Horace, a French tragedy of Monsieur Corneille Englished by Charles Cotton, esq.

HORACE.

Actus Primus.

Scena Prima.

Sabina. Iulia.

Sabina.

APprove my frailty, and permit my care, In such mishaps as these, too just they are; When threatning dangers do impend so near, The truest Courage is allow'd to fear. Nor can a spirit masculine, and brave, As noblest Hero's would pretend to have, In such a torrent of calamities, Practise its vertue without some surprize. Though mine by these Alarms be shook, those fears Oppress my heart, prevail not with my tears: But whilst my sorrows importune the skies, My resolution governs in mine eyes. When there we stop the souls afflictions, then We more than women do, if less than men; To check our tears at such a time is proof In our weak Sex of Fortitude enough.

Iulia.

It is, and more than common souls can do, Who from vain trifles, prophesie their woe▪ But a great heart disdains a fear so base, And dares to hope in the most desp'rate case. Before our walls both Camps embattel'd are: But Rome yet knows not the mischance of War; Far then from doubt, we should applaud her might,

Rome steps to greatness when she goes to fight. Then from your bosom banish fears so vain, To nourish thoughts worthy a Roman's name.

Sabina.

Since my Lord's Roman, I am so, alas! Hymen has made me Rome's concerns embrace: But 'twere to captivate my soul, should he Make me renounce my Countrey's memory. Alba, where first my infant breath I drew, Alba my Country, and my first Love too, When War 'twixt us, and thee proclaim'd I hear Alike I victory, and ruine fear; And Rome if this thou Treason call, create Thy self such foes, as I may justly hate. When from thy prospect two great Camps appear, Three Brothers there engag'd, a Husband here; Can I divide my wishes then, and be Thy votress, Rome, without impiety? I know that in this non-age of thy State, Thou must by conqu'ring Arms, secure its height▪ I know 'twill rise, and that the Destinies A nobler scope for thy command, than this Of Latium points thee: That by fates decree The world's vast Empire is entail'd on thee, And that thou canst not, but by War advance Thy Title to this great Inheritance. Far from opposing then that generous fire, That, Fate obeying, strives to make thee higher, I now could wish, thy daring Troops to see Crown'd with a Pyrrhenean victory. Send out to furthest East those Bands of thine, And with Pavillions spread the Banks of Rhine; Go on till with invading steps thou make Th'▪ Herculean Pillars at thy Marches shake: But Alba spare for Romulus his sake. Ingrate! remember to her Kings that thou, Thy Name, thy Walls, and thy first Laws dost owe: Alba's thy Parent, let that stay thy hand, E're in thy Mothers Womb, thou sheath thy brand.

Elsewhere thy still victorious Arms translate, Shee'l smile to see her Off-spring fortunate, And ravish'd with a fond maternal care, Shee'l pray for thee, if thou bee'st just to her.

Iulia.

This strange discourse surprizes me, and that The more to see you now so passionate, Who when this War broke out, and ever since Have born your self with that indifference, As you had been Rome's daughter, and ally'd Unto no interest in the world beside. I then admir'd your vertue that could bow Your dearest interests to your Husbands so, And form'd my comforts to you in your moan, As if your tears had been for Rome alone.

Sabina.

Whilst in light skirmishes they fought it so As threat'ned no side with an overthrow, And whilst my griefs were sooth'd with hopes of peace, I wholly Roman did my self profess. If Romes success I look'd on with disgust, I blam'd that private envy as unjust. And if when Fortune took my Brothers part, I felt a guilty joy steal o're my heart; With reason straight that joy I overcame, And wept when Glory triumph'd in their name: But now that one War's utmost chance must bear, That Alba stoop to Rome, or Rome to her: And that, the Battel past, there rests no more Hope for the Conquer'd; bounds to th' Conqueror: I barbarously should my Country hate, Could I all Roman be in this estate; Or beg a triumph of the gods for Rome, Which through a torrent of my blood must come. I wean my self from one man's interest, and 'Twixt Rome and Alba now do neuter stand; I fear for both the issue of this War, And will for them Fortune declines, declare; Equal till then, and then in the disgrace I'le only share, and let the glory pass;

And whilst the day's deciding will prepare, For th' Vanquisht tears, hate for the Vanquisher▪

Iulia.

What contraries do humane brests invade! By several passions, several minds are sway'd; And in this great affair Camilla's brest After another manner is possest. Her Brother is your Husband, yours to her A servant is, in a concern as dear: Yet with an eye from yours far different, she Her blood engag'd against her love can see. Whilst you maintain'd a courage, that throughout Was brave and Roman, hers irresolute, And fearful, dreaded petty skirmishes, Trembling to think of either sides success. Unto the Conquer'd still she gave her tears, Fomenting so her endless griefs, and fears: But when she now a day appointed knew, And that a final Battel must ensue, A sudden joy upon her forehead shone.

Sabina.

Alas! I fear that alteration! With an unusual freedom yesterday To young Valerius courtship she gave way, And my poor Brother's interest laid apart, This Rival doubtless triumphs in her heart. Long absence joyn'd with present objects do Debauch her heart from him she gave it to. Excuse this passion in a Sisters care, My love to him thus makes me doubt in her: I raise my jealousie from grounds too light, Unapt for changes are the days of fight. In such a time as this few souls are fit, New wounds, or new affections to admit; And in the noise of War our passions move With other thoughts, other concerns than love▪ But then we put not on such gayeties, Such entertainments and delights as these.

Iulia.

To me the cause is equally as strange, Nor can I guess at her so sudden change,

It is enough in dangers of this kind To see, expect, and moderate the mind: But to arrive at joy is sure too much.

Sabina.

See a good Genius brings her to the touch. Try her in this affair, and home; I know Shee'l nothing hide from you, she loves you so. I'le leave you! Sister, pray thee entertain Iulia a while, my sorrow is my shame. And my poor heart opprest with griefs, and fears Seeks solitude to hide my sighs, and tears.

Scena Secunda.

Camilla. Iulia.

Camilla.

Am I so fit for talk? does she believe I have not equally a cause to grieve? Or that less feeling in calamity, I in discourse shed fewer tears then she? My fears are great as hers, I must, Heav'n knows As well as she in either party lose: My Country by my love must be o'rerhrown, Or he must die defending of his own; And in this sad necessity of fate Challenge my sorrow, or incur my hate.

Iulia.

Yet she the stricter fortune must obey, Husbands we cannot change, Servants we may. Wave Curiace, and accept Valerius love; That way you will half of your fears remove, And your revolted heart call'd back to Rome, Shall fear no loss abroad, but love at home.

Camilla.

Deliberate better counsels for your friend, Lament my fate, but teach me not t' offend; For though my frailty ill these mischiefs bear, 'Tis better suffer, than deserve them far.

Iulia.

Have prudent changes, crimes reputed been?

Camilla.

Is breach of Faith a pardonable sin?

Iulia.

T'a publick Foe what can oblige our troth?

Camilla.

Who can absolve us from a private Oath?

Iulia.

Come you would hide a thing that is too plain, I saw you late Valerius entertain With that obliging fashion as might move His forward hopes to glory in his love.

Camilla.

If I receiv'd him with a chearful grace, There nothing in't to his advantage was, Another th' object was of that delight, And learn the truth to set your judgment right: That I to Curiace may no longer be Suspected of so base a levity. His Sister had not with her beauties charms, Fully six months enrich'd my Brothers arms, Before he won my Father to proclaim, My person should reward his vertuous flame. This happy day produc'd unhappy things, In joyning us, it did divide our Kings. Hymen, and War were the products of one Unhappy moments resolution. One instant rais'd our flatt'ring hopes on high, And the same instant beat them from the sky. As soon as promis'd it destroy'd our joys, And soon as Lovers, made us Enemies. In that estate how boundless, and extream Our sorrows were, how he did heav'n blaspheme, And what sad show'rs stream'd from my weeping eye, I need not tell you, you your self were by. You since have still my souls afflictions seen, You know what still my prayers for peace have been, And with what tears on every accident, I did, or Rome, or my dear Love lament. Tir'd with delays, at last extream despair Has forc'd me to the Oracle repair; And judge by what came yesterday from thence, If to my joy I had not just pretence. That Greek long famous for his Oracles, At Aventinus foot who Fates foretells,

He whom Apollo ne're inspir'd with lies, The end of all my woes thus prophesies.

"Alba and Rome to morrow shall surcease "Their jars, thy vows are heard, they shall have peace, "And thou be joyn'd to Curiace in a tye "Never to be dissolv'd by Destiny.

This Oracle did my assurance breed, And as the answer did my hopes exceed, I gave my soul up to delights, that far Exceed the happiest Lovers joys that are. How I was lost in rapture you may guess, And by th' effects, measure my joys excess, I saw Valerius and his company Was not distasteful as it us'd to be; He courted me without offence, alas! I ne're consider'd whose the courtship was. I could nor coldness show, nor disesteem, For him I saw, to me did Curiace seem: All that was said to me seem'd to proclaim The truth, and vigour of his loyal flame, And all I said was purpos'd to assure Curiace my faith was permanent, and pure. The fatal Battel must to day be fought, I heard it yesterday, but mark'd it not. Charm'd with the thoughts of happiness, and peace, My soul rejected such sad thoughts as these: But night has banish'd hence those false delights, A thousand fearful dreams of horrid sights, A thousand piles of slaughter did appear, That have subdu'd my joy, restor'd my fear. I saw a stream of blood reek from the slain, A phantasm rising, disappear'd again; Each other did confound, and each illusion Doubled my terror by their strange confusion.

Iulia.

Dreams contrary expound themselves you know▪

Camilla.

I should believe so, since I wish it so▪

But maugre all my vows, I find we are, T' expect no peace, but a destructive War.

Iulia.

This Battel will conclude it in a peace.

Camilla.

Long live the ill that needs such remedies. Be it that Rome must fall, or Alba lose, Never, dear Love, expect me for thy Spouse: Never, oh! never! can that claim become A man that Conqueror is, or Slave of Rome? But what new object does my sight surprize! Is it my Curiace, may I trust my eyes?

Scena Tertia.

Curiace. Camilla. Iulia.

Curiace.

Suspect them not Camilla, he is come, That nor the Conquerour is, nor Slave of Rome; That e're my hands in Roman blood be stain'd, Or bruis'd in Slavery, cease to apprehend; I ever did believe thy generous love To Rome, and glory would so constant prove, As that thou would'st in piety despise My shameful chains, and hate my victories. And as in this extremity I did Alike captivity, and conquest dread—

Camilla.

Enough my Curiace, I the rest divine, I know that thou a Battel dost decline; Which to thy interest must so fatal be, And that thy heart wholly resign'd to me, Fearing to involve me in my Countrys harm, From Alba ravishes thy conqu'ring arm. Let others here censure thy noble name, And if they will, thy loyal passion blame; 'Tis that Camilla highly must approve, The more thou lov'st, the more she ought to love. And if the place that gave thee Being claim A duty 'gainst the interest of thy flame,

The more thou quitst on my account still proves, All other interests bow unto thy loves: But hast thou seen my Father, does he bless With fair, and free allowance, this access? Does he not for the publick cause declare, And to his Daughters, Romes concerns prefer? May we in fine presume our selves secure? Is our long wisht for happiness made sure? Did he receive thee at a Father's rate, Or as a foe unto the Roman State?

Curiace.

It was so like a Father to his Son, As spoke his joy sincere, and not put on: But when I under his protection came, 'Twas by no Treachery, that might blot my name▪ My Countrys int'rest I by no means quit, Adoring you, I love my Honour yet: Throughout this fatal War I still have been, As a true Lover, a good Citizen. 'Twixt Love, and Alba, I compos'd the War, I sigh't for you, whilst I did fight for her: And if again new mischiefs must ensue, I'le fight for her, whilst I do sigh for you. For maugre Love, and all thy beauties charms, Should War continue I must be in Arms: But 'tis through Peace that I thus priviledg'd am, 'Tis Peace has thus oblig'd our mutual flame.

