[Turning to Messala.
We’ll to the princess: I have gained some knowledge,
By long experience, of the human heart:
I’ll try to read her soul; perhaps her hands
May weave a net to catch this Roman senate.
End of the First Act.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The scene represents an apartment in the palace of the consuls.
titus, messala.
messala.
No: ’tis unkind; it hurts my tender friendship:
He who but half unveils his secrets, tells
Too little or too much: dost thou suspect me?
titus.
Do not reproach me; my whole heart is thine.
messala.
Thou who so lately didst with me detest
The rigorous senate, and pour forth thy plaints
In anguish; thou who on this faithful bosom
Didst shed so many tears, couldst thou conceal
Griefs far more bitter, the keen pangs of love?
How could ambition quench the rising flame,
And blot out every tender sentiment?
Dost thou detest the hateful senate more
Than thou lovest Tullia?
titus.
O! I love with transport,
And hate with fury; ever in extreme;
It is the native weakness of my soul,
Which much I strive to conquer, but in vain.
messala.
But why thus rashly tear thy bleeding wounds?
Why weep thy injuries, yet disguise thy love?
titus.
Spite of those injuries, spite of all my wrongs,
Have I not shed my blood for this proud senate?
Thou knowest I have, and didst partake my glory;
With joy I told thee of my fair success;
It showed, methought, a nobleness of soul
To fight for the ungrateful, and I felt
The pride of conscious virtue: the misfortunes
We have o’ercome with pleasure we impart,
But few are anxious to reveal their shame.
messala.
Where is the shame, the folly, or disgrace:
And what should Titus blush at?
titus.
At myself:
At my fond foolish passion, that o’erpowers
My duty.
messala.
Are ambition then, and love,
Passions unworthy of a noble mind?
titus.
Ambition, love, resentment, all possess
The soul of Titus, and by turns inflame it:
These consul kings despise my youth; deny me
My valor’s due reward, the price of blood
Shed in their cause: then, midst my sorrows, seize
All I hold dear, and snatch my Tullia from me.
Alas! I had no hope, and yet my heart
Grows jealous now: the fire, long pent within,
Bursts forth with inextinguishable rage.
I thought it had been o’er; she parted from me,
And I had almost gained the victory
O’er my rebellious passion: but my race
Of glory now is run, and heaven has fixed
Its period here: Gods! that the son of Brutus,
The foe of kings, should ever be the slave
Of Tarquin’s race! nay, the ungrateful fair
Scorns to accept my conquered heart: I’m slighted;
Disdained on every side, and shame o’erwhelms me.
messala.
May I with freedom speak to thee?
titus.
Thou mayest;
Thou knowest I ever have revered thy prudence;
Speak therefore, tell me all my faults, Messala.
messala.
No: I approve thy love, and thy resentment:
Shall Titus authorize this tyrant senate,
These sons of arrogance? if thou must blush,
Blush for thy patience, Titus, not thy love.
Are these the poor rewards of all thy valor,
Thy constancy, and truth? a hopeless lover.
A weak and powerless citizen of Rome,
A poor state-victim, by the senate braved,
And scorned by Tullia: sure a heart like thine
Might find the means to be revenged on both.
titus.
Why wilt thou flatter my despairing soul?
Thinkest thou I ever could subdue her hate,
Or shake her virtue? ’tis impossible:
Thou seest the fatal barriers to our love,
Which duty and our fathers place between us:
But must she go?
messala.
This day, my lord.
titus.
Indeed!
But I will not complain: for heaven is just
To her deservings; she was born to reign.
messala.
Heaven had perhaps reserved a fairer empire
For beauteous Tullia, but for this proud senate,
But for this cruel war, nay but for Titus:
Forgive me, sir, you know the inheritance
She might have claimed; her brother dead, the throne
Of Rome had been her portion—but I’ve gone
Too far—and yet, if with my life, O Titus,
I could have served thee, if my blood—
titus.
No more:
My duty calls, and that shall be obeyed:
Man may be free, if he resolves to be so:
I own, the dangerous passion for a time
O’erpowered my reason; but a soldier’s heart
Braves every danger: love owes all his power
To our own weakness.
messala.
The ambassador
From Etruria