Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the matchless Orinda ; to which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace, tragedies ; with several other translations out of French.

SCEN. II.

Julia, Camilla.

CAMILLA.

Why does she wish I should with you converse, Does she believe my trouble less than hers? Or more insensible of this sad day, Does she conclude I have no tears to pay? With equal terrour I am threaten'd too, And I shall lose as much as she can do: The man to whom I did my heart resign, Must for his Country die, or ruine mine: And all that I can love (such is my fate!) Must now deserve my sorrow or my hate. Alas!—

JULIA.

Yet her affliction is more strange, We may a Lover not a Husband change; Receive Valerius love, Curtius forget, And you'l no more the other side regret; But wholly Ours, and recompos'd within, You'l nothing have to lose, when Rome does win.

CAMILLA.

Ah give me Council more legitimate, Nor teach me with a Crime to shun my Fate; For though my tide of Woes I scarce can stem, I rather would endure than merit them.

JULIA.

Can you believe a prudent change a fault?

CAMILLA.

And can you think a Perjury is not?

JULIA.

What can engage us to our mortal foes?

CAMILLA.

But what can disengage what honour owes?

JULIA.

You would in vain disguise a thing design'd, And which Valerius yesterday did find; For the reception you to him did give, Hath made his late repining hope revive.

CAMILLA.

If to Valerius I then paid respect, You nothing thence must for his hope collect; Another subject did my joies produce, But I your errour now will disabuse; And for my Curtius keep a flame too sure, Such a suspicion longer to endure. You know his Sister was no sooner led, By happy marriage, to my Brother's Bed, But that my Father (prest by him) desir'd, I should reward the love I had inspir'd: That time produc'd happy and fatal things; At once our marriage, and the War resolv'd, Our hopes created, and those hopes dissolv'd; It promis'd all, and then snatch'd all away, It makes us Foes, and Lovers in a day: How violent our grief did then appear, How many blasphemies Heav'n then did hear, And from my Eyes how many Rivers fell, I tell you not, you saw our last farewell. The trouble of my Soul, you since have seen, And of my vows for Peace have witness been; At every news in my distracted breast, My Country and my Lover did contest; Toss'd with uncertain thoughts, I fled for ease To the relief of sacred Oracles: Judge if what yesterday I did obtain, Might not assure my drooping heart again; That famous Greek who at the Aventine dwells, And Heav'n's dark purposes to men foretels, He whom Apollo never yet betray'd,

By this reply my stormy thoughts allay'd. "Alba and Rome to morrow changing face "Shall to thy wish'd for peace at last give place; "And to thy Curtius thou shalt then be ty'd, "So as no Fortune, ever shall divide. I wholly on this answer did depend And finding it my utmost hopes transcend, My Soul to raptures of Contentment flew, Beyond what happiest Lovers ever knew. Judge of their height; Valerius then I met, And could ev'n him behold without regret: He spoke of Love too, and I that could hear, And never thought Valerius had been there; His Courtship could from me no anger draw, For every thing seem'd Curtius that I saw. I thought all sounds told me how he did burn, And all my answers Eccho'd my return. The general Field which must to day be fought, I yesterday had heard, but minded not; My Soul those fatal Objects did reject, And still on peace and marriage did reflect: But Night those charming errours has expell'd, And made my Soul to dreadful Visions yield, Wherein vast heaps of horrour, Floods of Gore Did rob my Joy, and all my fear restore: I saw men dying, and then lost the sight, A Ghost appear'd, and then it took it's flight; The fatal shades, each others shape suppress, And by confusion terrour did increase.

JULIA.

An opposite construction dreams require.

CAMILLA.

I would believe what I so much desire; But I and all my hopes of good success Find this a day of Battel, not of Peace.

JULIA.

'Twill end the War, and then a peace is sure.

CAMILLA.

The pain is less then such a guilty cure. If Rome, or Alba must defeated be, Dear Curtius can have no pretence to me; No it Camilla never can become To wed the Conquerour, or Slave of Rome. But what new Object does my sight surprize! Is it thee Curtius? may I trust my Eyes?