Camilla.

Peace, 'tis a miracle exceeds belief! Does Heav'n at last commiserate my grief?

Iulia.

Suspend a while your sorrow, and forbear To doubt the Oracle that cannot erre; And let us hear by what admir'd success The hour of Battel has produc'd this Peace.

Cariace.

Who could have hop'd it, Gods! Both Armies me▪ Prepar'd for Battel with an equal heat; Their eyes already threatned Death, and they Impatient only for the signal stay: When our Dictator single did advance, And as a sign of silence wav'd his Lance;

Which soon obtain'd: "Romans, quoth he, what rage, "What fury makes us thus to War engage? "At last let Reason calm these rude alarms, "Our vertuous Daughters warm the Romans Arms. "Hymen has so conjoyn'd us, there are few "Amongst our Sons, but are your Nephews too. "We but one people in two Cities are, "One race, one blood, why then this Civil War? "Where conquer'd lives weaken the Conquerers, "And the best triumph is bedew'd with tears. "The common enemy does expecting stay, "Till one sides ruine, render both his prey, "Tyr'd broken Conqueror, who nought enjoys: "But having slain his friends, himself destroys. "They of our broils too long have profit made, "With powers conjoyn'd 'tis time we them invade, "And dam those jars, where black oblivion lies, "That of good Souldiers make so ill Allies. "Or if ambition of vain Rule alarm, "These noble Troops of yours, and ours to arm; "Yet if a little blood may purchase peace, "That blood shall piece us, and the War shall cease. "Let each side choose some Champions out, and tye "Their Fortunes to those Champions Destiny. "And as in them Fate shall dispose the day, "The Vanquisht shall the Vanquisher obey▪ "But so as Souldiers honours may befit, "To bow as Subjects, not as Slaves submit, "Without disgrace, tribute, or other terms, "Save always to assist the Conquerours Arms. "So of two States, we shall one Empire make. This said, each breast joys palpitations shake, Now whilst they face, each can a Brother spy, Kinsman, or Friend rank'd with the Enemy: They wonder now 'twas not before foreseen, How foul their parricides must needs have been, And shew at once in one distracted brow, How much the fair proposal they allow;

And how with horror now they disapprove All thoughts of Battel, after thoughts of Love▪ Th' offer's at last receiv'd, and the wisht Peace As soon was sworn to, the Conditions these. Three for the whole the Combat must assay, Chosen from either side, and that they may With better conduct to the choice proceed, The Generals are on a short truce agreed. Yours in the Senate is, ours in his Tent.

Camilla.

Blest Gods! ye have a timely succour sent.

Curiace.

By joynt decree within two short-liv'd hours Our Champions Fortune must determine ours. Mean while in freedom we expect the doom, Rome in our Camp is, and our Camp in Rome. Free entercourse on both sides granted is, Both sides seek friends amongst their enemies. I hither have follow'd your Brothers in, And Fortune to my vows so just has bin, That he who gave my fair Camilla life Says she to morrow shall be made my Wife, And you, I hope, will not recede from this.

Camilla.

Obedience still a Daughters duty is.

Curiace.

Come then my Sweet, and from this mouth receive That fair consent he is so free to give, That dear command, which once pronounc'd will bless My love with title to my happiness.

Camilla.

I go along with you to welcome home My noble Brother's safe return to Rome; And once again to hear the happy news, Confirm'd by them, of this auspicious truce▪

Iulia.

Go, and the while I'le on the Altars raise In your behalf a Sacrifice of praise.

SONG.

(1.)

SO wretched are the sick of Love, No Herb has vertue to remove The growing ill: But still, The more we Remedies oppose The Fever more malignant grows. Doubts do but add unto desire, Like Oyl that's thrown upon the fire, Which serves to make the flame aspire; And not t' extinguish it: Love has its trembling, and its burning fit▪

(2.)

Fruition which the Sick propose To end, and recompence their woes, But turns them o're To more. And curing one, does but prepare A new, perhaps a greater care. Enjoyment even in the chaste, Pleases, not satisfies the taste, And licens'd Love the worst can fast. Such is the Lovers state, Pining and pleas'd, alike unfortunate.

(3.)

Sabina and Camilla share An equal interest in care, Fear hath each brest Possest. In different Fortunes, one pure flame Makes their unhappiness the same.

Love begets fear, fear grief creates, Passion still passion animates, Love will be love in all estates: His power still is one Whether in hope, or in possession.

CHORVS.

TOO weak are humane eyes to pry Into the shades of Destiny: Fate spreads a curtain to our sight, Through which a faint imperfect light, Serves only to perplex our way, As blinking Meteors make us stray: And what the jugling Priest foretells, In his ambiguous Oracles, Deludes our judgments whilst he shrouds Vain riddles in mysterious clouds. Wisely did providence deny To humane curiosity, That only priviledge to look In Destinies eternal Book; For should we know our periods, then We should do more or less then men. Ah poor Camilla! how art thou Exalted in thy fortune now! Whom Fate so soon will headlong throw Into a precipice of woe! Betray'd by Riddles, and Loves charms, Thou dream'st thy self in Curiace arms, Wrapt in chast pleasures, when alas! Thou only must could death embrace. To vertue sure 'twas an offence, So to abuse thy innocence; And to raise up thy hope so high, Was an inhumane cruelty. We to our selves ev'n in our fears Are flattering interpreters,

And need no fraud when Death's so nigh To rock us in security. What could the angry powers move In fair Camilla's vertuous Love? Or what hath chaste Sabina done To draw so dire a ruine on? Vain men misled by vitious wills, Commit those Heav'n-offending ills, Which pull down vengeance from the sky To punish proud mortality: But what ye Gods can women do, Soft women to provoke you so? It is for Rome that they must be Involv'd in Alba's Destiny; Proud Rome for prouder Empire tries, And laid in blood, by blood must rise; Alba must truckle, 'tis decreed, That Rome may triumph, she must bleed: Imperious Fate will bear the sway, Whose power all earthly powers obey.

The End of the First Act.

Actus Secundus.

Scena Prima.

Horace. Curiace.

Curiace,

I See your merits sway the publick voice; Rome durst rely upon no other choice: Unto your Valours this proud Town alone Dares trust her cause and reputation; And whilst she only on your Arms relies, With one sole House braves all our Families. We shall believe, since you the weight must bear, Save Horace Sons, that there no Romans are:

This choice three Houses might have rais'd to fame, Have giv'n each a high and glorious name, And that Renown which yours alone must be, Had been enough to have eterniz'd three. Nor can I, since by Fortune and my flame I in your House so interested am; But I must share, as much as in me lies, Your Fam'lies glory in this enterprize. Yet the respect I to my Country bear, Mixes that pleasure with an honest fear. The War has rais'd your name unto that height, I fear for Alba, and foresee her fate. Since you must fight, her interest must bow, Fate has in choosing you determin'd so. It is decreed, I see you must o'recome, And I conclude my self a slave to Rome.

Horace.

You should Rome pity, not for Alba fear, In her ill choice did you consider her; In Rome it doubtless a great blindness is, To have such choice, and choose so far amiss. Of her brave Sons a thousand worthier be So brave a quarrel to maintain, than we; Yet though the Combat promise me a Shroud, That I am chosen makes me justly proud; And the assurance of my soul is such, As from my little Valour hopes for much. Nor can I (be what will th' intent of Fate) Conclude my self a slave to Alba yet. Rome has o'revalu'd my desert, but I Will amply justifie it all, or dye. "Who'l dye, or conquer, seldom conquer'd is. That brave despair but rarely perishes; Rome (fall what will) shall never subject bow, Till my last groans proclaim my overthrow.

Curiace.

Alas! in that my state compassion needs, What Alba covets most, my friendship dreads. Wretched extreams! Alba must be enslav'd, Or by thy noble persons ruine sav'd▪

She must or fail of her ambitious aim, Or through thy blood wade to her lustful claim: Which shall I pray for? what success attend? This combat must in my affliction end. I shall on either side have tears to shed, And on both sides my prayers are limited.

Horace.

What would you be my enemy so far, To mourn me falling in my Country's War? That noble death allures a generous heart, Tears do but injure his surviving part, And I could falling kiss my Destiny, Should Rome receive no greater loss than me.

Curiace.

And yet allow your friends their friendly care In this brave death they to be pitied are; The honour's yours, but theirs the loss, and what▪ Swells your renown, makes them unfortunate. We part with all, when a true friend we lose. But here comes Flavian, sure he brings me news. Has Alba yet made choice of her three men?

Scena Secunda.

Horace. Curiace. Flavian.

Flavian.

I come to tell you.

Curiace.

Say, who are they then?

Flavian.

They've pitch'd on you, and your two Brothers.

Curiace.

Who?

Flavian.

On your two Brothers they have pitch'd, and you. But why that look? why that contracted brow? Do you alone th' election disallow?

Curiace.

No, but it does surprize me, I confess, I think my self unworthy such a grace.

Flavian.

Shall the Dictator know you entertain The quarrel coldly? for I must be plain, This carriage does me something too surprize.

Curiace.

Tell him, that maugre Love, and all the ties,

Unite our Families, we three will fight The three Horatii in Alba's right.

Flavian.

With them! tis much in a few words you say.

Curiace.

Carry my answer back, and leave us pray.

Scena Tertia.

Horace. Curiace.

Curiace.

Henceforth I see Heav'n, Earth, and Hell contend▪ And whet their fury, which should most offend; That Gods, and Men, Devils, and Fate prepare, At once t' invade us with a general War; And more t' afflict us in the state we are, The Fates, and Devils, Gods, and Men, I dare: Since all of dire in Heav'n, and Hell contain'd, Weigh'd with this honour is to be disdain'd.

Horace.

Fate that expands the lists of honour, does Brave matter to our constancy propose: He has combin'd his mischief to make one, May with our valour hold proportion, And as he sees no common men we are; So he no common fortune does prepare. To fight an enemy for the publick good, And with a stranger hazard blood for blood; The poor effect of a mean vertue is, Thousands have don't, and thousands may do this▪ For a man's Country 'tis so brave to die, Who would not court so bright a Destiny? But to the publick when we sacrifice The thing we most do love, we most do prize; To fight with a man's second self, his Friend, And strive to kill him that would us defend, A Wifes dear Brother, and a Sisters Love, All ties, and all relations to remove, And in our Country's Cause t' encounter him, Whose blood we would with our own lives redeem:

This is a vertue none can boast, but we, Few in this glory will our Rivals be: And few mens hearts, so brave a courage own, As dare pretend to such a high renown.

Curiace.

'Tis true, our names shall now immortal grow, Th' occasion's fair, and we must seize it too, Of a rare vertue we shall presidents be; Yet there is something of barbarity Mixt with your noble temper: few there are, Even of those who most can do, and dare, Would glory in this case, or choose to buy At such a price, their immortality. And whatsoever honour may redound, 'Twere better be obscure, than so renown'd; For my part I dare say, and you might see't, I made no very long debate of it. Friendship, nor Love, nor our Alliance cou'd Suspend my honour, nor corrupt my blood. And since our Alba by this choice does shew, She values me as high as Rome does you; I think to do as much, and fight as home In her behalf, as you shall do for Rome. My heart is good enough, but yet I feel I wear humanity about me still. I see your honour in my ruine lies, And that my glory in your fall must rise: Ready t' espouse the Sister, I must kill The Brother; and the blood I mix with, spill: I know that by my Country's int'rest, I Am sentenc'd to this sad necessity: Thus though this task I fearless undertake, My heart's o'recharg'd, and I with horror shake; I do commiserate my own distress, And envy those the War has laid in peace. Not that I would decline the thing one jot; For though it move me, it affrights me not: I hug the honour I receive: but yet, I must lament, what I must lose by it.

And since your Rome so strict in honour is, As to pretend a vertue beyond this: Thank Heav'n I am no Roman, since thereby I may retain yet some humanity.

