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.

At. (alone.) This flattering hope, alas! has prov'd abortive.
One Consul is our foe, the other absent.
What shall the sad Attilia next attempt?
Suppose I crave assistance from the people!
Ah! my unhappy father, on what hazards,
What strange vicissitudes, what various turns,
Thy life, thy liberty, thy all depends!

  Enter Barce (in haste).

Barce. Ah, my Attilia!

At. Whence this eager haste?

Barce. Th' ambassador of Carthage is arriv'd.

At. And why does that excite such wondrous transport?

Barce. I bring another cause of greater still.

At. Name it, my Barce.

Barce. Regulus comes with him.

At. My father! can it be?

Barce. Thy father——Regulus.

At. Thou art deceiv'd, or thou deceiv'st thy friend.

Barce. Indeed I saw him not, but every tongue
Speaks the glad tidings.

  Enter Publius.

At. See where Publius comes.

Pub. My sister, I'm transported! Oh, Attilia,
He's here, our father——Regulus is come!

At. I thank you, gods: O my full heart! where is he?
Hasten, my brother, lead, O lead me to him.

Pub. It is too soon: restrain thy fond impatience.
With Africa's ambassador he waits,
Until th' assembled senate give him audience.

At. Where was he Publius when thou saw'st him first?

Pub. You know, in quality of Roman quæstor,
My duty 'tis to find a fit abode
For all ambassadors of foreign states.
Hearing the Carthaginian was arriv'd,
I hasten'd to the port, when, O just gods!
No foreigner, no foe, no African
Salutes my eye, but Regulus——my father!

At. Oh mighty joy! too exquisite delight!
What said the hero? tell me, tell me all,
And ease my anxious breast.

Pub. Ere I arriv'd,
My father stood already on the shore,
Fixing his eyes with anxious eagerness,
As straining to descry the Capitol.
I saw, and flew with transport to embrace him,
Pronounc'd with wildest joy the name of father—
With reverence seiz'd his venerable hand,
And would have kiss'd it; when the awful hero,
With that stern grandeur which made Carthage tremble,
Drew back—stood all collected in himself,
And said austerely, Know, thou rash young man,
That slaves in Rome have not the rights of fathers.
Then ask'd, if yet the senate was assembled,
And where? which having heard, without indulging
The fond effusions of his soul, or mine,
He suddenly retir'd. I flew with speed
To find the Consul, but as yet success
Attends not my pursuit. Direct me to him.

Barce. Publius, you'll find him in Bellona's temple.

At. Then Regulus returns to Rome a slave!

Pub. Yes, but be comforted; I know he brings
Proposals for a peace; his will's his fate.

At. Rome may, perhaps, refuse to treat of peace.

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.