University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in the House of Fabius.
To Fabius writing, Lavinia enters.
Fabius.
I wish'd to hold some talk with you, Lavinia,
In absence of my wife.—Are you not well?

Lavin.
A slight indisposition, my good lord?

Fabius.
Wherefore that sigh?—Why went you not to grace
The triumph?

Lavin.
O, my lord! I take small joy
In shew or tumult.

Fabius.
I have mark'd, of late,
Your looks are of the sad and pining cast—
Your eyes bend nearer to the earth, Lavinia.

Lavin.
In sooth, my honour'd patron,
I had a jealous fear, that, of late time,
Your looks past o'er me with unwonted coldness.

Fabius.
O weak misprision!—Art thou not the child
Of my adoption—even as my own offspring,
Dear to my heart?

Lavin.
Upon my bended knee,
I thank you!—But, good sir, your honour'd wife,
My lady, grows more difficult of late,
And takes my service with distaste.

Fabius.
Well, well—
Soon as her darling daughter is disposed of
To this young conqueror, your high-born step-dame
May come to better temper.—Still you sigh!

Lavin.
Your pardon, sir!—Were your first lady living,
I had not learn'd to sigh!

Fabius.
But, is there not another cause?—Perhaps,
Your thoughts, at times, may turn on that brave youth,
Whose valour wrought your great deliverance.

Lavin.
Surely—
I, else, were most ungrateful!

Fabius.
I own it.—
I have heard your general obligations to him;
But wish you would be more particular
Respecting that adventure.

Lavin.
On a visit
To my poor mother at her little farm,
The season smiled; and we o'erlook'd the pales
That faced the Appian-way. Lord Clodius came
With a proud equipage.—He pray'd admission;
But that denied, they burst the gate—I shriek'd,
And fled, and cried for help—but he pursued,
O'ertook me, and, with brutal violence,
Would—O the gods!—when I beheld his head
Struck from his shoulders!—Two of his attendants,
At two strokes more, lay breathless! The rest join'd
To fall on my defender—but his motions,
Active as lightning, forceful as it's bolt,
Soon turn'd them to vain flight; for not a man
Survived to bear the tidings!

Fab.
'Twas a god,
A god in human form!—Did you enquire
His lineage or condition?

Lav.
Yes, my lord.
He said, he would informs us, when his actions
Should have approved him worthy of the blood
From whence he sprung. Three happy days he staid,
And held us in Elysium.
But O, his converse—how divinely sweet
Flow'd Wisdom from his youthful lips!—even Truth
Grew fairer as he talk'd!

Fab.
Soft, my Lavinia—
Here comes your step-dame!

Lav.
I'll retire, my lord.
[Exit Lavinia.

SCENE II.

To Fabius, Julia and Valeria.
Fab.
Welcome, my ladies!—Come ye from the triumph?

Julia.
We do, my lord.

Fab.
I, also, had been there,
But these old wounds, I thank the Catti for them,
This in my hip, and this within my ancle,
Grow troublesome at seasons. Then you have seen him,
This youthful hero, this all-praised soldier!—
Cimbrius, I think they stile him.

Julia.
Yes, Cimbrius—
The name of honour which the Senate gave him;
And which, appointed heralds, at sun-rising,
Proclaim'd thro' all the shouting streets of Rome.

Fab.
Well—but the manner of his triumph—tell us.

Julia.
Impossible—it beggars all description!
From gate Capena to the Capitol,
Even through the whole Triumphal Way, each interval,
Floor above floor, was scaffolded so high,
As made all eyes below to ach.—The world,
The world was empty—Rome, alone, was full
Of heads and eyes; no other part appear'd
From windows, pinnacles, and chimney-tops!
At length, a deafening shout was heard, that rent
The upper element, and made all Rome
Shake to her deep foundations!—Then began
The pomp, in full procession.

Fab.
Well—pass that,
And hasten to the Victor.—
I mean it not in boast; but, sure, my Julia
Has seen a triumph before this.

Julia.
True, sir—
When first my Fabius, ere he was my Fabius,
Gave me to be enamour'd of his glories!

Fab.
No more of that, I pray—haste to young Cimbrius.

