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Ay, should they! They dared not have armed a
single citizen without the order of the senate; which, had they
not obtained, the country would have been left naked to the
foe; and, then, they had been forced to make room for more
popular magistrates.

Luc.

Why were they not opposed, then?

Num.

Did not I tell you they were opposed? Caius Claudius,
Appius's own uncle, and Honorius, that noble senator, opposed
them; and it was like to go against them, but for the brawling
insolence of Spurius Oppius, and the effrontery of the head
decemvir, backed by the young patricians.

Luc.

So they are empowered to take up arms?

Num.

To be sure they are; and they have done so. One
body has already marched, and by this time, no doubt, has
come to blows with the enemy. The levy is still proceeding.
All the decemvirs, but Appius, take the field. He remains in
Rome to keep good order, that is the violator of all order.
Why, where have you been, Lucius, to have felt no movement
of so great and wide a stir? Your brother meets Virginius at
his house to-day. Come with me thither, for you I know are
bid. Lucius, there's no huzzaing for your decemvirs now.
Come on! 'Tis close upon the hour.

[They go out.

SCENE II.

—Virginius's House.
Enter Virginius, Icilius, Numitorius, Lucius, and others.
Virginius.
Welcome, Icilius! Welcome, friends! Icilius,
I hoped to speak with you, to-day, of feasting
And merriment, but war is now the word;
One that unlovingly keeps time with mirth,
Unless war's own—when the fierce fight is won,
And, safe carousing, comrades drink to victory!

Icil.
Virginius! have you changed your mind?

Virginius.
My mind?
What mind? How now! Are you that boy, Icilius,
You set your heart so earnestly upon
A dish of poor confections, that to balk you
Makes you look blank! I did design to feast you
Together with your friends. The times are changed—
The march, the tent, the fight becomes us now!

Icil.
Virginius!

Virginius.
Well!

Icil.
Virginius!

Virginius.
How the boy
Reiterates my name!

Icil.
There's not a hope
I have but is the client of Virginius!

Virginius.
Well, well! I only meant to put it off!
We'll have the revel yet! the board shall smoke!
The cup shall sparkle, and the jest shall soar
And mock us from the roof! Will that content you?
Not till the war be done, though—Yet, ere then,
Some tongue, that now needs only wag to make
The table ring, may have a tale to tell
So petrifying, that it cannot utter it!
I'll make all sure, that you may be my guest
At any rate—although you should be forced
To play the host for me and feast yourself.
Look here, [shows a parchment to Icilius]

How think you?—Will it meet the charge?
Will it not do? We want a witness, though!
I'll bring one; of whom if you approve, I'll sign
The bond. I'll wait upon you instantly.

[Goes out.
Luc.
How feel you now, Icilius?

Icil.
Like a man
Whom the next moment makes or quite unmakes.
With the intensity of exquisite
Suspense, my breathing thickens, and my heart
Beats heavily, and with remittent throb,
As like to lose its action—See! my hope
Is bless'd! I live! I live!

Enter Virginius, conducting Virginia, with Numitorius.
Virginius.
You are my witnesses,
That this young creature I present to you,

I boast of, as my profitably cherish'd,
And most deservedly belovéd child;
My daughter truly filial—both in word
And act—yet even more in act than word;
And—for the man who hopes to win her hand—
A virgin, from whose lips a soul as pure
Exhales, as e'er responded to the blessing
Breathed in a parent's kiss. [Kissing her.]
Icilius!
[Icilius rushes towards Virginius, and kneels.
Since
You are upon your knee, young man, look up;
And lift your hand to heaven—You will be all
Her father has been—added unto all
A lover would be!

Icil.
All that man should be
To woman, I will be to her!

