The Inflexible Captive: A Tragedy, in Five Acts

Deep in the bosom of departed days,
Where the first gems of human glory blaze;
Where, crown'd with flowers, in wreaths immortal drest,
The sacred shades of ancient virtue rest;
With joy they search, who joy can feel, to find
Some honest reason still to love mankind.
There the fair foundress of the scene to-night
Explores the paths that dignify delight;
The regions of the mighty dead pervades;
The Sibyl she that leads us to the shades.
O may each blast of ruder breath forbear
To waft her light leaves on the ruthless air,
Since she, as heedless, strives not to maintain
This tender offspring of her teeming brain!
For this poor birth was no provision made,
A flower that sprung and languish'd in the shade.
On Avon's banks, forsaken and forlorn,
This careless mother left her elder born;
And though unlike what Avon hail'd of yore,
Those giant sons that Shakspeare's banners bore,
Yet may we yield this little offspring grace,
And love the last and least of such a race.
Shall the strong scenes, where senatorial Rome,
Mourn'd o'er the rigour of her patriot's doom;
Where melting Nature aw'd by Virtue's eye,
Hid the big drop, and held the bursting sigh;
Where all that majesty of soul can give,
Truth, Honour, Pity, fair Affection live;
Shall scenes like these, the glory of an age,
Gleam from the press, nor triumph on the stage?
Forbid it, Britons! and, as Romans brave,
Like Romans boast one citizen to save.

Lic. Attilia waiting here? Is't possible?
Is this a place for Regulus's daughter?
Just gods! must that incomparable maid
Associate here with Lictors and Plebeians?

At. Yes, on this threshold patiently I wait
The Consul's coming; I would make him blush
To see me here his suitor. O Licinius,
This is no time for form and cold decorum;
Five lagging years have crept their tedious round,
And Regulus, alas! is still a slave,
A wretched slave, unpitied, and forgotten;
No other tribute paid his memory,
Than the sad tears of his unhappy child;
If she be silent, who will speak for Regulus?

Lic. Let not her sorrows make my fair unjust.
Is there in Rome a heart so dead to virtue
That does not beat in Regulus's cause?
That wearies not the gods for his return?
That does not think all subjugated Afric
A slender, unimportant acquisition,
If, in return for this extended empire,
The freedom of thy father be the purchase?
These are the feelings of Imperial Rome;
My own, it were superfluous to declare.
For if Licinius were to weigh his merit,
That he's thy father were sufficient glory.
He was my leader, train'd me up to arms;
And if I boast a spark of Roman honour,
I owe it to his precepts and his virtues.

At. And yet I have not seen Licinius stir.

Lic. Ah! spare me thy reproaches—what, when late
A private citizen, could I attempt?
'Twas not the lust of power, or pride of rank,
Which made me seek the dignity of tribune;
No, my Attilia, but I fondly hop'd
'Twould strengthen and enforce the just request
Which as a private man I vainly urg'd;
But now, the people's representative,
I shall demand, Attilia, to be heard.

At. Ah! let us not too hastily apply
This dang'rous remedy; I would not rouse
Fresh tumults 'twixt the people and the senate:
Each views with jealousy the idol, Power,
Which, each possessing, would alike abuse.
What one demands the other still denies.
Might I advise you, try a gentler method;
I know that every moment Rome expects
Th' ambassador of Carthage, nay, 'tis said
The Conscript Fathers are already met
To give him audience in Bellona's temple.
There might the Consul at my suit, Licinius,
Propose the ransom of my captive father.

Lic. Ah! think, Attilia, who that Consul is,
Manlius, thy father's rival, and his foe:
His ancient rival, and his foe profess'd:
To hope in him, my fair, were fond delusion.

At. Yet though his rival, Manlius is a Roman:
Nor will he think of private enmities,
Weigh'd in the balance with the good of Rome:
Let me at least make trial of his honour.

Lic. Be it so, my fair! but elsewhere make thy suit;
Let not the Consul meet Attilia here,
Confounded with the refuse of the people.

At. Yes, I will see him here, e'en here, Licinius.
Let Manlius blush, not me: here will I speak,
Here shall he answer me.

Lic. Behold he comes.

At. Do thou retire.

Lic. O bless me with a look,
One parting look at least.

At. Know, my Licinius,
That at this moment I am all the daughter,
The filial feelings now possess my soul,
And other passions find no entrance there.

Lic. O sweet, yet powerful influence of virtue,
That charms though cruel, though unkind subdues,
And what was love exalts to admiration!
Yes, 'tis the privilege of souls like thine
To conquer most when least they aim at conquest.
Yet, ah! vouchsafe to think upon Licinius,
Nor fear to rob thy father of his due;
For surely virtue and the gods approve
Unwearied constancy and spotless love.

