 | Brutus Ultor |  |
Scene I.
—Rome. Court of Brutus' house.Enter Publia, Titus, and Tiberius.
Tiberius.
Republic! May it perish!
Titus.
Heigh-ho! Pleasure
Is killed, no dances, feasts, and laughing pomp.
Publia.
And so you hang about my huswifery,
Till I am spoiled for duty with my girls;
The slaves are listless with perpetual calls
From harassed toil, the very dogs enraged
With teazing by the fountain, where you lie
And borrow its lament.
Titus.
Our friends are gone;
Gay banquets are no more.
Tiberius.
I'd rather drowse
In stalest privacy than mix my rank
With farmers and mechanics.
Titus.
Perish birth,
High place, and honour, so that revelry
Once more would tune her instruments, and lift
Her leisure-killing cups.
Publia.
Hush!
[Enter Brutus.]
Brutus.
None at work,
No, nor at play. Go forth to bath or games,
But hang not round this idle fount.
Tiberius.
'Tis hot.
Brutus.
To fainting girls.
Publia.
The sun is high.
Brutus.
Nay, nay.
No weak excuse. Titus, your sprawling limbs
Shame Roman discipline. Put by my scrolls.
[Exeunt Titus and Tiberius.
44
Wife, I am dazed.
Publia.
You sought the public voice,
None made you foe of kings, and orator.
You were a man so private.
Brutus.
Now my thoughts
Are coins in every hand, and reticence
Is plundered. The republic!—in our home,
Sweet wife, we must retain our royalties,
Or piety will wane. Is Titus well?
I miss his laugh. Good wife, be less aghast,—
I may misread in the strange mood that flows
From alteration—there's a sullen frown
I've noted in Tiberius. Is that
The fancy of my strangeness?
Publia.
Oh, you dream.
Yet is he dull and wearied, for he kept
Much company with the old, royal house,
And finds the times are changed, as you confess.
[Enter Vindex.]
Vindex.
Master, they call you to the senate. The old
king sends for his goods that lie in the city. They debate
whether the chattels and raiment shall be yielded to
the messengers.
Brutus.
Tell them I come.
And fetch my sons.
Exit Vindex.
Publia.
They are good children.
Brutus.
Wife,
You need not hold my arm.
Publia.
Youth's golden hours
Are Phœbus' wilful horses, and they keep
The paces of his pleasure. Be not stern
With Titus; he is young.
Brutus.
Think, Publia;
Is it not piteous to see our youth
Like waxen figures melting in the sun?
And for the royal house—dear wife, the blood
Rome boasts pours through the fiery veins of Mars
That consanguinity is proved in arms.
Princes may languish, but our citizens
Inherit duties.
45
Gently deal rebuke.
[Exit.
Brutus.
A magistrate, chief governor!—and all
My nature fashioned votive to express
The perilous ambitions and desires
Of the dull, weary, struggling multitude.
I would have been a sacred messenger,
Chosen from its very ranks. I feel its wrongs,
Its wantonness, its imbecility,
The deep fidelity of its despair,
Even to my inmost blood-drop. And my place
Is with authority; the lictors stand
About me. I must deal with punishment,
Repression, and the lips I thought were loosed
For freedom's service, now must only move
To the slow terms of law. The senators
Confirm me in my powers, and sever me
From the common people. Yet the time will come
They shall have heralds of their own. Meanwhile
I am made absolute o'er life and death;
I legislate, command. Ye holy gods,
Arraign me if I rule in insolence,
With arbitrary choice. Come hither, sons!
[Re-enter Titus and Tiberius.]
Your mother tells me that your days are changed;
You miss your wonted company,—the hours
Misspent with haughty princes, and the youth
Who scorn the laws that, in the ilex-grove,
The Muse, religious-voiced, to Numa taught,
The later mandates Servius decreed,
And that great natural awe that guards the heart
From brutish degradation.
Tiberius.
Needless fear!
I miss them not the least.
Titus.
Oh, but I do!
And father, who can chat with empty air,
Or with the fountain keep good fellowship?
For one complains, the other answers not.
Brutus.
Better discourse with the god-haunted airs,
Or the cool genius stirring in the well,
Than deal with godless tyrants. Give your minds
46
That you with Vindex must be closeted;
No thoughts to ripen into enterprise;
No hallowed sighs that need interpreting
From youth's own augurs? Youth with youth is quick
At divination of the holy things
That make mysterious passage through its sky.
Take counsel with your fellows; they I trust,
Are honourable youths?
Tiberius.
Sir, we attend
Your admonition.
Titus.
Gods, we must be grave!
Brutus.
Nay, Titus, nay. You have your mother's brows,
Candid and blithe: do not suppress yourself.
Now tyranny is dead, there is no need
Of any slavish habit, and to feign
Is not a Roman art. Farewell, and guard
Your breasts from discontent.
[Exit.
Tiberius.
I'll never learn
That lesson under consuls.
Titus.
Sport is killed.
Here comes our moody uncle.
[Enter an Aquilius.]
Aquilius.
Listen, boys,
I may not use my voice except to breathe
A whisper of deliverance. The king
Hath sent to claim his goods; the deputies,
Our kinsmen, lodge with us, and share our board,
Filling our ears with hope. A band of friends
To monarchy will meet this very hour,
In a dim chamber of our palace. There
I'll take you, for you love the courtly days
And pleasures that are banished.
Tiberius.
Titus, come.
We shall be princes, if we bring the crown
Back to our monarch's brow.
Titus.
Throw wide the gates,
And feasts, pomp, gaieties, and majesty
Will enter like the golden age. We come.
[Exeunt.
| Brutus Ultor | |