University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A View of Mount Palatine and Cicero's Palace.
CLODIUS, attended with Soldiers, &c.
CLODIUS.
Peace, and hear all! by Heav'n ye glad me well;
Thus drest in flames ye look as Romans should.
Is there amongst you one who loves revenge?
Behold I bear a torch to light him to it.
Is there amongst you one who hates a tyrant?
Your Tribune tells you Cicero's a tyrant.
Then crush him, and be free; and in the spot,
Where yon proud palace stands, I'll raise a shrine
To Liberty in memory of your fame.
You know your parts: Now, Romans, to your work.

(Exeunt.

SCENE II.

TULLIA is dragged along by GABINIUS.
TULLIA.
O save me, save me—Monster, let me go,
Or I will rend Heav'n's concave with my cries;
Guardians of Virtue, hear me!

GABINIUS.
Cease your clamour:
Virtue in Rome? You spend your breath in vain.

TULLIA.
Have you no pity? Romans, will you see
The daughter of your once lov'd Consul dragg'd
To horrid violation? Traitors! villains!
Where now, O Frugi; where art thou, my Caius?

(Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Various Ornaments belonging to Cicero's Palace, are borne across by Clodius' Soldiers. A Cry of Mercy is heard, and several Domestics are forced across the Stage.
CLODIUS is discouered, they kneeling to him.
CLODIUS.
Mercy? away. The red plague seize you all!
Accurst and wither'd be the hand that spares you;
An universal curse involve mankind!

Enter CLODIA.
CLODIA.
How now, why rave you?

CLODIUS.
Cicero is fled.

CLODIA.
Hah! is he fled? 'tis well; it aids my project;
But what of Frugi?

CLODIUS.
He too is escap'd.

CLODIA.
Confusion to my hopes! And Tullia with him.
How have you slept to let 'em thus escape you?

CLODIUS.
Tullia is seiz'd; Gabinius bore her off,
Her father with Terentia, as it seems,
Fled to the Capitol.

CLODIA.
Forsook his daughter?
'Tis strange! and Frugi too (O gallant lover!)
Saw bold Gabinius seize his captive fair one,
And meanly turn'd his back upon her cries:
Perdition seize the coward! O my Publius!
Fly to the Capitol; from his asylum
Drag the pale fugitive, and never sheath
Thy manly sword, till you can say to Clodia,
“'Tis done: he lives no more.”

CLODIUS.
My guide! my mistress!
I go thy ready minister of Death.
Farewell; you are obey'd, and he is nothing.

CLODIA.
Oh! only worthy of thy Sister's love,
These arms shall welcome my returning hero,
With ecstasies that Nature dares not own,
And only Lovers feel.
(Exit Clodius.
No more of that—
Reflection touch not there.—
Heav'ns, what a fall!
A Noise is heard, as of the fall of a Building.
Behold the blazing trophy of Revenge!
Hail, glorious ruin, 'midst unnumber'd pangs,
There is some consolation in these horrors.
Yet Frugi lives—and Clodius' sword again
May quit its prey unflesh'd.—Prevent it then:
Secure my victim by a second blow—
Hah! by my hopes, Volumnius is at hand,
He's bold, and apt, and made for midnight uses—
Thus doubly arm'd, I come, ingrateful man!
With all the warm fond wishes of a bride
To meet thee, my belov'd! enjoy thy pangs,
And in thy blood consummate my revenge.
(Exit Clodia.

SCENE IV.

The Portico of the Capitol. FRUGI and TULLIA.
FRUGI.
Here we are safe; Murder and Violation
Far off avoid these consecrated walls,
Aw'd by the present God. Weep then no more,
Look up and know thy Frugi: The dire image
Of the accurst Gabinius haunts thee yet,
And when I strain you in my faithful arms,
You start and cry, “Off, off! and force me not!”
So the poor deer, that 'scapes the hunter's toils,
Trembling and panting with tumultuous fears
Looks all around her, starts at every breeze,
And with her lov'd companion by her side
In her safe haunt, still thinks herself pursued.

TULLIA.
O born to save and to possess my heart!
At length I wake to Reason and to thee;
Thy well-lov'd form, like the all-glorious Sun
After a gloom of horror dawns upon me,
And day breaks in on my benighted soul.

FRUGI.
But tell me, Tullia, if thy fears have left
So much remembrance with thee, what strange chance
Staid thee behind, thus helpless and alone?

