At the unexpected arrival of this venerable hero, the Romans expressed the wildest transports of joy, and would have submitted to almost any conditions to procure his enlargement; but Regulus, so far from availing himself of his influence with the Senate to obtain any personal advantages, employed it to induce them to reject proposals so evidently tending to dishonour their country, declaring his fixed resolution to return to bondage and death, rather than violate his oath. He at last extorted from them their consent; and departed amidst the tears of his family, the importunites of his friends, the applauses of the Senate, and the tumultuous opposition of the people; and, as a great poet of his own nation beautifully observes, "he embarked for Carthage as calm and unconcerned as if, on finishing the tedious law-suits of his clients, he was retiring to Venafrian fields, or the sweet country of Tarentum." * * * * * ==> This piece is, in many parts, a pretty close imitation of the _Attilio Regolo_ of Metastasio, but enlarged and extended into a tragedy of five acts. Historical truth has in general been followed, except in some less essential instances, particularly that of placing the return of Regulus to Rome posterior to the death of his wife. The writer herself never considered the plot as sufficiently bustling and dramatic for representation. PROLOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE REV. DR. LANGHORNE. Deep in the bosom of departed days, Where the first gems of human glory blaze; Where, crown'd with flowers, in wreaths immortal drest, The sacred shades of ancient virtue rest; With joy they search, who joy can feel, to find Some honest reason still to love mankind. There the fair foundress of the scene to-night Explores the paths that dignify delight; The regions of the mighty dead pervades; The Sibyl she that leads us to the shades. O may each blast of ruder breath forbear To waft her light leaves on the ruthless air, Since she, as heedless, strives not to maintain This tender offspring of her teeming brain! For this poor birth was no provision made, A flower that sprung and languish'd in the shade. On Avon's banks, forsaken and forlorn, This careless mother left her elder born; And though unlike what Avon hail'd of yore, Those giant sons that Shakspeare's banners bore, Yet may we yield this little offspring grace, And love the last and least of such a race. Shall the strong scenes, where senatorial Rome, Mourn'd o'er the rigour of her patriot's doom; Where melting Nature aw'd by Virtue's eye, Hid the big drop, and held the bursting sigh; Where all that majesty of soul can give, Truth, Honour, Pity, fair Affection live; Shall scenes like these, the glory of an age, Gleam from the press, nor triumph on the stage? Forbid it, Britons! and, as Romans brave, Like Romans boast one citizen to save. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.