LUCIUS' JUNIUS BRUTUS; FATHER of his COUNTRY. A TRAGEDY.  
Acted at the Duke's Theatre, by their Royal highness's Servants.  
Written by Nat. Lee.  
— caeloque invectus aperto  
Flectit equos, curruque volans dat lora Secunda,  Virg. lib. 4. 
LONDON, Printed for Richard Tonson, and jacob Tonson, at Grays-Inn Gate, and at the Judges-Head in Chancery-Lane near Fleetstreet, 1681.   

To the Right Honourable CHARLES, Earl of DORSET and MIDDLESEX, One of the Gentlemen of His MAJESTY'S BEDCHAMBER, etc.  
My Lord,  
WIth an Assurance I hope becoming the justice of my Cause I lay this Tragedy at you Lordships Feet, not as a common persecution but as an Offering suitable to your Virtue, and worthy of the Greatness of your Name. There are some Subjects that require but half the strength of a great Poet, but when Greece or old Rome come in play, the Nature Wit and Vigour of foremost Shakespeare, the judgement and Force of Johnson, with all his borrowed Mastery from the Ancients, will scarce suffice for so terrible a Grapple. The Poet must elevate his Fancy with the mightiest Imagination, he must run back so many hundred Years, take a just Prospect of the Spirit of those Times without the least thought of ours; for if his Eye should swerve so low, his Muse will grow giddy with the Vastness of the Distance, fall at once, and for ever lose the Majesty of the first Design. He that will pretend to be a Critic of such a Work must not have a Grain of Cecilius, he must be Longin throughout or nothing, where even the nicest best Remarks must pass but for Allay to the Imperial Fury of this old Roman Gold. There must be no Dross through the whole Mass, the Furnace must be justly heated, and the Bullion stamped with an unerring band. In such a Writing there must be Greatness of Thought without Bombast, Remoteness without Monstrousness, Virtue armed with Severity, not in Iron Bodies, Solid Wit without modern Affectation, Smoothness without Gloss, Speaking out without cracking the Voice or straining the Lungs. In short my Lord he that will write as he ought on so Noble an Occasion must write like you. But I fear there are few that know how to Copy after so great an Original as your Lordship, because there is scarce one genius Extant of your own Size, that can follow you passibus aequis, that has the Felicity and Mastery of the old Poets, or can half match the thought fullness of your Soul. How far short I am cast of such inimitable Excellence, I must with shame my Lord confess I am but too too sensible. Nature 'tis believed (if I am not flattered and do not flatter myself) has not been niggardly to me in the Portion of a Genius, though I have been so far from improving it, that I am half afraid I have lost of the Principle. It behooves me then for the future to look about me to see whether I am a Lagg in the Race, to look up to your Lordship and strain upon the tract of so fair a Glory. I must acknowledge however I have behaved myself in drawing, nothing ever presented itself to my Fancy with that solid pleasure as Brutus did in sacrificing his Sons. Before I read Machivel's Notes upon the place, I concluded it the greatest Action that was ever seen throughout all Ages on the greatest Occasion. For my own Endeavour, I though I never painted any Man so to the Life before 
Vis & Tarquinios reges animanque superbam  
Ultoris Bruti, fascesque videre receptos?  
Infelix uctunque ferent eafacta Minores!   
No doubt that divine Poet imagined it might be too great for any People but his own, perhaps I have found it so, but Jonson's Catiline met no better fate as his Motto from Horace tells us.  — His non plebecula gandet etc. 
Nay Shakespeare's Brutus with much ado beat himself into the heads of a blockish Age, so knotty were the Oaks he had to deal with. For my own Opinion, in spite of all the Obstacles my Modesty could raise, I could not help inserting a Vaunt in the Title page, Coeloque, etc.  
And having gained the List that he designed,  
Bold as the Billows driving with the Wind,  
He loosed the Muse that winged his freeborn Mind.  
On this I armed and resolved not the be stirred with the little Exceptions of a sparkish Generation, that have an Antipathy to Thought, But alas how frail are our best resolves in our own Concerns. I showed no passion outward, but whether through an Over-Conceit of the Work, or because perhaps there was indeed some Merit, the Fire burned inward, and I was troubled for my dumb Play, like a Father for his dead Child. 'Tis enough that I have eased my heart by this Dedication of your Lordship. I comfort myself too whatever our partial Youth allege, your Lordship will find something in in worth your Observation; which with my feature Diligence, Resolution to Study, Devotion to Virtue, and your Lordship's Service, may render me not altogether unworthy the Protection of your Lordship.  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most humble and devoted Servant NAT. LEE.   

Prologue to Brutus, written by Mr. Duke.  
LOng has the tribe of Poets on the Stage  
Groaned under persecuting Critics rage,  
But with the sound of railing and of rhyme,  
Like Bees united by the tinkling Chime,  
The little stinging Infects swarm the more  
And buzz is greater than it was before.  
But oh! you leading Voters of the Pit,  
That infect others with your too much Wit,  
That well affected Members do seduce.  
And with your malice poison half the house,  
Know your ill managed Arbitrary sway,  
Shall be no more endured but ends this day.  
Rulers of abler conduct we will choose,  
And more indulgent to a trembling Muse;  
Women for ends of Government more fit,  
Women shall rule the Boxes and the Pit,  
Give Laws to love and influence to Wit,  
Find me one man of sense in all your roll,  
Whom some one Woman has not made a fool.  
Even business that intolerable load  
Under which man does groan and yet is proud,  
Much better they can manage would they please,  
'Tis not their want of Wit, but love of Ease.  
For, spite of Art, more Wit in them appears  
Tho we boast ours, and they dissemble theirs:  
Wit once was ours, and shot up for a while  
Set shallow in a hot, and barren Soil;  
But when transplanted to a richer Ground  
Has in their Eden its perfection found.  
And 'tis but Just they should our Wit invade,  
Whilst we set up their painting patching trade;  
As for our Courage, to our shame 'tis known,  
As they can raise it, they can pull it down.  
At their own Weapons they our Bullies awe,  
Faith let them make an Antisalick Law  
Prescribe to all mankind, as well as plays,  
And wear the breeches, as they wear the Bays.  

Dramatis Personae.  
Lucius' Junius Brutus, Mr. Betterton.  
Titus, Mr. Smith.  
Tiberius, Mr. Williams.  
Collatinus, Mr. Wiltshire.  
Valerius, Mr. Gillow.  
Horatius, Mr. Norris.  
Aquilius,  
Vitellius,  
Junius.  
Fecilian Priests. Mr. Percival, Mr. Freeman.  
Vindicius, Mr. noke's.  
Fabritius, Mr. jeron.  
Citizens, etc.   

WOMEN.  
Sempronia, Lady Slingsby.  
Lucretia, Mrs. Betterton.  
Teraminta, Mrs. Barrey.   Scene ROME.  

LUCIUS' JUNIUS BRUTUS; FATHER of his COUNTRY.  

ACT I.  

