brutus.
Go on, unhappy youth.
titus.
One error more,
And worse than all the rest; one cruel flame;
That fired my guilt, and still perhaps augments it,
Completed my destruction: to confess it
Is double shame, to Rome of little service,
And most unworthy of us both: I own it:
But I have reached the summit of my guilt,
And of my sorrows too: end with my life
My crimes, and my despair, my shame and thine.
[Kneeling.
But if in battle I have ever traced
Thy glorious steps; if I have followed thee,
And served my country; if remorse and anguish
Already have o’erpaid my crimes; O deign
Within thy arms once more to hold a wretch
Abandoned and forlorn: O say, at least,
“My son, thy father hates thee not”: that word
Alone my fame and virtue shall restore,
And save my memory from the brand of shame.
The world will say, when Titus died, a look
From you relieved him from his load of grief,
And made him full amends for all his sorrows;
Spite of his guilt, that still esteemed by thee,
He bore thy blessing with him to the grave.
brutus.
O Rome! his pangs oppress me: O my country!
Proculus, see they lead my son to death.
Rise, wretched Titus, thou wert once the hope
Of my old age, my best support; embrace
Thy father who condemned thee; ’twas his duty.
Were he not Brutus, he had pardoned thee;
Believe my tears that trickle down thy cheeks
Whilst I am speaking to thee: O my Titus,
Let nobler courage than thy father shows
Support thee in thy death; my son, farewell:
Let no unmanly tears disgrace thy fall,
But be a Roman still, and let thy country,
That knows thy worth, admire while she destroys thee.
titus.
Farewell: I go to death; in that at least
Titus once more shall emulate his father.
SCENE VIII.
brutus, proculus.
proculus.
My lord, the senate, with sincerest grief,
And shuddering at the dreadful stroke—
brutus.
No more:
Ye know not Brutus who condole with him
At such a time: Rome only is my care;
I feel but for my country: we must guard
Against more danger: they’re in arms again:
Away: let Rome in this disastrous hour
Supply the place of him whom I have lost
For her, and let me finish my sad days,
As Titus should have done, in Rome’s defence.
SCENE the LAST.
brutus, proculus, a senator.
senator.
My lord—
brutus.
My son is dead?
senator.
’Tis so: these eyes—
brutus.
Thank heaven! Rome’s free; and I am satisfied.
End.
AMELIA
SCENE I.
SCENE I.
SCENE I.
SCENE I.