HORACE, A French Tragedy OF Monsieur CORNEILLE.  
ENGLISHED By CHARLES COTTON, Esq  
LONDON, Printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun at the West-end of St. Paul's, 1671.   

To my Dear Sister Mrs. Stanhope Hutchinson.  
DEAR SISTER,  
HAD I not when I first undertook this Poem promised myself a better success from the Attempt, than I find upon a review of it now it is done, it had never been designed for you, who deserve much better than the best endeavour of a more happy Translator than I pretend to be: But if I had before too good an opinion of myself, I do yet retain such a respect for you, as would defend your name from so mean a Dedication as this; did I not find myself obliged by a vain and imprudent promise to present you what I might have foreseen would at the best prove very unfit to kiss your hands, who ever entertain yourself with the best things, and in that discover the best judgement to choose them. However seeing I have made you a promise of this Play, that I want the Art or the Patience to mend it, and that you are only to suffer a private injury, since it is never to be made public: let me beg of you to accept it, with the same sweetness you usually entertain the applications of other your Friends and Servants, who admire and love you: by which acceptance (besides the honour and obligation you will multiply upon me) you will do a great justice to yourself, in being favourable to a man, that (if he could write equal to the best) would lay his labours at your feet with the same humility, and affection, that he now subscribes himself,  
Dear Sister, Your most obedient, and most humble Servant, CHARLES COTTON. Beresford, Nou. 7. 1665.   

TO THE READER.  
IT is evident enough without further Apology, both by the Epistle before this Tragedy, and by the Date that Dedication bears, that neither at that time, nor of several years after, it was ever intended for the public View; and if it was a piece of discretion to conceal it then, it had been a much greater to have suppressed it now, that the same Play is already extant from a far better hand; I mean that of the incomparable Mrs. Philipps, to whose virtuous memory I shall ever pay so great a respect, that I should take him for a friendly Interpreter, who would conceive I had published this to no other end, than to do her honour; that is, to make the excellency of her Poem more manifest by the imperfections of this of mine: But in truth I am so far from doing it out of any kind of design, that I am no more concerned in this Impression, than my consent comes to, and that rather out of complacency to some, who have great authority with me, than out of any satisfaction in my own judgement, that I ought in prudence to do it.  
It was long since writ for the private divertisement of a fair young Lady, and ever since it had the honour first to kiss her hands, so entirely hers, that I did not reserve so much as the Broüillon to myself; so that her leave, as principally necessary, was first to be obtained: neither was it without some difficulty, that she was prevailed upon to give her consent, she being at the first proposal (either out of modesty (of which virtue no one has a more commendable share) or out of tenderness to her own reputation, or to mine) not very willing to have it printed: But at last (I know not how) she being overcome, and I (who had before parted with my Title) having now nothing to do to oppose it, it was condemned to the Press.  
Upon these terms than you have it openly exposed for every one to read, or let alone, like, or dislike at his own pleasure, or fancy: neither shall I say more of it than this, that I have seen some undertake as ill performed, and that if this were to do again, I should think to do it much better; only I think it fit to acquaint my Reader, that the Songs and Chorus to the Acts are all wholly my own; which whether the best, or worst part of the Book, he has free liberty to judge.  
However the world will please to receive it, I shall be as indifferent as any man in such a case can be; neither shall I be angry with any one for telling me my faults, provided he do it after such a manner, as shall discover he has a desire I should mend them; his reproof will otherwise degenerate into reproach, and that is never, even by the best natured people, to be very kindly taken.  
To conclude, and to say something for the encouragement of the Readers, such as sometimes use to throw away an hour upon a Play (however this shall succeed in their opinion) they can complain of no extraordinary loss of time; and as to the rest, the price of the Book will be so moderate, as can arise to no great matter of repentance.  
Beresford, October 8. 1670.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 11. line 23. for this, read his. p. 21. l. 14. for Love, r. jove. p. 28. l. 7. for brake, r. break▪ l. 9 for fear, r free. l. p: nult. for contests, r. contest. p. 38. l. 4. for Triumph, r. Triumphs. p. 42. l. 12. for with the, r. which the. p. 19 l. 10. for direct, r. direst, p. 51. l. 7. for these, r. those. l. 24. for this, r thy. p. 60. l. 15. r. before. p. 63. l. ult. for live in, r. living. p. 66. l. 28. for the Husband, r. her Husband. p. 67. l. 9 for try, r. dry. p 68 l. 16. for bash, r. blush. p. 69. l. 26. for quarrels, r. quarrel. p. 70. l. 18. for the bravest, r. her bravest.   


The ACTORS Names.  
Tullius' King of Rome.  
Horace the Father, an old Roman Knight.  
Horace the Son, Husband to Sabina.  
Cuirass, a Gentleman of Alba, Servant to Camilla.  
Valerius, a Roman Knight, Pretender to Camilla.  
Sabina an Alban Lady, Wife to Horace the Son.  
Camilla a Roman Lady, Sister to Horace, and in love with Cuirass.  
Julia a Roman Lady, Confident to Sabina, and Camilla.  
Flavian an Alban Soldier.  
Proculus a Roman Soldier.  
Guards and Attendants.   The Scene Rome, in a Parlour of Horatio's House.  

HORACE.  

Actus Primus.  