At. Ah! Manlius, stay, a moment stay, and hear me.

Man. I did not think to meet thee here, Attilia;
The place so little worthy of the guest.

At. It would, indeed, have ill become Attilia,
While still her father was a Roman citizen;
But for the daughter of a slave to Carthage,
It surely is most fitting.

Man. Say, Attilia,
What is the purpose of thy coming hither!

At. What is the purpose, patience, pitying heaven!
Tell me, how long, to Rome's eternal shame,
To fill with horror all the wond'ring world,
My father still must groan in Punic chains,
And waste the tedious hours in cruel bondage?
Days follow days, and years to years succeed,
And Rome forgets her hero, is content
That Regulus be a forgotten slave.
What is his crime? is it that he preferr'd
His country's profit to his children's good?
Is it th' unshaken firmness of his soul,
Just, uncorrupt, and, boasting, let me speak it,
Poor in the highest dignities of Rome?
O glorious poverty! illustrious crime!

Man. But know, Attilia——

At. O have patience with me.
And can ungrateful Rome so soon forget?
Can those who breathe the air he breath'd forget
The great, the godlike virtues of my father?
There's not a part of Rome but speaks his praise.
The streets—through them the hero pass'd triumphant:
The Forum—there the Legislator plann'd
The wisest, purest laws:—the Senate House—
There spoke the patriot Roman—there his voice
Secur'd the public safety: Manlius, yes;
The wisdom of his councils match'd his valour.
Enter the Temples—mount the Capitol—
And tell me, Manlius, to what hand but his
They owe their trophies, and their ornaments.
Their foreign banners, and their boasted ensigns,
Tarentine, Punic, and Sicilian spoils?
Nay, e'en those lictors who precede thy steps,
This Consul's purple which invests thy limbs,
All, all were Regulus's, were my father's.
And yet this hero, this exalted patriot,
This man of virtue, this immortal Roman,
In base requital for his services,
Is left to linger out a life in chains,
No honours paid him but a daughter's tears.
O Rome! O Regulus! O thankless citizens!

Man. Just are thy tears:—thy father well deserves them;
But know thy censure is unjust, Attilia.
The fate of Regulus is felt by all:
We know and mourn the cruel woes he suffers
From barbarous Carthage.

At. Manlius, you mistake;
Alas! it is not Carthage which is barbarous;
'Tis Rome, ungrateful Rome, is the barbarian;
Carthage but punishes a foe profess'd,
But Rome betrays her hero and her father:
Carthage remembers how he slew her sons,
But Rome forgets the blood he shed for her:
Carthage revenges an acknowledged foe,
But Rome, with basest perfidy, rewards
The glorious hand that bound her brow with laurels.
Which now is the barbarian, Rome or Carthage?

Man. What can be done?

At. A woman shall inform you.
Convene the senate; let them strait propose
A ransom, or exchange for Regulus,
To Africa's ambassador. Do this,
And heaven's best blessings crown your days with peace.

Man. Thou speakest like a daughter, I, Attilia,
Must as a Consul act; I must consult
The good of Rome, and with her good, her glory.
Would it not tarnish her unspotted fame,
To sue to Carthage on the terms thou wishest?

At. Ah! rather own thou'rt still my father's foe.

Man. Ungen'rous maid! no fault of mine concurr'd
To his destruction. 'Twas the chance of war.
Farewell! ere this the senate is assembled——
My presence is requir'd.——Speak to the fathers,
And try to soften their austerity;
My rigour they may render vain, for know,
I am Rome's Consul, not her King, Attilia.

At. (alone.) This flattering hope, alas! has prov'd abortive.
One Consul is our foe, the other absent.
What shall the sad Attilia next attempt?
Suppose I crave assistance from the people!
Ah! my unhappy father, on what hazards,
What strange vicissitudes, what various turns,
Thy life, thy liberty, thy all depends!

Barce. Ah, my Attilia!

At. Whence this eager haste?

Barce. Th' ambassador of Carthage is arriv'd.

At. And why does that excite such wondrous transport?

Barce. I bring another cause of greater still.

At. Name it, my Barce.

Barce. Regulus comes with him.

At. My father! can it be?

Barce. Thy father——Regulus.

At. Thou art deceiv'd, or thou deceiv'st thy friend.

Barce. Indeed I saw him not, but every tongue
Speaks the glad tidings.

At. See where Publius comes.

Pub. My sister, I'm transported! Oh, Attilia,
He's here, our father——Regulus is come!

At. I thank you, gods: O my full heart! where is he?
Hasten, my brother, lead, O lead me to him.

Pub. It is too soon: restrain thy fond impatience.
With Africa's ambassador he waits,
Until th' assembled senate give him audience.

At. Where was he Publius when thou saw'st him first?

