Brutus A Tragedy |
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| 1. | SCENE I. |
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 | Brutus |  |
SCENE I.
TITUS, ARUNS, MESSALA.TITUS.
Yes, I am fix'd as fate; go, seek the camp.
Superfluous is this waste of time. O'erwhelm'd
With shame, and with despair, henceforth no more
I listen to thy words. Go; leave behind
My virtue only; that, and my misfortunes
Thou wilt not ravish from me. Strongly arm'd,
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Weak and defenceless, I confess their power,
And will no more behold her. Constancy
Shrinks at the sight; a glance of Tullia's eye
Strikes greater dread, than all the tyrant kings,
Could ever raise, with thieir embattled hosts.
View her no more! and have I thus resolved!
I have—conduct her hence—immortal gods!
ARUNS.
Not on my own account, but thine alone,
Staid I in Rome; the portion'd hour we gain'd
With difficulty, is full soon elaps'd;
But Titus should remember it was moved for
At his request.
TITUS.
Say'st thou!—At my request!
ARUNS.
Alas! For thee and Tullia I had form'd
With secret joy, a happier destiny.
And idly hoped these fingers might have twined
A rosy band uniting hearts so pure.
How are these hopes destroy'd!
TITUS.
Insulting man!
Thou hast survey'd me in the hour of shame,
Degraded, lowly sunk beneath myself.
Thou hast seen Titus, for a moment doubtful.
Hence to thy masters, subtle as thou art,
Witness of this disgraceful tenderness!
Hence! Tell them all my failings. Let the tyrants
Whom I have humbled, with exulting hearts,
Know, that the son of Brutus wept before thee.
But add at least, amid the bitter strife
Spite of thy efforts, Tullia's matchless charms,
And pleading tears, still victor o'er my passions,
Enfranchised, and with soul forever Roman,
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By Tarquin's race. That neither force, nor guile
Shall shake my principles; that I have sworn,
And now renew the oath, eternal war
Against the blood of her my heart adores.
ARUNS.
The grief, which all thy senses hath usurp'd,
Forbids resentment, and to me affords.
A prevalent excuse. I leave thee, Titus,
Pitying thy state calamitous, and e'en
Thy prejudices viewing with respect.
So far from wishing to oppress thy heart
With added woes, I mingle tears with thine.
But Tullia dies.—I can no more.—Farewel!
MESSALA.
O Heaven!
| Brutus | |