Horace.

Since you no Roman are, strive to put on Resolves may make you worthy to be one; And if you'l have your vertue rival mine, Let it in equal resolution shine. The constancy I boast of does permit None of these weaknesses to mix with it. And 'twere a stain to honour, when we yet The lists scarce enter, should we now retreat. Unto its Zenith our misfortunes got I face it unconcern'd, and tremble not, Against who e're Rome shall my Arms employ, I blindly entertain the grace with joy. The glory that attends, commands like these, Should banish in us all reluctancies: And who besides his Country in this case Considers ought, is womanish, and base. Our Country's sacred right empales at once, All whatsoever obligations. Rome has made choice of me; nor is it fit, When she commands, further t' examine it. With the same joy, I on my wedding night Claspt fair Sabina, Il'e her Brother fight: And to be short, since such must be our lot, Alba has nam'd you, and I know you not.

Curiace.

I know you still, and in that knowledge feel A sorrow wounding as your sharpest steel; But never knew before I must confess, A vertue so severe, as you profess: It like our ills, doth in its Zenith sit, And I admire, but shall not practise it.

Horace.

Oh! be not good perforce on any score, But since the whining way affects you more, Enjoy at liberty that bliss alone: See where my Sister comes t' assist your moan,

I'le in to yours, and fit her mind to this, To bear her self still like whose Wife she is; To love you still, though by your hand I dye, And bear her ills with Roman constancy.

Scena Quarta.

Horace. Curiace. Camilla.

Horace.

Have you heard Sister with the Alban Bands How high your Servants reputation stands?

Camilla.

Brother, I've heard too much; how soon alas! Has my false fortune chang'd her flattering face?

Horace.

Arm you with courage, such as may declare On all events, that you my Sister are; And if your Curiace through my ruine come, Triumphant as a Conqueror back to Rome▪ Receive him not with an averted face, May speak the memory of my disgrace: But as a man whose Valour prompts him to Such things as Tyrant Honour bids him do, That serves his Country nobly, and does prove By generous acts his title to your love. Compleat, as if I liv'd, your Nuptial tye; But if this Sword conclude his Destiny, Receive my Victory at the same rate, Without reproach for your brave Servants Fate▪ I see y'are sad, your eyes grow big with tears, Pray entertain him with your feminine fears. Now quarrel Heav'n, Earth, and Fate, but when The Combat's past, no more remembrance then.

Speaking to Curiace.

I'le leave you but a moment, then we go, Like friend with friend, to fight it foe to foe.

Scena Quinta.

Curiace. Camilla.

Camilla.

Wilt thou then go my soul? has such a shower Wept by Camilla, no prevailing power? Does brutish Honour rule thy heart, above The vertuous interest of commanding Love?

Curiace.

Alas it is too plain, I see that I Or by my grief, or Horace Sword must dye: To this brave work I as unwilling go, As Malefactors to the Wrack would do: I curse my name a thousand times that has Procur'd my merit such a fatal grace. I curse my self, and fortune, and I hate My treach'rous valour, since alone by that My person's so considerable made, And my despairing flame does Love invade, It dares to challenge Heav'n as unjust; And I lament us both, but go I must.

Camilla.

Oh no! I know thee better, now I see Thou dost desire that I should sue to thee, That the legitimate power which I claim May to thy Country justifie thy fame. Thy name's too great already, and thy acts Have paid long since what Alba now exacts. None better has maintain'd this quarrel, none Has sacrific'd more lives, than thou hast done. Thy name can rise no higher than it is, Permit some other now t' ennoble his.

Curiace.

Shall I anothers brows incircled see, With those immortal Laurels due to me? Or this reproach from my brave Country hear, That she had triumph'd, had I fought for her? And whilst my valour's charm'd by Love, shall I Blot my brave actions now with infamy?

No! since I thus am honour'd, Alba shall By this sole arm's success, or rise, or fall. I wear her fate, and this accompt I'le give, To dye with honour, or with honour live.

Camilla.

Does honour blind thee so, thou wilt not see, How poorly thou betray'st my love, and me?

Curiace.

My Love in this, necessity obeys, And Sweet, e're I was yours, I Alba's was.

Camilla.

But in thy Country's quarrel to destroy A Friend, a Brother, and thy Sisters joy, Are things methinks, vertue should startle at.

Curiace.

Alas! Camilla in this sad estate, We have no will, and in this hateful choice Of Rome, and Alba, friendship has no voice. Brother, and Friend, names so belov'd before, Have lost their harmony, and are no more.

Camilla.

Wilt thou not bring me home Horatio's head, And claim my person for the noble deed?

Curiace.

I dare not think on't, thus begirt with wo, Hopeless to love, is all that I can do. But my dear soul, you weep!

Camilla.

How can I choose, When he I love does that I live refuse? And when our Hymen does his Taper light, Thou with thine own hand dost extinguish it. Thy cruel heart, my ruine does decree, And says it loves, when it doth murther me.

Curiace.

In lovers tears, what eloquence doth flow! And beauty most prevails, when drest in wo, At this sad sight my heart is tender grown, I stagger in my resolution. Assault no more my glory with your fears, But let me save my vertue from your tears. I feel she faints, and ill defends her place, The more I'm yours, the less I'm Curiace. Nor can a vertue ne're so firm, and strong, Having with friendship combated so long; And in that fight already weary grown,

Conquer at once Love, and compassion. Go! hate me! shed no more vain tears for me! Thus to your love, I oppose injury: I better can resist your anger far, And to deserve it more, I here declare, I love you not. Call up your vengeance now, And shoot me dead from your offended brow. Are you insensible to a man ingrate? Punish my base Apostasie with hate. I love you not. Let that provoke your wrath! Would you yet more? then I renounce my Faith. Insolent vertue! to whose rigour, I Am sacrific'd in this necessity, Canst thou no more resist her tears, but by The wretched help of such a vicious lye?

Camilla.

Commit no worse, and by the Gods w' adore, Instead of hating thee, I'le love thee more. Ingrate I'le hug thee if thy valour's pride Court not the title of a Fratricide. Why was I born a Roman? why not thou? Then I with Laurels might adorn thy brow. I should not then restrain, but prompt thee on, And do for thee, as I've for Horace done. To day alas! my vows I blindly made Against thee sinning, when for him I pray'd. See where he comes. Love I am lost if she Prevail no more with him, than I with thee!

Scena Sexta.

Horace. Curiace. Sabina. Camilla.

Curiace.

Ye Gods! Sabina too! is't not enough, Camilla's here to try my vertues proof; But you must bring along my Sister too, To try what both their interests can do? When having conquer'd your vast spirit, she Must come, and try to do as much for me?

Sabina.

No! Brother no! I come not to that end, I only to embrace, and part, pretend. Your Blood's too true, fear nothing mean from me, I bring no tears t' offend your constancy. Nay! should I see this dire misfortune shake, Or startle either, I would him forsake. Yet give me leave to offer one request, That may become my double interest. I from the Victors Sword will wipe offence, And reconcile honour to innocence. Make it unto its native lustre rise, And lastly make you lawful enemies. In me alone it is you are ally'd, When I am dead that knot will be unty'd. Break then that Bond, that does your Arms oppose, And since y'are bound in honour to be foes, Purchase by me a priviledge to hate, 'Tis Rome and Alba's will, you must obey't. Take one of you a life that I despise, In this sick brest commence your cruelties; And since my heart's divided in my wo, Let your unpitying Steel divide it too. The other way revenge Sabina's fall, So shall your Combat be approv'd by all; And one at least a just revenge may take, Or for a Wifes, or for a Sisters sake. But 'twould perhaps eclipse your Glories light In a less Quarrel, should such Heroes fight. 'T must be your Country's Cause, and if you were Less to your selves, less would your acts appear. You must be Victims to your Country's lust; Proceed then to a sacrifice so just: Strike through the Sister at the Brother's life, And wound the Husband, whilst you kill the Wife. Begin ye Tigers, in this life of mine, The Sacrifice you in your own design. You in this famous combat must become, A foe to Alba, you a foe to Rome:

But I oblig'd by Birth, and by my flame, Unto them both an adversary am. And must I be reserv'd, only to see, The triumph of a hateful Victory? A triumph where the Blood I prize so dear, Must trim the Laurels of the Triumpher? Can I betwixt you then govern my heart, And play at once a Wifes and Sisters part? And whilst my soul the Conquest does abhor, With open arms imbrace the Conqueror? No, e're that happen, Death shall close these eyes From triumphs mixt with my Friends Obsequies. My ruine shall prevent it, and what you Withdraw your hands from, my own hands shall do. Go on then Monsters! who your rage withstands? I shall find means enough to force your hands, Which shall no sooner be prepar'd to kill, But with this brest I'le intercept your Steel: And though you now deny me, force your blows, To send my soul unto its wisht repose.

Horace.

Dear Wife!

Curiace.

Dear Sister!

Camilla.

Courage you prevail.

Sabina.

Your bosoms groan forth sighs, your cheeks grow pale. What frights you thus? are these the men on whom, The stakes are laid of Alba, and of Rome?

Horace.

Wherein Sabina have I done amiss, That can deserve such a revenge as this? How has my Honour injur'd thee, that thou With all thy power assault'st my vertue so? To have astonish'd me let it suffice, And let me finish this brave enterprize. Thy love has rais'd a conflict in my brest; But Wife insult not in the pow'r thou hast. Go, strive no more for conquest, 'tis to me▪ T'have suffer'd this debate, an infamy. Permit me, that I may with honour dye.

Sabina.

You need not fear, your succours are so nigh.

Scena Septima.

Horace the Father. Horace. Curiace. Sabina. Camilla.

Horace the Father.

Is this a time in Love parleys to spend, When Rome and Alba do your Arms attend! When Blood should weep, do you converse with tears! Go! leave these Women to their womens fears. Their griefs (my Sons) too subtil are for you, And by contagion will your hearts subdue; Nor can you but by flight evade their powers.

Sabina.

Doubt them not (Sir) they'r worthy to be yours, And slighting all our prayers, resolv'd prepare For acts becoming him whose Sons they are: But if our tears have soft'ned them, we do Thus give you scope to fortifie them new. Come Sister, let us go, we weep in vain, Tears are too weak to tonquer bruitish man. To our sole refuge, black despair, we fly, Go Tygers then, and fight, whilst we go die.

Scena Octava.

Horace the Father. Horace. Curiace.

Horace.

Confine (Sir) I beseech you to the House These foolish Women, that they break not loose; For if they should, their over-fondness might, With cries, and tears perhaps disturb our fight, And make the cens'ring world believe that we Our selves were of the vile conspiracy. This honour we should purchase then too dear, If once suspected of so base a fear.

Horace the Father▪

Leave that to me, and go, your Brothers stay, And now your duty to your Countries pay.

Curiace.

How should I part, or in what method take—

Horace the Father.

Ah! do not tempt my grief, for vertues sake; My voice wants terms t'enflame your noble brest, And with perplexed thoughts my heart's opprest. My tears swell up, to force their tender gates, Do your devoire, and leave th' event to fates.

SONG.

(1.)

TO Arms! to Arms! the Heroes cry, A glorious Death, or Victory. Beauty and Love, although combin'd, And each so powerful alone, Cannot prevail against a mind Bound up in resolution. Tears their weak influence vainly prove, Nothing the daring breast can move Honour is blind, and deaf, ev'n deaf to love.

(2.)

The Field! the Field! where Valour bleeds, Spurn'd into dust by barbed steeds, Instead of wanton Beds of Down Is now the Scene where they must try, To overthrow, or be o'rethrown; Bravely to overcome, or dye. Honour in her interest sits above What Beauty, Prayers, or tears can move: Were there no Honour, there would be no Love.

CHORVS.

HOw prone are people tir'd with Peace, To nauseate their happiness? And headlong into mischief run, To feed their foul ambition!

