Lucius Junius Brutus: or, the expulsion of the Tarquins: an historical play. By Hugh Downman.

ACT 1.

SCENE 1.

Rome.

VALERIUS, LUCRETIUS.

VALERIUS.

YES, we may weep the ruin of our country, And so must all good men; but there's no remedy; The evil is too rank t' admit a cure. Oppression wide hath spread her bane, and tainted The universal air; scarce are our souls Our own, much less our words. The secret curse Is frequent, offer'd up to all the gods The midnight silent deprecation calls For vengeance on the proud, the imperious Tarquin. But in the day each wears the face of loyalty, Nor dares, so jealous are these groveling times, E'en in his brother's bosom pour the secret Which ulcerating preys upon his heart. How we two thus have dared communicate Our thoughts either to other, is to me Most strange and passing marvel.

LUCRETIUS.

Had I not known thee long, thou noblest Roman, Amid these worst of times immoveable

In honour's steady course, invariably Upright and just, in thy domestic life Untainted too, I would not thus have open'd My inmost breast, or given the passing wind An opportunity to bear my words On its licentious wing to th' tyrant's ear.

VALERIUS.

A mutual confidence henceforth be ours. Scarcely can I express with what abhorrence I look upon this monster of a man. Scan the whole catalogue of horrid crimes, And if you find one he hath not committed, I will retract my words, and call him virtuous. His brother first he poison'd, to possess His wife; to gain the crown, assassinated Most ruffian like, the good old king, by marriage His father: I beheld the elder thrown Down from the senate-house, his aged limbs Bruised by the flinty pavement, his white locks Which from the lawless robber would have gain'd Respect and veneration, wildly scatter'd Over his sace, defiled with clotted gore; Raised from the ground with utmost difficulty, And tottering t'ward his home, he met his death. Still did insatiate cruelty pursue His breathless corse, denied the common rites Of burial; all men struck with horror, shunn'd Th' accursed spot: yet then his savage wife Drunk with hot draughts of empire, or possess'd By the infernal furies, every tie Of human nature cast aside, drove on High in her stately chariot, and impell'd Th' affrighted horses o'er him where he lay, O'er the dead body of her murder'd father.

LUCRETIUS.

Had I been told the fact, as perpetrated

In any foreign country, my belief Would have rebell'd. I wonder that the sun Turn'd not his course, as at th' inhuman feast Of Grecian Atreus: ever to reflection As the deed rises in its native hue, My blood runs cold. No wonder if his throne Founded by means like these. should be supported By the same means. Hence in what copious streams Hath flow'd the blood of princely senators! Their crimes were worth or riches; hath he spared One, but whom absolute necessity Compell'd, or mean opinion of his faculties Suffer'd to live?

VALERIUS.

To this, his cruel policy He adds superior talents; with a soul That penetrates mankind, he bears conjoin'd The fiery spirit of the warrior God. Talents by virtue guided, which might place him Among the first of kings, but now serve only To make him bold and resolute in vice, And what is worse, create an awe, a dread, On which, as on a base not to be shaken, Stands fix'd high-towering tyranny.

LUCRETIUS.

Yet we Need not complain: us he hath spared; and me While 'gainst the Ardeates he wages war, In trust exalted to be governor Of this fair city.

VALERIUS.

Indeed, were life alone to be esteem'd, We should not murmur; but to breathe the air, To walk about at large, eat when we please, Sleep at our will; this is not life—the beast Upon the mountain leads a life like this.

When I'm so selfish as to center all My sense of pleasure here, when I cast off Tender humanity, which feels, as relative To all the members of society, Joy or affliction, may I then be cursed With such a life as this.

LUCRETIUS.

Didst thou remember Among the senators by Tarquin slain, The name of Marcius Junius?

VALERIUS.

Well I knew him; But what of him?

LUCRETIUS.

Oh! He was placed above The strain of men; his many virtues made him Respected as a god by th' sons of Rome: His ancestors came hither with Aeneas From flaming Troy, the valour of his race, Th' heroic ardor which inflames the breast Of conscious greatness, and uplifts mankind To something of divinity, dwelt in him. He was a man, that had he 'scaped the wreck Of those tempestuous days, would ne'er have suffer'd Gigantic tyranny to take such strides. At least some check he would have been, some curb Upon the mouth of headstrong appetite, And wild ambition. This our Tarquin knew: And at the same time looking with an eye Of greediness upon his large possessions, sent And slew him and his elder son, a youth Of gracious hopes; the younger being absent Escaped the ruin.

