 | The Sybil or the Elder Brutus |  |
31
ACT III.
A Court belonging to Tarquin's Palace. In the front a grand entrance, with folding Gates closed.Tullia with a Soldier.
Tul.
Where is the prefect, who commands our guards?
Why don't you sally and disperse these rioters?
Sold.
Madam, the insurgents have repuls'd your guard;
The western gate is forc'd; Flavius Corunna,
The captain of the watch, is kill'd amongst them.
Tul.
Go, tell the carrion slaves if they persist
I'll have their heads upon the gates this night;
But if they'll come like sober citizens
At noon, the prætor shall redress their wrongs.
[Exit Soldier.
Sextus enters.
Tul.
You have done well, sir! was it not enough
To have your range through all our willing dames,
But you must stain an honourable bed,
And force our noblest matron?
Sex.
What's my crime?
What have I done but what Rome's founder did?
Our Sabine mothers made not half this coil,
When by their lusty ravishers compell'd
They peopled Rome by rapes.
Tul.
Lucretia's dead.
Sex.
The more fool she to die for such a toy.
Tul.
I tell thee, madman, thou hast torn by the roots
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Dost thou not see; canst thou not hear? All Rome
Is up in arms and thundering at our gates
For just revenge.
Sex.
Revenge!—Our slaves our masters?
Imperial Deities, revenge for slaves?
Give them the torture; send them to the Furies,
And let them learn revenge of those who teach it.
Roman Soldier returns.
Sold.
All's lost! The palace is in flames; nor threats,
Nor supplications move; the frantic throng
Madder than bacchanalians toss their brands
And spread the blaze around; they thirst for blood,
Prince, for thy blood.
Sex.
My blood! By father Mars,
They shall not buy a drop from out these veins,
But at a price shall make them rue the purchase.
[Draws his sword and rushes out, followed by the soldier.
Tul.
Gods! whither shall a frantic mother fly?
Accursed seige of Ardea! Oh, one cohort,
That I had here one cohort!—Tarquin, Tarquin,
Where art thou? save thy wife, thy son, thy city!
Ah! if amidst my legions I might fall,
Death were not then inglorious; but to perish
By the vile scum of Rome, hunted by dogs,
Baited to death by brawling base mechanics—
Shame insupportable!
Titus enters.
Tit.
What is this rage?
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Tul.
Rome as one man revolts. Heav'n guard our lives!
Why come you thus alone? Where is Tarquinia?
Tit.
Lo, where she stands immovable, aghast,
List'ning the shock. I do but fly for succour.
Where is the prince; where's Sextus?
Tul.
Where? Oh heavens!
His madness hath undone us. Where is Sextus?
Perhaps ev'n now the barbarous ruffians hurl him
Alive into the flames, or piecemeal drag
Along the streets his mangled trunk—
Tit.
No more
Let me go forth.
Vitellius meets and stops him.
Vit.
Turn, noble Roman, turn;
Set not your life upon a desperate stake.
Fly, seize the moment, wretched queen, and fly!
Hark, they are at your gates!
[A shout.
Tul.
Is my son slain?
Vit.
Furious he sprang upon the rabble throng,
And hew'd his desperate passage; but the time
Admits no further question—Save yourself!
Tul.
I was not born to fly. Let the tide enter;
Let the vile rabble look upon the eyes
Of majesty, and tremble.
Vit.
They are mad;
Nay, more than mad: 'Tis phrenzy multiplied,
When a fool leads them on.
Tul.
Hah! say what fool?
Vit.
Your new-nam'd fool, your Brutus.
Tit.
Death! my father—
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Oh Sybil! Oh my fate! Farewell to greatness!
I've heard my doom. 'Tis past.
Tit.
Earth, earth inclose me!
Where shall I hide my shame?
Tul.
Haste to Tarquinia.
If there be yet a spark of nature left
In thy stern father's bosom, call it forth,
And keep destruction off—
Tit.
Or die defending.
[Exit.
Tul.
