University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Roman Senate—Senators seated round.
Valerius and Lucretius, the two Consuls.
VALERIUS.
Romans, the crisis of our fate draws near;
The angry gods will be obey'd, and we,
As Romans, must their vengeance meet. What man
But hath so squar'd his course of life, that now
He rather courts than shuns that final boon,
Where all his blooming virtues meet reward?
If any ignominious slave there be,
Preferring coward life to death and fame,
Let him from out our city freely pass:
He's far more baleful than fell hunger's pangs,
Or foul contagion? He's Rome's dishonor;
By birth a Roman, with a bondsman's soul.

LUCRETIUS.
Your looks unruffled, colleagues, shew ye firm:
There needs no fuel to augment the flame
That rages now within your manly breasts:
Else cou'd I deeds rehearse that wou'd have spurr'd
And into action rous'd your sluggard souls:
Else would I proclaim th'Horatii's brave feats,
The saviours of their land; or paint anew
The Roman virtue of a Brutus' soul,
Who gaz'd, with stedfast eye and mien unmov'd,
When death—the recompense of trait'rous minds—
Inflicted was upon his sons degenerate:
Else should a Roman wife have sham'd your breasts,
The offspring of MY blood—Lucretia!
These eyes beheld her pierce that dauntless heart—
That breast which loath'd existence with dishonor.
Like me, ye Senators, be fathers all;
Let steady virtue be your darling child,
And rather die than yield your honours up
To foul pollution.
[Enter Roman Messenger.
But see, the bearer of Porsenna's answer comes;
Let him resolve our doubts; let him proclaim
The fate of Rome, its laws and liberty.

MESSENGER.
Most reverend Senators, as you requir'd,
I neither humbly sued for terms of peace,
Nor by my language gave the foe offence.
I told them, Romans never would be slaves;
That Roman souls defied the frowns of Fate,
And with their liberties would forfeit life.
Detraction never should disgrace the tongue
Of rugged honesty.—Th'invading king,
Altho' th'inveterate enemy of Rome,
Is still a generous and a noble chief;
For he can praise the virtues of our race,
Tho' we defy his power.—Obdurate still,
Porsenna softens not his rig'rous terms,
But wills that Rome should yield at his discretion:
He to the Senate would accord more time
For fresh deliberation—I told him,
Procrastination would but fruitless prove;
That resolution equally became
The conquer'd as the conqueror:—
Thus having said, I did depart the camp,
To make the sequel of my errand known.

VALERIUS.
The die is cast; yet to the latest hour
Shall Rome its freedom and its gods maintain.

LUCRETIUS.
The manacles of bondage we defy,
And laugh to scorn the conqueror and his threats—
We prove ourselves in this more great than they:
We smile at death;—they bask in fortune's beam:
We die, maintaining still our country's rights;—
They conquer those whom Fortune hath subdued;
They slaughter men by meagre famine wasted,
But never can they setter Roman souls;
'Tis freedom—or 'tis immortality.

VALERIUS.
Since death's inevitable, wherefore thus
Supinely wait the blow:—Let's rouse our youth,
And boldly bid defiance to the foe:
Let's with our blood bedew our native soil—
That land which is the envy of the world,
The soil of honor and of liberty.

Enter Mutius.
MUTIUS.
Hail, honor'd men, sage rulers of our land!

LUCRETIUS.
Welcome the valiant Mutius; welcome he
Whose arm so oft hath gain'd his country's praise!

MUTIUS.
Porsenna's answer thro' the city's spread:
Plebeians know the worst—The gods be prais'd,
They murmur not, but are resolv'd to die.

LUCRETIUS.
We will not praise their magnanimity:
A Roman's virtue springs not from applause,
'Tis rooted in his soul.

MUTIUS.
Impell'd by that same virtue, rev'rend Sirs,
A Roman stands before you—Mutius comes
To serve his country with his heart's warm blood:
A godlike ardour swells within my breast;
It beats in freedom's cause, and seeks to save
The Roman state, by sacrifice of life.

VALERIUS.
We know thy ardour—Mutius hath a soul,
Wou'd fain the laurell'd brow of Mars undeck,
And bind the verdant wreath upon his own.