VALERIUS.

And now dwells with Tarquin,

Lucius, the fool, the laughing-stock o' th' court: Whom the young princes always carry with them To aid their sport and jocund merriment; The but, at which they shoot their shafts of wit; Whose paucity of sense, and mode uncouth. Aukward and blundering, hath deservedly Got him the name of Brutus—But why waste Our talk on this same ideot?

LUCRETIUS.

'Solve the question: I did but hint him, speaking of his father.

VALERIUS.

Indeed, why talk at all, when all must end As bootless as began?—There is a bound Which checks, they say, all evils in their course, And good ensues.—Our evils know no change; Nor have they this extremest limit proved.— Tho' that they should be in progression still, Is past belief.—Yet there's no chance in nature, No possibility of alteration, No man alive to aim at alteration: And his three sons, Titus, and Aruns, Sextus, All equal to their father in ability, Beyond, if possible, in the black deeds Of villainy, of lust, and treachery, Are three firm pillars added to the pile Which threats to stand for ages. Oh! these thoughts Are capable to banish moderation From the prepared breast, and make the wise Turn fools and madmen.

LUCRETIUS.

Let us drop the subject. Who knows the secrets of avenging Jove? Perhaps though we, short-sighted as we are, Think liberty bound in eternal thraldom, His counsels otherwise decree: e'en now

Haply the dread events are bursting forth, Like light'ning from the gloomy firmament, To sweep this race of hell-hounds from the earth.

VALERIUS.

What may be, I'll not say; but hope long since Hath ceased with me to wear her sanguine hue. Why should free agents e'en on Jove depend, To sway the will he gave?—Man rules himself— His own fate's arbiter.—Tho' o'er these times Broods desperation, shall we not beneath Her wings immew'd, this galling, tempting theme Again revive?—Words cannot pluck the thorn, But soothe the smart.—Farewel—I'll to my house— Whither if in the evening you will come, Still on a genuine Roman citizen My Lares smile.

LUCRETIUS.

I would attend unbidden. But thy inviting voice should charm me thither, Spite of disease or pain. At evening close I come; then farewel.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Camp before Ardea.

TITUS, ARUNS.

TITUS.

Why, Aruns, in what corner sits the wind? What! not a word to say! quite down i' th' mouth!

ARUNS.

I am, and stranger, cannot guess the cause, Unless 'tis living in inaction thus. I would I was in Rome, or Rome was here, Or that these coop'd-up Ardeats would but sight. I wonder that our father sits contented Lounging in's camp. Plague on their petty sallies! Why doth he not attack the nest at once

With fire and sword, and rouse up all the swarm? It was not thus he triumph'd o'er the Sabines, Or wrested from the warlike Volsci's hands Suessa Pometia, with whose glorious spoils Turning religious all at once, he built The temple in the capitol to Jupiter. Though had he ask'd of me, I could have told him A better way of laying out his money.

TITUS.

I do believe thee, Aruns, well I know To what divinity thou would'st have rear'd Thy golden altars.

ARUNS.

Aye, and wisely too. Pleasure's my deity, my Jupiter, My Juno, and Minerva. Titus too, If I mistake not, is no Atheist there, But worships with as warm enthusiasm As any votary of them all; 'tis true He wears a graver brow, and commits sin With a more serious philosophic face, There's all the difference between me and thee, A touch of feature only, in our hearts We are most cordially alike.

TITUS.

Alike! Why now indeed thy airy spirits dance, Sparkling in either eye; but when I met thee, What wert thou then? Inwrapp'd in discontent. What wilt thou be anon? Chiding at straws For lying in thy path; then quick, by th'sparks Of angry passion, kindled into flame; Still varying like the wind.—Thy heart like mine! When didst thou find my skittish temper start, And fly like thine from one to to'ther side?

ARUNS.

Well, be it so, heaven speed us both! But Sextus! I envy that same Sextus; for his genius Soars o'er us both, and robs us of our birthright. Not that I think, we halt behind him much In our design'd intentions; but success Befriends him farther, one would swear he kept Fortune in pay, and that the blind-eyed goddess Accepted bribes from him. There's not a woman He looks on with desire but he possesses; He says but to an enemy, Fall down, And down he falls. Hah! say'st thou, is he not A son of Tarquin, and a glorious villain?

