Meantime thou, Titus, must obey the senate,
Oppress her father, and destroy his kingdom:
And may these vaulted roofs, these towers in flame,
And this proud capitol in ashes laid,
Like funeral torches, shine before your people,
To light the Roman senate to its grave.
Or serve to grace our happy Tullia’s nuptials!
SCENE III.
titus, messala.
titus.
Messala, in what anguish hath he left me!
Would Tarquin then have given her to my arms!
O cruel fate! and might I thus—O no,
Deceitful minister! thou camest to search
My foolish heart; alas! he saw too well,
Read in my eyes the dear destructive passion,
He knows my weakness, and returns to Tarquin
To smile at Titus, and insult his love:
And might I then have wedded her, possessed
That lovely maid, and spent a life of bliss
Within her arms, had heaven allotted me
So fair a fate! O I am doubly wretched.
messala.
Thou mightest be happy; Aruns would assist thee,
Trust me, he would, and second thy warm wishes.
titus.
No: I must bid adieu to my fond hopes;
Rome calls me to the capitol; the people
Who raised triumphal arches to my glory,
And love me for my labors past, expect me,
To take with them the inviolable oath,
The solemn pledge of sacred liberty.
messala.
Go then, and serve your tyrants.
titus.
I will serve them;
It is my duty, and I must fulfil it.
messala.
And yet you sigh.
titus.
’Tis a hard victory.
messala.
And bought too dearly.
titus.
Therefore ’tis more glorious.
Messala, do not leave me in affliction.
[Exit Titus.
messala.
I’ll follow him, to sharpen his resentment,
And strike the envenomed dagger to his heart.
SCENE IV.
brutus, messala.
brutus.
Messala, stop; I’d speak with you.
messala.
With me?
brutus.
With you. A deadly poison late hath spread
Its secret venom o’er my house: my son,
Tiberius, is with jealous rage inflamed
Against his brother; it appears too plain;
Whilst Titus burns with most unjust resentment
Against the senate: the ambassador,
That shrewd Etruscan, has observed their weakness,
And doubtless profits by it: he has talked
To both: I dread the tongues of subtle statesmen,
Grown old in the chicanery of a court:
To-morrow he returns: a day’s too much
To give a traitor, and ofttimes is fatal:
Go thou, Messala, tell him he must hence
This day: I’ll have it so.
messala.
’Tis prudent, Sir,
And I obey you.
brutus.
But this is not all:
My son, the noble Titus, loves thee well;
I know the power that sacred friendship hath
O’er minds like his; a stranger to distrust
Or diffidence, he yields his artless soul
To thy experience; and the more his heart
Relies on thee, the more may I expect,
That, able as thou art to guide his steps,
Thou wilt not turn them from the paths of virtue,
Or take advantage of his easy youth
To taint his guiltless heart with fond ambition.
messala.
That was even now the subject of our converse;
He strives to imitate his godlike sire;
Rome’s safety is the object of his care:
Blindly he loves his country, and his father.
brutus.
And so he ought; but above all, the laws;
To them he should be still a faithful slave;
Who breaks the laws, can never love his country.
messala.
We know his patriot zeal, and both have seen it.
brutus.
He did his duty.
messala.
Rome had done hers too,
If she had honored more so good a son.
brutus.
Messala, no: it suited not his age
To take the consulship; he had not even
The voice of Brutus: trust me, the success
Of his ambition would have soon corrupted
His noble mind, and the rewards of virtue
Had then become hereditary: soon
Should we have seen the base unworthy son
Of a brave father claim superior rank,
Unmerited, in sloth and luxury,
As our last Tarquin but too plainly proved.
How very seldom they deserve a crown
Who’re born to wear it! O! preserve us, heaven,
From such destructive vile abuse of power,
The nurse of folly, and the grave of virtue!
If thou indeed dost love my son, (and much
I hope thou dost) show him a fairer path
To glory; root out from his heart the pride
Of false ambition: he who serves the state