University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

DOLABELLA, VERRES.
Dolabella.
I could almost repent me that I came:
A little later—

Verres.
Had been all too late.
So violent an insult on the name
Of Roman, then shall pass unvindicated?

Dolabella.
I must be of opinion, that the insult
Keeps just proportion with the provocation.
For what could violence itself do more,
Than ravish from a father's arms his daughter,
To violate her honour in your own?

Verres.
There might be that, my lord, may want excuse,
But not much blame. If I went self-invited,
It was because these misers grudge t'expose
Their statues, pictures, gems—you know I'm curious.
Wine and young blood must plead for all that follow'd.

Dolabella.
Rather too curious. For they tell me, Verres,
That your immense collection is extended,
By rapine and extortion, to a size
That even beggars all that Rome possesses.

Verres.
My lord, I gather for myself and friends.
And, by the by, 'tis long since I observ'd
A vacant base stand in your vestibule.
I have a master-piece of art, an heifer
So exquisitely cast, such through nature,
The work of Myro, life is in the brass,
It would with dignity supply the vacancy.

Dolabella.
I know it by report, the very same
So many Grecian wits have celebrated.

Verres.
I vow, my lord, I've started twenty times,
And thought she low'd—but, as to this affair,
I do assure you, what concerns me most
Is the indignity the state endures.

Dolabella.
A state is more dishonour'd in protecting
Th'infringer of the sacred rights of nature.

Verres.
My lord, share my collection as you please.
I hope, when you reflect on th'injury,
In your immediate Legate, done to Rome,
Besides my birth, 'twill move you to out-bear me
Thro' any slight deficiency of form.

Dolabella.
Believe me, I'm desirous to assist you.
But of so ugly nature is your crime,
I know not where to turn me to effect it.

Verres.
Cornelius slain, and Rubrius sorely wounded,
Direct your vengeance to both perpetrators.
I don't know if you ever thought worth minding
Th'entaglio which I wear upon this finger:
View it, my lord, the subject's somewhat wanton.
See how that Leda clasps in her crisp arms
Her am'rous swan, who ruffles ev'ry feather.
The figure was design'd from my Chelidon
(Poor wench! dying, she left me all her treasure.)
I have been tempted to destroy this ring
A thousand times. The counterfeit resemblance
Makes me quite mad, when I behold her beauties
Tasted by Jove himself.—Would you would wear it
If only to preserve it from my jealousy.

Dolabella.
And am beholden to you—but to murther
Two innocent men, of elevated stations,
Only that they resisted your attempt—
I should not like to have such matter argued,
Before the senate, by your men of virtue.

Verres.
My friends at Rome, my lord, bought, and to buy,
Will bear us through. Who cares there for the provinces,
Shrowded in distance from their thought and notice?
Then—pray, my Lord; what makes a man of virtue?
To sell one's knav'ry dearer than another.
I had almost forgot—'tis but a trifle—
Knowing the vast expences of your state,
Long since I laid aside a little present—
With your permission I will bring it to you
To-morrow morning; nay, 'tis nothing more
Than some poor hundred thousand sesterces.

Dolabella.
I thank you for your love, and I accept them.
Why, as you say, in such a distant province—
The majesty of Rome—Cornelius slain—
And your high birth—require this vindication.
Where are the prisoners?

Verres.
They wait without;
And, were I to advise, immediate sentence
Were doubly useful, by impressing awe
Of your authority, and stifling tumults.

Dolabella.
And you say well; let them appear before us.
Verres, be you and Sestius my assessors;
So, take your seats. Bring in the prisoners.

Voices
within.
Stand by!
Make room!
Give way, there, to the prisoners.

SCENE II.

Enter PHILODAMUS, EPICRATES, PHILIPPUS, and Audience.
Philippus starts on seeing Verres.
Dolabella.
We sit not here to have our ears fatigu'd
With set orations from yourselves; much less
With the stale subterfuges of hir'd advocates,
Who, dodging thro' a thousand circumstances,
Hope, in the course of a long-winded argument,
Obscure, traverse, involv'd, to warp the judgment.
Which way they please, when they've bewilder'd sense.
This matter needs no arguing, and no witnesses,
Unless you chuse the body of Cornelius,
A Roman citizen, slain by your hands,
Beneath your roof, should be produc'd in court.

