University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Street in Rome.
CLODIUS, GABINIUS.
CLODIUS.
Gabinius, welcome. Wherefore droops my friend?
What, foil'd at your late revel? You have ta'en
Too full a meal of Tullia's maiden fruit,
And the pall'd appetite now turns aside
With loathing and aversion.

GABINIUS.
Clodius, no;
She's lost; perdition light on him that stole her!
Sure some curst Demon hovers in the air,
And showers down mischief on this fatal night.
She's vanish'd, gone, untasted, unenjoy'd,
Snatch'd like a dream from the deluded sight,
And left no trace behind, but Shame and Anguish,
And racking Disappointment.

CLODIUS.
Curst mischance!
What villain tore her from you?

GABINIUS.
Oh! no more.
Thou hast thy sorrows, Clodius, I have mine.
Liberal of Ill, Fate hath bestow'd on each,
Griefs of their own, and not to thee the least.

CLODIUS.
What are they? Speak. Dost pause? O fear me not.
Ills cannot come too sudden for the brave:
I live at war with Fate, and scorn to hold
My being in unmanly base dependence
Upon the wayward stars; but seize the present,
And bid defiance to the coming hour.

GABINIUS.
Clodia is dead.

CLODIUS.
Why then I thank thee, Nature,
That when you made this frame of such frail stuff,
So sensible of harm, so ill array'd
To combat sharp Misfortune, yet you cas'd
My Heart in temper'd steel, and made it proof
Against the soft compunctious stroke of Pity,
Bidding it laugh at all that Fate can do.
Now, if thou can'st, relate the Tale of Death,
And keep no circumstance of horror back;
For 'tis a sound familiar to my ear,
And needs no softening to inure me to it.

GABINIUS.
Alone, and musing on my wayward Fate,
As tow'rds Mount Palatine I took my way
A short hour since, I met that wretched woman,
Whom you no more call Sister: Mad she seem'd,
Convulsion shook her frame; wild Horror glar'd
In her chang'd visage; eager was her speech,
And broke with frequent sighs: She bad me follow;
In silence I obey'd; she led me on,
Nor cast a look behind, till to the fount
Of Niobe we came.

CLODIUS.
I know the place,
South of Mount Aventine it lies; the grove
Of spreading beeches, that embower the fount,
Was her most favour'd spot.

GABINIUS.
There first she stop'd:
When, turning short, she cried, (how shall I speak it?)
“Go, tell my savage, my incestuous Brother,
“That you have seen me mad. Hark! I am call'd—
“But take this secret with you e're we part,
“There is a Hell for Murder and for Incest:
“Metellus hath been with me, my late Lord,
“Whom I, inhuman! murder'd, to make room
“For this perfidious Brother, told me so;
“And I believe it spite of Epicurus.”
Then turning from me, quick as thought she buried
This dagger in her breast: “Take it, she cried,
“To Clodius bear his last best present back,
“This weapon reeking with a Sister's blood;
“And tell him—” More she would have said, but Death
In everlasting silence seal'd her lips.

CLODIUS.
So!

(Taking and looking on the dagger.
GABINIUS.
Do not think too deeply: This sad story
Dwells in our bosoms only; wrapt in night
Her mute attendants bear her body home,
And weep her death, unknowing of the cause.

CLODIUS.
Fate now, I know thy utmost. Take the dagger:
If, when I look upon those limbs in Death,
My Heart within me sinks, and coward Nature
Melts to unwilling tears; then strike it home
One saving stroke, prevent the gathering sigh,
And meet it e're it rises to my lips.

GABINIUS.
May all the Gods confound me, if I spare you!
But now awhile retire.

CLODIUS.
And why retire?
What! Lover-like beneath some yew-tree's shade,
To stand with folded arms and drooping head,
Poring upon some moulder'd monument
By the pale moon? or holding sad discourse
With its inhabitant the Owl? Away!
No, I'll abroad; out-face the flaring day:
I never yet knew grief, but Wine cou'd cure it;
Wine is the Lethe of the Poet's Fable;
And, Clodia, there I'll bury thy remembrance.

GABINIUS.
No, lay that thorn for ever to thy breast
To keep Revenge awake.

CLODIUS.
Revenge? Ye Gods!
How flat is Life, unseason'd with Revenge?
If Glory gilds it not, how blank the page?
Had I in store myriads of dreaming years,
I'd set 'em all upon one desp'rate cast,
And mock at Cicero in the arms of Death.

GABINIUS.
Then take this dagger back, and on its blade,
With bloody characters empurpled o'er,
Read the last will of Clodia: Hah! what says it?

CLODIUS.
Thou curst Remembrancer! 'twice aim'd in vain
At Caius Frugi's breast, now dy'd, alas!
In the life-blood of her, who sent thee to me,
Lie there, and make acquaintance with my Heart.

GABINIUS.
And why not plant it, where it first was aim'd,
In Caius Frugi's breast? How my soul fires
At that detested name! O Clodius, Clodius,
This is the hour, if thou dar'st do a deed
To make thy name a terror, and appall
Ev'n Heav'n itself; this is th'important hour.
In Vesta's Fane assembles all the House
Of Cicero; a weak unguarded crew,
Fondly presuming on their sacred refuge,
And confident 'gainst all attempts.

CLODIUS.
Enough.
Not all the Synod of the Gods can shake me.
Did I respect thee, Fauna, and thy rites,
Goddess, rever'd of women? Then, O Vesta,
In spite of thee and thy perennial fires,
Ev'n at thy altar's foot I'll seize my Victims;
While the chaste flame looks pale at my attempt,
And dimly lights me to my great revenge.

(Exeunt.