University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

TITUS, MESSALA.
TITUS.
Capricious fortune!
Didst thou conjoin our hearts, with savage force
To disunite them thus! Hast thou decreed
To place the brand of enmity between us!
Oh, friend! This generous sympathy restrain!
Heave not (if possible) the indignant sigh!
Nor waste a tear on me!

MESSALA.
Such matchless virtue,
Love so refined, and beauty in distress,
Who can behold unmoved? A soul like hers
Thou only can'st deserve.

TITUS.
The time is past.
That soul must ne'er be mine.

MESSALA.
What power withstands!
Rather what idle scruples form a bar
To thy desires?

TITUS.
The cruel maid herself.
Conditions odious, unsurmountable,
Have been by her imposed. Despotic kings,
Who oft have shrunk before my lightening spear,
Can I then stoop to own myself your slave?
Romans! Who underneath this sheltering arm
Repose in safety, can I ever dare
So meanly to betray you! Shall a passion
Whose fierce assaults I have so long repell'd,
Now with so dire a mast'ry triumph o'er me!
Shall I expose my father to the rage
Of these unpitying tyrants! Heavenly powers!
And such a father? Nature's chosen hero!
The paragon of men! His country's first,
And great support! By whose instructive care,
I fill the secondary rank of glory!
By whose example perfected, I thought
A time would haply come, when I might gain
The same conspicuous eminence with him!
Thus with the virtues leagued, inspired by them,
And every action their's.—Oh, dreadful fate!
Heart-racking grief! Event most horrible!

MESSALA.
These were the virtues of inferior life,
And well adorn'd a citizen of Rome.
With what superior grace would'st thou display
Those of a higher station! And behold,
Where royalty obsequious, waits thy nod!
Surely on this auspicious day, heaven looks
Benignant down, and gives thee to possess
Dominion, vengeance, and thy Tullia's love.
Are these weak motives? Know this mighty consul,
This chosen hero, with the titles deck'd
Of public father, Atlas of the state,
Founder of Rome, who sitting idol-like,
Upon the ruins of the very throne
Thy hands have crush'd, deceives thy dazzled eye;
By prostrate crouds adored, and even drunk
With their thick-steaming incense; had he proved
In this adventurous struggle unsuccessful,
Had not thy victories spread a lustre round him,
Would only have been mark'd and stigmatiz'd
As a seditious traitor.—Thus renown'd;
Covet augmented fame! Amid thy laurels
Twine the more glorious olive! Oh! Recall
Those milder days of harmony and peace,
When liberty, in friendship knit with power,
Content with sovereign sway, our ancestors
Pois'd in due balance, and esteem'd as one
The people's interests, and the monarch's greatness!
Rome's hate of kings is not eternal, soon,
Were thine the sceptre, she again would view them
With eyes of filial love; for monarchy,
Once by her wavering people highly priz'd,
Tho' now abhorr'd; as different states incline,
The object of their terror, or desire,
Reason must own to be the best or worst
Of human governments; a tyrant prince
Will make it dreadful; and a good, divine.

TITUS.
This to my ear! Can I henceforth survey thee
In any other light, but as begrimed,
And foul with horrid treason? And myself
The stain participating, who have suffer'd
Thy converse uncontroul'd

MESSALA.
That as it may.
But know, a man there is, prepared to snatch
Th'inestimable meed, which thy faint soul
Thus hesitates to enjoy. The work untried,
He shall accomplish.

TITUS.
Hah! What man exists—
Cease thy dark hints.—Gods! Who will dare?—

MESSALA.
Thy brother.

TITUS.
My brother!

MESSALA.
He. To Tarquin he hath sworn
Inviolable faith.

TITUS.
Will Tiberinus.
Betray his country?

MESSALA.
No: he means to serve
Rome, and his sovereign. Who of thee regardless,
Will give his daughter to th'intrepid youth
Who shall with warmest zeal defend her father.

TITUS.
Just heaven! O fraught with perfidy!—What words
Can adequately paint thy crime? My soul
Long facinated, saw not underneath, the dark
And dread abyss, o'er which by thee led on
I stood unconscious. To the fatal choice
Thou think'st me now reduced, t'accuse my brother,
Or join in guilty partnership with him.
But sooner shall thy blood—

MESSALA.
My punishment
Is in thy hands; strike this unguarded breast:
Its cares, its ardent wishes for thy service
Demand the blow; slain'd with thy friend's warm blood,
Go, stab thy brother, murder her thou lovest;
Plunge the yet-reeking dagger in their hearts;
Their corses drag before the senate; boast
The glorious deed, and for the great reward
Of all thy virtues, ask the consulate.
Do this; or with anticipating step
I haste before thee, to their listening ears
Proclaim th'accomplices, and strait begin
The sacrifice of horror.

TITUS.
Stay, I charge thee,
Or dread ill-destined as thou art, the rage
The madness of despair.