University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

CÆLIUS, ALBINUS, MESSALA.
Cælius,
with a Letter in his Hand.
For this Dispatch, Albinus, I'm your Debtor.
All answers to my Wish. Upon this Letter
Depends the Destiny of Rome and Tarquin.
Is the dread Hour agreed on in the Camp?
Has the Quirinal Gate been view'd with Care?
Say, will our Troops be ready for th'Assault,
If by our Friends we cannot gain Admittance?
Is Tarquin satisfy'd? Does he now think
Rome will be ours?

ALBINUS.
He glories in your Counsels,
To Him more prosperous than Porsenna's Arms.—
At Dead of Night our Troops will be prepar'd.

CÆLIUS.
Either the Gods, Foes to this hapless Prince,
Will blast Designs so great and well-concerted,
Or Rome to Morrow will be subject to him:
Perhaps with Slaughter drench'd, and laid in Ashes.—
No matter.—Better a King should, on his Throne,
In Peace profound govern the tame Remains,
Than with precarious Power assert his Right
Over a headstrong giddy Multitude,
Prone to revolt from too much Liberty.
[To Albinus.]
Leave me, Albinus, I expect the Princess.
[Exit Albinus.
[To Mesalla, who offers to follow Albinus.]
Messala, Stay.

SCENE II.

Cælius, Messala.
CÆLIUS.
Have thy Attempts succeeded?
Will Titus join with the Confederate Kings?

MESSALA.
I've been, indeed, too sanguine in my Hopes;
The Heart of Titus is inflexible.
In every Act he fondly copies Brutus,
And still harangues for Liberty and Laws.
The Senate he abhors, and doats on Lucia;
Ambition, Pride, Disdain, and Jealousy,
Alternately inflame his lab'ring Breast;
And yet the Love of Liberty prevails.
At Tarquin's Name he starts into a Passion;
And when I urg'd the Prospect of a Crown,
With a fierce Look he broke abruptly from me.
It had been dangerous to tempt him farther.

CÆLIUS.
So you despair of making Titus ours?

MESSALA.
It cost less Pains to bring his Brother over;
I have engag'd, at least, one Son of Brutus.

CÆLIUS.
Is then Tiberius fix'd to us already?
Say, by what happy Scheme didst thou succeed?

MESSALA.
Ambition was the Lure by which I took him;
Long with a jealous Eye he has beheld
The spreading Lustre of his Brother's Fame;
Whose splendid Triumph stung him to the Heart;
Tho' generous Titus, scorning all Suspicion,
Stretch'd out his Arms from the Triumphal Chariot,
And with a fond Embrace carest the Youth,
Seeming to make him Partner of his Glory.
I chose those lucky Moments to suggest,
With what Contempt his Merits were receiv'd,
While every Street rung with the Praise of Titus:
I promis'd also, in the Name of Tarquin,
Profuse Rewards, and all but Royal Honours;
In short, this Bait has caught the greedy Prey;
Firm to the King, he waits for your Instructions.

CÆLIUS.
Can he surrender the Quirinal Gate?

MESSALA.
Titus is posted there, whose dreadful Valour
Has too much check'd the Progress of your Arms.
He is the Guardian Genius of his Country.
I dare not give my Voice for this Attack;
Nor hope Success without his pow'rful Aid.

CÆLIUS.
But, since he was ambitious to be Consul,
Can he resist the Offer of a Crown,
His certain Dower, if he espouses Lucia?

MESSALA.
A Crown seems an Affront to his stern Virtue.

CÆLIUS.
But has not Lucia's Beauty touch'd his Heart?

MESSALA.
He doats upon her even to Distraction.
The Flame suppress'd, with greater Fury burns;
He hates the Father, yet adores the Daughter;
He fears to speak to her, and sighs in secret:
Now he retreats, then eagerly pursues.
He yet knows nought of Love but its mad Transports.
In the wild Hurry of this furious Tempest,
A Moment may produce unlook'd-for Changes.
The Soul of Titus, eager and impetuous,
Flies out into Extremes of Love and Hatred.
Should he but once engage to aid our Arms,
'Twill be impossible to check his Ardour.
Ambition's smother'd Fire, that swells his Breast,
Perhaps may kindle at the Torch of Love.
No doubt he would be glad to see the Senate
With abject Fear lie prostrate at his Feet.
But I should flatter you, my Lord, to promise
That his proud Heart will even yield to Love.
Howe'er, I'll make another strenuous Effort.

CÆLIUS.
Since he loves Lucia, he may still be won.
A tender Word, or one kind Look from her,
Will more prevail to bend his stubborn Virtue,
Than all the Schemes of the profoundest Statesmen—
The Passions of Mankind are our best Servants;
By those we turn, and wind them at our Pleasure.

