_Pub._ Yes, Barce, It is determin'd. Regulus must go. _At._ Immortal Powers!--What say'st thou? _Barce._ Can it be? Thou canst not mean it. _At._ Then you've all betray'd me. _Pub._ Thy grief avails not. _Enter_ HAMILCAR _and_ LICINIUS. _Barce._ Pity us, Hamilcar! _At._ Oh, help, Licinius, help the lost Attilia! _Ham._ My Barce! there's no hope. _Lic._ Ah! my fair mourner, All's lost. _At._ What all, Licinius? said'st thou all? Not one poor glimpse of comfort left behind? Tell me, at least, where Regulus is gone: The daughter shall partake the father's chains, And share the woes she knew not to prevent. [_Going._ _Pub._ What would thy wild despair? Attilia, stay, Thou must not follow; this excess of grief Would much offend him. _At._ Dost thou hope to stop me? _Pub._ I hope thou wilt resume thy better self, And recollect thy father will not bear---- _At._ I only recollect I am a _daughter_, A poor, defenceless, helpless, wretched daughter! Away----and let me follow. _Pub._ No, my sister. _At._ Detain me not--Ah! while thou hold'st me here, He goes, and I shall never see him more. _Barce._ My friend, be comforted, he cannot go Whilst here Hamilcar stays. _At._ O Barce, Barce! Who will advise, who comfort, who assist me? Hamilcar, pity me.--Thou wilt not answer? _Ham._ Rage and astonishment divide my soul. _At._ Licinius, wilt thou not relieve my sorrows? _Lic._ Yes, at my life's expense, my heart's best treasure, Wouldst thou instruct me how. _At._ My brother, too---- Ah! look with mercy on thy sister's woes! _Pub._ I will at least instruct thee how to _bear_ them. My sister--yield thee to thy adverse fate; Think of thy father, think of Regulus; Has he not taught thee how to brave misfortune? 'Tis but by following his illustrious steps Thou e'er canst merit to be call'd his daughter. _At._ And is it thus thou dost advise thy sister? Are these, ye gods, the feelings of a son? Indifference here becomes impiety-- Thy savage heart ne'er felt the dear delights Of filial tenderness--the thousand joys That flow from blessing and from being bless'd! No--didst thou love thy father as _I_ love him, Our kindred souls would be in unison; And all my sighs be echoed back by thine. Thou wouldst--alas!--I know not what I say.-- Forgive me, Publius,--but indeed, my brother, I do not understand this cruel coldness. _Ham._ Thou may'st not--but I understand it well. His mighty soul, full as to thee it seems Of Rome, and glory--is enamour'd--caught-- Enraptur'd with the beauties of fair Barce.-- _She_ stays behind if Regulus _departs_. Behold the cause of all the well-feign'd virtue Of this mock patriot--curst dissimulation!