TULLIA.
Soon as the tumult of the night began,
And Clodius enter'd with his savage crew,
Thro' all the house I heard a dreadful slaves
Calling aloud on thee: Our houshold slaves
Wild and unarm'd ran shrieking up and down:
My father fled; with weak and tott'ring steps
I follow'd; when anon the uproar ceas'd.
Whereat, methought, a faint and dying voice
Cried, “Frugi is no more.”—At that I stopt;
Rooted with fear and motionless I stood.
Again it murmur'd—“Caius is no more”—
When all at once, unknowing what I did,
I plung'd into the flames, thro' ev'ry room
Pursu'd the flying voice; while all around
The blazing roof burst o'er my desperate head,
And the fierce spoilers toss'd their flaming brands:
'Twas here Gabinius—

FRUGI.
Oh! break off thy story.
Good Heav'n! hadst thou the heart to rush thro' flames
And men, more fierce than flames, for Frugi's sake,
When thy fond fancy heard his dying groans?
O wond'rous effort of transcendent love!
How hast thou by this all-exceeding act,
Stript my last service of its little merit,
And made my love a bankrupt!

TULLIA.
O my Caius,
Thus may I keep thee ever in my debt:
But ah! I tremble for thee, my Preserver,
To think the wretch that seiz'd me is a Consul.

FRUGI.
Wou'd he had met the death! blush, Greatness, blush,
Rage on, ye flames, and bury Rome in ruins,
For Lust and Murder have usurp'd dominion,
And Virtue's cries are sent to Heav'n against thee.

TULLIA.
Peace, Frugi, peace: The all-disposing God,
Who from this Capitol, his earthly throne,
Surveys all Rome, and sees and knows our wrongs,
Just to our cause, in his own chosen time
Vengeful will launch his unexpected bolt,
And crush 'em in the fulness of their crimes.

FRUGI.
Methinks a voice, like the complaintive sound
Of distant waters, thro' the vaulted isles
Deep-murmuring strikes mine ear.

TULLIA.
It is my father's.
Here in the presence of protector Jove
Secure he vents the anguish of his heart,
And bids farewell to Rome. With silent steps
And reverential awe, let us approach
The venerable man; when Virtue mourns,
The Gods are present and partake its sorrows.

(Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The inner Part of the Capitol. CICERO, TERENTIA.
CICERO.
Author of Life, behold and help thy Creature!
Is Reason giv'n us, yet its use denied?
So were thy gift our torment. Freely then,
Oh! let me ask, by what law dost thou govern?
By Justice—as becomes a gracious Father?
Or by wild will—as suits a lawless King?
Not so besure. Then let the guilty tremble;
Virtue is safe from harm. So I myself
Guilty pronounce; else wherefore thus undone?
Does Conscience, that just Judge, confirm my sentence?
There I am clear. My faults are then not mine,
But Nature's; against which no verdict lies:
Have the Gods less forbearance?

TERENTIA.
Thou methinks,
My Tullius, hast too much. Can Reason heal
Wrongs, great as ours? No; 'tis Revenge must cure 'em.
Would I could breathe my woman's soul into thee!
Ills, that make thee despair, embolden me.
Yon palace, which now blazes to its base,
Feels not so fierce a flame as rages here.

CICERO.
But this, perhaps, is best; and Heav'n may lay
Her rod on Virtue's head, to teach mankind
That retribution lies beyond the Grave,
And stretch their prospect to another Life.
Need Heav'n to prove its mercy then be cruel?
Can good ends spring from none but evil means?
O Jove! in justice if thou art not seen,
Where shall we seek thee? I am lost in doubt:
This only melancholy truth I know,
That Clodius triumphs, and that I'm undone.

TERENTIA.
All is not lost; go forth: The name of Cicero,
That magic word, shall raise all Rome about you;
Meet Ruin in mid-way, and beat it back
On him that sent it.

CICERO.
Vain, presumptuous hope!
Save only my integrity, Terentia,
What in this world have these despoilers left me?
With thee I soon must part, and what sad fortune
Attends my absent daughter, Heaven alone,
And the dread Agents of Heav'n's vengeance know;
My Friends—but wherefore name I friends? They drop'd
With the first blast that shook me.

(Frugi and Tullia enter.

SCENE VI.

FRUGI, TULLIA, CICERO and TERENTIA.
TERENTIA.
See, Despairer,
Yet, yet, we are not quite renounc'd of Heaven.

CICERO.
My Tullia, O my daughter, do I live
Once more to see and bless thee, e're we part?
How did I lose thee in this night's confusion?
And how, when Death and Violation scour
Th'affrighted city, arm'd with all Hell's flames,
Hast thou, defenceless maid, escap'd unhurt?

