« 이전계속 »
Tit. The axe ! - Oh, heaven !- Then must I fall so basely? What, shall I perish like a common felon?
Bru. How else do traitors suffer? — Nay, Titus, more-
Tit. Die like a felon? - Ha! a common felon ! -
- yet here I fail This ignominy quite unmans me ! Oh, Brutus, Brutus ! Must I call you father,
Bru. Think that I love thee by my present passion,
Bru. Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods
Tit. Oh, Brutus! Oh, my father ! -
Tit. Wilt thou forgive me?
Bru. Leave her to my care.
[Re-ascends the Tribunal. Lictors, attend !- conduct your pris'ner forth !
Bru. To death !— When you do reach the spot,
Then let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done! [Titus is conducted out by the Lictors. BRUTUS remains seated in a
melancholy posture on the tribunal.]
And I am childless. — One effort, and 't is past ! [He rises and waves his hand, then drops into his seat, and shrouds
his face with his toga. Three sounds of the trumpet are heard
The following scene in the Third Act was omitted after the first
representation in compliance with the wishes of the many who thought it injurious to the general effect of the play. As there was some difference of opinion upon this point, the scene is here inserted as it originally stood. LUCRETIA is supposed to be surrounded by her relations COLLATINUS and LUCRETIUS by her side her hair dishevelled, wild in her attire, and all the other characters in attitudes of deep grief.
Luc. Bear witness, then, Lucretia's mind is guiltless Yet never can Lucretia smile again ! Lost to herself, her husband, and her child, Lost to the world, her country, and her friends, The arms of love can pillow her no more, And the sweet smile of her dear innocent babe Would but awaken her to deeper anguish! And shall she live, bereft of all life's treasures, The spectre of the past forever rising To fright her into madness? Think not, countrymen, Indignant virtue can survive pollution ! By her own hand a Roman wife can fall. [Stabs herself. 'Tis to the heart ! Tarquin, the blow was thine ! [Falls.
Col. Beloved, unhappy wife! What hast thou done?
Luc. A deed of glory. Now, my husband, now
wife! Let me be rooted here in endless sorrow Who, who shall dare to mourn her loss like me?
Bru. I dare, and so dare every honest Roman.