_At._ O have patience with me. And can ungrateful _Rome_ so soon forget? Can those who breathe the air _he_ breath'd forget The great, the godlike virtues of my father? There's not a part of Rome but speaks his praise. The _streets_--through them the _hero_ pass'd triumphant: The _Forum_--there the _Legislator_ plann'd The wisest, purest laws:--_the Senate House_-- There spoke the _patriot Roman_--there his voice Secur'd the public safety: Manlius, yes; The wisdom of his councils match'd his valour. Enter the _Temples_--mount the _Capitol_-- And tell me, Manlius, to what hand but _his_ They owe their trophies, and their ornaments. Their foreign banners, and their boasted ensigns, Tarentine, Punic, and Sicilian spoils? Nay, e'en those lictors who precede thy steps, This Consul's purple which invests thy limbs, All, all were Regulus's, were my father's. And yet this hero, this exalted patriot, This man of virtue, this immortal Roman, In base requital for his services, Is left to linger out a life in chains, No honours paid him but a daughter's tears. O Rome! O Regulus! O thankless citizens! _Man._ Just are thy tears:--thy father well deserves them; But know thy censure is unjust, Attilia. The fate of Regulus is felt by all: We know and mourn the cruel woes he suffers From barbarous Carthage. _At._ Manlius, you mistake; Alas! it is not Carthage which is barbarous; 'Tis Rome, ungrateful Rome, is the barbarian; Carthage but punishes a foe profess'd, But Rome betrays her hero and her father: Carthage remembers how he slew her sons, But Rome forgets the blood he shed for _her_: Carthage revenges an acknowledged foe, But Rome, with basest perfidy, rewards The glorious hand that bound her brow with laurels. Which now is the barbarian, Rome or Carthage? _Man._ What can be done? _At._ A woman shall inform you. Convene the senate; let them strait propose A ransom, or exchange for Regulus, To Africa's ambassador. Do this, And heaven's best blessings crown your days with peace. _Man._ Thou speakest like a _daughter_, I, Attilia, Must as a _Consul_ act; I must consult The good of Rome, and with her good, her glory. Would it not tarnish her unspotted fame, To sue to Carthage on the terms thou wishest? _At._ Ah! rather own thou'rt still my father's foe. _Man._ Ungen'rous maid! no fault of mine concurr'd To his destruction. 'Twas the chance of war. Farewell! ere this the senate is assembled---- My presence is requir'd.----Speak to the fathers, And try to soften _their_ austerity; _My_ rigour they may render vain, for know, I am Rome's _Consul_, not her _King_, Attilia. [_Exit_ MANLIUS _with the lictors, &c._