University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Apartments of Vitellia.—Vitellia, Sextus.
Vitellia.
Thou dost but mock me. Must I hear for ever
How great thy preparations, while I know
How poor the deeds that follow. What avails it
That thy deep practices with Lentulus
Inflamed his ardor; that the fuel's laid
To wrap the towering capitol in fire;
(The appointed signal to begin the assault
On the unguarded Titus) that our friends
On the right arm display a Tyrian scarf,
Amidst the blaze and tumult to distinguish
The abettors of our boldness,—this dull tale
With nauseous iteration ten times boasted
Indignant I have heard. Still my revenge
Preys on itself, the tyrant lives to scorn me,
Lives to usurp a throne by right Vitellia's,
Nay worse, to brave me by a public act
That gives my sceptre, and his worthless hand
To Syrian Berenice.

Sextus.
Worthless hand!
Then wherefore anxious how he give that hand?
Why shou'd you wish it offer'd?

Vitellia.
To reject it.
What can I plead for thee? My own just rage
That burns unceasing in this boiling breast,
At times seems heighten'd by thy fiercer flame.
What will not Sextus dare at parting from me;
Allegiance, danger, friendship, melt before me.
But when I fly with ready recompence,
I find the promis'd service unperform'd,
Some haggar'd fear arrests thy trembling arm,
Phantoms, and doubts, and conscience shiver thee.
How can I reconcile such contraries,
Such ardor with such coldness?

Sextus.
I as well
Might bid the rapid whirlwind give me audience,
For while intemperate choler—

Vitellia.
Now I'm calm,
Now to thy casuistry—if words have power
To reconcile a lover's faith and honour
With expectations, rais'd but to be crush'd,
With oaths dissolv'd, even like the breath that form'd them,
Thou art a rhetorician subtler far
Than he of Greece, or our own smooth-tongued Tully.

Sextus.
I know no art, nor does this cause require it.
If 'tis a crime to be irresolute,
Where duty, honour, gratitude combine
To bid me not resolve; I own the charge,
Nay ought (whate'er the forfeit) glory in it.
Cou'd I at once determine on this deed,
Did no compunctious harrowings within
Print deep the prohibition on my soul:
I were a monster, madam, not a Roman.

Vitellia.
A Roman! no, give o'er that empty boast;
Shame of the unworthy.—Oaths are bonds with Romans,
Even at the altar of eternal Truth,
The holy fane clasp'd by thy outstretch'd arms
I bound thee by such sacred ceremonies,
(When first I listen'd to thy well-feign'd passion)
Ne'er to divulge what to thy faith I trusted,
And next, tho' Stygian horrors compass'd it
To join my vengeance; now to hear this sound,
This windy vaunt “that Sextus is a Roman.”

Sextus.
Whatever be my country, or my nature,
One character I wear indelible,
Thy fond, thy faithful lover. Oh Vitellia!
The wavering of my soul too strongly proves
How fierce the storm that shakes me. Yet alas!
Like the tall pine when Caurus takes his top,
While the sharp axe indents his trunk beneath,
I struggle, but to fall. Say is it little,
I can even think to perpetrate a crime
To late posterity must damn my fame,
Blanch the dark records of past villainy,
And make the name of Cæsar's treacherous friend
Stand single in th'abhor'd pre-eminence!

Vitellia.
Then be the friend of Cæsar, from this hour
No more Vitellia's lover.

Sextus.
Ever, ever.
My fruitless turmoil in the fatal snare
But winds it closer round me. Urged by thee
Treason seems justice, dark assassination
Wears the bright robe of honourable vengeance.
I know the infatuation of my soul,
There is no crime of deepest ebon dye
My prompt obedience would not perpetrate.
By thee arraign'd this gracious emperor
Seems to deserve the bloodiest tyrant's doom,
But oh when I approach his matchless virtues,
My fury turns to reverence, awe, and wonder.

Vitellia.
Brave when the danger's distant—what more common?
The courage of our peasants.—But go on.

