University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Lucius and Leonatus.
Lucius.
O no, my Leonatus!
Indeed it was not well—had I been present
This wager had not past.

Leon.
Why, honour'd friend?
From brutal violence, or saucy insult,
She is well guarded in her father's court—
What is there then to fear?

Lucius.
Ill blood, at least—
And possibly the venture of a life,
That is most dear to Lucius!—This same Clodio,
For skill in weapons, and a bearlike boldness,
Is rank'd among the foremost.

Leon.
Never, yet,
Was I confronted with a son of Rome,
So rudely manner'd.

Lucius.
All, of Cæsar's court,
Are not of Cæsar's confidence, nor yet
Of his commissioning; howe'er, by means
Of second links, and golden interventions,
A brute of fortune mayn't be far from favour.
The first of Clodio's faults is, want of virtue;
The second, that he hates it in another.
Agrippa link'd him with me in commission;
Nature forbids all further tie between us.

Leon.
Let him be weigh'd, before you hold him worth
Another word—But say, my noble friend,
Is war determined against Britain, then,
In all the bloody process and extent
Of military licence?

Lucius.
War, or tribute—
Such is the will of Cæsar! Yet we bear
The Roman sword, but, with more surety,
To plant the Roman olive.

Leon.
Tribute, Lucius!
Do ye insist on tribute?

Lucius.
Some light matter—
But as a term that may express submission.

Leon.
O, 'tis in that, in that alone, my friend,
That tribute turns to lead!—A drachm of weight,
A straw, a feather, to a freeborn mind,
Becomes a mountain's burden, when imposed
The badge of vile dependence!

Lucius.
Noble creature!
Conceive me as the duteous minister
Of Cæsar's will, not mine. And yet my will
And power are now intent to place a friend
Even on the throne of that unthankful country,
From whose rejecting arms he late was cast,
A hopeless exile!

Leon.
How!—restored to Britain?—
Revenge?—my Imogen?—imperial power?—
And Cæsar's favour?

Lucius.
All, by holy friendship,
I swear it, all are thine.

Leon.
Alas! my Lucius,
I did but sum the bright temptation up,
Just to behold the value, for a moment,
Of what I must reject.—
Say Lucius, that same Roman, who derived
His name of glory from Corioli,
Was he not banish'd?

Lucius.
Yes.

Leon.
And turn'd his sword
Against his country?—

Lucius.
True; and, thereby, shew'd
To thankless Rome, the richness of the pearl
Their pride had cast away.

Leon.
And was enroll'd
Among her heroes?—

Lucius.
Trust me, with the foremost.

Leon.
O wayward man, deluded, by the glare
And wildfire of ambition, from the path
That Goodness brightens with unsetting glory!—
The Line of Duty is a Rubicon,
Whose bounds no power, in earth or Heaven, can take
Or give a right to pass!—True Honour, Lucius,
From the beginning to the end of things,
Goes hand in hand with Virtue!

Lucius.
O, the gods!
Let me behold him—Let my wonder mark
The greatness of your works!

Soldier enters.
Sold.
The legions are all landed, and attend
Their general's voice, for march, or for encampment.

Lucius.
I come.
[Exit Soldier.
My Leonatus, while I touch, and talk,
[Takes his hand.
And breathe within the region of thy virtues,
I too, methinks, grow greater than Augustus;
And feel, in these expandings of my soul,
That honour's more than empire.

[Exeunt.