TITUS.

Glorious I grant, but not a villain, Aruns. Pshaw! that's a name may suit a vulgar mouth, A tradesman talking of his brother knave; But rank and station sanctify men's deeds; A king successful, cannot be a tyrant, Nor a king's son deserve a title less Than that of prince.

ARUNS.

Thou reason'st well, by Mars! When I want oracles to be delivered, I need not go to Delphos.—Out! Alas! My blood's again obstructed, and I feel A pain here in my head, or in my heart, A sort of creeping kind of lethargy.— Are you e'er seiz'd thus? Hah! here comes my antidote.

TITUS.

Brutus! true; he's a doctor for the spleen. You mention'd Delphos; when we two went thither Through the unknown seas of Greece, sent by our father T'enquire the meaning of the prodigy, The snake portentous, which with dreadful crest

Appearing in his palace hiss'd aloud A direful omen! Brutus then went with us. Oh! I remember well the precious scenes Of folly which he acted. When we gave Rich presents to the God; He offer'd him A walking stick; as if the god would walk, And take the air, but that the god was lame. Coming from out the temple, gazing back, As loath to leave a place so fine, he fell Over the threshold, and plough'd up the ground, Fixing his face i' th' earth.

ARUNS.

You may remember The oracle too said, that he should bear Chief sway in Rome, who first should kiss his mother. When we came home, both at one time we kiss'd her. In that I think we are at least before Our brother Sextus, jointly we reign After our father.

Enter Brutus.

TITUS.

Brutus where so fast? Why, thou art running like a loaded horse.

ARUNS.

Or like a slave with fetters on his legs. What! have the Rutili attack'd the camp, That thou art posting in this plaguy hurry?

BRUTUS.

Pray, my Lords, stop me not; I'm sent to you On special ord'nance from the king; farewel, I must return again.

ARUNS.

But wert thou sent Only to see us? Tell the king our father

We're in good health; we thank him for the message, Which thou hast well remember'd to deliver.

BRUTUS.

Oh! my good Lord, I had forgot indeed. But in the multitude of public cares And daily business—if my memory fails A little—'tis no wonder—and you know Memory is such a thing as—

TITUS.

As a cart-wheel.

BRUTUS.

Indeed, my Lord, you've hit it; mine turns round, And round—sometimes I think my head is turn'd.

ARUNS.

I too have thought it oft.

BRUTUS.

Have you my Lord? I'm always glad when you and I agree: You have just such a wit as I should choose.— Would I could purchase such an one, and put it Into my brain! Yet so I fear 'twould split My head, as air shut up does water bubbles.

TITUS.

Thou hast spoke wittier, Brute, than thou'rt aware.

ARUNS.

But what wilt give me now for a recipe To make a wit? I had it from the Sibyl, Her thou saw'st t'other day, who sold to th' king Her books at such a rate.

BRUTUS.

Pray let me see it; What will I give!—Ten acres of my land.

ARUNS.

Thy land! where lies it?

BRUTUS.

Ask the king my cousin: He knows full well: I thank him, he's my steward, And takes the trouble off my hands.

TITUS.

Who told thee so?

BRUTUS.

The king himself.—Now twenty years are past, And more, when he sent for me from the farm Where I had liv'd some time studying philosophy, And such like serious matters.

TITUS.

Noble sophist, I bend with the profoundest admiration Of thy rare, hidden knowledge.

BRUTUS.

Yes, yes, all men Must grant that I have no small smattering. But where was I? Oh—Kinsman, says the king, Says he, and smiled most graciously upon me, For deeds of blackest and most treasonous nature, Thy father and thy brother were accused of, They've paid the forfeit with their lives: for thee, Who knew'st not of their crimes, as I love mercy, Nor take delight in wanton deeds of cruelty, Live, and be happy; the ingenuous heart, And simple manners speaking in thy face—

ARUNS.

Aye, 'tis a simple manners-speaking face.

BRUTUS.

Nay, is it right to interrupt me thus?

ARUNS.

Pardon, most noble Brutus.

BRUTUS.

These thy qualities.

Promise, says he, thou ne'er wilt form a plot Of damn'd conspiracy against thy sovereign—

TITUS.

Indeed for that, I'll be thy bondsman, Brutus.

BRUTUS.

Live in my house, companion of my children. As for thy land, to ease thee of all care, I'll take it for thy use; all that I ask Of thee, is gratitude.

