University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Lucius.
I will report the truth; too visible
Is the sad object from our crowded walls.
Unhappy mother! whom excess of anguish
Drives to pursue additional distress!
O! good and great Æmilius! how my soul
Is griev'd for thee, and for thy valiant sons!
Whom I so oft have carried in my arms.
My generous master made me free in vain;
Still I remain'd a voluntary slave,
Prefer'd his service in a foreign land
To sweet Larissa, and my native shore.
My only son, under his roof brought forth,
Born on the day that gave young Titus birth,
Bred up with him in every Roman art,
Unlike the rudeness of our simple land,
Wild with despair, vows he will not outlive
His dear, dear lord! his kind, his noble master.

Enter Cornelia.
Cornelia.
Calamity comes on me like a torrent,
And overwhelms a mind not us'd to woe.
Ha! Lucius, hast thou seen my hapless sons?
Say, can I view them from th'adjacent wall?

Lucius.
Too well, alas! conspicuous they stand.

Cornelia.
Lucius, lead on.

Lucius.
Reluctant I obey.
I fear the transports of a mother's mind.

Cornelia.
I will behold them; I will see my children,
Whate'er befal me; I will gaze upon them,
Tho' frantic madness should my soul surprise:
All lesser fears are in a greater lost.
Haste and conduct me.

Lucius.
The sad spectacle
Is near at hand.

Cornelia.
O! feeble limbs that fail,
And weakly serve the strength of my despair!

Lucius.
'Tis nature shrinks. O! lady! yet be warn'd.

Cornelia.
No; if my wretched limbs refuse their office,
The arms of slaves shall bear me to the wall.
I'm firmer now, proceed.

Lucius.
The herald comes.

Cornelia.
The last of heralds; but I will not tarry.

[Exeunt Cornelia and Lucius.
Enter Herald and Varus.
Varus.
This is the place appointed by the consul;
Find, and inform him quickly of my presence.

[Exit Herald.
Varus
alone.
They must not die. It were a deed, to strike
Horror from pole to pole. The Parthian fierce,
And the wild Moor would tremble at the tale,
And mark accurst the pale of Roman empire.
Tyrant, too savage over beasts to rule!
Fidelity to thee were horrid treason
To human nature, to the gracious gods,
Who o'er distrest humanity preside.
This day has full display'd the tyrant's soul,
And ripen'd thoughts long growing in my breast.
'Tis vain to think of antient freedom now;
The senate, and the people are no more.
Rome's vast dominions for the scepter call,
The world subdu'd, one master must command.
But let us have a monarch, not a tyrant.

Enter Æmilius.
Æmilius.
Varus return'd! can Maximin relent!

Varus.
Never! his rage would stab the hoary Priest
Before the altar. Hardly have I gain'd
This last renewal of the first conditions.

Æmilius.
Where is the host of Rome?

Varus.
Far distant still.
Those squadrons, that in evil hour alarm'd
The tyrant, and defeated our design,
The zeal of Gordianus had advanced
To chear your troops, with promise of relief.

Æmilius.
'Tis fate o'erwhelms us. To the tyrant bear
My first and latest answer. With delight,
With transport I would die to save my sons;
But will not save them by an act of baseness.

Varus.
With fortitude, with dignity, Æmilius,
Thou hast sustain'd this cruel shock of fortune,
And justify'd the sentiments of Rome,
That plac'd her sovereign confidence in thee.
Now hear the counsel of a faithful friend,
Anxious for thee, and zealous for his country.

Æmilius.
No vain desire of glory rules my breast;
I feel the throbs of nature: all I wish
Is to be just to Rome; I envy not,
Nor emulate the older Brutus' fame.

Varus.
The profer'd terms accept, and save thy children.
Rome shall not suffer: when her troops draw near,
I will forsake the tyrant's shatter'd side,
And fix the fortune of the future field.

Æmilius.
Compassion dictates this delusive counsel;
Thy pity for a miserable father;
But chance may marr thy generous design,
And deep dismay for Aquileia lost,
Confound the legions that contend for Rome.
Then whither shall forlorn Æmilius fly?
Where shall he hide him from reproach and shame?
What joy, what comfort, will his children yield,
When he and they with infamy must dwell?
A new companion to our noble race.
No! rather let the blow tremendous fall,
And crush us in the path our fathers trod.
I see the image of my bleeding country:
I hear the voice of Rome her consul call;
The chosen guardian in her last extreme.
City of gods! mother of heroes fam'd
Like gods of old! shall I abandon thee,
For whom so many noble youths have died,
So many fathers?
Enter Cornelia.
Now, my heart, be firm.

Cornelia.
Where is Æmilius? the hard-hearted father,
Who whets the tyrant's sword against his children!

Æmilius.
Alas, Cornelia!

Cornelia.
I have seen my sons,
Both bound with chains: I saw the deadly ax,
And the stern villain standing by their side.
Consul! I kneel to thee! O hear thy wife!
Hear me, my husband, whilst I yet have sense
And reason left to regulate my words.
O drive me not to madness, to despair:
Already wavering on the brink I stand,
In agony extreme.