Lucia enters, Messala retires.

SCENE III.

Lucia, Cælius, Hortensia.
CÆLIUS.
I am commanded, Lucia, by your Father,
To your own Hands to give this Letter.

LUCIA.
Ye Gods! prolong his Life; and change his Fate!
[She reads.]
“The King of Rome may reascend his Throne,
“If his most gallant Foe shou'd prove his Friend.
“Titus alone is able to restore
“A Crown, which I consent with him to share.
“Reject th'Addresses of Liguria's Monarch.
“If you love Titus, Titus may be yours.
“Remember, you receiv'd your Life from me.
“On your Resolve depends the Fate of Tarquin.

LUCIA.
“On your Resolve depends the Fate of Tarquin—
And—“Titus may be yours—
Can this be possible? Will Tarquin stoop,
Inflexible till now, in spight of Woes?
Whence does he know, or how?—Ah! cruel Cælius,
You only search the Secrets of my Heart!
Show more Compassion to a wretched Princess,
Nor with these Arts ensnare my heedless Youth!

CÆLIUS.
Indeed, you wrong me, Lucia, I but fulfill
The Orders Tarquin gave, nor aim presumptuous,
To pry into the Secrets of your Bosom.
My Duty prompts me only to suggest,
That Heav'n makes choice of You, to place the Crown
Upon your Father's Head, and to restore
This ravag'd Kingdom to its ancient Splendor.

LUCIA.
To serve my Father by joining Hands with Titus!
Impossible! Explain this dark Ænigma.

CÆLIUS.
Trust me, this Heroe glows with secret Ardour
Both for the King, and all the Royal Race.
Th'Austerity of these Republicans
Ill suits the Candor of his generous Heart.
I don't pretend to penetrate his Breast;
But since he knows the Merit of your Virtues,
He must be proud to own himself your Servant.
Who can behold so rich a Diadem
Presented by your Hands, with double Lustre,
And not transported bless the Royal Donor?
One soothing Word from You will fix his Heart.
Engage then Titus to your Father's Cause,
Rome's chief Support, her Tutelary God!
Deserve the happy Honour, you enjoy,
To turn at Pleasure, and controul the Fate
Of your great Sire, and of the Roman State!
[Exit Cælius.

SCENE IV.

Lucia, Hortensia.
LUCIA.
Ye Pow'rs Supreme, what Incense can I offer?
You smile relenting. Blest Reverse of Fortune!
That Flame, for which I blush'd, now purely burns,
And may with Honour be indulg'd and own'd.
[To Hortensia.]
Haste, dear Hortensia, and inform my Titus,
He is allow'd to come into my Presence.
Shall he, unconscious of his Happiness,
Languish in Grief, while I exult with Joy?
But don't I cherish a delusive Hope?
Does Titus then, indeed, abhor the Senate?
Alas! perhaps, I owe to his Resentment,
That which I thought the sole Effect of Love!

HORTENSIA.
'Tis true, the Senate has provok'd his Anger,
And he's ambitious—Yet he dies for you!

LUCIA.
He loves, and will do every thing to serve me!
Then fly without Delay—
[Exit Hortensia.
And yet this sudden Change,
This Letter—What struggling Cares encounter Here!—
Blaze forth, my Love, consistent now with Virtue!
Honour, Reason, Duty, All command it!
My Love will fix the Crown on Tarquin's Head!
I shall unite brave Titus and my Father!
The Happiness of Rome will flow from mine!
O! Thou, the Object of my soft Desires!
When shall I tell thee this amazing Change?
When shall I, Titus, with transporting Pleasure,
With thee converse, and hear thy tuneful Voice?
Each anxious Care is fled! Rome, I forgive thee!
With timely Tears appease thy injur'd Sovereign.
Submit, ye Senate; you have lost your Champion!
Titus is mine—with Fear obey your King!

SCENE V.

Titus, Lucia.
TITUS.
Princess, will you, indeed, vouchsafe to see
A Man, whom you so justly may abhor?

LUCIA.
Titus, be now sincere, and own the Truth:
Was that caressing Speech, you late address'd,
The Dictate of your Heart, or meant to mock me?

TITUS.
Alas! this throbbing Breast too plainly shows
My raging Flame, my Crime, and my Despair!
The Graces of thy Sex, in thee display'd,
Thy lovely Form, and still more lovely Mind,
With pleasing Force subdue my ravish'd Soul!—
You rule my Fate!

LUCIA.
Nay, mine depends on Thee!

TITUS.
On Me? My bounding Heart can scarce believe it.
Am I not then the Object of your Hate?
Princess, proceed; Say, what enchanting Hope
Exalts me in a Moment to this Height
Of too-transporting Joy?