Virginius.
The oath
Is register'd! Didst thou but know, young man,
How fondly I have watch'd her, since the day
Her mother died, and left me to a charge
Of double duty bound—how she hath been
My ponder'd thought by day, my dream by night,
My prayer, my vow, my offering, my praise,
My sweet companion, pupil, tutor, child!—
Thou wouldst not wonder that my drowning eye,
And choking utterance, upbraid my tongue
That tells thee, she is thine!—Icilius,
I now betroth her to thee! When the war
Is done—you shall espouse her. Friends, a word!

[Virginius and the rest retire.
Icil.
Virginia! my Virginia! I am all
Dissolved—o'erpower'd with the munificence
Of this auspicious hour—and thou, nor movest—
Nor look'st—nor speak'st—to bless me with a sign
Of sweet according joy!—I love thee, but
To make thee happy! If to make thee so
Be bliss denied to me—lo, I release
The gifted hand—that I would faster hold,
Than wretches, bound for death, would cling to life.
If thou wouldst take it back—then take it back.

Virginia.
I take it back—to give it thee again!

Icil.
O help me to a word to speak my bliss,
Or I am beggar'd—No! There's no such word!
There cannot be; for never man had bliss
Like mine to name!

Virginia.
Thou dost but beggar me,
Icilius, when thou makest thyself a bankrupt;
Placing a value on me far above
My real little worth.—I'd help thee to
A hundred words; each one of which would far
O'er-rate thy gain, and yet no single one
Rate over high!

Icil.
Thou couldst not do it! No;
Thou couldst not do it! Every term of worth
Writ down and doubled, then the whole summ'd up,
Would leave with thee a rich remainder still!—
Pick from each rarer pattern of thy sex
Her rarest charm, till thou hast every charm
Of soul and body that can blend in woman,
I would out-paragon the paragon
With thee!

Virginia.
And if thou wouldst, I'd find thee, for
Thy paragon, a mate—if that can be
A mate which beats the thing 'tis ta'en to match—
One that would make thy paragon look poor—
And I would call that so o'ermatching mate
“Icilius.”

Icil.
No! I will not let thee win
On such a theme as this!

Virginia.
Nor will I drop
The controversy, that the richer makes me
The more I lose!

Icil.
My sweet Virginia,
We do but lose and lose, and win and win;
Playing for nothing but to lose and win.
Then let us drop the game—and thus I stop it.

[Kisses her.
Re-enter Virginius, and the others.
Virginius.
Witness, my friends, that seal! Observe, it is
A living one! It is Icilius' seal;
And stamp'd upon as true and fair a bond—
Though it receive the impress blushingly—
As ever signet kiss'd! Are all content?
Speak else! She is thy free affianced wife,
Thou art her free affianced husband! Come,
We have o'erdrawn our time—Farewell, Virginia;
Thy future husband for a time must be
Bellona's. To thy tasks, again, my child;
Be thou the bride of study for a time.
Farewell!

Virginia.
My father!

Virginius.
May the gods protect thee!

Virginia.
My father!

Virginius.
Does the blood forsake thy cheek?
Come to my arms once more! Remember, girl,
The first and foremost debt a Roman owes
Is to his country; and it must be paid,
If need be, with his life.—Why, how you hold me!
Icilius, take her from me! Servia!
Come, boy.

Icil.
Farewell, Virginia!

Virginius.
[To Servia.]
Take her in!

Virginia.
The gods be with thee, my Icilius! Father,
The gods be with thee—and Icilius.

Virginius.
Come! I swear a battle might be fought and won
In half the time! Now, once for all, farewell!
Your sword and buckler, boy! The foe! the foe!
Does he not tread on Roman ground! Come on!
Come on!—Charge on him!—Drive him back, or die!

[They go out.

SCENE III.