Leasure and Luxury, when met In populous Cities, do beget That Monster War, which at the first, In little private discords nurst, Grows higher by degrees, until Having got power to his will, He brake into a general flame, Beyond what Politie can tame. No int'rest then escapeth feer From insolence, and cruelty; And facts that flow from brutish lust▪ The titles wear of great and just. Nay when Wars ensigns are display'd, It is Religion to invade, No matter whom, nor what the cause; Nor is there room for other Laws, Than what the Victor will on those His riots have subdu'd, impose. Yet there have still pretences been The vilest practices to skreen. There never wanted a pretence To violate suff'ring innocence; Though whatsoever men pretend, Wealth, and Dominion are their end. Imperious Rome! must Alba feel The edge of thy invading Steel? Alba thy Mother, from whose womb, Thy Founder Romulus did come? Or if thou tak'st an impious pride To be esteem'd a Parricide, Can nothing satiate thy will, Vnless that Brothers, Brothers kill? Deluded Heroes! how they fly To meet a cruel Destiny, And sacrifice themselves to Fame, A nothing, a meer airy name, When in th' unnatural contests Who conquer'd falls is happiest!

'Tis Tyrant Honour unto thee We owe this bloody Tragedy, Whom, but the vertuous none obey, And being so, become thy prey. They see in thy deluding glass Trophies and Triumphs, when, alas! 'Tis their own blood they haste to shed, And live, but to lament the Dead. Deaf unto Piety, and Love, The Combatants are gone to prove Themselves true Patriots, when they are The instruments of Civil War, And hazard in a Combat more, Than in a Battel heretofore. Fate holds the balance whilst they fight, And finds both scales of equal weight; Valour with Valour even weighs Honour with Honour, Praise with Praise; But when she lays upon the beam Her partial hand, and varies them, Then one scale gets it, whilst on high, The other kicks and knocks the Sky.

The end of the Second Act.

Actus Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Sabina.

LEt us at last, my troubled Soul, appease These inward mutinies, disturb our peace, And stand no longer neuter in this War, But, or for Alba, or for Rome declare. Let us no more divide our fruitless care, But nourish hope, to overcome despair. Yet to which side, alas! should we adhere, Where both the interests, equally are dear!

Alas! which party cleave to, which refuse; Or 'twixt a Brother, and a Husband choose? Nature, or Love, for either side do plead, And I by duty unto both am led. Then let us rather in this fatal strife, Continue still a Sister, and a Wife. Let us their honours above all prefer, Their vertues imitate, and cease to fear. The death that threatens is so brave an end, We fearless should the sad report attend. Let us no more the Fates inhumane call; Think in what cause, not by whose hands they fall▪ Let us caress them who have bravely fought, Nor wrong their Valours merit with a thought, Save of the glory, and eternal grace, Their Arms atchieve unto their noble race; Nor once consider at whose bloods expence Vertue has rais'd them to that eminence. Let our concerns, and int'rest be the same Their Houses interests are, in which I am A Daughter, or a Wife; so near ally'd To both their noble bloods, that neither side Can of the other any triumph win, But by their Swords atchievements, who are mine. Fortune whatever ills thou dost dispence, I've found a way t' extract some joy from thence: I now can view fearless, and undismay'd, This Tragedy in all its terrors plaid: I can behold the dead without despair, And without horror see the Vanquisher. Oh flattering illusion! false delight! Thou pleasing error, and impuissant light! Which with a counterfeited Ray hast shown How short thy stay was, and how soon th'art gone! Like Lightnings in obscurity, that make By their retiring flames, the night more black; Mine eyes thou strook'st not with a short-liv'd beam, But with more darkness to envelop them.

By thee my griefs too soon enchanted were, And for that moments truce I pay too dear. I feel my heart pierc'd thorow with the steel, Just now employ'd my dearest friends to kill. Contemplating their deaths, I not at all Think in what quarrel, but by whom they fall; Nor see the Victor rais'd to eminence, But I consider at whose bloods expence. I find my int'rest only is the same, With the afflicted house in which I am A Daughter, or a Wife, so near ally'd To both their noble bloods, that neither side Can from the other any triumph win, But by their deaths, and ruine who are mine. Is this the peace then I have pray'd for so? Ye too propitious Gods, y'ave heard my vow! What thunders do you, when provok'd, prepare, If such dire cruelties your favours are? And in what sort do you correct offence, When you delight to punish innocence?

Scena Secunda.

Sabina. Iulia.

Sabina.

Is it dispatcht my Iulia, tell me plain: Have I a Brother, or a Husband slain? Or have their impious weapons made at once A Sacrifice of all the Champions; And to prevent my hate to th' Vanquishers, T' a general obsequy condemn'd my tears?

Iulia.

Can you so long be ign'rant of the news?

Sabina.

Is that your wonder? pray how should I choose? Do you not know, that shut up here within, Camilla and my self have pris'ners been? We are secur'd, our tears are dang'rous grown, We else e're this betwixt their Swords had flown,

And our despair, sprung from chast love, had won Perhaps from both the Camps, compassion.

Iulia.

An object of that pity did not need, Betwixt their noble courages to plead, Since their appearance was enough alone, To stay their furies execution. No sooner were their plumed crests beheld, Waving with warlike brav'ry in the Field, But through both Armies strait a murmur rose, To see friends so ally'd, chose out for foes. This horror seizes, that soft pity fires, A third the fury of their zeal admires; This high applauds their vertue to the sky, And that condemns it for barbarity. Their various thoughts, met in one gen'ral voice, All blame their Chieftains, and detest their choice: And not enduring to behold the sight Of that unnatural, and bloody fight, Exclaiming loud, some do advance in haste, And interposing part them at the last.

Sabina.

I owe you incense Gods! y'ave heard my prayer!

Iulia.

You are not yet where you suppose you are. You now may hope, and moderate your fears; Yet there is still to justifie your tears. In vain men strive t'avert them from their fate, Their generosity is deaf to that. The glory of this choice, their Reason blinds, And has so dazled their ambitious minds, That when men leave them to their desp'rate ways, They're pleas'd, and take all pity for disgrace. The Camps affliction foils their glories light; Nay they had rather with both Armies fight, And perish by those hands their fury staid, Than quit their int'rests in th' election made.

Sabina.

Persist they then so obstinate?

Iulia.

They do, At which both Armies to sedition grow, And vote from both sides, with a gen'ral voice,

Either for Battel, or another choice. Their Leaders presence can no more perswade, Authority's contemn'd, or disobey'd. Nay, their ungovern'd heat went on so far, Nought could reduce them, nor command, nor pray'r. Until the King (held sometime in suspence At so undisciplin'd an insolence) Was fain himself at last his pow'r to try, And thus attempt t' appease the mutiny. "Since Souldiers thus (said he) you animate "Your selves and fellows in this hot debate, "Let us consult the sacred pow'rs and try, "If with another choice the Gods comply; "What impious mortal, when they once reveal "Their dark decrees, dares then dispute their will▪ This said, his words seem'd to be powerful charms, And even from the Champions forc'd their Arms; That thirst of glory which so dimm'd their eyes, Blind, as it was, ador'd the Deities. Their heat submitted unto Tullius sence, And aw'd by Piety or deference, A Law of his advice both Armies made, As both their Scepters he alike had sway'd: The rest will from the Victims deaths be known.

Sabina.

The Gods an impious Combat will not own. Since 'tis deferr'd my dying hopes revive, And I begin to see my wishes thrive.

Scena Tertia.

Sabina. Camilla. Iulia.

Sabina.

Sister, I have good news!

Camilla.

I think I know What that good news is, if you call it so; I heard it told my Father, but I find No comfort in't to my afflicted mind:

This but prorogues our miseries which shall Return more violent by this interval; And all the rays of comfort it doth shed, Is only that our tears are respited.

Sabina.

The Gods did not in vain this tumult fire.

Camilla.

We rather do in vain of them enquire. They have instructed Tullius in this choice, And theirs but seldom meet the publick voice: For you must know that the immortal Gods Descend more rarely to the mean abodes Of common souls, than unto Princes far, Who here below their own Vice-gerents are, And whose unlimited pow'r's a secret beam Of the Divinity's annext to them.

Iulia.

To argue thus is wilfully to rear Against your self the obstacles you fear. We only know Heav'ns will, when mov'd by pray'r, In sacred Oracles the Gods declare; Neither can you despair: but first you must, The truth of what you late had thence distrust▪

Camilla.

All Oracles do in mysterious sence Still shrowd themselves from our intelligence, And when we think we understand them most, The most we grope, and are in error lost; Far then from building our assurances On their illegible, and dark decrees. When least they seem perplext, then to be sure, We should suspect them to be most obscure.

Sabina.

By what's already done, we ought to give Our griefs, and fears, some respite, and reprieve, T' allay our sorrows, and to give some scope, Some entertainment to a pleasing hope; When Heav'ns favour does her Arms disclose Half open, ready to embrace our woes; Who then the happy Auspice does not own, And does expect no blessing, merits none? That recontracts them, and she takes offence, To see her bounties checkt by diffidence.

Camilla.

Heav'n acts alone in all his deep designs; Nor fits events to flatter humane minds.

Iulia.

Heav'n has alarm'd your bosom thus, to fit You better for the joys must follow it. Farewel! I'le go enquire of your affairs; In the mean time pray moderate your cares: I hope these sad reflexions will all prove, At my return soft arguments of love; And that we yet shall dedicate this night Sacred to Hymen, and to chaste delight.

Sabina.

I hope so too.

Camilla.

I dare not.

Iulia.

The success Will soon discover who the best can guess.

Scena Quarta.

Sabina. Camilla.

Sabina.

Sister, amids't these cares, permit my love To chide those griefs I needs must disapprove. What would you do if in my state you were, Had you as much as I t' excuse your fear, And did expect from their too fatal Arms Losses to equal mine, and equal harms?

Camilla.

Oh Sister! speak with judgment, not design, When you would parallel your ills to mine: All people look with a far diff'rent eye▪ On others harms, and those concern them nigh: But mine consider'd right, yours are a dream, A meer illusion, when compar'd with them. You only have Horatio's death to fear, Brothers, compar'd to Husbands, nothing are. When saffron'd Hymen by the Nuptial tye Unites us to another Family, He disengages us from ev'ry claim That once pretended to, from whence we came.

Those diff'rent ties no parallel admit, To follow Husbands, we our Parents quit: But when just going to be made a Spouse, The Servant that a Father's care bestows, Although below a Husband in his claim, Stands yet a Rival with a Brother's name. Those interests our thoughts betwixt them share, Our choice, and vows perplext, and doubtful are. Thus Sister, you at least have in your tears Or what to wish, or what may ease your fears. Whilst I, if Heav'ns hand do not forbear, Have nothing left to hope, but all to fear.

Sabina.

Sister methinks you argu't very ill When Friends so near must one another kill; And we, though th' obligations diff'rent seem, Our Parents leave, without forgetting them. Hymen does not those Characters remove; Nor does it follow that because we love Our Husbands best, we should our Brothers hate. Nature still keeps her Laws inviolate. When we of force must one or th'other lose, At either's life's expence, 'tis hard to choose; Nor know we then which interest is supream: "All ills are equal, when they are extream. And when all's done, this man you so esteem Will only prove, as you shall value him. The least distaste, or jealousie may prove Pow'rful enough to banish him your love. Do that by Reason, may by Chance be done, And leave your blood out of comparison. 'Tis ill to raise up int'rests against those, Our births do of necessity impose. I then if Heav'ns hand do not forbear, Have nothing left to hope, but all to fear: Whilst you have this advantage in your tears; Or what to wish, or what to ease your fears.

Camilla.

Sister I see Love never pierc'd your heart, You know him not, nor ever felt his dart:

We may resist him in his infant state, But when he rules, and sways, 'tis then too late; And chiefly when Fathers allowances Have so oblig'd our Faith by their decrees, Till they have made this little Tyrant reign Over our hearts a lawful Sovereign. Love mildly enters: but by pow'r he sways, And when a soul his bait once swallow'd has, In vain it then attempts to give it o're, It has no more the will it had before. His chains are strong, as bright, and delicate.