SCE. I.  Titus, Teraminta, Tit. 
O Teraminta, why this face of tears?  
Since first I saw thee, till this happy day,  
Thus hast thou passed thy melancholy hours,  
Even in the Court retired; stretched on a bed  
In some dark room, with all the Cortins drawn;  
Or in some Garden o'er a Flowery bank  
Melting thy sorrows in the murmuring Stream;  
Or in some pathless Wilderness a musing,  
Plucking the mossy bark of some old Tree,  
Or poring, like a Sibyl, on the Leaves:  
What, now the Priest should join us! O, the Gods!  
What can you proffer me in vast exchange  
For this ensuing night? Not all the days  
Of Crowning Kings, of Conquering Generals,  
Not all the expectation of hereafter,  
With what bright Fame can give in th'other World  
Should purchase thee this night one minute from me.  Ter. 
O, Titus! if since first I saw the light,  
Since I began to think on my misfortunes,  
And take a prospect of my certain woes,  
If my sad Soul has entertained a hope  
Of pleasure here, or harboured any joy,  
But what the presence of my Titus gave me;  
Add, add, you cruel Gods, to what I bear,  
And break my heart before him.  Tit. 
Break first th'eternal Chain; for when thou'rt gone  
The World to me is Chaos. Yes, Teraminta,  
So close the everlasting Sisters wove us,  
When e'er we part, the Strings of both must crack:  
Once more I do entreat thee give the Grave  
Thy sadness; let me press thee in my arms,  
My fairest Bride, my only lightness here,  
Tune of my heart, and Charmer of my eyes;  
Nay, thou shalt learn the ecstasy from me,  
I'll make thee smile with my extravagant passion,  
Drive thy pale fears away; and e'er the morn  
I swear, O Teraminta, O my Love,  
Cold as thou art, I'll warm thee into blushes.  Tir. 
O, Titus! may ay, ought I to believe you?  
Remember, Sir, I am the blood of Tarquin;  
The basest too.  Tit. 
Thou art the blood of Heaven,  
The kindest influence of the teeming Stars;  
No seed of Tarquin; no, 'tis forged; t'abuse thee:  
A God thy Father was, a Goddess was his Wife;  
The Wood-Nymphs found thee on a bed of Roses,  
Leapt in the sweets and beauties of the Spring,  
Diana fostered thee with Nectar dews,  
Thus tender, blooming, chaste, she gave thee me  
To build a Temple sacred to her Name;  
Which I will do, and wed thee there again.  Ter. 
Swear then, my Titus, swear you'll ne'er upbraid me,  
Swear that your Love shall last like mine for ever;  
No turn of State or Empire, no misfortune,  
Shall e'er estrange you from me: Swear, I say;  
That, if you should prove false, I may at least  
Have something still to answer to my Fate;  
Swear, swear, my Lord, that you will never hate me,  
But to your death still cherish in your bosom  
The poor, the fond, the wretched Teraminta.  Tit. 
Till death! nay, after death if possible.  
Dissolve me still with questions of this nature,  
While I return my answer all in Oaths:  
More than thou canst demand I swear to do.  
This night, this night shall tell thee how I love thee:  
When words are at a loss, and the mute Soul  
Pours out herself in sighs and gasping joys,  
Life grasps, the pangs of bliss, and murmuring pleasures,  
Thou shalt confess all language than is vile,  
And yet believe me most without my vowing.  [Enter Brutus with a Flamen. 
But see, my Father with a Flamen here!  
The Court comes on; let's slip the busy Crowd,  
And steal into the eternal knot of Love.  [Exeunt. Brut. 
Did Sextus, sayst thou, lie at Collatia,  
At Collatin's house last night?  Fla. 
My Lord, he did.  
Where he, with Collatine and many others,  
Had been some nights before,  Brut. 
Ha! if before,  
Why did he come again?  Fla. 
Because, as Rumour spreads,  
He fell most passionately in love with her.  Brut. 
What then?  Fla. 
Why, is't not strange?  Brut. 
Is she not handsome?  Fla. 
O, very handsome.  Brut. 
Then 'tis not strange at all.  
What, for a King's Son to love another man's Wife!  
Why, Sir, I've known the King has done the same.  
Faith, I myself, who am not used to caper,  
Have sometimes had th'unlawful Itch upon me:  
Nay, prithee Priest, come thou and help the number,  
Ha! my old Boy; the company is not scandalous:  
Let's go to Hell together; confess the truth,  
Didst thou ne'er steal from the Gods an hour, or so,  
To mumble a new Prayer—  
With a young fleshy Whore in a bawdy corner? ha!  Fla. 
My Lord, your Servant. Is this the Fool? the Madman?  
Let him be what he will, he spoke the truth:  
If other Fools be thus, they're dangerous fellows.  [Exit. Brut. 
solus. Occasion seems in view; something there is  
In Tarquin's last abode at Collatine's:  
Late entertained, and early gone this morning?  
The Matron ruffled, wet, and dropping tears,  
As if she had lost her wealth in some black Storm!  
As in the Body, on some great surprise,  
The heart still calls from the discoloured face,  
From every part the life and spirits down:  
So Lucrece comes to Rome, and summons all her blood.  
Lucrece is fair; but chaste, as the fanned Snow  
Twice bolted o'er by the bleak Northern blasts:  
So lies this Starry cold and frozen Beauty,  
Still watched and guarded by her waking Virtue,  
A pattern, though I fear inimitable,  
For all succeeding Wives. O Brutus! Brutus!  
When will the tedious Gods permit thy Soul  
To walk abroad in her own Majesty,  
And throw this Vizor of thy madness from thee?  
O, what but infinite Spirit, propped by Fate,  
For Empire's weight to turn on, could endure  
As thou hast done, the labours of an Age,  
All follies, scoffs, reproaches, pities, scorns,  
Indignities almost to blows sustained,  
For twenty pressing years, and by a Roman?  
To act deformity in thousand shapes,  
To please the greater Monster of the two;  
That cries, bring forth the Beast, and let him tumble:  
With all variety of Aping madness,  
To bray, and bear more than the Asse's burden;  
Sometimes to hoot and scream, like midnight Owls,  
Then screw my Limbs like a distorted satire,  
The World's Grimace, th'eternal Laughingstock,  
Of Town and Court, the Block, the Jest of Rome;  
Yet all the while not to my dearest Friend,  
To my own Children, nor my bosom Wife,  
Disclose the weighty Secret of my Soul.  
O Rome, O Mother, be thou th'impartial Judge  
If this be Virtue, which yet wants a name.  
Which never any Age could parallel,  
And worthy of the foremost of thy Sons.  [Enter Horatius, Mutius. Mut. 
Horatius, heard'st thou where Sextus was last night?  Hor. 
Yes, at Collatia: 'tis the buzz of Rome;  
'Tis more than guessed that there has been foul play,  
Else, why should Lucrece come in this sad manner  
To old Lucretius house, and summon thither  
Her Father, Husband, each distinct Relation?  [Enter Fabritius, with Courtiers. Mut. 
Scatter it through the City, raise the People,  
And find Valerius out: away, Horatius.  [Exeunt severally. Fabr. 
Prithee, let's talk no more on't Look, here's Lord Brutus: Come, come, we'll divert ourselves; For 'tis but just, that we who sit at the Helm, should now and then unruffle our State affairs with the impertinence of a Fool. Pray thee, Brutus, what's a Clock?  Brut. 
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos; the Fates are three: let them but strike, and I'll lead you a Dance, my Masters.  Fab. 
But hark you, Brutus, dost thou hear the news of Lucrece?  Brut. 
Yes, yes; and I heard of the wager that was laid among you, among you whoring Lords at the Siege of Ardea; Ha, Boy! about your handsome Wives:  Fab. 
Well; and how, and how?  Brut. 
How you bounced from the Board, took Horse, and rode like madmen, to find the gentle Lucrece at Collatia: but how found her? why, working with her Maids at midnight. Was not this monstrous, and quite out of the fashion? Fine stuff indeed, for a Lady of Honour, when her Husband was out of the way, to sit weaving, and pinking, and pricking of Arras? Now, by this light, my Lord, your Wife made better use of her Pin-cushion.  Fab. 
My Wife, my Lord? by Mars, My Wife!  Brut. 
Why should she not, when all the Royal Nurses do the same? What? what, my Lord, did you not find 'em at it? when you came from Collatia to Rome. Lartius, your Wife; and yours Flaminius? with Tullia's Boys, turning the Cristals up, dashing the Windows, and the Fates defying? Now, by the Gods, I think 'twas Civil in you, discreetly done, Sirs, not to interrupt 'em. But for your Wife, Fabritius, I'll be sworn for her, she would not keep 'em company.  Fab. 
No marry would she not; she hates Debauches: How have I heard her rail at Terentia, and tell her next her heart upon the qualms, that drinking Wine so late and tippling Spirits, would be the death of her?  Brut. 
Hark you, Gentlemen, if you would but be secret now, I could unfold such a business; my life on't, a very Plot upon the Court.  Fab. 
Out with it; we swear secrecy.  Brut. 
Why thus then. To morrow Tullia goes to the Camp; and I being Master of the Household, have command to sweep the Court of all its Furniture, and send it packing to the Wars: Panders, Sycophants, upstart Rogues; fine Knaves and surly Rascals; Flatterers, easy, supple, cringing, passing, smiling Villains: all, all to the Wars.  Fab. 
By Mars, I do not like this Plot.  Brut. 
Why, is it not a Plot? a Plot upon yourselves, your Persons, Families, and your Relations; even to your Wives, Mothers, Sisters, all your Kindred: For Whores too are included, Setters too, and Whore-procurers; Bag and Baggage; all, all to the Wars. All hence, all Rubbish, Lumber out; and not a Bawd be left behind, to put you in hope of hatching Whores hereafter.  Fab. 
Hark, Lartius, he'll run from fooling to direct madness, and beat our Brains out. The Devil take the hindmost: your Servant, sweet Brutus; noble, honourable Brutus.  [Exeunt. Enter Titus. Tit. 
'Tis done, 'tis done, auspicious Heaven had joined us,  
And I this night shall hold her in my arms.  
Oh, Sir!  Brut. 
Oh, Sir! that exclamation was too high:  
Such Raptures ill become the troubled times;  
No more of 'em. And by the way, my Titus,  
Renounce your Teraminta.  Tit. 
Ha, my Lord!  Brut. 
How now, my Boy?  Tit. 
Your counsel comes too late, Sir.  Brut. 
Your reply, Sir,  
Comes too ill-mannered, pert and saucy, Sir.  Tit. 
Sir, I am married.  Brut. 
What, without my knowledge?  Tit. 
My Lord, I ask your pardon; but that Hymen—  Brut. 
Thou liest: that honourable God would scorn it.  
Some bawdy Flamen shuffled you together;  
Priapus locked you, while the Bachanals  
Sung your detested Epithalamium.  
Which of thy blood were the cursed Witnesses?  
Who would be there at such polluted Rites  
But Goats, Baboons, some chattering old Silenus;  
Or Satyrs, grinning at your slimy joys?  Tit. 
Oh, all the Gods! my Lord, your Son is married  
To Tarquin's—  Brut. 
Bastard.  Tit. 
No, his Daughter.  Brut. 
No matter:  
To any of his Blood; if it be his,  
There is such natural Contagion in it,  
Such a Congenial Devil in his Spirit,  
Name, Liniage, Stock, that but to own a part  
Of his Relation, is to profess thyself  
Sworn Slave of Hell, and Bondman to the Furies.  
Thou art not Married.  Tit. 
O, is this possible?  
This change that I behold? no part of him  
The same; nor Eyes, nor Mien, nor Voice, nor Gesture!  Brut. 
Oh, that the Gods would give my Arm the vigour  
To shake this soft, effeminate, lazy Soul  
Forth from thy bosom. No, degenerate Boy,  
Brutus is not the same; the Gods have waked him  
From dead Stupidity, to be a Scourge,  
A living Torment to thy disobedience.  
Look on my face, view my eyes flame, and tell me  
If ought thou seest but Glory and Revenge,  
A bloodshot Anger, and a burst of Fury,  
When I but think of Tarquin. Damn the Monster;  
Fetch him, you Judges of th'eternal Deep,  
Arraign him, Chain him, plunge him in double fires:  
If after this thou seest a tenderness,  
A Woman's tear come o'er my resolution,  
Think, Titus; think, my Son, 'tis Nature's fault,  
Not Roman Brutus, but a Father now.  Tit. 
Oh, let me fall low as the Earth permist me,  
And thank the Gods for this most happy change,  
That you are now, although to my confusion,  
That aw-ful, Godlike, and Commanding Brutus  
Which I so oft have wished you, which sometimes  
I thought imperfectly you were, or might be,  
When I have taken unawares your Soul  
At a broad glance, and forced her to retire.  
Ah, my dear Lord, you need not add new threats,  
New marks of Anger to complete my Ruin,  
Your Titus has enough to break his heart  
When he remembers that you durst not trust him:  
Yes, yes, my Lord, I have a thousand frailties;  
The mould you cast me in, the breath, the blood,  
And Spirit which you gave me are unlike  
The Godlike Author; yet you gave 'em, Sir:  
And sure, if your had pleased to honour me,  
T'immortalize my Name to after Ages  
By ' imparting your high cards, I should have found  
At least so much Hereditary Virtue  
As not to have divulged them.  Brut. 
Rise, my Son;  
Be satisfied thou art the first that know'st me:  
A thousand Accidents and Fated Causes  
Rush against every Bulwark I can raise,  
And half unhinge my Soul. For now's the time,  
To shake the Building of the Tyrant down.  
As from Night's Womb the glorious Day breaks forth.  
And seems to kindle from the setting Stars:  
So from the blackness of young Tarquin's Crime  
And Furnace of his Lust, the virtuous Soul  
Of junius Brutus catches bright occasion,  
I see the Pillars of his Kingdom totter:  
The Rape of Lucrece is the midnight Lantorn  
That lights my Genius down to the Foundation.  
Leave me to work, my Titus; O, my Son;  
For from this Spark a Lightning shall arise  
That must e'er Night purge all the Roman Air:  
And then the Thunder of his ruin follows.  
No more; but haste thee to Lucretius:  
I hear the Multitude, and must among them.  
Away, my Son.  Tit. 
Bound, and obedient ever.  [Exit. Enter Vinditius with Plebeians. 1. Cit 
jupiter defend us! I think the Firmament is all on a light fire. Now, Neighbour, as you were saying, as to the Cause of Lightning and Thunder, and for the Nature of Prodigies.  Vin. 
What! a Tailor, and talk of Lightning and Thunder? why, thou walking Shred, thou moving Bottom, thou upright Needle, thou shaving edging Skirt, thou Flip-flap of a Man, thou vaulting Flea, thou Nit, thou Nothing, dost thou talk of Prodigies when I am by? O tempora, O mores! But, Neighbours, as I was saying, what think you of Valerius?  All. 
Valerius, Valerius!  Vin. 
I know you are piping hot for Sedition; you all gape for Rebellion: but what's the near? For look you, Sirs, we the People in the Body Politic are but the Guts of Government; therefore we may rumble and grumble, and Croak our hearts out, if we have never a Head: why, how shall we be nourished? therefore I say, let us get us a Head, a Head my Masters.  Brut. 
Protect me, jove, and guard me from the Fantom!  
Can this so horrid Apparition be;  
Or is it but the making of my Fancy?  Vin. 
Ha, Brutus! what, where is this Apparition?  1. Cit 
This is the Tribune of the Celeres  
A notable Head-piece, and the King's Jester.  Brut. 
By jove, a Prodigy!  Vin. 
Nay, like enough; the Gods are very angry:  
I know they are, they told me so themselves;  
For look you Neighbours, I for my own part  
Have seen to day fourscore and nineteen Prodigies and a half.  Brut. 
But this is a whole one, O, most horrible!  
Look, Vinditius, yonder, o'er that part  
O'the Capitol, just, just there man, yonder, look.  Vin. 
Ha, my Lord!  Brut. 
I always took thee for a quicksighted Fellow:  
What, art thou blind? why, yonder, all o'fire;  
It vomits Lightning; 'tis a monstrous Dragon.  Vin. 
O, I see it: O jupiter and juno! By the Gods I see it:  
O Neighbours, look, look, look, on his filthy Nostrils!  
'T has eyes like flaming Saucers; and a Belly  
Like a burning Cauldron: with such a swinging Tail!  
And O, a thing, a thing that's all o fire!  Brut. 
Ha! now it fronts us with a Head that's marked  
With Tarquin's name: and see, 'tis Thunderstruckk!  
Look yonder how it whizzes through the Air!  
The Gods have struck it down; 'tis gone, 'tis vanished.  
O, Neighbours, what what should this Potent mean?  Vin. 
Mean! why, it's plain; did we not see the Mark.  
Upon the Best? Tarquin's the Dragon, Neighbours,  
Tarquin's the Dragon, and the Gods shall swinge him.  All. 
A Dragon! a Tarquin!  1. Cit 
For my part, I saw nothing.  Vin. 
How, Rogue? why, this is Prodigy on Prodigy!  
Down with him, knock him down; what not see the Dragon?  1. Cit 
Mercy: I did, I did; a huge monstrous Dragon.  Brut. 
So; not a word of this, my Masters, not for your lives:  
Meet me anon at the Forum; but not a word.  
Vinditius, tell 'em the Tribune of the Celeres  
Intends this night to give them an Oration.  [Exit Vendit, and Rabble. Enter Lucrece, Valerius, Lucretius, Mutius, Herminius, Horatius, Titus, Tiberius, Collatinus. Brut. 
Ha! in the open Air? so near, you Gods?  
So ripe your Judgements? nay, then let 'em break,  
And burst the hearts of those that have deserved them.  Lucrece. 
O Collatine! art thou come?  
Alas, my Husband! O my Love! my Lord!  Coll. 
O Lucrece! see, I have obeyed thy Summons:  
I have thee in my Arms; but speak, my Fair,  
Say, is all well?  Lucrece. 
Away, and do not touch me:  
Stand near, but touch me not. My Father too!  
Lucretius, art thou here?  Luc. 
Thou seest I am.  
Haste, and relate thy lamentable Story.  Lucrece. 
If there be Gods, O, will they not revenge me?  
Draw near, my Lord; for sure you have a share  
In these strange woes. Ah, Sir, what have you done?  
Why did you bring that Monster of Manking  
The other Night, to curse Collatia's walls?  
Why did you blast me with that horrid Visage,  
And blot my Honour with the Blood of Tarquin?  Coll. 
O all the Gods!  Lucrece. 
Alas, they are far off;  
Or sure they would have helped the wretched Lucrece.  
Hear then, and tell it to the wondering World,  
Last night the Lustful bloody Sextus came  
Late, and benighted to Collatia.  
Intending, as he said, for Rome next morning;  
But in the dead of Night, just when soft sleep  
Had sealed my eyes, and quite becalmed my Soul,  
Methought a horrid voice thus thundered in my ear,  
Lucrece, thou'rt mine, arise and meet my Arms:  
When straight I waked, and found young Tarquin by me,  
His Robe unbuttoned, red and sparkling eyes,  
The flushing blood that mounted in his face,  
The trembling eagerness that quite devoured him,  
With only one grim Slave that held a Taper,  
At that dead stillness of the murdering Night  
Sufficiently declared his horrid purpose.  Coll. 
O, Lucrece, O!  Lucrece. 
How is it possible to speak the Passion  
The fright, the throes, and labour of my Soul?  
Ah, Collatine! half dead I turned away  
To hide my shame, my anger, and my blushes,  
While he at first with a dissembled mildness  
Attempted on my Honour;—  
But hastily repulsed, and with disdain,  
He drew his Sword, and locking his left hand  
Fast in my hair, he held it to my breast:  
Protesting by the Gods, the Fiends and Furies,  
If I refused him he would give me death;  
And swear he found me with that swatthy Slave  
Whom he would leave there murdered by my side.  Brut, 
Villain! Damned Villain!  Lucrece. 
Ah Collatine! Oh Father! junius Brutus!  
All that are kin to this dishonoured blood,  
How will you view me now? Ah, how forgive me?  
Yet think not, Collatine, with my last tears,  
With these last sighs, these dying groans, I beg you  
I do Conjure my Love, my Lord, my Husband,  
Oh think me not consenting once in thought,  
Tho he in act possessed his furious pleasure:  
For, oh, the name, the name of an Adultress!—  
But here I faint; Oh help me:  
Imagine me, my Lord, but what I was,  
And what I shortly shall be; cold and dead.  Coll. 
Oh you avenging God Lucrece; my Love,  
I swear I do not think thy Soul consenting:  
And therefore I forgive thee.  Lucrece. 
Ah, my Lord!  
Were I to live, how should I answer this?  
All that I ask you now is to Revenge me;  
Revenge me Father, Husband, Oh revenge me:  
Revenge me, Brutus; you his Sons revenge me;  
Herminius, Mutius, thou Horatius too,  
And thou Valerius; all; revenge me all:  
Revenge the Honour of the Ravished Lucrece.  All. 
We will Revenge thee.  Lucrece. 
I thank you all; I thank you, noble Romans:  
And that my life, though well I know you wish it,  
May not hereafter ever give example  
To any that, like me, shall be dishonoured,  
To live beneath so loathed an Infamy;  
Thus I for ever lose it, thus set free  
My Soul, my Life and Honour all together:  
Revenge me; Oh Revenge, Revenge, Revenge.  [Dies.] Luc. 
Struck to the heart, already motionless.  Coll. 
O give me way t'lmbalm her with my tears;  
For who has that propriety of Sorrow?  
Who dares to claim an equal share with me?  Brut. 
That, Sir, dare I; and every Roman here.  
What now? at your laments? your puling Sighs?  
And Woman's drops? Shall these quit scores for blood?  
For Chastity, for Rome, and violated Honour?  
Now, by the Gods, my Soul disdains your tears:  
There's not a common Harlot in the Shambles  
But for a Drachma shall out-weep you all.  
Advance the Body nearer: See, my Lords,  
Behold, you dazzled Romans, from the wound  
Of this dead Beauty, thus I draw the Dagger,  
All stained and reeking with her Sacred blood,  
Thus to my lips I put the Hallowed blade,  
To yours Lucretius, Collatinus yours,  
To yours Herminius, Mutius, and Horatius,  
And yours, Valerius: Kiss the Ponnyard round:  
Now join your hands with mine, and swear, swear all,  
By this chaste Blood, chaste ere the Royal Villain  
Mixed his foul Spirits with the Spotless Mass,  
Swear, and let all the Gods be witnesses,  
That you with me will drive proud Tarquin out,  
His Wife, th'Imperial Fury, and her Sons,  
With all the Race; drive 'em with Sword and Fire  
To the World's limits, Profligate accursed:  
Swear from this time never to suffer them,  
Nor any other King to Reign in Rome.  All. 
We Swear.  Brut. 
Well have you sworn: and Oh, methinks I see  
The hover Spirit of the Ravished Matron  
Look down; She bows her Airy head to bless you,  
And Crown th' auspicious Sacrament with smiles.  
Thus with her Body high exposed to view,  
March to the Forum with this Pomp of Death.  
Oh Lucrece! Oh!  
When to the Clouds thy Pile of Fame is raised  
While Rome is Free thy Memory shall be praised:  
Senate and People, Wives and Virgins all,  
Shall once a year before thy Statue fall;  
Cursing the Tarquins, they thy Fate shall mourn:  
But, when the thoughts of Liberty return,  
Shall bless the happy hour when thou wert born.  [Exeunt.   

ACT II.  

SCE. I.  
The Forum.  Tiberius, Fabritius, Lartius, flaminius. Tib. 
FAbritius, Lartius, and Flaminius',  
As you are Romans, and obliged by Tarquin,  
I dare confide in you; I say again,  
Tho I could not refuse the Oath he gave us,  
I disapprove my Father's undertaking:  
I'm Loyal to the last, and so will stand.  
I am in haste, and must to Tullia.  Fab. 
Leave me, my Lord, to deal with the Multitude.  Tib. 
Remember this in short. A King is one  
To whom you may complain when you are wronged;  
The Throne lies open in your way for Justice:  
You may be angry, and may be forgiven.  
There's room for favour, and for benefit,  
Where Friends and Enemies may come together,  
Have present hearing, present composition,  
Without recourse to the Litigious Laws;  
Laws that are cruel, deaf, inexorable,  
That cast the Vile and Noble altogether;  
Where, if you should exceed the bounds of Order,  
There is no pardon: O, 'tis dangerous,  
To have all Actions judged by rigorous Law.  
 
