University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE, An Apartment in the Palace of the Consuls.
LUCIA, HORTENSIA.
Hortensia.
Lucia , you'll soon be seated on a Throne;
Propitious Fate now offers to your Hands
More than it ravish'd from your Father Tarquin.
When wedded to Liguria's happy King,
Subjects obsequious to their Prince's Will,
Shall joyfully obey your mild Commands.
But why, when Fortune thus relenting smiles,
Swells your sad Heart, abandon'd to Despair?
I've always shar'd the Sorrows you have known;
If you love me, Oh! speak; What Grief devours you?
Can you still languish for the Loss of Rome?

LUCIA.
Rome? the detested Seat of Blood and Slaughter!
The Curse of Kings, and Source of all my Sorrows!
The Place where I am yet detain'd a Prisoner!
Rome!—Ah why was that accomplish'd Heroe,
Why was the lovely Titus born a Roman?

HORTENSIA.
Is Titus then still Sovereign of your Heart?
You have deceiv'd your too, too easy Friend!
Did you not boast, that now you view'd him only,
As Tarquin's Foe, and as the Son of Brutus?
That you abhor'd his Name?

LUCIA.
I then believ'd it:
Disdainful of my blind ill-fated Love,
I labour'd to suppress the growing Flame,
Nor thought my Passion was so deeply rooted.
Indulging in thy Arms my boundless Grief,
I sooth'd myself with Hope, I only mourn'd
The King's Afflictions, and a Brother's Death.
My foolish Heart, alas! deceiv'd itself,
And from my View conceal'd the guilty Cause.
To thee I'll own the Weakness of my Soul;
Those Tears, a Brother's cruel Death demanded,
Were drawn, I fear, by Love, and flow'd for Titus.
But now, the Pain it gives me to depart,
Tears from my Eyes the Veil that cover'd them.

HORTENSIA.
Then fly without Delay from these Usurpers,
And cherish in your Breast the Scorn of Titus.
Rome is too dangerous now for Tarquin's Daughter.

LUCIA.
Alas! my Infant Flame was free from Guilt.
'Twas you alone, displaying all his Virtues,
Instructed first my yielding Heart to love him;
Yet will I not upbraid thee, thoughtless Maid,
Ev'n Thee, th'unhappy Cause of all my Anguish!
You painted Titus, at my Father's Court,
The Darling of the Senators and People,
Gracing the Royal Blood from whence he sprung,
Worthy my Father's Choice, more worthy Mine.
But while your Tongue flow'd wanton in his Praise,
A subtle Poison stole into my Heart.
I rashly entertain'd a fruitless Hope;
And thought I read in his respectful Eyes
The Signs of growing Love, yet check'd with Awe.
O fatal Error! now too late discover'd.

HORTENSIA.
Those were the Days of soft Tranquility,
When Musick, Revelry, and costly Feasts,
With all the Pomp of Tarquin's splendid Court,
Invited sprightly Hopes, and gay Desires.
But, Lucia, you forget your present State;
How cruelly now Titus treats your Father;
Has he not slain his Friends, repuls'd his Troops,
And fortify'd the daring Hands of Rebels?
He tramples under Foot the Royal Rights,
And insolently Triumphs for his Treason!

LUCIA.
'Tis kindly done to rouze my Indignation—
[Huzza's without.
Hear'st thou those Shouts in Honour of the Heroe?
The Royal Spoils which deck the Capitol,
The shatter'd Standards, all embru'd in Blood,
The prancing Steeds, the Chariots, Crowns, and Incense,
Proclaim his wide Renown, and my Disgrace!
And yet my treacherous Heart (with Shame I own it)
More fondly doats for what I ought t'abhor him.
I see by Battels won against his King,
How he would shine, if he had fought for me.
The Lustre of his Deeds dazzles my Sight,
At once displays his Fame, and hides his Guilt.

HORTENSIA.
Th'united Force of Absence and of Reason,
With the gay Pleasures that attend a Court,
To your disorder'd Mind will Peace restore.
You'll speedily subdue this tender Passion.

