University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

ARUNS, MESSALA, ALBINUS.
ARUNS.
Generous Messala, in whose breast survives
A grateful friendship t'ward thy injured master,
Say cannot Tarquin's gold, Porsenna's gifts,
Relax the minds of these stern senators,
And shake their faith? Are their rough-moulded hearts
To all the tempting pleasures of a court,
To hope and fear, impassive? Do they stand,
These fierce patricians, in the rank of gods,
Judges of all mankind, and dreading none?
Have they no secret vices, warm desires,
Or private interests?

MESSALA.
Such are their vain boasts
But their dissembled justice, and severe
Inflexible, austerity, which scorns
Every allurement, only mark the thirst
Of their imperious hearts, for sovereign power.
Their pride superior, underneath their feet
Treads the proud diadem; and when they brake
The yoke of kings, they but imposed their own.
These great avengers of our liberty,
Arm'd to defend it, are its worst oppressors.
Under the humble and seducing names
Of patrons and of fathers, they affect
The gait of monarchs; Rome hath changed her fetters.
And while her nobles rule without controul,
Is, for one king, cursed with an hundred tyrants.

ARUNS.
Is there not one among your citizens
Whom wisdom teaches with indignant eye
To view such abject slavery?

MESSALA.
Few perceive
Their hidden bonds; but every sense still wild
With this great change, intoxication reigns.
The meanest wretch in his extreme degree
Of low mechanic baseness, having join'd
To hunt out monarchs, thinks himself a king.
But as I wrote; some friends of mine there are
Who with reluctance feel the galling load
Of this new yoke. Disdaining the weak herd,
And their fond foolish errors, they alone
Mid the fierce-rushing torrent stand unmoved.
Men of tried minds, whose hearts and hands are formed
To take, or model empires at their will.

ARUNS.
What may I hope from these brave sons of Rome?
Will they assist their prince?

MESSALA.
They are prepared
For every deed most hazardous; prepared
To spill their blood profusely in his cause.
But yet imagine not, devoutly blind,
That they will toil for an ungrateful master.
They boast not that enthusiastic warmth
To fall as victims to despotic power,
And rush with senseless zeal on death itself
T'avenge a tyrant, who will afterwards
Not even know them. Tarquin's promises
Are large and full, but having gain'd his point
He may erase their actions from his mind,
Or haply view them with the jealous look
Of secret fear. Well do I know the great;
Friends in their adverse, in their prosperous hour
Neglecting all past benefits, nay oft
The bitterest enemies. We are no more
Than servile instruments to their ambition,
Cast by with scorn when thought no longer useful,
When dangerous destroy'd. My friends will move
Only on stipulated terms, which fix,
And they are sure as fate. They ask a chief
Worthy their courage, with whose dazzling name
To catch the light inconstant multitude.
Whose power, should we succeed, may bind the king,
And keep his faith inviolate; a chief
Whose daring temper, should the secret woof
Of our designs be traced, will still uphold
And best avenge our cause.

ARUNS.
Your letters taught me
That the proud heart of Titus—

MESSALA.
He supports
The Roman state; he is the son of Brutus;
Yet—

ARUNS.
In what light views he th'unjust reward
With which the haughty senate hath repaid
His gallant deeds? His arm alone preserved
The city from destruction. Yet the worth
Of his full soldiership, could not procure him
The rank of counsel; they, I know, refused it.

MESSALA.
At which, I know, he murmurs. His high soul,
Prompt to resent, swells with the injury.
What meed hath he obtain'd, but empty shouts?
A triumph's vain and tinsel pageantry?
And a few gawdy beams of transient splendor?
I've read his proud heart through; and know the strong
And warm emotions of his kindled rage.
Just enter'd on the spacious field of glory
From the scarce seen, and yet unbeaten path
He may be turn'd aside; for fiery youth
Is prone to be misled. But to remove
Each stubborn prejudice which warps his breast,
There is the toil; the love he bears to Rome;
His hate of kings; a consul, and a father;
His dread of shame; and more, the wreaths new-won,
By his heroic acts. Now understand
Titus with me, now mark his inmost soul,
The grief which stings, the poison rankling there.
That soul is fix'd on Tullia.

ARUNS.
Fix'd on Tullia!

MESSALA.
With difficulty from his struggling breast
I forced the secret. At himself he blush'd;
Nor would his fierce unbending spirit deign
To own love's mastery, dreading to be seen
By its soft impulse moved. Amid the shock
Of diverse passions which contend within
And agitate his frame, still liberty
Excites his warmest ardour, every thought
Is frenzy-fired t'ward her.

ARUNS.
Thus then it seems
Upon the movements of a single heart,
Spite of myself, depends the fate of Rome.
But let us on with confidence.—Albinus
Prepare this instant for the camp, to Tarquin.
[To Messala.
Let us unto the princess. I can boast
Some small experience in the ways of men,
Some knowledge of the heart. Now with keen eye
To look thro' her's. Who knows what prosperous snares
Her hands may form t'entrap these sons of Rome!