Horatius, a Roman tragedie, by Sir William Lower.

SCENA VII.

The old Horatius, Horatius, Curiatius. Sabina, Camilla.

The old Horatius.

How comes this, Children? doth your love lull you asleepe, or do you hearken to its charme? Lose you yet time with women? even ready to shed blood, looke you on effeminate tears? begone, and leave these blubber'd fooles to their misfortunes; their complaints have too much art and tenderness for you; they would participate their weakness to you, and there is no way to shun those stroakes but onely to fly from them.

Sabina.

Feare nothing from them, they are worthy of you, in spight of our endeavours; I perceive, you may expect what ever you desire both from a Son and Son in law; and if our weakness could have changed them, we leave you

here to encourage them; come, Sister, come, let us lose no more tears; against such vertues they are but weake armes, 'tis but to despaire that we must have recourse, Go, Tigers, go to fight, and we will go to die.

—Exeunt women.