Barce. Can it be? Thou canst not mean it.

Can it be?

At. Then you've all betray'd me.

Then you've all betray'd me.

Pub. Thy grief avails not.

Hamilcar

Licinius

Barce. Pity us, Hamilcar!

Pity us, Hamilcar!

At. Oh, help, Licinius, help the lost Attilia!

Ham. My Barce! there's no hope.

Lic. Ah! my fair mourner, All's lost.

Ah! my fair mourner,

At. What all, Licinius? said'st thou all? Not one poor glimpse of comfort left behind? Tell me, at least, where Regulus is gone: The daughter shall partake the father's chains, And share the woes she knew not to prevent.

What all, Licinius? said'st thou all?

Pub. What would thy wild despair? Attilia, stay, Thou must not follow; this excess of grief Would much offend him.

At. Dost thou hope to stop me?

Dost thou hope to stop me?

Pub. I hope thou wilt resume thy better self, And recollect thy father will not bear——

——

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