LUCIA.
A just Disdain will drive it from my Heart!
This daring Rebel, by Success elate,
Beholds with Scorn the Daughter of his King.—
On that illustrious Day to joyful Titus,
(To Me, alas! the Source of Shame and Sorrow,)
When first his Arms were crown'd with Victory,
And Brutus welcom'd his Return with Transport;
All bloody from the Slaughter of my Friends,
He rush'd into my Presence!—I, struck with Horror
And piercing Grief, charg'd him with falt'ring Tongue
Never to see me more.—
How punctually does he obey this Order!
If he but chance to see me at a Distance,
He starts, retires, and leaves me to my Woes!

HORTENSIA.
Behold! here comes—'Tis he himself, 'tis Titus!

SCENE II.

Titus, Lucia, Hortensia.
LUCIA.
I cannot fly, yet tremble at his Sight!

TITUS.
Princess, my Presence, I perceive, afflicts you,
And calls forth Tears from your offended Eyes.
In vain I try'd t'obey your rigid Order:
But you are summon'd hence—Allow me therefore,
Once more to see the loveliest of her Sex!
Receive this last Adieu from wretched Titus,
Who, for thy Sake, with Joy would Life resign,
And prizes nought above thee but his Country.
When call'd to Battel, in Defence of Rome,
I hop'd, at least, to end my Life with Glory,
Since it must still displease too cruel Lucia!

LUCIA.
Can You, the Leader of Rebellious Rome,
And Son of Brutus, Author of my Woes,
Oppress my Father, and yet pity Lucia?
Loaded with Honours, See! the Heroe comes
On his Triumphal Day, t'insult my Grief!
Retire. That pompous Glory may suffice.

TITUS.
The Gods have stain'd the Lustre of its Charms;
May the same Gods, henceforth more just to thee,
For Sorrows past, double thy future Joys!
You merited a Crown: A Crown they have bestow'd.
Go then and reign: Enjoy at once the Throne,
And raptur'd Heart of an enamour'd Monarch;
Throughout the World he is the only King,
Whose Happiness my jealous Heart could envy.

LUCIA.
Ah! wretched Lucia! check thy rising Tears!

[Aside.
TITUS.
What secret Impulse urges me along?
Lucia, I was thy Foe; but in Revenge,
The Gods have made me now thy faithful Slave.
This Flame, which I condemn, in Silence cherish'd,
Increas'd by thy Disdain, in these last Moments,
Impatient of Controul, bursts forth with Fury!
With Wrath deserv'd chastise this rash Confession;
Nor hope I Pardon, nor ev'n ask for Pity.

LUCIA.
Relentless Brutus, what a Load of Woes,
Thou heap'st upon me!

TITUS.
Punish his guilty Son;
'Tho' Tarquin's Foe he doats on Lucia—

LUCIA.
Hold—
You know my Birth, and that a Roman Subject
Ought to show more Respect to Tarquin's Daughter;
But I demand not from a Son of Brutus
The Honours of a Rank, which he disclaims.
I am at Rome, still here detain'd a Prisoner,
And deeply share in all my Father's Woes.
My Sorrows flow from You. I dare believe
Your Soul too gen'rous to insult th'Afflicted.
A Heroe train'd in Virtue's glorious Paths,
Will scorn an easy and ignoble Conquest.
But if a Roman Heart can yield Obedience;
If I may yet command, then shun my Presence,
Revere my Grief, and cease to load the Wretched!

[Exeunt Lucia and Hortensia.

SCENE III.

TITUS
alone.
What have I said? or what did Lucia answer?
Ah! whither has my Love transported me?
Why, partial Gods, have ye conspir'd to make
This glorious Day, a Day so full of Sorrow?

SCENE IV.

Titus, Messala.
TITUS.
O! my Messala, on thy friendly Bosom
Let me unload my secret Cares and Anguish,
The Grief that overwhelms my sinking Soul!

MESSALA.
The Senators, with overbearing Power,
Delight to trample on distinguish'd Merit.