TULLIA.
Behold the guardian of my life and honour!
Dragg'd by the hands of the accurst Gabinius
Half-dead and sinking with my fears he found me,
Like my preserving Angel, he redeem'd me,
Snatch'd me from death and ruin, brought me to thee,
And gave me second life.

CICERO.
All-gracious Powers!
If when ye rain'd your sorrows on my head,
Unknowing of your provident designs,
And to the period of my sufferings blind,
Murmuring I took my fate, impute it not.

FRUGI.
O that I dar'd to speak! but Tullia's looks
Awe, while they charm, and while they prompt, forbid.

CICERO.
O Rome! O Country! once the patriot soil
Of Freedom; parent once of god-like Virtues,
Mistress of Arts and Empire! now, alas!
The dying victim of unnatural Faction,
And stage of rank Corruption! Yet I'll hope,
Fall'n as thou art, yet I'll not deem thee lost,
While thou can'st boast one son of genuine worth,
Noble, as this dear Youth: Thou see'st, my Frugi,
How Rome rewards my services; yet, oh!
Let not the memory of my wrongs extinguish
That spark divine, which animates the soul,
And lights the path of glory; but where I,
Torn from my Country's side, now drop the work
Unfinish'd, thou with fresher nerves succeed
To the brave toil, and fill the mighty plan
With Freedom, such as our great Fathers gave it.

FRUGI.
How my soul burns within me! O my guide,
Model my young ambition; teach me how
I may deserve to die in this great cause,
And leave a name immortal as thy own.

CICERO.
By one firm faithful even course of honour;
By standing forth alone, not Cæsar's follower,
Not Pompey's slave, but Rome's and Virtue's friend:
Sworn to no party; 'midst corruption pure;
Scorning all titles, dignities, and wealth,
When weigh'd against Integrity; rememb'ring
That Patriot is the highest name on earth.

Enter ATTICUS.
ATTICUS.
Hail, Friend! or rather let me greet thee, Exile!
For from this night, I'll own no other name:
Roman? no more on't; Scythian call me rather;
For we have chang'd conditions: Social Virtue
Is fled beyond the mountains; nothing now
Is truly barbarous, but within these walls.

CICERO.
Is there aught new abroad?

ATTICUS.
What can be new,
When I have seen mount Palatine? what strange,
When I have heard the Father of his Country
Revil'd, insulted, banish'd?

CICERO.
Came you thence,
From yonder pile of ruin?

ATTICUS.
'Tis no more:
These eyes beheld it level with the dust;
The mansion of my friend, the social seat
Of polish'd manners, gay convivial wit,
And hospitable ease. Alas! the days,
The nights, that we have known! Bear with me, Marcus,
But my remembrance gave such life and being
To the sad scene, so knit and wove together
Things living with inanimate; methought
'Twas thou, my friend, that fell; struck with the sight,
I follow'd the false impulse of my heart,
And on the senseless ashes dropt a tear.

CICERO.
I look'd not for this show of tenderness,
And thank thee for it from my heart, my Atticus:
But tears are catching, and these eyes are apt
To every soft infection. You have said,
When you would wean my thoughts from Rome, “Content
“Depends not upon place;” Why then farewell
Ye scenes of past delights, exil'd from you
With Freedom and with Virtue for my guides,
Indifferent where to fix, I'll range the world,
And Rome shall follow me where'er I go.

ATTICUS.
Arise, set forth, cast not a look behind,
But seize the present Now; on every side,
Around, above, beneath you, all is Treason;
Our streets, our houses, nay, our very temples,
Daily she haunts; ev'n here you are not safe;
On Jove's own Capitol her ensigns float,
And bid defiance to the bolts of Heav'n.

CICERO.
Give me the Statue—“Stand thou there, Minerva,
“Goddess ador'd! my last departing pledge
“To after-ages; prop the falling state,
“And be to Rome what Cicero is no more.”—
Now, friends, have with you; bear with me this once,
I'll task your friendship but a few short hours,
And quit you then for ever.

TULLIA.
Break, break, Heart!

TERENTIA.
Confusion light on the whole race of Clodius!
Must we be torn asunder?