It comes, it bursts upon us—See! we fall,
[The Gate is burst open, and a magnificent edifice is discovered in flames.
We sink. Rome's glory moulders into ashes;
Round her gilt domes the serpent flames ascend
And hiss her to perdition. Open, earth,
Yawn to the pit of Acheron, and gulph
Me and mankind at once. Come, snaky Furies,
Lash us with fire from Pluto's hottest forge,
And desolation swallow all things up.
[Brutus is seen amidst the ruins with followers.
Hah! art thou come? Do I behold thee, Brutus?
Horrid prediction! Fool, that art my fate;
[He advances.
Vulture of Caucasus, that gnaw'st my heart!
Barbarian, stop! what seek'st thou?
L Jun.
Justice; vengeance.
Tul.
Vengeance on whom?
L Jun.
Thee and thy guilty race.
Lucretia's murder'd spirit will have vengeance:
A husband frantic with his wrongs, a father
Broken with grief and bending to his grave,
These and a suffering nation cry for justice.
Tul.
Is this your justice? Look upon these flames.
Have I deserv'd this? Hath your absent king?
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Tarquins, we cast you from us. Where is Sextus?
Yield up your son and live.
Tul.
Thou fool unnatural!
Senseless of soul, dost think I am that monster
To yield my son to thee? No, not for worlds;
Not for a thousand lives, had I so many;
Nor could I if I would: Thank'd be the Gods,
There lives of my brave race to crush thy treason,
Audacious rebel!
L. Jun.
Seize the parricide!
[They advance and surround her.
Tul.
Avaunt! I am your queen.
L. Jun.
They have no queen.
You reign no longer. In those fires you see
The funeral pile of royalty.
Tul.
Away!
Give me a sword, and let me fall like Tullia.
L. Jun.
No, we reserve our swords for nobler uses
Than to make war with women: To the Tarquins,
To your adulterous son we leave that shame.
Tul.
If then 'twill better sate thy cruelty,
Precipitate me quick into those flames,
And with the wreck of empire mix my ashes.
L. Jun.
Nor that, nor other death expect from us.
Take her to Rhæa's temple, take her hence,
And lodge her with her ancestors.
Tul.
Ye Gods,
My father's sepulchre—I'll not approach it.
L. Jun.
'Twill furnish wholesome recollection. Hence!
Tul.
Not to that fatal place—send me not thither.
L. Jun.
'Tis fixt.
Vit.
Will Brutus hear an ancient friend?
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Brutus will hear; but Brutus owns no friend,
That leagues not with him in the cause of justice.
Tul.
Choose the most loathsome dungeon—there confine me,
Or give me death instead. My heart recoils
Against that temple.
L. Jun.
There, and only there,
By your dead father's tomb, you must abide
The judgment of the state.
Tul.
Then by the Gods,
Whom for the last time I invoke, whose shrines
I've incens'd o'er and o'er, though now forsaken,
Now at my utmost need—Nor earth, nor air,
Nor the wide sea from its unbounded stores,
Shall minister support; if no means else
Of ready death present themselves, I'll starve;
No particle of food shall pass these lips,
Till, in the void of nature, hungry madness
With blank oblivion ent'ring shall confound
And cancel all perception—Now lead on!
[Exeunt Tul. and Vit. with guards.
Valerius to Brutus.
L. Jun.
Hail to my friend! smile not these ruins on thee?
Val.
Yes, Brutus; yet it is not in these fires,
The yells of dying wretches, nor the crash
Of falling palaces Valerius joys;
It is the day-spring of reviving freedom,
The dawn of brighter hopes that chears my bosom,
And makes these terrors pass away like clouds
Before the uprising sun.
L. Jun.
For me, Valerius,
Come danger in what hideous shape it may,
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To my son's sons deliverance and redemption
From the dire race of Tarquin. We have now
Far overleapt discretion, and must swim
To the glad shore, where beck'ning fortune stands,
Or perish in the gulph wherein we've plung'd.
Val.
