diers, by whom I was fondly beloved, would have
secured their fidelity, and consequently would have forced the Senate and
people to yield to my inclination. Berenice knew this, and with tears
implored me not to sacrifice her happiness and my own to an unjust
prepossession. Shall I own it to you, Publius? My heart not only pitied
her, but acknowledged the truth and solidity of her reasons. Yet so much
did I abhor the idea of tyranny, so much respect did I pay to the
sentiments of my subjects, that I determined to separate myself from her
for ever, rather than force either the laws or the prejudices of Rome to
submit to my will.

_Scipio_.--Give me thy hand, noble Titus. Thou wast worthy of the
empire, and Scipio Africanus honours thy virtue.

_Titus_.--My virtue can have no greater reward from the approbation of
man. But, O Scipio, think what anguish my heart must have felt when I
took that resolution, and when I communicated it to my dear, my unhappy
Berenice. You saw the struggle of Masinissa, when you forced him to give
up his beloved Sophonisba. Mine was a harder conflict. She had
abandoned him to marry the King of Numidia. He knew that her ruling
passion was ambition, not love. He could not rationally esteem her when
she quitted a husband whom she had ruined, who had lost his crown and his
liberty in the cause of her country and for her sake, to give her person
to him, the capital foe of that unfortunate husband. He must, in spite
of his passion, have thought her a perfidious, a detestable woman. But I
esteemed Berenice; she deserved my esteem. I was certain she would not
have accepted the empire from any other hand; and had I been a private
man she would have raised me to her throne. Yet I had the fortitude--I
ought, perhaps, to say the hardness of heart--to bid her depart from my
sight; depart for ever! What, O Publius, was your conquest over
yourself, in giving back to her betrothed lover the Celtiberian captive
compared to this? Indeed, that was no conquest. I will not so dishonour
the virtue of Scipio as to think he could feel any struggle with himself
on that account. A woman engaged to another--engaged by affection as
well as vows, let her have been ever so beautiful--could raise in your
heart no sentiments but compassion and friendship. To have violated her
would have been an act of brutality, which none but another Tarquin could
have committed. To have detained her from her husband woul