LUCIA,
[Giving him the Letter.]
Peruse this Letter—
[While he is reading.]
I then may hope—But whence that sullen Frown,
That Air dejected, and that sudden Start?

[Aside.
TITUS.
Of all Mankind, I am the most accurst!
My Fate, whose Rigour weighs me to the Ground,
Deludes me with a Glimpse of Happiness,
Only to snatch the lovely Image from me:
And, to compleat the Fulness of my Woes,
I love, and may possess, and yet must lose thee!

LUCIA.
Lose me?

TITUS.
This Moment has condemn'd my Life
To Sorrows most profound, or Infamy;
I must be false to Rome or Thee—nor can
Chuse aught but shocking Crimes, or dire Afflictions.

LUCIA.
How can you talk of Crimes and of Afflictions?
T'expell thy King, and head a Band of Rebels;
To grieve his Daughter, and reject her Love,
These are thy shocking Crimes and dire Afflictions!
A Father's Choice now justifies my Flame.
I thought this Day the fairest of my Life,
And yet the Moment, in which my ravish'd Soul
May own, without a Blush, her Tenderness,
That very Moment, you force me to repent!
Open your Eyes, and weigh, in equal Balance,
The envious Senate's unrelenting Rigour,
Against the milder Sway of Regal Power.
Chuse whether you'll obey, or dictate Laws;
With Me command, or serve ungrateful Masters;
And may the Gods direct your happy Choice!

TITUS,
[Returning the Letter.]
My Choice is made.

LUCIA.
Then dare not you declare it?
Say, What is thy Resolve?

TITUS.
To be worthy of thee,
Worthy my Sire, and faithful to my Country;
Tho' languishing for Thee, to fight for Rome;
T'admire, and imitate thy shining Virtues;
And, tho' I lose, deserve at least to gain thee!

LUCIA.
Must we then for ever—

TITUS.
No—Forgive me, Lucia,
Forgive the Fury that distracts my Soul;
Pity a Heart at Variance with itself;
Now more accurst, than when it felt your Scorn.
Or with thee, or without thee, I am wretched!
O! let me rather die, than see thy Faith
T'another plighted!

LUCIA.
It shall be ever thine!

TITUS.
If then you love me, let your Soul be Roman;
Be more than Queen, and love the Commonwealth.
Bring me for Dower, instead of Royal Titles,
A Love and Reverence for the Roman Laws.
Let Brutus be your Father, Rome your Mother,
And her Deliverer your happy Consort:
And let the Romans, vanquish'd by your Goodness,
Receive their Liberties from Tarquin's Daughter.

LUCIA.
Should I betray the King that gave me Life?

TITUS.
Should I have less Regard for Rome and Brutus?

LUCIA.
Peace, busy Heart! no more betray thy Weakness
For an ungrateful Man, who scorns thy Love!

SCENE VI.

Brutus, Cælius, Titus, Lucia, Messala, Albinus, Proculus, Lictors.
BRUTUS,
[to Lucia.]
Lucia, the Hour is come for your Departure.
In the first Fury of the Public Storm,
Rome could not give you to your Houshold Gods.
Tarquin himself, on fell Revenge employ'd,
(His Thoughts entirely bent on our Destruction,)
Seem'd for a while forgetful of his Daughter,
And did not then demand you of the Romans.
But I supply'd the Place of your lost Father—
'Tis with Reluctance that I call to Mind
The Sorrows of that melancholy Day.
Go, reign: And let unbiass'd Equity
Be the firm Basis of your happy Throne.
If You would be obey'd, Obey the Laws.
Maturely weigh the arduous Task of Kings;
If servile Sycophants, with soothing Voice,
Should tempt you from the sacred Paths of Justice,
Remember Tarquin's Fate, and think of Rome:
His Fate, I trust, will stand on lasting Record,
A dreadful Monument to future Tyrants!
[To Cælius.]
Cælius, we yield her to thee; Be it thy Care,
To see her safe conducted to her Father.
A Guard attends you to the Sacred Gate.

[Exeunt Brutus and Lucia at different Doors.
Titus, Cælius, and Messala stay.
TITUS,
[At a Distance.]
O! the tormenting Anguish of Despair!
[He goes towards Cælius.]
She shall not go—Once more permit me, Cælius—
Shall hopeless Love still prey upon my Life?
[Aside.
Allow me but a Word.

CÆLIUS.
The Time is urgent.
Yet, for an Hour, I can protract her Stay;
Beware, you do not seek my Aid too late.
We may, without Reserve, in her Apartment,
Deliberate on this important Crisis.

Exit Cælius, following Lucia.

SCENE VII.