TITUS.

And art thou not Grateful for goodness so unmerited?

BRUTUS.

Am I not? Never, by the holy Gods, Will I forget it! 'tis my constant prayer To heaven, that I may one day have the power To pay the debt I owe him.—But the charm For wit you told me of.

ARUNS.

Oh—take it gratis— First then; attend with caution—But the message You brought from Tarquin.—

BRUTUS.

Father Romulus, That I should loiter thus! Why would you keep me Engaged in talk? The king your father calls A council, to consider of the siege Of Ardea, and the future operations Against the stubborn Rutili: your presence Is ask'd immediately; shall I before, And say you're coming?

ARUNS.

If thou wilt, good Brutus; Or else behind; or otherwise in th' middle: Come, we'll all go together; or stay there, And follow at thy leisure.

[Exeunt Aruns and Titus.

BRUTUS alone.

Yet, 'tis not this which ruffles me—the gibes And scornful mockeries of ill-govern'd youth— Or flouts of painted sycophants and jesters, Reptiles, who lay their bellies on the dust Before the frown of majesty. All this I but expect, nor grudge to bear; the face I carry too demands it.—But what then? Is my mind fashion'd to the livery Of dull stupidity, which I have worn These many a day? Is't bent aside, and warp'd From its true native dignity? Else why, How is't that vengeance now hath slept so long? O prudence! ill delayer of great deeds, And noble enterprizes!—Yet—not so. Chance may, and accidental circumstance Crown bold and lucky rashness with success— But oftener not. There is perhaps a time, A certain point, which waited for with patience, Seiz'd on, and urg'd with vigour, will go near To banish chance, and introduce assurance And fixedness in human actions.— T' avenge my father's and my brother's murder! (And sweet I must confess would be the draught) Had this been all, oft hath the murderer's life Been in my hands; a thousand opportunities I've had to strike the blow—and my own life I had not valued as a rush.—But still— There's something farther to be done—my soul! Enjoy the strong conception; Oh! 'tis glorious To free a groaning country from oppression; To vindicate man's common's rites, and crush The neck of arrogance.—To see Revenge Spring like a lion from his den, and tear These hunters of mankind!—Give but the time, Give but the moment, gods! If I am wanting,

May I drag out this ideot-feigned life To late old age; and may posterity Ne'er know me by another name, but that Of Brutus, and the Tarquin's household fool.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

HORATIUS, HERMINIUS.

HORATIUS.

Whither away, Herminius? to the council?

HERMINIUS.

I go to the assembly call'd by th' king; I know not if you justly can term that A council, where there is no consultation.

HORATIUS.

We need not now be nice i' th' definition Of words, Horatius, which become a soldier But ill at any time, at no time more Perhaps than now. If we are not consulted, We shall be told what Tarquin and his sons Have pre-determined: no small share of confidence. As in the city they're the only source Of government and law, so in the camp They form each enterprize, direct each motion. And, by the gods! were government and law Temper'd with equity, or war with justice, I would not wish for abler lawgivers, Or leaders.

HERMINIUS.

Hold—No more, Horatius— What! know you not that tents have often ears Hearing distinctly? If the times are bad, Heav'n in its mercy mend them! Pray however But softly, lest the statues of the gods

Should turn informers too. Who passes there, Across our path, beyond that farther tent?

HORATIUS.

Is it not Collatine, who lately married Lucretius's daughter?

HERMINIUS.

Trust me, she's reported The fairest, and the worthiest of her sex.

HORATIUS.

Fairer than ever was a form created By youthful fancy, when the blood strays wild, And never-resting thought is all on fire. The worthiest of the worthy; not the nymph Who met old Numa in his hallow'd walks, And whisper'd in his ear her strains divine, Can I conceive beyond her; the young choir Of vestal virgins bend to her. 'Tis wonderful Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds Which now spring rise from the luxurious compost Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose, How from the shade of these ill-neighbouring plants, Her father shelter'd her, that not a leaf Is blighted, but array'd in purest grace She blooms unsullied verdure. Such her beauties, As might call back the torpid breast of age To long-forgotten rapture; such her mind, As might abash the boldest libertine, And turn desire to reverential love, And holiest affection.

HERMINIUS.

From a praise So warm, a stranger might form some conclusions.

HORATIUS.

