_Por._ To my confusion and eternal grief, I must approve the sentence that destroys me. _Lucia._ Portius, no more; thy words shoot through my heart, Melt my resolves, and turn me all to love. Why are those tears of fondness in thy eyes? Why heaves thy heart? Why swells thy soul with sorrow? It softens me too much--Farewell, my Portius! Farewell, though death is in the word,--for ever! _Por._ Stay, Lucia, stay! What dost thou say? For ever? Thou must not go; my soul still hovers o'er thee, And can't get loose. _Lucia._ If the firm Portius shake, To hear of parting, think what Lucia suffers! _Por._ 'Tis true, unruffled and serene, I've met The common accidents of life, but here Such an unlook'd-for storm of ills falls on me. It beats down all my strength--I cannot bear it. We must not part. _Lucia._ What dost thou say? Not part! Hast thou forgot the vow that I have made? Are not there heavens, and gods, that thunder o'er us? --But see, thy brother Marcus bends this way; I sicken at the sight. Once more, farewell. Farewell, and know, thou wrong'st me, if thou think'st Ever was love or ever grief like mine. [_Exit_ LUCIA. _Enter_ MARCUS. _Marc._ Portius, what hopes? How stands she? am I doom'd To life or death? _Por._ What wouldst thou have me say? _Marc._ What means this pensive posture? Thou appear'st Like one amazed and terrified. _Por._ I've reason. _Marc._ Thy downcast looks, and thy disorder'd thoughts, Tell me my fate. I ask not the success My cause has found. _Por._ I'm grieved I undertook it. _Marc._ What, does the barbarous maid insult my heart, My aching heart, and triumph in my pains? That I could cast her from my thoughts for ever! _Por._ Away! you're too suspicious in your griefs; Lucia, though sworn never to think of love, Compassionates your pains, and pities you. _Marc._ Compassionates my pains, and pities me! What is compassion, when 'tis void of love? Fool that I was, to choose so cold a friend To urge my cause!--Compassionates my pains! Pr'ythee what art, what rhet'ric didst thou use To gain this mighty boon?--She pities me! To one that asks the warm returns of love, Compassion's cruelty, 'tis scorn, 'tis death-- _Por._ Marcus, no more; have I deserved this treatment? _Marc._ What have I said? Oh! Portius, Oh, forgive me! A soul exasperated in ills, falls out With every thing--its friend, itself--but hah! [_Shout._ What means that shout, big with the sounds of war? What new alarm? _Por._ A second, louder yet, Swells in the wind, and comes more full upon us. _Marc._ Oh, for some glorious cause to fall in battle! Lucia, thou hast undone me: thy disdain Has broke my heart; 'tis death must give me ease. _Por._ Quick let us hence. Who knows if Cato's life Stands sure? Oh, Marcus, I am warm'd; my heart Leaps at the trumpet's voice, and burns for glory. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Part of the Senate House._ _Enter_ SEMPRONIUS, _with_ LEADERS _of the Mutiny_.