Cat. Banished from Rome! What's "banished," but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? "Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this? It breaks my chain. But here I stand and scoff you: here I fling Your Consul's merciful.-For this all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline! Consul. Lictors, now drive the traitor from the temple! Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This--trial! This day's the birth of sorrows! This hour's work Will breed proscriptions.- -Look to your hearths, my lords! For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tartarus--all shames and crimes; Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Consul. Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome! I go; but when I come-'twill be the burst In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well t XIII. SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD.-Colman. Sir E. Wilford, approach me.— For aiming at your life?-Do you not scorn me, Despise me for it? Wilf. I! Oh, Sir! You must; Indeed, indeed, Sir, For I am singled from the herd of men, A vile, heart-broken wretch! Wilf. You deeply wrong yourself. Your equal's love, The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude, I am most bound to bless you. Sir E. Mark me, Wilford: I know the value of the orphan's tear, The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected, I feel, to merit these and to obtain them, Is to taste here below, that thrilling cordial To pour on blessed souls that enter Heaven. In human blood?-and yet, it seems, this day I sought your life.-Oh! I have suffered madness! I have resolved it.-Fearful struggles tear me: But I have pondered on't,—and I must trust thee. You must swear. Sir E. May all the ills that wait on frail humanity mind Listen. More loathsome than your body! May those fiends, Shrink back, and shudder at your monstrous crimes, Poison your aged days! while all your nights, If thou betrayest me. -Swear thou hopest it, Wilf Wilf. [After a pause.] I swear, by all the ties that bind a man, Divine or human, -never to divulge! Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret:-Yes, Extorted it. I have not thrust it on you. 'Tis big with danger to you; and to me, While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable. Dearest sir! Sir E. Wilf. Her uncle! There it is- Her uncle Sir E. Him. She knows it not;-none know it.You are the first ordained to hear me say, I am- -his murderer. Wilf. Sir E. O horror! His assassin. -I am choked! Wilf. What! you that-mur-the murderer Sir E. Honour, thou blood-stained god! at whose red altar Sit war and homicide: O! to what madness Will insult drive thy votaries! In truth, In the world's range, there does not breathe a man Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy, Than his who fell by me. But he disgraced me, Stained me--Oh, death and shame!-the world looked on, I stabbed him to the heart. -and my oppressor Sir E. Would you think it? E'en at the moment when I gave the blow, I had all good men's love. But my disgrace, Demanded notice of the Magistracy. They summoned me, as friend would summon friend, To acts of import and communication. We met and 'twas resolved, to stifle rumour, To put me on my trial. No accuser, No evidence appeared, to urge it on "Twas meant to clear my fame. -How clear it then? How cover it?-you say.-Why, by a lie Guilt's offspring, and its guard. I taught this breast, This tongue to utter it;--rounded a tale, Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth; So well compacted, that the o'erthronged court Wilf. Heaven forgive you! Sir E. I disdain all pity.— It may be wrong I ask no consolation. Idle boy! Think'st thou that this compulsive confidence Dead, in the church-yard. Boy, I would not kill thee; To check them there was no way left but this Save one-your death:-you shall not be my victim. A Wilf. My death! What, take my life?-My life! to prop This empty honour? Sir E. Empty? Grovelling fool! Wilf. I am your servant, Sir, child of your bounty, And know my obligation. I have been Too curious, haply: 'tis the fault of youth I ne'er meant injury: if it would serve you, Sir E. Wilf Sir E. Wilf. Some hours ago you durst not. Passion moved you, Reflection interposed, and held your arm. But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it, XIV. SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF "ION."-Talfourd. Enter ION, with a knife. Ion. Why do I creep thus stealthily along With trembling steps? Am I not armed by Heaven, As if some happy thought of innocent days Played at his heart strings: must I scare it thence With Death's sharp agony? He lies condemned By the high judgment of supernal Powers, And he shall know their sentence.-Wake, Adrastus! Collect thy spirits and be strong to die! Adras. Who dares disturb my rest? Guards! Soldiers! Recreants! Where tarry ye? Why smite ye not to earth This bold intruder? Ha! no weapon here! What wouldst thou with me, ruffian? Ion. I am none; But a sad instrument in Jove's great hand, Adras. Villains! does no one hear? Ion. Vex not the closing minutes of thy being Could reach thee. Present death is the award Adras. Thou! I know thee The youth I spared this morning, in whose ear Ion. It is most true; Thou spar'dst my life, and therefore do the gods Seem the chance-forfeit of some single sin, Adras. I have none on earth. Most piteous doom! Adras. Art melted? |