I speak as an acquaintance, as a friend, But yet impartially, not sway'd by passion, But as I really think; had life's gay prime

Presented such an object to my view, You would have thought me mad in my applause, I should have flown above the shining spheres Of th' azure vault for new comparisons, Yet then not thought them hyperbolical. I loved my wife; I praised her; but the height I raised her to, reached not to this Lucretia; Though since I've thought it much surpass'd the truth. Here transport would have urged me far beyond All sober bounds, and yet close by my side Reason would have stood, smiling to see herself So justly superseded.

HERMINIUS.

Such a prodigy Should have a husband of no vulgar mould; But Collatine, I see him ev'ry where, The princes intimate, at their carousals, The first in noise, and mirth, and jollity, Of the unruly crew.

HORATIUS.

You are deceiv'd, He's young, perhaps unsteady, flexible, And yielding to example: though indeed As a relation, and being near to th' king, I don't see how, if 'twas his inclination, He could do otherwise: but he possesses Many good qualities, is gentle, kind, And generous, wants not courage, and I know Doats with the most impassion'd tenderness Upon Lucretia. Haply 'tis in hopes To ease his mind from the sharp grief of absence, That thus he mingles with the festive train, And joins the roar of idle rioting And dissipation; though I ne'er observ'd He join'd it heartily. I've seen him oft Lost in reflection there, and oft alone

Musing in melancholy, as just now Thou saw'st him when he pass'd us, meditating With his eyes cast on th' ground. But let us haste To the king's tent.

HERMINIUS.

Before—I'll follow you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Collatia.

LUCRETIA, LAVINIA.

LUCRETIA.

How long is it, Lavinia, since my lord Hath chang'd his peaceful mansion, for the camp And restless scenes of war?

LAVINIA.

Why, in my simple estimation, Madam, 'Tis some ten days, or thereabout, for time Runs as it shou'd with me, in yours it may be Perhaps ten years.

LUCRETIA.

And what should make thee think so?

LAVINIA.

Nay, I know not; but I have heard folks say— I think my grandam—yes, my grandam 'twas— That she, when she was young, in days of yore, And parted from her newly-married husband, Found the whole method of time's progress chang'd, Instead of wings t' his back, posting in haste, And flitting by so quick, you could not seize him By his lank lock, a gouty, hobbling wretch, That noting of the pain he took in walking, Gave sympathetic pangs.—She was a shrewd one, And had, if I'd believe her, in her spring Felt all the power of love. Oh, she could talk E'en then of purling streams, and cooing doves,

And of the arms clasp'd thus, and brow bent thus, Of aking hearts, and such a deal of stuff, That had I not e'en from my tender years Been guarded well by the superior powers, I should have sought me out a swain and married, And now perhaps been moaning for the absence Of my true trutle.

LUCRETIA.

So thy heart ne'er knew What 'twas to love?

LAVINIA.

No, I thank holy Vesta, Never; I've cast indeed sometimes the eyes Of approbation on a proper man, But never sent deep glances; off they darted From him upon another; O, my heart! What 'twas to love! Why men are all alike, All mothers' sons.

LUCRETIA.

Thou hast a gadding tongue, But still thy mind is right; thou hast no meaning Affix'd to what thou utter'st.

LAVINIA.

None to speak of.— All that I mean, is, that if I were married, And that my husband were call'd forth to th' wars, I should not stray through the grove next my house, Invoke the pensive solitude, and wooe The dull and silent melancholy, brood O'er my own thoughts alone, or keep myself Within my house mew'd up a prisoner. I should do like the rest of my sex, repair To company and noise; 'tis for philosophers To love retirement; women were not made To stand up like to statues in a niche, Or feed on their own secret contemplations.

LUCRETIA.

Go to; thou know'st not what thou say'st, Lavinia, 'Tis for the light of heart, to range abroad, To brave the general and licentious eye, To mingle with the fickle, trifling crew Of merriment, who laugh aloud, if Folly Shake but the cap upon her head, or lift Her finger up before their face. The praise Of woman is to play the housewife well; Ambitious in her husband's sight t' appear Grateful and amiable, not indeed careless Of others, but preferring him to all, And his society; not cloying neither, But manifested in a way known only To nice affection, and distinguished by it: 'Tis hers with care to oversee his family, And govern with sure reins of government, No easy task.

LAVINIA.

