Did they not own the virtue of my son,

And praise the name of Gracchus ?

Licin. They!-Alas!

Their proud blood bows to aught but virtue!—No!
The ambassadors were spurn'd! driven out with shame,
Sent back with scorn, as mere barbarians, who,
By showing their just preference of your son,
Slighted the Senate of its due respect.

Licinia. Unhappy Caius! thy conspicuous virtue, But marks thee out the victim of the Senate.

Cor. It marks him out the favourite of the gods!
Think'st thou, I rear'd my son to follow virtue,
Only for men's acclaim? It ill had fitted
The child of Scipio-and had never made me
The mother of the Gracchi !-Say, Licinius,
Knows Caius this?

[Aside to him.

Licin. [Aside to COR.] He does, from many hands. His friends are strong. The Senate cannot hide His worth from Rome. The people think of Caius, As their sole hope; and should he stand for Tribune, He must obtain the office.

Cor. What! and will

He stand for Tribune?-Wherefore do I ask?
Do I not know he will?

Licinia. What means that shout?

[Shouts, L.

Licin. Forgive me, sister, that I have concealed
The measures of his friends, who have advis'd him
To show himself at once in Rome. No doubt
"Tis Caius, and the people welcome him!

Licinia. 'Tis Caius! hear I right? "Tis he! my
Caius !

Enter CAIUS GRACCHUS and POMPONIUS, L.

C. Grac. My soul! we meet again!-My honour'd mother!

Cor. The mother is honour'd in her son, my Caius ! C. Grac. Licinius, friend and brother, I receiv'd Your letters, and I thank you for your care.

Licinia, thank the gods! we meet again.

How is our boy, love? How art thou thyself?

Let me look at thee !-Well, as my heart could wish.
Great Jove, to look on such a precious thing,
And call it mine! -You may smile, Marcus, but
There's such a thing, as loving one's wife.
Am I not with thee again?

Licinia !

Let him who thinks

The world is worth his home, exchange home for it

Not found one!

A little time, he'll find he has lost a world,

C. Grac. Admit him.

[Exit LUCIUS, L.

Mother, you'll give me leave.-Licinia!

I've many things to tell thee. Count these gems, love;
They were a gift to me for thee, "from hands
Do only know thee from thy husband's tongue,
Ne'er yet could speak the moiety of thy worth.”
Go with my mother, sweet; I have neglected
Some matters of high duty, just to snatch
This look of thee, and those must now be done,
Ere I can banquet longer.

Licinia. Caius, you'll

Be with us soon?

C. Grac. That soon's a feat of time,
With shortest flight, and swiftest expectation,
It cannot now perform.-Our haste shall own
No stop can be pushed by.

Licinia. Remember now!

[Exeunt CORNELIA and LICINIA, r.

C. Grac. Now for the Senate !

Enter a LICTOR, L.

Lictor. The Senate, Caius, cites you to appear Before the Censors.

C. Grac. Well!-Acquaint the Senate I shall obey.

[Exit LICTOR, L.

Pom. 'Twas rumour'd, ere you came, Opimius had return'd; on which account The Senate had been suddenly convok'd. C. Grac. I did expect as much.

me think!

Let me think! Let

Nothing done rashly- -nor yet timidly.

The mean 's discretion, back'd by sedate resolve-
I cannot do it! My blood's a point too warm!
To hear a man deal out morality,

Axiom upon axiom-for an hour dilate

Upon the value of an aphorism-
Amplify to o'er-running in the cause-
And then, at every allegation,

Invoke no less a witness than high Jove

Himself, and know him all the while to play

[Crosses to R.

The knave-great Hercules! it sets my veins
A-boiling!

Licin. Caius, you would need a rein
More firmly rul'd than this.

C. Grac. I know it-I know it,

As well as you-Hang them! I'll try and play
The cautious man for once. [Crosses to c.] 'Tis time

to choose

New Tribunes, is it not?
Pom. It is.

C. Grac. You see

I cannot be at home an hour, but they

Let loose the dogs upon me.-Come! to the Censors!
[Crosses to L.
Now will you see them hold their hands to the gods!
Behold my brother's blood upon those hands;
Yea, dripping from them, which was wip'd as cool
As it was water.-They believ'd I had
Forgot Tiberius's death!-Ay, while I heard
The Tiber talk of it in every murmur

Of its uneasy tide!

Licin. How do you mean

To act? Your plans?

C. Grac. How do I mean to act!

My plans!-Come with me to the Campus Martius.

