University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Terentia enters.
Lavin.
My mother!

Teren.
My child, my dear Lavinia!
[They embrace.
What, still in tears, like mountain rills that flow
Incessant from their spring?—What is thy trouble?
Unlade the burden of thy griefs, and I
Will bear it all.

Lavin.
Then I have still a friend—and that is plenty
To one, so very much a wretch!—Yet, mother,
Were you not cruel?—ah, why cast me from you!
Why break the bands of nature's best alliance?
Why yield me to another?

Teren.
Lest with thy mother thou shouldst share misfortune,
And poverty and scorn be all thy portion!

Lavin.
Is poverty so dreadful?—Poverty,
Parent of rosy Health, and smiling Peace,
Who sits, with Freedom, on the mountain top,
Discoursing with the Virtues!—Poverty,
Who pointed Rome the truest way to greatness,
Held sacred by her honourable sons,
The wealth of our forefathers!

Teren.
Alas, my child, those glories are no more!
Want sculks a lonely criminal in Rome,
And lowers the cheek of shame; while lordly Wealth,
Though leagued with Rapine, lifts the staff of office,
And looks reproof to Virtue. Yet there are
Some, truely Roman, though in Rome! and such
Is Fabius—he, who begg'd thee from my arms,
And swore to love thee with a father's fondness!

Lavin.
No more a father now, your child, no more,
Can find a fostering summer in his looks!
His speech is distant, and his passing eye
Confesses me an alien!

Teren.
Is it possible!—
Wherein have you offended?

Lavin.
I am all offence, an hourly nuisance—
The worm that preys upon a jealous step-dame!
She eyes me as her omen of ill fortune—
As the sad shade of some ill-stationed tree,
That hangs disastrous o'er her daughter's beauties,
And intercepts her hope—Alas, my mother,
This Cimbrius, this renown'd, of whom Rome rings,
Who should you think he is?—even that brave youth,
That very Junius, who, in my defence,
Slew Clodius and his train.

Teren.
The gods are gracious!

Lavin.
How?—
For lifting him, on whom my soul was center'd,
Where even the secret wishes of Lavinia
Must never dare to soar?

Teren.
Be told, then—that Lavinia is a mate
For any mortal hero; any consort,
Less than the son of Jove!

Lavin.
What wild extravagance!—
Beside, he stands contracted, by his father,
To the first heiress of the Commonwealth,
Even to Valeria.

Teren.
No matter—his first vows were yours, firm plighted
Before the gods and me!—But I haste homeward:
Ere night I trust to bring credentials with me,
That shall unfold these riddles.

[Exit.
Lavin.
I stand amazed!—what should my mother mean?
Some sudden malady, I fear, has seiz'd her!