What, to depend on Innocence alone,  
Among so many Accidents and Errors  
That wait on human life? Consider it;  
Stand fast, be Loyal: I must to the Queen.  [Exit. Fab. 
A pretty Speech, by Mercury! Look you, Lartius, when the words lie like a low Wrestler, round, close and short, squat, pat and pithy.  Lar. 
But what should we do here, Fabritius? the Multitude will tear us in pieces.  Fab. 
'Tis true, Lartius, the Multitude is a mad thing; a strange blunder-headed Monster, and very unruly: But eloquence is such a thing, a fine, moving, florid, pathetical Speech! But see, the Hydra comes: let me alone; fear not, I say, fear not.  [Enter Vinditius, with Plebeians. Vin. 
Come, Neighbours, rank yourselves, plant yourselves, set yourselves in Order; the Gods are very angry, I'll say that for 'em: pough, pough, I begin to sweat already; and they'll find us work enough to day, I'll tell you that. And to say truth, I never liked Tarquin, before I saw the Mark in his forehead: for look you, Sirs, I am a true Commonwealthsmen, and do not naturally love Kings, though they be good; for why should any one man have more power than the People? Is he bigger, or wiser than the People? Has he more Guts, or more Brains than the People? What can he do for the People, that the People can't do for themselves? Can he make Corn grow in a Famine? can he give us Rain in Drought? or make our Pots boil, though the Devil piss in the Fire?  1. Cit 
For my part, I hate all Courtiers; and I think I have reason for't.  Vin. 
Thou reason! Well, Taylor, and what's thy reason?  1. Cit 
Why, Sir, there was a Crew of 'em t'other Night got drunk, broke my windows, and handled my wife.  Vin. 
How Neighbours? Nay, now the Fellow has reason, look you: his wife handled! why, this is a matter of moment.  1. Cit 
Nay, I know there were some of the Princes, for I heard Sextus his name.  Vin. 
ay, I, the King's Sons, my life for't; some of the King's Sons. Well, these roaring Lords never do any good among us Citizens: they are ever breaking the Peace, running in our Debts, and swingeing our wives.  Fab. 
How long at length, thou many-headed Monster,  
You Bulls, and Bears, you roaring Beasts and Bandogs,  
Porters and Cobblers, Tinkers, Tailors, all  
You Rascally Sons of Whores in a Civil Government,  
How long, I say, dare you abuse our patience?  
Does not the thought of Rods and Axes fright you?  
Does not our presence, ha, these eyes, these faces  
Strike you with trembling? Ha!  Vin. 
Why, what have we here? a very Spit-fire, the Crack-fart of the Court. Hold, let me see him nearer: yes, Neighbours, this is one of 'em, one of your roaring Squires that poke us in the night, beat the Watch, and deflower our Wives. I know him Neighbours, for all his bouncing and his swearing; this is a Court-Pimp, a Bawd, one of Tarquin's Bawds.  Fab. 
Peace thou obstreperous Rascal; I am a man of Honor. One of the Equestrian Order; my name Fabritius.  Vin. 
Fabritius! your Servant, Fabritius. Down with him. Neighbours; an upstart Rogue; this is he that was the Queen's Coachman, and drove the Chariot over her Father's Body: down with him, down with 'em all; Bawds Pimps, Panders.  Fab. 
O mercy, mercy, mercy!  Vin. 
Hold, Neighbours, hold: as we are great, let us be just. You, Sirrah; you of the Equestrian Order, Knight? now, by jove, he has the look of a Pimp; I find we can't save him. Rise, Sir Knight; and tell me before the Majesty of the People, what have you to say, that you should not have your neck broke down the Tarpeian Rock, your Body burnt, and your Ashes thrown in the Tiber?  Fab. 
Oh! oh! oh!  Vin. 
A Courtier! a Sheep biter. Leave off your blubbering, and confess.  Fab. 
Oh! I will confess, I will confess.  Vin. 
Answer me then. Was not you once the Queen's Coachman?  Fab. 
I was, I was.  Vin. 
Did you not drive her Chariot over the Body of her Father, the dead King Tullus?  Fab. 
I did, I did: though it went against my Conscience.  Vin. 
So much the worse. Have you not since abused the good People, by seducing the Citizen's Wives to Court, for the King's Sons? have you not by your Bawd's tricks, been the occasion of their making assault on the Bodies, of many a virtuous disposed Gentlewoman?  Fab. 
I have, I have.  Vin. 
Have you not wickedly held the Door, while the Daughters of the wise Citizens have had their Vessels broken up?  Fab. 
Oh, I confess, many a time and often.  Vin. 
For all which Services to your Princes, and so highly deserving of the Commonwealth, you have received the Honour of Knighthood?  Fab. 
Mercy, mercy; I confess it all.  Vin. 
Hitherto I have helped you to spell; now pray put together for yourself: and confess the whole matter in three words.  Fab. 
I was at first the Son of a Car-man, came to the honour of being Tullia's Coachman, have been a Pimp, and remain a Knight at the mercy of the People.  Vin. 
Well, I am moved, my bowels are stirred: take 'em away, and let 'em only be hanged: Away with 'em, away with 'em.  Fab. 
Oh mercy! help, help.  Vin. 
Hang 'em, Rogues, Pimps; hang 'em I say. Why, look you, Neighbours, this is Law, Right, and Justice: this is the People's Law; and I think that's better than the Arbitrary power of Kings. Why, here was Trial, Condemnation, and Execution, without more ado. Hark, hark; what have we here? look, look, the Tribune of the Celeres! Bring forth the Pulpit, the Pulpit.  Trumpets sound a dead March. Enter Brutus, Valerius, Herminius, Mutius, Horatius, Lucretius, Collatinus, Tiberius, Titus: with the Body of Lucrece. Val. 
I charge you Fathers, Nobles, Romans, Friends,  
Magistrates, all you People, hear, Valerius.  
This day, O Romans, is a day of wonders,  
The villainies of Tarquin are complete:  
To lay whose Vices open to your view,  
To give you Reasons for his Banishment,  
With the Expulsion of his wicked Race;  
The Gods have chosen Lucius junius Brutus,  
The stupid, senseless, and illiterate Brutus,  
Their Orator in this prodigious Cause▪  
Let him aseend, and Silence be Proclaimed.  Vin. 
ABrutus, a Brutus, a Brutus! Silence there;  
Silence, I say, Silence on pain of death.  Brut. 
Patricians, People, Friends, and Romans all,  
Had not th'inspiring Gods by wonder brought me  
From clouded Sense, to this full Day of Reason,  
Whence, with a Prophet's prospect, I behold  
The State of Rome, and Danger of the World;  
Yet in a Cause like this, methinks the weak,  
Enervate, stupid Brutus might suffice:  
O the eternal Gods! bring but the Statues  
Of Romulus and Numa, plant 'em here  
On either hand of this cold Roman Wife,  
Only to stand and point that public wound;  
O Romans, oh, what use would be of Tongues!  
What Orator need speak while they were by?  
Would not the Majesty of those dumb Forms  
Inspire your Souls, and Arm you for the Cause?  
Would you not curse the Author of the murder,  
And drive him from the Earth with Sword and Fire?  
But where, methinks I hear the People shout,  
I hear the cry of Rome, where is the Monster?  
Bring Tarquin forth, bring the Destroyer out,  
By whose Cursed offspring, lustful Bloody Sextus,  
This perfect mould of Roman Chastity,  
This Star of spotless and immortal Fame,  
This pattern for all Wives, the Roman Lucrece  
Was foully brought to a disastrous end▪  Vin. 
O, Neighbours, oh! I buried seven Wives without crying,  
Nay, I never wept before in all my life.  Brut. 
O the Immortal Gods, and thou great Stayer  
Of falling Rome, if to his own Relations,  
(For Collatinus is a Tarquin too)  
If wrongs so great to them, to his own blood;  
What then to us, the Nobles and the Commons?  
Not to remember you of his past Crimes,  
The black Ambition of his furious Queen,  
Who drove her Chariot through the Cyprian Street  
On such a damned Design, as might have turned  
The Steeds of Day, and shocked the starting Gods,  
Blessed as they are, with an uneasy moment:  
Add yet to this, oh! add the horrid slaughter  
Of all the Princes of the Roman Senate,  
Invading Fundamental Right and Justice,  
Breaking the ancient Customs, Statutes, Laws,  
With positive power, and Arbitrary Lust;  
And those Affairs which were before dispatched  
In public by the Fathers, now are forced  
To his own Palace, there to be determined  
As he, and his Portentous Council please.  
But then for you.  Vin. 
ay, for the People, come;  
And then, my Mirmydons, to pot with him.  Brut. 
I say, if thus the Nobles have been wronged,  
What Tongue can speak the grievance of the People?  Vin. 
Alas, poor People!  Brut. 
You that were once a freeborn People, famed  
In his Forefathers days for Wars abroad,  
The Conquerors of the World; Oh Rome! Oh Glory!  
What are you now? what has the Tyrant made you?  
The Slaves, the Beasts, the Asses of the Earth,  
The Soldiers, of the God's Mechanic Laborers,  
Drawers of Water, Taskers, Timber-fellers,  
Yoked you like Bulls, his very Jades for luggage,  
Drove you with Scourges down to dig in Quarries,  
To cleanse his Sinks, the Scavengers o'th' Court:  
While his lewd Sons, though not on work so hard,  
Employed your Daughters and your Wives at home▪  Vin. 
Yes marry did they.  Brut. 
O all the Gods! what are you Romans? ha!  
If this be true, why have you been so backward?  
Oh sluggish Souls! Oh fall of former Glory!  
That would not rouse unless a Woman waked you!  
Behold she comes, and calls you to revenge her;  
Her Spirit hovers in the Air, and cries  
To Arms, to Arms; drive, drive the Tarquins out▪  
Behold this Dagger, taken from her wound,  
She bids you fix this Trophy on your Standard,  
This Ponnyard which she stabbed into her heart,  
And bear her Body in your Battles front:  
Or will you stay till Tarquin does return,  
To see your Wives and Children dragged about,  
Your Houses burnt, the Temples all profaned,  
The City filled with Rapes, Adulteries,  
The Tiber choked with Bodles, all the Shores  
And neighbouring Rocks besmeared with Roman blood?  Vin. 
Away, away; le's burn his Palace first.  Brut. 
Hold, hold, my Friends. As I have been th'inspirer.  
Of this most just Revenge; so I entreat you,  
Oh worthy Romans, take me with you still:  
Drive Tullia out, and all of Tarquin's Race;  
Expel 'em without Damage to their persons,  
Tho not without reproach. Vinditius, you  
I trust in this▪ So prosper us the Gods,  
Prosper our Cause; prosper the Commonwealth,  
Guard and Defend the Liberty of Rome.  Vin. 
Liberty, Liberty, Liberty.  All. 
Liberty, etc.  [Exeunt. Val. 
O Brutus, as a God, we all survey thee;  
Let then the Gratitude we should express  
Be lost in Admiration: Well we know  
Virtue like thine, so fierce, so like the Gods,  
That more than thou presents we could not bear,  
Looks with disdain on Ceremonious honours;  
Therefore accept in short the thanks of Rome:  
First with our Bodies thus we worship thee,  
Thou Guardian Genius of the Commonwealth,  
Thou Father and Redeemer of thy Country;  
Next we, as Friends, with equal Arms embrace thee,  
That Brutus may remember, though his virtue  
Soar to the Gods, he is a Roman still.  Brut. 
And when I am not so, or once in thought  
Conspire the Bondage of my Countrymen,  
Strike me you, Gods; tear me, O Romans, plece-meal,  
And let your Brutus be more loathed than Tarquin.  
But now to those Affairs that want a view.  
Imagine then the fame of what is done  
Has reached to Ardea; whence the trembling King,  
By Guilt and Nature quick and apprehensive,  
With a bend brow comes post for his Revenge  
To make examples of the Mutineers:  
Let him come on. Lucretius, to your care  
The charge and custody of Rome is given;  
While we, with all the Force that can be raised,  
Waving the Tarquins on the common Road,  
Resolve to join the Army at the Camp.  
What thinks Valerius of the consequence?  Val. 
As of a lucky hit▪ There is a number  
Of Malcontents that wish for such a time:  
I think that only speed is necessary  
To Crown the whole event.  Brut. 
Go then yourself,  
With these Assistants, and make instant head  
Well as you can, numbers will not be wanting,  
To Mars his Field: I have but some few Orders  
To leave with Titus, that must be dispersed,  
And Brutus shall attend you.  Val. 
The Gods direct you.  [Exeunt with the Body of Lucrece. Maneut Brutus, Titus. Brut. 
Titus, my Son?  Tit. 
My ever honoured Lord.  Brut. 
I think, my Titus,  
Nay, by the Gods, I dare protest it to thee,  
I love thee more than any of my Children.  Tit. 
How, Sir, oh how, my Lord, have I deserved it?  Brut. 
Therefore I love thee more, because, my Son,  
Thou hast deserved it, for, to speak sincerely,  
There's such a sweetness still in all thy manners,  
An Air so open, and a brow so clear,  
A temper so removed from Villainy,  
With such a manly plainness in thy dealing,  
That not to love thee, O my Son, my Titus,  
Were to be envious, of so great a Virtue.  Tit. 
O, all the Gods, where will this kindness end?  
Why do you thus, O my too gracious Lord,  
Dissolve at once the being that you gave me;  
Unless you mean to screw me to performance  
Beyond the reach of Man?  
Ah why, my Lord, do you oblige me more.  
Than my humanity can e'er return?  Brut. 
Yes, Titus, thou conceived thy Father right,  
I find our Genij knoweach other well;  
And Minds, my Son; of our uncommon make  
When once the Marks in view, never shoot wide,  
But in a Line come level to the White,  
And hit the very heart of our Design:  
Then, to the Shocking purpose. Once again  
I say, I swear, I love thee, O my Son;  
I like thy Frame, the Fingers of the Gods  
I see have left their Mastery upon thee,  
They have been tapering up thy Roman Form,  
And the Majestic prints at large appear:  
Yet something they have left for me to finish,  
Which thus I press thee to, thus in my Arms  
I fashion thee, I mould thee to my heart.  
What? dost thou kneel? nay, stand up now a Roman,  
Shake from thy Lids that dew that hangs upon 'em,  
And answer to th'austerity of my Virtue.  Tit. 
If I must die, you Gods, I am prepared:  
Let then my Fate suffice; but do not rack me  
With something more.  Brut. 
Titus, as I remember,  
You told me you were Married.  Tit. 
My Lord, I did.  Brut. 
To Teraminta, Tarquin's natural Daughter.  Tit. 
Most true, my Lord, to that poor virtuous Maid,  
Your Titus, Sir, your most unhappy Son,  
Is joined for ever.  Brut. 
No, Titus, not for ever.  
Not but I know the Virgin beautiful;  
For I did oft converse here, when I seemed  
Not to converse at all: Yet more, my Son,  
I think her chastely good, most sweetly framed,  
Without the smallest Tincture of her Father;  
Yet, Titus,— Ha! what, man? what, all in tears?  
Art thou so soft, that only saying yet  
Has dashed thee thus? nay, then I'll plunge thee down,  
Down to the bottom of this foolish Stream  
Whose brink thus makes thee tremble. No, my Son,  
If thou art mine, thou art not Teraminta's;  
Or, if thou art, I swear thou must not be,  
Thou shalt not be hereafter.  Tit. 
O the Gods!  
Forgive me, Blood and Duty, all respects  
Due to a Father's name: not Teraminta's!  Brut. 
No, by the Gods I swear, not Teraminta's.  
No, Titus, by th'eternal Fates, that hang  
I hope auspicious o'er the head of Rome,  
I'll grapple with thee on this spot of Earth  
About this Theme, till one of us fall dead:  
I'll struggle with thee for this point of Honour,  
And tug with Terminta for thy heart  
As I have done for Rome: yes, ere we part,  
Fixed as you are by Wedlock joined and fast,  
I'll set you far asunder: nay, on this,  
This spotted blade, bathed In the blood of Lucrece,  
I'll make thee swear on this thy Wedding night  
Thou wilt not touch thy Wife.  Tit. 
Conscience, heart and bowels,  
Am I a man? have I my flesh about me?  Brut. 
I know thou hast too much of Flesh about thee;  
'Tis that, my Son, that and thy Blood I fear  
More than thy Spirit, which is truly Roman:  
But let the heated Channels of thy Veins  
Boil o'er; I still am obstinate in this:  
Thou shalt renounce thy Father or thy Love.  
Either resolve to part with Teraminta,  
To send her forth, with Tullia, to her Father,  
Or shake hands with me, part, and be accursed;  
Make me believe thy Mother played me false,  
And, in my absence, stamped the with Tarquin.  Tit. 
Hold, Sir, I do conjure you by the Gods,  
Wrong not my Mother, though you doom me dead;  
Curse me not till you hear what I resolve,  
Give me a little time to rouse my Spirits,  
To muster all the Tyrant-man about me,  
All that is fierce, austeer, and greatly cruel  
To Titus and his Teraminta's ruin;  Brut. 
Remember me; look on thy Father's sufferings,  
What he has born for twenty rolling years;  
If thou hast nature, worth, or honour in thee,  
The contemplation of my cruel labours  
Will stir thee up to this new act of glory:  
Thou want'st the Image of thy Father's wrongs;  
O take it then, reflected with the warmth  
Of all the tenderness that I can give thee:  
Perhaps it stood in a wrong light before;  
I'll try all ways to place it to advantage.  
Learn by my rigorous Roman Resolution  
To stiffen thy unharrassed Infant virtue:  
I do allow thee fond young soft, and gentle,  
Trained by the Charms of one that is most lovely;  
Yet, Titus, this must all be lost, when Honour,  
When Rome, the World, and the Gody come to claim us:  
Think that thou hear'st 'em cry, obey thy Father;  
If thou art false, or perjured, there he stands  
Accountable to us; but swear t'obey;  
Implicitly believe him, that, if ought  
Be sworn amiss, thou may'st have thought to answer.  Tit. 
What is it, Sir, that you would have me swear,  
That I may scape your Curse, and gain your blessing?  Brut. 
That thou this night will part with Teraminta.  
For once again I swear, if here she stays,  
What for the hatred of the Multitude.  
And my Resolves to drive out Tarquin's Race,  
Her person is not safe.  Tit. 
Here, take me, Sir;  
Take me before I cool: I swear this night  
That I will part with (Oh!) my Teraminta.  Brut. 
Swear too, and by the Soul of Ravished Lucrece,  
Tho on they Bridal night, thou wilt not touch her.  Tit. 
I swear, even by the Soul of her you named,  
The Ravished Lucrece, Oh th' Immortal Gods!  
I will not touch her.  Brut. 
So; I trust thy Virtue:  
And, by the Gods, I thank thee for the Conquest.  
Once more, with all the blessings I can give thee,  
I take thee to my arms; thus on my breast,  
The hard and rugged Pillow of thy Honour,  
I wean thee from thy Love: Farewell; be fast  
To what thou'st sworn, and I am thine for ever.  [Exit. Tit. 
solus. To what thou'st sworn! Oh Heaven and Earth What's that?  
What have I sworn? to part with Teraminta?  
To part with something dearer to my heart  
Than my Life's drops? What! not this night enjoy her?  
Renounce my Vows, the Rights, the Dues of Marriage,  
Which now I gave her, and the Priest was witness,  
Blessed with a flood that streamed from both our eyes,  
And sealed with sighs, and smiles, and deathless kisses;  
Yet after this to swear thou wilt not touch her!  
Oh, all the Gods, I did forswear myself  
In swearing that, and will forswear again:  
Not touch her! O thou perjured Braggart; where,  
Where are thy Vaunts, thy Protestations now?  Enter Teraminta. 
She comes to strike thy staggering Duty down:  
'Tis fallen, 'tis gone; Oh, Teraminta, come,  
Come to my arms thou only joy of Titus,  
Hush to my cares, thou mass of hoarded sweets,  
Selected hour of all Life's happy moments;  
What shall I say to thee?  Ter. 
Say any thing;  
For while you speak, methinks a sudden calm,  
In spite of all the horror that surrounds me,  
Falls upon every frighted faculty  
And puts my Soul in Tune. O, Titus, Oh!  
Methinks my Spirit shivers in her house,  
Shrugging, as if the longed to be at rest;  
With this foresight, to die thus in your arms  
Were to prevent a world of following ills.  Ter. 
What ills, my Love? what power has Fortune now  
But we can brave? 'Tis true, my Teraminta  
The Body of the World is out of frame,  
The vast distorted limbs are on the Rack  
And all the Cable Sinews stretched to bursting,  
The Blood ferments, and the Majestic Spirit,  
Like Hercules in the envenomed Shirt,  
Lies in a Fever on the horrid Pile:  
My Father, like an Aesculapius  
Sent by the Gods, comes boldly to the Cure;  
But how, my Love? by violent Remedies,  
And says that Rome, ere yet she can be well,  
Must purge and cast, purge all th'infected humours  
Through the whole mass; and vastly, vastly bleed.  Ter. 
Ah, Titus! I myself but now beheld  
th'Expulsion of the Queen, driven from her Palace  
By the enraged and madding Multitude;  
And hardly scaped myself to find you here.  Tit. 
Why, yet, my Teraminta, we may smile.  
Come then to bed, ere yet the night descends  
With her black wings to brood o'er all the World.  
Why, what care we? let us enjoy those pleasures  
The Gods have given; locked in each others arms  
We'll lie for ever thus, and laugh at Fate.  Ter. 
No, no, my Lord; there's more than you have named,  
There's something at your heart that I must find;  
I claim it with the privilege of a Wife:  
Keep close your joys; but for your griefs, my Titus,  
I must not, will not lose my share in them.  
Ah, the good Gods, what is it stirs you thus?  
Speak, speak, my Lord, or Teraminta dies.  
Oh heavens', he weeps! nay, then upon my knees  
I thus conjure you speak, or give me death.  Tit. 
Rise, Teraminta. Oh, if I should speak  
What I have rashly sworn against my Love,  
I fear that I should give thee death indeed.  Ter. 
Against your Love! No, that's impossible;  
I know your Godlike truth: nay, should you swear,  
Swear to me now that you forswore your Love,  
I would not credit it. No, no, my Lord,  
I see, I know, I read it in your eyes,  
You love the wretched Teraminta still:  
The very manner of your hiding it,  
The tears you shed, your backwardness to speak,  
What you affirm you swore against your Love  
Tell me, my Lord, you love me more than ever.  Tit. 
By all the Gods, I do: Oh, Teraminta,  
My heart's discerner, whether wilt thou drive me?  
I'll tell thee then. My Father wrought me up  
I know not how, to swear I know not what,  
That I would send thee hence with Tullia,  
Swear not to touch thee, though my Wife; yet, Oh,  
Hadst thou been by thyself, and but beheld him,  
Thou wouldst have thought, such was his Majesty,  
That the Gods Lightened from his awful eyes,  
And Thundered from his tongue.  Ter. 
No more, my Lord:  
I do conjure you by all those Powers  
Which we invoked together at the Altar;  
And beg you by the love I know you bear me,  
To let this passion trouble you no farther;  
No, my dear Lord, my honoured Godlike Husband,  
I am your Wife, and one that seeks your Honour:  
By Heaven, I would have sworn you thus myself.  
What, on the shock of Empire, on the turn  
Of State, and universal change of things,  
To lie at home and languish for a Woman!  
No, Titus, he that makes himself thus vile,  
Let him not dare pretend to aught that's Princely;  
But be, as all the Warlike World shall judge him,  
The Droll of th' People and the scorn of Kings.  Enter Horatius. Hor. 
My Lord, your Father gives you thus in Charge,  
Remember what you swore: the Guard is ready:  
And I am ordered to conduct your Bride,  
While you attend your Father.  Tit. 
Oh, Teraminta!  
Then we must part.  Ter. 
We must, we must, my Lord:  
Therefore be swift, and snatch yourself away;  
Or I shall die with lingering,  Tit. 
Oh, a kiss.  
Balmy as Cordials that recover Souls;  
chaste as maids' sighs, and keen as longing Mothers.  
Preserve thyself; look well to that, my Love;  
Think on our Covenant: when either dies,  
The other is no more.  Ter. 
I do remember;  
But have no language left.  Tit. 
Yet we shall meet,  
In spite of sighs, we shall, at least in Heaven.  
Oh, Teraminta, once more to my heart,  
Once to my lips, and ever to my Soul,  
Thus the soft Mother, though her Babe is dead,  
Will have the Darling on her bosom laid,  
Will talk, and rave, and with the Nurses strive,  
And fond it still, as if it were alive;  
Knows it must go, yet struggles with the Crowd,  
And shrieks to see 'em wrap it in the Shroud.    