Pub. You know, in quality of Roman quæstor,
My duty 'tis to find a fit abode
For all ambassadors of foreign states.
Hearing the Carthaginian was arriv'd,
I hasten'd to the port, when, O just gods!
No foreigner, no foe, no African
Salutes my eye, but Regulus——my father!

At. Oh mighty joy! too exquisite delight!
What said the hero? tell me, tell me all,
And ease my anxious breast.

Pub. Ere I arriv'd,
My father stood already on the shore,
Fixing his eyes with anxious eagerness,
As straining to descry the Capitol.
I saw, and flew with transport to embrace him,
Pronounc'd with wildest joy the name of father—
With reverence seiz'd his venerable hand,
And would have kiss'd it; when the awful hero,
With that stern grandeur which made Carthage tremble,
Drew back—stood all collected in himself,
And said austerely, Know, thou rash young man,
That slaves in Rome have not the rights of fathers.
Then ask'd, if yet the senate was assembled,
And where? which having heard, without indulging
The fond effusions of his soul, or mine,
He suddenly retir'd. I flew with speed
To find the Consul, but as yet success
Attends not my pursuit. Direct me to him.

Barce. Publius, you'll find him in Bellona's temple.

At. Then Regulus returns to Rome a slave!

Pub. Yes, but be comforted; I know he brings
Proposals for a peace; his will's his fate.

At. Rome may, perhaps, refuse to treat of peace.

Pub. Didst thou behold the universal joy
At his return, thou wouldst not doubt success.
There's not a tongue in Rome but, wild with transport,
Proclaims aloud that Regulus is come;
The streets are filled with thronging multitudes,
Pressing with eager gaze to catch a look.
The happy man who can descry him first,
Points him to his next neighbour, he to his;
Then what a thunder of applause goes round;
What music to the ear of filial love!
Attilia! not a Roman eye was seen,
But shed pure tears of exquisite delight.
Judge of my feelings by thy own, my sister.
By the large measure of thy fond affection,
Judge mine.

At. Where is Licinius? find him out;
My joy is incomplete till he partakes it.
When doubts and fears have rent my anxious heart,
In all my woes he kindly bore a part:
Felt all my sorrows with a soul sincere,
Sigh'd as I sigh'd, and number'd tear for tear:
Now favouring heav'n my ardent vows has blest,
He shall divide the transports of my breast.

Pub. Barce, adieu!

Barce. Publius, a moment hear me.
Know'st thou the name of Africa's ambassador?

Pub. Hamilcar.

Barce. Son of Hanno?

Pub. Yes! the same.

Barce. Ah me! Hamilcar!—How shall I support it!

Pub. Ah, charming maid! the blood forsakes thy cheek:
Is he the rival of thy Publius? speak,
And tell me all the rigour of my fate.

Barce. Hear me, my Lord. Since I have been thy slave,
Thy goodness, and the friendship of Attilia,
Have soften'd all the horrors of my fate.
Till now I have not felt the weight of bondage.
Till now—ah, Publius!—think me not ungrateful,
I would not wrong thee—I will be sincere—
I will expose the weakness of my soul.
Know then, my Lord—how shall I tell thee all?

Pub. Stop, cruel maid, nor wound thy Publius more;
I dread the fatal frankness of thy words:
Spare me the pain of knowing I am scorn'd;
And if thy heart's devoted to another,
Yet do not tell it me; in tender pity
Do not, my fair, dissolve the fond illusion,
The dear delightful visions I have form'd
Of future joy, and fond exhaustless love.

Barce. (alone.) And shall I see him then, see my Hamilcar,
Pride of my soul, and lord of all my wishes?
The only man in all our burning Afric
Who ever taught my bosom how to love!
Down, foolish heart! be calm, my busy thoughts!
If at his name I feel these strange emotions,
How shall I see, how meet my conqueror?
O let not those presume to judge of joy
Who ne'er have felt the pangs which absence gives.
Such tender transport those alone can prove,
Who long, like me, have known disastrous love;
The tears that fell, the sighs that once were paid,
Like grateful incense on his altar laid;
The lambent flame rekindle, not destroy,
And woes remember'd heighten present joy.

Man. Let Regulus be sent for to our presence;
And with him the ambassador of Carthage.
Is it then true the foe would treat of peace?

Pub. They wish, at least, our captives were exchang'd,
And send my father to declare their wish:
If he obtain it, well: if not, then Regulus
Returns to meet the vengeance of the foe,
And pay for your refusal with his blood:
He ratified this treaty with his oath,
And ere he quitted Carthage, heard, unmov'd,
The dreadful preparations for his death,
Should he return. O, Romans! O, my countrymen!
Can you resign your hero to your foe?
Say, can you give up Regulus to Carthage?

