Horatius, a Roman tragedie, by Sir William Lower.

SCENA VI.

Horatius, Curiatius, Sabina, Camilla.

Curiat.

Good Gods! Sobina followes him. Is not Camilla strong enough to shake my heart, but you must joyn my Sister too? And leaving her tears to conquer me, bring you her hither to seeke the same advantage?

Sab.

No, no, Brother, oh no, I come not here but to embrace you, and to bid you adieu; your blood's too good, feare not that there is any baseness in it, nothing that may offend the constancy of these great hearts; if this illustrious fate should shake either of you, I should not own him for brother, or for husband: may I yet make a request unto you worthy of so brave a Husband, and so brave a Brother? I would at once take off impiety, render unto the honour that expects it, its purity, without mingling of crimes set its faire lustre on it: in a word, I faine would make you lawfull enemies; I am the sole bond of that sacred knot which joyneth you; when I shall be no more, you shall be nothing unto one another; breaking this chaine, you breake off your alliance; and since your honour doth require effects of hatred, purchase by my death the right and priviledge to hate: Alba and Rome will have it so, 'tis fit that you obey them; let one of you two kill me, and the other

revenge me, then your fight shall not be strange, or at least one of you shall justly fight for to revenge his wife, or else his sister. But what! you would fully so faire Glory, if any other quarrell should provoake you: your zeal unto your Country doth forbid you such cares, you should do very little for it, if less then this; unto it you must sacrifice, and without hate, a Brother in law, no more then deferre that which you ought to do; begin, and practise by his wife to shed his blood, begin to peirce his bosome by his sister; begin to make a worthy sacrifice of your illustrious lives to your deare praties by the death of Sabina; y'are enemies, you unto Alba, your to Rome, and I to both of them: what! think you to reserve me to see a Victory, where I shall behold the laurles of a brother or a husband smoake with a blood that I so cherished? can I between you two govern my heart then? fulfill the duty of sister and wife? embrace the conquerour in weeping for the conquered? no, no, before Sabina shall feel this stroake, the death which expect from one of you, shall readily prevent it. If you deny your hands, my own shall execute it; on then, who holds you? on, inhumane hearts! I shall have means enough to force you to it; you shall not be busie at the at the fight, but in the mid'st this body shall arrest your Swords, and spight of your refusals, force them to make way here before they reach at you.

Horat.

O my wife!

Curiat.

O my sister!

Cam.

They begin to mollifie.

Sab.

You sigh, your Visages

grow pale! are you those great hearts, those brave Heroes, which Rome and Alba have tane for defenders?

Horat.

Wife, what have I done to thee, wherein have I offended thee, that thou seek'st out against me such a revenge? what have my honour done thee? and wherefore comest thou with all thy force tassault my vertue? satisfie thy self at least to have astonish'd it, and leave me to finish this great business. Thou would'st faine reduce me to strange point, if thou lov'dst thy husband, thou wouldst not seeke to prevaile; be gone then, and no longer leave the Victory doubtful and in suspence, the dispute on't makes me asham'd already: suffer me to end my dayes with honour.

Sabina.

Well, proceed, feare me no more; he comes to thy assistance.