Lavin.
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near Day.
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearfull hollow of thy Ear.
Nightly on yon Pomegranate-tree she sings.
Believe me, Love, it was the Nightingale.

Mar. jun.
Oh! 'twas the Lark, the Herald of the Morn,
No Nightingale. Look, Love, what envious Streaks
Of Light embroider all the cloudy East.
Night's Candles are burnt out, and jocund Day
Upon the Mountain-tops sits gaily drest,
Whilst all the Birds bring Musick to his Levy.
I must be gone and live, or stay and dy.....

Lavin.
Oh! oh! what wretched Fortune is my lot!
Sure, giving Thee, Heav'n grew too far in Debt
To pay, till Bankrupt-like it broke; whilst I,
A poor compounding Creditor, am forc'd
To take a Mite for endless Summs of Joy.

Mar. jun.
Let me be taken, let me suffer Death,
I am content, so Thou wilt have it so....
By Heav'n, yon gray is not the Morning's Eye,
But the Reflexion of pale Cynthia's Brightness.
Nor is't the Lark we hear, whose Notes do beat
So high, and Echo in the Vault of Heav'n.
I'm all desire to stay, no will to go.
How is't, my Soul? let's talk: it is not Day.

Lavin.
Oh! it is, it is.... Fly hence away, my Marius.
It is the Lark, and out of tune she sings,
With grating Discords and unpleasing Strainings.
Some say the Lark and loathsome Toad change Eyes:
Now I could wish they had chang'd Voices too;
Or that a Lethargy had seiz'd the Morning,
And she had slopt, and never wak'd agen,
To part me from th' Embraces of my Love.
What shall become of Me, when Thou art gone?

Mar. jun.
The Gods that heard our Vows, and know our Loves,

Seing my Faith, and thy unspotted Truth,
Will sure take care, and let no Wrongs annoy thee.
Upon my Knees I'll ask 'em every day,
How my Lavinia does: and every night,
In the severe Distresses of my Fate,
As I perhaps shall wander through the Desart,
And want a place to rest my weary Head on,
I'll count the Stars, and bless 'em as they shine,
And court 'em all for my Lavinia's Safety.

Lavin.
Oh Banishment! eternal Banishment!
Ne'r to return! must we ne'r meet agen?
My Heart will break, I cannot think that Thought
And live. Cou'd I but see to th' end of Woe,
There were some Comfort .... but eternall Torment
Is even insupportable to Thought.
It cannot be that we shall part for ever.

Mar. jun.
No, for my Banishment may be recall'd;
My Father once more hold a Pow'r in Rome:
Then shall I boldly claim Lavinia mine,
Whilst happiest men shall envy at the Blessing,
And Poets write the Wonders of our Loves.

Lavin.
If by my Father's Cruelty I'm forc'd,
When left alone, to yield to Sylla's Claim,
Defenseless as I am, and thou far from me,
If, as I must, I rather dy then suffer't,
What a sad Tale will that be when 'tis told thee?
I know not what to fear, or hope, or think,
Or say, or doe. I cannot let thee go.

Mar. jun.
A Thousand things would, to this purpose said,
But sharpen and add weight to parting Sorrow.
Oh my Lavinia! if my Heart e're stray,.... [Kneels.
Or any other Beauty ever charm me,
If I live not entirely onely thine,
In that curst moment when my Soul forsakes thee,
May I be hither brought a Captive bound,
T' adorn the Triumph of my basest Foe.

Lavin.
And if I live not faithfull to the Lord
Of my first Vows, my dearest onely Marius,
May I be brought to Poverty and Scorn,
Hooted by Slaves forth from thy gates, O Rome,
Till flying to the Woods t'avoid my Shame,
Sharp Hunger, Cold, or some worse Fate destroy me;
And not one Tree vouchsafe a Leaf to hide me.

Mar. jun.
What needs all this?—

Lavin.
Oh! I could find out things
To talk to thee for ever.

Mar. jun.
Weep not; the time
We had to stay together has bin employ'd
In richest Love.....

Lavin.
We ought to summon all
The spirit of soft Passion up, to chear
Our Hearts thus lab'ring with the pangs of Parting.
Oh my poor Marius!

Mar. jun.
Ah my kind Lavinia!

Lavin.
But dost thou think we e're shall meet agen?

Mar. jun.
I doubt it not, and all these Woes shall serve
For sweet Discourses in our time to come.