—Appius's House.
Enter Appius.
It was a triumph, the achieving which
O'erpaid the hazard that we ran—though great.
They have made trial of their strength, and learn'd
Its value from defeat. The senate knows
Its masters now; and the decemvirate,
To make its reign eternal, only needs
Its own decree. Ere this the saucy foe
Has met the chastisement he merited;
Which turns his bold assault to shameful flight,
Leaving us, henceforth, leisure to enjoy
The boundless harvest of our glorious daring!
Tyranny thrives in Rome! O Tyranny!
How godlike is thy port! Thou givest and takest,
And ask'st no other leave, than what thy own
Imperial will accords. Jove does no more!
Now, Claudius—

Enter Claudius.
Claud.
We have suffer'd a defeat!

App.
What! The decemvirs fly!

Claud.
The soldiers fight
With only half a heart. The other half
Looks on, and cares not which side proves the winner.

App.
Then decimate them. Traitors! Recreants!
Why, we shall have them at our very doors!
Have we lost ground, my Claudius?

Claud.
None, except
What we've retraced in fame. We strove to teach
The enemy their road lay backwards, but
They would not turn their faces for us. Each
Retains his former line.

Enter Marcus.
App.
What news?

Mar.
The Æqui
Still press upon us. Rumours are afloat
Of new disasters, which the common cry,
Be sure, still multiplies and swells. Dentatus,
That over-busy, crabbéd veteran,
Walks up and down among the people, making
Your plans his theme of laughter. Nought he stints

That may reflect you in an odious light,
And lower the decemvirate.

App.
A dungeon
Would do good service to him! Once within,
Strangling were easy! We must stop his mouth—
Unwholesome food—or liquor—Where was he
When last you heard him?

Marc.
In the Forum.

App.
So!
He is past service, is he not? Some way
To clear the city of him. Come, we'll hear him,
And answer him, and silence him! 'Tis well
The dog barks forth his spleen! It puts us on
Our guard against his bite. Come to the Forum!

[They go out.

SCENE IV.

—The Forum.
Enter Dentatus, with Titus, Servius, and Citizens.
Tit.

What's to be done?

Den.

We'll be undone—that's to be done.

Ser.

We'll do away with the decemvirate.

Den.

You'll do away with the decemvirate?—The decemvirate
will do away with you! You'll do away with yourselves!
Do nothing!—The enemy will do away with both of you. In
another month a Roman will be a stranger in Rome. A fine
pass we are come to, masters!

Tit.

But something must be done.

Den.

Why, what would you have? You shout and clap your
hands, as if it were a victory you heard of; and yet you cry—
Something must be done! Truly, I know not what that something
is, unless it be to make you General. How say you,
masters?

Ser.

We'd follow any man that knew how to lead us, and
would rid us of our foes, and the decemvirate together.

Den.

You made these decemvirs!—You are strangely discontented
with your own work! And you are over-cunning
workmen, too—You put your materials so firmly together,
there's no such thing as taking them asunder! What you
build, you build—except it be for your own good.—There you
are bunglers at your craft. Ha! ha! ha! I cannot but laugh
to think how you toiled, and strained, and sweated, to rear the
stones of the building one above another, when I see the ugly
faces you make at it!

Tit.

But tell us the news again.

Den.

Is it so good? Does it so please you? Then prick
your ears again, and listen. We have been beaten again—
beaten back on our own soil. Rome has seen its haughty
masters fly before chastisement, like slaves—returning cries
for blows—and all this of your decemvirs, gentlemen!

1st Cit.

Huzza for it again!

[The people shout.
2nd Cit.

Hush! Appius comes.

Den.

And do you care for that? You that were, just now,
within a stride of taking him and his colleagues by the throat?
You'll do away with the decemvirs, will you!—and let but one
of them appear, you dare not for your life but keep your spleen
within your teeth! Listen to me, now! I'll speak the more
for Appius— [Enter Appius, Claudius, and Marcus, preceded by Lictors.]

—I say, to the eternal infamy of Rome, the foe has
chased her sons, like hares, on their own soil, where they should
prey like lions—and so they would, had they not keepers to
tame them.

App.

What's that you are saying to the people, Siccius
Dentatus?

Den.

I am regaling them with the news.