Æmilius.
Trust in the gods;
They sooth the agonies of guiltless woe,
But to despair resign the self-condemn'd.
O my beloved wife, do not assail
Thy husband's soul, that labours to be just.
Heaven knows how dear to my afflicted heart
Thou, and the pledges of our virtuous love,
Have ever been; more dear than ever now.
But if their danger, and thy fears should bend
My yielding mind to baseness and to shame,
Remorse would break the concord of our love,
And hate succeed to criminal affection.

Cornelia.
Me only hate; acquit thy noble sons,
Too like thyself; Æmilius, had'st thou seen,
Thy sons, as I beheld them from the ramparts.
With head erect, and high, my Paulus stood.
I knew his stature eminent; unmov'd,
And stedfast was his gesture, firm he seem'd,
Like a strong castle on its rocky base.
The port of Titus shew'd a mind less calm.
Around he look'd, and from his scornful eyes,
Threw on his foes defiance, and disdain.
At last in earnest speech the brothers join'd.
I saw them whisper; Paulus bow'd his head.
The multitude, long silent at my presence,
Lamented then; the weeping mothers clasp'd
Their infants to their breasts, and look'd at me:
I left the walls, to find thee out, my husband!
And lead thee thither, that thou might'st relent.

Æmilius.
Relent, Cornelia! O eternal powers,
That see the anguish of my tortur'd soul,
Sustain me still; let not my duty yield
To the strong yearning of a father's heart.

Cornelia.
Why speaks not Varus? Has he too conspir'd
Against me and my children?

Varus.
I have spoke,
And told the consul, that his sons may live,
And Roman arms o'er Maximin prevail.

Cornelia.
What would'st thou more? inexorable man!

Varus.
I see the bottom of thy troubled mind,
And in this awful hour revere thy virtue,
Which stands aloof, and trembles at dishonour.
But hear this new addition to my counsel;
Soldiers I have, in every danger try'd,
Bred to hard service in our British wars,
Accustom'd to explore the forests wild,
Alone, amidst the perils of the night,
And mingle fearless with the savage foes;
Disguis'd in their attire and uncouth arms,
Of those the most expert, I will dispatch,
That Gordianus may his arms advance.

Enter an Officer.
Officer.
My Lord, your son approaches.

Cornelia.
Ha! my son!

Officer.
Titus your son, attended by a herald,
Slow thro' the gazing multitude proceeds,
Who weep and bless him.

Æmilius.
Ha! what change is this?

Officer.
The herald as he passes scatters gladness,
Saying that Titus comes to end the war,
And to compassion move his father's mind.

Æmilius.
Titus! does Titus come to plead compassion?
Now destiny, thou tramplest down Æmilius.
Go tell him, Herald, that I will not see him;
Let him not come to hear me curse the hour
That made me father of a son like him.

Cornelia.
Judge not so rashly, see and hear thy son.

Æmilius.
Mention him not; that father has my envy
Who mourneth o'er his sons in battle slain.
Short-sighted mortals! Let no man repine
When fate bereaves him of the child he loves;
Amidst his anguish let him think of mine,
And that will comfort him.

Cornelia.
This is not well,
Nor like my son; yet valour cannot change
Its quality so quickly. He hath prov'd
His dauntless courage. Death in terror clad
Could not dismay him. But his noble mind
Is sway'd by pity of his brother's fate,
In his involv'd.

Enter Titus.
Æmilius.
Gods! unabash'd he seems,
Nor at his most inglorious purpose blushes.

[Æmilius turns from him.
Cornelia.
Dear to thy mother still.

Titus
. [To his father.]
Turn not away,
Nor hold thy Titus of one look unworthy.

Æmilius.
Art thou my Titus? Thou that fear'st to die,
And comes a servile suppliant for life!
With coward prayers to seduce the consul.
No! thou art not my son. I had a son!
Whose only fault was valour to excess,
Whose fatal courage was the source of ills
Which he was bound in honour to sustain.
Thou art not he! thou scandal to thy country!
Thou tool of Maximin.

Titus.
Wrong not thy son.
Fast roll the number'd moments of my life,
And I must hasten to redeem my fame.

Cornelia.
I fear, but know not what his words portend,

Titus.
I have deceiv'd the tyrant, and am come
No messenger or counsellor of shame.
The cause of honour, of my father's honour,
The cause of Rome against myself I plead,
And in my voice the noble Paulus speaks.
Let no man pity us; aloft we stand
On a high theatre, objects I think
Of admiration, and of envy rather.
The tyrant and his menac'd deaths we scorn,
The chearful victims of our sacred country.

Æmilius.
Hear this! O earth and heaven! my son! my pride!
Come to thy father's arms; now, now I know
My blood again. O bitter pleasing hour!
For I must lose thee, lose thee, O my hero!
Now when I love thee best, and most admire.

Cornelia.
Preserve that virtue which you thus admire,
My son! my husband! Varus pity me.

Titus.
This to prevent I came; the force I fear'd
Of strong affection, and a mother's tears.
We saw the busy heralds come and go,
And trembled lest the consul might be won;
For ebbing resolution ne'er returns,
But still falls farther from its former shore.
To aid my father in this trying hour
Did I assume a dastard's vile disguise.