Man. Peace, Publius, peace, for see thy father comes.

Ham. Why dost thou stop? dost thou forget this temple?
I thought these walls had been well known to Regulus?

Reg. Hamilcar! I was thinking what I was
When last I saw them, and what now I am.

Ham. (to the Consul.)
Carthage by me to Rome this greeting sends,
That wearied out at length with bloody war,
If Rome inclines to peace she offers it.

Man. We will at leisure answer thee. Be seated.
Come, Regulus, resume thine ancient place.

Reg. (pointing to the Senators.) Who then are these?

Man. The Senators of Rome.

Reg. And who art thou?

Man. What meanst thou? I'm her Consul;
Hast thou so soon forgotten Manlius?

Reg. And shall a slave then have a place in Rome
Among her Consuls and her Senators?

Man. Yes!—For her heroes Rome forgets her laws;
Softens their harsh austerity for thee,
To whom she owes her conquests and her triumphs.

Reg. Rome may forget, but Regulus remembers.

Man. Was ever man so obstinately good?

Pub. (rising.) Fathers! your pardon. I can sit no longer.

Reg. Publius, what dost thou mean?

Pub. To do my duty:
Where Regulus must stand, shall Publius sit?

Reg. Alas! O Rome, how are thy manners chang'd!
When last I left thee, ere I sail'd for Afric,
It was a crime to think of private duties
When public cares requir'd attention.——Sit,
(To Publius.) And learn to occupy thy place with honour.

Pub. Forgive me, sir, if I refuse obedience:
My heart o'erflows with duty to my father.

Reg. Know, Publius, that duty's at an end;
Thy father died when he became a slave.

Man. Now urge thy suit, Hamilcar, we attend.

Ham. Afric hath chosen Regulus her messenger.
In him, both Carthage and Hamilcar speak.

Man. (to Regulus.) We are prepar'd to hear thee.

Ham. (to Regulus.) Ere thou speak'st,
Maturely weigh what thou hast sworn to do,
Should Rome refuse to treat with us of peace.

Reg. What I have sworn I will fulfil, Hamilcar.
Be satisfied.

Pub. Ye guardian gods of Rome,
With your own eloquence inspire him now!

Reg. Carthage by me this embassy has sent:
If Rome will leave her undisturb'd possession
Of all she now enjoys, she offers peace;
But if you rather wish protracted war,
Her next proposal is, exchange of captives;——
If you demand advice of Regulus,
Reject them both!

Ham. What dost thou mean?

Pub. My father!

Man. Exalted fortitude! I'm lost in wonder.

Reg. Romans! I will not idly spend my breath,
To show the dire effects of such a peace;
The foes who beg it, show their dread of war.

Man. But the exchange of prisoners thou proposest?

Reg. That artful scheme conceals some Punic fraud.

Ham. Roman, beware! hast thou so soon forgotten;

Reg. I will fulfil the treaty I have sworn to.

Pub. All will be ruin'd.

Reg. Conscript Fathers! hear me.——
Though this exchange teems with a thousand ills,
Yet 'tis th' example I would deprecate.
This treaty fix'd, Rome's honour is no more.
Should her degenerate sons be promis'd life,
Dishonest life, and worthless liberty,
Her glory, valour, military pride,
Her fame, her fortitude, her all were lost.
What honest captive of them all would wish
With shame to enter her imperial gates,
The flagrant scourge of slavery on his back?
None, none, my friends, would wish a fate so vile,
But those base cowards who resign'd their arms
Unstain'd with hostile blood, and poorly sued,
Through ignominious fear of death, for bondage;
The scorn, the laughter, of th' insulting foe.
O shame! shame! shame! eternal infamy!

Man. However hurtful this exchange may be,
The liberty, the life of Regulus,
More than compensates for it.

Reg. Thou art mistaken.——
This Regulus is a mere mortal man,
Yielding apace to all th' infirmities
Of weak, decaying nature.——I am old,
Nor can my future, feeble services
Assist my country much; but mark me well:
The young fierce heroes you'd restore to Carthage,
In lieu of this old man, are her chief bulwarks.
Fathers! in vig'rous youth this well-strung arm
Fought for my country, fought and conquer'd for her:
That was the time to prize its service high.
Now, weak and nerveless, let the foe possess it,
For it can harm them in the field no more.
Let Carthage have the poor degrading triumph
To close these failing eyes;—but, O my countrymen!
Check their vain hopes, and show aspiring Afric
That heroes are the common growth of Rome.

Man. Unequall'd fortitude.

Pub. O fatal virtue!

Ham. What do I hear? this constancy confounds me.

Man. (to the Senators.)
Let honour be the spring of all our actions,
Not interest, Fathers. Let no selfish views
Preach safety at the price of truth and justice.