ACT III.  

SCE. I.  Collatinus, Tiberius, Vitellius, Aquitius. Col. 
TH' expulsion of the Tarquin now must stand;  
Their Camp to be surprised, while Tarquin's here  
Was scolded from our Walls! I blush to think  
That such a Master in the art of War  
Should so forget himself.  Vit. 
Triumphant Brutus,  
Like jove when followed by a Train of Gods,  
To mingle with the Fates and Doom the World,  
Ascends the Brazen steps o'th', Capitol,  
With all the humming Senate at his heels;  
Even in that Capitol which the King built  
With the expense of all the Royal Treasure:  
Ingrateful Brutus there in pomp appears,  
And sits the Purple Judge of Tarquin's downfall.  Aquil. 
But why, my Lord, why are not you there too?  
Were you not chosen Consul by whole Rome?  
Why are you not Saluted too like him?  
Where are your Lictors? where your Rods and Axes?  
Or are you but the Ape, the Mimic God  
Of this new Thunderer, who appropriates  
Those Bolts of Power which ought to be divided?  Tib. 
Now, by the Gods, I hath his upstart pride,  
His Rebel thoughts of the Imperial Race  
His abject Show that stoops to Court the Vulgar,  
His scorn of Princes, and his lust to th' People,  
O, Collatine, have you not eyes to find him?  
Why are you raised, but to set off'hiss honours?  
A Taper by the Sun, whose sickly Beams  
Are swallowed in the blaze of his full Glory:  
He, like a Meteor, wades th'Abyss of light,  
While your faint lustre adds but to the beard  
That awes the World. When late through Rome he passed  
Fixed on his Courser, marked you how he bowed  
On this, on that side, to the gazing heads  
That paved the Streets and all embossed the Windows,  
That gaped with eagerness to speak, but could not,  
So fast their Spirits flowed to admiration,  
And that to joy; which thus at last broke forth:  
Brutus, God Brutus, Father of thy Country!  
Hail Genius, hail! Deliverer of lost Rome!  
Shield of the Common wealth, and Sword of Justice!  
Hail, scourge of Tyrants, lash for Lawless Kings!  
All hail they cried, while the long Peal of Praises  
Tormented with a thousand Echoing cries  
Ran like the Volley of the Gods along.  Col. 
No more on't; I grow sick with the remembrance.  Tib. 
But when you followed, how did their bellying Bodies  
That ventured from the Casements more than half,  
To look at Brutus, nay, that stuck like Snails  
Upon the Walls, and from the Houses tops  
Hung down like clustering Beds upon each other;  
How did they all draw back at sight of you  
To laze, and loll, and yawn, and rest from rapture!  
Are you a man? have you the blood of Kings,  
And suffer this?  Col. 
Ha! is he not his Father?  Tib. 
I grant he is.  
Consider this, and rouz yourself at home:  
Commend my fire, and rail at your own slackness.  
Yet more; remember but your last disgrace,  
When you proposed, with reverence to the Gods,  
A King of Sacrifices should be chosen.  
And from the Consuls; did he not oppose you?  
Fearing, as well he might, your sure election,  
Saying, It smelled too much of Royalty;  
And that it might rub up the memory  
Of those that loved the Tyrant? Nay, yet more;  
That if the people chose your for the Place,  
The name of King would light upon a Tarquin:  
Of one that's doubly Royal, being descended  
From two great Princes that were Kings of Rome?  Col. 
But, after all this, whether wouldst thou drive?  Tib. 
I would to Justice; for the Restauration  
Of our most Lawful Prince: Yes, Collatine,  
I look upon my Father as a Traitor;  
I find, that neither you, nor brave Aquilius,  
Nor young Vitellius, dare confide in me:  
But that you may, and firmly, to the hazard  
Of all the World holds precious; once again  
I say, I look on Brutus as a Traitor,  
No more my Father, by th'immortal Gods.  
And to redeem the time, or fix the King  
On his Imperial Throne, some means proposed  
That savour of a governed Policy,  
Where there is strength and life to hope a Fortune,  
Not to throw all upon one desperate chance;  
I'll on as far as he that laughs at dying.  Col. 
Come to my arms: O thou so truly brave  
Thou may'st redeem the errors of thy race!  
Aquilius, and Vitellius, O embrace him,  
And ask his pardon, that so long we feared  
To trust so rich a Virtue. But behold,  Enter Brutus and Valerius. 
Brutus appears: Youngman, be satisfied,  
I sound thy Politic Father to the bottom,  
Plotting the assumption of Valerius,  
He means to cast me from the Consulship:  
But now, I heard how he Cajoled the People  
With his known industry, and my remissness,  
That still in all our Votes, Proscriptions, Edicts,  
Against the King, he found I acted faintly,  
Still closing every Sentence, He's a Tarquin.  Bru. 
No, my Valerius, till thou art my mate,  
Joint master in this great Authority,  
However calm the face of things appear,  
Rome is not safe: by the Majesty Gods,  
I swear, while Collatine sits at the helm,  
A Universal wrack is to be feared:  
I have intelligence of his Transactions,  
He mingles with the young hot blood of Rome,  
Gnaws himself inward, grudges my applause,  
Promotes Cabals with highest Quality,  
Such headlong youth as, spurning Laws and manners,  
Shared in the late Debaucheries of Sextus,  
And therefore wish the Tyrant here again:  
As the inverted Seasons shock wise men,  
And the most fixed Philosophy must start  
At sultry Winters, and at frosty Summers;  
So at this most unnatural stillness here,  
This more than midnight silence through all Rome,  
This deadness of discourse, and dreadful Calm  
Upon so great a change, I more admire  
Than if a hundred Politic heads were met,  
And nodded Mutiny to one another;  
More fear, than if a thousand lying Libels  
Were spread abroad, nay, dropped among the Senate.  Val. 
I have myself employed a busy Slave,  
His name Vinditiuss, given him Wealth and Freedom,  
To watch the Motions of Vitellius,  
And those of the Aquilian Family:  
Vitellius has already entertained him;  
And something thence important may be gathered,  
For these of all the youth of Quality  
Are most inclined to Tarquin and his Race,  
By Blood and Humour.  Brut. 
O, Valerius!  
That Boy, observest thou? O, I fear, My Friend,  
He is a Weed, but rooted in my heart,  
And grafted to my Stock; if he prove rank,  
By Mars, no more but thus, away with him:  
I'll tear him from me, though the blood should follow.  
Tiberius'  Tib. 
My Lord?  Brut. 
Sirrah, no more of that Vitellius;  
I warned you too of young Aquilius:  
Are my words wind, that thus you let 'em pass?  
Hast thou forgot thy Father?  Tib. 
No, my Lord.  Brut. 
Thou liest. But though thou scape a Father Rod,  
The Consul's Axe may reach thee: think on that.  
I know thy Vanity, and blind Ambition;  
Thou dost associate with my Enemies:  
When I refused the Consul Collatine  
To be the King of Sacrifices; straight,  
As if thou hadst been sworn his bosom Fool,  
He named thee for the Office: And since that,  
Since I refused thy madness that preferment,  
Because I would have none of Brutus Blood  
Pretend to be a King; thou hangest thy head,  
Contriv'st to give thy Father new displeasure,  
As if Imperial Toil were not enough  
To break my heart without thy disobedience.  
But by the Majesty of Rome I swear,  
If after double warning thou despise me,  
By all the Gods, I'll cast thee from my blood,  
Doom thee to Forks and Whips as a Barbarian,  
And leave thee to the lashes of the Lictor.  
Tarqvinius Collatinus, you are summoned  
To meet the Senate on the instant time.  [Ex. Brut. Val. Coll. 
Lead on: my duty is to follow Brutus.  Tib. 
Now, by those Gods with which he meanced me,  
I Here put off all nature; since he turns me  
Thus desperate to the World, I do renounce him:  
And when we meet again he is my Fo.  
All Blood, all Reverence, Fondness be forgot:  
Like a grown Savage on the Common wild,  
That runs at all, and cares not who begot him,  
I'll meet my Lion Sire, and roar defiance,  
As if he ne'er had nursed me in his Den.  Enter Vinditius, with the People, and two Fecialian Priests, Crown'nd with Laurel: two Spears in their hands; one bloody and half burnt. Vin. 
Make Way there, hay, news from the Tyrant, here come Envoys, Heralds, Ambassadors; whether in the God's name or in the Devils I know not; but here they come, your Fecialian Priests; well, good People, I like not these Priests; why, what the Devil have they to do with State affairs? what side soever they are for, they'll have Heaven for their part, I'll warrant you: they'll lug the Gods in whether they will or no.  1. Pri. 
Hear, jupiter; and thou, O juno, hear;  
Hear, O Quirinus; hear us all you Gods  
Celestial, Terestrial, and Infernal.  2. Pri. 
Be thou, O Rome, our Judge: hear all you People.  Vin. 
Fine Canting Rogues! I told you how they'd be hooking the Gods in at first dash: why, the Gods are their Tools and Tackle; they work with Heaven and Hell; and let me tell you, as things go, your Priests have a hopeful Trade on't.  1. Pri. 
I come Ambassador to thee, O Rome,  
Sacred and Just, the Legate of the King.  2. Pri. 
If we demand, or purpose to require  
A Stone from Rome that's contrary to Justice,  
May we be ever banished from our Country,  
And never hope to taste this vital Air.  Tib. 
Vinditus, lead the Multitude away:  
Aquilius, with Vitellius▪ and myself,  
Will straight conduct 'em to the Capitol.  Vin. 
I go, my Lord; but have a care of 'em: fly Rogues I warrant 'em. Mark that first Priest; do you see how he leers? a lying Elder; the true cast of a holy Juggler. Come my Masters, I would think well of a Priest, but that he has a Commission to dissemble: a Patent hypocrite, that takes pay to forge; lies by Law, and lives by the Sins of the People.  [Exeunt with People. Aqu. 
My life upon't, you may speak out, and freely;  
Tiberius is the heart of our design.  1. Pri 
The Gods be praised. Thus then: the King commends  
Your generous Resolves, longs to be with you,  
And those you have engaged, Divides his heart  
Amongst you; which more clearly will be seen  
When you have read these Packets: as we go,  
I'll spread the bosom of the King before you  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  
The Senate.  Brut. 
PAtricians, that long stood, and scaped the Tyrant,  
The venerable moulds of your Forefathers,  
That represent the wisdom of the Dead;  
And you the Conscript chosen for the People,  
Engines of Power, severest Counsellors,  
Courts that examine Treasons to the Head:  
All hail. The Consul begs th' auspicious Gods,  
And binds Quirinus by his Tutelar Vow,  
That Plenty, Peace, and lasting Liberty  
May be your portion, and the Lot of Rome.  
Laws, Rules, and Bounds, prescribed for raging Kings,  
Like Banks and Bulwarks for the Mother Seas,  
Tho 'tis impossible they should prevent  
A thousand daily wracks and nightly ruins,  
Yet help to break those rolling inundations  
Which else would overflow and drown the World.  
Tarquin, to feed whose fathomless ambition  
And Ocean Luxury, the noblest veins  
Of all true Romans were like Rivers emptied,  
Is cut from Rome, and now he flows full on;  
Yet, Fathers, ought we much to fear his ebb,  
And strictly watch the Dams that we have raised.  
Why should I go about? the Roman People  
All, with one voice, accuse my fellow Consul.  Coll. 
The People may; I hope the Nobles will not.  
The People! Brutus does indulge the People.  Bru. 
Consul, in what is right, I will indulge 'em:  
And much I think 'tis better so to do,  
Than see 'em run in Tumults through the Streets,  
Forming Cabals, Plotting against the Senate,  
Shutting their Shops and flying from the Town,  
As if the Gods had sent the Plague among 'em.  
I know too well, you and your Royal Tribe  
Scorn the good People, scorn the late Election,  
Because we chose these Fathers for the People  
To fill the place of those whom Tarquin murdered:  
And, though you laugh at this, you and your Train,  
The irreligious harebrained youth of Rome,  
The Ignorant, the Slothful, and the Base;  
Yet wise men know, 'tis very rarely seen,  
That a free people should desire the hurt  
Of Common Liberty. No, Collatine,  
For those desires arise from their oppression,  
Or from suspicion they are falling to it;  
But put the case that those their tears were false,  
Ways may be found to rectify their Errors;  
For grant the People ignorant of themselves,  
Yet they are capable of being told,  
And will conceive a truth from worthy men:  
From you they will not, nor from your adherents,  
Rome's Infamous and Excerable Youth,  
Foes to Religion and the Commonwealth,  
To Virtue, Learning, and all sober Arts  
That bring renown and profit to Mankind;  
Such as had rather bleed beneath a Tyrant  
To become dreadful to the Populace,  
To spread their Lusts and Dissolutness round,  
Tho at the daily hazard of their lives;  
Than live at peace in a Free Government,  
Where every man is Master of his own,  
Sole Lord at home, and Monarch of his House,  
Where Rancour and Ambition are extinguished,  
Where Universal peace extends her wings,  
As if the Golden Age returned, where all  
The People do agree, and live secure,  
The Nobles and the Princes loved and Reverenced,  
The World in Triumph, and the Gods Adored.  Coll. 
The Consul, Conscript Fathers, says the People,  
For divers Reasons, grudge the Dignity,  
Which I possessed by general approbation,  
I hear their murmurs, an would know of Brutus  
What they would have me do, what's their desire.  Bru. 
Take hence the Royal name, resign thy Office;  
Go as a Friend, and of thy own accord,  
Left thou be forced to what may seem thy will:  
The City renders thee what is thy own  
With vast increase, so thou resolve to go;  
For till the name, the Race and Family  
Of Tarquin Be removed, Rome is not free.  Coll. Brutus, 
I yield my Office to Valerius,  
Hoping, when Rome has tried my faith by Exile,  
She will recall me: So the Gods preserve you.  [Exit. Bru. 
Welcome Publicola, true Son of Rome;  
On such a Pilot in the roughest Storm  
She may securely sleep and rest her cares,  [Enter Tiberius, Aquilius, Vitellius, and the Priests. 1. Pri. 
Hear jupiter, Quirinus, all you Gods,  
Thou Father, Judge commissioned for the Message  
Pater Patratus for the Embassy,  
And Sacred Oaths which I must swear for truth,  
Dost thou Commission me to seal the Peace,  
If peace they choose; or hurl this bloody Spear  
Half burnt in fire, if they enforce a War?  2. Pri. 
Speak to the Senate, and the Alban People  
The words of Tarquin: this is your Commission.  1. Pri. 
The King, to show he has more moderation  
Than those that drove him from his lawful Empire,  
Demands but restitution of his own,  
His Royal Householdstuff, Imperial Treasure,  
His Gold, his Jewels, and his proper State  
To be transported where he now resides:  
I swear that this is all the King requires;  
Behold his Signet set upon the wax.  
'Tis Sealed and written in these Sacred Tables.  
To this I swear; and as my Oath is Just,  
Sincere and punctual, without all deceit,  
May jupiter and all the Gods reward me:  
But if I act, or otherwise imagine,  
Think, or design, than what I hear have sworn,  
All you the Alban People being safe,  
Safe in your Country, Temples, Sepulchers,  
Safe in your Laws, and proper Household Gods;  
Let me alone be struck, fall, perish, die,  
As now this Stone falls from my hand to Earth.  Bru. 
The things you ask being very controversial,  
Require some time. Should we deny the Tyrant  
What was his own, 'twould seem a strange injustice;  
Tho he had never Reigned in Rome; yet, Fathers,  
If we consent to yield to his demand,  
We give him then full power to make a War.  
'Tis known to you, the Fecialian Priests,  
No Act of Senate after Sunset stands;  
Therefore your offers being of great moment,  
We shall defer your business till the morn:  
With whose first dawn we summon all the Fathers,  
To give th' affair dispatch, So jove protect,  
Guard, and Defend the Commonwealth of Rome.  [Exeunt. [Manent Tiberius, Aquillus, Vitellius, Priests. Tib. 
Now to the Garden, where I'll bring my Brother:  
Fear not, my Lord; we have the means to work him;  
It cannot fail.  1. Pri. 
And you, Vitellius, hast  
With good Aquilius, spread the news through Rome,  
To all of Royal Spirit; most to those  
Young Noble men that used to range with Sexius!  
Persuade a restitution of the King,  
Give 'em the hint to let him in by night,  
And join their Forces with th' Imperial Troops,  
For 'tis a shove a push of Fate must bear it,  
For you, the Hearts and Souls of enterprise,  
I need not urge a reason after this:  
What good can come of such a Government  
Where though two Consuls, wise and able persons,  
As are throughout the World, sit at the helm,  
A very trifle cannot be resolved;  
A Trick, a Start, a Shadow of a business,  
That would receive dispatch in half a minute  
Were the Authority but rightly placed,  
In Rome's most lawful King? But now no more;  
The Fecialian Garden is the place,  
Where more of our sworn Function will be ready  
To help the Royal Plot: disperse, and prosper.   

