this a Time for Triumph or for Joy?
This a fit Season—

Regulus.
Martia, none so fit:
When we have spent an honest blameless Life,
True to its first Direction—equal all
From the first starting to the destin'd Goal,—
Say, at the End, is there not Cause for Joy?
I thank the Gods, that I set out with Honour,
With Honour I come in—my Country's Glory
Was the first Wish that parted from my Heart,
And fills up my last Pray'r—Is not this Triumph?—
Martia! my much-lov'd Martia! share it with me.

Martia.
Thro' the thick Gloom of a long five Years Absence,
Still have I chear'd me with the Twilight Hope;
Tho' doubtful thy Return—still there was Hope;
Tho' captive to thy direst Foes—I still held Hope:
Hope was the Anchor that preserv'd my Bark
Thro' the rough Fury of a five Years Storm.—
But parting now with that—ye Surges dash me—
Split my devoted Sides, and sink me ever!

Regulus.
Despair is Frenzy—hear me my best Martia—

Martia.
What—hear you say that we must part for ever?—
Never again indulge, with equal Fondness,
O'er these dear Pledges of our mutual Loves?—
O Thought of Torture!—Call you this Despair!—
Is this Destraction?—No—or if it be,
Reason has made it so—your boasted Reason,
Has only serv'd to make poor Martia mad.

Regulus.
Martia, no more: The Gods are always just:—
And though we never meet again on Earth;—
Thou know'st there is a Place—a destin'd Place,
Where Honesty and Virtue shall revive;
Where every Sense shall be absorb'd in Thought,
The Contemplation of our heav'nly Essence;
Where the first Mover shall himself instil
Divine Instruction;—where uncloy'd we taste
The Banquet of the Soul, the Feast of Gods;
Where no Misfortune enters, where no Care,
Sends forth the anxious Sigh—but all is Peace,
Fullness of Pleasure, and eternal Joy.

Martia.
And do'st thou only lengthen out my Hope,
And bid me wait, in Certainty of Pain,
For a far distant Ease?—Oh! be more kind—
More just, and let me share Misfortune with thee:—
I will not meanly wait the Course of Nature—
I will shake off this Load—this Life, that holds me
From thy lov'd Fellowship—In Death I'll join thee,
Partner in that as well as Life—

Regulus.
O Martia!
An heavy Sorrow weighs thy Senses down;
Thou hast forgot—an hundred Offices
Which only Time can fill up, claim Attendance;
Behold these little Images of Martia,
Infected with thy Grief—when I am gone,
Who shall take care to form their ductile Minds,
(Unprincipled as yet in Virtue's School)
To shew them Honour's Path—to turn their Steps
From Vices Flow'r-strew'd Way?—Say whose Example,
Bettering all Precept, still shall shine before them,
The fairest Call to Good—but living Martia's?
Remembring this great Duty—canst thou die?

Martia.
O my lov'd Regulus?—what shall I say?
I can with Pleasure die—to live without thee,
Is too severe a Task:—and yet my Children—

Regulus.
Let them determine thee to treasure Life:
Think of their many Wants, and that no Hand
Can minister Relief so well as thine:—
And, for thy Regulus, still think him here;—
I shall be found in every pleasing Prospect:
In the chaste Matron's Look, and Virgin's Smile,
Thou shalt behold thy Regulus—each Act,
That future Virtues may adorn our Rome with,
Shall be a dear Remembrance of my Life:—
Nor think thyself a Widow—be my Fame
Thy second Husband: Or if thou inclin'st
To grace some noble Roman with thy Person
I leave thee Dowry for the best of Men—
Unspotted Truth, and ever-living Honour.

Martia.
And shall the unpolluted Ermine's White
Be soil'd by second Touch? Say shall the Gem,
Set in the burnish'd Bullion of thy Worth,
Be fix'd in base Allay, and vile Demerit—
No, Regulus:

Regulus.
Thou art the Glory of thy Sex—Farewel!—
Keep up thy Constancy of Mind, my Martia!
And let us part with manly Resolution;
Let not the Woman's Grief break in upon thee,
Bear it with unblanch'd Cheek, and Eye unstain'd.

