_Reg._ Hold; I have been patient with thee; have indulg'd Too much the fond affections of thy soul; It is enough; thy grief would now offend Thy father's honour; do not let thy tears Conspire with Rome to rob me of my triumph. _At._ Alas! it wounds my soul. _Reg._ I know it does. I know 'twill grieve thy gentle heart to lose me; But think, thou mak'st the sacrifice to Rome, And all is well again. _At._ Alas! my father, In aught beside---- _Reg._ What wouldst thou do, my child? Canst thou direct the destiny of Rome, And boldly plead amid the assembled senate? Canst thou, forgetting all thy sex's softness, Fiercely engage in hardy deeds of arms? Canst thou encounter labour, toil and famine, Fatigue and hardships, watchings, cold and heat? Canst thou attempt to serve thy country thus? Thou canst not:--but thou may'st sustain my loss Without these agonising pains of grief, And set a bright example of submission, Worthy a Roman's daughter. _At._ Yet such fortitude-- _Reg._ Is a most painful virtue;--but Attilia Is Regulus's daughter, and must have it. _At._ I will entreat the gods to give it me. Ah! thou art offended! I have lost thy love. _Reg._ Is this concern a mark that thou hast lost it? I cannot, cannot spurn my weeping child. Receive this proof of my paternal fondness;-- Thou lov'st Licinius--he too loves my daughter. I give thee to his wishes; I do more-- I give thee to his virtues.--Yes, Attilia, The noble youth deserves this dearest pledge Thy father's friendship ever can bestow. _At._ My lord! my father! wilt thou, canst thou leave me? The tender father will not quit his child! _Reg._ I am, I am thy father! as a proof, I leave thee my example how to suffer. My child! I have a heart within this bosom; That heart has passions--see in what we differ; Passion--which is thy tyrant--is my slave. _At._ Ah! stay my father. Ah!-- _Reg._ Farewell! farewell! [_Exit._ _At._ Yes, Regulus! I feel thy spirit here, Thy mighty spirit struggling in this breast, And it shall conquer all these coward feelings, It shall subdue the woman in my soul; A Roman virgin should be something more-- Should dare above her sex's narrow limits-- And I will dare--and mis'ry shall assist me-- My father! I will be indeed thy daughter! The hero shall no more disdain his child; Attilia shall not be the only branch That yields dishonour to the parent tree. _Enter_ BARCE. _Barce._ Attilia! is it true that Regulus, In spite of senate, people, augurs, friends, And children, will depart? _At._ Yes, it is true. _Barce._ Oh! what romantic madness! _At._ You forget-- Barce! the deeds of heroes claim respect.