CICERO.
Spare, O spare me!
The cruel moment comes full fraught with woe
Sufficient for itself. Now Frugi, Atticus,
Dear Youth, and best approved Friend, bestir you;
South of the Capitol take you your course,
And fetch a wider compass; from mount Aventine
Summon young Curio to the Capuan gate:
Thou eastward to the Caelian hill, my Atticus,
Call up Hortensius, raise Servilius Rufus,
Lentulus and Caelius; but let Milo sleep;
His heady zeal will know no bounds, and stain
The civil tenour of my cause with blood.
Do this, and meet me both at Vesta's Temple;
There I must render up to her protection
This well-beloved charge. Pass on; that way
Is private.—Hah! and am I fall'n so low?
I, that so often have been borne along
In triumph thro' these gates.—Mark this, young Man.
And learn the vanity of Human Greatness.

(Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

The Entrance of the Capitol.
CLODIUS.
'Tis He; (may lightning catch and blast his speed!)
'Tis Frugi; muffled as he is, I know him:
Just where the moon-beam smites athwart the portal
My eye o'er-took him; (would my sword had so!)
What can be done? Singly attempt a faction;
And rush on certain death? My band all broke,
Buried in wine and plunder: Then the place—
Jove's own peculiar Temple; who if aught
Can stir him, now must put forth all the God,
Or lose his name Capitoline. No more:
Away, vain fears; ye strangers to my heart!
Alone, without a friend, save this good sword,
And the great ruling Fate that moves within me,
Against all Law, and Right, and Men, and Gods,
Thus I advance to conquest, or to death.

(Enters the Capitol.

SCENE VIII.

CLODIA
enters alone.
It must be by his blood: The word is past
'Twixt me and Death, and he expects his victim.
My love I tender'd, he disdain'd my love,
And chose my vengeance; vengeance let him have!
Is this hard dealing, Gods? In common life,
Things noxious and abhorr'd we freely kill,
But what we love we spare; my heart then asks
Must Frugi die? Ah! rather must he live;
For Tullia live? while this despised form,
To which the proudest knees in Rome have bent,
Whilst Heav'n was left unworship'd, shall abide
The killing taunts of an insulting Rival,
And waste itself with Envy. Come, Volumnius;
Come Clodius! rather let your keen swords meet
And hack each other, in the dying heart
Of this dear scornful youth. My Soul is tost
Upon a sea of blood, whose stormy channel
My lab'ring bark must pass, e're it can reach
That land of Peace, to which its Hopes are bound.

CLODIUS comes out of the Temple.
CLODIUS.
Hah! who art thou?

CLODIA.
A woman, and a bold one;
That shrinks not to receive thee to her arms,
Fresh from thy crimes, and purpled o'er with blood.

CLODIUS.
Hail, Mistress of my Soul; 'tis done: Revenge
Hath had her fill, and Frugi is no more.
Warm from the living fountain of his heart,
Behold how, like a young and blushing maid,
My pale steel, flecker'd with the ruddy drops,
Weeps for the deed 't has done.

CLODIA.
Give me the dagger:
And is this then the haughty high-born blood,
That flush'd with conscious pride upon his cheek,
When deaf to Love's soft pray'rs he spurn'd me from him,
And chid me with an insolence of Virtue?
Now, Clodius, where's the body?

CLODIUS.
Drench'd in blood
On the cold pavement, and defac'd with wounds,
There, where it fell it lies. Alone I enter'd;
I listen'd; all was silence; save the sound
Of feet light treading on the echoing floor;
Near and more near he came; I cow'ring low
Crept behind Pompey's statue; till at once,
Quick as a lion from his watch, upon him
I sprung, and thrust my weapon to his heart;
He started, fell, and died without a groan.

CLODIA.
But where was Cicero?

CLODIUS.
Where fled I know not.

CLODIA.
It is enough; my vengeance is complete.
Drag forth the body.—Yet I'll view those eyes
Seated in death; Clodius hath marr'd their lustre,
And I may gaze unharm'd.

(Clodius drags the Body forth.
CLODIUS.
What have I done?
Volumnius?—aim'd my dagger at my foe,
And struck a Sister's heart. Where shall I vent
My curses? on the living or the dead?
On him, myself, or Frugi? Hence, away!
Thou hateful minister.
(Throws away his Dagger.
Oh! I am mock'd
Of Heaven, and made the veriest fool of Nature.

CLODIA.
Was this well done?

CLODIUS.
Sister, by Heav'n I swear—

CLODIA.
And dar'st thou swear
By Heav'n, when Hell itself is in thy heart?
I bad thee strike a bold and open foe;
Thou basely murder'st an unguarded friend.

CLODIUS.
Do I deserve this of thee? Think, O think!