Scena Prima.  Sabina. julia. Sabina. 
APprove my frailty, and permit my care,  
In such mishaps as these, too just they are;  
When threatening dangers do impend so near,  
The truest Courage is allowed to fear.  
Nor can a spirit masculine, and brave,  
As noblest Hero's would pretend to have,  
In such a torrent of calamities,  
Practise its virtue without some surprise.  
Though mine by these Alarms be shaken, those fears  
Oppress my heart, prevail not with my tears:  
But whilst my sorrows importune the skies,  
My resolution governs in mine eyes.  
When there we stop the souls afflictions, than  
We more than women do, if less than men;  
To check our tears at such a time is proof  
In our weak Sex of Fortitude enough.  julia. 
It is, and more than common souls can do,  
Who from vain trifles, prophesy their woe▪  
But a great heart disdains a fear so base,  
And dares to hope in the most desperate case.  
Before our walls both Camps embattled are:  
But Rome yet knows not the mischance of War;  
Far then from doubt, we should applaud her might,  
Rome steps to greatness when she goes to fight.  
Then from your bosom banish fears so vain,  
To nourish thoughts worthy a Roman's name.  Sabina. 
Since my Lord's Roman, I am so, alas!  
Hymen has made me Rome's concerns embrace:  
But 'twere to captivate my soul, should he  
Make me renounce my country's memory.  
Alba, where first my infant breath I drew,  
Alba my Country, and my first Love too,  
When War 'twixt us, and thee proclaimed I hear  
Alike I victory, and ruin fear;  
And Rome if this thou Treason call, create  
Thyself such foes, as I may justly hate.  
When from thy prospect two great Camps appear,  
Three Brothers there engaged, a Husband here;  
Can I divide my wishes then, and be  
Thy votaress, Rome, without impiety?  
I know that in this nonage of thy State,  
Thou must by conquering Arms, secure its height▪  
I know 'twill rise, and that the Destinies  
A nobler scope for thy command, than this  
Of Latium points thee: That by fates decree  
The world's vast Empire is entailed on thee,  
And that thou canst not, but by War advance  
Thy Title to this great Inheritance.  
Far from opposing then that generous fire,  
That, Fate obeying, strives to make thee higher,  
I now could wish, thy daring Troops to see  
Crowned with a Pyrrhenean victory.  
Send out to furthest East those Bands of thine,  
And with Pavilions spread the Banks of Rhine;  
Go on till with invading steps thou make  
Th'▪ Herculean Pillars at thy Marches shake:  
But Alba spare for Romulus his sake.  
Ingrate! remember to her Kings that thou,  
Thy Name, thy Walls, and thy first Laws dost owe:  
Alba's thy Parent, let that stay thy hand,  
ere in thy Mother's Womb, thou sheathe thy brand.  
Elsewhere thy still victorious Arms translate,  
she'll smile to see her Offspring fortunate,  
And ravished with a fond maternal care,  
she'll pray for thee, if thou be'st just to her.  julia. 
This strange discourse surprises me, and that  
The more to see you now so passionate,  
Who when this War broke out, and ever since  
Have born yourself with that indifference,  
As you had been Rome's daughter, and allied  
Unto no interest in the world beside.  
I than admired your virtue that could bow  
Your dearest interests to your Husbands so,  
And formed my comforts to you in your moan,  
As if your tears had been for Rome alone.  Sabina. 
Whilst in light skirmishes they fought it so  
As threatened no side with an overthrow,  
And whilst my griefs were soothed with hopes of peace,  
I wholly Roman did myself profess.  
If Rome's success I looked on with disgust,  
I blamed that private envy as unjust.  
And if when Fortune took my Brother's part,  
I felt a guilty joy steal o'er my heart;  
With reason strait that joy I overcame,  
And wept when Glory triumphed in their name:  
But now that one War's utmost chance must bear,  
That Alba stoop to Rome, or Rome to her:  
And that, the Battle past, there rests no more  
Hope for the Conquered; bounds to th' Conqueror:  
I barbarously should my Country hate,  
Can I all Roman be in this estate;  
Or beg a triumph of the gods for Rome,  
Which through a torrent of my blood must come.  
I wean myself from one man's interest, and  
'Twixt Rome and Alba now do neuter stand;  
I fear for both the issue of this War,  
And will for them Fortune declines, declare;  
Equal till then, and then in the disgrace  
I'll only share, and let the glory pass;  
And whilst the day's deciding will prepare,  
For th' Vanquished tears, hate for the Vanquisher▪  julia. 
What contraries do humane breasts invade!  
By several passions, several minds are swayed;  
And in this great affair Camilla's breast  
After another manner is possessed.  
Her Brother is your Husband, yours to her  
A servant is, in a concern as dear:  
Yet with an eye from yours far different, she  
Her blood engaged against her love can see.  
Whilst you maintained a courage, that throughout  
Was brave and Roman, she irresolute,  
And fearful, dreaded petty skirmishes,  
Trembling to think of either sides success.  
Unto the Conquered still she gave her tears,  
Fomenting so her endless griefs, and fears:  
But when she now a day appointed knew,  
And that a final Battle must ensue,  
A sudden joy upon her forehead shone.  Sabina. 
Alas! I fear that alteration!  
With an unusual freedom yesterday  
To young Valerius courtship she gave way,  
And my poor Brother's interest laid apart,  
This Rival doubtless triumphs in her heart.  
Long absence joined with present objects do  
Debauch her heart from him she gave it to.  
Excuse this passion in a Sister's care,  
My love to him thus makes me doubt in her:  
I raise my jealousy from grounds too light,  
Unapt for changes are the days of fight.  
In such a time as this few souls are fit,  
New wounds, or new affections to admit;  
And in the noise of War our passions move  
With other thoughts, other concerns than love▪  
But than we put not on such gaieties,  
Such entertainments and delights as these.  julia. 
To me the cause is equally as strange,  
Nor can I guests at her so sudden change,  
It is enough in dangers of this kind  
To see, expect, and moderate the mind:  
But to arrive at joy is sure too much.  Sabina. 
See a good Genius brings her to the touch.  
Try her in this affair, and home; I know  
she'll nothing hid from you, she loves you so.  
I'll leave you! Sister, pray thee entertain  
julia a while, my sorrow is my shame.  
And my poor heart oppressed with griefs, and fears  
Seeks solitude to hid my sighs, and tears.   

Scena Secunda.  Camilla. julia. Camilla. 
Am I so fit for talk? does she believe  
I have not equally a cause to grieve?  
Or that less feeling in calamity,  
I in discourse shed fewer tears than she?  
My fears are great as hers, I must, Heaven knows  
As well as she in either party lose:  
My Country by my love must be o'rerhrown,  
Or he must die defending of his own;  
And in this sad necessity of fate  
Challenge my sorrow, or incur my hate.  julia. 
Yet she the stricter fortune must obey,  
Husbands we cannot change, Servants we may.  
Wave Cuirass, and accept Valerius love;  
That way you will half of your fears remove,  
And your revolted heart called back to Rome,  
Shall fear no loss abroad, but love at home.  Camilla. 
Deliberate better counsels for your friend,  
Lament my fate, but teach me not t' offend;  
For though my frailty ill these mischiefs bear,  
'Tis better suffer, than deserve them far.  julia. 
Have prudent changes, crimes reputed been?  Camilla. 
Is breach of Faith a pardonable sin?  julia. 
T'a public Foe what can oblige our troth?  Camilla. 
Who can absolve us from a private Oath?  julia. 
Come you would hid a thing that is too plain,  
I saw you late Valerius entertain  
With that obliging fashion as might move  
His forward hopes to glory in his love.  Camilla. 

