_Enter_ Porsenna.
Porsenna.
Our secretary!
_Enter_ Secretary.
Secretary.
My lord.
Porsenna.
Command lights and torches in our tent,
[_Enter_ Soldiers _with Torches_.]
And let a guard engirt our safety round,
Whilst we debate of military business.
Come, sit and let’s consult.
_Enter_ Scevola, _disguised_.
Scevola.
[_Aside_.] Horatius famous for defending Rome,
But we ha’ done nought worthy Scevola,
Nor of a Roman: I in this disguise
Have passed the army and the puissant guard
Of King Porsenna: this should be his tent;
And in good time, now fate direct my strength
Against a king, to free great Rome at length.
[_Stabs the_ Secretary _in mistake for_ Porsenna.
Secretary.
Oh, I am slain! treason, treason!
Porsenna.
Villain, what hast thou done?
Scevola.
Why, slain the king.
Porsenna.
What king?
Scevola.
Porsenna.
Porsenna.
Porsenna lives to see thee torturèd,
With plagues more devilish than the pains of hell.
Scevola.
O too rash Mutius, hast thou missed thy aim!
And thou, base hand, that didst direct my poniard
Against a peasant’s breast, behold, thy error
Thus I will punish: I will give thee freely
Unto the fire, nor will I wear a limb
That with such rashness shall offend his lord.
[_Thrusts his hand into the fire_.
Porsenna.
What will the madman do?
Scevola.
Porsenna, so,--
Punish my hand thus, for not killing thee.
Three hundred noble lads beside myself
Have vowed to all the gods that patron Rome
Thy ruin for supporting tyranny;
And, though I fail, expect yet every hour
When some strange fate thy fortunes will devour.
Porsenna.
Stay, Roman; we admire thy constancy,
And scorn of fortune. Go, return to Rome,--
We give thee life,--and say, the King Porsenna,
Whose life thou seek’st, is in this honourable.
Pass freely; guard him to the walls of Rome;
And, were we not so much engaged to Tarquin,
We would not lift a hand against that nation
That breeds such noble spirits.
Scevola.
Well, I go,
And for revenge take life even of my foe. [_Exit_.
Porsenna.
Conduct him safely. What, three hundred gallants
Sworn to our death, and all resolved like him!
We must be provident: to-morrow’s fortunes
We’ll prove for Tarquin; if they fail our hopes,
Peace shall be made with Rome. But first our secretary
Shall have his rites of funeral; then our shield
We must address next for to-morrow’s field. [_Exit_.