SCENE III.  
The Fecialian Garden  Titus solus. Tit. 
SHe's gone; and I shall never see her more:  
Gone to the Camp, to the harsh trade of War,  
Driven from thy bed, just warm within thy breast,  
Torn from her harbour by thy Father's hand,  
Perhaps to starve upon the barren plain,  
Thy Virgin Wife, the very blush of Maids,  
The softest bosom sweet, and not enjoyed:  
O the Immortal Gods! and as she went,  
How ere she seemed to bear our parting well,  
Methought she mixed her melting with disdain,  
A cast of anger through her Shining tears:  
So to abuse her hopes and blast her wishes,  
By making her my Bride, but not a Woman!  [Enter Tiberius, Aquilius, Vitellius, and Priests, with Teraminta. Tib. 
See where he stands, drowned in his Melancholy.  1. Pri. 
Madam, you know the pleasure of the Queen:  
And what the Royal Tullia did command  
I've sworn to execute.  Ter. 
I am instructed.  
Since than my life's at stake, you need not doubt  
But I will act with all the Force I can:  
Let me entreat you leave me here alone  [Vitelli; Pri. 
Some minutes, and I'll call you to the conquest  [Ex. Tib. Aq. Tit. Tit. 
Choose then the gloomy'st place through all the Grove,  
Throw thy abandoned body on the ground,  
With thy bare breast lie wedded to the Dew;  
Then, as thou drinkest the tears that trickle from thee:  
So strteched resolve to lie till death shall seize thee:  
Thy sorrowful head hung o'er some tumbling Stream,  
To rock thy griefs with melancholy sounds,  
With broken murmurs and redoubled groans,  
To help the gurgling of the waters fall,  Ter. 
Oh, Titus, Oh, what Scene of Death is this!  Tit. 
Or if thy Passion will not be kept in,  
As in that glass of nature thou shalt view  
Thy swollen drowned eyes with the inverted banks,  
The tops of Willows and their blossoms turned,  
With all the under Sky ten fathom down,  
Wish that the shadow of the swimming Globe  
Were so indeed, that thou might'st leap at Fate,  
And hurl thy Fortune headlong at the Stars:  
Nay, do not bear it, turn thy watery face  
To yond misguided Orb, and ask the Gods  
For what bold Sin they doom the wretched Titus  
To such a loss as that of Teraminta?  
O Teraminta! I will groan thy name  
Till the tired Echo faint with repetition,  
Till all the breathless Grove and quiet Myrtles  
Shake with my sighs, as if a Tempest bowed 'em  
Nothing but Teraminta: O Teraminta!  Ter. 
Nothing but Titus: Titus and Teraminta!  
Thus let me rob the Fountains and the Groves,  
Thus gird me to thee with the fastest knot  
Of arms and Spirits that would clasp thee through;  
Cold as thou art, and wet with night's fallen dews,  
Yet dearer so, thus richly dressed with sorrows,  
Than if the Gods had hung thee round with Kingdoms.  
Oh, Titus, O!  Tit. 
I find thee Teraminta,  
Waked from a fearful Dream, and hold thee fast:  
'Tis real, and I give thee back thy joys,  
Thy boundless Love with pleasures running o'er;  
Nay, as thou art, thus with thy trappings, come,  
Leap to my heart, and ride upon the pants,  
Triumphing thus, and now defy our Stars.  
But, oh, why do we lose this precious moment!  
The bliss may yet be barred if we delay,  
As 'twas before. Come to thy Husband's bed;  
I will not think this true till there I hold thee,  
Locked in my Arms. Leave this Contagious Air;  
There will be time for talk how thou cam'st hither  
When we have been before hand with the Gods:  
Till then—  Ter. 
Oh, Titus, you must hear me first.  
I bring a Message from the Furious Queen;  
I promised nay, the Swore me not to touch you,  
Till I had Charmed you to the part of Tarquin.  Tit. 
Ha, Teraminta! not to touch thy Husband,  
Unless he prove a Villain?  Ter. 
Titus, no;  
I'm Sworn to tell you that you are a Traitor,  
If you refuse to Fight the Royal Cause,  Tit. 
Hold, Teraminta.  Ter. 
No, my Lord; 'tis plain,  
And I am sworn to lay my Reason's home.  
Rouse then, awake, recall your sleeping Virtue;  
Side with the King, and Arm against your Father,  
Take part with those that Loyally have Sworn  
To let him in by Night: Vitellius,  
Aquilius, and your Brother wait without;  
Therefore I charge you hast, subscribe your name,  
And send your vowed obedience to the King:  
'Tis Teraminta that entreats you thus,  
Charms, and Conjures you; tell the Royal Heralds  
You'll head their Enterprise: and then, my Lord,  
My Love, my noble Husband, I'll obey you,  
And follow to your bed.  Tit. 
Never I swear.  
O, Teraminta, thou hast broke my heart:  
By all the Gods, from thee this was too much.  
Farewell, and take this with thee. For thy sake,  
I will not Fight against the King, nor for him:  
I'll fly my Father, Brother, Friends for ever,  
Forsake the haunts of Men; converse no more  
With aught that's Human; dwell with endless darkness:  
For, Since the sight of thee is now unwelcome,  
What has the World besides that I can bear?  Ter. 
Come back, my Lord. By those immortal Powers  
You now invoked I'll fix you in this virtue.  
Your Teraminta did but try how strong  
Your Honour stood: and now she finds it lasting,  
Will die to root you in this solid Glory.  
Yes, Titus, though the Queen has Sworn to end me,  
Tho both the Fecialians have Commission  
To stab me in your presence, if not wrought  
To serve the King; yet by the Gods I charge you  
Keep to the point your constancy has gained.  
Tarquin, although my Father, is a Tyrant,  
A bloody black Usurper; so I beg you  
Even in my death to view him.  Tit. 
Oh you Gods!  Ter. 
Yet guilty as he is, if you behold him  
Hereafter with his Wounds upon the Earth,  
Titus, for my sake, for poor Teraminta,  
Who rather died than you should lose your Honour,  
Do not you strike him, do not dip your Sword  
In Tarquin's blood, because he was my Father.  Tit. 
No, Teraminta, no: by all the Gods,  
I will defend him, even against my Father.  
See, see, my Love; behold the Flight I take:  
What all the Charms of thy expected bed  
Could not once move my Soul to think of Acting,  
Thy tears and menaced death, by which thou strivest  
To fix me to the Principles of Glory,  
Have wrought me off. Yes, yes, you cruel Gods,  
Let the eternal Bolts that bind this Frame  
Start from their Order: since you push me thus  
Even to the Margin of this wide despair,  
Behold I plungeat once in this dishonour,  
Where there is neither Shore, nor hope of Haven,  
No Floating mark through all the dismal Vast;  
'Tis Rockless too, no Cliff to clamber up  
To gaze about and pause upon the ruin.  Ter. 
Is then your purposed Honour come to this?  
What now, my Lord?  Tit, 
Thy death, thy death, my Love:  
I'll think on that, and laugh at all the Gods.  
Glory, Blood, Nature, ties of Reverence,  
The dues of Birth, respect of Parents, all,  
All are as this, the Air I drive before me.  
What ho! Vitellius, and Aquilius, come,  
And you the Fecialian Heralds, hast  
I'm ready for the leap, I'll take it with you  
Tho deep as to the Fiends.  Ter. 
Thus hear me, Titus.  Tit. 
Off from my knees, away.  
What on this Theme, thy death? nay, stabbed before me!  [Enter Priests, with Tiberius, Aquilius, Vitellius. 
Speak not; I will not know thee on this Subject,  
But push thee from my heart, with all persuasions  
That now are lost upon me. O, Tiberius,  
Aquilius, and Vitellius, welcome, welcome;  
I'll join you in the Conjuration, come:  
I am as free as he that dares be foremost.  Ter. 
My Lord, my Husband.  Tit. 
Take this woman from me.  
Nay look you, Sirs, I am not yet so gone,  
So headlong neither in this damned Design  
To quench this Horrid thirst with Brutus' blood:  
No, by th' eternal Gods, I bar you that;  
My Father shall not bleed.  Tib. 
You could not think  
Your Brother sure so Monstrous in his kind.  
As not to make our Father's life his care.  Tit. 
Thus then, my Lords, I List myself among you.  
And with my Style in short Subscribe myself  
The Servant to the King; my words are these.  
Titus to the King,  
Sir, you need only know my Brother's mind  
To judge of me, who am resolved to serve you,  1 Pri. 
'Tis full enough.  Tit. 
Then leave me to the hire  [Exeunt. Tib. Aquil. Vitell. and Priests. 
Of this hard labour, to the dear bought prize,  
Whose life I purchased with my loss of Honour:  
Come to my breasts, thou Tempest-beaten Flower,  
Brimful of Rain, and stick upon my heart.  
O short lived Rose! yet I some hours will wear thee:  
Yes, by the Gods, I'll smell thee till I languish,  
Rifle thy sweets, and run the o'er and o'er,  
Fall like the Night upon thy folding beauties,  
And clasp thee dead: Then, like the Morning Sun,  
With a new heat kiss thee to life again,  
And make the pleasure equal to the pain.    

ACT. IU.  