Lavin.
Alas! I have an ill-divining Soul;
Methinks I see thee, now thou'rt from my Arms,
Like a stark Ghost with Horrour in thy Visage.
Either my Eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Mar. jun.
And trust me, Love, in my Eye so dost Thou.
Dry Sorrow drinks our Bloud.... Farewell.

Lavin.
Farewell then. [Ex. Mar. jun.

Nurse within.
Madam.

Lavin.
My Nurse.

Nurse within.
Your Father's up, and Day-light broke abroad.
Be wary, look about you.....

Lavin.
Hah! is he gone? My Lord, my husband, Friend,
I must hear from thee every day i'th' hour:
For absent Minutes seem as many Days.
Oh! by this reck'ning I shall be most old,
E're I agen behold my Marius. Nay,
Gone too already? 'twas unkindly done,
I had not yet imparted half my Soul,
Not a third part of its fond jealous Fears.
But I'll pursue him for't, and be reveng'd;
Hang such a tender Tale about his Heart,
Shall make it tingle as his Life were stung.
Nay too.... I'll love him; never, never leave him;
Fond as a Child, and resolute as Man. Ex. Lavin. Enter Metellus musing.

Metell.
Sylla this morning parts from hence to Capua,
To head that Army. Cinna must be Consul:....
Ay, Cinna must be. He's a busy fellow,
Knows how to tell a story to the Rabble,
Hates Marius too: that, that's the dearest point.
I hope the Snares for Marius laid may take him.
A hundred horse are in pursuit to find him:
And if they catch him, his Head's safe, that's certain.

Octavius will be the other.... be it so,
An honest, simple, downright-dealing Lord:
A little too Religious, that's his fault. Enter a Servant.
What now?

Servant.
A Letter left you by a Lictor,
Who told us that it came from the Lord Sylla.

Metellus reads the Letter.
Blame not, Sir, my parting
So suddenly: just now I've had advice
Of some Disturbance in the Camp at Capua.
Commend my tender'st Faith to fair Lavinia.
You're Sylla's Advocate with her and Rome. Enter Nurse.
Well, Nurse.

Nurse.
My Lord.

Metell.
How does my Daughter?

Nurse.
Truly very ill:
She has not slept a wink:
Nothing but toss'd and tumbled all this night;
I left her just now slumbering.
This Lord Sylla does so run in her Head.

Metell.
Oh! were he in her Heart, Nurse!

Nurse.
Were he?

Why, she thinks of nothing else, talks of nothing else, dreams of nothing else. She would needs have me ly with her th' other night. But about midnight (I'll swear it wak'd me out of a sweet Nap) she takes me fast in her Arms, and cries, Oh my Lord Sylla! but are you, will you be true? then sigh'd, and so stretcht....I swear I was half afraid.

Metell.
She's strangely alter'd then.
This Morning two new Consuls must be chosen.
If they are true, those tidings thou hast brought me,
Wait while she wakes, and tell her 'tis my pleasure,
At my return from th' Forum that I see her.... [Ex. Metell.

Nurse.

So, so;—here will be sweet doings in time. How many hundred lies a day must I tell, to keep this Family at peace?

Lavin.
Oh Nurse! where art thou? is my Father gone?

Nurse.
Gone? yes; and would I were gone too.

Lavin.
Why dost thou sigh? what cause hast thou to wish so?
Wert thou distrest, unfortunate as I am,
Thou hadst then cause.
What shall I doe? Oh, how alone am I!
I walk methinks as half of me were lost;
Yet, like a maim'd Bird, flutter, flutter on,
And fain wou'd find a Hole to hide my head in.

Nurse.

'Odds my Boddikins! but why thus drest, Madam? why in this pickle, say you now?

Lavin.
Seem not to wonder, nor dare to oppose me,
For I am desperate, and resolv'd to Death.
In this unhappy, wayward, humble Dress,
After my Love a Pilgrimage I'll take,
Forsake deserted Rome, and find my Marius.

Nurse.

And I must stay behind to be hang'd up, like an old Polecat in a Warren, for a warning to all Vermine that shall come after me. Would I were fairly dead for a week, till this were over.

Lavin.
This Morning's opportunity is fair,
When all are busy in electing Consuls;
I shall escape unseen without the Gates,
And this night in a Litter reach Salonium.

Nurse.

I care not; I'll have nothing to doe in't: you sha'nt stir. Nay, I'll raise the House first. Why Clodius! Catulus! Sempronia! Thesbia! Men and Maids, where are you? Oh! oh! oh!...