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Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 6

Chapter 17: ACT · III
By Robert Bridges
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About This Book

The volume collects dramatic poetry and translations, opening with a Latin‑styled comedy partly derived from Terence that stages domestic scenes of romantic entanglement, paternal opposition, and a young man’s exile, written for performance with scene work and comic exchanges. A second, longer dramatic narrative dramatizes the closing episodes of an imperial reign, following political intrigue, conspiratorial plotting, and the downfall of an eminent moralist; appended materials include editorial notes and a list of previous editions to clarify sources and variants.

ACT · III

SCENE · 1

A burned street in Rome: night.

THRASEA.

IN these burned streets I wander like a ghost:
Rome is no more: O see, my memoried Rome,
1101
My senatorial city is burned and gone!
The city of Camillus, whose abrupt
And tortuous streets my ancestors have threaded,
Here going about a tower of Servius,
Here an Etruscan temple of carved wood,
Here by some patriot tribune’s gabled home:
All gone, as the free spirit that made it, gone:
And I, like this old beam, in vain escaped
The burning, shall be cast out, nor find place
In the new Rome that Cæsar promises,
O’erlaid with perfected monotony,
The textbook ornaments of shallow taste,
Imperial gewgaws.—What poet was it said
That Desolation was a beautiful thing?
What parricidal spirit? To cut down
And burn the gnarl’d trunk of a thousand years,
And plant the trifling shoot of one gay summer
Rootless in the ground. (Cries heard.) What noise is this?
Some wretched Christian, that in blind revenge
The maddened people sacrifice.

Enter the mob carrying off Clitus—Epicharis following.

MOB.

Burn him! To the Vatican! to the Vatican! Burn him!

EPICHARIS.

Pity, pity, pity, sirs! He is guiltless, indeed he is guiltless. He is my brother.

Thr. Stay, ye mad fools! To what detestable,
Forbidden crime of hellish witchcraft haste ye!

Mob. Here’s another. He’s a Christian. Seize him!

Thr. Hands off, fools! I am Thrasea.

Mob. Thrasea! 1130

Thr. Are ye Romans?

Citizen. ’Tis Nero’s order.

Ep. (kneeling to Thrasea). O sir, save thou my brother.

Cit. If thou wert Thrasea, man, thou wouldst not hinder us from punishing them that fired the city.

Mob. On! on!

Another Cit. Nay, nor let any Christian woman touch thee.

Mob. To the Vatican! on! (Going.)

Thr. Fools, I am Thrasea, and I bid you stay.

Mob. Burn him, burn him![Exeunt Mob, etc.

Thr. Stay! Are ye men?

Ep. O sir, ’tis my brother, my brother Clitus; save him!

Thr. What can I do? Alas, (calls) stay! stay! (To Ep.) Thou seest.[Exeunt running.

Enter Lateranus and Flavus.

LATERANUS.

This is the only way. The Fabian street
Is blocked with red-hot ashes.

FLAVUS.

Where’s this Natalis?