_Pub._ Didst thou behold the universal joy At his return, thou wouldst not doubt success. There's not a tongue in Rome but, wild with transport, Proclaims aloud that Regulus is come; The streets are filled with thronging multitudes, Pressing with eager gaze to catch a look. The happy man who can descry him first, Points him to his next neighbour, he to his; Then what a thunder of applause goes round; What music to the ear of filial love! Attilia! not a Roman eye was seen, But shed pure tears of exquisite delight. Judge of my feelings by thy own, my sister. By the large measure of thy fond affection, Judge mine. _At._ Where is Licinius? find him out; My joy is incomplete till he partakes it. When doubts and fears have rent my anxious heart, In all my woes he kindly bore a part: Felt all my sorrows with a soul sincere, Sigh'd as I sigh'd, and number'd tear for tear: Now favouring heav'n my ardent vows has blest, He shall divide the transports of my breast. [_Exit_ ATTILIA. _Pub._ Barce, adieu! _Barce._ Publius, a moment hear me. Know'st thou the name of Africa's ambassador? _Pub._ Hamilcar. _Barce._ Son of Hanno? _Pub._ Yes! the same. _Barce._ Ah me! Hamilcar!--How shall I support it! [_Aside._ _Pub._ Ah, charming maid! the blood forsakes thy cheek: Is he the rival of thy Publius? speak, And tell me all the rigour of my fate. _Barce._ Hear me, my Lord. Since I have been thy slave, Thy goodness, and the friendship of Attilia, Have soften'd all the horrors of my fate. Till now I have not felt the weight of bondage. Till now--ah, Publius!--think me not ungrateful, I would not wrong thee--I will be sincere-- I will expose the weakness of my soul. Know then, my Lord--how shall I tell thee all? _Pub._ Stop, cruel maid, nor wound thy Publius more; I dread the fatal frankness of thy words: Spare me the pain of knowing I am scorn'd; And if thy heart's devoted to another, Yet do not tell it me; in tender pity Do not, my fair, dissolve the fond illusion, The dear delightful visions I have form'd Of future joy, and fond exhaustless love. [_Exit_ PUBLIUS. _Barce._ (_alone._) And shall I see him then, see my Hamilcar, Pride of my soul, and lord of all my wishes? The only man in all our burning Afric Who ever taught my bosom how to love! Down, foolish heart! be calm, my busy thoughts! If at his name I feel these strange emotions, How shall I see, how meet my conqueror? O let not those presume to judge of joy Who ne'er have felt the pangs which absence gives. Such tender transport those alone can prove, Who long, like me, have known disastrous love; The tears that fell, the sighs that once were paid, Like grateful incense on his altar laid; The lambent flame rekindle, not destroy, And woes remember'd heighten present joy. [_Exit._ ACT II.