[Exeunt. Scene II—A Street in Rome. Scene II—A Street in Rome. Enter Marius and Horatius, two patricians. Marius. He dared! he dared! he dared! Horatius. And will dare more, Until Rome wakens from her lethargy And is herself again. Marius. Till then we wait, Enduring insult, tyranny, from him, The common enemy of nobleman And pleb. Horatius. Alas! once was he common friend To both—our lawgiver; what changed him so? Marius. A worm of pride that gnawed into his heart, A blast of fiery desert wind that dried, Withered and seared his noble disposition.[6] To-day he is a monster, where he was But yesterday a leader and a god. Horatius. He angered the patricians by his show Of democratic policy; the plebs By barring intermarriage 'twixt the two Opposing classes! And will dare more, Till then we wait, [6] [Enter Virginius and Icilius. Virginius. Blessings, health to you! Good wishes of a Roman unto Romans. Horatius (bitterly). Say rather, helpless, sullen, brooding curs! We are no more—methinks thou art no more; Nor even thou, Icilius, our tribune. There are no free, courageous sons of Rome, But victims only, cowed beneath the lash Of the Decemvirs—curses on their heads! Virginius. Methinks I'm not the dog that thou hast said, For 'tis my part and wish to play the man. The name of Appius I do despise, And only bide my time to bury it Deep in the soil, along with him who bears Its weight. Although I will not fling myself Upon the altar of Unreason as A bootless sacrifice, yet am I still Nor dog, nor worm, but one who waits and prays, Nor prays alone, but puzzles out his plan Of action. No, nor plans alone, but strives; And striving, must achieve, unless the hand Of sudden Death come in to tear the web. Friends, we are hard pressed and we pant in pain, Yet tyrants, howsoever strong, are still Weaker than Justice and are shorter-lived Than Liberty, the queen whom Justice serves.[7] Because our wrongs are heavy must we brood, And chafe, and curse our stars and Appius? What war was ever closed successfully With sullen warriors and men untrained, Unready or undone by foul Despair? Icilius. Thou hast inspired me and curbed my wrath, Which held in it no reason, all unbound, Ready to leap a lion on its prey. Ay,
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