Sextus.
Unjust Vitellia! think ere you condemn
A heart so torn as mine—you steel my arm
To wreak your dire revenge, the emperor
Demands my loyalty. Thy offer'd hand
Impels on one side, every tye of honour
Binds me to Titus. All my love, is thine,
My duty, his. To thee when I return,
Some new discover'd beauty fires my sense,
While in the Soul of Titus I admire
Some freshly blooming virtue. Scorned by thee
Life were a burden, yet to pay this price
Seals me a wretch for ever. Powers of justice!
Can she hear this, and yet reproach her Sextus?

Vitellia.
Assure thyself of no reproach from me.
Scorn and contempt are silent monitors.

Sextus.
Yet think ere one irrevocable stroke
Deprive the world of its first ornament,
Rome of a father, Nature of a friend.
Revolve the heroic spirits of times past,
See him unparallel'd.

Vitellia.
He has some virtues,
But men like monsters only are without them.
Nero reign'd five years wisely.—But my father!
Was there an insult to sink degradation
From Pride's high pinnacle to ignominy,
Unpractised on their emperor? Hooted, drag'd,
(The dagger at his throat) by dungeon slaves
O'er their polluted pavements. O just Até
Appease his manes with luxuriant slaughter!

Sextus.
What justice can involve him in the charge?
He not contrived, nor countenanced the outrage.

Vitellia.
No, but he profits by it. That condemns him.

Sextus.
I know him form'd with every excellence,
Brave, pious, merciful, benevolent.
Would he reward desert, his coffers seem
Poor to his boundless liberality.
Is he constrain'd to punish, his sweet nature
Finds some soft palliative for every wretch,
Green inexperience pleads the excuse for one,
Grey hairs absolves another. Every day
That passes o'er his head unmark'd by bounty
He calls a blank in life, and strikes it off
As worthless to be number'd.

Vitellia.
Grant it all.
Yet still he reigns.—

Sextus.
He reigns 'tis true, Vitellia!
But all the cares of royalty are his,
And all the blessings ours—the laurel wreath,
The Imperial purple.—

Vitellia.
Hear, majestic Juno!
And dost thou come with pomp of sounding words
The herald of my foe, to trumpet forth
His irksome virtues? sure thou hast forgot
This boasted pageant wears the diadem
His father tore from mine. Say shou'd he not,
(Had he monarch's sense of royal justice)
Have shar'd that diadem his father ravish'd
With her who rightly own'd it?

Sextus.
Ah Vitellia!
Is this the proof of hate? the vizor falls,
In vain its outside varnish wou'd display
The father's wrongs, the daughter's piety,
Reveal'd beneath the genuine face displays
The burning flush of angry jealousy.—

Vitellia.
Jealousy!

Sextus.
Alas! too plain.

Vitellia.
How, jealousy!

Sextus.
And must this desperate hand.—

Vitellia.
I'll hear no more.
Here I absolve thee from thy worthless vows,
Thus give them to the winds. Soon shall I find
A braver arm to vindicate my cause.

Sextus.
I cannot bear these frowns.

Vitellia.
Away, unhand me,
Let Titus bleed, and call Vitellia thine.

To them, Annius.
Annius.
Sextus! the emperor seeks thee.

Vitellia.
Quick, be gone.
'Tis strange he can afford a moment's leisure
To any but his lovely Berenice.

Annius.
Madam, he pays th'obedience he exacts.
Governing himself, he learns to rule the world.
Within this hour, by his especial order,
The unwilling queen departed.

Sextus.
How!

Vitellia.
What say'st thou?

Annius.
Present I saw the tender separation,
And scarce cou'd trust the fortitude I witness'd.

Vitellia.
My hopes revive.

[Aside.
Sextus.
O unexampled virtue!

Vitellia.
Wou'd I had seen it! with what extacy
Cou'd I have heard the proud forsaken wretch
Reproach her faithless lover.

Annius.
Tears alone
Were her upbraidings. Gently she withdrew,
Convinced the tender soul of Titus suffer'd
More than her own, by the constrain'd adieu.

Vitellia.
Her pride perhaps deceived her.