If I received him with a cheerful grace,  
There nothing in't to his advantage was,  
Another th' object was of that delight,  
And learn the truth to set your judgement right:  
That I to Cuirass may no longer be  
Suspected of so base a levity.  
His Sister had not with her beauty's charms,  
Fully six months enriched my Brother's arms,  
Before he won my Father to proclaim,  
My person should reward his virtuous flame.  
This happy day produced unhappy things,  
In joining us, it did divide our Kings.  
Hymen, and War were the products of one  
Unhappy moment's resolution.  
One instant raised our flattering hopes on high,  
And the same instant beat them from the sky.  
As soon as promised it destroyed our joys,  
And soon as Lovers, made us Enemies.  
In that estate how boundless, and extreme  
Our sorrows were, how he did heaven blaspheme,  
And what sad showers streamed from my weeping eye,  
I need not tell you, you yourself were by.  
You since have still my souls afflictions seen,  
You know what still my prayers for peace have been,  
And with what tears on every accident,  
I did, or Rome, or my dear Love lament.  
Tired with delays, at last extreme despair  
Has forced me to the Oracle repair;  
And judge by what came yesterday from thence,  
If to my joy I had not just pretence.  
That Greek long famous for his Oracles,  
At Aventinus foot who Fates foretells,  
He whom Apollo ne'er inspired with lies,  
The end of all my woes thus prophecies.   

" Alba and Rome to morrow shall surcease  
" Their jars, thy vows are heard, they shall have peace,  
" And thou be joined to Cuirass in a tie  
" Never to be dissolved by Destiny.   

This Oracle did my assurance breed,  
And as the answer did my hopes exceed,  
I gave my soul up to delights, that far  
Exceed the happiest Lovers joys that are.  
How I was lost in rapture you may guests,  
And by th' effects, measure my joys excess,  
I saw Valerius and his company  
Was not distasteful as it used to be;  
He courted me without offence, alas!  
I ne'er considered whose the courtship was.  
I could nor coldness show, nor disesteem,  
For him I saw, to me did Cuirass seem:  
All that was said to me seemed to proclaim  
The truth, and vigour of his loyal flame,  
And all I said was purposed to assure  
Cuirass my faith was permanent, and pure.  
The fatal Battle must to day be fought,  
I heard it yesterday, but marked it not.  
Charmed with the thoughts of happiness, and peace,  
My soul rejected such sad thoughts as these:  
But night has banished hence those false delights,  
A thousand fearful dreams of horrid sights,  
A thousand piles of slaughter did appear,  
That have subdued my joy, restored my fear.  
I saw a stream of blood reek from the slain,  
A phantasm rising, disappeared again;  
Each other did confound, and each illusion  
Doubled my terror by their strange confusion.   julia. 
Dreams contrary expound themselves you know▪  Camilla. 
I should believe so, since I wish it so▪  
But maugre all my vows, I find we are,  
T' expect no peace, but a destructive War.  julia. 
This Battle will conclude it in a peace.  Camilla. 
Long live the ill that needs such remedies.  
Be it that Rome must fall, or Alba lose,  
Never, dear Love, expect me for thy Spouse:  
Never, oh! never! can that claim become  
A man that Conqueror is, or Slave of Rome?  
But what new object does my sight surprise!  
Is it my Cuirass, may I trust my eyes?   

