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"Horatius, a Roman tragedie, by Sir William Lower." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A34579.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 3, 2024.
But rather, Sir, the fatall sad effects
of the fight Rome is subject unto Alba,
and your sons are defeated; two o' th' three
are dead, her husband onely doth remaine.
Old. Horat.
O effect of a sad fight truely fatal!
Rome subject unto Alba, and my Son
to free her from it not imploy himselfe
unto the last gasp! No, this cannot be:
Julia, you are deceived, Rome's not subject,
or my Son's slaine.
Jul.
A thousand from our Ramparts
saw it as well as I: he made himself
adimir'd whil'st that his Brothers stood; but when
he saw himself alone against three adversaries,
ready to be encompassed by them;
he sav'd himself by flight.
Old Horat.
Would not our souldiers
dispatch the traitor! would they give this coward
retraite into their ranks?
Jul.
I had no heart
to see more after this defeat.
Cam.
O my Brothers!
Old Horat.
Soft, mourn them not all, two of them enjoy
a fortune that doth make their father proud
and jealous too; See that their tombe be cover'd
with the most noble flowers; the glory of
their death hath pay'd me for their loss: this happiness
hath followed their unconquer'd courage, that
they saw Rome free as long as they had life,
and would not have beheld her to obey
but her own Prince, nor to become the Province
of an adjacent State. Lament the other,
lament the irreparable affront
his shamefull flight imprinteth on our brow,
lament the foul dishonour that he casts
on all our race, and the eternal stain
he leaves unto the sometime glorious name
of the Horatii.
Jul.
What would you have him do, Sir, against three?
Old Horat
What! I would have him dye: a brave dispaire
would have assisted him perhaps, had he
deferred his defeat a minute longer;
at least Rome would have been a little later
subjected; so would he have left my haire
with honour grey, and that were a reward
worthy his life. He is accomptable
unto his Country of all his blood,
every drope spared, perisheth his glory;
after this base bout every instant of
his life doth publish, with his own, my shame.
I'le breake the course of it, and my just anger,
'gainst an unworthy son using the rights
of father, shall make in his punishment
appear the glorious disacknowledgment
of such an action.
Sab.
Hearken somewhat less
unto these generous heats, and render us
not altogether miserable.
Old Horat.
Sabina,
your heart may easily be comforted,
hitherto our misfortunes touch you little,
you have no part yet in our miseries:
Heaven hath sav'd you your husband and your brothers,
if we are subject, 'tis unto your Country;
your brothers are the conquerous, although
we are betray'd; and seeing the high point
whereto their glory mounts, you little looke
upon our shame; but your too much affection
for that so infamous husband, will perswade you
to grieve as well as we ere it be long;
your tears in his behalfe are but weak guards:
I swear by the great Gods, the supreme powers,
that ere this day end, these my proper hands
shall wash off with his blood the stain from Rome.
Sab.
Let's follow him anger transporteth him.
Gods! shall we see nothing but such misfortnnes?
must we feare greater still, and must o••r fates
alwayes proceed from friends and parents hates?
The end of the third Act.
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