Scena Quinta.

Horace the Father. Sabina. Camilla.

Horace the Father.

Daughters I must unwelcome news relate; But' twere a vain endeavour to conceal, What will it self, alas! so soon reveal. Your Brothers are engag'd by Heav'ns decree.

Sabina.

I must confess these news astonish me, And I expected from the heav'nly Race, Far less injustice, and far greater grace: But speak no comforts; nor in vain declare How noble souls should their disasters bear▪ Reason it self insufferable grows, When such afflictions it attempts t'oppose. In our own hands, our mischiefs cure we have, And who resolve to dye, mischance may brave. We could perhaps pretend whilst you are by, A fruitless, false, and seeming constancy: But so to counterfeit, and in a time Wherein our frailties licens'd were a crime; We leave that artifice to men; nor care To pass for other than indeed we are; Nor would we have your noble heart abate By our example to complain of Fate.

No! take these ills without emotion; See our tears trickle, but refrain your own. All that we beg in this distress, is that Whilst your brave spirit triumph over fate, We whose weak hearts no griefs conceal'd can keep, May be allow'd, without offence to weep.

Horace the Father.

I am so far from blaming what you do, That I admire I turn not woman too; Nor should perhaps these blows of Fortune bear, Were I concern'd so nearly, as you are. Not that this choice can have the pow'r to make Me hate your Brothers for their Countries sake: Whose noble persons maugre this sad War, Are all of them unto my bosom dear: But friendship is not seated in that row, Nor feels th' effects Love and Relation do. I feel not for them in my breast those woes, You as a Sister, she a Lover does. I can look on them as the foes of Rome, And wish, and pray my Sons may overcome. They (prais'd be Heav'n) worthy their Country are, Astonishment did not their worths impair, And I their honours saw redoubled rise, Whilst they two Camps compassion could despise: Which if it had their frailty overcome, And had their vertue not repell'd it home, This hand should quickly have reveng'd the shame Done by their weak consent unto my name: But since the Camps despight of them would choose Anew, and them in piety refuse; I now confess that to the heav'nly powers, My vows, and pray'rs went along with yours. And would all-pitying Heav'n have heard my voice, Alba had been reduc'd t' another choice. My Sons we then should have triumphant seen, And they from blood so dear unstain'd had been. Then had the Roman names illustrious height Lean'd on th' event of a more humane fight:

But since Heav'ns prudence otherwise does please To order things, I vail to its Decrees. My thoughts in generosity I dress, And in the publick state my happiness. Try you to do as much, t'allay your care, And wisely weigh that you both Romans are. You are become so, and you yet are one, A treasure above all comparison. A day will come, that through the Globe our Rome, Dreadful as killing thunder, shall become. When the world daring at our Eagles Wings, That glorious name shall be the pride of Kings.

Scena Sexta.

Horace the Father. Sabina. Camilla. Iulia.

Horace the Father.

Dost thou come to us Iulia to declare Whose noble brows the Victor's Laurels wear?

Iulia.

Rather the Combats sad effects, for Rome Is Alba's Captive, and your Sons o'recome. Two slain out-right, her Lord survives alone.

Horace the Father.

Of a sad fight a sad conclusion! Rome, Alba's subject, and in such a need My Son not fight, whilst he had blood to bleed! It cannot be! you are deceiv'd, 'tis plain, Rome is unconquer'd, or my Son is slain; I better do my bloods true temper know, And he so well, what he to Rome does owe, He could not, durst not, but o'recome, or dye.

Iulia.

A thousand more might see't, as well as I. He acted wonders till his Brother's fall; But when once left to fight against them all, And half hemm'd in, flight did his person save.

Horace the Father.

And th' injur'd Souldiers not dispatch 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ Would they afford the Coward a retreat?

Iulia.

I came away upon the fad defeat.

Camilla.

Oh! my dear Brothers!

Horace the Father.

Stay! lament not all! Two are so fall'n, I emulate their fall. Let noblest Flowers on their Tombs be laid, I in their glorious death their loss am paid; And 'twas their vertues fortune not to be, Survivors of their Countries Liberty; Nor see it by a stranger Prince be sway'd; Nor to a neighb'ring State, a Province made. Lament the base survivor, and the shame His coward flight has branded on my name. Lament the infamy of all our Race, And the Horatian glory's black disgrace.

Iulia.

What should he against three have done?

Horace the Father.

Have dy'd, Or by a brave despair been fortifi'd. Or had he but demurr'd to his defeat, Rome had been subject something later yet: He then had left these aged hoary hairs As bright with honour, as they're white with years; And he, though he had dy'd, had carried hence, For a frail life, a noble recompence. He now accomptable to Rome remains, For all the coward blood that swells his veins. And every drop preserv'd by such a shame, Has quench'd his glory, and eclips'd his fame. Each hour on's life, after an act so base, His shame, and mine, still more and more betrays. I'le cut it short, and whilst my rage puts on A Father's pow'r o're an unworthy Son; I in his punishment will make it known, How much the poultron's baseness I disown.

Sabina.

Be govern'd less, Sir, by that generous heat, And do not raise our mischiefs higher yet.

Horace the Father.

Sabina you may best these mischiefs bear, You in these ills have yet the easiest share, You in this ruine yet do nothing lose; Heav'n has preserv'd your Brothers, and your Spouse.

'Tis to your Country we are Subjects made, Your Brothers Victors are, whilst Rome's betray'd, And dazled by the lustre of their fame, You ne're consider our eternal shame: But your affection to this beast will make Your bosom soon, our miseries partake. These tears you shed weak intercessors are; For by the Pow'rs above I here do swear These hands shall wash e're day do quit the sky, In his false blood, the Roman infamy.

Sabina.

His rage transports him, let us interpose. Must we (just Heav'n) still meet succeeding woes? Our ills are grown too mighty to withstand, When fury threatens from a Parents hand.

SONG.

(1.)

BEauty that it self can kill, Through the finest temper'd steel, Can those wounds she makes endure, And insult it o're the brave, Since she knows a certain cure, When she is dispos'd to save: But when a Lover bleeding lies, Wounded by other Arms, And that she sees those harms, For which she knows no remedies; Then Beauty Sorrows livery wears, and whilst she melts away in tears, Drooping in sorrow shews Like Roses overcharg'd with morning dews.

(2.)

Nor do women, though they wear▪ The most tender character,

Suffer in this case alone: Hearts enclos'd with iron Walls, In humanity must groan When a noble Hero falls. Pitiless courage would not be An honour, but a shame; Nor bear the noble name Of valour, but barbarity; The generous even in success Lament their enemies distress: And scorn it should appear Who are the Conquer'd, with the Conqueror.

CHORVS.

These are th' effects of War, and these The Sacrifices are to peace; Peace, that once broken in her right Nothing but blood can reunite: Wars Hand-maid Fury prompts her on, To blood and devastation; Nor ceases till whole Countries lye, O'rewhelm'd in one calamity, Or though the Sacrifice for all, Should in one single person fall; Yet in whatever falls amiss, The publick still a loser is. And as a radiant Gem out-vies Masses of Metal in her prize: One Heroes loss, more loss includes, Then vile Plebeian multitudes. A bloody Combat here we see Fought for an empty sovereignty, When they lie weltring on the sand, Who were the fittest to command. Thus man himself still undermines, And blind destroys his own designs,

For the victorious here may boast An Empire when the Ruler's lost. Who now with better title may, Rome's Battels, or her Scepter sway, Then they who her brave Champions were? Princes then truly Princes are, When with a Parents love they stake Their persons for their peoples sake. Oh Rome! Oh Alba! what desire First set your noble breasts on fire! Or what offence engag'd your steel, The blood of your Allies to spill! 'Tis vitious Envy that has made You thus each others bounds invade; Envy the souls most foul disease, That pines at others happiness, Has made you thus each other hate, Because you both were fortunate. Thus humane glories do procure The dangers which they should secure; Bare reputation will suffice To make a thousand Enemies; And vertue the more bright she shines, Serves but to light mens dark designs, To give their malice aim, and guide The poyson'd dart into her side; 'Tis emulation animates The fury, and the spleen of States; And till that emulation cease The world will never be at peace. The Combat now is overblown, But the event not truly known. The Scene will soon unto your eye Open the Tragick History. Then they who may the Conquest boast, When they consider what it cost, Shall find the triumph they have got▪ So empty and so dearly bought,

That though success have serv'd their will, Their woes have made them equal still.

The end of the Third Act.

Actus Quartus.

Scena Prima.

Horace the Father. Camilla.

Horace the Father.

URge me no more Camilla, do not try Your int'rest, for this Son of Infamy; Let him avoid my sight if he be wise, As basely he outran his enemies To save the coward blood he prizes so: He is not safe unless he fly me too. Sabina may conceal him, or (by Iove) The Sov'reign power of the Gods above.—

Camilla.

Ah (gentle Sir) do not resent it so, Rome you shall see, will with a smoother brow Look on his noble merit, and at least Excuse his vertue by such odds opprest.

Horace the Father.

No matter daughter what Romes censures are, A Father's int'rest is particular. I know the ways true vertue does profess; "Numbers do still ingloriously oppress. Her masculine vigour still maintains its heat, And under odds may perish, not retreat. But silence, what does young Valerius bring?

Scena Secunda.

Horace the Father. Valerius. Camilla.

Valerius.

Sir I am hither order'd by the King▪

To comfort, and assure you—

Horace the Father.

Take no care, It is an office that you both may spare; And I had rather see those Sons lie slain In Honours lap, then that survives with shame. Two Sons are nobly fall'n with my applause, Like men of honour in their Countries Cause; And that will serve to make my shame the less.

Valerius.

But, Sir, the third is such a happiness, As all their shares may in your bosom claim.

Horace the Father.

If with himself he had put out my name.

Valerius.

You only frown upon his merit.

Horace the Father.

True, From me alone his punishment is due.

Valerius.

What in his manly conduct can you blame?

Horace the Father.

Is it by flight that Souldiers purchase fame?

Valerius.

But his retreat was glorious in this case.

Horace the Father.

You double my confusion, and disgrace. Sure 'tis a new example, that in fight, Men seek out glory by the way of flight.

Valerius.

Where lies your wonder, or where lies your shame? To have begot a Son improves his name? One that for Rome has Crowns and Triumphs won! What can a Father wish for in a Son?

Horace the Father.

What Scepters, or what Triumphs, what applause, Whilst Rome now truckles under Alba's Laws?

Valerius.

What makes you harp so upon Rome's defeat, Can you of what is past, be ign'rant yet?

Horace the Father.

Was not the Combat ended in his flight?

Valerius.

Alba a while imagin'd so, but streight She better knew what 'twas for him to fly, Who wore upon his Sword Rome's Destiny.

Horace the Father.

Is Rome triumphant then?

Valerius.

Learn Sir to know The Valour of that Son y'ave blemisht so: Left single to dispute it with the three, And those all wounded, he untoucht, and free; Too weak for all; too strong for any one,

He wisely their united force to shun, Pretended flight to fight on better terms, And by that stratagem divides their Arms. They all pursue, but with such diff'rent speed, As weak, and wounded, more or less they bleed: When Horace seeing his design had took, Faces about, and with Heroick look, Grown now secure of Conquest, bravely stays Him that was foremost in the eager chace: Which prov'd your Son-in-law, who vext to see, He durst alone dispute it with the three; Vainly discover'd in his falling on, A noble courage, when his strength was gone. Then Alba fearing her brave Champions fall, Did to the second for assistance call; Who weak attempts his haste to animate, And being come, finds he is come too late: His Brother had e're his arrival paid His lifes dear tribute to the Conqueror's blade.

Camilla.

Alas!

Valerius.