Scena Tertia.  Cuirass. Camilla. julia. Cuirass. 
Suspect them not Camilla, he is come,  
That nor the Conqueror is, nor Slave of Rome;  
That e'er my hands in Roman blood be stained,  
Or bruised in Slavery, cease to apprehend;  
I ever did believe thy generous love  
To Rome, and glory would so constant prove,  
As that thou wouldst in piety despise  
My shameful chains, and hate my victories.  
And as in this extremity I did  
Alike captivity, and conquest dread—  Camilla. 
Enough my Cuirass, I the rest divine,  
I know that thou a Battle dost decline;  
Which to thy interest must so fatal be,  
And that thy heart wholly resigned to me,  
Fearing to involve me in my Countries harm,  
From Alba ravishes thy conquering arm.  
Let others here censure thy noble name,  
And if they will, thy loyal passion blame;  
'Tis that Camilla highly must approve,  
The more thou lov'st, the more she ought to love.  
And if the place that gave thee Being claim  
A duty against the interest of thy flame,  
The more thou quitst on my account still proves,  
All other interests bow unto thy loves:  
But hast thou seen my Father, does he bless  
With fair, and free allowance, this access?  
Does he not for the public cause declare,  
And to his Daughters, Rome's concerns prefer?  
May we in fine presume ourselves secure?  
Is our long wished for happiness made sure?  
Did he receive thee at a Father's rate,  
Or as a foe unto the Roman State?  Cuirass. 
It was so like a Father to his Son,  
As spoke his joy sincere, and not put on:  
But when I under his protection came,  
'Twas by no Treachery, that might blot my name▪  
My Countries interest I by no means quit,  
Adoring you, I love my Honour yet:  
Throughout this fatal War I still have been,  
As a true Lover, a good Citizen.  
Betwixt Love, and Alba, I composed the War,  
I sighed for you, whilst I did fight for her:  
And if again new mischiefs must ensue,  
I'll fight for her, whilst I do sigh for you.  
For maugre Love, and all thy beauty's charms,  
Should War continue I must be in Arms:  
But 'tis through Peace that I thus privileged am,  
'Tis Peace has thus obliged our mutual flame.  Camilla. 
Peace, 'tis a miracle exceeds belief!  
Does Heaven at last commiserate my grief?  julia. 
Suspend a while your sorrow, and forbear  
To doubt the Oracle that cannot err;  
And let us hear by what admired success  
The hour of Battle has produced this Peace.  Cariace. 
Who could have hoped it, Gods! Both Armies me▪  
Prepared for Battle with an equal heat;  
Their eyes already threatened Death, and they  
Impatient only for the signal stay:  
When our Dictator single did advance,  
And as a sign of silence waved his Lance;  
Which soon obtained:" Romen, quoth he, what rage,  
" What fury makes us thus to War engage?  
" At last let Reason calm these rude alarms,  
" Our virtuous Daughters warm the Romans Arms.  
" Hymen has so conjoined us, there are few  
" Amongst our Sons, but are your Nephews too.  
" We but one people in two Cities are,  
" One race, one blood, why then this Civil War?  
" Where conquered lives weaken the Conquerors,  
" And the best triumph is bedewed with tears.  
" The common enemy does expecting stay,  
" Till one sides ruin, render both his prey,  
" Tired broken Conqueror, who nought enjoys:  
" But having slain his friends, himself destroys.  
" They of our broils too long have profit made,  
" With powers conjoined 'tis time we them invade,  
" And damn those jars, where black oblivion lies,  
" That of good Soldiers make so ill Allies.  
" Or if ambition of vain Rule alarm,  
" These noble Troops of yours, and ours to arm;  
" Yet if a little blood may purchase peace,  
" That blood shall piece us, and the War shall cease.  
" Let each side choose some Champions out, and tie  
" Their Fortunes to those Champion's Destiny.  
" And as in them Fate shall dispose the day,  
" The Vanquished shall the Vanquisher obey▪  
" But so as Soldier's honours may befit,  
" To bow as Subjects, not as Slaves submit,  
" Without disgrace, tribute, or other terms,  
" Save always to assist the conquerors Arms.  
" So of two States, we shall one Empire make.  
This said, each breast joys palpitations shake,  
Now whilst they face, each can a Brother spy,  
Kinsman, or Friend ranked with the Enemy:  
They wonder now 'twas not before foreseen,  
How foul their parricides must needs have been,  
And show at once in one distracted brow,  
How much the fair proposal they allow;  
And how with horror now they disapprove  
All thoughts of Battle, after thoughts of Love▪  
Th' offer's at last received, and the wished Peace  
As soon was sworn to, the Conditions these.  
Three for the whole the Combat must assay,  
Chosen from either side, and that they may  
With better conduct to the choice proceed,  
The Generals are on a short truce agreed.  
Yours in the Senate is, ours in his Tent.  Camilla. 
Blessed Gods! ye have a timely succour sent.  Cuirass. 
By joint decree within two short-lived hours  
Our Champion's Fortune must determine ours.  
Mean while in freedom we expect the doom,  
Rome in our Camp is, and our Camp in Rome.  
Free intercourse on both sides granted is,  
Both sides seek friends amongst their enemies.  
I hither have followed your Brothers in,  
And Fortune to my vows so just has been,  
That he who gave my fair Camilla life  
Says she to morrow shall be made my Wife,  
And you, I hope, will not recede from this.  Camilla. 
Obedience still a Daughter's duty is.  Cuirass. 
Come then my Sweet, and from this mouth receive  
That fair consent he is so free to give,  
That dear command, which once pronounced will bless  
My love with title to my happiness.  Camilla. 
I go along with you to welcome home  
My noble Brother's safe return to Rome;  
And once again to hear the happy news,  
Confirmed by them, of this auspicious truce▪  julia. 
Go, and the while I'll on the Altars raise  
In your behalf a Sacrifice of praise.   

SONG.  

(1.)  
SO wretched are the sick of Love,  
No Herb has virtue to remove  
The growing ill:  
But still,  
The more we Remedies oppose  
The Fever more malignant grows.  
Doubts do but add unto desire,  
Like Oil that's thrown upon the fire,  
Which serves to make the flame aspire;  
And not t' extinguish it:  
Love has its trembling, and its burning fit▪   

(2.)  
Fruition which the Sick propose  
To end, and recompense their woes,  
But turns them o'er  
To more.  
And curing one, does but prepare  
A new, perhaps a greater care.  
Enjoyment even in the chaste,  
Pleases, not satisfies the taste,  
And licenced Love the worst can fast.  
Such is the Lover's state,  
Pining and pleased, alike unfortunate.   

(3.)  
Sabina and Camilla share  
An equal interest in care,  
Fear hath each breast  
Possessed.  
In different Fortunes, one pure flame  
Makes their unhappiness the same.  
Love begets fear, fear grief creates,  
Passion still passion animates,  
Love will be love in all estates:  
His power still is one  
Whether in hope, or in possession.   

CHORUS.  
TOO weak are humane eyes to pry  
Into the shades of Destiny:  
Fate spreads a curtain to our sight,  
Through which a faint imperfect light,  
Serves only to perplex our way,  
As blinking Meteors make us stray:  
And what the juggling Priest foretells,  
In his ambiguous Oracles,  
Deludes our judgements whilst he shrouds  
Vain riddles in mysterious clouds.  
Wisely did providence deny  
To humane curiosity,  
That only privilege to look  
In Destinies eternal Book;  
For should we know our periods, than  
We should do more or less than men.  
Ah poor Camilla! how art thou  
Exalted in thy fortune now!  
Whom Fate so soon will headlong throw  
Into a precipice of woe!  
Betrayed by Riddles, and Love's charms,  
Thou dreamest thyself in Cuirass arms,  
Wrapped in chaste pleasures, when alas!  
Thou only must could death embrace.  
To virtue sure 'twas an offence,  
So to abuse thy innocence;  
And to raise up thy hope so high,  
Was an inhuman cruelty.  
We to ourselves even in our fears  
Are flattering interpreters,  
And need no fraud when Death's so nigh  
To rock us in security.  
What could the angry powers move  
In fair Camilla's virtuous Love?  
Or what hath chaste Sabina done  
To draw so dire a ruin on?  
Vain men misled by vicious wills,  
Commit those Heav'n-offending ills,  
Which pull down vengeance from the sky  
To punish proud mortality:  
But what ye Gods can women do,  
Soft women to provoke you so?  
It is for Rome that they must be  
Involved in Alba's Destiny;  
Proud Rome for prouder Empire tries,  
And laid in blood, by blood must rise;  
Alba must truckle, 'tis decreed,  
That Rome may triumph, she must bleed:  
Imperious Fate will bear the sway,  
Whose power all earthly powers obey.    
The End of the First Act.   