Reg. If Rome would thank me, I will teach her how.
—Know, Fathers, that these savage Africans
Thought me so base, so very low of soul,
That the poor wretched privilege of breathing,
Would force me to betray my country to them.
Have these barbarians any tortures left
To match the cruelty of such a thought?
Revenge me, Fathers! and I'm still a Roman.
Arm, arm yourselves, prepare your citizens,
Snatch your imprison'd eagles from their fanes,
Fly to the shores of Carthage, force her gates,
Dye every Roman sword in Punic blood—
And do such deeds—that when I shall return,
(As I have sworn, and am resolv'd to do,)
I may behold with joy, reflected back,
The terrors of your rage in the dire visages
Of my astonish'd executioners.

Ham. Surprise has chill'd my blood! I'm lost in wonder!

Pub. Does no one answer? must my father perish?

Man. Romans, we must defer th' important question;
Maturest councils must determine on it.
Rest we awhile:——Nature requires some pause
From high-rais'd admiration. Thou, Hamilcar,
Shalt shortly know our final resolution.
Meantime, we go to supplicate the gods.

Reg. Have you a doubt remaining? Manlius, speak.

Man. Yes, Regulus, I think the danger less
To lose th' advantage thy advice suggests,
Than would accrue to Rome in losing thee,
Whose wisdom might direct, whose valour guard her.
Athirst for glory, thou wouldst rush on death,
And for thy country's sake wouldst greatly perish.
Too vast a sacrifice thy zeal requires,
For Rome must bleed when Regulus expires.

Ham. Does Regulus fulfil his promise thus?

Reg. I've promis'd to return, and I will do it.

At. My father! think a moment.

Lic. Ah! my friend!

Lic. and At. O by this hand we beg——

Reg. Away! no more.
Thanks to Rome's guardian gods I'm yet a slave!
And will be still a slave to make Rome free!

At. Was the exchange refus'd? Oh ease my fears.

Reg. Publius! conduct Hamilcar and myself
To that abode thou hast for each provided.

At. A foreign residence? a strange abode?
And will my father spurn his household gods?

Pub. My sire a stranger?——Will he taste no more
The smiling blessings of his cheerful home?

Reg. Dost thou not know the laws of Rome forbid
A foe's ambassador within her gates?

Pub. This rigid law does not extend to thee.

Reg. Yes; did it not alike extend to all,
'Twere tyranny.—The law rights every man,
But favours none.

At. Then, O my father,
Allow thy daughter to partake thy fate!

Reg. Attilia! no. The present exigence
Demands far other thoughts, than the soft cares,
The fond effusions, the delightful weakness,
The dear affections 'twixt the child and parent.

At. How is my father chang'd, from what I've known him!

Reg. The fate of Regulus is chang'd, not Regulus.
I am the same; in laurels or in chains
'Tis the same principle; the same fix'd soul,
Unmov'd itself, though circumstances change.
The native vigour of the free-born mind
Still struggles with, still conquers adverse fortune;
Soars above chains, invincible though vanquish'd.

Barce. Ah! my Hamilcar.

Ham. Ah! my long-lost Barce:
Again I lose thee; Regulus rejects
Th' exchange of prisoners Africa proposes.
My heart's too full.—Oh, I have much to say!

Barce. Yet you unkindly leave me, and say nothing.

Ham. Ah! didst thou love as thy Hamilcar loves,
Words were superfluous; in my eyes, my Barce,
Thou'dst read the tender eloquence of love,
Th' uncounterfeited language of my heart.
A single look betrays the soul's soft feelings,
And shows imperfect speech of little worth.

At. My father then conspires his own destruction,
Is it not so?

Barce. Indeed I fear it much;
But as the senate has not yet resolv'd,
There is some room for hope: lose not a moment;
And, ere the Conscript Fathers are assembled,
Try all the powers of winning eloquence,
Each gentle art of feminine persuasion,
The love of kindred, and the faith of friends,
To bend the rigid Romans to thy purpose.

At. Yes, Barce, I will go; I will exert
My little pow'r, though hopeless of success.
Undone Attilia! fall'n from hope's gay heights
Down the dread precipice of deep despair.
So some tir'd mariner the coast espies,
And his lov'd home explores with straining eyes;
Prepares with joy to quit the treacherous deep,
Hush'd every wave, and every wind asleep;
But ere he lands upon the well-known shore,
Wild storms arise, and furious billows roar,
Tear the fond wretch from all his hopes away,
And drive his shatter'd bark again to sea.

Reg. Ah! Publius here at such a time as this?
Know'st thou th' important question that the Senate
This very hour debate?—Thy country's glory,
Thy father's honour, and the public good?
Dost thou know this and fondly linger here?

Pub. They're not yet met, my father.