Æmilius.
And did I meet thee with reproach and anger?
With scorn encounter my devoted son,
Who came to strengthen and support his sire?
Forgive me, last of the Æmilian line!
Pure and unstain'd the current of our blood
Ends as it long has flow'd.

Cornelia.
O Varus! speak,
Tell them, thou guardian angel of thy country!
That Rome does not this sacrifice demand.
Why should they die in vain?

Varus.
Thou noble youth,
Whose life more and more precious still I deem,
I am the friend of Rome; of yonder host
No slender part under my ensigns move.
With them I watch the tyrant's overthrow,
And guard my country with a stronger power,
Than Aquileia, and her feeble walls.
Great is thy glory, thou hast reach'd the top
Of magnanimity in bloom of youth,
The Regulus reviv'd of antient Rome;
Inflexible to terror, yield to prudence,
No tongue shall tax thine or thy father's fame.

Titus.
Renowned Varus! often have I heard
Of thee, and of thy virtues; oft rejoic'd,
That I could claim affinity with them;
But not the sanction of thy honour'd voice,
Not all the credence due to worth like thine,
Can move my stedfast mind. There is but one,
One only path which mortals safely tread,
The sacred path of rectitude and truth.
I follow, tho' it leads me to the tomb.
Forgive me, noble Roman! o'er thy head,
Perhaps, this instant dire discovery hangs,
And thou and Rome are lost, and basely lost.
No, let the consul, as he ought, defy
The tyrant's threat'ning, and rely on heav'n.
For me, and Paulus too, our hearts are fix'd,
Deliberation of our state is vain:
For if the consul should this city yield,
Inevitable death abides his sons.

Cornelia.
Eternal Gods! thy mystic words explain.

Titus.
A solemn oath determin'd we have sworn,
Ne'er to survive th'ignominious ransom.
Restor'd to liberty, to death we fly,
And perish mutual by each other's sword.

Æmilius.
Immortal Gods! who gave me sons like these,
Forsake them not, but guard your work divine.

Cornelia.
My best-belov'd! my darling! my fond heart
Bleeds tenderness for thee. But there is something
So awful and so great, a glory round thee,
Which dazzles and o'erwhelms me. O my son!
Is life a burden? Lov'st thou not thy parents?
Who for the love of thee would gladly die.

Titus.
Think not, O best of mothers, best of women,
That with unfilial arrogance I speak.
My heart is full this instant of affection,
Hard to suppress. Dear to my soul are those
I leave behind, bitter to me their sorrows.
But destiny supreme hath mark'd my way:
And I accept what honour cannot shun.
By trivial accident, by various ills
Fatal to man, thou might'st have lost thy sons,
And they in dark oblivion would have slept:
But now I see the goal that Jove assigns,
And glory terminates our short career.
Be this thy comfort; I avow it mine.
Admir'd and mourn'd by Rome, for Rome we die,
Of fate secure, immortal is our fame,
And spotless laurels deck thy childrens tomb.

Cornelia.
Mysterious Powers! how strange is my distress!
Thy virtue, Titus, rends thy mother's heart!
Ev'n now the grandeur of thy tow'ring soul
Exalts my humbler mind to thoughts like thine:
But when thou goest, alas! I sink again,
Like the weak Pythian when her God has left her.

Titus.
My father!

Æmilius.
O my son, thou art the judge
And arbiter of fate. Time, rapid fly,
And bring a joyful victory to Rome.
Let me but see the scale of combat turn'd,
And die in glad assurance of her safety.

Varus.
The hero's fire invades my secret soul:
Like his my bosom burns. You shall not die,
[To Titus.]
Unaided and alone. Perhaps the Gods!—
I know not that; but I will raise a pile
Of glorious ruin. Shine, ye stars of Rome.
First in the column stand my British bands.
[To Æmilius.]
Prepare your squadrons, and protract the time
Of his return.

Enter Priest of Jupiter and the younger Lucius.
Priest.
Consul of mighty Rome!
Firm be the purpose of the present hour.
The sire of Gods a happy sign hath giv'n:
Trust in the aid of heav'n's eternal king,
His adamantine ages Jove extends.

Varus.
Romans and friends, farewell! Undaunted Titus,
I go to aid thee too with mortal arms.
[Exit Varus.

Titus.
Deem me not impious, servant of the Gods!
Thee, and thy sacred office I revere,
But signs and omens may our thoughts deceive.
Men may mistake the purposes of heav'n;
The shield of Jove guards not the brave man's life,
Nor wards his body from the mortal blow.
A shield there is, that never can be pierc'd,
The heav'nly armour of a mind resolv'd.
That mail, who wears, against all force is clad,
And triumphs o'er the fate by which he falls.

Enter Officer.
Officer.
My Lords! th'assembled citizens demand
An audience.

Æmilius.
Tell them, No. It will require
My presence to appease their fearful clamour.
Retire, my son, and till the herald comes
A sad but dear society enjoy.

Exeunt.