Actus Secundus.  

Scena Prima.  Horace. Cuirass. Cuirass, 
I See your merits sway the public voice;  
Rome durst rely upon no other choice:  
Unto your Valours this proud Town alone  
Dares trust her cause and reputation;  
And whilst she only on your Arms relies,  
With one sole House braves all our Families.  
We shall believe, since you the weight must bear,  
Save Horace Sons, that there no Romen are:  
This choice three Houses might have raised to fame,  
Have given each a high and glorious name,  
And that Renown which yours alone must be,  
Had been enough to have eternised three.  
Nor can I, since by Fortune and my flame  
I in your House so interested am;  
But I must share, as much as in me lies,  
Your Fam'lies' glory in this enterprise.  
Yet the respect I to my Country bear,  
Mixes that pleasure with an honest fear.  
The War has raised your name unto that height,  
I fear for Alba, and foresee her fate.  
Since you must fight, her interest must bow,  
Fate has in choosing you determined so.  
It is decreed, I see you must o'ercome,  
And I conclude myself a slave to Rome.  Horace. 
You should Rome pity, not for Alba fear,  
In her ill choice did you consider her;  
In Rome it doubtless a great blindness is,  
To have such choice, and choose so far amiss.  
Of her brave Sons a thousand worthier be  
So brave a quarrel to maintain, than we;  
Yet though the Combat promise me a Shroud,  
That I am chosen makes me justly proud;  
And the assurance of my soul is such,  
As from my little Valour hopes for much.  
Nor can I (be what will th' intent of Fate)  
Conclude myself a slave to Alba yet.  
Rome has o'revalued my desert, but I  
Will amply justify it all, or die.  
" who'll die, or conquer, seldom conquered is.  
That brave despair but rarely perishes;  
Rome (fall what will) shall never subject bow,  
Till my last groans proclaim my overthrow.  Cuirass. 
Alas! in that my state compassion needs,  
What Alba covets most, my friendship dreads.  
Wretched extremes! Alba must be enslaved,  
Or by thy noble persons ruin saved▪  
She must or fail of her ambitious aim,  
Or through thy blood wade to her lustful claim:  
Which shall I pray for? what success attend?  
This combat must in my affliction end.  
I shall on either side have tears to shed,  
And on both sides my prayers are limited.  Horace. 
What would you be my enemy so far,  
To mourn me falling in my Country's War?  
That noble death allures a generous heart,  
Tears do but injure his surviving part,  
And I could falling kiss my Destiny,  
Should Rome receive no greater loss than me.  Cuirass. 
And yet allow your friends their friendly care  
In this brave death they to be pitied are;  
The honour's yours, but theirs the loss, and what▪  
Swells your renown, makes them unfortunate.  
We part with all, when a true friend we lose.  
But here comes Flavian, sure he brings me news.  
Has Alba yet made choice of her three men?   

Scena Secunda.  Horace. Cuirass. Flavian. Flavian. 
I come to tell you.  Cuirass. 
Say, who are they then?  Flavian. 
They've pitched on you, and your two Brothers.  Cuirass. 
Who?  Flavian. 
On your two Brothers they have pitched, and you.  
But why that look? why that contracted brow?  
Do you alone th' election disallow?  Cuirass. 
No, but it does surprise me, I confess,  
I think myself unworthy such a grace.  Flavian. 
Shall the Dictator know you entertain  
The quarrel coldly? for I must be plain,  
This carriage does me something too surprise.  Cuirass. 
Tell him, that maugre Love, and all the ties,  
Unite our Families, we three will fight  
The three Horatij in Alba's right.  Flavian. 
With them! 'tis much in a few words you say.  Cuirass. 
Carry my answer back, and leave us pray.   

Scena Tertia.  Horace. Cuirass. Cuirass. 
Henceforth I see Heaven, Earth, and Hell contend▪  
And whet their fury, which should most offend;  
That Gods, and Men, Devils, and Fate prepare,  
At once t' invade us with a general War;  
And more t' afflict us in the state we are,  
The Fates, and Devils, Gods, and Men, I dare:  
Since all of dire in Heaven, and Hell contained,  
Weighed with this honour is to be disdained.  Horace. 
Fate that expands the lists of honour, does  
Brave matter to our constancy propose:  
He has combined his mischief to make one,  
May with our valour hold proportion,  
And as he sees no common men we are;  
So he no common fortune does prepare.  
To fight an enemy for the public good,  
And with a stranger hazard blood for blood;  
The poor effect of a mean virtue is,  
Thousands have don't, and thousands may do this▪  
For a man's Country 'tis so brave to die,  
Who would not court so bright a Destiny?  
But to the public when we sacrifice  
The thing we most do love, we most do prize;  
To fight with a man's second self, his Friend,  
And strive to kill him that would us defend,  
A Wife's dear Brother, and a Sister's Love,  
All ties, and all relations to remove,  
And in our Country's Cause t' encounter him,  
Whose blood we would with our own lives redeem:  
This is a virtue none can boast, but we,  
Few in this glory will our Rivals be:  
And few men's hearts, so brave a courage own,  
As dare pretend to such a high renown.  Cuirass. 
'Tis true, our names shall now immortal grow,  
Th' occasion's fair, and we must seize it too,  
Of a rare virtue we shall precedents be;  
Yet there is something of barbarity  
Mixed with your noble temper: few there are,  
Even of those who most can do, and dare,  
Would glory in this case, or choose to buy  
At such a price, their immortality.  
And whatsoever honour may redound,  
'Twere better be obscure, than so renowned;  
For my part I dare say, and you might see't,  
I made no very long debate of it.  
Friendship, nor Love, nor our Alliance could  
Suspend my honour, nor corrupt my blood.  
And since our Alba by this choice does show,  
She values me as high as Rome does you;  
I think to do as much, and fight as home  
In her behalf, as you shall do for Rome.  
My heart is good enough, but yet I feel  
I wear humanity about me still.  
I see your honour in my ruin lies,  
And that my glory in your fall must rise:  
Ready t' espouse the Sister, I must kill  
The Brother; and the blood I mix with, spill:  
I know that by my Country's interest, I  
Am sentenced to this sad necessity:  
Thus though this task I fearless undertake,  
My heart's o'ercharged, and I with horror shake;  
I do commiserate my own distress,  
And envy those the War has laid in peace.  
Not that I would decline the thing one jot;  
For though it move me, it affrights me not:  
I hug the honour I receive: but yet,  
I must lament, what I must lose by it.  
And since your Rome so strict in honour is,  
As to pretend a virtue beyond this:  
Thank Heaven I am no Roman, since thereby  
I may retain yet some humanity.  Horace. 
Since you no Roman are, strive to put on  
Resolves may make you worthy to be one;  
And if you'll have your virtue rival mine,  
Let it in equal resolution shine.  
The constancy I boast of does permit  
None of these weaknesses to mix with it.  
And 'twere a stain to honour, when we yet  
The lists scarce enter, should we now retreat.  
Unto its Zenith our misfortunes got  
I face it unconcerned, and tremble not,  
Against who e'er Rome shall my Arms employ,  
I blindly entertain the grace with joy.  
The glory that attends, commands like these,  
Should banish in us all reluctancies:  
And who besides his Country in this case  
Considers aught, is womanish, and base.  
Our Country's sacred right empales at once,  
All whatsoever obligations.  
Rome has made choice of me; nor is it fit,  
When she commands, further t' examine it.  
With the same joy, I on my wedding night  
Clasped fair Sabina, I'll her Brother fight:  
And to be short, since such must be our lot,  
Alba has named you, and I know you not.  Cuirass. 
I know you still, and in that knowledge feel  
A sorrow wounding as your sharpest steel;  
But never knew before I must confess,  
A virtue so severe, as you profess:  
It like our ills, doth in its Zenith sit,  
And I admire, but shall not practise it.  Horace. 
Oh! be not good perforce on any score,  
But since the whining way affects you more,  
Enjoy at liberty that bliss alone:  
See where my Sister comes t' assist your moan,  
I'll in to yours, and fit her mind to this,  
To bear herself still like whose Wife she is;  
To love you still, though by your hand I die,  
And bear her ills with Roman constancy.   