SCE. I.  Tiberius, Vitellius. Tib, 
HArk, are we not pursued?  Vit, 
No; 'tis the tread  
Of our own Friends, that follow in the dark.  Tib. 
What's now the time?  Vit. 
Just dead of night.  
And 'tis the blackest that e'er masked a Murder.  Tib. 
It likes me better; for I love the Scoul,  
The grimmest lower of Fate on such a deed;  
I would have all the Charnel Houses yawn,  
The dusty Urns, and Monumental Bones  
Removed, to make our Massacre a Tomb.  
Hark! who was that that holloa'd fire,  Vit. 
A Slave,  
That snores i'th' Hall, he bellows in his Sleep,  
And cries, The Capitols o' fire.  Tib. 
I would it were;  
And Tarquin at the Gates: 'twould be a blaze,  
A Beacon fit to light a King of Blood,  
That vows at once the Slaughter of the World:  
Down with their Temples, set 'em on a Flame?  
What should they do with Houses for the Gods,  
Fat Fools, the lazy Magistrates of Rome,  
Wise Citizens, the Politic heads o'th' People,  
That Preach Rebellion to the Multitude?  
Why, let 'em off, and roll into their Graves:  
I long to beat work, See, good Aquilius,  
Trebonius too, Servilius and Minutius,  
Pomponius hail: nay, now you may unmask,  
Browbeat the Fates, and say they are your Slaves.  Aqu. 
What are those Bodies for?  Tib. 
A Sacrifice.  
These were two very busy Commonwealth's-men,  
That, ere the King was banished by the Senate,  
First set the Plot on foot in public Meetings,  
That would be holding forth 'T was possible  
That Kings themselves might err, and were but men,  
The People were not Beasts for Sacrifice;  
Then jogged his Brother, this crammed Statesman here,  
The bolder Rogue, whom even with open mouth  
I heard once bealch Sedition from a Stall:  
Go, bear him to the Priests; he is a Victim  
That comes as wished for them, the Cooks of Heaven,  
And they will Carve this Brawn of fat Rebellion,  
As if he were a Dish the Gods might feed on.  Vin. 
(From a Window.) Oh, the Gods! Oh the Gods! what will they do with him? O these Priests, Rogues, Cutthroats! A dish for the Gods, but the Devil's Cooks to dress him.  Tib. 
Thus then. The Fecialians have set down  
A platform, copied from the King's design:  
The Pandane or the Romulide, the Roman,  
Carmental and Janiculan Ports of Rome,  
The Circ, the Capital, and Sublician Bridge  
Must all be seized by us that are within;  
'T will not be hard in the Surprise of night  
By us, the Consul's Children and their Nephews,  
To kill the drowsy Guards, and keep the Holds,  
At least so long till Tarquin force his entrance  
With all the Royalists that come to join us:  
Therefore to make his broader Squadrons way,  
Tarquinian is designed to be the Entry  
Of his most pompous and Resolved Revenge.  Aqu. 
The first decreed in this great Execution  
Is here set down your Father and Valerius.  Tib. 
That's as the King shall please; but for Valerius,  
I'll take myself the honour of his Head  
And wear it on my Spear. The Senate all  
Without exception shall be Sacrificed:  
And those that are the mutinous Heads o'th' People  
Whom I have marked to be the Soldier's Spoil,  
For Plunder must be given, and who so fit  
As those notorious limbs, your Commonwealth's men?  
Their Daughters to be Ravished; and their Sons  
Quartered like Brutes upon the Common Shambles.  Vit. 
Now for the Letters, which the Fecialians  
Require us all to Sign, and send to Tarquin,  
Who will not else be apt to trust his Heralds  
Without Credentials under every hand;  
The business being indeed of vast import,  
On which the hazard of his Life and Empire,  
As well as all our Fortunes, does depend.  Tib. 
It were a break to the whole Enterprise  
To make a Scruple in our great affair;  
I will sign first: and for my Brother Titus,  
Whom his new Wife detains, I have his hand  
And Seal to show, as fast and firm as any.  Vin. 
O Villainy! Villainy! What would they do with me, if they should catch me peeping? knock out my brains at least; another Dish for the Priests, who would make fine sauce of 'em for the haunch of a fat Citizen!  Tib. 
All hands have here Subscribed, and that your hearts  
Prove Resolute to what your hands have given,  
Behold the Messengers of Heaven to bind you,  
Charms of Religion, sacred Conjurations,  
With Sounds of Execration, words of horror  
Not to disclose or make least signs or show,  
Of what you have both heard, and seen, and sworn,  
But bear yourselves as if it ne'er had been:  
Swear by the God's Celestial and Infernal,  
By Pluto, Mother Earth, and by the Furies,  
Not to reveal, though Racks were set before you,  
A syllable of what is past and done.  
Hark, how the Offered Brutes begin to roar!  
O that the hearts of all the Traitor Senate,  
And heads of that foul Hydra Multitude,  
Were frying with their fat upon this Pile,  
That we might make an Offering worth an Empire,  
And Sacrifice Rebellion to the King.  The Scene draws, showing the Sacrifice; One Burning, and another Crucified: the Priests coming forward with Goblets in their hands, filled with human blood. 1. Pri. 
Kneel all you Heroes of this black Design,  
Each take his Goblet filled with Blood & Wine;  
Swear by the Thunderer, swear by Jove,  
Swear by the hundred Gods above;  
Swear by Dis, by Proserpina,  
Swear by the Berecynthian Queen.  2 Pri. 
To keep it close till Tarquin comes,  
With Trumpets sound and beat of Drums:  
But then to Thunder forth the Deed,  
That Rome, may blush, and Traitors bleed.  
Swear all.  All. 
We Swear.  1 Pri. 
Now drink the Blood,  
To make the Conjuration good.  Tib. 
Methinks I feel the Slaves exalted blood  
Warm at my heart: O that it were the Spirits  
Of Rome's best life, drawn from her grizzled Fathers!  
That were a draught indeed to quench Ambition,  
And give new fierceness to the King's Revenge.  Vin. 
Oh the Gods! what, burn a man alive! O Cannibals, Hellhounds! Eat one man, and drink another! Well, I'll to Valerius; Brutus will not believe me, because his Sons and Nephews are in the business. What, drink a man's blood! Roast him, and eat him alive! A whole man roasted! would not an Ox serve the turn? Priests to do this! Oh you immortal Gods! For my part, if this be your worship, I renounce you. No; if a man can't go to Heaven, unless your Priests eat him, and drink him, and roast him alive; I'll be for the broad way, and the Devil shall have me at a venture,  [Exit. Enter Titus. Tit. 
What hoa, Tiberius! give me back my hand.  
What have you done? Horrors and midnight Murders!  
The Gods, the Gods awake you to repentance,  
As they have me. Wouldst thou believe me Brother?  
Since I delivered thee that fatal Scroll,  
That Writing to the King, my heart rebelled  
Against itself; my thoughts were up in arms  
All in a roar, like Seamen in a Storm,  
My Reason and my Faculties were wracked  
The Mast, the Rudder, and the Tackling gone;  
My Body, like the Hull of some lost Vessel,  
Beaten and tumbled with my Rolling fears,  
Therefore I charge thee give me back my Writing.  Tib. 
What means my Brother?  Tit. 
O Tiberius, O!  
Dark as it seems, I tell thee that the Gods  
Look through a Day of Lightning on our City:  
The heaven's on Fire; and from the flaming Vault  
Portentous blood pours like a Torrent down.  
There are a hundred Gods in Rome to night,  
And ever larger Spirit is abroad,  
Monuments emptied, every Urn is shaken  
To fright the State, and put the World in Arms:  
Just now I saw three Romans stand amazed  
Before a Flaming Sword, than dropped down dead,  
Myself untouched: while through the blazing Air  
A Fleeting head, like a full riding Moon,  
Glanced by, and cried, Titus, I am Egeria;  
Repent, repent, or certain death attends thee;  
Treason and Tyranny shall not prevail:  
Kingdom shall be no more; Egeria says it:  
And that vast turn Imperial Fate designed  
I saw, O Titus, on th' eternal Loom,  
'Tis Ripe, 'tis Perfect, and is doomed to stand.  1 Pri. 
Fumes, fumes; the Phantoms of an ill digestion;  
The Gods are as good quiet Gods as may be,  
They're fast asleep, and mean not to disturb us,  
Unless your Frenzy wake 'em.  Tit. 
Peace fury, peace.  
May the God's Doom me to the pains of Hell  
If I enjoyed the beauties that I saved:  
The horror of my Treason shocked my joys,  
Enervated my purpose, while I lay  
Colder than Marble by her Virgin side,  
As if I had drunk the blood of Elephants,  
Drowsy Mandragora, or the Juice of Hemlock.  1 Pri. 
I like him not; I think we had best dispatch him.  Tit. 
Nothing but Images of horror round me,  
Rome all in blood, the Ravished Vestals raving,  
The Sacred fire put out; robbed Mothers shrieks;  
Deaf'ning the Gods with clamours for their Babes  
That sprawled aloft upon the Soldiers Spears  
The beard of Age plucked off by barbarous hands,  
While from his piteous wounds and horrid gashes  
The labouring life flowed faster than the blood.  Enter Valerius, Vinditius, with Guards, who seize all but the Priests, who slip away: Vinditius follows them. Val. 
Horror upon me! what will this night bring forth?  
Yes, you immortal Gods, strike, strike the Consul,  
Since these are here, the crime will look less horrid  
In me, than in his Sons Titus, Tiberius!  
O from this time let me be blind and dumb,  
But hast there; Mutius, Fly; call hither Brutus,  
Bid him for ever leave the down of rest,  
And sleep no more: If Rome were all on Fire,  
And Tarquin in the Streets bestriding Slaughter,  
He would less wonder than at Titus. here.  Tit. 
Stop there, O stop that messenger of Fate;  
Here, bind, Valerius, bind this Villan's hands,  
Tear off my Robes put me upon the Forks,  
And lash me like a Slave, till I shall howl  
My Soul away; or hang me on a Cross,  
Rack me a year within some horrid Dungeon,  
So deep, so near the Hells that I must suffer,  
That I may groan my Torments to the Damned  
I do submit, this Traitor, this cursed Villain,  
To all the Stings of most ingenious horror,  
So thou dispatch me ere my Father comes.  
But hark! I hear the tread of Fatel Brutus!  
By all the Gods, and by the lowest Furies,  
I cannot bear his face: away with me;  
Or like a Whirlwind I will tear my way  
I care not whither,  [Exit with Tiberius. Val. 
Take 'em hence together.  Enter Vinditius with the Priests. Vin. 
Here, here, my Lord, I have unkenneled two:  
Those there are Rascals made of Flesh and blood,  
Those are but men, but these are the God's Rogues.  Val. 
Go, good Vinditius, hast and stop the People,  
Get 'em together to the Capitol:  
Where all the Senate with the Consuls early,  
Will see strict Justice done upon the Traitors.  
For thee, the Senate shall decree rewards  
Great as thy Service.  Vind. 
I humbly thank your Lordship.  
Why, what, they'll make me a Senator at least,  
And then a Consul; O th' Immortal Gods!  
My Lord, I go— To have the Rods and Axes carried before me, and a long purple Gown trailing behind my honourable heels: Well, I am made for ever!  [Exit. Enter Brutus attended. Bru. 
O, my Valerius, are these horrors true?  
Hast thou, O Gods, this night embowelled me?  
Ransacked thy Brutus Veins, thy Fellow Consul,  
And found two Villains lurking in my blood?  Val. 
The blackest Treason that e'er darkness brooded,  
And who, to hatch these horrors for the World,  
Who to seduce the Noble Youth of Rome,  
To draw 'em to so damned a Conjuration,  
To bind 'em too by new invented Oaths,  
Religious Forms, and Devilish Sacrifices,  
A Sacrament of blood, for which Rome suffered  
In two the worthiest of her Martyred Sons;  
Who to do this, but Messengers from Heaven?  
These Holy men that Swore so solemnly  
Before the Senate, called the Gods to curse 'em,  
If they intended aught against the State,  
Or harboured Treason more than what they uttered?  Bru. 
Now all the Fiends and Furies thank 'em for it.  
You Sons of Murder, that get drunk with blood,  
Then Stab at Princes, poison Commonwealths,  
Destroy whole Hecatombs of Innocent Souls,  
Pile 'em like Bulls and Sheep upon your Altars,  
As you would smoke the Gods from out their Dwelling:  
You shame of Earth, and Scandal of the heavens',  
You deeper Fiends than any of the Furies,  
That scorn to whisper Envy, Hate, Sedition:  
But with a blast of Privilege Proclaim it;  
Priests that are Instruments designed to Damnus,  
Fit speaking Trumpets for the mouth of Hell.  
Hence with 'em, Guards; secure 'em in the Prison  
Of Ancus Martius, Read the Packets o'er,  
I'll bear it as I'm able, read 'em out.  Val. 
The sum of the Conspiracy to the King▪  
It shall begin with both the Consuls deaths;  
And then the Senate; every man must bleed,  
But those that have engaged to serve the King.  
Be ready therefore, Sir, to send your Troops  
By twelve to morrow night, and come yourself  
In person, if you'll reascend the Throne:  
All that have sworn to serve your Majesty  
Subscribe themselves by name your faithful Subjects.  
Tiberius, Aquiltus, Vitellius,  
Trebonius, Servilius, Minutius,  
Pomponius, and your Fecialian Priests.  Bru. 
Ha! my Valerius, is not Titus there?  Val. 
He's here, my Lord; a paper by itself.  
Titus to the King.  
Sir, you need only know my Brother's mind  
To judge of me, who am resolved to serve you.  
What do you think, my Lord?  Bru. 
Think my Valerius?  
By my heart, I know not:  
I'm at a loss of thought; and must acknowledge  
The Councils of the Gods are fathomless;  
Nay, 'tis the hardest task perhaps of life  
To be assured of what is Vice or Virtue:  
Whether when we raise up Temples to the Gods  
We do not then Blaspheme 'em, O, behold me,  
Behold the Game that laughing Fortune plays;  
Fate, or the will of Heaven call't what you please,  
That mars the best designs that Prudence lays,  
That brings events about perhaps to mock  
At human reach, and sport with expectation.  
Consider this, and wonder not at Brutus  
If his Philosophy seems at a stand,  
If thou beholdest him shed unmanly Tears  
To see his Blood, his Children, his own Bowels  
Conspire the death of him that gave 'em being.  Val. 
What heart, but yours, could bear it without breaking?  Bru. 
No, my Valerius, I were a beast indeed  
Not to be moved with such Prodigious suffering;  
Yet after all I justify the Gods,  
And will conclude there's Reason supernatural  
That guides us through the World with vast discretion,  
Although we have not Souls to comprehend it:  
Which makes by wondrous methods the same Causes  
Produce effects though of a different nature,  
Since then, for Man's Instruction, and the Glory  
Of the Immortal Gods, it is Decreed  
There must be patterns drawn of fiercest Virtue;  
Brutus submits to the eternal Doom.  Val. 
May I believe there can be such perfection,  
Such a Resolve in Man?  Bru. 
First, as I am their Father,  
I pardon both of 'em this black Design;  
But, as I am Rome's Consul, I abhor 'em,  
And cast 'em from my Soul with detestation:  
The nearer to my blood, the deeper grained  
The colour of their fault, and they shall bleed.  
Yes, my Valerius, both my Sons shall die:  Enter Teraminta. 
Nay, I will stand unboweled by the Altar,  
See something dearer to me than my entrails  
Displayed before the Gods and Roman People;  
The Sacrifice of Justice and Revenge.  Ter. 
What Sacrifice, what Victim, Sir, are these  
Which you intent? O, you eternal Powers,  
How shall I vent my Sorrows! Oh, my Lord,  
Yer ere you Seal the death you have designed,  
The death of all that's lovely in the World,  
Hear what the witness of his Soul can say,  
The only Evidence that can, or dare  
Appear for your unhappy guiltless Son;  
The Gods command you, Virtue, Truth, and Justice,  
Which you with so much rigour have Adored,  
Beg you would hear the wretched Teraminta.  Bru. 
Cease thy laments: though of the blood of Tarquin,  
Yet more, the Wife of my forgotten Son,  
Thou shalt be heard.  Ter. 
Have you forgot him then?  
Have you forgot yourself? the Image of you,  
The very Picture of your excellence,  
The Portraiture of all your manly Virtues,  
Your visage stamped upon him: just those eyes,  
The moving Greatness of 'em all the mercy,  
The shedding goodness; not so quite severe,  
Yet still most like: and can you then forget him?  Bru. 
Will you proceed?  Ter. 
My Lord, I will▪ know then,  
After your Son, your Son that loves you more  
Than I love him, after our common Titus,  
The wealth o'th' World unless you rob 'em of it,  
Had long endured th' Assaults of the Rebellious,  
And still kept fixed to what you had enjoined him;  
I, as Fate ordered it, was sent from Tullia,  
With my death menaced, even before his eyes,  
Doomed to be stabbed before him by the Priests,  
Unless he yielded not t' oppose the King,  
Consider, Sir; Oh make it your own Case;  
Just Wedded, just on the expected joys,  
Warm for my bed, and rushing to my arms,  
So loving too, alas, as we did love:  
Granted in haste, in heat, in flame of passion  
He knew not what himself, and so Subscribed.  
But now, Sir, now, my Lord, behold a wonder,  
Behold a Miracle to move your Soul!  
Tho in my arms, just in the grasps of pleasure,  
His noble heart struck with the thoughts of Brutus,  
Of what he promised you, till then forgot,  
Leapt in his breast and dashed him from enjoyment;  
He shrieked, y' immortal Gods, what have I done!  
No, Teraminta, let us rather perish,  
Divide for ever with whole Seas betwixt us,  
Rather than Sin against so good a Father.  
Tho he before had barred your life and Fortune,  
Yet would not trust the Traitors with the safety  
Of him he called though Image of the Gods.  Val. 
O Saintlike Virtue of a Roman Wife!  
O Eloquence Divine! now all the arts  
Of womens' tongues, the Rhetoric of the Gods  
Inspire thy soft and tender Soul to move him.  Ter. 
On this he roused: Swore by the Powers Divine,  
He would fetch back the Paper that he gave,  
Or leave his life amongst 'em: kept his word,  
And came to challenge it, but, oh! too late;  
For, in the midst of all his Piety,  
His strong persuasions to swift repentance,  
His vows to lay their horrid Treasons open,  
His execration of the barbarous Priests,  
How he abhorred that bloody Sacrament  
As much as you, and cursed the conjuration;  
Vinditius came that had before alarmed  
The wise Valerius, who with all the Guards  
Found Titus here, believed him like the rest,  
And seized him too, as guilty of the Treason.  Val. 
But, by the Gods, my Soul does now acquit him  
Blessed be thy tongue, blessed the auspicious Gods  
That sent thee, O true pattern of perfection.  
To plead his bleeding Cause, There needs no more,  
I see his Father's moved: Behold a joy,  
A watery comfort rising in his eyes,  
That says, 'Tis more than half a Heaven to hear thee.  Bru. 
Hast, O Valerius, hast and send for Titus.  Ter. 
For Titus! Oh, that is a word too distant;  
Say, for your Son, for your beloved Son,  
The Darling of the World, the joy of Heaven,  
The hope of Earth, your eyes not dearer to you,  
Your Soul's best wish, and comfort of your age.  Enter Titus, with Valerius. Tit. 
Ah, Sir! Oh whither shall I run to hide me?  
Where shall I lower fall? how shall I lie  
More grovelling in your View, and howl for mercy?  
Yet 'tis some comfort to my wild despair,  
Some joy in death that I may kiss your feet,  
And swear upon 'em by these streaming tears,  
Black as I am with all my guilt upon me,  
I never harboured aught against your person▪  
Even in the height of my full fraught distraction▪  
Your life my Lord, was Sacred; ever dear,  
And ever precious, to unhappy Titus.  Bru. 
Rise, Titus: rise my Son.  Tit. 
Alas, I dare not:  
I have not strength to see the Majesty  
Which I have braved: if thus far I aspire,  
If on your knees I hang and vent my groans▪  
It is too much, too much for thousand lives.  Bru. 
I pity thee, my Son, and I forgive thee:  
And, that thou may'st believe my mercy true,  
I take thee in my arms.  Tit. 
O all the Gods▪  Bru. 
Now rise; I charge thee on my blessing rise.  Ter. 
Ah! See, Sir, see against his will behold  
He does obey, though he would choose to kneel  
An Age before you; see how he stands and trembles!  
Now, by my hopes of mercy he's so lost  
His heart's so full, brimful of tenderness,  
The Sense of what you've done has struck him Speechless:  
Nor can be thank you now but with his tears.  Bru. 
My dear Valerius, let me now entreat thee  
Withdraw a while with gentle Teraminta,  
And leave us to our ourselves.  Ter. 
Ah, Sir, I fear you now;  
Nor can I leave you with the humble Titus,  
Unless you promise me you will not chide,  
Nor fall again to anger: Do not▪ Sir,  
Do not upbraid his soft and melting temper  
With what is past. Behold he sighs again!  
Now by the Gods that hitherto have blessed us,  
My heart forebodes a storm, I know not why:  
But say, my Lord; give me your Godlike word  
You'll not be cruel, and I'll not trust my heart,  
How e'er it leaps, and fills me with new horror.  Bru, 
I promise thee.  Ter. 
Why, then I thank you, Sir▪  
Even from my Soul I thank you, for this goodness:  
The great, good, gracious God's reward and bless you▪  
Ah Titus, ah my Soul's eternal treasure,  
I fear I leave thee with a hard Usurer;  
But I perforce must trust thee, Oh Farewell,  [Exit with Val. Bru. 
Well Titus, speak; how is it with thee now?  
I would attend awhile this mighty motion,  
Wait till the Tempest were quite o'verblown,  
That I might take thee in the Calm of Nature,  
With all thy gentler Virtues brooding on thee,  
So hushed a stillness, as if all the Gods  
Looked down, and listened to what we were saying:  
Speak then, and tell me, O my best beloved,  
My Son, my Titus, is all well again?  Tit. 
So well, that saying how must make it nothing;  
So well, that I could wish to die this moment,  
For so my heart with pow'erful throbs persuades me:  
That were indeed to make you reparation,  
That were, my Lord, to thank you home, to die  
And that for Titus too would be most happy.  Bru. 
How's that, my Son? would death for thee be happy?  Tit. 
Most certain, Sir; for in my Grave I scape  
All those affronts which I in life must look for,  
All those reproaches which the eyes and fingers  
And tongues of Rome will daily cast upon me;  
From whom, to a Soul so sensible as mine,  
Each single Scorn would be far worse than dying:  
Besides, I scape the stings of my own Conscience,  
Which will for ever Rack me with remembrance,  
Haunt me by day, and torture me by night,  
Casting my blotted honour in the way  
Where e'er my melancholy thoughts shall guide me.  Bru. 
But is not death a very dreadful thing?  Tit. 
Not to a mind resolved. No, Sir, to me  
It seems as natural as to be born:  
Groans, and Convulsions, and discoloured faces,  
Friends weeping round us, blacks, and obsequies,  
Make it a dreadful thing; the Pomp of death,  
Is far more terrible, than Death itself.  
Yes, Sir; I call the Powers of Heaven to witness,  
Titus dares die, if so you have Decreed;  
Nay, he shall die with joy, to honour Brutus,  
To make your Justice famous through the World  
And six the Liberty of Rome for ever:  
Not but I must confess my weakness too;  
Yet it is great thus to resolve against it,  
To have the frailty of a mortal man,  
But the Security of th' immortal Gods.  Bru. 
O Titus, Oh thou absolute young man!  
Thou flattering Mirror of thy Father's Image,  
Where I behold myself at such advantage!  
Thou perfect Glory of the junian Race!  
Let me endear thee once more to my bosom,  
Groan an eternal Farewell to thy Soul;  
Instead of tears weep blood, if possible,  
Blood, the heart blood of Brutus, on his Child,  
For thou must die, my Titus, die, my Son,  
I swear the Gods have Doomed thee to the grave,  
The violated Genius of thy Country  
Rears his sad head, and passes Sentence on thee;  
This morning Sun, that lights my Sorrows on  
To the Tribunal of this horrid vengeance,  
Shall never see thee more.  Tit. 
Alas, my Lord!  
Why are you moved thus? Why am I worth your sorrow?  
Why should the Godlike Brutus shake to doom me?  
Why all these Trappings for a traitor's Hearse?  
The Gods will have it so.  Bru. 
They will, my Titus:  
Nor Heaven, nor Earth can have it otherwise.  
Nay, Titus, mark; the deeper that I search,  
My harassed Soul returns the more confirmed:  
Me thinks I see the very hand of jove  
Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair  
That whirl thee, like a Machine, to thy Fate.  
It seems as if the Gods had preordained it  
To fix the reeling Spirits of the People,  
And settle the loose Liberty of Rome.  
'Tis fixed; O therefore let not Fancy fond thee:  
So fixed thy death, that 'tis not in the power  
Of Gods or Men to save thee from the Ax.  Tit. 
The Axe! O Heaven! then must I fall so basely?  
What shall I perish by the common Hangman?  Bru. 
If thou deny me this, thou givest me nothing,  
Yes, Titus, since the Gods have so Decreed,  
That I must lose thee; I will take th' advantage  
Of thy important Fate, Cement Rome's flaws,  
And heal her wounded Freedom with thy blood:  
I will ascend myself the sad Tribunal,  
And sit upon my Sons; on thee, my Titus;  
Behold thee suffer all the shame of death,  
The Lictor's lashes, bleed before People;  
Then, with thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee,  
See thy head taken by the Common Axe,  
Without a groan, without one pitying tear,  
If that the Gods can hold me to my purpose,  
To make my Justice quite transcend example.  Tit. 
Scourged like a Bondman! ha! a beaten Slave!  
But I deserve it all; yet here I fail:  
The Image of this suffering quite unmans me;  
Nor can I longer stop the gushing tears,  
O Sir! O Brutus! must I call you Father,  
Yet have no token of your tenderness?  
No sign of mercy? what, not bate me that!  
Can you resolve, O all th' extremity  
Of cruel rigour! to behold me too?  
To sit unmoved, and see me whipped to death?  
Where are your bowels now? Is this a Father?  
Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart suspect  
That all your late compassion was dissembled?  
How can I think that you did ever love me?  Bru. 
Think that I love thee by my present passion,  
By these unmanly tears, these Earthquakes here,  
These sighs that twitch the very strings of life:  
Think that no other cause on Earth could move me  
To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear,  
Nor shake my solid Virtue from her point  
But Titus' death: O do not call it shameful,  
That thus shall fix the glory of the World.  
I own thy sufferings ought t' unman me thus,  
To make me throw my Body on the ground,  
To bellow like a Beast, to gnaw the Earth,  
To tear my hair, to curse the cruel Fates  
That force a Father thus to drag his bowels.  Tit. 
O rise, thou violated Majesty,  
Rise from the Earth; or I shall beg those Fates  
Which you would curse, to bolt me to the Centre,  
I now submit to all your threatened vengeance:  
Come forth you Executioners of Justice,  
Nay all you Lictors, Slaves, and common Hangmen,  
Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight,  
And lash me till I bleed; whip me like Furies;  
And when you, have scourged me till I foam and fall,  
For want of Spirits grovelling in the dust,  
Then take my head, and give it his Revenge:  
By all the Gods I greedily resign it.  Bru. 
No more, Farewell, eternally Farewell:  
If there be Gods, they will reserve a room,  
A Throne for thee in Heaven. One last embrace▪  
What is it makes thy eyes thus swim again?  Tit. 
I had forget: be good to Teraminta  
When I am ashes.  Bru. 
Leave her to my care.  
See her thou must not; for thou canst not bear it,  
O for one more, this Pull, this Tug of Heartstrings:  
Farewell for ever.  Tit. 
O Brutus! O my Father!  Bru. 
Canst thou not say Farewell?  Tit, 
Farewell for ever.  Bru. 
For ever then; But Oh my tears run o'er:  
Groans choke my words; and I can speak no more.  [Exeunt.   