Julia.
After the passing of some miles in length,
Of Lictors, Magistrates, and troops of war,
Follow'd by carriages of corselets, helms,
And pikes, and mingling swords, whose martial din
Shiver'd our organs—there appear'd a company
Of laurell'd youths, bearing the richer spoils
Of antique vases, goblets high-emboss'd
With gold or pearls, and silver houshold gods,
Paintings and sculptures, works of art that made
The rich material poor!—Next came, adorn'd,
The bulls for sacrifice, whose whiteness match'd
The snow upon Soracté!—Distant far,
High on his car, the Victor then appear'd,
Preceded by a length of breathing flutes,
And many a sweet according instrument,
That suddenly gave way, or were all sunk
In the loud trumpet's brazen sound—again,
The trumpets were as quickly sunk, and lost
In deafening acclamations!—

Fab.
Now, at last,
We have him—here comes Cimbrius!—Well, how look'd he?—
Say, like a Victor, was it?—like a man
Deserving this supremacy of glory?

Julia.
How shall I speak it?—O, my noble Fabius,
Never did such a lowliness of aspect,
Such humbled grace of person and demeanour,
Pluck insolence from exaltation's seat,
And put all pride to shame!

Fab.
Then I am happy!—
But what am I to look for, now, my Julia?—
Hast thou bethought thee, how to bear thyself
Beneath this weight of aggregated glory?—
What, aunt and mother to this first of heroes!—
So richly blooded, and so highly raised,
These honours may be held as all thine own,
And we look little in thine eyes.

Julia.
No, no,
No fear!—my noble lord knows rightly well,
How to maintain his port, as well at home,
As in the field or senate.

Fab.
Tell me, Julia,
Is this the first time thou hast seen thy nephew,
This topic of all tongues?—I am inform'd,
That, from his cradle to his car of triumph,
He scarce has seen his country, scarce has set
His virtuous foot in Rome.

Julia.
'Tis true, my lord—
He had scarce forgot the milk of his fond mother,
When he was sent to Athens. Having finish'd
An early education, he pass'd, thence,
To Crete, to Egypt, Palestine, Assyria;
And, last, return'd to Rome, the most accomplish'd
Of all the youths that Rome had ever boasted.

Fab.
Then, sure, you saw him.—

Julia.
No, my daughter, here,
And I, were absent at our country villa.
'Twas at the time the Teutones and Cimbri
Had made their dread irruption; and Favonius,
Now titled Cimbrius, scarce had time to greet
His sire and kinsfolk, ere he was dispatch'd,
With high commission, under the great consul,
Attilius, general of the war.

Fab.
The rest,
I have learn'd from fame—his deeds of high atchievement;
The general's death, and the approved succession
Of Cimbrius to command; his following conquest;
And now, his triumph!—But, what says Valeria—
Does she approve our choice?—

Valeria.
O, my good lord,
I need not blush—and yet I blush to own
I think myself too blest, too much exalted
Above my little merits!—Ah, might Cimbrius
Approve your choice alike!—there, there's the doubt,
The fear that trembles at my heart!—

Fab.
No, no,
No doubt, no fear!—But here the Pontiff comes.

SCENE III.

Valerius enters, preceded by Lictors with their fasces, and other Officers.
Valer.
Hail to this honour'd house!—My brother Fabius,
My sister, and my niece—my daughter now—
All hail!—Valeria, tell me, have you seen
My gallant son?—Does he engage your favour?

Fab.
Your niece, my lord, is rather pale with fear,
Lest he should not like her!

Valer.
Not like her, say you?—
He cannot chuse—he will, he must, he shall!—

Valeria.
Alas, my uncle!
Liking, I fear, is not to be controul'd—
Were that to rest upon constraint, I doubt
I should be then most wretched!

Valer.
Doubt no more.—
I would fain see a son, who, but in thought,
Dare prove repugnant to his father's pleasure.
Parents, in Rome, stand in the place of gods
To all their offspring—our will is absolute!—
Hence discipline ensues; and hence, we have
Good sons, good men, good soldiers, and good citizens!
How is your fair Adopted, brother Fabius—
How fares Lavinia?

Fab.
Somewhat indisposed—
She went not to the triumph.

Valer.
Then, the triumph
Wanted its chiefest ornament!—
Soon as my son and our Valeria here
Are married, the fortunes of Lavinia
Become our nearest care.

Fab.
I thank your greatness.

[Trumpets.
Valer.
These trumpets speak the coming of my Cimbrius!
I order'd his attendance.—Leave, I pray ye—
Leave till we talk awhile!—

[Exeunt Julia, Valeria, and Fabius.

SCENE IV.

Favonius enters, and kneels to Valerius.
Valer.
Junius Favonius Cimbrius, welcome, welcome!—
Brave son of Rome, the glory of thy country,
And pride of the Valerii, welcome!
[Raises, and embraces him.
Off—
And let me view thee—let me feast my eyes,
Long famish'd by the absence of my child—
My laurel'd boy! I swear it by the gods,
When first thy mother prest thee to her bosom,
Her looks dwelt not upon thee with a smile
Of equal tenderness, of equal transport!

