Horatius, a Roman tragedie, by Sir William Lower.

SCENA III.

The old Horatius, Camilla.

Old Horat.

Daughter, this is no fit time to shed tears: it is not handsome when we see such honours: We mourn unjustly for domestick losses, when publick Victories proceed from thence: Rome triumphs over Alba, and that is enough for us; all our ills at this rate ought to be sweet unto us; in the death of a dear Lover, you lose but a man, whose losse is easie to repair in Rome: after this victory, there is no Roman but will be proud to give his hand to you. I must go to Sabina with this news; this stroak (without doubt) will be grievous to her,

her Brothers stain all by her Husbands hand, will give her juster tears and plaints then you: But I hope easily to dissipate the violence thereof, and that a little discretion assisting her great courage, will make the generous love she owes unto the Conqueror, reign on so noble heart: In the mean time, smother this unbecoming and poor low passion. If he comes, receive him, and shew no weaknesse; make your self appear to be his Sister, and that in one womb Heaven form'd you both of the same blood and substance.