App.

The news?

Den.

Ay, the news—the newest that can be had; and the
more novel because unlooked for. Who ever thought to see the
eagle in the talons of the kite?

App.

It is not well done in you, Dentatus, to chafe a sore.
It makes it rankle. If your surgery has learned no better, it
should keep its hands to itself! You have very little to do, to
busy yourself after this fashion.

Den.

I busy myself as I like, Appius Claudius.

App.

I know you do, when you labour to spread disaffection
among the people, and bring the decemvirs into contempt.

Den.

The decemvirs bring themselves into contempt.

App.

Ha! dare you say so?

Den.

Dare! I have dared cry “Come on!” to a cohort of
bearded warriors—Is it thy smooth face should appal me?
Dare!—It never yet flurried me to use my arm—Shall I not,
think you, be at my ease when I but wag my tongue? Dare,
indeed!

App.

Your grey hairs should keep company with honester
speech!

Den.

Shall I show you, Appius, the company they are wont
to keep? Look here! and here [uncovering his forehead and showing scars]
.
These are the vouchers of honest deeds—Such
is the speech with which my grey hairs keep company. I tell
you, to your teeth, the decemvirs bring themselves into contempt.

App.

What, are they not serving their country at the head
of her armies?

Den.

They'd serve her better in the body of her armies!
I'd name for thee a hundred centurions would make better
generals! A common soldier of a year's active service would
take his measures better! Generals! Our generals were wont
to teach us how to win battles.—Tactics are changed; your
generals instruct us how to lose them.

App.
Do you see my lictors?

Den.
There are twelve of them.

App.
What if I bid them seize thee?

Den.
They'd blush to do it.

App.
Why now, Dentatus, I begin to know you;
I fancied you a man that loved to vent
His causeless anger in an under-breath,
And speak it in the ear—and only then
When there was safety! Such a one, you'll own,
Is dangerous; and to be trusted, as
A friend or foe, unworthy. But I see
You rail to faces! Have you not so much
Respect for Appius as to take him by
The hand, when he confesses you have some
Pretence to quarrel with his colleagues' plans,
And find fault with himself?—which yet, you'll own,
May quite as well be kindly done, Dentatus,
As harshly. Had you only to myself
Declared your discontents, the more you had rail'd,
The more I should have thank'd you.

Den.
Had I thought—

App.
And have you been campaigning, then, so long,
And prosperously—and mistrust you, Siccius,
That a young scarless soldier, like myself,
Would listen to your tutoring? See, now,
How much you have mistaken me! Dentatus,
In a word—Can you assist the generals,
And will you?

Den.
I have all the will—but as
For the ability—

App.
Tut! tut! Dentatus,
You vex me now. This coyness sits not well on you!
You know as well as I, you have as much
Ability as will. I would not think you
A man that loved to find fault, but to find it!
Surely the evil you complain of, you
Would lend a hand to remedy! See, now,
'Tis fairly put to you—what say you?

Den.
Appius,
You may use me as you please.

App.
And that will be,
As you deserve. I'll send you, as my legate,
To the army. [Shouts from the people.]
Do you hear your friends, Dentatus?
A lucky omen, that! Away! away!
Apprise your house—Prepare for setting out.
I'll hurry your credentials. Minutes now
Rate high as hours! Assist my colleagues with
Your counsel; if their plans displease you, why
Correct them—change them—utterly reject them.
And if you meet obstruction, notice me,
And I will push it by. There, now! Your hand!
Again! Away! All the success attend you
That Appius wishes you!

Den.
Success is from

The gods, whose hand soe'er it pleases them
To send it by. I know not what success
'Tis Appius' wish they send; but this I know
I am a soldier; and, as a soldier, I
Am bound to serve. All the success I ask,
Is that which benefits my country, Appius.

[Dentatus goes out.
App.
You've served her over long! [Aside.]
Now for our causes.

