University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

Valerius hands in Valeria.
Valer.
This is my niece, your cousin, the fair daughter
Of your aunt Julia.

[They salute.
Favon.
May superior happiness,
Shining and bright as her superior beauty,
Attend her ever!

Valer.
O, confirm his wish,
Ye powers of bliss!—Look down, ye favouring gods!
And ye blest shades of our renown'd forefathers,
Perfect their union!
This, this, my Cimbrius, is the beauteous maid,
Of whom I told you—the fair virgin bride,
Ordain'd to make you happy.

[Joins their hands.
Favon.
How, my lord!
[Withdraws his hand.
Did you not say that she was Fabius' daughter?

Valer.
She is, my son;
His much beloved, his late adopted daughter.

Favon.
And have you not, Lord Fabius, have you not
Another daughter?

Julia.
Yes—at least, so stiled—
A nominal adoption!—one who is
A stranger to his blood, as to his fortunes—
A beggar'd orphan!—one he took from want,
In charity of nature!

Fab.
O, not so,
Not so, my love!—Lavinia has her merit;
And is of ancient ancestry, the first,
Even the first in Rome—at least when Rome
Esteem'd her Romans, not by wealth, but virtue!

Julia.
No matter—let her pass—she is not worth
The question—'Tis this scholar here, who piques me;
Who, in his halls of high philosophy,
Has rudely learn'd to scorn a lady's favour!—
This soldier too—who, swoln with his exploits,
Looks scornful down upon the noblest house
Of his own ancestors!

Valer.
He dare not—for his life, he dare not do it—
He knows his duty; knows my word is past,
Irrevocably firm, and fix'd as fate!—
But, let us not pollute this day of joy,
With clouded omen, and with needless quarrel.
I leave him with you—should he treat our daughter
With less than that respect, that tender delicacy,
Fitting her merit, and his own engagements,
May all the curses of the avenging gods,
Of Rome's dread genii, and our great forefathers,
Fall on his guilty head!

[Exeunt the Pontiff and his train one way; Julia, Valeria, Favonius, and Fabius, another.