Favon.
O, sir!
Oppress me not with this excess of goodness.
Be it enough that I have done my duty;
And dared, in some degree, to emulate
My father's great example!

Valer.
O, thou art
The fullness of thy father's every wish;
All that wide craving avarice could ask,
Or high ambition sigh for! therefore 'tis
That, by ensuring of my child's prosperity,
I shall ensure my own.

Favon.
What means my Lord?

Valer.
'Tis meet that, after such a length of studies,
Of toilsome travels, camps, and harsh encounters,
My son should taste enjoyment: I have, therefore,
Provided for your happiness—Prepare
For Hymen's highest blessings!

Favon.
What, for marriage?

Valer.
Yes.

Favon.
Surely I have not understood my father.—
Contracted, mean you, sir?

Valer.
Yes, to Rome's fairest, chastest, richest heiress—
For so I have ordain'd it.

Favon.
I am my father's image, not a thing
To barter at a market.

Valer.
Loth I am,
Amidst his laurels, to remind a conqueror—
That he, too, is my property.

Favon.
Yes—well,
Too well I know, what the rude laws of Rome
Enjoin—My body, sir, I grant is your's
For death or bondage—but I have been in Greece,
Tutor'd amid the schools of liberty;
And thence I learn, that I have here, within,
A principle of freedom, over which
No father has a right to assume controul!

Valer.
Rash and misdeeming boy!—But I'll be calm—
Presume not yet upon a father's fondness!—
Dost thou then think, that young and headstrong passion,
To interest blind, and ever prone to error,
Can judge, and plan, and build for happiness,
Like old and tried experience?

Favon.
Can experience,
Can age pronounce on what will constitute
The happiness of Cimbrius?

Valer.
Yes, assuredly—
And if the gods have given him sense, or sight,
The smallest share of rational discernment,
He cannot but exult in my election,

Favon.
Alas, my father, there are cases, surely,
Wherein not reason's self can arbitrate
Between the sexes—the soul-linking union,
The tender, the involuntary feelings,
The commerce of free hearts!

Valer.
'Tis, therefore, needful,
That such impetuous, wayward, idle passion,
Should be subjected to the guiding rein
Of age and just authority.—But here,
There is no quailing—I have seal'd my promise—
My honour is at stake, and must be ransom'd.

Favon.
Say you, my lord?—must I, to ransom yours,
Betray my own? must I turn prostitute,
Yield up my body unto loath'd embraces;
And the free choice of my immortal spirit,
To bondage worse than death?—O, think not of it!—
Nature, sense, reason, duty, piety,
The gods forbid!

Valer.
Is this your answer, rebel?

Favon.
O, sir, my honour'd father! would to Heaven,
[Bends the knee, and kisses his hand.
I might obey you—but, alas, this matter
Is not at my own option—Can I give
That heart, those inclinations, to another,
Which I, myself, cannot command? yet, sir,
In all I can, I live but to oblige you.
Who is this lady, by whose fair conveyance,
You have chosen to deliver, to posterity,
The honours of your name?

Valer.
She is the daughter of the noble Fabius.

Favon.
Of Fabius, sir—of Fabius?

Valer.
Yes.—Dost thou
Know aught of Fabius?

Favon.
By report, my lord,
Much to his honour—to his daughter's too,
Touching her high pre-eminence in beauty,
And every mental excellence.

Valer.
'Tis well—
He comes.

SCENE V.

Fabius enters.
Valer.
Brother, behold your son!

[To Fabius.
Fab.
O, hero!
Boast of thy kindred, glory of thy country!
Come to my heart, and fix thee there the pearl
Of choicest estimation!

[Embraces.
Favon.
Then, the gods
Have heard my soul's warm prayer, to be admitted
To learn the precepts, and to imitate
The acts of the great Fabius!

SCENE VI.

Julia enters.
Valer.
Favonius Cimbrius, you behold your aunt,
My sister, late the widow of Trebonius;
But grafted, now, on the illustrious stock
Of the most noble Fabii.

[They embrace.
Julia.
My child, my blood, nay, my loved self!—Methinks
I see our ancestors descending on us,
The long unrivall'd train of the Valerii,
All glorying in their Cimbrius, and assuming
New honours from his name.

Favon.
O, my kind aunt!
So I may not disgrace your honour'd ancestors,
My glory has its limit.

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.