Reg. Haste—away—
Support my counsel in th' assembled Senate,
Confirm their wav'ring virtue by thy courage,
And Regulus shall glory in his boy.

Pub. Ah! spare thy son the most ungrateful task.
What!—supplicate the ruin of my father?

Reg. The good of Rome can never hurt her sons.

Pub. In pity to thy children, spare thyself.

Reg. Dost thou then think that mine's a frantic bravery?
That Regulus would rashly seek his fate?
Publius! how little dost thou know thy sire!
Misjudging youth! learn, that like other men,
I shun the evil, and I seek the good;
But that I find in guilt, and this in virtue.
Were it not guilt, guilt of the blackest die,
Even to think of freedom at th' expense
Of my dear bleeding country? To me, therefore,
Freedom and life would be the heaviest evils;
But to preserve that country, to restore her,
To heal her wounds though at the price of life,
Or what is dearer far, the price of liberty,
Is virtue—therefore slavery and death
Are Regulus's good—his wish—his choice.

Pub. Yet sure our country——

Reg. Is a whole, my Publius,
Of which we all are parts; nor should a citizen
Regard his interests as distinct from hers;
No hopes or fears should touch his patriot soul,
But what affect her honour or her shame.
E'en when in hostile fields he bleeds to save her,
'Tis not his blood he loses, 'tis his country's;
He only pays her back a debt he owes.
To her he's bound for birth and education:
Her laws secure him from domestic feuds,
And from the foreign foe her arms protect him.
She lends him honours, dignity, and rank,
His wrongs revenges, and his merit pays;
And like a tender and indulgent mother,
Loads him with comforts, and would make his state
As blest as nature and the gods design'd it.
Such gifts, my son, have their alloy of pain;
And let th' unworthy wretch who will not bear
His portion of the public burden lose
Th' advantages it yields;—let him retire
From the dear blessings of a social life,
And from the sacred laws which guard those blessings;
Renounce the civilis'd abodes of man,
With kindred brutes one common shelter seek
In horrid wilds, and dens, and dreary caves,
And with their shaggy tenants share the spoil;
Or if the savage hunters miss their prey,
From scatter'd acorns pick a scanty meal;—
Far from the sweet civilities of life;
There let him live and vaunt his wretched freedom:
While we, obedient to the laws that guard us,
Guard them, and live or die as they decree.

Pub. With reverence and astonishment I hear thee!
Thy words, my father, have convinc'd my reason,
But cannot touch my heart:—nature denies
Obedience so repugnant. I'm a son.

Reg. A poor excuse, unworthy of a Roman!
Brutus, Virginius, Manlius—they were fathers.

Pub. 'Tis true, they were; but this heroic greatness,
This glorious elevation of the soul,
Has been confin'd to fathers.—Rome, till now,
Boasts not a son of such unnatural virtue,
Who, spurning all the powerful ties of blood,
Has labour'd to procure his father's death.

Reg. Then be the first to give the great example—
Go, hasten; be thyself that son, my Publius.

Pub. My father! ah!—

Reg. Publius, no more; begone—
Attend the Senate—let me know my fate;
'Twill be more glorious if announc'd by thee.

Pub. Too much, too much thy rigid virtue claims
From thy unhappy son. Oh, nature, nature!

Reg. Publius! am I a stranger, or thy father?
In either case an obvious duty waits thee:
If thou regard'st me as an alien here,
Learn to prefer to mine the good of Rome;
If as a father—reverence my commands.

Pub. Ah! couldst thou look into my inmost soul,
And see how warm it burns with love and duty,
Thou would'st abate the rigour of thy words.

Reg. Could I explore the secrets of thy breast,
The virtue I would wish should flourish there
Were fortitude, not weak, complaining love.

Pub. If thou requir'st my blood, I'll shed it all;
But when thou dost enjoin the harsher task
That I should labour to procure thy death,
Forgive thy son—he has not so much virtue.

Reg. Th' important hour draws on, and now my soul
Loses her wonted calmness, lest the Senate
Should doubt what answer to return to Carthage.
O ye protecting deities of Rome!
Ye guardian gods! look down propitious on her,
Inspire her Senate with your sacred wisdom,
And call up all that's Roman in their souls!

See that the lictors wait, and guard the entrance—
Take care that none intrude.

Reg. Ah! Manlius here?
What can this mean?

Man. Where, where is Regulus?
The great, the godlike, the invincible?
Oh, let me strain the hero to my breast.—

Reg. (avoiding him.)
Manlius, stand off, remember I'm a slave!
And thou Rome's Consul.

Man. I am something more:
I am a man enamour'd of thy virtues;
Thy fortitude and courage have subdued me.
I was thy rival—I am now thy friend;
Allow me that distinction, dearer far
Than all the honours Rome can give without it.