Philodamus.
We shall not tire your patience. I had thought,
When I appear'd before the Roman prætor,
Without employing any turn of eloquence,
To've laid out a plain story to his hearing,
Th'undue invasion of a house like mine,
Insolence, injury, and violence
Suffer'd, at length repell'd. I own it needless.
Verres, plac'd by you on the seat of judgment,
Cuts it all short—and we expect our sentence.

Dolabella,
[To his Assessors.
I am for death, and you?—

Verres.
For death.

Sestius.
And I.

Epicrates.
Forgive, most noble, if I interfere
With your injunction. I'm no venal advocate,
But am connected with these prisoners
By ev'ry band that friendship and esteem,
Love, duty, obligation, can impose.
My fortunes are extensive, and shall answer
Whatever mulct you please to levy on them,
(Nay take them all: I never can be poor,
While I reflect how well they were employ'd)
So that their lives be spar'd, and you accept
The ruin of us three as equipollent
For one, the scum of Rome by birth and station.

Verres.
Most noble Dolabella, not to sit
Quite useless in this honourable place,
Permit me to observe, this forward pleader
Makes ev'n his intercession aggravate.
The mistress of the world has ever seen
Her meanest citizen as of more dignity
Than any subject conquer'd by those citizens;
And she demands that blood compensate blood.
Retire, and thank the lenity that spares you.

Dolabella.
Verres, you speak our thoughts most accurately.

Philippus.
[To Verres.
Had it been thee, and not thy senseless agent,
Whom, in a sister's cause, I bravely slew,
I would not have repin'd to bear these chains,
Nor what is worse to follow. As it is,
We thank you, that, determin'd to destroy us,
You save us an unprofiting defence.

Philodamus.
Happy condition of your provinces!
We were to learn till now, that we rebel,
If we dispute your sovereign dominion
Over our matrons, and our daughters honour.

Dolabella.
We have indulg'd you farther than we meant,
In large discourse, which you have us'd too freely.
Bear them away to death. Let the axe sever
Their heads and bodies.

Philodamus.
By your leave, one moment.
Heav'n cannot be but just. I do believe
Its gates are open, in another manner,
Than to the general requests of men,
When innocence, subdu'd by hard oppression,
Claims its avenging hand. In thy due hour,
When Verres shall be ripe for punishment,
When the large growth of villany shall bend
His branches to the earth with their own weight,
I trust thou wilt, in adequate reprisal,
Set up thy hour-glass of retaliation.
I think I see thee, not, as I am now,
Going to die; death is no penalty.
But abject, pale, contemn'd, shunn'd, and deserted,
By those who share thy spoils. Banish'd, and wandering
Thro' provinces thy rapine trod before.
I feel an ease that tells me I am heard.

Philippus.
Oh heav'n! if there be yet in Rome one heart,
One soul, that's worthy of thy inspiration,
One tongue that dares to plead the cause of innocence,
(And something says within me, there is one
Who shall retort the doings of this day),
Do thou inform that heart, that soul, that tongue,
With the coercive force of eloquence,
The energy of language; pour from thence
The mighty torrent of convictive truth,
Till conscience strike with dumbness thy defenders,
And guilt and shame anticipate that sentence
Thou dare not stay to hear pronounc'd upon thee.
[To Dolabella.
And thou, distorter of thy country's justice,
Live to revenge our wrongs upon that country,
For trusting justice in no firmer hands.

Dolabella.
Take them away. See execution done.

1st Guard.
Stand by there.

2d Guard.
Clear the way.

3d Guard.
Lead off the prisoners.

SCENE III.

Dolabella,
solus.
I am not half the villain of this Verres,
And yet I am a villain. 'Tis too plain.
To be a villain, and yet hate a villain,
To feel that vigilant and solemn monitor,
Conscience, put in her caveat to a deed,
And yet to supersede her holy mandates,
And give that deed effect; what is it else,
Than to be multiplied into two men,
That wage continual war against each other?
Would I were of a piece! either all honest,
Or else above sensation of remorse.
Enter an Officer.
What would you?