TITUS.
Love and the Senate both conspire my Ruin!
The Senate scornfully rejects my Suit,
Refusing me the Honour of a Rank,
Won by my Arms, and purchas'd by my Blood.
Before my Mind is cool from this Disgrace,
Lucia, my Soul's Delight, is ravish'd from me.
Ravish'd from me! alas! I've no Pretensions!
And yet my Heart is rack'd with Jealousy.—
Nay more, I've openly avow'd my Love;
The Fire, which I had smother'd in my Breast,
Broke forth at length, in spight of all Restraint.
Could I have check'd its Rage but one Day more,
I might have conquer'd this unmanly Passion,
Nor languish'd Life away in shameful Bondage.
But Heav'n has mark'd this Period to my Courage.—
Shall Brutus' Son, a Soldier, and a Roman,
Be now a Woman's Slave, the Slave of Tarquin's Daughter!
Guilty to Rome, to Lucia, and Myself,
Anger, Revenge, Disdain, Remorse and Love,
By turns prevail, and shake my shatter'd Frame!

MESSALA.
Titus, will you indulge your faithful Friend,
To offer his Advice with Confidence?

TITUS.
Thy Counsels have been ever kind and prudent;
Speak then, and make me blush for these mad Transports.

MESSALA.
I both applaud your Love, and your Resentment.
Shall Titus still uphold and countenance
Th'unjust Authority of these Patricians,
Who with the specious Plea of Liberty
Fix on our Necks a heavier Yoke of Bondage?
If you must blush, blush for this tame Submission!
Shall I behold you pine away your Life,
A Victim of the State, despis'd by Lucia?
Are these the great Rewards of your high Actions?
No doubt, a Heart like yours might still obtain
A Conquest there, and humble the proud Senate.

TITUS.
How dar'st thou sooth me with such idle Hopes?
Is not her Hate as strong as my Affection?
Alas! dost thou not see the fatal Bars
Between us fix'd by Duty and our Fathers?
Must she then go, Messala?

MESSALA.
This very Day!

TITUS.
I ought not to complain. Heaven does her Justice.
It form'd her for a Kingdom.

MESSALA.
Heaven, more propitious,
Perhaps design'd her for a milder Sway.
Forgive me, Sir; you know what was her Dower—
Her Brother is no more. Rome was her Right—
But I transgress—Yet if, to make you happy,
To purchase your Repose, my Life could serve;
Or if my Blood—

TITUS.
No more! my Duty conquers.
The Soul of Man is free, that dares be so!
Tho' Passion for a while obscur'd my Reason,
A Soldier's Heart discards this idle Dotage;
For Love is only strong by our Indulgence!

MESSALA.
Behold! th'Ambassador approaches—
The Honour which he pays you—

TITUS.
O fatal Honour!—
Th'Ambassador!—He bears away the Princess!
'Tis he who makes my Life a Scene of Woes!

[Exit Messala.

SCENE V.

Titus, Cælius.
CÆLIUS.
Having in vain essay'd to move the Senate,
To save their Country from impending Ruin,
Permit me here (to Virtue paying Homage)
With open Heart t'admire that generous Ardour,
That happy Hand, which still maintains this City
Against the fierce Attacks of her Assailants;
Worthy a juster Cause, another Foe!
Greater Regard, and more august Rewards!
Monarchs there are (I here may safely speak it)
Who would entrust their Empires to your Hands;
Nor view with jealous Eyes those shining Virtues,
Whose Lustre dazzles the disdainful Senate,
Tho' Rome with Wonder and Delight beholds 'em.
I pity your hard Lot to serve such Masters,
Who, deaf to Merit, insolently spurn
The valiant Friends that best deserve their Favour;
And, born t'obey, yet take a cruel Pleasure
In laying heavy Bonds on their Deliverers;
Who, did they not usurp the Royal Rights,
From You should take those Orders, which they give.

TITUS.
Cælius, I thank you for the kind Concern
Which you express for me; nor will enquire
Whether you seek by this Address so soothing,
To take Advantage of my glowing Anger,
And turn my Sword against my native Country.
Lose not your Arts on this frank open Breast;
My Heart is always naked: 'Tis true, the Senate
Have us'd me ill, and I have Right to hate 'em;
But still this Hand shall vindicate their Cause.
When Rome calls forth her faithful Sons to Battel,
They stifle in their Breasts domestic Wrongs;
At such a time they know no private Foes.
Thus I profess, and thus will ever practise.
Be it or Honour, Pride, or Prejudice,
Among the Romans born, for them I'll die!
I am the Son of Brutus; Tyrants I detest;
And on my Heart bear Liberty engrav'd!