Reg. This is the temper still of noble minds,
And these the blessings of an humble fortune.
Had I not been a slave, I ne'er had gain'd
The treasure of thy friendship.

Man. I confess,
Thy grandeur cast a veil before my eyes,
Which thy reverse of fortune has remov'd.
Oft have I seen thee on the day of triumph,
A conqueror of nations, enter Rome;
Now, thou hast conquer'd fortune, and thyself.
Thy laurels oft have mov'd my soul to envy,
Thy chains awaken my respect, my reverence;
Then Regulus appear'd a hero to me,
He rises now a god.

Reg. Manlius, enough.
Cease thy applause; 'tis dang'rous; praise like thine
Might tempt the most severe and cautious virtue.
Bless'd be the gods, who gild my latter days
With the bright glory of the Consul's friendship!

Man. Forbid it, Jove! said'st thou thy latter days?
May gracious heav'n to a far distant hour
Protract thy valued life! Be it my care
To crown the hopes of thy admiring country,
By giving back her long-lost hero to her.
I will exert my power to bring about
Th' exchange of captives Africa proposes.

Reg. Manlius, and is it thus, is this the way
Thou dost begin to give me proofs of friendship?
Ah! if thy love be so destructive to me,
What would thy hatred be? Mistaken Consul!
Shall I then lose the profit of my wrongs?
Be thus defrauded of the benefit
I vainly hop'd from all my years of bondage?
I did not come to show my chains to Rome,
To move my country to a weak compassion;
I came to save her honour, to preserve her
From tarnishing her glory; came to snatch her
From offers so destructive to her fame.
O Manlius! either give me proofs more worthy
A Roman's friendship, or renew thy hate.

Man. Dost thou not know, that this exchange refus'd,
Inevitable death must be thy fate?

Reg. And has the name of death such terror in it,
To strike with dread the mighty soul of Manlius?
'Tis not to-day I learn that I am mortal.
The foe can only take from Regulus
What wearied nature would have shortly yielded;
It will be now a voluntary gift,
'Twould then become a tribute seiz'd, not offer'd.
Yes, Manlius, tell the world that as I liv'd
For Rome alone, when I could live no longer,
'Twas my last care how, dying, to assist,
To save that country I had liv'd to serve.

Man. O unexampled worth! O godlike Regulus!
Thrice happy Rome! unparalleled in heroes!
Hast thou then sworn, thou awfully good man,
Never to bless the Consul with thy friendship?

Reg. If thou wilt love me, love me like a Roman.
These are the terms on which I take thy friendship.
We both must make a sacrifice to Rome,
I of my life, and thou of Regulus:
One must resign his being, one his friend.
It is but just, that what procures our country
Such real blessings, such substantial good,
Should cost thee something—I shall lose but little.
Go then, my friend! but promise, ere thou goest,
With all the Consular authority,
Thou wilt support my counsel in the Senate.
If thou art willing to accept these terms,
With transport I embrace thy proffer'd friendship.

Man. (after a pause.) Yes, I do promise.

Reg. Bounteous gods, I thank you!
Ye never gave, in all your round of blessing,
A gift so greatly welcome to my soul,
As Manlius' friendship on the terms of honour!

Man. Immortal Powers! why am not I a slave?
By heav'n! I almost envy thee thy bonds.

Reg. My friend, there's not a moment to be lost;
Ere this, perhaps, the Senate is assembled.
To thee, and to thy virtues, I commit
The dignity of Rome—my peace and honour.

Man. Illustrious man, farewell!

Reg. Farewell, my friend!

Man. The sacred flame thou hast kindled in my soul
Glows in each vein, trembles in every nerve,
And raises me to something more than man.
My blood is fir'd with virtue, and with Rome,
And every pulse beats an alarm to glory.
Who would not spurn a sceptre when compar'd
With chains like thine? Thou man of every virtus,
O, farewell! may all the gods protect and bless thee.

Reg. Now I begin to live; propitious heaven
Inclines to favour me.——Licinius here?

Lic. With joy, my honour'd friend, I seek thy presence.

Reg. And why with joy?

Lic. Because my heart once more
Beats high with flattering hope. In thy great cause
I have been labouring.

Reg. Say'st thou in my cause?

Lic. In thine and Rome's. Does it excite thy wonder?
Couldst thou, then, think so poorly of Licinius,
That base ingratitude could find a place
Within his bosom?—Can I, then, forget
Thy thousand acts of friendship to my youth?
Forget them, too, at that important moment
When most I might assist thee?—Regulus,
Thou wast my leader, general, father—all.
Didst thou not teach me early how to tread
The path of glory; point the way thyself,
And bid me follow thee?

Reg. But say, Licinius,
What hast thou done to serve me?

Lic. I have defended
Thy liberty and life!