Martia.
Did'st thou say part?—O where is Resolution?—
Where now the stedfast Purpose of my Soul,
Which, at thy lov'd Command had arm'd my Heart?
Sunk into Tremblings, into Sighs and Tears;—
I cannot bear the Tryal—O my Husband!—

Regulus.
Martia remember—Clelia, fare thee well;
Advice were needless now—Thou seest thy Mother—
There never was a Virtue, or a Grace
Which she possess'd not—wear her in thine Eye,
As dearly as the Light that darts upon it:
Thou need'st not look abroad for an Example—
Thou hast it there:—Be like her and be happy:
Farewel my Children! love your virtuous Mother—
Ye will not want a Father by her Care;
Observe her Precepts, follow her Advice,
Rome will be proud to own ye.

Both Children.
O my Father!—

Regulus.

SCENE VI.

Martia, Clelia, Children.
Martia.
Ha! Gone?—for ever gone?—too cruel Regulus!
No more at parting—and yet gone for ever?
Shou'd he not have return'd, and said once more
Farewel—then afterwards return'd again—
And said again farewell—e'er he went hence for ever?

Clelia.
My dearest Mother!—I wou'd give you Comfort,—
But that I find I want it for myself.

Martia.
What say'st thou?—Comfort—'tis for Ease and Quiet;—
It sleeps upon the Down of sweet Content,
In the sound Bed of Industry and Health:
It flies the Wretch like me—the Wretch indeed—
Whom Hope has left—and in their room, behold
Despair and Frenzy—see they madly join,
Whirling consuming Fire thro' all the Brain:—
Hail Horrors! hail Destruction! welcome Death!
Thou art my Ease, my Comfort, and my Hope:—
How is Death alter'd! what a Change is here?
Or did the Poet's Fiction do him wrong?
Instead of empty Sockets—two fair Eyes
Inviting with mild Lustre, and his Cheek
Fresh with the rosy Bloom of youthful Hebe—
His horrid Grin, chang'd to a pleasing Smile:
Come, thou shalt be my Guide—Conduct my Steps
Where I may find my Regulus—

Second Child.
O Sister, speak, and give my Mother Ease,
Or teach me how to do it.

Martia.
Where has my Fancy wander'd?—the gay Dream,
The fond Delusion has forsook me now—
And I am still alive—and still most wretched.

SCENE VII.

Martia, Decius, Clelia, &c.
Martia.
Ha! Decius!—speak—say—where is Regulus?—
What—gone?

Decius.
Too sure:—I saw him pass the Gate,
Where weeping Rome attended;—and oh Martia!
How shall Description paint what I beheld?—
On Friends that crouded for a last Adieu,
Stedfast he gaz'd, and solemnly took leave,
Short were is Farewels—But advancing farther,
Thrice he look'd back, and thrice assay'd to say
Farewel my Country—but here, rising Sorrow,—
(Till now suppress'd) bore down the strong Restraint,
And in a Flood of Tears, drown'd all his Speech:—
Earnest he gaz'd—and with entreating Eye,
And Hands up-lifted, seem'd to pray for Blessings
Upon the Roman People:—then fetching from his Heart,
A sadly-pleasing Sigh—he turn'd away—
And, silently resolv'd, pursu'd his Journey.

Martia.
Decius!—

Decius.
Thy Sorrow is too big for Words;—
Let us retire and mourn:—My dearest Clelia!
Thou art my Part of Regulus; thy Worth
Will be a strong Remembrancer of his,
A Mirrour of thy Father's:—Equal Jove!
If thy all-judging Pow'r designs for Decius,
Ought differing from the Race of common Men;
Let it be given to this fervent Pray'r!—
Grant me, O Father both of Gods and Men!
To love, like Regulus, my native Land,
And die, like him, when 'tis her great Command.