Annius.
No, 'twas plain
Conflict preceded conquest. But the senate,
And Rome's repeated wish.—

Vitellia.
The senate, Rome!
It is a kind of mockery to name them.
Did they not flatter Nero? Half the crimes
Of their mad emperors, Rome's slaves engender'd.
Her infancy was savage and unjust,
Polish'd depravity her riper age,
With every new refinement, some new guilt,
Even in her sports and pleasures barbarous.
But now, her rank maturity arrived,
She soaks and fattens in gross infamy.
If there were any righteous Jupiter,
His thunder would proclaim him. This vile city,
This stew of sordid vice and luxury,
Upturn'd from its foundations, rent and crush'd
Would smoke in frightful piles, a monument
That there were gods, and Rome provok'd their vengeance.

[Apart to Vitellia.
Sextus.
The object of your hatred changes quickly,
'Twas Titus, now 'tis Rome. I see the cause
Of this so sudden mutability.

Vitellia.
You see with jaundiced eye. But mark me Sextus!
[Still apart.
'Twere most unwise to prosecute our vengeance,
Till the fresh gloss of this late specious act
Fades in the public eye—you look mistrust.
My will you have heard—obey me or resign me.
[Exit Vitellia.

Remain Annius and Sextus.
Annius.
Why droops my friend! Why o'er thy labouring brow,
Rides that black tempest, while beneath, thine eye
Glares wildly to the centre?

Sextus.
Annius, Annius!
I am a wretch whom Jove's almighty arm
Cou'd scarce pluck from perdition. Let me warn thee,
Give not unbounded empire o'er thy soul,
To proud revengeful woman.

Annius.
Nay my friend!
Sink not beneath the scorn of that coy beauty.
Yet full orb'd charms like her's, tho' past the bud,
Strike deeper root in the young amorous heart
Than equal youth in its fresh primy bloom,
Than Hebe or Janthe's orient softness.

Sextus.
Their smiles are goddesses, but once inflamed,
All good perverted to its opposite,
Keen in the feeling of imagin'd wrongs,
They know no ties, all duties sink beneath them,
Virtue and vice are shades, to fade or glow,
As their outrageous passions give them colour.

Annius.
I view them Sextus in a brighter mirror,
A pure expanse unclouded and serene,
Thy lovely sister's charms. This day my friend,
(For fair Cornelia smiled her approbation,)
Knit close the ties of our dear amity,
And gain the emperor's consent to join us.

Sextus.
He has heap'd his favours on me, and I know
[Sighing deeply.
Unworthy as I am, will meet my wish
United thus to thine, with gracious ardor.
May the soft powers who smile on nuptial bliss
Lucina, Hymen, and the Idalian love,
Strew their unfading roses o'er your couch,
And from the brightness of your mutual joy
Send one kind gleam to warm this chearless breast,

Annius.
Nay, do not wound me with this deep dejection.
Had Fortune thus conspired to make thee happy
I swear I wou'd have hush'd my own complaints,
Nor let one inauspicious thought intrude
To cloud my gladness in a friend's contentment.
Farewell. I will precede thee to the emperor,
And wait impatient till you crown my wishes.

Sextus.
Anon I'll follow thee. Farewell one moment.
[Exit Annius.
Sextus, alone.
For see the fiery Lentulus appears.
Indignant of restraint, I know he comes,
With furious zeal to chide my cold delay,
And push me to destruction.

To him, Lentulus.
Lent.
Well encounter'd,
All is disposed, why then this dull suspense,
Our eager friends like staunch hounds in the leash,
Pant for the welcome signal to be loos'd,
And snuff the destin'd quarry.

Sextus.
Are they then
So eager to embrue their ruthless fangs
In the rich blood of Titus, are they weary
(Unthinking fools) to their own happiness,
Blind to the blessings of his gentle reign,
To heaven ungrateful, do they wish to seat
A direr Nero in the imperial chair,
And bow the knee to the remorseless brother.

Lent.
Of that hereafter. No, they wish to avoid
The fate of poor Alienus and Marcellus,
Who with protracting councils like our own
Conspir'd against Vespasian, and gave time
For this his son's preventive vigilance
To turn the destin'd slaughter on themselves.