Yet panting, bravely he supplies His room, and doubles your Son's Victories; His courage without vigour to maintain The daring enterprize, prov'd weak, and vain; And to revenge his Brother whilst he tries, Down by his side he conquer'd falls, and dies. The rowling Orbs ring with a various cry, Alba for sorrow groans, Rome shouts for joy: When our brave Hero ready to compleat His triple Conquest, thought it was not yet Enough to conquer, but he would engage, And further whet his bold opposers rage. I here (said he) have immolated these My Brothers angry Manes to appease; And my third adversary (Rome) shall be A Sacrifice to thy concerns, and thee. Which said, he flew at his surviving foe; Nor was the conquest disputable now:

The Alban goar'd with wounds, with mortal pain, Could moving hardly his own weight sustain: But as mild Victims to the Altar go, And yield their necks unto the mortal blow: So he defenceless bow'd unto his fate, And in his fall secur'd the Roman State.

Horace the Father.

Oh my brave Son, my Joy, Honor's bright ray, Of a declining State the only stay! Oh noble vertue that thy blood dost grace! Prop of thy Country! Glory of thy Race! When shall I in thy gen'rous breast pour forth Excuses for those thoughts that wrong'd thy worth? When shall my love, which now too tender grows, In tears of joy bathe thy victorious brows?

Valerius.

You may do that, Sir, in a little space, The King will send him straight to your embrace; Who till the morn the Sacrifice defers, Due to those Pow'rs have made us Conquerors. To day we only do our thanks express In Io Paeans for the great success. The King now gracing your Son's Triumph, has In the mean time afforded me the grace, To be the man he pleases to employ, At once to bring you news of grief, and joy: Nor does he think this complement enough, Unless to give your worth a further proof How he does prize it, he in person come, With his own mouth to pay the thanks of Rome.

Horace the Father.

Such thanks for me far too illustrious are▪ And I conceive my self already far Out-paid in these you offer me, for all My brave Sons Service, and my two Sons fall.

Valerius.

The King imperfect Honours ne're bestows, And Rome's proud Scepter rescu'd from her Foes, Makes him believe all Honours he can shew, Much short of what's to you and Horace due▪ I'le go inform him what a noble sence Vertue inspires you with in all events;

And how you love his Service.

Horace the Father.

That will prove So fair an office as will bind my love.

Scena Tertia.

Horace the Father. Camilla.

Horace the Father.

Daughter 'tis now no time to weep, and in This shine of Honour, such a show's ill seen. Domestick losses we unjustly prize, When they procure us publick Victories. Rome triumphs over Alba, and 'tis fit, Unto that single good, all ills submit. You in your Servant lose a man, no more; A loss that Rome can easily restore. After this Victory, what Roman bloud, Of such a match will not be justly proud? I'le go inform Sabina of what's past, The news to her no doubt will bitter taste; And her three Brothers, by a Husband slain, Will give her juster reason to complain. But yet I hope by gentle ways t' appease Those sorrows, which like fluctuating Seas, Do often overwhelm the noblest mind; And that her prudence with her courage joyn'd, Will make that gen'rous love rule in her heart, Due to the worthy Victors brave desert. I'th' interim conquer your effeminate grief, And if he come, receive our Roman Chief, With such a constant brow as may declare, How worthy of him you his Sister are; And by your noble carriage make it good, That in one Womb, Heav'n form'd you of one Blood.

Scena Quarta.

Camilla.

Yes, by assured signs I'le make him see That vertuous Love can baffle Destiny; Nor yet those tyr'nnous cruel laws obeys Our froward Stars seat in a Parents place. Unpitying Father! on so just a score Thou call'st my sorrows womanish and poor: But I the more it does afflict thee, will Dote on his memory, more lament him still, And make that sorrow thou condemn'st to rise Equal to fortunes direct cruelties. Did ever fortune in a few hours space, So often vary her inconstant face! So often kind, and cruel, good, and ill! And strook so often e're she strook to kill? Was ever soul that in one day did bear Such turns of joy, and grief, of hope, and fear? A soul subjected unto more events, And bandied so with various accidents: An Oracle, a Dream, a Battel, Peace; By turns assure, astonish, fright, appease. My Nuptials are prepar'd, and straight my Love Against my Brothers Arms, his Arms must prove: Both Camps abhor the choice, and stay their rage, Whom the unpitying Gods again engage. Rome seems o'recome, and Curiace's hand From blood of mine alone remains unstain'd. Was not my grief (ye Powers) then too small, For Rome's misfortune, and my Brothers fall? Did not my hopes flatter my innocence, When I thought still to love him no offence? His death has paid me home for't, and to that, The cruel way of telling me his fate. His Rival brings the news, and to my face Repeats the hateful truth of his disgrace.

Apparent joy doth on his forehead sit, Pleas'd with my loss more than Romes benefit; Whilst building aiery hopes in his vain head, He, with my Brother, triumphs o're the dead. But this is nothing still to what's behind, On this occasion I am joy enjoyn'd. I must applaud the Conqueror's desert, And kiss th' inhumane hand that gores my heart. It is in such a deplorable case A crime to weep, and but to sigh disgrace. Their brutish vertue in this shock of fate, Will have me fancy my self fortunate. It is it seems a rule the vertuous have, We must be barb'rous e're we can be brave. Degenerate then my heart, let us disclaim This Father's Vertue, and this Brother's Fame. 'Tis honourable to be counted base, Where Vertue rises by such brutish ways. Break out my griefs, 'tis fruitless to forbear! When all's once lost, what have we left to fear? Let us this bloody Conqueror despise, And far from shunning him confront his eyes; Reproach his Victory, provoke his Spleen, And please your selves, by your displeasing him, See where he comes, now let us bravely show What to a Lover's death, chaste Lovers owe.

Scena Quinta.

Horace. Camilla. Preculus, and two Souldiers, each bearing a Sword of the Curiatii.

Horace.

See Sister here the Arm that has on all The Alban Champions wreak'd our Brother's fall; The Arm that with the froward Fates of Rome Single has fought, and single overcome;

The Arm has conquer'd Alba, and alone Betwixt two States struck the decision. Behold the Trophies which these Romans bear, These noble Ensigns of a Conqueror: And pay the thanks thou ow'st those Pow'rs that bless The Roman Arms with such a fair success.

Camilla.

Then take my tears, for these are all I owe.

Horace.

Such actions should not be rewarded so. And our brave Brother's noble fall appears Repaid with blood enough t' excuse your tears. "Losses reveng'd once to be losses cease.

Camilla.

Since then appeas'd with blood, they rest in peace, I shall forbear to pay that Fun'ral debt, And will their deaths you have reveng'd forget: But who'l revenge me for a Lovers fall, And dry those tears I pay his Funeral?

Horace.

What say'st thou wretch?

Camilla.

Ah my dear Curiace!

Horace.

Impudent woman, and my bloods disgrace, Does yet that name in thy remembrance live, And in thy heart a love for him survive, That as a publick enemy to Rome I to my deathless Glory, have o'recome? This criminal flame does to revenge aspire! Thy mouth proclaims th'unnatural hearts desire! Govern thy passion better, and be wise, Let me not blush to hear thy guilty sighs. 'Tis now high time to quench that flame, and chace Those clouds of sorrow which obscure thy face, That on my triumph it may smiling shine.

Camilla.

Give me a heart, Barbarian, then like thine, And since thou wilt have me my soul explain, Restore my Love, or let my Passion reign. My joy, and grief, were by his Fortune led, Living I lov'd him, and lament him dead. Seek not thy Sister where thou leftst her last; Thy cruelty that title has defac'd.

And having broke that bond, I am become An injur'd Lover in a Sisters room. Who, like a fury, on thy steps will wait, To blast thee with reproaches for his fate. Obdurate Tyger! who forbid'st mine eyes Should pay their Tribute to his Obsequies. Would'st have my tongue to flatter thee, approve, Boast, and applaud the slaughter of my Love, And to the Skies, whilst thy exploits I rear, Become a second time his murtherer? May miseries consort that life of thine, Till they increase, that thou may'st envy mine; And may'st thou by some act of horror blot The glory thy barbarity has got.

Horace.

Heav'n! what a madness rages in her tongue, Think'st thou I'm grown insensible of wrong, That this affront I suffer in my blood? Approve his death, makes for the publick good; And to his memory prefer at least, That which thy birth owes to Rome's interest.

Camilla.

Rome! that alone does my affliction prove, Rome! to whom thou hast sacrific'd my Love! Rome! that first gave thee life! that perfectly I hate, because she does so honour thee! May all her neighbours in one cause conspire, To sack her Walls, and ruine her by fire. And if all Italy appear too few, May East and West joyn in the mischief too. Far as the frozen poles may Nations come, O're Hills, and Seas, to sack imperious Rome. May her own Walls o'rewhelm and bury her, And may her own Hands her own Bowels tear▪ May Heav'n to whose wrath I votress am, Rain on her Bosom deluges of Flame. May I behold a Lightning fall so just, Her Buildings ashes, and her Laurels dust. May I of Heav'ns justice be so grac't, To see the last of Romans breathe his last.

And lastly (ye just Powers) I desire I may be cause of all, and pleas'd expire.

Horace drawing his Sword, and pursuing her.

It is too much: Patience a while, give place! Down into Hell to seek thy Curiace.

Camilla behind the Scene.

Oh Traytor!

Horace.

So may all offenders die That dare lament a Roman enemy.

Scena Sexta.

Horace. Proculus.

Proculus.

What have you done?

Horace.

An exemplary act, And a due justice for so foul a fact.

Proculus.

But to your Sister this was too severe.

Horace.

Never tell me how near ally'd we were. My Father scorns to own a child so base, Curses her Country, and disclaims her Race; All ties of Love are forfeited and gone, And she is stript of all Relation. Her nearest Kindred cannot but disclaim A beast that brands her Family with shame. The promptest vengeance, and most cruel must, For such a Crime as hers be stil'd most just; And those her impious whishes ought to be Stifled like Monsters in their infancy.

Scena Septima.

Horace. Sabina. Proculus.

Sabina.

Why stops thy noble fury here? Come nigh, See in her Fathers arms Camilla dye. Come glut thine eyes with the alluring sight, And if thou think'st what's done be yet too light, To thy dear Rome offer the blood remains O'th' Curiatii in Sabina's veins. Never spare theirs, whilst of thine own so free; But to Camilla's joyn my destiny: Our crimes, as well as miseries, are one, Like her my Brother's slaughter I bemoan; Transgressing more thy cruel Laws, then she; She only wept for one, but I for three, To give thy fury a more just pretence.

Horace.

Sabina, dry your tears, or get you hence. Render thy self worthy Horatio's Wife, And that repute thy chaste, and vertuous life, Has from mankind, as thy just merit won, And wound me not with mean compassion. If th'absolute int'rest of a vertuous flame Commands our hearts and souls to be the same, It is thy part to raise thy heart to mine, I ought not to thy weaknesses decline. I love thee, and I know thy soul's grown sad, Call in my vertue to thy frailties aid; Instead of clouding it, my glory share, And without stripping me my triumphs wear. Art thou so great a foe unto my fame, That I should please thee better clad in shame? Discover now the vertue of that flame That seats a Husband in his sov'reign claim Above th' inferiour interest of blood, And learn by my example to be good.

Sabina.

Some nobler soul to imitate you choose; I blame thee not, alas! for what I lose: My thoughts are govern'd as they ought to be, And I do rather blame mischance than thee. But I all claim to Roman Vertue quit, If inhumanity must purchase it; Nor can I in my own esteem appear Wife unto him, who is the Conquerour▪ But that at once I see my self again The deplorable Sister of the slain. Let us in publick, publick Conquests own, Lament domestick miseries at home, And not regard a good derives to all, When on our selves peculiar mischiefs fall. Why (cruel man) dost thou those Trophies wear Lay by those Laurels when thou enter'st here, And joyn with me in tears.— Will not this raise Thy vertues spleen to end my wretched days? Can my repeated crime not move thine ire? Camilla's blest could raise thy furies fire! She tempted from thee, what she wisht for most, And finds below all that above she lost. Dear cause of all the woes my heart oppress, Incline to pity if thine anger cease: One of the passions to thy choice propose, To scourge my frailty, or to end my woes. For death by favour, or desert I move, Be't an effect of Justice or of Love, It shall be welcome, and I'le kiss the brand Performs that office from a Husband's hand.

