Silence, thou hound, ere I forget myself And murder thee! Thine answer, Appius? Appius. Lictor, part thou the twain. Icilius. Thou canst not, lictor! In common manhood and as her betrothed, Thus do I hold to her against the world. Appius. Then, lictor, strike! Virginia. Now, intervene, ye gods![43] Icilius, my love! Oh! men of Rome, Have ye indeed forgot Lucretia?

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[Swaying of the multitude. Appius Claudius rises in his car.

Appius. Be prudent, ye who do desire to see Full justice. We must hark to every plea, And will to-morrow judge the case. Till then, Thou, Marcus, guard the maiden, since the man Virginius is absent from the town.

[A hissing protest from the multitude and a cry from Virginia follows this announcement. Icilius faces the Chief Decemvir with blazing eyes, and draws Virginia closer.

Icilius. Over my body only shall yon hound Of Hell seize on her. I am yet a man With strength to shield or life to sacrifice For that which is mine own. Sleep 'neath his roof? I'd sooner see her cold upon her bier, Or bound upon the wheel of Ixion, Enduring tortures of the damned themselves! With him? I'd rather cast her to a wolf, Who, merciful, would tear her into shreds And leave her pure, or o'er Tarpeia's Rock, And with mine eyes behold her perfect form Shattered upon the kindly stones below, Ere Marcus Claudius lay hands on her. Marius. Ay, he is right; the maiden yet is free. The charge hath not been proven, Appius! Appius. So be it. We will acquiesce thus far, But lictors must be stationed as a guard About the house wherein she spends the night, Lest she escape and law be unfulfilled. Cor. (coming forward). I will go thither and attend this night[44] Upon her. Thou, Tiberius, return Home with the slaves. To-morrow meet me here. Slave. Lady, thy lips are white and thou art ill. See, thou dost tremble. Cor. Woman, what of that? How canst thou weigh my pallor with her pain— The anguish in her eyes? What though I shake As with an ague? She herself is turned To stone with horror deeper than mine own. A living sorrow doth exceed a dead; Death to dishonor seemeth merciful. Her blow is heavy with the weight of dread, Mine light with hope. Did she not succor me? How can I fail her in her time of need? Appius. Lictors, take into custody yon man. Lest he do mischief. Icilius. By the almighty gods! Unhand me! I will kill thee, as a man Would kill a beast. Ah! foulest trick to seize Upon me from the rear. Oh, God! Oh, God!

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