Officer.
The relations of the sufferers
Most humbly sue you, they may have their bodies
For all due rites.

Dolabella.
See that they have my order.
[Exit Officer.
It were not yet too late to bid them live!
But then I must refund m' ill-gotten wealth.
Thou hast betray'd me, all-corrupting gold,
And thaw'd the yielding principles of honesty
Into a puddle of corrupted trash!
Ha! Conscience! thou art but the fear of shame!
I am not superstitious, yet am startled,
That he, who, perhaps, never heard of Cicero,
Should mark him in his lineaments so strongly;
Methought I felt myself beneath the lash,
The scorpion lash, of his all-awing tongue.
I'll think no more on't—Innocence, once quitted.
Turns irrecov'rably her back upon us.
Let none, untried by pow'r, think himself virtuous,
But for authority I'd still been honest.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

PHILODAMUS, PHILIPPUS, going to execution. EPICRATES, Guards, &c.
Epicrates.
Fear not, he must desist from his mad enterprize;
Mean time, we arm, with utmost speed, a vessel,
Which shall transport us, past his search, to safety.

Philodamus.
'Tis well, Epicrates, I would not see her,
For much I doubt how my own resolution
Might stand the burst of so much tenderness.

Epicrates.
She's most desirous to receive by me
The blessing and last orders of a father.

Philodamus.
My blessing; why, my life has been to bless her.
This last formality can add no weight to it;
However, take my blessing on you both;
Then, as to orders, what should I command her?
Bid her persist in the pursuit of virtue?
Her life insures she will; or should I charge her
She bear unvaried duty and affection
To thee? Her inclinations answer for her.
Be it your care to comfort her distress,
Teach her submission to the will of Heaven.

Epicrates.
Alas! my father, what a leave to take!

Philodamus.
My death-bed ow'd me a severer end.
Another word, and then we part, Epicrates.
One article remains of dearest import,
If this fierce tempest of calamity,
When fall'n its rage, should chance to drive on shore
Any the wrecks and fragments of my fortunes,
Collect them safely for Euphemia.

Epicrates.
I have already offer'd her my house,
Begg'd her to share my fortunes.

Philippus,
embracing him.
Oh! Epicrates.
Oh friend indeed! What would I give for words?
Yet could they more than call thee, friend indeed!

Epicrates.
Oh my Philippus! Oh my better half!
I live not half without thee—

Guard.
Come, make haste.

Philippus.
My last thoughts to Euphemia and my sister.

[Exit Epicrates.
Philodamus.
Be gone, Epicrates. And now, Philippus,
I have no leave to take of thee, my boy;
We're bound on the same voyage. Only this;
I have prevail'd upon the executioner
To spare thy eyes my death; and you wait here
Till I am past. So, now lead on, I'm ready.

Philippus.
To thy last thought the same, my gentle father!
[Exit Philodamus.
Enter EUPHEMIA.
Why art thou here, Euphemia? to unman me?
Now, that I've born the parting of a father,
With all I have of steadiness, art thou come
To rob me of that last of vanities,
Which cowards sometimes reach, the dying resolute?
I'm young, am born to dignity, and affluence;
Have health untainted, and th'esteem of friends.
These I could have resign'd, yet be myself,
And mock the phantom death. What is world
That one must ask the leave of Rome to live in?
But when I view thy beauties, which I quit
Purchas'd, but unpossess'd; there lies the agony,
And it grows terrible indeed to die.

Euphemia.
I came to steel thy breast, and not to melt it
Into the whining softness of a woman.
And why regret to die? since we have lov'd,
And have enjoy'd already, never doubt it,
All that is keen and exquisite in love.
The rest deserves small notice. Be like me.
I feel my soul exalted 'bove itself,
Secure, and pleas'd, in its own resolution,
It looks with intrepidity on death.

Philippus.
What dost thou mean, Euphemia? thou alarm'st me.
There's a determination in thine eye,
And firmness in thy speech, that makes me tremble
More than the axe that waits me. Oh! dismiss
Thy desp'rate thought whatever. Live, Euphemia,
Cherish my memory, nor let that affect thee,
Beyond a melancholy recollection,
How much we lov'd, and how unfortunately.

