“May swerve, and prove a foe!”—
Yet, I’ve a lure that shall ensnare that chief:
My daughter’s hand! but, if she should refuse,
Then were my purpose baffled, or destroy’d.
Is it not strange, a flinty heart like mine,
Should stagger thus, when thinking of a daughter?
Flavia! whose fondest love to young Aurelius,
Now sojourning at Rome, hath long been pledg’d!
Yet, what of that? shall she, a whining girl,
Oppose a father’s and a monarch’s will?