The destruction of Jerusalem by Titus Vespasian in two parts : as it is acted at the Theatre Royal / written by Mr. Crowne.

SCENE The Roman Tents.

Enter Titus, Malchus, Antiochus, Tiberius.

Tib.

NOw Sir, one more Assault, and we conclude The torments of the starving multitude. We to our Squadrons portions divide, Which like wild Horses to its members ty'd, Did rend it limb from limb, and left alone A torn dismembred carkass of a Town.

Mal.

I did the Temple storm, the place to save From its own Guard, as Caesar orders gave; And the vile Slaves to burn my Troops and me, Gave fire to th'entrance of their Sanctuary, And in a moment levell'd with the ground Solomon's Porch, and all the Buildings round.

Ant.

The Town must bow to you within a day, For Famine sweeps its dirty crowds away; They who maintain it are not men, but bones, Shadows of men, and walking Skeletons. Their looks scare death it self, nor do they need To fly from wounds, they have no bloud to bleed. Their flesh if mangled, like chopt Earth appears, Or cloven Trees torn with the wind and years.

Mal.

My civil Fate did better treats afford, And with fat juicy Villains fed my Sword; That I had no great reason for complaints, I had a noble banquet of cramm'd Saints.

Tit.

To all the Heav'nly Pow'rs I dare appeal, If I'm in fault for what these wretches feel.

Tib.

Except by mercy lengthning that disease, Which stubborn cruelty with speed wou'd ease.

An alarm; Enter an Officer.

Tit.

The news!

Offic.

The Guardian Angel of the Town, The Parthian King, is from its succour flown: He broke from thence, like Thunder from a Cloud, And tore down all that in his passage stood. Thence with his followers o're the Mountains fled, And all the way with slaughter'd Romans spread.

Ant.

Then the proud City's dying pangs are past; Her mighty Ghost is yielded up at last.

Mal.

The very Soul of all their Souls is fled.

Tib.

Better their Walls had vanish'd in his stead, Pursue him—

Tit.

No, since for his life he flies, Let him enjoy what with disgrace he buys. Now I'le release the wretches from the rack; Prepare my Legions for a new attaque: Their Temple save, unless the Slaves appear Too obstinate, and it shall cost too dear.

Mal.

I am prepar'd:—but e're the Fight begin,

(aside.

I must go gaze on the fair Jewish Queen. I know I must not hope, but I may dare To peep in Heav'n, though I must ne're come there.

Ex.

Ant.

I must to the fair Queen before I go, My thirsty Soul does more intemp'rate grow: That hot Elixir I must hourly tast, Which I'm assur'd will burn me at the last.

Ex.

Tit.

Now Friend, the hour draws near when wretched I, The torments of departing Love must try, And with one stab that fatal wound must give, Of which I shall be groaning whilst I live.

Tib.

Oh! does your mighty resolution yield! I thought you had entirely gain'd the Field.

Tit.

Dost think I from my breast so soon can tear A Love which has so long been growing there? Throw all that heap of riches out of door I hardly got, and in a trice be poor?

Three years I lov'd and fought, on no design But at the last to make this Treasure mine: I have spoil'd half the world but to be seen Attir'd in Glories, pleasing to the Queen. Nay I who shun her Love to gain a Throne, Desir'd the Empire for her sake alone. And now I have obtain'd my wish'd success, And I'm in reach of supreme happiness, Shall I at last my self and her deceive, And what I sought for, what I slighted leave?

Tib.

Oh! do these thoughts your Soul once more invade? All this before you in the ballance weigh'd; With an impartial finger pois'd the Scale, And left out nothing might for Love prevail: But still the Roman Laws, your own Renown And Glory, weigh'd the other ballance down. And now—

Tit.

Her Love to all things I prefer, What is Renown or Empire without her?

Tib.

Grant, Sir, all charms that in her Sex are seen, Are lodg'd in her, but still she is a Queen. A Roman courage her great heart contains, But there's no Roman bloud within her veins. And not our Tyrants yet so bold have been, To marry with a Stranger, and a Queen. This hate to Crowns is all that Rome in chains, Still of her ancient Liberty retains. Nay Roman Monsters, whose supreme delight Was against Reason, Laws, and Gods to fight; Who Rome and Nature in confusion hurl'd, And walk'd Antipodes to all the world; Yet they who durst both burn and plunder Rome, Once to invade this Law durst ne're presume. And Sir, shall you the worlds delight do more Against our Laws then Monsters did before?

Tit.

All this too well I know, but must I lose My freedom e're I am at Rome's dispose? It will be time enough these thoughts to have, When I am chosen her Imperial Slave:

Till then my heart and person both are free, And I am Master of my destiny.

Tib.

Ah Sir! against this fatal passion strive, And do not Rome of your brave self deprive: Shall she lose all the Glory of your Reign, Only to ease a Love-sick Ladies pain? For Sir, were you a God and shou'd presume To 'spouse a Queen, you must not govern Rome. Her Rank is by your Army too abhorr'd, Who hate to see a Queen command their Lord: Their hourly discontents I scarce can quell, They out of Loyalty would fain Rebell. Nay they have all resolv'd the very hour The Town is won, to chuse you Emperour; But lest the Queen should in your Glory share, They firmly have decreed to banish her. And the brave Rebels I declare I'le lead;

Kneels, and flings his Sword at Titus feet.

If you will guard your passion, take my head, For I will ne're endure the greatest Throne, And bravest man, shou'd be by Love undone.

Tit.

Oh rise! thou truly Roman spirit, rise!

(raises him.

I have resolv'd on this great Sacrifice, But do not know which way I shall begin; I cannot speak to the unhappy Queen.

Tib.

Release your spirit from that trifling care, I'le to the Queen th'unpleasing message bear; And as the Patient's sight an Artist hides, When from the Body he a Limb divides, That Nature may not doubly be opprest, Then with a curious hand performs the rest; So I the fatal deed will gently do, And not torment you with an Interview: And will so mollifie the parting pain, That injur'd Love but little shall complain.

(offers to go.

Tit.

Oh! stay Tiberius! make not so much speed, I know not if I shall survive the deed; With hast I boldly rush on a design, Which may at once destroy her life and mine. But yet what must be suffer'd we in vain Delay some moments, and prolong our pain.

Go then, the sad and killing tidings bear, Excuse my crime, and all my grief declare; Implore her my retirement to forgive, Tell her I cannot see her, go,—and live! And if to reign in my ungratefull breast, Her rigorous Fate can sweeten in the least, Tell her that I deserted and alone, Even an Imperial exile in my Throne, To my own self more hatefull then to her, The name of Lover to my Tomb will bear; That all my life will be in sorrow spent, And all my Reign a glorious banishment.

Ex.