ACT. V.  

SCE. I.  Valerius, Horatius, Herminius, Mutius. Hor. 
HIs Sons condemned?  Val. 
Doomed to the Rods and Axes.  Hor. 
What both of 'em?  Val. 
Both, Sir, both, both his Sons.  Hor. 
What, Titus too?  Val. 
Yes, Sir, his Darling Titus.  
Nay, though he knows him innocent as I am,  
'Tis all one, Sir, his Sentence stands like Fate.  Hor. 
Yet I'll entreat him,  Mut. 
So will I.  Her. 
And I.  Val. 
Entreat him! yes, you may, my Lords, and move him,  
As I have done: why, he's no more a man;  
He is not cast in the same Common mould,  
His Spirit moves not with our Springs and wards.  
He looks and talks, as if that jove had sent him  
To be the Judge of all the under World;  
Tells me, this Palace of the Universe,  
With that vast Moat, the Ocean, running round us,  
Th' eternal Stars so fiercely rolling o'er us,  
With all that Circulation of heavens' Orbs,  
Were so established from before all Ages  
To be the Dowry of Majestic Rome:  
Then looks, as if he had a Patent for it  
To take account of all this great expense,  
And see the layings out of the round World.  Her. 
What shall be done then? for it grieves my Soul  
To think of Titus' loss.  Val. 
There is no help;  
But thus to shake your head, and cross your arms,  
And wonder what the Gods and he intent.  Her. 
There's scarce one man of this Conspiracy  
But is some way Related if not nearly,  
To junius Brutus: some of the Aquilians  
Are Nephews to him; and Vitellius Sister,  
The grave Sempronia, is the Consul's Wife.  Val. 
Therefore I have engaged that groaning Matron  
To plead the Cause of her unhappy Sons.  Enter Titus, with Lictor's. 
But see, O Gods, behold the Gallant Titus,  
The Mirror of all Sons, the white of Virtue;  
Filled up with blots, and writ all o'er with blood,  
Bowing with shame his body to the ground;  
Whipped out of breath by these Inhuman Slaves!  
O, Titus! is this possible? this shame?  Tit. 
O, my Valerius, call it not my shame▪  
By all the Gods, it is to Titus' honour,  
My constant sufferings are my only glory:  
What have I left besides? but ask Valerius,  
Ask these good men that have performed their duty,  
If all the while they whipped me like a Slave,  
If when the blood from every part ran down  
I gave one groan, or shed a Woman's tear:  
I think, I swear, I think, O my Valerius,  
That I have born it well, and like a Roman.  
But, O, far better shall I bear my death,  
Which, as it brings less pain, has less dishonour.  Enter Teraminta wounded. Ter. 
Where is he? where, where is this Godlike Son  
Of an inhuman barbarous bloody Father?  
O bear me to him,  Tit. 
Ha! my Teraminta!  
Is't possible? the very top of Beauty,  
This perfect face drawn by the Gods at Council,  
Which they were long a making, as they had reason,  
For they shall never hit the like again,  
Defiled and mangled thus! What barbarous wretch  
Has thus blasphemed this bright Original?  Ter. 
For me it matters not, nor my abuses;  
But, Oh, for thee, why have they used thee thus?  
Whipped, Titus, whipped! and could the Gods look on?  
The glory of the World thus basely used?  
Lashed, whipped, and beaten by these upright Dogs?  
Whose Souls, with all the Virtue of the Senate  
Will be but foils, to any fault of thine,  
Who hast a beauty even in thy offending.  
And did thy Father Doom thee thus? Oh Titus,  
Forgive thy dying part, if she believes  
A wretch so barbarous never could produce thee:  
Some God, some God, my Titus, watched his absence,  
Slipped to thy mother's bed and gave thee to the World.  Tit. 
O this last wound, this stab to all my courage!  
Hadst thou been well, I could have born more lashes:  
And is it thus my Father does protect thee?  Ter. 
Ah Titus! what, thy murderer my Protector!  
No, let me fall again among the People,  
Let me be whooted like a common strumpet,  
Tossed, as I was, and dragged about the streets,  
The Bastard of a Tarquin, foiled in Dirt,  
The cry of all those Bloodhounds that did hunt me  
Thus to the Goal of death, this happy end  
Of all my miseries, here to pant my last,  
To wash thy gashes with my Farewell tears,  
To murmur, sob, and lean my aching head  
Upon thy breast, thus like a Cradle Babe  
To suck thy wounds and bubble out my Soul,  Enter Sempronia, Aquilia, Vitellia, Mourners etc. Semp. 
Come Ladies, haste, and let us to the Senate;  
If the Gods give us leave, we'll be to day  
Part of the Council. Oh, my Son, my Titus!  
See here the bloody Justice of a Father,  
See how the Vengeance rains from his own bowels!  
Is he not mad? If he refuse to hear us,  
We'll bind his hands, as one bereft of reason.  
Hast then▪ Oh Titus, I would stay to moan thee,  
But that I fear his orders are gone out  
For something worse, for death, to take the heads  
Of all the Kindred of these wretched Women.  Ter. 
Come then: I think I have some Spirits left,  
To join thee, o most pious, best of Mothers,  
To melt this Rocky heart: give me your hand;  
Thus let us march before this wretched Host,  
And offer to that God of blood our vows:  
If there be aught that's human left about him,  
Perhaps my wounds and horrible abuses,  
Helped with the tears and groans of this sad Troop  
May batter down the best of his resolves.  Tit. 
Hark, Teraminta.  Ter, 
No, my Lord, away.  [Exeunt▪ Tit. 
Oh, my Valerius! was there ever day  
Through all the Legends of recorded time  
So sad as this? But see, my Father comes!  Enter Brutus, Tiberius, Lictors. 
Tiberius too has undergone the Lash.  
Give him the patience, Gods, of Martyred Titus,  
And he will bless those hands that have chastised him.  Tib. 
Enjoy the bloody Conquest of thy Pride,  
Thou more Tyrannical than any Tarquin,  
Thou fiercer Sire of these unhappy Sons,  
Than impious Saturn or the gorged Thyestes':  
This Cormorant sees, and owns us for his Children,  
Yet preys upon his entrails, tears his bowels  
With thirst of blood, and hunger fetched from Hell,  
Which Famished Tantalus would start to think on;  
But end, Barbarian, end the horrid vengeance  
Which thou so impiously hast begun,  
Perfect thy Justice, as thou, Tyrant, call'st it,  
Sit like a Fury on thy black Tribunal,  
Grasp with thy monstrous hands these gory heads,  
And let thy Flattering Orators adore thee,  
For Triumphs which shall make the smile at horror.  Bru. 
Lead to the Senate.  Tib. 
Go then to the Senate,  
There make thy boast how thou hast doomed thy Children  
To Forks and Whips; for which, the Gods reward thee▪  
Away: my Spirit scorns more conference with thee.  
The Axe will be as laughter; but the whips  
That drew these stains, for this I beg the Gods  
With my last breath, for every drop that falls  
From these vile wounds, to Thunder curses on thee.  Exit. Bru. 
Valerius, hast; the Senate does attend us.  Exit. Tit. 
Valerius, ere you go, let me conjure thee  
By all the Earth holds great or honourable,  
As thou art truly Roman, stamped a man,  
Grant to thy dying Titus one request.  Val. 
I'll grant thee any thing, but do not talk  
Of dying yet; for much I dare confide  
In that sad company that's gone before:  
I know they'll move him to preserve his Titus;  
For, though you marked him not, as hence he parted  
I could perceive with joy a silent shower  
Run down his silver beard: therefore have hope.  Tit. 
Hope, sayst thou! O the Gods! what hope of life?  
To live, to live! and after this dishonour!  
No my Valerius, do not make me rave;  
But if thou hast a Soul that's sensible  
Let me conjure thee, when we reach the Senate,  
To thrust me through the heart.  Val. 
Not for the World.  Tit. 
Do't; or I swear thou hast no Friendship for me▪  
First, thou wilt save me from the hated Axe,  
The Hangman's hand; for by the Gods I tell thee  
Thou may'st as well stop the eternal Sun,  
And drive him back, as turn my Father's purpose:  
Next, and what most my Soul entreats thee for,  
I shall perhaps in death procure his pity;  
For to die thus, beneath his killing frown,  
Is damning me before my execution.  Valer. 
'Tis granted: by the Gods, I swear to end thee  
For when I weigh with my more serious thought  
Thy Father's conduct in this dreadful Justice  
I find it is impossible to save thee.  
Come then, I'll lead thee, O thou glorious Victim,  
Thus to the Altar of untimely death,  
Thus in thy trim, with all thy bloom of youth,  
This Virtues on thee, whose eternal Spring  
Shall blossom on thy Monumental Marble  
With never fading glory.  Tit. 
Let me clasp thee,  
Boyl out my thanks thus with my Farewell Spirits:  
And now away, the Taper's almost out,  
Never, Valerius, to be kindled more●  
Or, if it be my friend, it shall continue,  
Burn through all winds against the pusf of Fortune,  
To dazzle still, and Shine like the fixed Stars,  
With beams of glory that shall last for ever.  Exeunt.  

