Answer then thy judge, thou fhame
To Brutus; fay, did'ft thou betray thy country,
Give up thy father to a tyrant's pow'r,
And break thy folemn vows? Did'st thou refolve
To do this, Titus ?
Fill'd with a deadly poison that poffefs'd
My frantic mind, I did not know myself,
Nor do I yet; and my diftemper'd foul,
In its wild rage, was for a moment guilty;
That moment cloath'd me with eternal fhame,
And made me falfe to what I lov'd, my country:
'Tis paft; and anguish and remorfe fucceed
T'avenge their wrongs, and scourge me for the crime.
Pronounce my fentence: Rome, that looks upon thee,
Wants an example, and demands my
By my deserved fate she may deter
Those of her fons, if any fuch there be,
Who might be tempted to a crime like mine.
In death at least thus fhall I ferve my country;
Thus fhall my blood, which never till this hour
Was ftain'd with guilt, ftill flow for liberty..
Unnatʼral mixture! perfidy and courage;
Such horrid crimes with fuch exalted virtue!
With all thy dear-bought laurels on thy brow,
What pow'r malignant cou'd inspire thee thus
With vile inconftancy?
The thirst of vengeance,
Ambition, hatred, madnefs; all united
And worse than all the reft; one cruel flame;
That fir'd my guilt, and still perhaps augments it,
Completed my destruction: to confess it
Is double fhame, to Rome of little fervice,
And most unworthy of us both: I own it:
But I have reach'd the summit of my guilt,
And of my forrows too: end with my life
My crimes, and my despair, my fhame and thine.
Thy glorious fteps; if I have follow'd thee,
And ferv'd my country; if remorfe and anguish
Already have o'er paid my crimes; O deign
Within thy arms once more to hold a wretch
Abandon'd and forlorn: O fay, at least,
My fon, thy father hates thee not: that word
Alone my fame and virtue shall restore,
And fave my mem'ry from the brand of shame.
The world will fay, when Titus dy'd, a look
From you reliev'd him from his load of grief,
And made him full amends for all his forrows;
Spite of his guilt, that ftill efteem'd by thee,
He bore thy bleffing with him to the grave.
O Rome! his pangs opprefs me: my country!
Proculus, fee they lead my fon to death.
Rife, wretched Titus, thou wert once the hope
Of my old age, my best fupport; embrace
Thy father who condemn'd thee: t'was his duty.
Were he not Brutus, he had pardon'd thee;
Believe my tears that trickle down thy cheeks
Whilft I am speaking to thee: O my Titus,
Let nobler courage than thy father fhews
Support thee in thy death; my son, farewell:
Let no unmanly tears disgrace thy fall,
But be a Roman ftill, and let thy country,
That knows thy worth, admire while the deftroys
Farewell I go to death; in that at least
Titus once more fhall emulate his father.
My lord, the fenate, with fincereft grief,
And fhudd'ring at the dreadful ftroke
Ye know not Brutus who condole with him
At fuch a time: Rome only is my care;
I feel but for my country: we must guard
Against more danger: they're in arms again:
Away: let Rome in this disastrous hour
Supply the place of him whom I have loft.
For her, and let me finish my fad days,
As Titus fhou'd have done, in Rome's defence.
SCENE
Thank heav'n! Rome's free; and I am fatisfy'd.
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