Scena Quarta.  Horace. Cuirass. Camilla. Horace. 
Have you heard Sister with the Alban Bands  
How high your Servant's reputation stands?  Camilla. 
Brother, I've heard too much; how soon alas!  
Has my false fortune changed her flattering face?  Horace. 
Arm you with courage, such as may declare  
On all events, that you my Sister are;  
And if your Cuirass through my ruin come,  
Triumphant as a Conqueror back to Rome▪  
Receive him not with an averted face,  
May speak the memory of my disgrace:  
But as a man whose Valour prompts him to  
Such things as Tyrant Honour bids him do,  
That serves his Country nobly, and does prove  
By generous acts his title to your love.  
Complete, as if I lived, your Nuptial tie;  
But if this Sword conclude his Destiny,  
Receive my Victory at the same rate,  
Without reproach for your brave Servants Fate▪  
I see you're sad, your eyes grow big with tears,  
Pray entertain him with your feminine fears.  
Now quarrel Heaven, Earth, and Fate, but when  
The Combat's past, no more remembrance then.  Speaking to Cuirass. 
I'll leave you but a moment, than we go,  
Like friend with friend, to fight it foe to foe.   

Scena Quinta.  Cuirass. Camilla. Camilla. 
Wilt thou then go my soul? has such a shower  
Wept by Camilla, no prevailing power?  
Does brutish Honour rule thy heart, above  
The virtuous interest of commanding Love?  Cuirass. 
Alas it is too plain, I see that I  
Or by my grief, or Horace Sword must die:  
To this brave work I as unwilling go,  
As Malefactors to the Wrack would do:  
I curse my name a thousand times that has  
Procured my merit such a fatal grace.  
I curse myself, and fortune, and I hate  
My treacherous valour, since alone by that  
My person's so considerable made,  
And my despairing flame does Love invade,  
It dares to challenge Heaven as unjust;  
And I lament us both, but go I must.  Camilla. 
Oh no! I know thee better, now I see  
Thou dost desire that I should sue to thee,  
That the legitimate power which I claim  
May to thy Country justify thy fame.  
Thy name's too great already, and thy acts  
Have paid long since what Alba now exacts.  
None better has maintained this quarrel, none  
Has sacrificed more lives, than thou hast done.  
Thy name can rise no higher than it is,  
Permit some other now t' ennoble his.  Cuirass. 
Shall I another's brows encircled see,  
With those immortal Laurels due to me?  
Or this reproach from my brave Country hear,  
That she had triumphed, had I fought for her?  
And whilst my valour's charmed by Love, shall I  
Blot my brave actions now with infamy?  
No! since I thus am honoured, Alba shall  
By this sole arm's success, or rise, or fall.  
I wear her fate, and this account I'll give,  
To die with honour, or with honour live.  Camilla. 
Does honour blind thee so, thou wilt not see,  
How poorly thou betrayest my love, and me?  Cuirass. 
My Love in this, necessity obeys,  
And Sweet, ere I was yours, I Alba's was.  Camilla. 
But in thy Country's quarrel to destroy  
A Friend, a Brother, and thy Sister's joy,  
Are things methinks, virtue should startle at.  Cuirass. 
Alas! Camilla in this sad estate,  
We have no will, and in this hateful choice  
Of Rome, and Alba, friendship has no voice.  
Brother, and Friend, names so beloved before,  
Have lost their harmony, and are no more.  Camilla. 
Wilt thou not bring me home Horatio's head,  
And claim my person for the noble deed?  Cuirass. 
I dare not think on't, thus begirt with woe,  
Hopeless to love, is all that I can do.  
But my dear soul, you weep!  Camilla. 
How can I choose,  
When he I love does that I live refuse?  
And when our Hymen does his Taper light,  
Thou with thine own hand dost extinguish it.  
Thy cruel heart, my ruin does decree,  
And says it loves, when it doth murder me.  Cuirass. 
In lover's tears, what eloquence doth flow!  
And beauty most prevails, when dressed in woe,  
At this sad sight my heart is tender grown,  
I stagger in my resolution.  
Assault no more my glory with your fears,  
But let me save my virtue from your tears.  
I feel she faints, and ill defends her place,  
The more I'm yours, the less I'm Cuirass.  
Nor can a virtue ne'er so firm, and strong,  
Having with friendship combated so long;  
And in that fight already weary grown,  
Conquer at once Love, and compassion.  
Go! hate me! shed no more vain tears for me!  
Thus to your love, I oppose injury:  
I better can resist your anger far,  
And to deserve it more, I here declare,  
I love you not. Call up your vengeance now,  
And shoot me dead from your offended brow.  
Are you insensible to a man ingrate?  
Punish my base Apostasy with hate.  
I love you not. Let that provoke your wrath!  
Would you yet more? then I renounce my Faith.  
Insolent virtue! to whose rigour, I  
Am sacrificed in this necessity,  
Canst thou no more resist her tears, but by  
The wretched help of such a vicious lie?  Camilla. 
Commit no worse, and by the Gods w' adore,  
Instead of hating thee, I'll love thee more.  
Ingrate I'll hug thee if thy valour's pride  
Court not the title of a Fratricide.  
Why was I born a Roman? why not thou?  
Then I with Laurels might adorn thy brow.  
I should not then restrain, but prompt thee on,  
And do for thee, as I've for Horace done.  
To day alas! my vows I blindly made  
Against thee sinning, when for him I prayed.  
See where he comes. Love I am lost if she  
Prevail no more with him, than I with thee!   