[Exeunt, L.

SCENE III.-The Campus Martius.-L. U. E. the Portico of the Temple of Mars, under which the Chairs for the Censors are placed.

Enter TITUS and MARCUS, R. U. E.

Tit, So, Caius is return'd from the army? Marc. Ay! there's not an honest man in Rome but's glad of it.

Tit. Why gather the people to the Campus Martius ? Marc. Here are two Senators' gentlemen will inform you.

Enter two Servants, L.

Tit. Health to you, master.

Sextus. Health to you, master.

Tit. Can you tell us why the people gather this way? Sext. For the old reason, friend. We are all good' till we're tried.

Tit. Ay, indeed! What honest man has turn'd rogue to-day?

Sext. Many a one, I doubt; but chiefly he whom our good citizens believe the honestest in Rome.

Marc. Mean you your master, friend?

Sext. No: I mean the master of the people-the gentleman who feels for their empty stomachs, and gives them words to eat your Caius Gracchus, "who calls our tradesmen the nobility of Rome-and so indeed they are, if rags can make them so.

Murc. No bad evidence! You cannot wear the wool, without shearing the sheep. But," pray, what's the matter with Caius Gracchus ?

Sext. Only that he has returned from the army without his general's leave-nothing more-except a whisper or two about the tumult at Fregella. 'Tis said he

had a hand in it.

Marc. What's your opinion?

Sext. Believe me, it does not favour him.

Tit. What! you like the fare that the Patricians give?

Sext. What fare?

Tit. A good dinner. Caius, you say, feeds the people upon words.-A very natural preference! There's not a dog or an ass in Rome that would not be of your mind. [SEXTUS raises his staff. "Sext. Pray, which of the two may you be, friend? Marc. Why ask you?

Seat. O merely that, upon occasion, I may know whether I ought to take my foot or my staff to you. No offence, hope. I have all the respect in the world for you, believe me.

Tit. You have the worst of it. Let me take him in hand. Hark you, master; a word with you.

Sext. Your pleasure, master?

Tit. How comes your cloak to have that gloss upon it?

Sext. Not by partaking of your grease, friend.

Tit. My grease! Why, man, there's as much fat in a tanned hide as in all my body! The Patricians have sweated me to very leanness; and left me nothing to recruit withal, but hunger and nakedness.

Sext. They are right. They find that their cattle grow restive with abundance of provender. Tit. But they feed their curs, friend.

Sext. Whom do you call a cur?"

Tit. Down with your staff, master, for I have another that may ruffle the gloss of your cloak for you. What! has any thing surprised you? Do you wonder that the order which wins your battles in the field, should refuse your blows in the city? You despise us when you have no need of us; but, if an ounce of power or peculation is to be gained through our means, O! then you put on your sweet looks, and, bowing to the very belts of our greasy jackets, you exclaim, "Fair gentlemen!-kind fellow-citizens!-loving comrades! sweet, worthy, gentle Romans !-grant us your voices!" Or, if the enemy is to be opposed-O! then we are "men of mettle !-heroes!-(poor starved devils!)— "the defenders of our country !"-(that is, your cattle, as you call us)-and so indeed we are. We bear your Patricians on our backs to victory!-we carry them proudly through the ranks of the barbarians! They come off safe-we get the knocks, the pricks, and the scratches. They obtain crowns and triumphs-we cannot obtain a dinner! "They get their actions recorded-we get our's forgotten!" They receive new names and titles-we return to our old ones with which you honour us:-" the rabble !-the herd!-the cattle! -the vermin!-the scum of Rome!"

"Sext. Pray, friend, will you look at this staff of mine?

Tit. I look at it, friend.

Sext. Is it not a staff, friend?

Tit. Yes, if a staff is a staff, friend.

Sext. If I am weary, it enables me to rest myself; if I am lame, it helps me to walk; if I quarrel, it knocks down my adversary;-and, yet, is it not always a staff, friend?

Marc. You have the worst of it. Let me attack him. Hark you, master. Does your staff ever knock its owner on the pate?

Sext. How do you mean?

Marc. Why, thus.

Sext. Do you want to quarrel?

[Strikes him."

"Marc. O, by no means. I only wanted to show you the difference between a staff and a man, friend."

Tit. Turn on him "again." I'll second you, and

here is a troop of friends at hand.

Quint. Bear with him no longer. Hither comes a band of our comrades. I'll beckon them to make haste.

C