Horace.

You are unjust you Gods! why do you give Imperious women this prerogative O're noble souls, and pleas'd sit looking on, Whilst they insult in their dominion? To what a strait am I reduc'd, when I To save my vertue am enforc'd to fly? Farewel, follow me not, or dry your tears▪

Sabina.

Oh wrath! O pity! deaf unto my prayr's! My crime I see's neglected, and my woe Does in the repetition tedious grow. Thus, though I tempt his spirit various ways, I can obtain nor punishment, nor grace: But once again my tears their pow'r shall try, And if that fail, by my own hand I'le die.

SONG.

(1.)

THe young, the fair, the chaste, the good, The sweet Camilla, in a flood Of her own Crimson lies A bloody, bloody sacrifice To Death and man's inhumane cruelties. Weep Virgins till your sorrow swells In tears above the Ivory Cells That guard those Globes of light; Drown, drown those beauties of your eyes. Beauty should mourn, when beauty dies; And make a general night, To pay her innocence its Funeral rite.

(2.)

Death since his Empire first begun, So foul a conquest never won, Nor yet so fair a prize; And had he had a heart, or eyes, Her beauties would have charm'd his cruelties. Even Savage Beasts will Beauty spare, Chaft Lions fawn upon the fair; Nor dare offend the chaste:

But vitious man, that sees and knows The mischiefs his wild fury does, Humours his passions haste, To prove ungovern'd man the greatest beast.

CHORVS.

Rome, thou hast bought thy Triumph dear, And like a greedy purchaser, Hast laid a greater treasure forth, Than Alba's fealty is worth. What hast thou won, that can make good The two Horatii's lavish'd blood? Or who are left fit to supply The noble Curiatii? You now may with confederate Arms Invade your Borderers in swarms, And think like two united Seas, T' o'reflow your neighb'ring Provinces; And for new Conquests may prepare, When you are weaker than you were. Too brave Horatio, thou hadst won Glory to have out-dar'd the Sun, And live a President in Rome To vertue ages yet to come. But this last act of thine has thrown So black a cloud o're thy renown, That future times at once must see Thy Valour and thy Cruelty. Thus as the Sun does climb the skies, He still in brighter Beams doth rise, Till in his full Meridian plac't, His glories thence decline as fast; So men by dangerous degrees, Arriv'd at honours precipice, Striving ambitiously to get To brighter stations higher yet:

There wanting footing for their pride, They topple on the other side; And in one act do forfeit more, Than all they had atchiev'd before. Were Love, and Piety such crimes, In these so celebrated times, That Fury must in Iustice stead Level the mourners with the dead? Must charming beauty, at whose feet Valour its conquests should submit, That Sex that priviledg'd should be Even from inhumanity, Th' effects of brutish fury feel? Thy vertues sweet Camilla still, Do in thy ev'ning brighter rise To baffle humane cruelties. And bravest Heroes when they shall This great example of thy fall, In the worlds brightest Annals see, Even they themselves shall envy thee.

The end of the Fourth Act.

Actus Quintus.

Scena Prima.

Horace the Father. Horace.

Horace the Father.

LEt us from this sad spectacle retire, Heav'ns never-sleeping justice to admire, Which, when we swell to insolence, knows how To scourge our pride, and lay our glories low. Heav'n sorrow ever with our joy combines, Sows seeds of frailty in the noblest minds,

And seldom does our bravest actions crown, With an unblemish'd and a true renown. Camilla did offend, nor do I wear These clouds of sorrow in my face for her; I think my self to be lamented more, And more than her, alas! I thee deplore. I do bewail my own sinister fate To have a Daughter so degenerate; And thee for having by misfortune dy'd Thy noble Sword in such a Parricide. Not that I do thy heat or justice blame, Yet, I could wish thou hadst escap'd the shame: Her crime (though worthy death) had better far Been spar'd, than thou her executioner.

Horace.

My life, and death, Sir, in your sentence lie, I thought that blow due to Romes injury: But if that zeal do criminal appear, If I eternal brands of shame must wear, And if my arm be infamous become, With one sole word you may pronounce my doom. Take back that blood which my unworthy hand Has by a coward act so basely stain'd. I could not suffer in your vertuous Race A crime that might your noble name disgrace: Nor should you with an over-partial eye Suffer this blemish in your Family. In acts where honour suffers 'tis discern'd, That such a Father as you are's concern'd. T' excuse ill Sons, even Fathers should forbear, Whilst they conceal our faults, they faulty are; And his own fame that Father little moves, Who spares that guilt his vertue disapproves.

Horace the Father.

Fathers sometimes from harsh extreams for∣bear, And often spare their Sons themselves to spare. Our age leans on their youthful strength, and spares Them, since in them we must be sufferers. I look upon thee with a diff'rent eye From that thou censur'st thine own vertue by:

And though thy reputation blemish'd stand, I know—but see the Guards, the King's at hand.

Scena Secunda.

Tullius. Valerius. Horace the Father, and Guards.

Horace the Father.

Great Sir, you do your Servant too much grace, I blush to see you in so mean a place. Permit me that in gratitude thus low.—

Tullius.

No Father rise, and let your merit know I pay in this the least of what is due From vertuous Princes to such men as you. Such services pretend to all whate're Subjects can merit or their Kings confer. Valerius word was past; nor could I be Just to my self, till I had set him free. I heard from him; nor did I doubt befreo, With what a noble constancy you bore Your brave Sons deaths, and know that to a soul So fortifi'd as yours, so right, and whole; What comforts I could bring would only prove Unnecessary complements of Love: But now that I have heard what a sad fate Does on your conqu'ring Sons brave valour wait, And that his zeal to th' publick cause has led His sudden fury to commit a deed, Deprives you of an onely Daughter; then Whilst I consider the most brave are men, I must confess I cannot choose but fear How your great heart, so great a blow can bear.

Horace the Father.

Sir, with a troubled, but a patient sence.

Tullius.

A brave effect of your experience. Many by living long have learnt to know That happiness is but a step to woe: But few apply that knowledge to the best, And most mens vertues truckle, when opprest▪

If in your King's compassion you can find A comfort to th' afflictions of your mind, Believe it great as them, and that I do With the same friendship love, and pity you.

Valerius.

Since, mighty Sir, into the hands of Kings Heav'n delegates the Law to order things, And that within their sacred power lies Reward for vertue, punishment for vice: Permit a loyal Subject in this case, To prompt that justice your compassion stays, And say you seem this murther to forget, Whilst you lament, and do not punish it. Permit.—

Horace the Father.

What! that Romes conquering Champion die, And have his service paid with infamy?

Tullius.

Let him say on, Horatio, and forbear, I who am to determine, ought to hear; And do not fear but I will do you right, It is at once my duty, and delight. When justice even, and unbiass'd flows, She then a Monarch for a Monarch shows. Divinity shines round about him then, Above the common race of common men: And that which makes me most commiserate The wretched fortune of your sad estate, Is, to hear justice clamour'd on your Son, Who has for Rome so brave a service done.

Valerius.

Permit then, justest Monarch, that in me All vertuous men appeal for equity. 'Tis not, alas! that our repining hearts Envy those honours, crown his brave deserts; All you can give, short of his merit fall, His glorious actions shine above them all. Add new, and greater still to those before, We all are willing to contribute more: But let him since he could obscure his fame▪ By such an act of horror, and of shame,

At once for merit, and a crime so high, A Victor triumph, an Offender dye. Check his wild rage, and rescue those remain Of Romes brave off-spring, if you mean to reign. Your peoples ruine, or their safety lies, Or in his Pardon, or his Sacrifice. Few Romans ever could in Alba boast Of Alba's loss, but they in Alba lost Some such relation, as might force their eyes To private tears in publick Victories. If such a vertuous sorrow then become Criminal to the interest of Rome; If his success oblige you to dispence, And priviledge so great an insolence; Who will this barbarous Conquerour forbear, Whose fury would not his own Sister spare; Nor yet excuse the sorrow all approve In a chaste Virgin ravish'd of her Love? Rome, though she triumphs, is Horatio's slave, He has the sovereign Pow'r to kill, or save; Nor have we now a longer time to live, Than as he's pleas'd to sentence, or forgive. I could to Romes concernment add how base, Mean, and below a man, the action was; I could demand to have the murther'd Maid, His Valours triumph, in your presence laid: You then would see the yet warm Crimson rise, And blushing blame a Brother's cruelties. So sad a sight no Advocate would need, Her Youth and Beauty would for justice plead: But I abhor in such a case as this, All ways that bear a shew of Artifice. To morrow you have set apart to pay Your Vows to Heav'n for this victorious day: And can you think those Deities, that bear Thunder t' avenge the innocent sufferer, Will deign t' accept of Incense from a hand In a black Parricide so lately stain'd?

So great a Sacriledge would draw on you The vengeance that to him alone is due. Look on him then as one whom Heav'n does hate, And that wherein he has been fortunate, Romes stars have more by their own influence done, Than by the Valour of their Champion: Since the same Gods who did his Conquest crown, Permit him thus to blemish his renown; And in one day, after exploits so high, To claim a Triumph, and deserve to dye. This, Sir, is that your judgment must decide, Rome here has suffer'd the first Parricide, The consequence, and Heaven's displeasure, are The things Religion teaches us to fear; Preserve your people from his insolence, And appease Heav'n by cens'ring his offence.

Tullius.

Horace, make your defence.

Horace.

Sir to what end, Should I an act you know so well defend? Your judgment's Law, though it pronounce me dead. 'Gainst Kings results, Offenders vainly plead, And the most innocent the Sun can show, When Kings conclude them criminal, are so. Nay, 'tis a crime t'excuse our selves to those Who by their title, may our lives dispose; And when they cut us off we must believe It is because we are unfit to live. Pronounce my doom then Sir, I will obey't; The life that others love, I ought to hate: Nor do I think Valerius too severe, He prosecutes his Mistriss murtherer. I do with him against my self conspire, He would my death, and 'tis my own desire; With this distinction, that I think by that To keep my honour in its present height; Whereas he thinks thereby to blot that name I would perpetuate to live in Fame▪

We rarely meet occasions, Sir, wherein A hearts whole stock of courage may be seen: Valour acts more, or less, as time doth fit, And as occasion serves or hinders it, And manly, or effeminate, appears At the discretion of the censurers. The common sort, whose understandings be By ignorance limited to what they see, Proportion force by its effects, and guess At Valour, as effects are more or less; Expecting vainly, that who wonders do, Blest once by Fortune, should do always so. After an act illustriously bright, All that seem less darken that actions light. Men look we always should in every place Perform our actions with an equal grace; Without considering in th' occasion What could have been, or more, or better done; Nor seeing that in actions of less fame, Th' occasion's less, the vertue still the same. Great names by this injustice are defac'd, Mens first Acts honours perish in their last: And who once reaches a supream renown, If he will hold it there, must there sit down. I shall not boast what honour I have got, Your self, great Sir, saw my three Combats fought: But 'twill be hard ever again to find An opportunity of such a kind, To crown my Valours worth with a success That must not after these exploits go less. So that to give my Fame immortal breath, I have no way, but by immediate death. I should have dy'd before, nor liv'd so long; I've liv'd already to my Glory's wrong. A man like me perceives his name decays, When but in danger of the least disgrace; And my own hand e're this had clear'd the doubt, But my blood's yours, and dare not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out,

Without your leave: Sir, your allowance must Precede that action, else it were unjust. Rome wants no generous Warriors, there are those, When I am gone, will fight her bravest foes As well as I have done, and pluck fresh boughs Of greener Laurel to adorn her brows. Then with an useless man (great Sir) dispence, And if my acts deserve a recompence, Let this be it, that with this conqu'ring Arm, Still with the vigour of late action warm, I sacrifice my self to my own fame, Without a mention of my Sisters name.