Scena ultima.  
Senate.  Bru. 
Health to the Senate! To the Father's hail!  
jupiter Horscius and Diespiter  
Hospital and Feretrian, jove the Stayer,  
With all the hundred Gods and Goddesses,  
Guard and defend the Liberty of Rome.  
It has been found a famous truth in Story,  
Left by the ancient Sages to their Sons,  
That on the change of Empires or of Kingdoms,  
Some sudden Execution, fierce and great,  
Such as may draw the World to admiration,  
Is necessary to be put in Act  
Against the Enemies to the present State.  
Had Hector, when the Greeks and Trojans met  
Upon the Truce, and mingled with each other,  
Brought to the Banquet of those Demigods  
The Fatal head of that illustrious Whore;  
Troy might have stood till now; but that was wanting:  
jove having from eternity set down  
Rome to be head of all the under-World,  
Raised with this thought, and big with Prophecy  
Of what vast good may grow by such examples,  
Brutus stands forth to do a dreadful Justice:  
I come, O Conscript Fathers, to a deed  
Wholly Portentous, New, and Wonderful,  
Such as, perhaps, has never yet been found  
In all Memorials of Former Ages,  
Nor ever will again. My Sons are Traitors,  
Their Tongues and Hands are Witnesses confessed;  
Therefore I have already past their Sentence,  
And wait with you to see their Execution.  Hor. 
Consul, the Senate does not ask their deaths;  
They are content with what's already done,  
And all entreat you to remit the Ax.  Bru. 
I thank you, Fathers, but refuse the offer.  
By the assaulted Majesty of Rome,  
I swear there is no way to quit the Grace,  
To right the Commonwealth, and thank the Gods,  
But by the Sacrificing of my Bowels:  
Take then, you sad revengers of the Public,  
These Traitors hence; strike off their heads, and then  
My Sons. No More: their Doom is past. Away.  
Thus shall we stop the mouth of loud Sedition,  
Thus show the difference betwixt the Sway  
Of partial Tyrants, and of a Freeborn People,  
Where no man shall offend because he's great,  
Where none need doubt his Wives or Daughter's honour,  
Where all enjoy their own without suspicion,  
Where there's no innovation of Religion,  
No change of Laws, nor breach of Privilege,  
No desperate Factions gaping for Rebellion,  
No hopes of Pardon for Assassinates,  
No rash advancements of the Base or stranger,  
For Luxury, for Wit, or glorious Vice;  
But on the contrary, a Balanced Trade,  
Patriots encouraged, Manufactors cherished,  
Vagabonds, Walkers, Drones, and Swarming Braves,  
The Froth of States, scummed from the Commonwealth:  
Idleness banished all excess reprof●'d,  
And Riots checked by Sumptuary Laws.  
O, Conscript Fathers, 'tis on these Foundations  
That Rome shall build her Empire to the Stars,  
Send her Commanders with her Armies forth  
To Tame the World, and give the Nations Law,  
Consuls, Proconsul's, who to the Capitol  
Shall ride upon the Necks of Conquered Kings;  
And when they die, mount from the gorgeous Pile  
In Flames of Spice, and mingle with the Gods.  Hor. 
Excellent Brutus! all the Senate thanks thee,  
And says, that Thou thyself art half a God.  Enter Sempronia, Teraminta, with the rest of the Mourners; Titus, Valerius, Junius. Sem. 
Gone, gone to death! already Sentenced! Doomed!  
To lose the light of this dear World for ever?  
What, my Tiberius too! Ah, Barbarous! Brutus!  
Send, haste, revoke the Order of their Fate.  
By all the pledges of our Marriage bed,  
If thou, Inhuman Judge, hast left me one  
To put the yet in mind thou art a Father;  
Speak to him, Oh you Mothers of sad Rome,  
Sisters and Daughters, ere the Execution  
Of all your blood, hast, hast, and run about him,  
Groan, sob, howl out the terrors of your Souls,  
Nay, fly upon him like robbed Savages,  
And tear him for your young.  Bru. 
Away, and leave me,  Sem. 
Or if you think it better for your purpose,  
Because he has the power of Life and Death,  
Entreat him thus: throw all your heartless breasts  
Low at his feet, and like a God Adore him;  
Nay, make a Rampire round him with your Bodies  
And block him up: I see he would be going;  
Yet that's a Sign that our complaints have moved him,  
Continued falls of ever streaming tears,  
Such and so many, and the chastest too  
Of all the pious Matrons throughout Rome,  
Perhaps may melt this Adamantine temper.  
Not yet! nay, hang your Bodies then upon him,  
Some on his arms, and some upon his knees,  
And lay this Innocent about his neck,  
This little smiling Image of his Father:  
See how he bends, and stretches to his bosom!  
Oh all you pitying powers of the Darling weeps;  
His pretty eyes ruddy and wet with tears,  
Like two burst Cherries rolling in a storm,  
Plead for our griefs more than a thousand Tongues.  jun. 
Yes, yes, my Father will be good to us,  
And spare my Brothers; Oh, I know he will:  
Why, do you think he ever was in earnest?  
What, to cut off their heads? I warrant you  
He will not; no, he only meant to fright 'em,  
As he will me, when I have done a fault:  
Why, Mother, he has whipped 'em for't already,  
And do you think he has the heart to kill 'em?  
No, no, he would not cut their little fingers  
For all the World; or if he should, I'm sure  
The Gods would pay him for't.  Bru. 
What hoa! without there!  
Slaves, Villains, Ha! are not my Orders heard?  Hor. 
Oh Brutus, see, they are too well performed!  
See here the Bodies of the Roman youth  
All headless by your Doom, and there Tiberius.  Ter. 
See, Sir, behold, is not this horrid Slaughter▪  
This cutting off one limb from your own Body,  
Is't not enough? Oh, will it not suffice  
To stop the mouth of the most bloody Law?  
Oh, it were highest Sin to make a doubt,  
To ask you now to save the Innocent Titus,  
The common wish, and general Petition  
Of all the Roman Senate, Matrons, Wives,  
Widows, and Babes; nay, even the madding People,  
Cry out at last that Treason is revenged,  
And ask no more: Oh, therefore spare him, Sir,  Bru. 
I must not hear you, Hark, Valerius,  Ter. 
By all these wounds upon my Virgin breast,  
Which I have suffered by your cruelty,  
Although you promised Titus to defend me,  Sem. 
Yet hold thy bloody hand, Tyrannic Brutus,  
And I'll forgive thee for that headless horror:  
Grant me my Titus, Oh in death I ask thee,  
Thou hast already broke Sempronia's heart;  
Yet I will pardon that, so Titus live.  
Ah, cruel Judge! thou pittyless avenger!  
What art thou whispering? Speak the horror out,  
For in thy glaving eyes I read a Murder.  Bru. 
I charge thee, by thy Oath, Valerius,  
As thou art here Deputed by the Gods,  
And not a Subject for a Woman's folly,  
Take him away, and drag him to the Ax.  Val. 
It shall be thus then; not the Hangman's hand.  [Runs him through, the Women shriek. Tit. 
Oh bravely struck! thou hast hit me to the Earth  
So nobly, that I shall rebound to Heaven,  
Where I will thank thee for this galiant wound.  [Semp. swoons. Bru. 
Take hence this-Woman; haste, and bear her home.  
Why, my Valerius, didst thou rob my Justice:  Tit. 
I wrought him to it, Sir, that thus in death  
I might have leave to pay my last obedience,  
And beg your blessing for the other World.  Ter. 
Oh do not take it, Titus; what e'er comes  
From such a monstrous nature must be blasting.  
Ah, thou inhuman Tyrant! but, alas,  
I loiter here, when Titus stays for me:  
Look here, my Love; thou shalt not be before me.  [Stabs herself. 
Thus, to thy arms then: Oh, make haste, my Titus,  
I'm got already in the Grove of Death;  
The Heaven is all benighted, not one Star  
To light us through the dark and pathless Maze:  
I' have lost thy Spirit; Oh, I grope about  
But cannot find thee: now I sink in shadows.  [Dies. Tit. 
I come, thou matchless Virtne. Oh, my heart!  
Farewell, my Love; we'll meet in Heaven again.  
My Lord, I hope your Justice is atoned;  
I hope the glorious Liberty of Rome,  
Thus watered by the blood of both your Sons,  
fill get Imperial growth and slourish long.  Bru. 
Thou hast so nobly born thyself in dying,  
That not to bless thee were to curse myself;  
Therefore I give thee thus my last embrace,  
Print this last kiss upon thy trembling lips:  
And, ere thou goest, I beg thee to report me  
To the great Shades of Romulus and Numa,  
Just with that Majesty and rugged Virtue  
Which thy inspired, and which the World has seen.  
So, for I see thou'rt gone, Farewell for ever:  
Eternal jove, the King of Gods and Men,  
Reward and Crown thee in the other World.  Tit. 
What happiness has Life to equal this?  
By all the Gods I would not live again;  
For what can jove, or all the Gods give more:  
To fall thus Crowned with virtue's fullest Charms,  
And die thus blessed, in such a Father's arms?  [Dies. Val. 
He's gone; the gallant Spirit's fled for ever.  
How fares this noble Vessel, that is robbed  
Of all its Wealth, spoiled of its Top mast glory,  
And now lies floating in this World of ruin?  Bru. 
Peace, Consul, peace; let us not soil the pomp  
Of this Majestic Fate with Woman's brawls.  
Kneel Fathers, Friends, kneel all you Roman People,  
Hushed as dead Calms, while I conceive a prayer  
That shall be worthy Rome, and worthy jove.  Val. 
Inspire him, Gods; and thou, oh Rome, attend.  Bru. 
Let Heaven and Earth for ever keep their bound,  
The Stars unshaken go their constant Round;  
In harmless labour be our steel employed,  
And endless peace thro' all the World enjoyed,  
Let every Bark the Waves in safety Plough,  
No angry Tempest curl the Ocean's brow;  
No darted flames from Heaven make Mortals fear,  
Nor Thunder fright the weeping Passenger;  
Let not poor Swains for storms at Harvest mourn,  
But smile to see their hoards of bladed Corn:  
No dreadful Comets threaten from the Skies,  
No venom fall, nor boys nous Vapours rise.  
Thou, jove, who dost the Fates of Empire's Doom,  
Guard, and Defend the Liberty of Rome.  
FINIS.     

Epilogue. Spoken by Mr. Barrey.  
NO cringing Sirs, the Poet's Champion I,  
Have sworn to stand, and every judge defy;  
But why each Bullying critic should I name  
A judged, whose only business is to damn.  
While you your Arbitrary fist advance  
At Wit, and dust it like a boor of France  
Who without show of reason or pretence  
Condemn a man to die for speaking sense.  
How ere we termed you once the wise the strong  
Know we have born your impotence too long.  
You that above your Sires presume to soar,  
And are but copies daubed in Minuture.  
You that have nothing right in heart nor tongue  
But only to be resolute in wrong.  
Who sense affect with such an Awkward Air  
As if a Frenchman should become severe,  
Or an Italian make his Wife a jest  
Like Spaniards pleasant, or like Dutchmen dressed.  
That rank the noblest Poets with the vile  
And look yourselves in a Plebeian stile.  
But with an Oath.—  
False as your Wit and judgement now I swear  
By the known Maiden heads of each Theatre  
Nay by my own; The Poets shall not stand,  
Like Shrovetide Cocks, the Palt of every hand.  
Let not the purblind Critics sentence pass  
That shoots the Poet through anopick glass,  
No peals of ill placed praise from galleries come  
Nor punk below to clap or hiss presume  
Let her not cackle at the fops that flout her  
Nor clukk the Squires that use to pipp about her,  
No full blown block head bloated like an Ox  
Traverse the pit with-dam ●e, what a pox.  
Know then for Every misdemeanour here  
I'll be more stabbing, sharp, and more severe,  
Then the Fell-she that on her Keeper comes  
Who in his drink, last night laid waste her Rooms,  
Thundered her China, damned her quality,  
Her glasses broke, and tore her, Point Veny;  
That dragged her by the hair, and broke her head,  
A Chamber Lion, but a lamb in bed.  
Like her I'll teezes you for your midnight storming  
For your all talking, and your no performing.  
You that with monstrous judgement force the Stage  
You fribling, fumbling Keepers of the Age.