University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Etrurian Camp.
PORSENNA
(coming forward).
Propitious Fortune smiles upon our arms:
The bold presumptuous sons of Rome are tam'd,
And supplicate in vain the angry gods
To stir in their behalf. Methinks I see
These haughty spirits bow'd beneath the weight
Of dire misfortune. Clos'd within their walls,
In throngs they pour their lamentations forth,
And weary Jove with futile prayers. No more
Their conquering legions scour the fertile plains;
Their senators, their aged and their young,
Their matrons, wives, and virgins, bend alike
The stubborn knee, and to their altars cling,
Rending the air with vows, with groans, and tears.
Gods! how my soul rejoices at the thought,
Since in my grasp is plac'd th'avenging rod
To scourge this proud and daring race, whose arms
So oft have bow'd Etruria's sons in fight,
And made us wear the Roman yoke.

LENTELLUS.
Most royal sir, to you our country owes
The glorious conquest of their legion'd hosts:
The palsied foe shrinks at thy martial name,
And, terror struck, contemplates all thy deeds.
Porsenna is at once the Romans dread,
And bless'd Etruria's boast.

PORSENNA.
And what befits the monarch's crown so well
As love from those who own the sceptr'd sway,
And bow submissive to their country's laws?
I seek not to conciliate faction's hate,
But live in good men's hearts: the praise of vice
Is ever by the virtuous mind contemn'd:
'Tis baneful as the pestitential wind,
On which rides meagre death. Th'applause of vice
Blots out fair virtue from the soul that's prais'd,
And singles it for infamy.

LENTELLUS.
Such ne'er will prove Porsenna's lot. His acts,
Weigh'd in the scale of justice, claim alike
The smile of gods, the love of worthy men.

PORSENNA.
Tell me, Lentellus, are our proffered terms
Now forwarded to Rome?

LENTELLUS.
A messenger, by dawn dispatch'd, bore hence
Your summons to the Roman senate.

PORSENNA.
'Tis well:—
Let them at large discuss the weighty point,
Still shall they bow submissive to my will,
And own me for a conqueror. If, stern,
They dare my clemency deride, and bar
Against victorious troops their city's gates,
To-morrow's dawn will I besiege proud Rome,
And level with the earth its massive walls:
Etrurian swords shall bathe in Roman blood;
Consuming flames shall rage on every side,
And with its spoils my legions will return
Triumphant to their friends and countrymen.

LENTELLUS.
Swell'd with the pride of conquest, even now
Each soldier burns with godlike emulation:
Their big hearts, eager for the glorious fray,
Tumultuous throb against their manly breasts,
And nerve them with a more than mortal fire.
I would the senate, deaf to our demand,
Return'd us bold defiance; for I thirst
To root this warlike people from the soil.
Ev'n as a gentle stream, by torrents swell'd,
O'erflows its banks, and deluges around
The fertile plains: so, gradually increas'd,
This pigmy tribe, to mighty numbers grown,
Against their neighbours bear the hostile steel,
And seem to covet universal sway.

PORSENNA.
Lentellus, hold!
Sweet mercy is the attribute of gods,
And graces more the hero than his spoils,
Or pining captives to his chariot leash'd.
My friend, the Roman pride is humbled now,
The gods forefend that we should crave more blood.
For me, I trust they will not madly spurn
The good that's tender'd; but with open arms,
Not as victors, but as friends, embrace us.
Yet soft!
Trumpet sounds.
Yon trumpet's clangor speaks the herald near.
Enter Etrurian Herald with a Roman messenger.
Our fix'd determination being known,
What answer bring'st thou from the Senate?

ROMAN.
Porsenna, as a Roman I shall speak;
For well I know your manliness of soul
Will not the frankness of my tongue despise.
I plead my country's cause,—the cause of Rome.
My speech, untutor'd in the whining phrase
Of honied flattery, shall quick unfold
The answer of our reverend rulers.
Porsenna wills that Romans should be slaves—
And Romans will defend their liberty:
Propitious gods smile on Porsenna's arms—
Fate frowns on Rome, still Romans dare be free.
You would my countrymen should own the yoke,
And place reliance on your clemency—
We cannot bend before Etruria's king,
Nor shame our gods, our country, and our rights.
Such terms as honor dictates we will hear.
We know, the worst that can befall is death:
And who so base but would resign his life
To save him from dishonour?
Porsenna would not hesitate in this;
His valour and his virtues stamp him Man:
Then why should Romans, by a deed of shame,
Insure Porsenna's hate?—If, less severe,
You proffer terms becoming manly souls,
Our senators will purchase peace; if not,
Romans know how to die.

