University of Virginia Library

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!—