CÆLIUS.
My Lord, you cheat yourself with specious Names.
Tho' subject to a King, I prize the Charms
Of Sacred Liberty, no less than You;
Who, for the Substance, grasp an empty Shadow.
Is not the Genius of a Commonwealth
Far more Severe than Regal Government?
Your boasted Laws are the most cruel Tyrants,
Inflexible to Interest, Rank, or Merit.
Survey a generous Prince's splendid Court!
Honours unsought attend upon Desert;
Pleasures, in circling Streams, there gaily flow;
And Beauty crowns the Hero's glorious Toils!—
They widely err, who brand, as Servitude,
The Homage paid to an indulgent King;
Since Liberty, protected by his Care,
Distributes Joy and Plenty all around!
Lov'd by your Prince, and cherish'd by his Smiles,
You serve but One; all others are Your Servants.
O! that a Soul, so greatly form'd by Heaven
To shine in Camps, or grace a polish'd Court,
Could taste th'endearing Charms of Tarquin's Friendship!
With You he might have shar'd the Sovereign Power—
Th'insulting Senate prostrate at your Feet—

TITUS.
No more—I've seen his Court, and I despise it.
I might, perhaps, if I could stoop so low,
Be his First Slave, and lord it over others.
But I abhor such Baseness. Let me perish,
If I be made the Tool of his Ambition!
A Virtuous Heart can taste no Joy in Power
Gain'd by the Ruin of a free-born People.
Thanks be to Heav'n, I've no such abject Wishes;
My Soul aspires at pure, unsullied Grandeur,
By Honour won, and fix'd on stable Justice.
I'll meet thy Kings in Battel. Thou, adore them!

CÆLIUS.
I must approve your firm and steady Conduct;
Yet still remember, in your tender Years,
Tarquin rejoic'd to strengthen and exalt
Your rising Genius by the best Instruction.
He never can forget you. Yester-morn,
As he bewail'd his Son's untimely Death,
“Titus (said he) might have sustain'd my Race;
“His Virtues would have merited my Daughter—

TITUS,
turning himself away.
His Daughter! Gods! Lucia? O hapless Vows!

CÆLIUS,
[Looking upon Titus.]
I bear her to the King whom you renounce,
At Distance far from Thee, and from her Country,
She weds Liguria's Monarch. In the mean while,
Thou may'st obey the Senate, oppress her Father,
And ravage his Demesnes with Fire and Sword.
But soon, I trust, yon' blazing Capitol,
These lofty Roofs, and all your Towers in Flames,
Shall serve as Torches to this happy Marriage,
And Funeral-Piles for Citizens and Senate!
[Exit Cælius.

SCENE VI.

TITUS
alone.
He's gone—But in what Anguish has he left me!
Lucia might still be Mine! But on what Terms?
It shocks my very Soul to think of them!
This wily Orator came to discover
The secret Flame that preys upon my Heart—
It stands confest; my Looks, my every Action
Betray'd the Force of my unbounded Love.
He now returns triumphant to Porsenna,
And mocks the Folly of my fond Desires—
Still Lucia might be Mine! I might with Her
Wear Life away in ravishing Delights!
Great Gods! if this were true—What vain Delusions
Dazzle my Senses, and distract my Thoughts!
While here I wildly chase a fleeting Phantom,
All Rome demands me at the Capitol.
Th'impatient Multitude, in countless Numbers,
Gather'd beneath the high Triumphal Arches,
Echo my Name with joyful Acclamations,
And call me to begin the solemn Oaths,
Th'inviolable Pledges of our Freedom!
I'll go—But there I shall behold the Senate,
That Crowd of Kings, the Object of my Hatred—
Unhappy Wretch! would they so much offend thee,
Was not thy doating Mind enthrall'd to Lucia?
Here every thing disgusts thy sickly Sense.
Awake! awake! shake off this sluggish Softness!
Ah! Titus, calm this Tempest of the Soul,
That mocks thy Reason, and defies Controul:
Quell thy Revenge; this Tenderness subdue;
To Rome, to Brutus, and Thyself be true!
O'er thy own Passions now the Conquest gain,
Those Tyrants of the Mind, that rend this tortur'd Brain!