Reg. Ah! speak—explain.—

Lic. Just as the Fathers were about to meet,
I hasten'd to the temple—at the entrance
Their passage I retarded by the force
Of strong entreaty: then address'd myself
So well to each, that I from each obtain'd
A declaration, that his utmost power
Should be exerted for thy life and freedom.

Reg. Great gods! what do I hear? Licinius, too?

Lic. Not he alone; no, 'twere indeed unjust
To rob the fair Attilia of her claim
To filial merit.—What I could, I did.
But she—thy charming daughter—heav'n and earth,
What did she not to save her father?

Reg. Who?

Lic. Attilia, thy belov'd—thy age's darling!
Was ever father bless'd with such a child?
Gods! how her looks took captive all who saw her!
How did her soothing eloquence subdue
The stoutest hearts of Rome! How did she rouse
Contending passions in the breasts of all!
How sweetly temper dignity with grief!
With what a soft, inimitable grace
She prais'd, reproach'd, entreated, flatter'd, sooth'd.

Reg. What said the Senators?

Lic. What could they say?
Who could resist the lovely conqueror?
See where she comes—Hope dances in her eyes,
And lights up all her beauties into smiles.

At. Once more, my dearest father——

Reg. Ah, presume not
To call me by that name. For know, Attilia,
I number thee among the foes of Regulus.

At. What do I hear? thy foe? my father's foe?

Reg. His worst of foes—the murd'rer of his glory.

At. Ah! is it then a proof of enmity
To wish thee all the good the gods can give thee,
To yield my life, if needful, for thy service?

Reg. Thou rash, imprudent girl! thou little know'st
The dignity and weight of public cares.
Who made a weak and inexperienc'd woman
The arbiter of Regulus's fate?

Lic. For pity's sake, my Lord!

Reg. Peace, peace, young man!
Her silence better than thy language pleads.
That bears at least the semblance of repentance.
Immortal Powers!——a daughter and a Roman!

At. Because I am a daughter, I presum'd——

Lic. Because I am a Roman, I aspired
T' oppose th' inhuman rigour of thy fate.

Reg. No more, Licinius. How can he be call'd
A Roman who would live in infamy?
Or how can she be Regulus's daughter
Whose coward mind wants fortitude and honour?
Unhappy children! now you make me feel
The burden of my chains: your feeble souls
Have made me know I am indeed a slave.

At. Tell me, Licinius, and, oh! tell me truly,
If thou believ'st, in all the round of time,
There ever breath'd a maid so truly wretched?
To weep, to mourn a father's cruel fate—
To love him with soul-rending tenderness—
To know no peace by day or rest by night—
To bear a bleeding heart in this poor bosom,
Which aches, and trembles but to think he suffers:
This is my crime—in any other child
'Twould be a merit.

Lic. Oh! my best Attilia,
Do not repent thee of the pious deed:
It was a virtuous error. That in us
Is a just duty, which the god-like soul
Of Regulus would think a shameful weakness.
If the contempt of life in him be virtue,
It were in us a crime to let him perish.
Perhaps at last he may consent to live:
He then will thank us for our cares to save him:
Let not his anger fright thee. Though our love
Offend him now, yet, when his mighty soul
Is reconcil'd to life, he will not chide us.
The sick man loathes, and with reluctance takes
The remedy by which his health's restor'd.

At. Licinius! his reproaches wound my soul.
I cannot live and bear his indignation.

Lic. Would my Attilia rather lose her father
Than, by offending him, preserve his life?

At. Ah! no. If he but live, I am contented.

Lic. Yes, he shall live, and we again be bless'd;
Then dry thy tears, and let those lovely orbs
Beam with their wonted lustre on Licinius,
Who lives but in the sunshine of thy smiles.

At. (alone.)
O Fortune, Fortune, thou capricious goddess!
Thy frowns and favours have alike no bounds:
Unjust, or prodigal in each extreme.
When thou wouldst humble human vanity,
By singling out a wretch to bear thy wrath,
Thou crushest him with anguish to excess:
If thou wouldst bless, thou mak'st the happiness
Too poignant for his giddy sense to bear.——
Immortal gods, who rule the fates of men,
Preserve my father! bless him, bless him, heav'n!
If your avenging thunderbolts must fall,
Strike here—this bosom will invite the blow,
And thank you for it: but in mercy spare,
Oh! spare his sacred, venerable head:
Respect in him an image of yourselves;
And leave a world, who wants it, an example
Of courage, wisdom, constancy and truth.
Yet if, Eternal Powers who rule this ball!
You have decreed that Regulus must fall;
Teach me to yield to your divine command,
And meekly bow to your correcting hand;
Contented to resign, or pleas'd receive,
What wisdom may withhold, or mercy give.