Sextus.
O righteous doom of black conspiracy,
Always abhor'd, and rarely fortunate.
The blood that issues from a monarch's wound
Ensanguines deep the sword which dares to shed it.
What gain'd the noblest of conspirers, Brutus
By Cæsar's slaughter, but to fall himself
By the same steel and dying to prophane
Substantial virtue as an empty shadow?

Lent.
He made half work, he left a second Cæsar.
But like ripe corn beneath the sharpen'd scythe.
Here the whole Flavian line shall down together.

Sextus.
O Rome, preposterous Rome! how many tyrants
Smear'd with the blood of your best citizens
Have in their palaces slept undisturb'd,
And sunk in peace to execrated graves,
While this great Paragon—

Lent.
For shame forbear.
These thoughts should have preceded, not crept after
Your bold concurrence in a perilous league.
Like the vile rabble in our warlike triumphs,
Disgracing the proud pomp they howling follow.
Where were these thoughts when thy young ardour found me
Brooding o'er mutter'd threats, and unshap'd mischief?
Thy forward zeal bad me despise complaint,
And Roman-like trust to my arm for vengeance.

Sextus.
Oh the more villain I, and every tongue
Like thine should lash me with the memory.
But you invert the charge. Black was the hour
That knowing thee I shun'd not—you received me,
While yet the embrio guilt but gasp'd within me,
With quick, preventive, keen malignity—

Lent.
And sav'd thy puny blushes. But no matter,
With pride I wear the wreath, pale fear casts from thee.
Be it thine to praise him Sextus, and betray:
Mine to avow my anger, and chastise:
In thee it may be guilt, in me 'tis justice.

Sextus.
The difference I doubt. 'Tis your's to explain it.

Lent.
When the world's wonder, Sion's haughty Temple,
Smok'd on the ground an undistinguish'd ruin,
Fast by his side I fought. There he beheld
How this good arm, scarce second to his own,
Dealt death among his foes; but when I ask'd
To rule the province, I had help'd to conquer,
He durst deny me—what the reason think you?
Because those outcasts of the peopled world,
The scum and scorn of nations, Jews, vile Jews,
Accused me of extortion in his absence.

Sextus.
Was that the cause? O god-like emperor!
How shall the breath of friendship raise thy name,
When hate itself brings wreaths to thy renown
And points its accusation from thy virtue.

Lent.
Thou pale cold medler in a manly danger
Go with thy palsied conscience, aspen traitor!
Fall at the tyrant's foot, reveal thy plot,
But cast the blame on me, or some brave Roman
Seduced by thy false tongue, and now betray'd.

Sextus.
Rail on—I have deserv'd it—

Lent.
Be a man,
And what you durst contrive, dare execute.
The dull are unsuspicious. This good emperor,
Whom our prone senate have already godded,
(For reptiles can make gods) is penetrable
By any gallant steel.

Sextus.
And know'st thou not,
That she who set thee on,—I blush to name her,
That beauteous mischief, wou'd suspend the blow.

Lent.
Be thou the floating feather of her whim,
Move or be still as her caprice ordains it.
I shall plow on with my broad canvass spread,
Too full to waver with a woman's breath.
Tho' she indeed deserves a firmer sex:
Woman in beauty, but a bold she falcon,
That masculinely soars on female pinions.
Our Clelias, Portias, Arrias rise in her.

Sextus.
And canst thou do this deed?

Lent.
And canst thou ask it?
I'm weary of this wrangling. Freeze thou here,
While I go send him to enjoy his godship.
His apotheosis on earth is little.
Above our heads, throned near immortal Jove,
With pity he'll look down on this dim earth,
And thank me for his passport to the skies.
[Exit Lentulus.

Sextus,
alone.
These are the bitter fruits of treachery,
This thing of malice I myself have hatch'd,
This viper of my treason, with foul breath
Casts back the venom he imbibed from me,
And stings while he obeys me. Shame and ruin!
I have step'd midway in the swelling tide,
While the loud torrent thunders from above.
Where'er I turn, grim horror sits array'd,
And shakes a dreadful dart. I dare not pass,
Nor can regain the shore. Avenging Jove!
Bare thy red arm, chuse out thy hottest bolt,
And headlong hurl me to the hell I merit.

[Exit.