CLODIA.
'Tis thought that makes me mad. Ah! wretched me!
Doom'd to be wrong'd and scorn'd by those I lov'd.
For thee, ingrateful, have I stab'd my fame?
For thee endur'd the hiss of public scorn,
And stifled Nature's cries? Was it for thee,
That thou might'st revel in my widow'd arms,
I plung'd my soul in blood; a Husband's blood?
And is not this enough? must he too perish,
That guiltless youth, who troubled not the fount
Of thy delights, but drank at humble distance
The leavings of thy joys.

CLODIUS.
I own I wish'd
To hold entire possession of thy soul:
But 'twas in vain; I saw unnumber'd rivals,
And yet with-held Revenge. Think you I knew not,
When with that fatal steel you arm'd my hand,
And bad me bury it in Frugi's heart;
Think you I knew not then that desperate Love,
And frantic Disappointment doom'd his death?
Yes, Clodia, yes: And therefore 'twas I flew,
Prompt to fulfil thy vengeance and my own,
Nor staid the shifting of a woman's will:
Twice he hath 'scap'd me, yet again I'll meet him.
And then redeem my error.

CLODIA.
Never, never.
Had'st thou at first obey'd and murder'd Caius,
I must have hated him who shed his blood,
But not as now despis'd: Henceforth he lives.
My next revenge a surer hand shall act,
And in a juster cause.—Alas! Volumnius;
Thou never slighted'st me, as Caius did;
Thou wast not harsh, ungrateful, as this Brother,
But ever apt and gentle to' my wishes;
I did not think to have grac'd thee with a tear.
But thy sad fate demands it.

CLODIUS.
If there's truth,
Or honesty in man, I knew him not.

CLODIA.
But I know thee. Oh! that my breath could give
Motion and utterance to these pale cold lips,
And put a tongue into each gaping wound;
That from as many several mouths at once,
As thou to him in jealousy gave strokes,
I might proclaim thee lyar.

CLODIUS.
Hear me, Clodia—

CLODIA.
No, I'll not hear: Cry to the roaring winds,
When they unseat the everlasting rocks,
And lift the wild waves to the vaulted Heav'n,
And thou shalt find an audience from the storm,
But me for ever deaf.

CLODIUS.
Then to the winds
I will complain, for they shall hear my wrongs,
And bear 'em on their charitable wings
To every shore they visit. Luckless man!
O Thou, by ill-designing Nature cast
In the same mould with Frugi; what dark errand
Brought thee to this dire place? Ah! why conceal'd you
That ill-star'd head? and thou, malicious Planet,
Why wouldst not lend thy light?

CLODIA.
Not Frugi's form,
Not this dark hour, nor ill-designing Nature,
But the sole crime of being lov'd by Clodia,
Brought thee to this sad end.

CLODIUS.
Injurious woman,
Wou'd that men's thoughts were graven on their hearts!
So should these hands of mine to thy confusion
Pluck out the bleeding witness of my truth,
And die upon the proof.

CLODIA.
Bare to my eye,
As is thy face, thy guilty bosom lies;
And there in staring characters I read
Murder and Jealousy; infernal names!

CLODIUS.
Murder and Jealousy? O Clodia, Clodia,
Talk'st thou of murder, thou, whose soul is dy'd
Deeper than are these hands which did thy work?
Talk'st thou of Jealousy?—Who doom'd to death
The guiltless Frugi for his faith to Tullia?
Who arm'd my hand this fatal night with flames
'Gainst Cicero's palace? Who inspir'd Gabinius
To seize thy shrieking rival? Who but thou
And that unhappy man, thy guilty minion,
Mixt the dire dose which brave Metellus drank,
And shed a Husband's blood? This thou hast done;
Then talk no more of Jealousy and Murder.

CLODIA.
Take up your sword; lo! where the deathful weapon
Lies at the side of him it basely slew;
Behold my ready bosom; plunge it here.
A curse is fallen on our guilty Loves;
And I am weary of the world and thee.

CLODIUS.
Sister, you've done me wrong; yet shall my hand
Not spill your blood: But if you're bent on death,
Behold I leave you that; when life is irksome,
'Tis all the remedy I know for sorrow.
(Exit Clodius.

CLODIA.
It shall be so. My Soul approves the counsel.
(Takes up the dagger.
Now, Frugi, since the over-ruling will.
Of Fate denies me to repay thy scorn;
'Tis well this way is left me to avoid it.
Farewell, poor murder'd Corse! What, do thy wounds
Open afresh, and answer me in blood?
Thus to the Manes of my murder'd Honour
I make libation; to the vengeful Sisters,
Who with scorch'd feet travel the burning soil,
Where Phlegethon his fiery torrent rolls,
These Harbingers I send: Open, firm Earth,
And give 'em passage to announce my coming.