MUTIUS.
Long has my indignation swell'd to see
The high blown pride of this usurping band,
That wou'd new-fangled laws on us enforce,
And level governments and mighty states.
Do they believe that Roman liberty
Can crouch the knee to their ambitious views:
Ours is a freedom which the gods applaud,
Since naught can tear its adamantine root
From out the souls of those which it hath nurtur'd.
But to be brief, and not in words to waste
The precious time which deeds should chronicle,
Myself and other Roman youths have sworn
To compass freedom by Porsenna's death.
Clad in Etrurian raiments, I the first
The honor of this enterprize demand,
Since 'twas myself that did the feat propose.

LUCRETIUS.
'Tis nobly, bravely, and yet rashly thought:
We must applaud the mind that cou'd conceive,
The soul that thus wou'd bravely dare to act,
Tho' Reason doth discountenance the thought.

MUTIUS.
I bend submissive to superior sense;
I own the senate's wisdom, yet am fix'd
To act the darling purpose of my soul.
'Twas rashness, when of late Porsenna's arms
Even to our city's gates our legions press'd,
To see Horatius Cocles stand alone,
And guard the passage of the Tiber's bridge
'Gainst conq'ring thousands of th'invading host.
Firm as the bold Tarpeian rock he stood,
And grimly smil'd upon a cloud of darts,
As if his armour were impenetrable.
The feeble planks, unable to sustain
Accumulated weight, broke sudden down:
Horatius, buckled in his massive mail,
Still battled with the Tiber's yawning surge,
And safely gain'd the city's walls. To this,
Rome for a period her salvation ow'd:
Then why should Mutius' act be madness deem'd;
Why of success despair; since to the gods
There's naught impossible?

VALERIUS.
The senate loves thee, and wou'd fain preserve,
Not rashly sacrifice, so great a soul.

MUTIUS.
And wou'd the senate shew the love it bears,
By barring Mutius from the path of fame?
Wou'd they preserve him to be made a slave?
Or die to-morrow like a sacrifice?
If such be Roman love, then farewell Rome,
Since, baby like, its children must be nurs'd,
Nor suffer'd to exert the native fire
That marshals them to glory.

LUCRETIUS.
Thou dauntless soul, go, gratify the thirst
That rages in thy breast; and with thee bear
The people's blessings and the senate's praise.

MUTIUS.
My gratitude's too full—I cannot speak
The sum of thanks wherewith my bosom burns.
(Kneels)
But hear me swear, immortal gods above!
Hear me, ye powers who watch the secret springs
That animate thy lowly creature, Man!
If any purpose but the cause of Rome;
If any love, save that I bear my land,
Thus urges me, may Mutius be a slave,
And wear the bondage of eternal shame!
Grant me, great Jove, the sun-defying eye
Of thine imperial eagle, lest I fail,
And wrongful fix my gaze! Give me, oh Mars,
The brassy sinews of thy martial arm,
That when I single out Porsenna's form,
I plunge the weapon home. More I ask not;
For I've a soul defying torture's pangs,
When suff'ring for my country and its rights.

(Rises.)
LUCRETIUS.
(descending from his seat, approaches Mutius).
The senate's blessings and the people's pray'rs
Attend thee, Mutius, in this bold exploit.
I too will arm thee with a weapon tried,
A blade corroded with the dearest blood
Of Roman honor, Roman chastity.
(Draws a dagger from beneath his robe.)
This was the steel that pierc'd Lucretia's breast,
The dagger that bereft my child of life,
Which honor's loss made insupportable.
I've worn it ever near this throbbing heart:
It is the centinel that keeps awake
The virtues that befit a Roman soul:
Had they but drows'd, re-action should have lav'd
Its blade incrusted in my recreant heart.
(Presents it to Mutius.)
On thee, the sacred weapon I bestow;
Its pristine lustre ne'er will tarnish'd be
By any act of Mutius.

MUTIUS.
It is a gift the gods themselves might boast:
May Mutius prove he merited the trust!—
Sage fathers of my country, now farewell!
Till in the shades of peace we meet again,
To tell of deeds that gain'd us bliss immortal.

[Exit.
VALERIUS.
May gods propitious prove, and aid his cause!
May Mutius to his country peace restore!

LUCRETIUS.
We'll to the temple, and by fervent prayer
Endeavour to appease the wrath divine.
Come, colleagues, Virtue's friends can never err!
If we must die, none are so well prepar'd,
As those who 'fore the altars yield their breath.

[Exeunt.