MESSALA.
Rome had done her's too,
If she had honour'd more fo good a fon.
Meffala, no: it fuited not his age
To take the confulfhip; he had not ev'n
The voice of Brutus: truft me, the fuccefs.
Of his ambition wou'd have foon corrupted:
His noble mind, and the rewards of virtue
Had then become hereditary: foon
Shou'd we have feen the bafe unworthy fon
Of a brave father claim fuperior rank,
Unmerited, in floth and luxury,
As our laft Tarquin but too plainly prov'd.
How very feldom they deserve a crown
Who're born to wear it! O! preferve us, heav'n,
From fuch deftructive vile abuse of pow'r,
The nurse of folly, and the grave of virtue!
If thou indeed doft love my fon, (and much
I hope thou doft) fhew him a fairer path
To glory; root out from his heart the pride
Of false ambition: he who ferves the ftate
Is amply recompens'd: the fon of Brutus
Shou'd fhine a bright example to the world
Of ev'ry virtue: he is Rome's fupport,
As fuch I look upon him; and the more
He has already done to ferve his country,
The more I fhall require of him hereafter.
Know then by what I wish the love I bear him,
Temper the heat of youth; to flatter Titus.
Were death to him, and injury to Rome.
My Lord, I am content to follow Titus,
To imitate his valour, not inftruct him:
I have but little influence o'er your fon;
But, if he deigns to listen to my counsels,
Rome foon will fee, how much he loves her glory..
Go then, be careful not to footh his errors ;;
For I hate tyrants much, but flatt'rers more.
There's not a tyrant more deteftable,,
More cruel than thy own relentless foul;
But I fhall tread perhaps beneath my feet.
The pride of all thy false insulting virtue :.
Yes, thou Coloffus, rais'd thus high above us
By a vile croud, the thunder is prepar'd,
Soon fhall it fall, and crufh thee into ruin.
T length, my friend, a dawn of fair success
A in upon us, thou haft ferv'd me nobly, Α
And all is well this letter, my Albinus,
Decides the fate of Tarquin, and of Rome.
But, tell me, have you fix'd th' important hour?
Have you watch'd closely the Quirinal gate?
If our confpirators to night should fail
To yield the ramparts up, will your affault
Be ready? Is the king well fatisfy'd,
Think'ft thou, Albinus, we fhall bring him back
To Rome fubjected, or to Rome in blood?
My Lord, by midnight all will be prepar'd;
Tarquin already reaps the promis'd harveft
From you, once more, receives the diadem,
And owns himself indebted more to Aruns
Than to Porfenna.
Foes to our haplefs fov'reign, muft destroy
Our fair defign, well worthy of their aid;
Or by to-morrow's dawn rebellious Rome
Shall own a mafter; Rome perhaps in ashes,
Or bathing in her blood. But better is it
A king fhou'd rule o'er an unhappy people,
Who are obedient, than in plenty's lap,
O'er a proud nation, who are ftill perverfe
And obftinate, because they are too happy.
Albinus, I attend the Princess here
What haft thou done? cou'dft thou prevail on him
To serve the cause of Tarquin? cou'dft thou bind
MESSALA.
No: I prefum'd too far;
He is inflexible: he loves his country,
And has too much of Brutus in him; murmurs.
Against the senate, but fill dotes on Tullia:
Pride and ambition, love and jealoufy,
Open'd, I thought, a paffage to his foul,
And gave my arts fome promife of fuccefs;
But, ftrange infatuation! liberty
Prevail'd o'er all: his love is defperate,
Yet Rome is ftronger ev'n than love: in vain
I ftrove, by flow degrees, t'efface the horror
Which Rome had taught his floolish heart to feel
Ev'n at the name of king; in vain oppos'd
His rooted prejudice; the very mention
Of Tarquin fir'd his foul; he would not hear me,
But broke off the difcourfe: I must have gone
Too far, had I perfifted.
There are no hopes of him.
I found his brother; one of Brutus' fons,
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