_Reg._ His worst of foes--the murd'rer of his glory. _At._ Ah! is it then a proof of enmity To wish thee all the good the gods can give thee, To yield my life, if needful, for thy service? _Reg._ Thou rash, imprudent girl! thou little know'st The dignity and weight of public cares. Who made a weak and inexperienc'd _woman_ The arbiter of Regulus's fate? _Lic._ For pity's sake, my Lord! _Reg._ Peace, peace, young man! Her silence better than thy language pleads. _That_ bears at least the semblance of repentance. Immortal Powers!----a daughter and a Roman! _At._ Because I _am_ a daughter, I presum'd---- _Lic._ Because I _am_ a Roman, I aspired T' oppose th' inhuman rigour of thy fate. _Reg._ No more, Licinius. How can he be call'd A Roman who would live in infamy? Or how can she be Regulus's daughter Whose coward mind wants fortitude and honour? Unhappy children! now you make me _feel_ The burden of my chains: your feeble souls Have made me know I am indeed a slave. [_Exit_ REGULUS. _At._ Tell me, Licinius, and, oh! tell me truly, If thou believ'st, in all the round of time, There ever breath'd a maid so truly wretched? To weep, to mourn a father's cruel fate-- To love him with soul-rending tenderness-- To know no peace by day or rest by night-- To bear a bleeding heart in this poor bosom, Which aches, and trembles but to think he suffers: This is my crime--in any other child 'Twould be a merit. _Lic._ Oh! my best Attilia, Do not repent thee of the pious deed: It was a virtuous error. _That_ in _us_ Is a just duty, which the god-like soul Of Regulus would think a shameful weakness. If the contempt of life in him be virtue, It were in us a crime to let him perish. Perhaps at last he may consent to live: He then will thank us for our cares to save him: Let not his anger fright thee. Though our love Offend him now, yet, when his mighty soul Is reconcil'd to life, he will not chide us. The sick man loathes, and with reluctance takes The remedy by which his health's restor'd. _At._ Licinius! his reproaches wound my soul. I cannot live and bear his indignation. _Lic._ Would my Attilia rather lose her father Than, by offending him, preserve his life? _At._ Ah! no. If he but live, I am contented. _Lic._ Yes, he shall live, and we again be bless'd; Then dry thy tears, and let those lovely orbs Beam with their wonted lustre on Licinius, Who lives but in the sunshine of thy smiles. [_Exit_ LICINIUS.