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

Tullus.
Volusius, I approve thy brave impatience;
And will to thee, in confidence of friendship,
Disclose my secret soul. Thou know'st Galesus,
Whose freedom Caius Marcius, once his guest,
Of all the spoil of sack'd Corioli,
Alone demanded; and who thence to Rome,
From gratitude and friendship, follow'd Marcius:
Whence lately to our Antium he return'd,
With overtures of peace propos'd by Rome.

Volusius.
O, 'tis a wild chimæra! Peace with Rome!
Dream not of that, unless the Volcian courage
Be quite subdu'd, and only seeks to gild
A vile submission with that specious name.
Learn wisdom from your neighbours. Peace with Rome
Has quell'd the Latins, tam'd their free-born spirit,
And by her friendship honour'd them with chains.

Tullus.
She ne'er will grant it on the just conditions
I now have brought the Volsci to demand:
The restitution of our conquer'd cities,
And fair alliance upon equal terms.

I know the Roman insolence will scorn
To yield to this; and Titus must return
Within three days, the longest term allow'd him;
Of which the third is near elaps'd already.
Then even Galesus will not dare to stop us,
With superstitious forms, and solemn trifles,
From letting loose th' unbridled rage of war
Against those hated tyrants of Hesperia.

Volusius.
Thanks to the Gods! my sword will then be free.
Then, poor Corioli! thy bleeding wounds,
Thy treasures sack'd, thy captivated matrons,
Shall amply be reveng'd by thy Volusius:
Then, Tullus, from the lofty brows of Marcius,
Thou may'st regain the wreaths his conquering hand,
By partial fortune aided, tore from thine.

Tullus.
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 sawst me bend
Beneath the half-spent thunder of a foe,
Warm from the conquest of Corioli;
His wounds undrest, in haste he flew
To where our armies on the fearful edge
Of battle stood; and asking, of the consul,
To be oppos'd to me, with mighty rage,
Resistless, bore us down.

Volusius.
True Valour, Tullus,
Lies in the mind, the never-yielding purpose,
Nor owns the blind award of giddy fortune.

Tullus.
My soul, my friend, my soul is all on fire!
Thirst of revenge consumes me! the revenge
Of generous emulation, not of hatred.
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 it self.

Volusius.
It fast approaches now, the hour of vengeance,
To this fam'd land, to ancient Latium due.
Unballanc'd Rome, at variance with her self;
To order lost, in hot and deep commotion,
Stands on the dangerous point of civil war;
Her haughty nobles and seditious commons
Reviling, fearing, hating one another:
While, on our part, all wears a prosperous face:
Our troops united, numerous, high in spirit,
As if their general's soul inform'd them all.
O long expected day!

Tullus.
Go, brave Volusius,
Go breath thy ardour into every breast,
That when the Volscian envoy shall return,
One spirit may unite us in the cause
Of generous freedom, and our native rights,
So long opprest by Rome's encroaching power. [Exit Volusius. Tullus alone.
Galesus said that Marcius stands for consul.
O favour thou his suit, propitious Jove!
That I may brave him at his army's head,
In all the majesty of sovereign power! Enter an Officer.
Ha! why this haste? You look alarm'd.

Officer.
My lord,
One of exalted port, his visage hid,
Has plac'd himself upon your sacred hearth,

Beneath the dread protection of your lares,
And sits majestic there in solemn silence.

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

Officer.
My lord, I cou'd not speak; I felt appall'd,
As if the presence of some god had struck me.

Tullus.
Come, dastard! Let me find this man of terrors. [Exeunt.

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