_Reg._ Dost thou then think that mine's a frantic bravery? That Regulus would rashly seek his fate? Publius! how little dost thou know thy sire! Misjudging youth! learn, that like _other_ men, I shun the _evil_, and I seek the _good_; But _that_ I find in _guilt_, and _this_ in _virtue_. Were it not guilt, guilt of the blackest die, Even to _think_ of freedom at th' expense Of my dear bleeding country? To me, therefore, Freedom and life would be the heaviest evils; But to preserve that country, to restore her, To heal her wounds though at the price of _life_, Or what is dearer far, the price of liberty, Is _virtue_--therefore slavery and death Are Regulus's good--his wish--his choice. _Pub._ Yet sure our country---- _Reg._ Is a _whole_, my Publius, Of which we all are _parts_; nor should a citizen Regard his interests as distinct from hers; No hopes or fears should touch his patriot soul, But what affect her honour or her shame. E'en when in hostile fields he bleeds to save her, 'Tis not _his_ blood he loses, 'tis his _country's_; He only pays her back a debt he owes. To her he's bound for birth and education: Her laws secure him from domestic feuds, And from the foreign foe her arms protect him. She lends him honours, dignity, and rank, His wrongs revenges, and his merit pays; And like a tender and indulgent mother, Loads him with comforts, and would make his state As blest as nature and the gods design'd it. Such gifts, my son, have their alloy of _pain_; And let th' unworthy wretch who will not bear His portion of the public burden lose Th' advantages it yields;--let him retire From the dear blessings of a social life, And from the sacred laws which guard those blessings; Renounce the civilis'd abodes of man, With kindred brutes one common shelter seek In horrid wilds, and dens, and dreary caves, And with their shaggy tenants share the spoil; Or if the savage hunters miss their prey, From scatter'd acorns pick a scanty meal;-- Far from the sweet civilities of life; There let him live and vaunt his wretched freedom: While we, obedient to the laws that guard us, Guard _them_, and live or die as they decree. _Pub._ With reverence and astonishment I hear thee! Thy words, my father, have convinc'd my reason, But cannot touch my heart:--nature denies Obedience so repugnant. I'm a son. _Reg._ A poor excuse, unworthy of a Roman! Brutus, Virginius, Manlius--they were fathers. _Pub._ 'Tis true, they were; but this heroic greatness, This glorious elevation of the soul, Has been confin'd to fathers.--Rome, till now, Boasts not a son of such unnatural virtue, Who, spurning all the powerful ties of blood, Has labour'd to procure his father's death. _Reg._ Then be the first to give the great example-- Go, hasten; be thyself that son, my Publius. _Pub._ My father! ah!--