PORSENNA.
Roman, attend!
Not to dispraise bold virtue would I speak,
For I do reverence thy country's deeds,
Yet inwardly lament the tides of blood
Wherein Etruria's sons ere long must bathe
Their vengeful hands. My injur'd people's cause
Hath urg'd me to adopt a conqueror's phrase,
Nor can I vary in my fix'd intent;
But on this bold defiance must proceed,
And hurl destruction on thy daring race.
—'Tis thus resolv'd:
And to your senate therefore bear my words;
Still adding, that Porsenna grants this day
For further consultation.

ROMAN.
Our senators demand no lenity:
Porsenna is resolv'd, and so are they.
We'll to the last defend our city's rights,
And, nobly buried in its ruin'd walls,
Purchase a glorious and immortal grave.

[Exit.
PORSENNA.
Conduct him safe without the camp.—
Lentellus, they decide as thou requir'st;
My proferr'd friendship is with boldness spurn'd,
And I must frame my soul to deeds of death.
To thy charge do I yield the dread attack—
To-morrow's dawn must to our soldiers' rage
The spoils of Rome consign.

LENTELLUS.
Aye, and the senators and people's blood
Shall pay this bold presumption.—What is Rome,
That it should haughtily defy the foe
Whose conqu'ring arms have tam'd its children's pride,
And even now, before their walls encamp'd,
Threaten with famine, flame, and sword conjoin'd,
To lay its altars with the humble dust?
What is this race—which boasts descent from gods,
That it should contumeliously despise
The terms of friendship and the shafts of death?
Curse on their pride!—but they shall rue the dawn:
Yes, by our gods, to-morrow's rising sun,
Crowning yon city with its golden beams,
Shall give it, like a gay deck'd sacrifice,
To slaughter and eternal ruin.

PORSENNA.
My friend, thy dauntless courage stands confess'd,
And bold achievements claim thy sov'reign's praise:
Yet, why this vengeance and this thirst of blood?
I reverence the actions thou contemn'st,
And rather weep than vaunt their dire effects.
Thou must, to gain Porsenna's love entire,
Root vengeance from thy breast; it is a vice
That blots from out the catalogue of fame
The conqueror's deeds, and slurs the hero's name.

LENTELLUS.
Belike you do forget, most royal sir,
Your slaughter'd subjects' ghosts that shriek aloud,
And cry for vengeance on their murderers.

PORSENNA.
They nobly fought their mother-country's cause;
They died in her defence; and therefore rest,
Freed from the passions of this mortal state,
In bless'd Elysium.
The soldier's spirit, 'ray'd in honor's garb,
Ne'er shrieks for vengeance—Nor fame, nor conquest,
Nor spoils of war with multitudinous shouts,
So well become the man as Clemency—
Without this attribute, the laurel wreath
Fades on the victor's brow; but, grac'd with this,
The breath of malice cannot blast its bud;
It weathers all the rude assaults of fate,
And wears an everlasting bloom.

LENTELLUS.
I shall endeavour so to frame my thoughts,
That they may henceforth meet Porsenna's praise.

PORSENNA.
Think not I'd chide thee, good Lentellus:—no;
I would but cull a noxious weed, that mars
The growth of virtue's plant.—Thou shalt be all
Thy sovereign's heart can wish, not merit half
Porsenna's love.

[Exit with attendants.
LENTELLUS
(solus).
Curse on his noble qualities, they blaze,
And like the noontide sun absorb the beams
Of every lesser orb.—Why do I shrink,
And like the silvery moon confess his power,
Wasting whene'er he darts his godlike rays
Athwart my envious soul? I know not why,
Yet there's in virtue's tone a 'witching charm
That doth unbend the purpose of my soul
And make me reverence the theme I hate.—
Down, busy thought! and in thy place arise
The drowning voice of bold Ambition.—Who
But Lentellus now shall lead to vengeance,
And thus the soldiers' love obtain? To me
Deputed is the slaughter of the foe
And sacking of proud Rome—this well shall aid,
And onward spur my dread intent—Once gain'd
The base plebeian voice, I'll mask no more
The love of sov'reignty wherewith I'm fir'd.
This hand shall beat the opposing barrier down,
And satiate my ambition with a crown.

[Exit.