Titus, Messala.
TITUS.
Are we the Sport of Fortune? Did we meet
Only to part for ever?—

MESSALA.
To see such Charms, with so much Virtue join'd,
A Prey to Grief, and overwhelm'd with Woes,
Afflicts my Soul, and melts me into Tears!
None but a Heart like Hers, could merit Yours.

TITUS.
No, Messala; Lucia must ne'er be mine!

MESSALA.
Wherefore? What vain Surmises bar your Wishes?

TITUS.
The hated Terms impos'd by cruel Lucia!—
Shall I obey the Tyrants I have conquer'd,
And sacrifice the People I have sav'd?
Shall Love, for six long Months oppos'd so firmly,
Now, in an Hour, subdue my yielding Virtue?
To Tyrants Rage shall I give up my Father?
Such a Father? the Darling of his Country!
A Pattern to Mankind! the best of Heroes!
Who taught me to pursue his glorious Steps!

MESSALA.
Good Gods!—If Conquest had not crown'd his Cause,
What were this Patriot, this mighty Heroe,
Echo'd by Rome, as her Deliverer;
I say, if Conquest had not crown'd his Cause,
Won by your Hand, what were he but a Rebel?

TITUS.
How, Messala? a Rebel! My Father? To whom?

MESSALA.
Allow me but to speak. I had not finish'd.
Compose yourself; I see you are disturb'd.

TITUS.
Disturb'd! Have I not Reason?—But go on.

MESSALA.
You may adorn the Name of Conqueror,
With the more lovely Style of Mediator:
The Virtues of a Roman Citizen
Are seen in You, illustriously display'd;
Now practise such as will become a Sovereign.
Heaven puts into your Power, this happy Moment,
The Object of your Vows, Revenge and Empire.—
Bring back those Days, in which our Ancestors
Weigh'd with impartial Hand, in equal Balance,
Th'Authority of Kings, and Rights of Subjects.
Rome may be reconcil'd to Monarchy,
For Monarchy is no less amiable,
Beneath the Conduct of a virtuous Prince,
Than full of Horror, when a Tyrant reigns.
Rome would almost adore a King like Titus.—

TITUS.
Presumptuous Man! thou surely hast forgot,
That thou art talking to a Son of Brutus!
Henceforth I must behold thee as a Traitor:
To pardon Thee, wou'd be to share thy Crimes.

MESSALA.
Know then, that glorious Wreath, which You disdain,
Is destin'd to adorn Another's Brow.
What You dare not, Another will accomplish—

TITUS.
Another! hold—Gods! speak—Who?

MESSALA.
Your Brother—

TITUS.
My Brother!—

MESSALA.
Has pledg'd his Oath to Tarquin.

TITUS.
Will he betray Rome?

MESSALA.
He'll serve his King and Rome.
Know, Tarquin is resolv'd to give his Daughter
To that brave Roman, who restores his Crown.

TITUS.
Perfidious Wretch, attend!—Blind as I was,
I did not see till now the Precipice,
To which you artfully conducted me.
You'd make me an Accomplice with my Brother,
And stain my Soul with Treason's Crimson Dye.
But first thy Blood shall answer—

[Grasping his Sword.
MESSALA.
Here—strike this faithful Breast;
I merit Death for lab'ring thus to serve you!
Then plunge your Sword, yet reeking with my Blood,
Into the Hearts of Lucia and your Brother,
Lucia reserv'd for him, if you renounce her,
The Spring and Life of the Conspiracy!
And bearing on your Spear their Heads, as Trophies,
Go pray the Senate for the Consulship,
As a Reward for these Heroic Deeds;
And be again with Scorn rejected by them!—

SCENE VIII.

Titus, Messala, Albinus.
ALBINUS.
My Lord, th'Ambassador, at Leisure now,
Expects you in th'Apartment of the Princess—

TITUS.
Say, I'll attend him.
[Exit Alb.
O! had I never lov'd, I had been virtuous!—
Why shou'd I sacrifice my Happiness
To yon' imperious Senate?—Let us go—
[To Messala.]
Behold the Capitol grac'd with my Trophies.

MESSALA.
Do not unjust Patricians govern there?

TITUS.
Hush!—Hark!—Methinks I hear a Voice cry out,
Forbear! Forbear! Wilt thou betray thy Country?
Brutus, and Rome's great Genius cry, Forbear!
[Raving.
[After a Pause.]
Yet free from Stain my Vital Current flows,
And this stanch Heart no base Corruption knows!
O! if by Heav'n my Ruin is decreed,
May I, at least, a Spotless Victim bleed!
Ye righteous Pow'rs! Whatever be My Fate,
Protect Your Brutus, and the Roman State!