[Appius ascends the tribunal.
Claud.
[To Marcus.]
Do you see the drift of this?

Marc.
I cannot guess it.

Claud.
Nor I.

App.
[To a Plebeian.]
Are you the suitor in this cause?
Speak!

Plebeian.
Noble Appius, if there's law in Rome,
To right a man most injured, to that law
Against you proud patrician I appeal.

App.
No more of that, I say! Because he's rich
And great, you call him proud! 'Tis not unlike
Because you're poor and mean, you call yourself
Injured. Relate your story; and, so please you,
Spare epithets.

Plebeian.
Grant me a minute's pause,
And I'll begin.

[Virginia at this moment crosses the stage with her Nurse, and is met by Numitorius, who holds her in conversation: Appius rivets his eyes upon her.
Num.
You have heard the news?

Virginia.
What news, dear uncle?

Num.
Step
Aside with me, I'll tell you.

[Takes her a little farther from the tribunal.
App.
Can it be
A mortal that I look upon?

Virginia.
They are safe!
I thank the gods!

App.
Her eyes look up to heaven
Like something kindred to it—rather made
To send their glances down, and fill the earth
With worship and with gratulation. What
A thrill runs up and down my veins, and all
Throughout me!

Plebeian.
Now, most noble Appius—

App.
Stop!
Put off the cause; I cannot hear it, now.
Attend to-morrow. An oppressive closeness
Allows me not to breathe. Lictors! make clear
The ground about the rostrum!
[Descends, and approaches Claudius with precipitation.
Claudius! Claudius!—
Marcus, go you and summon my physician
To be at home before me.
[Marcus goes out.
Claudius, look!

Virginia.
You send a messenger to-night?

Num.
I do.

App.
Paint me that smile! I never saw a smile
Till now. My Claudius, is she not a wonder?
I know not whether in the state of girlhood
Or womanhood to call her. 'Twixt the two
She stands, as that were loath to lose her, this
To win her most impatient. The young year
Trembling and blushing 'twixt the striving kisses
Of parting spring and meeting summer, seems
Her only parallel!

Num.
'Tis well! I'll send
Your father word of this. But have you not
A message to Icilius?

App.
Mark you, Claudius?
There is a blush! I must possess her.

Virginia.
Tell him,
I think upon him. Farewell, Numitorius!

[Goes out with Servia.
Num.
Farewell, Virginia.

Claud.
Master, will you tell me
The name of that young maiden?

Num.
She is call'd
Virginia, daughter of Virginius;
A Roman citizen, and a centurion
Now with the army.

Claud.
She is very like
The daughter of a friend of mine. Farewell.

[Numitorius goes out.
App.
I burn, my Claudius! brain and heart—there's not
A fibre in my body but's on fire!
With what a gait she moves! Such was not Hebe,
Or Jupiter had sooner lost his heaven,
Than changed his cupbearer! A step like that
The rapture-glowing clouds might well bear up,
And never take for human! Find me, Claudius,
Some way to compass the possession of her!

Claud.
'Tis difficult—her father's of repute;
The highest of his class.

App.
I guess'd it! Friends
Are ever friends, except when they are needed.

Claud.
Nay, Appius!

App.
If thou canst not give me hope,
Be dumb!

Claud.
A female agent may be used
With some success.

App.
How? How?

Claud.
To tamper with
That woman who attends her.

App.
Set about it.

Claud.
Could she but be induced to help you to
A single meeting with her—

App.
Claudius! Claudius!
Effect but that!

Claud.
I'll instantly about it.

App.
Spare not my gold—nor stop at promises.
I will fulfil them fast as thou canst make them.
To purchase such a draught of ecstasy
I'd drain a kingdom—Set about it, Claudius!
Away! I will not eat, nor drink, nor sleep,
Until I hear from thee!

Claud.
Depend upon me!

App.
I do, my Claudius, for my life—my life!

[They go out severally.

END OF ACT II.