And strength of paffion; in the paths of glory
So lately enter'd, 'twere an easy task
To turn his steps afide; for fiery youth
Is easily betray'd: and yet what bars
To our defign! a conful, and a father;

His hate of kings; Rome pleading for her safety;
The dread of fhame, and all his triumphs paft.
But I have stole into his heart, and know

The fecret poison that enflames his foul:

He fighs for Tullia.

ARUNS.

Ha! for Tullia?

MESSALA.

Yes:

Scarce cou'd I draw the fecret from his breaft;

He blush'd himself at the discovery,

Afham'd to own his love; for midft the tumult
Of jarring paffions, ftill his zeal prevails

For liberty.

ARUNS.

Thus on a single heart,

And its unequal movements, must depend,

Spite of myself, the fate of Rome: but hence,

Albinus, and prepare for Tarquin's tent.

[Turning to Meffala.

We'll to the princess: I have gain'd some knowledge,

By

By long experience, of the human heart:
I'll try to read her foul; perhaps her hands
May weave a net to catch this Roman fenate.

END of the FIRST ACT.

A CT II. SCENE I.

The Scene represents an apartment in the palace of the

confuls.

TITUS, MESSÀLA.

MESSALA.

No: 'tis unkind; it hurts my tender-friendship:
He who but half unveils his fecrets, tells
Too little or too much: doft thou suspect me?

TITUS.

Do not reproach me; my whole heart is thine.

MESSALA.

Thou who fo lately didft with me detest
The rig'rous fenate, and pour forth thy plaints
In anguish; thou who on this faithful bofom
Didst shed so many tears, coud'st thou conceal
Griefs far more bitter, the keen pangs of love?

VOL. I.

M

How

How cou'd ambition quench the rising flame,

And blot out ev'ry tender sentiment ?

Doft thou deteft the hateful fenate more

Than thou lov'ft Tullia?

TITUS.

O! I love with transport,

And hate with fury; ever in extreme;
It is the native weakness of my foul,
Which much I ftrive to conquer, but in vain.

MESSALA.

But why thus rafhly tear thy bleeding wounds?
Why weep thy inj'ries, yet disguise thy love?

TITUS.

Spite of those inj'ries, spite of all my wrongs,
Have I not fhed my blood for this proud fenate?
Thou know'ft I have, and didst partake my glory;
With joy I told thee of my fair fuccefs;

It fhew'd, methought, a nobleness of foul
To fight for the ungrateful, and I felt
The pride of conscious virtue: the misfortunes
We have o'ercome with pleasure we impart,
But few are anxious to reveal their shame.

MESSALA.

Where is the shame, the folly, or disgrace

And

Are ambition then, and love,

Paffions unworthy of a noble mind?

TITUS.

Ambition, love, resentment, all poffefs
The foul of Titus, and by turns enflame it:
These conful kings defpife my youth; deny me
My valour's due reward, the price of blood
Shed in their caufe: then, midst my forrows, feize
All I hold dear, and snatch my Tullia from me.
Alas! I had no hope, and yet my heart
Grows jealous now: the fire, long pent within,
Burfts forth with inextinguishable rage.

I thought it had been o'er; fhe parted from me,
And I had almost gain'd the victory

O'er my rebellious paffion: but my race
Of glory now is run, and heav'n has fixed
Its period here: Gods! that the son of Brutus,
The foe of kings, fhou'd ever be the slave

Of Tarquin's race! nay, the ungrateful fair

Scorns to accept my conquer'd heart: I'm flighted;

Difdain'd on ev'ry fide, and shame o'erwhelms me.

MESSALA.

May I with freedom speak to thee?

TITUS.

Thou may'st:

Thou know'ft I ever have revered thy prudence;
Speak therefore, tell me all my faults, Meffala.

MESSALA.

No: I approve thy love, and thy resentment:
Shall Titus authorise this tyrant fenate,

These fons of arrogance? if thou must blush,
Blush for thy patience, Titus, not thy love.
Are these the poor rewards of all thy valour,
Thy conftancy, and truth? a hopeless lover,
A weak and pow'rlefs citizen of Rome,
A poor ftate-victim, by the fenate brav'd,
And scorn'd by Tullia: fure a heart like thine
Might find the means to be reveng'd on both.

TITUS.

Why wilt thou flatter my despairing foul?
Think'st thou I ever cou'd fubdue her hate,
Or fhake her virtue? 'tis impoffible:

Thou fee'ft the fatal barriers to our love,
Which duty and our fathers place between us :

But