Scena Sexta.  Horace. Cuirass. Sabina. Camilla. Cuirass. 
Ye Gods! Sabina too! is't not enough,  
Camilla's here to try my virtue's proof;  
But you must bring along my Sister too,  
To try what both their interests can do?  
When having conquered your vast spirit, she  
Must come, and try to do as much for me?  Sabina. 
No! Brother no! I come not to that end,  
I only to embrace, and part, pretend.  
Your Blood's too true, fear nothing mean from me,  
I bring no tears t' offend your constancy.  
Nay! should I see this dire misfortune shake,  
Or startle either, I would him forsake.  
Yet give me leave to offer one request,  
That may become my double interest.  
I from the Victor's Sword will wipe offence,  
And reconcile honour to innocence.  
Make it unto its native lustre rise,  
And lastly make you lawful enemies.  
In me alone it is you are allied,  
When I am dead that knot will be untied.  
Break then that Bond, that does your Arms oppose,  
And since you're bound in honour to be foes,  
Purchase by me a privilege to hate,  
'Tis Rome and Alba's will, you must obeyed.  
Take one of you a life that I despise,  
In this sick breast commence your cruelties;  
And since my heart's divided in my woe,  
Let your unpitying Steel divide it too.  
The other way revenge Sabina's fall,  
So shall your Combat be approved by all;  
And one at least a just revenge may take,  
Or for a Wives, or for a Sister's sake.  
But 'twould perhaps eclipse your Glories light  
In a less Quarrel, should such Heroes fight.  
IT must be your Country's Cause, and if you were  
Less to yourselves, less would your acts appear.  
You must be Victims to your Country's lust;  
Proceed then to a sacrifice so just:  
Strike through the Sister at the Brother's life,  
And wound the Husband, whilst you kill the Wife.  
Begin ye Tigers, in this life of mine,  
The Sacrifice you in your own design.  
You in this famous combat must become,  
A foe to Alba, you a foe to Rome:  
But I obliged by Birth, and by my flame,  
Unto them both an adversary am.  
And must I be reserved, only to see,  
The triumph of a hateful Victory?  
A triumph where the Blood I prise so dear,  
Must trim the Laurels of the Triumpher?  
Can I betwixt you then govern my heart,  
And play at once a Wives and Sister's part?  
And whilst my soul the Conquest does abhor,  
With open arms embrace the Conqueror?  
No, ere that happen, Death shall close these eyes  
From triumphs mixed with my Friends Obsequies.  
My ruin shall prevent it, and what you  
Withdraw your hands from, my own hands shall do.  
Go on then Monsters! who your rage withstands?  
I shall find means enough to force your hands,  
Which shall no sooner be prepared to kill,  
But with this breast I'll intercept your Steel:  
And though you now deny me, force your blows,  
To send my soul unto its wished repose.  Horace. 
Dear Wife!  Cuirass. 
Dear Sister!  Camilla. 
Courage you prevail.  Sabina. 
Your bosoms groan forth sighs, your cheeks grow pale.  
What frights you thus? are these the men on whom,  
The stakes are laid of Alba, and of Rome?  Horace. 
Wherein Sabina have I done amiss,  
That can deserve such a revenge as this?  
How has my Honour injured thee, that thou  
With all thy power assault'st my virtue so?  
To have astonished me let it suffice,  
And let me finish this brave enterprise.  
Thy love has raised a conflict in my breast;  
But Wife insult not in the power thou hast.  
Go, strive no more for conquest, 'tis to me▪  
T'have suffered this debate, an infamy.  
Permit me, that I may with honour die.  Sabina. 
You need not fear, your succours are so nigh.   

Scena Septima.  Horace the Father. Horace. Cuirass. Sabina. Camilla. Horace the Father. 
Is this a time in Love parleys to spend,  
When Rome and Alba do your Arms attend!  
When Blood should weep, do you converse with tears!  
Go! leave these Women to their women's fears.  
Their griefs (my Sons) too subtle are for you,  
And by contagion will your hearts subdue;  
Nor can you but by flight evade their powers.  Sabina. 
Doubt them not (Sir) they're worthy to be yours,  
And slighting all our prayers, resolved prepare  
For acts becoming him whose Sons they are:  
But if our tears have softened them, we do  
Thus give you scope to fortify them new.  
Come Sister, let us go, we weep in vain,  
Tears are too weak to tonquer brutish man.  
To our sole refuge, black despair, we fly,  
Go Tigers then, and fight, whilst we go die.   

