titus.
O fatal honor! what would he with me?
He comes to snatch my Tullia from my sight;
Comes to complete the measure of my woes.
SCENE II.
titus. aruns.
aruns.
After my long and fruitless toils to serve
The state of Rome, and her ungrateful senate,
Permit me here to pay the homage due
To generous courage, and transcendent virtue;
Permit me to admire the gallant hero
Who saved his country on the brink of ruin:
Alas! thou hast deserved a fairer meed,
A cause more noble, and another foe;
Thy valor merited a better fate:
Kings would rejoice, and such I know there are,
To trust their empire with an arm like thine,
Who would not dread the virtues they admire,
Like jealous Rome and her proud senate: O!
I cannot bear to see the noble Titus
Serving these haughty tyrants; who, the more
You have obliged them, hate you more: to them
Your merit’s a reproach; mean vulgar souls,
Born to obey, they lift the oppressive hand
Against their great deliverer, and usurp
Their sovereign’s rights; from thee they should receive
Those orders which they give.
titus.
I thank you, Sir,
For all your cares, your kind regard for Titus,
And guess the cause: your subtle policy
Would wind me to your secret purposes,
And arm my rage against the commonweal;
But think not to impose thus on my frankness;
My heart is open, and abhors design:
The senate have misused me, and I hate them,
I ought to hate them; but I’ll serve them still:
When Rome engages in the common cause,
No private quarrels taint the patriot breast;
Superior then to party strife, we rush
United on against the general foe:
Such are my thoughts, and such they ever will be;
Thou knowest me now: or call it virtue in me,
Or call it partial fondness, what you please,
But, born a Roman, I will die for Rome,
And love this hard unjust suspicious senate,
More than the pomp and splendor of a court
Beneath a master, for I am the son
Of Brutus, and have graved upon my heart
The love of freedom, and the hate of kings.
aruns.
But does not Titus soothe his flattered heart
With fancied bliss, and visionary charms?
I too, my lord, though born within the sway
Of regal power, am fond of liberty;
You languish for her, yet enjoy her not.
Is there on earth, with all your boasted freedom,
Aught more despotic than a commonweal?
Your laws are tyrants; and their barbarous rigor
Deaf to the voice of merit, to applause,
To family, and fame, throws down distinction;
The senate grind you, and the people scorn;
You must affright them, or they will enslave you:
A citizen of Rome is ever jealous
Or insolent; he is your equal still,
Or still your foe, because inferior to you:
He cannot bear the lustre of high fortune;
Looks with an eye severe on every action;
In all the service you have done him, sees
Naught but the injury you have power to do;
And for the blood which you have shed for him,
You’ll be repaid at last with—banishment.
A court, I own’s a dangerous element,
And has its storms, but not so frequent; smooth
Its current glides, its surface more serene:
That boasted native of another soil,
Fair liberty, here sheds her sweetest flowers:
A king can love, can recompense your service,
And mingles happiness with glory; there
Cherished beneath the shade of royal favor,
Long mayest thou flourish, only serve a master,
And be thyself the lord of all beside:
The vulgar, ever to their sovereign’s will
Obedient, still respect and honor those
Whom he protects, nay love his very faults:
We never tremble at a haughty senate,
Or her harsh laws: O! would that, born as thou art,
To shine with equal lustre in a court
Or in a camp, thou wouldst but taste the charms
Of Tarquin’s goodness! for he loved thee, Titus,
And would have shared his fortunes with thee; then
Had the proud senate, prostrate at thy feet—
titus.
I’ve seen the court of Tarquin, and despise it:
I know I might have cringed for his protection,
Been his first slave, and tyrannized beneath him;
But, thanks to heaven, I am not fallen so low:
I would be great, but not by meanness rise
To grandeur: no, it never was my fate
To serve: I’ll conquer kings, do thou obey them.
aruns.
I must approve thy constancy; but think,
My lord, how Tarquin, in thy infant years,
Guided thy tender youth: he oft remembers
The pleasing office, and but yesterday,
Lamenting his lost son, and sad misfortunes,
“Titus,” said he, “was once my best support,
He loved us all, and he alone deserved
My kingdom and my daughter.”
titus.
Ha! his daughter!
Ye gods! my Tullia! O unhappy vows!
aruns.
Even now I carry her to Tarquin; him
Whom thou hast thus deserted, far from thee,
And from her country, soon must