Jove bless us! what is this? If a superior place in life give not The power of tasting greater liberty, Of dancing to the honey'd notes of gladness, And walking hand in hand with dainty pleasure, If that the dame of rank must act the house-cat, Sit at the hole and watch, and cry bo-peep, Or sing herself asleep; the peasant's wife, Or dull mechanick's, is as happy, nay And happier, as by necessity Tied ever down, she knows she must comply, And feels she can't attain what most she wishes.

LUCRETIA.

And why should I believe she wishes more Than she possesses? Why not think there is A jewel call'd content? Why circumscribe The habitation of true happiness

Within the narrow, gawdy, idle circle Of swelling wealth, and air-blown, empty pomp? Why think she cannot dwell with humble duty Beneath the hut of uncemented stones Covered with flags, well pleas'd to tend her children Healthy and smiling babes, and when her husband Comes from the field, and pacing by his side Her elder sturdy boy, spring t'ward the door, And give them that sincerity of welcome Which greatness never saw? with busy care And sedulous prepare their evening viands; List to the scant adventures of the day, What passing stranger rowsed their faithful dog, What tree secured them from the scatter'd shower, What distant undistinguish'd noise they heard, And having drawn in their brief chronicle, And thereto added her own little journal, With mutual interchanged looks of love, Retire to rest unbroken? No, Lavinia, The true delight, I'm well convinced, dwells there With nature and her offspring; and if those To whom 'tis giv'n beneath the cedar roof High over-arch'd to sit, would relish life, They must as far as possible pursue Her paths unhackney'd, and must imitate Her unaffected simpleness.

LAVINIA.

Ah, me! I much suspect there are two natures then; For ever since I was a tiny thing, Not higher than this, I warrant, I have thought Of nothing all the live-long day, but shew, And glitter, and rich toys, and ornaments; And I have gone to bed, and in my sleep Have dream'd I had them; then with the greatest pleasure Have waked, and wept full bitterly to find.

That I was disappointed. I must own I have no notion of that other nature. Give me things quite the ontrary, give me To enjoy life, like I know who; some ladies And those of the best quality in Rome Possess a pretty comfortable share Of that same nature I esteem the best.

LUCRETIA.

Let others act as they think fit, nor let it Be call'd in them a fault to please themselves, In me a virtue.—But I thank the gods Who made me what I am; who gave to me A father whose indulgent tenderness More than supplied a mother's loss, who died E'er memory set her stamp on my heart's tablet; Who taught me wealth was dross, and that the mind Possess'd of conscious virtue, is more rich Than all the sunless hoards which Plutus boasts. Oft would he say, O, my beloved daughter, I've tried (nor yet in vain) to set thee right; To ope' thine eyes against the Siren charms Of vanity, deluding womankind; Act to approve thyself to thine own heart; Despise the ideot custom, which breaks down The fence which ever should remain strong built Between the sexes: woman's chiefest glory Is in retirement, and her highest pleasure Results from home-born and domestic joys. Hear me, Lucretia! so shalt thou obtain The crown of woman, a deserving husband; Who not a prisoner to the eye alone, A fair complexion, or melodious voice, Shall read thee deeper, nor shall time which palls The rage of passion, shake his firmer love Increasing by possession.—This, (again I thank The gracious gods) this husband too is mine.

LAVINIA.

I should be glad to see this husband now: These eyes are not the sharpest in the world: Is not that he, gay as the morning lark, And laughing with the sons of Tarquin there? His heart is bent on mirth: he thinks not, he, (Like other absent men) of his Lucretia: He did not hear a syllable o' th' praise Her tongue just now bestow'd.

LUCRETIA.

No more, no more Lest I be angry with thee for a fault Thou can'st not help, thy tongue runs idly.— Yet say e'en what thou wilt, I'm not offended.

LAVINIA.

Then I will say, I don't believe that lady Hath truer lord, more fix'd in loyalty. And how can he be otherwise? Were I In his condition, fickle as I am, And wavering in affection, a true woman, Unschool'd, untaught by father or by mother, I should cast anchor, and forbid my bark Ever to leave the port.—What shall I say? Unless I say, that now I speak the truth E'en from my heart.

LUCRETIA.

I know full well thy honesty. Come, let us in, and we will talk together Of the stern dangers which attend on war, And rouse the passion fear. I know not how, But there is something grateful to the soul Even in terror; though we dread th' event, 'Tis pleasing while 'tis but imagined. That my fears ever may be realiz'd In thee, O Collatine, ye gods forbid!

[Exeunt.