Then let us on together, noble Brutus,
And breast the torrent. Our assembled friends
With Tarquin's spoils have rear'd a mighty pile
For dead Lucretia. They expect our coming.
L. Jun.
Proceed: I'll follow thee.
[Exit Val.
Titus meets Brutus as he is going off.
Tit.
Turn, Oh my father,
And look upon thy son.
L. Jun.
What wouldst thou? speak!
Tit.
Yes, if amidst these horrors I can find
Courage to give my agonies a voice.
L. Jun.
No more of this—be brief and to the point.
Tit.
If thou hast reason, oh, have mercy also!
But if in madness thou hast done this deed—
L. Jun.
I am not mad but as the lion is,
When he breaks down the toils, that tyrant craft
Hath spread to catch him. Think not we will suffer
These monsters to profane the air of heaven
With their unholy breath. Is there a heart
Within one Roman bosom does not pant
With ardour to avenge Lucretia's death?
Tit.
Justice demands atonement for the deed;
But is this justice?
L. Jun.
At the birth of freedom
Frantic and wild are the first struggling throes,
That cast the mighty embryo on the world:
Cradled in blood the herculean infant lies,
38
And film of imperfection; Peace and justice
And comely order welcome his approach,
And loves and graces triumph in his train.
Tit.
What mighty project labours in thy bosom?
Horror pervades my soul.
L. Jun.
The time is short,
And other calls than nature's must be serv'd.
There is some lurking passion at thy heart,
Something which sets thy faculties at variance,
And leaves but half a soul for Rome and me.
Art thou my son?
Tit.
Be witness for me, nature,
I am; but, till the Gods restor'd thy reason,
I was an orphan with a living father—
L. Jun.
Go on; confess thy weakness and dismiss it.
Tit.
'Twas in the sleep of my dear father's reason,
When Tarquin's freedman in a saucy mood
Vented vile jests at thy unhappy weakness,
Stung to the quick, I snatch'd a weapon up
And fell'd him to my foot.
L. Jun.
Why, 'twas well done.
The knave was saucy and you slew him—On!
Tit.
'Twas on this very spot Tarquinia stood,
And when her wrathful father had denounc'd
Immediate death on this my filial act,
She, with the tongue of interceding pity,
And tears that stream'd in concert with her suit,
Implor'd, prevail'd, and gave me life—and love.
L. Jun.
'Tis well! behold, I give her life for life:
Rome may be free altho' Tarquinia lives.
This I concede; but more if thou attemptest,
If, in dishonour of my great design,
Mine and thy fame thou damn'st at this great hour
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By all the Gods!—Nay, if thou dost not take
Her image, tho' with smiling Cupids deck'd,
And pluck it from thy heart, there to receive
Rome and her glories in without a rival,
Thou art no son of mine, thou art no Roman—
Nay, mark me, Titus!—thou art lost—thou'rt dead.
[Exit.
Tit.
Where is that power in nature, that can pluck
Her image from my bosom? Can the voice
Of a descended God command it from me?
It cannot be: these horrors that surround me,
This awful interdiction, the dread frown
Of a stern father, now transform'd from less
To more than man, all, all in vain conspire
To tear away her chains; a look, a word,
The gentlest breath, that whispers to my ear
The music of her voice, enslaves my sense,
And charms down all resistance. Hah! she comes,
And sorrowing comes—Had I not love enough
Without the aid of pity to augment it?
Fatally sad she looks—
Tarquinia enters.
Tarquinia, speak!
Speak, thou too beauteous mourner!
Tar.
I attend
To know if this sad crisis will decide
For truth or treason; if the son of Brutus
Will take me to his pity and protection,
Or stab with perfidy the heart that loves him.
Tit.
Cruel suspicion! Do my eyes inspire
Thoughts of such horror? beam they not upon thee
40
I live but to preserve thee.
Tar.
To what end
Am I preserv'd? I will not breathe the air
That rank rebellion taints, nor live one hour
Longer than Tarquin's daughter ought to live.
Tit.
Banish these gloomy thoughts: dear to my soul
Your honour as your person. You are free:
I have my father's sanction for your safety.
