Mar.
No more—I merit not thy lavish praise,
True, we have driven the Roman legions back;
Defeated and disgrac'd—but what is done?
Nothing, ye Volces—
Come on, my brave companions of the war,
Come, let us finish, at one mighty stroke,
The toil of lab'ring fate—we will, or perish—
While, noble Tullus, you protect the camp,
I with my troops, all chosen men of valour,
And well approv'd, to-day will storm the city. [Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter a Volscian Officer.

Off.
My Lord, a herald is arriv'd from Rome,
To say, a deputation from the senate,
Attended by the ministers of Heaven,
A venerable train of priests and flamens,
Is on the way, address'd to you.

Mar.
To me!
What can this message mean!—stand to your arms,
Ye Volscian troops; and let these Romans pass
Betwixt the lowring frowns of double files.
What! do they think me such a milky boy,
To pay my vengeance with a few soft words?

Come, fellow soldiers, Tullus, come, and see
If I betray the honours you have done me. [Exit with a train of Volscian officers.

Volu.
Are we not, Tullus, failing in our duty,
Not to attend our general?

Auf.
How! what said'st thou?

Volu.
Methought, my Lord, his parting orders were,
We should attend the triumph now preparing
O'er all his foes at once—Romans and Volscians!
Come, we shall give offence.

Auf. (Aside.)
His words are daggers to my heart: I feel
Their truth, but am ashamed to own my folly.

Volu.
O shame! O infamy! the thought consumes me.
To see a Roman
Borne on our shoulders to immortal fame:
Just in the happy moment that decided
The long dispute of ages, that for which
Our gen'rous ancestors had toil'd and bled,
To see him then step in and steal our glory!
O, that we first had perish'd all! a people
Who cannot find in their own proper force
Their own protection, are not worth the saving!

Auf.
It must have way! I will no more suppress it.—
Know, then, my valiant friend, no less than thee,
His conduct hurts me, and upbraids my folly,
I wake as from a dream. What dæmon mov'd me:

What doating generosity, to exalt him
To the same level, nay above myself;
To yield him the command of half my troops!
That, that was madness,
Was weak, was mean, unworthy of a man!—
How shall I from this labyrinth escape?
Must it then be! what cruel genius dooms me,
In war or peace, to creep beneath his fortune?

Volu.
That genius is thyself. If thou canst bear
The very thought of stooping to this Roman,
Thou from that moment art his vassal, Tullus,
Ay, that thou dost acknowledge, parent nature
Has form'd him thy superior. But if fix'd
Upon the base of manly resolution,
Thou say'st—I will be free!—I will command!—
I and my country!—then—O, never doubt it—
We shall find means to crush this vain intruder;
Even I myself—this hand—nay, hear me, Tullus,
'Tis is not yet come to that, that last resource.
I do not say we should employ the dagger,
While other, better means are in our power.

Auf.
No, my Volusius, fortune will not drive us,
Or I am much deceived, to that extreme:
We shall not want the strongest fairest plea,
To give a solemn sanction to his fate.
He will betray himself. Whate'er his rage
Of passion talks, a weakness for his country
Sticks in his soul, and he is still a Roman.
Soon shall we see him tempted to the brink
Of this sure precipice—then down, at once,

Without remorse, we hurl him to perdition! [Trumpet.
But hark, the trumpet calls us to a scene
I should detest, if not from hope we thence
May gather matter to mature our purpose. [Exeunt.

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