Tullus alone.
What is the mind of man? A restless scene
Of vanity and weakness; shifting still,
As shift the lights of our uncertain knowledge;
Or as the various gale of passion breathes.
None ever thought himself more deeply founded
On what is right, nor felt a nobler ardor
Than I, when I invested Caius Marcius
With this ill-judg'd command. Now it appears
Distraction, folly, monst'rous folly, meanness!
And down I plunge, betray'd even by my virtue,
From gulph to gulph, from shame to deeper shame. Enter Volusius hastily.
Ha! Volusius,
Thy looks declare some message of importance.

Volusius.
Tullus, they do—I was to find out Marcius;
To him a second deputation comes;
His mother and his wife, with a long train
Of all the noblest ladies Rome can boast,
In mourning habits clad, approach our camp;
Preceded by a herald, to demand
Another audience of him.
By heaven 'tis well.

Tullus.
How? what is well? That humbled Rome once more
Shall deck him with the trophies of our arms?

Volusius.
And hop'st thou nothing from this blest event?
They who have often blasted mighty heroes,
Who oft have stole into the firmest hearts,
And melted them to folly: they, my friend,
Will do what wisdom never could effect.

Tullus.
Thinkst thou the prayers and tears of wailing women
Can shake the man, who with such cold disdain
Stood firm against those venerable consuls,
And spurn'd the genius of his kneeling country?

Volusius.
It was his pride alone that made him ours,
That passion kept him firm; the flattering charm
Of humbling those who in their persons bore
The whole collected majesty of Rome.
These women are no proper objects for it:
He cannot triumph o'er his wife and mother.
On this my hopes are founded, that these women
May by their gentler influence subdue him.

Tullus.
Whate'er th' event, he shall no longer here,
As wave his passions, dictate peace, or war.
Whether his stubborn soul maintains it's firmness,
Or yields to female prayers, the Volscian honour
Will be alike betray'd. If Rome prevails,

He stops our conquering arms from her destruction;
If he rejects her suit, he reigns our tyrant.
But, by th' immortal Gods! His short-liv'd empire
Shall never see you radiant sun descend.

Volusius.
Blest be those Gods that have at last inspir'd thee
With resolution equal to thy cause,
The cause of liberty!

Tullus.
Be sure, Volusius,
If that should happen which thy hopes portend;
Should he by nature tam'd, disarm'd by love,
Respite the Roman doom—He seals his own:
By Heaven he dies.

Volusius.
Let me embrace thee,
Tullus, my sword
Here claims to be employ'd—Nor mine alone—
There are some worthy Volsci still remaining,
Who think with us, and pine beneath the laurels
A Roman chief bestows.

Tullus.
Go, find them strait,
And bring them to the space before his tent;
'Tis there he will receive his deputation.
Then if he sinks beneath these women's prayers—
Or if he does not—But, Volusius, wait,
I give thee strictest charge to wait my signal.
Perhaps I may find means to free the Volsci
Without his blood. If not—we will be free. End of the FOURTH ACT.

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