Do not refuse a poor man's legacy;
I do bequeath my orphans to thy love-
If thou wilt kindly take them to thy bosom,
Their loss will be repaid with usury.
O let the father owe his glory to thee,
The children their protection!
Man.
Regulus,
With grateful joy my heart accepts the trust;
Oh! I will shield with jealous tenderness,
The precious blossoms from a blasting world,
In me thy children shall possess a father,
Though not as worthy, yet as fond as thee,
The pride be mine to fill their youthful breasts
With every virtue-'twill not cost me much :
I shall have nought to teach, nor they to learn,
But the great history of their godlike sire.
Reg. I will not hurt the grandeur of thy virtue,
By paying thee so poor a thing as thanks.
Now all is over, and I bless the gods,
There's scarce a citizen but runs to arms
They will not let thee go.
Can Rome so far forget her dignity
As to desire this infamous exchange?
I blush to think it!
Rome cares not for the peace, nor for th' exchange; She only wills that Regulus shall stay.
Reg. How, stay? my oath-my faith-my honour! ah!
That neither faith nor honour should be kept
With Carthaginian perfidy and fraud.
Reg. Gods! gods! on what vile principles they
Can guilt in Carthage palliate guilt in Rome,
Or vice in one absolve it in another?
Ah! who hereafter shall be criminal,
If precedents are used to justify
Th' infatuated people
Have called the augurs to the sacred fane,
There to determine this momentous point.
Reg. I have no need of oracles, my son;
Honour's the oracle of honest men.
I gave my promise, which I will observe
With most religious strictness. Rome, 'tis true,
Had power to choose the peace, or change of slaves;
But whether Regulus return, or not,
Is his concern, not the concern of Rome.
That was a public, this a private care.
Publius! thy father is not what he was;
I am the slave of Carthage, nor has Rome
Power to dispose of captives not her own.
Guards! let us to the port.--Farewell, my friend.
Man. Let me entreat thee stay; for shouldst
thou go
To stem this tumult of the populace,
They will by force detain thee: then, alas!
Both Regulus and Rome must break their faith.
Reg. What! must I then remain ?
No, Regulus, I will not check thy great career of glory: Thou shalt depart; meanwhile, I'll try to calm This wild tumultuous uproar of the people. The consular authority shall still them. Reg. Thy virtue is my safeguard—but— Man.
I know thy honour, and trust thou to mine.
I am a Roman, and I feel some sparks
Of Regulus's virtue in my breast.
Though fate denies me thy illustrious chains,
I will at least endeavour to deserve them.
Reg. How is my country alter'd! how, alas,
Is the great spirit of old Rome extinct!
Restraint and force must now be put to use,
To make her virtuous. She must be compell'd
To faith and honour.-Ah! what Publius here?
And dost thou leave so tamely to my friend
The honour to assist me? Go, my boy,
"Twill make me more in love with chains and death, To owe them to a son.
I will, I will obey thee.
One sigh will check the progress of thy glory.
Pub. Yes, I will own the pangs of death itself
Would be less cruel than these agonies:
Yet do not frown austerely on thy son:
His anguish is his virtue: if to conquer
The feelings of my soul were easy to me,
"Twould be no merit. Do not then defraud
The sacrifice I make thee of its worth.
Att. (speaking as she enters.) Where is the consul?-where, oh! where is Manlius?
I come to breathe the voice of mourning to him,
I come to crave his mercy, to conjure him
To whisper peace to my afflicted bosom,
And heal the anguish of a wounded spirit.
Man. What would the daughter of my noble friend?
Att. (kneeling.) If ever pity's sweet emotions touch'd thee,
If ever gentle love assail'd thy breast-
If ever virtuous friendship fir'd thy soul---
By the dear names of husband and of parent-
By all the soft yet powerful ties of nature-
If e'er thy lisping infants charm'd thine ear,
And waken'd all the father in thy soul,—
If e'er thou hop'st to have thy latter days
Blest by their love, and sweeten'd by their duty-
Oh! hear a kneeling, weeping, wretched daughter,
Who begs a father's life-nor her's alone,
But Rome's--his country's father.
Man.
Gentle maid!
Oh! spare this soft, subduing eloquence !—
Nay, rise. I shall forget I am a Roman—
Forget the mighty debt I owe my country-
Forget the fame and glory of thy father.
I must conceal this weakness. (turns from her.)
Att. (rises eagerly.) Ah! you weep!
Indulge, indulge, my lord, the virtuous softness :
Was ever sight so graceful, so becoming,
As pity's tear upon the hero's cheek?
Man. No more-I must not hear thee
You must--you shall—nay, nay, return, my lord--
Oh! fly not from me-look upon my woes,
And imitate the mercy of the gods:
'Tis not their thunder that excites our reverence,
'Tis their mild mercy and forgiving love.
"Twill add a brighter lustre to thy laurels,
When men shall say, and proudly point thee out,
"Behold the consul!-he who sav'd his friend."
Oh! what a tide of joy will overwhelm thee!
Who will not envy thee thy glorious feelings?
Man. Thy father scorns his liberty and life,
Nor will accept of either, at th' expense
Of honour, virtue, glory, faith, and Rome.
Att. Think you behold the godlike Regulus
The prey of unrelenting savage foes,
Ingenious only in contriving ill :
Eager to glut their hunger of revenge,
They'll plot such new, such dire, unheard-of tortures-
Such dreadful and such complicated vengeance,
As ev'n the Punic annals have not known;
And, as they heap fresh torments on his head,
They'll glory in their genius for destruction.
Ah! Manlius-now methinks I see my father-
My faithful fancy, full of his idea,
Presents him to me-mangled, gash'd, and torn-
Stretch'd on the rack in writhing agony-
The torturing pincers tear his quivering flesh,
While the dire murderers smile upon his wounds-
His groans their music, and his pangs their sport.
And if they lend some interval of ease,
Some dear-bought intermission, meant to make
The following pang more exquisitely felt,
Th' insulting executioners exclaim,
Now, Roman! feel the vengeance thou hast scorn'd !"
Man. Repress thy sorrows
Can the friend of Regular
Advise his daughter not to mourn his fate?
How cold, alas! is friendship when compar'd
To ties of blood-to nature's powerful impulse!
Yes-she asserts her empire in my soul,
'Tis nature pleads-she will-she must be heard;
With warm, resistless eloquence she pleads.
Ah, thou art soften'd!-see-the consul yields-
The feelings triumph-tenderness prevails--
The Roman is subdued-the daughter conquers!
(catching hold of his robe.)
Man. Ah! hold me not-I must not, cannot stay,
The softness of thy sorrow is contagious;
I too may feel when I should only reason.
I dare not hear thee-Regulus and Rome,
The patriot and the friend-all, all forbid it.
(breaks from her, and exit.)
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