Tar.
Insolent sanction! Thou should'st not have ask'd
My life of Brutus.
Tit.
Not have ask'd thy life?
Say rather I should not have been his son:
But 'twas the will of nature, and has made me
So hateful to thee, thou would'st sooner die
Than live in safety, at my suit preserv'd.
Tar.
I scorn a life that is preserv'd by Brutus;
I scorn to outlive parents, brothers, friends,
And stand like some lone column in a desart,
Pointing where late a princely city rose.
No; I'll not live a solitary relict,
A walking pageant to swell out the train
Of some proud demagogue, whom I must thank
For charitable air; I'll die with those
Whom this dire night hath murder'd.
Tit.
Who are murder'd?
Whom hath the sword of Brutus slain? Not one
Of all thy kindred—
Tar.
Say'st thou? Lives my mother?
Tit.
She lives—and Sextus, even he escapes
The storm, which he has rais'd, and flies to Ardea.
Tar.
Speed him, ye winds, with eagle swiftness thither!
And may those thunders, that now shake the walls
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On this devoted city, whelm its towers,
And crush the traitorous hive beneath their ruins.
Now, Titus, where is now thy promis'd faith?
Did'st thou not swear no dangers should divide us?
Tit.
I did; and, constant to my oath, behold me
Thy faithful guardian in this night of terrors.
Tar.
Be still my guardian; snatch me from these terrors,
Bear me to Ardea, be the friend of nature,
And give the rescued daughter to the arms
Of her protecting parent; thus you gain
The praise of men, the blessing of the Gods,
And all that honour, all that love can grant.
Valerius enters.
Val.
Hah! art thou found? Hear me, thou son of Brutus!
I come to thee at thy great father's bidding—
Hear and obey! He wills thee to repair
To Mars's fane, where Rome's chief citizens
Assemble, to elect the public Guardians
Of peace and justice. How shall I report?
Tit.
Say, when the son of Brutus hath obey'd
The calls of mercy, he'll attend on those
Of justice and his father.
Val.
Hah! no more?
Tit.
Valerius, I well know, would not exact
From his own son other reply than this.
Val.
Beware! remember as a friend I've warn'd you.
[Exit.
Tit.
Oh my distracted heart! where shall I turn me?
Tar.
By all the guardian deities, whose shrines
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By all the demons, who prepare the heart
To rush upon the self-destroying stroke,
The same dire moment, which gives thee to Brutus,
Gives me to death.
Tit.
Oh thought of horror! Gods,
Can ye inflict distress deeper than mine?
Tar.
Why do you waver? Cast away this weakness;
Be glorious in your cruelty, and leave me.
Lo! I am arm'd—Farewell!—How I have lov'd you
My death shall witness, how you have deceiv'd me
Let your own conscience tell. Now to your father!
Now go and mingle with those murderers;
Go, teach those fiends what perjury can do,
And shew your hands bath'd in Tarquinia's blood;
The filial deed shall welcome you to Brutus,
And fill his gloomy soul with savage joy.
Tit.
Take, take me hence for ever! Let me lose
In these dear arms the very name of son,
All claims of nature, every sense but love.
Tar.
The Gods that guard the majesty of Rome,
And that sweet Power, whose influence turns thy heart
To pity and compliance, shall reward
And bless thee for the deed.
Tit.
Can he be blest
On whom a father's direful curse shall fall?—
Tar.
A madman's imprecation is no curse.
Tit.
Can he have peaceful dreams, whose very blood
Against the fountain of his life rebels?
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A countenance so awfully severe,
'Twill never from my memory.
Tar.
Be a man!
Tit.
Yes, whilst thy love upholds me I can stand
Against the world's contempt; remember only
For whose dear sake I am undone; remember
My heart was honour's once.
Tar.
And shall be ever.
Come, I will shew thee where bright honour grows,
Where thou shalt pluck it from the topmost branch,
And wear it in its freshest fairest bloom.
[Exeunt.
| The Sybil or the Elder Brutus | |