Euphemia.
There are, Philippus, in Distress's quiver,
Some shafts so very deeply barb'd, they mock
The unavailing art that would extract them,
And will be left to rankle in the wound.
But did the world possess the balm to heal them,
'Twere meanness to survive distinguish'd wretchedness.
What! to be pointed at, and shown a sight,
As one no misery could drive from life!
See here the remedy of ev'ry woe.
See here the cure of Verres.

[Shews a dagger.
Philippus.
'Twas my fear.
That dagger! no, thou must not, shalt not use it.
Ah! do not listen to that witch Despair,
Who gilds with a false sun-shine the black precipice
T'allure the suff'ring mind?

Euphemia.
The suff'ring mind?
'Twas then it suffer'd, when my glory bid
The chasm of separation yawn between us.
'Twas harder to resolve to part our loves
Adoring and ador'd, than share thy death.

Philippus.
In this dread hour it was my consolation,
Epicrates had lent thee noble shelter
From all the storms that yet might buffet life.
Oh! harbour there, and drop the social tear,
In consort, oft as you shall think of me,
Till slow-pac'd time, nay, habitude of sorrow
Induce satiety of itself. Who knows?
Long years of happiness may wait behind,
That shall do justice to Euphemia's merit.

Euphemia.
Yes, and be comforted; dry up my tears;
My mourning weeds convert to ornament;
Whimper but now and then; and in a moment,
Call any other man my only love.—
The thought is paltry. Oh! how I disdain it!
Why now, methinks, I'm at the pitch of happiness,
High in my own esteem. 'Tis only now
That I feel worthy of a flame like thine:
I'm all on fire to shuffle off this life.—
'Tis an impatience that still spurs me forward.
The Gods conceal from those they force to live
How happy 'tis to die, lest they desist
From their hard drudg'ry, and desert their station.

Philippus.
If ever tender thought of me has glow'd
Within that gentle bosom—dost not hear,
Horrid! the blow that ends the best of fathers?
[Noise within.
The time demands me.—Let me yet prevail.—

Voice
within.
Lead on the prisoner.

Philippus.
'Tis my last request.

Euphemia.
But a request you have no right to make.
Nay, talk no more. Farewell. This last embrace.
If memory extend beyond the urn,
Still shall we love each other. Now, away.
Farewell, my love, my pride, my happiness.
That I am thine, o'er-pays the loss of life.

Philippus.
An instant longer.—

Euphemia.
Why an instant longer?
And should the tyrant grant us till to-morrow,
Think you we'd take it?
Guard takes hold of him.
Come, nay come along.

Philippus.
I go—but would.—'Tis easier to die.
[Exit, she looking fondly after him, till, just as he is out of sight, she stabs herself. He re-enters.
Unhand me for a moment, rash Euphemia!

Euphemia.
I thought thee farther—or had spar'd thee this.
'Tis over—haste—oh loiter not behind—
Where are you—now you're lost.—I see thee not.—
Night hangs upon my eyes—and thou art no where.—
Oh, now again I know him—'tis Philippus.—
At least remember—oh—that I die—thine.

Philippus.
Kind executioner, be quick, dispatch.—
Why do I ask what I can do myself
With readier expedition.

[Stabs himself with her dagger.
Guard.
Haste, prevent him,
You are too late.

Philippus.
I thank thee for thy lesson.
Now, Verres, thy revenge is half deceiv'd.
Now, Dolabella, I elude thy sentence.
Stay, let me seize her hand, ere light desert me,
Else I shall wander in uncertain search,
And find it not.—Why now, in spite of numbness,
I hold thee fast—to separate—no more.

Enter EPICRATES.
Epicrates.
Sure she came hither; yet I dread to find her.
Ha! is it so? my fears inform'd me just.
Philippus, art thou here? I knew indeed
Death waited for thee, but in other place,
And other manner. Better as it is.
Tears, by your leave, a while; there's time enough
For your indulgence. Who commands the guard here?

Officer.
'Tis I.

Epicrates.

[Exit, the bodies carried before him.