University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Cicero's Palace.
TULLIA, FRUGI.
TULLIA.
Why do you meet me thus with alter'd looks?
Your full heart labours with unvented sorrow,
And in the silent language of the eyes
Tells me, I never shall know comfort more.

FRUGI.
I cannot speak to her.

TULLIA.
Do' you shun me, Caius?
Ah! that cold look has froze me into horror.
Am I grown stale? has this poor form of mine
Lost all its little merit? have these tears
Quite, quite effac'd the roses of my cheeks?

FRUGI.
Heav'n be my witness, how thou wrong'st my love!
No, thou'rt more welcome to my sight, and fairer,
Than yon all-blessed sun; more dear thou art
To this sad breast, than are the vital drops
That fall in tender pity from my heart.

TULLIA.
Oh! had you known the visions of last night—
Under how many dismal shapes of horror
Did that dear image haunt my sleepless eyes!
Methought I saw thee lie an out-stretch'd corse,
Stuck full of wounds and welt'ring in thy blood;
Strait I beheld the traitress Clodia take
A secret dagger from her cursed bosom
Dripping with blood, and smile upon the point:
Then at a thought the scene of blood was shifted,
And all was revelry, and all was love;
I saw my Frugi lying in her arms,
Gazing with lifted eyes upon her face;
Aloud I call'd thee; thou with feeble tone
Coldly replied, “Alas! unhappy Tullia!”
And sunk again into her arms.

FRUGI.
No more;
My blood runs back with horror at the thought:
While thus I strain thee to my throbbing bosom,
Blest as I am, and honour'd in thy love,
At this dear moment my presaging heart,
Quailing and sinking with unusual softness,
Feels all the pangs that parting souls endure,
When rigid Fate exacts her stern demands,
And Nature bids a last farewell to life.

TULLIA.
What are thy thoughts? O tell me whence they rise,
What is it shakes thy noble nature thus?
Ah! now I see, I read it in thy looks;
It must be so; destruction is complete,
And my great father falls.

FRUGI.
Rome is no more;
Dire Clodius reeking with a mother's blood,
Plants the last wound in her expiring breast.
Peace, Science, Virtue, mutual Faith and Freedom,
Each Art, and every Grace is on the wing;
Before 'em flies the day, and at their back
Hellish Corruption sows the land with death,
Making a void more hideous and more dark
Than central Night.

TULLIA.
My father, O my father!

FRUGI.
I came this instant from the godlike man.
Silent long time the musing patriot sate,
His big heart lab'ring with contending cares;
While from his eyes the sacred pity fell,
Like Heav'n's blest dew upon a thankless soil,
And all the Father of his Country mourn'd.

TULLIA.
Ah! what does he resolve?

FRUGI.
To leave this city,
To leave Terentia, and thy weeping self,
A voluntary Exile.

TULLIA.
Hah! an Exile?
It must not, can not be.

FRUGI.
Alas! my Tullia,
Not built on fear, or Passion's slippery base,
His cool mature resolves are fix'd as Fate.
I heard the final sentence pass his lips;
To-morrow sees him turn his back on Rome,
Self-doom'd, to search for some more friendly shore,
There to abide till better days succeed,
And Rome deserves his presence.

TULLIA.
Leave his Country,
Forsake his friends, forsake his houshold Gods,
And tear asunder each dear natural tie
That wraps about his heart? Heav'n will forbid it,
His bitterest foes will kneel to hold him back,
The very walls of Rome will rise against him,
And meeting close their great preserver in.

FRUGI.
Alas! thou know'st not what a world thou liv'st in.
Dwells there in this base city one so bold,
Who dares to own himself the friend of Virtue?
The Public Body is diseas'd and foul,
Rotten at heart, and ripe for dissolution;
Our Magistrates are slaves, our Nobles beggars,
Our Courts of Justice made a public mart,
Where black Corruption holds her damning traffic
In the broad eye of day.

TULLIA.
Then what am I?
Where can the fatherless look out for pity?
Ah! where can friendless Virtue hide her head?

FRUGI.
Never, while these fond arms have strength to move,
Or this poor bleeding heart has sense to beat,
Shall that dear head be left without a shelter.
Come, Clodius; come, Gabinius; to your swords
My willing breast I offer; spare my Tullia,
My dying lips shall bless you for the stroke,
And call its torture mercy.

TULLIA.
No, my Caius!
Blest Hymen joys not in unequal bands.
O had I known thee in those happier days,
When Fortune smil'd upon my father's house,
Without a blush I should have told my love,
And thou with honour claim'd me for thy wife.
But now, instead of pow'r, and fame, and wealth,
To bring thee want and ruin for my portion,
Honour forbids it, and my heart that loves thee,
Scorns to be such a debtor.

FRUGI.
Dearest maid,
Dearer in all thy wrongs, than if thou cam'st
Deck'd in the splendor of thy fullest fortune,
My soul almost rejoices in thy sorrows:
Ambition else had shar'd my thoughts with thee,
And Interest stol'n some portion of my love;
But now Adversity's refining fire
Melts down the base alloy of earthly passions,
And purifies the temper of the heart.

TULLIA.
No more; I must not hear that flatt'ring tongue;
My father now demands my duty—leave me.
Still are you here?—Farewell.

FRUGI.
Forgive me, Tullia,
I cannot leave thee. O I could unfold
A tale of horror.—The grim night comes on,
And the dark ministers of Hell are busy:
Let me not leave thee.

TULLIA.
If my hour is come,
And ruin hangs o'er this devoted head,
Make from the fall; live thou to think on me,
And grace my memory with a noble sorrow;
If I had lov'd thee less, we had not parted;
Now take my last embrace: Break, break, my heart!
Farewell, (alas! and must I say) for ever?
(Exit Tullia.

FRUGI.
And hast thou left me? Yet I will be near thee,
Glide after thee with still and ghost-like steps,
Haunt the lov'd spot, and hover o'er my treasure.
(Exit Frugi.