Volu.
Whence is it, Tullus, that our arms are stopt,
Here on the borders of the Roman state?
Why sleeps that spirit, whose heroic ardour
Urg'd you to break the truce, and pour'd our host,
From all th' united cantons of the Volscians,
On their unguarded frontier? Such designs
Brook not an hour's delay; their whole success
Depends on instant vigorous execution.

Auf.
O, my Volusius! thou, who art a soldier,
A try'd and brave one too, say, in thy heart
Dost thou not scorn me? thou, who saw'st me bend
Beneath the half-spent thunder of a foe,
Warm from the conquest of Corioli.

Volu.
True valour, Tullus,
Lies in the mind, the never-yielding purpose;
Nor minds the blind award of giddy fortune.

Auf.
My soul, my friend, my soul is all on fire!
Thirst of revenge consumes me! the revenge
Of generous emulation, not of hatred.
This happy Roman, this proud Marcius haunts me.
Each troubled night, when slaves and captives sleep,

Forgetful of their chains, I, in my dreams,
Anew am vanquish'd; and, beneath his sword
With horror sinking, feel a ten-fold death,
The death of honour. But I will redeem—
Yes, Marcius, I will yet redeem my fame.
To face thee once again is the great purpose
For which alone I live.—Till then, how slow,
How tedious lags the time! while shame corrodes me,
With many a bitter thought; and injur'd honour,
Sick and desponding, preys upon itself.
Ha! why this haste? You look alarm'd. Enter Volscian Officer.

Off.
My Lord,
One of exalted port, his visage hid,
Has plac'd himself beneath the statue of
The mighty Mars, and there, majestic, stands
In solemn silence.

Auf.
Did you not ask him who, and what he was?

Off.
My Lord, I could not speak; I felt appall'd,
As if the presence of some God had struck me.

Auf.
Come, dastard, let me find this man of terrors. [Exeunt.

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