University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Tullus. Volusius.
Volusius.
Tullus, 'tis well. This answers to my Wishes.

Tullus.
How? What is well? That humbled Rome once more
Shall deck him with the Trophies of our Arms?

Volusius.
And hop'st thou nothing from this blest Event?
They who have often blasted mighty Heroes,
Who oft have stoln into the firmest Hearts,
And melted them to Folly; They, my Friend,
Will do what Wisdom never could effect.

Tullus.
Think'st thou the Prayers and Tears of wailing Women
Can shake the Man, who with such cold Disdain
Stood firm against those venerable Consuls,
And spurn'd the Genius of his kneeling Country?

Volusius.
It was his Pride alone that made him ours.
That Passion kept him firm; the flattering Charm
Of humbling those, who in their Persons bore
The whole collected Majesty of Rome.
These Women are no proper Objects for it:
He cannot triumph o'er his Wife and Mother.
On this my Hopes are founded, that these Women
May by their gentler Influence subdue him.

Tullus.
Whate'er th'Event, he shall no longer here,
As wave his Passions, dictate Peace, or War.
Whether his stubborn Soul maintains its Firmness,
Or yields to Female Prayers, the Volscian Honour
Will be alike betray'd. If Rome prevails,
He stops our conquering Arms from her Destruction;
If he rejects her Suit, he reigns our Tyrant.
But, by th'Immortal Gods! his short-liv'd Empire
Shall never see yon radiant Sun descend.

Volusius.
Blest be those Gods that have at last inspir'd thee
With Resolution equal to thy Cause,
The Cause of Liberty!—

Tullus.
Be sure, Volusius,
If that should happen which thy Hopes portend;
Should he, by Nature tam'd, disarm'd by Love,
Respite the Roman Doom—He seals his own:
By Heaven! he dies.

Volusius.
Let me embrace thee, Tullus!
Now breaking from the Cloud, which, like the Sun,
Thy own too bounteous Beams had drawn around thee.

Tullus.
You was deceiv'd, my Friend. When I with Tameness,
With Tameness which astonish'd thy brave Spirit,
Seem'd to submit to that unequal Sway
He arrogated o'er me; know, my Heart
Ne'er swell'd so high as in that cruel Moment.
My Indignation, like th'imprison'd Fire
Pent in the troubled Breast of glowing Ætna,
Burnt deep and silent: But, collected now,
It shall beneath its Fury bury Marcius!
'Tis fixt. Our Tyrant dies.

Volusius.
Tullus, my Sword
Here claims to be employ'd.—Nor mine alone—
There are some worthy Volsci still remaining,
Who think with us, and pine beneath the Laurels
A Roman Chief bestows.

Tullus.
Go, find them strait,
And bring them to the Space before his Tent;
'Tis there he will receive this Deputation.
Then if he sinks beneath these Womens Prayers—
Or if he does not—But, Volusius, wait,
I give thee strictest Charge to wait my Signal.
Perhaps I may find Means to free the Volsci
Without his Blood. If not—We will be free.