Scena Tertia.

Tullius. Valerius. Horace the Father. Horace. Sabina and Iulia.

Sabina.

Oh hear her Sir, in whose afflicted mind A Wifes and Sisters sorrows are combin'd; Who desolate at your sacred feet, in tears Laments her Race, and for her Husband fears. Not that I would by Artifice withdraw A guilty man from the offended Law; Use him like one, maugre his Victories, But the brave Criminal in me chastise. Let my unhappy blood his forfeit pay, The Victim's still the same, nor can you say Your justice is by pity overcome, Whilst I his dearer part, abide your doom. His matchless love makes it appear he lives In his own person less, than in his Wives: And he, if I be sacrific'd, thereby A sadder death, than in himself, shall dye. The death Ibeg, and which I must obtain, Will finishmine, but aggravate his pain.

Behold Sir, here th' excesses of my woe, And the sad state my life's reduc't unto. How can I without horror e're embrace A man whose Sword has murther'd all my race; And without wickedness a Husband hate, For his brave Service to his Prince and State? By death, then Sir, preserve me from the Crime Either of loving, or not loving him. In this extremity I shall embrace The heaviest sentence for the greatest grace, I soon, alas! with this weak arm could do The thing for which I do so humbly sue: But Death will be more welcome, if thereby I may redeem my Husbands infamy: If by my blood I may those Deities, His severe vertue may have mov'd, appease, Atone Camilla's angry Ghost, and save To Rome a man so fortunate and brave.

Horace the Father speaking to the King▪

I that defence Sir then must undertake, My Son and Daughter unconcern'd forsake; They with Valerius side, and are all three Combin'd together in conspiracy Against that little blood does yet remain From War and Ruine, to restore my name.

Speaking to Sabina.

Thou who by fruitless sorrows, which oppose The duty that a Wife the Husband owes, Thy Husband would'st forsake, and desperate, Accompany thy Brothers in their Fate: Go rather, and consult their generous Ghosts; 'Tis true, their lives by Horace hand they lost: But 'twas in Alba's quarrel that they dy'd, And they in that are fully satisfi'd.

Since Heav'n destin'd Alba for a slave, (If there remain remembrance in the Grave) They less repine at their mishap and wounds, Being the glory unto us redounds. Thy frantick sorrow they will all disclaim, Thy sighs, and tears, will disapprove, and blame, And will condemn the horror thou putst on, For such a Husband has so bravely done. Sabina be their Sister, try your tears, And do your duty, as they have done theirs.

Speaking to the King.

Valerius animates himself in vain, Against this noble Hero to complain. A sudden passion in the course of time Was never yet reputed for a Crime; Rather than punishment, it merits praise When vertue does that sudden passion raise, To love even to Idolatry our foes, And curse our Country for their overthrows: These are call'd Crimes, these the offences were, He could not even in his Sister spare. His love to Rome, and her concerns alone Prompted his hand to execution. Had not his Countries love tempted his spleen, He at this instant innocent had been. How strangely do I talk! what was't I meant To say he had been; he is innocent: Or Sir, I had with my own hand e're this Punish'd the forfeit, had he done amiss; I should have made the sovereign pow'r known, That Nature gives a Father o're his Son. Sir, I love honour, nor can brook disgrace, Much less a Crime unpunish'd in my Race.

[pointing to Valerius.

Of which I only shall his witness need, He can resolve you what my rage decreed, When (ign'rant yet of one half of the fight) I thought Rome ruin'd in his shameful flight. I wonder who bids him busie his cares About my private Family-affairs? I wonder whence the priviledge he draws, Without my leave to plead my Daughters cause? Or by what right does he an int'rest claim, Where I her Father unoffended am? But 'tis objected as a politick care, That others may the like misfortune share, Sir, we are only jealous of the shame That in particular concerns our name; And letting others infamies alone, Do only bash at those which are our own.

Turning to Valerius.

Thou may'st Valerius weep before his face, He's only angry at the Crimes on's Race: None, save those of his blood, can blast those boughs▪ Of living Laurel that adorn his brows. Ye sacred wreaths, that Envy wishes dead, You, who from thunder have secur'd his head; Will you that sacred head abandon now, Unto a despicable Hangman's blow? Will ye, O Romans, on a day like this, See and permit the bloody Sacrifice▪ Of that victorious Champion; but for whom, And his brave Valour, Rome had been no Rome? And suffer here a Roman to defame With accusations his illustrious name! Valerius say, where would'st thou have him dye, What Scene is proper for his Tragedy? Within these Walls, where still the people raise High Acclamations to his Valours praise?

Or in the Camp yet fuming with a flood Of the late conquer'd Curiatiis blood? Or else amongst the Alban Heroes Tombs? Sure that place worst the Tragedy becomes. That honourable Field that witnesses At once his prowess and our brave success. Thou canst not possibly choose out a place, To be the Theatre of his disgrace, Wherein his noble conquests will not rise In glory, to reproach your cruelties. The Camp, the Lists, within, without the Town, All places eccho with his high renown. All things oppose, and all men disapprove The vain attempts of thy unjuster Love, That would with blood so Roman, and so pure, The glory of so bright a day obscure. Alba her self that object cannot see, And Rome with tears will stay that Tragedy.

Speaking to the King.

But Sir, your justice will prevent that doom, You understand the interests of Rome. What he has done he yet may do again, And once more may her liberty maintain; Give nothing to my Age, Sir, in this case. To day I Father of four Children was, Of which three in Rome's Quarrels buried are, One I have left, reserve him, Sir, for her. Rob not this City by his Sacrifice Of that defence which in his Valour lies; And give me your permission, that I may Direct to him, what I have left to say.

Speaking to Horace.

Horatio do not think the common bruit Can raise, or lessen a brave man's repute.

The rabble ever do delight in noise, But in a trice, change their inconstant voice: And the renown they give us bears no date, But perishes as illegitimate. It is for Kings, great ones, for souls that are Advanc'd above the common pitch by far, To censure vertue, to discern, and know The noble spirits from the mean and low. From them alone a true renown proceeds, And they alone record illustrious deeds. Do always like thy self, thy glory then Shall live, and flourish amongst worthy men; Although a less occasion may perchance Abuse short-sighted vulgar ignorance. Abhor thy life no more, but live, at least For mine, thy Kings, and Countries interest. Live, Romes opposers bravely to oppose, And fight her Battels with the bravest foes. Sir, I have said too much, though the affair May well excuse a Father in his care. I have pronounc'd the general sence of Rome, And now expecting stay your final doom.

Valerius.

Sir give me leave.—

Tullius.

Valerius no more, I yet retain all you have said before, And have consider'd every circumstance, Reason, and word, that serves to prove th' offence. This bloody fact committed in despight Of Law, and Justice, almost in our sight, Violates Nature, nay doth higher rise, With humane rage to wound the Deities; And sudden passions that such crimes produce, For facts like this, are but a weak excuse. Our most indulgent Laws herein speak high, And by their censure he deserves to die. If by another way, and less severe, We do consider the offender here,

His crime, though inexcusable, proceeds From the same Sword and Arm have done those deeds; By whose effects Rome bravely overcame, And I a King of two great people am. The double Crown on Romes Imperial Head, In favour of his life does highly plead: But for his Valour, I who now do sway A two-fold Scepter, had been forc'd t'obey; And where I sit a double Monarch Crown'd, Had been a Captive made, subdu'd, and bound. Many good Subjects in their Countries Wars Can only serve their Princes by their pray'rs. All men may love their Kings, but every one Cannot secure their States as he has done. The art, and power to establish Thrones, Are vertues Heaven gives few private ones. Such Servants are the Nerves, and strength of Kings, The Props of Kingdoms, and the glorious things They do and suffer in their Countries Cause, Seats them above the censure of the Laws. Let them be silent then, and here let Rome Forbear to utter an ungrateful doom On an offence she saw before, when yet She had no name, her Romulus commit; In her Deliverer she may forbear The fault she could in her rash Founder spare. Live then brave Souldier, spirit too sublime, Thy vertue sets thy glory 'bove thy Crime. Since generosity th' offence did make, Th' effect we pardon for the causes sake. Live to thy Countries noblest, bravest ends; But I must have you and Valerius friends; And in a friendship such as shall permit Fury, nor malice to extinguish it. And whether love, or obligation were The motives made him prosecute you here, Of what is past no memory retain, But reconcile him to your love again.

And sweet Sabina, let your great heart chase These marks of frailty from your lovely face. You can their Sister you lament express In nothing more, than in lamenting less. But we to morrow set apart to pay Thanks to the Gods for this victorious day; And Heaven would with an averted face Receive our Vows, and would withdraw his grace, Should not our Priests e're we begin, take care To purifie th' unhappy Conqueror. Be that his Fathers task, he may with ease At the same time Camilla's Ghost appease. I pity her, and wish her soul may have What satisfaction can be in the Grave; Since in one day, one zeal's ungovern'd heat Did her brave Lovers, and her Fate compleat. The day that saw them dye, e're hence he goes Shall see one Monument their Corps enclose.

The King rises, and all follow him except Julia.

Scena Quarta.

Iulia.

Heav'n sweet Camilla did foretell, The Tragical event drew nigh; But did the secret part conceal, From the most piercing Judgment's eye: It seem'd to speak of Nuptial Joys, It seem'd to sooth thy innocence, And did thy Death the while disguise, Deluding our intelligence.

"Alba and Rome to morrow shall surcease "Their Iars, thy Vows are heard, they shall have peace, "And thou be joyn'd to Curiace in a tie, "Never to be dissolv'd by Destiny.

SONG.

(1.)

HOw frailty makes us to our wrong Fear, and be loth to dye, When Life is only dying long And Death the remedy! We shun eternity, And still would grovel here beneath, Though still in woe and strife, When Life's the path that leads to Death, And Death the door to Life.

(2.)

The Fear of Death is the disease Makes the poor patient smart; Vain apprehensions often freeze The vitals in the heart, Without the dreaded Dart. When fury rides on pointed steel Deaths fear the heart doth seize, Whilst in that very fear we feel A greater sting than his.

(3.)

But chaste Camilla's vertuous fear Was of a nobler kind, Not of her end approaching near But to be left behind, From her dear Love disjoyn'd;

When Death in courtesie decreed, To make the fair his prize, And by one cruelty her freed From humane cruelties.

CHORVS.

Thus Heav'n does his will disguise, To scourge our curiosities, When too inquisitive we grow Of what we are forbid to know. Fond humane nature that will try To sound th' Abiss of Destiny! Alas! what profit can arise From those forbidden scrutinies, When Oracles what they foretel In such Aenigma's still conceal, That self-indulging man still makes Of deepest truths most sad mistakes! Or could our frailty comprehend The reach those riddles do intend: What boots it us when we have done, To foresee ills we cannot shun? But 'tis in man a vain pretence, To know or prophesie events, Which only execute, and move, By a dependence from above. 'Tis all imposture to deceive The foolish and inquisitive, Since none foresee what shall befal, But Providence that governs all. Reason wherewith kind Heav'n has blest His creature man above the rest, Will teach humanity to know All that it should aspire unto; And whatsoever fool relies On false deceiving prophesies,

Striving by conduct to evade The harms they threaten, or perswade, Too frequently himself does run Into the danger he would shun, And pulls upon himself the woe Fate meant he should much later know. By such delusions vertue strays Out of those honourable ways That lead unto that glorious end, To which the noble ever bend. Whereas if vertue were the guide, Mens minds would then be fortifi'd With constancy, that would declare Against supineness, and despair. We should events with patience wait, And nor despise, nor fear our Fate.

The end of the Fifth and last Act.

FINIS.