_At._ Yes--I will listen now with fond delight; For death and sorrow are my darling themes. Well!--what hast thou to say of death and sorrow? Believe me, thou wilt find me apt to listen, And, if my tongue be slow to answer thee, Instead of words I'll give thee sighs and tears. _Lic._ I come to dry thy tears, not make them flow; The gods once more propitious smile upon us, Joy shall again await each happy morn, And ever-new delight shall crown the day! Yes, Regulus shall live.---- _At._ Ah me! what say'st thou? Alas! I'm but a poor, weak, trembling woman-- I cannot bear these wild extremes of fate-- Then mock me not.--I think thou art Licinius, The generous lover, and the faithful friend! I think thou wouldst not sport with my afflictions. _Lic._ Mock thy afflictions?--May eternal Jove, And every power at whose dread shrine we worship, Blast all the hopes my fond ideas form, If I deceive thee! Regulus shall live, Shall live to give thee to Licinius' arms. Oh! we will smooth his downward path of life, And after a long length of virtuous years, At the last verge of honourable age, When nature's glimmering lamp goes gently out, We'll close, together close his eyes in peace-- Together drop the sweetly-painful tear-- Then copy out his virtues in our lives. _At._ And shall we be so blest? is't possible? Forgive me, my Licinius, if I doubt thee. Fate never gave such exquisite delight As flattering hope hath imag'd to thy soul. But how?----Explain this bounty of the gods. _Lic._ Thou know'st what influence the name of Tribune Gives its possessor o'er the people's minds: That power I have exerted, nor in vain; All are prepar'd to second my designs: The plot is ripe,--there's not a man but swears To keep thy god-like father here in Rome---- To save his life at hazard of his own. _At._ By what gradation does my joy ascend! I thought that if my father had been sav'd By any means, I had been rich in bliss: But that he lives, and lives preserv'd by thee, Is such a prodigality of fate, I cannot bear my joy with moderation: Heav'n should have dealt it with a scantier hand, And not have shower'd such plenteous blessings on me; They are too great, too flattering to be real; 'Tis some delightful vision, which enchants, And cheats my senses, weaken'd by misfortune. _Lic._ We'll seek thy father, and meanwhile, my fair, Compose thy sweet emotions ere thou see'st him, Pleasure itself is painful in excess; For joys, like sorrows, in extreme, oppress: The gods themselves our pious cares approve, And to reward our virtue crown our love. ACT V. _An Apartment in the Ambassador's Palace--Guards and other Attendants seen at a distance._