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Let me but know you, man, from your own lips.
'Tis all I want to know you are a traitor...

Drusus. A traitor!

C. Gracc. Ay!

Drusus. To whom?

C. Gracc. To the poor people!

The houseless citizens, that sleep at nights
Before the portals, and that stare by day.
Under the noses of the Senators!

Thou art their magistrate, their friend, their father.

Dost thou betray them? Hast thou sold them? Wilt thou
Juggle them out of the few friends they have left ?
Drusus. If 'twill content you, Caius, I am one

Who loves alike the Senate and the people.
I am the friend of both.

C. Gracc. The friend of neither-*

The Senate's tool!-a traitor to the people!
A man that seems to side with neither party;
Will now bend this way, and then make it up,
By leaning a little to the other side:

Talk

moderation-patience-with one foot
Step out, and with the other back again—
With one eye, glance his pity on the crowd,
And with the other, crouch to the nobility;
At any public grievance raise his voice,
And like a harmless tempest, calm away;
Idle, and noted only for his noise.

Such men are the best instruments of tyranny.
The simple slave is easily avoided

By his external badge; your order wears
The infamy within!

Drusus. I'll leave you, Caius,

And hope your breast will harbour better councils.
Grudge you the Senate's kindness to the people?
'Tis well-whoe'er serves them shows love to me!

[Exit. The people following, with shouts.

C. Gracc. Go! I have till'd a waste; and, with my sweat,
Brought hope of fruitage forth the superficial

And heartless soil cannot sustain the shoot:

The first harsh wind that sweeps it, leaves it bare!

Fool that I was to till it! Let them go!

I lov❜d them and I serv'd them!-Let them go.'

The introduction of the child in the scene where Caius is about to go forth armed to that conflict in which he lost his life is striking, but savours somewhat of trick:

'C. Gracc. (Aside to him.) Take her from about
My neck.

Licinia. I hear you, Caius !-There!-Myself
Will do that kindness for thee. Thou art free
To go.-Stay, husband! Give me, from about
Thy neck, that collar which thou wear'st, to keep it
As thy last gift.

C. Gracc. Here, my Licinia.

Licinia. What!

Nothing about me I can give thee in

Exchange for't?-()! I have a token yet,

That hath the virtue of an amulet

To him believes in't One thing, I do know,
Steel, at its sight, hath all as harmless turn'd
As point of down, that cannot stand against.
The tenderest breath. Swear, only, thou wilt stay
Until I fetch it.

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C. Gracc. Bring it, love!
Licinius. Now, Caius !..

[Exit Licinia hurriedly.]

Now is your time! Wait not till she returns.
C. Gracc. I've promised her.

Licinius. And if you promis'd her

To pluck an eye out, would you think it kinder
To do't, than leave't undone? Away, at once l
The cause!-the cause 1

Licinia rushes out with her Child.

Licinia. Thy boy, my Caius!

C. Gracc. Ha!

Licinia. Nay, if thou look'st that way upon thy child,
I'm satisfied there is no hope for me!

C. Gracc. Why, was this kind?

Licinia. I do not know that word.

It stands for nothing-worse! "Tis found the thing
It says it is not. Husbands are call'd kind,
That break the foolish hearts are knit to them-
And fathers kind, who their own children do
Make orphans of and brothers kind, who play
The parts of bloodless strangers and friends, too,
Whose actions find them foes. More kind are foes
That are not kind, but do not say they are!
C. Gracc. Take the child, wife.

Licinia. I will.

C. Gracc. Why dost thou kneel ?

Licinia. To beg a blessing for him of the gods,
Since thou dost turn him from thee, asking it
Of thee.

C. Gracc. The gods be more to him, Licinia,

Than thou wouldst have me be. Licinia! Ha!

That look.

Licinius. Come! Come!

C. Gracc. She rivets me!

Licinius. Do you hear?

Trumpets.

C. Gracc. Tear me away!-More blessings light on you

Than I feel pangs who curse the things I'd bless!'

We fear this tragedy will hardly add another leaf to Mr. Knowles's stage laurels.

PORTUGAL'S LAST REVOLUTION.

BY THOMAS FURLONG.

For those who have fought and died
On the carcass-cover'd plain-

For those who have sunk in their strength and pride

'Midst the slayers and the slain

For those who have dar'd to be free

When the tyrant stretch'd his chain

Who have worshipp'd the young light of liberty,
Tho' for them it dawn'd in vain-

For those who have watch'd the hour

That saw Freedom's flag unfurl'd

Who have met in their might the low minions of pow'r,
And sunk in the sight of a world-

For the few who thus have toil'd and bled,
Thrice hallow'd is ev'ry tear that we shed.

But who shall weep for the slave,

Whose heart in peace hath fail'd him!

Who hath baffled the hopes of the high and the brave, And yielded when none assail'd him?

Who is there shall shed a tear

For the cold and craven-hearted-
Who saw right after right still disappear,
And was calm when the last departed?-
Who beheld Oppression crown'd

Without one redeeming endeavour

Who hugg'd the dark fetters that girt him round,
And stood stamp'd' a wretch' for ever?—

Oh! who shall in grief or in pity deign

To waste one sigh on a soul so mean?

Nay! grief is a sacred thing;

Let it mark not the dastard or knave:

Round the martyr of freedom in life let it cling,
And in death distinguish his grave :

But a passing pang will have way

For that chance which hath made mankind A mere mass for each tyrant chief to slay,. And each canting priest to blind.

Dark land of the orange and vine!

The last curse of the lost is on thee.
Thy name was of late as a spell and a sign-
Thou art now but the scorn of the free;
And no fame that comes with a future day
Shall wipe the foul stain of thy guilt away.

471

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