Scena Octava.  Horace the Father. Horace. Cuirass. Horace. 
Confine (Sir) I beseech you to the House  
These foolish Women, that they break not lose;  
For if they should, their over-fondness might,  
With cries, and tears perhaps disturb our fight,  
And make the censuring world believe that we  
Ourselves were of the vile conspiracy.  
This honour we should purchase then too dear,  
If once suspected of so base a fear.  Horace the Father▪ 
Leave that to me, and go, your Brother's stay,  
And now your duty to your Country's pay.  Cuirass. 
How should I part, or in what method take—  Horace the Father. 
Ah! do not tempt my grief, for virtue's sake;  
My voice wants terms t'inflame your noble breast,  
And with perplexed thoughts my heart's oppressed.  
My tears swell up, to force their tender gates,  
Do your devoir, and leave th' event to fates.   

SONG.  

(1.)  
TO Arms! to Arms! the Hero's cry,  
A glorious Death, or Victory.  
Beauty and Love, although combined,  
And each so powerful alone,  
Cannot prevail against a mind  
Bound up in resolution.  
Tears their weak influence vainly prove,  
Nothing the daring breast can move  
Honour is blind, and deaf, even deaf to love.   

(2.)  
The Field! the Field! where Valour bleeds,  
Spurned into dust by barbed steeds,  
Instead of wanton Beds of Down  
Is now the Scene where they must try,  
To overthrow, or be o'erthrown;  
Bravely to overcome, or die.  
Honour in her interest sits above  
What Beauty, Prayers, or tears can move:  
Were there no Honour, there would be no Love.   

CHORUS.  
HOw prone are people tired with Peace,  
To nauseate their happiness?  
And headlong into mischief run,  
To feed their foul ambition!  
Leasure and Luxury, when met  
In populous Cities, do beget  
That Monster War, which at the first,  
In little private discords nursed,  
Grows higher by degrees, until  
Having got power to his will,  
He broke into a general flame,  
Beyond what Polity can tame.  
No interest then escapeth fear  
From insolence, and cruelty;  
And facts that flow from brutish lust▪  
The titles wear of great and just.  
Nay when Wars ensigns are displayed,  
It is Religion to invade,  
No matter whom, nor what the cause;  
Nor is there room for other Laws,  
Than what the Victor will on those  
His riots have subdued, impose.  
Yet there have still pretences been  
The vilest practices to screen.  
There never wanted a pretence  
To violate suffering innocence;  
Though whatsoever men pretend,  
Wealth, and Dominion are their end.  
Imperious Rome! must Alba feel  
The edge of thy invading Steel?  
Alba thy Mother, from whose womb,  
Thy Founder Romulus did come?  
Or if thou tak'st an impious pride  
To be esteemed a Parricide,  
Can nothing satiate thy will,  
Unless that Brothers, Brothers kill?  
Deluded Heroes! how they fly  
To meet a cruel Destiny,  
And sacrifice themselves to Fame,  
A nothing, a mere airy name,  
When in th' unnatural contests  
Who conquered falls is happiest!  
'Tis Tyrant Honour unto thee  
We own this bloody Tragedy,  
Whom, but the virtuous none obey,  
And being so, become thy prey.  
They see in thy deluding glass  
Trophies and Triumphs, when, alas!  
'Tis their own blood they haste to shed,  
And live, but to lament the Dead.  
Deaf unto Piety, and Love,  
The Combatants are gone to prove  
Themselves true Patriots, when they are  
The instruments of Civil War,  
And hazard in a Combat more,  
Than in a Battle heretofore.  
Fate holds the balance whilst they fight,  
And finds both scales of equal weight;  
Valour with Valour even weighs  
Honour with Honour, Praise with Praise;  
But when she lays upon the beam  
Her partial hand, and varies them,  
Then one scale gets it, whilst on high,  
The other kicks and knocks the Sky.    
The end of the Second Act.   

Actus Tertius.  

Scena Prima.  Sabina. 
LEt us at last, my troubled Soul, appease  
These inward mutinies, disturb our peace,  
And stand no longer neuter in this War,  
But, or for Alba, or for Rome declare.  
Let us no more divide our fruitless care,  
But nourish hope, to overcome despair.  
Yet to which side, alas! should we adhere,  
Where both the interests, equally are dear!  
Alas! which party cleave to, which refuse;  
Or 'twixt a Brother, and a Husband choose?  
Nature, or Love, for either side do plead,  
And I by duty unto both am led.  
Then let us rather in this fatal strife,  
Continue still a Sister, and a Wife.  
Let us their honours above all prefer,  
Their virtues imitate, and cease to fear.  
The death that threatens is so brave an end,  
We fearless should the sad report attend.  
Let us no more the Fates inhuman call;  
Think in what cause, not by whose hands they fall▪  
Let us caress them who have bravely fought,  
Nor wrong their Valour's merit with a thought,  
Save of the glory, and eternal grace,  
Their Arms achieve unto their noble race;  
Nor once consider at whose bloods expense  
Virtue has raised them to that eminence.  
Let our concerns, and interest be the same  
Their Houses interests are, in which I am  
A Daughter, or a Wife; so near allied  
To both their noble bloods, that neither side  
Can of the other any triumph win,  
But by their Swords achievements, who are mine.  
Fortune whatever ills thou dost dispense,  
I've found a way t' extract some joy from thence:  
I now can view fearless, and undismayed,  
This Tragedy in all its terrors played:  
I can behold the dead without despair,  
And without horror see the Vanquisher.  
Oh flattering illusion! false delight!  
Thou pleasing error, and impuissant light!  
Which with a counterfeited Ray hast shown  
How short thy stay was, and how soon thou'rt gone!  
Like Lightnings in obscurity, that make  
By their retiring flames, the night more black;  
Mine eyes thou strook'st not with a short-lived beam,  
But with more darkness to envelop them.  
By thee my griefs too soon enchanted were,  
And for that moment's truce I pay too dear.  
I feel my heart pierced thorough with the steel,  
Just now employed my dearest friends to kill.  
Contemplating their deaths, I not at all  
Think in what quarrel, but by whom they fall;  
Nor see the Victor raised to eminence,  
But I consider at whose bloods expense.  
I find my interest only is the same,  
With the afflicted house in which I am  
A Daughter, or a Wife, so near allied  
To both their noble bloods, that neither side  
Can from the other any triumph win,  
But by their deaths, and ruin who are mine.  
Is this the peace than I have prayed for so?  
Ye too propitious Gods, you've heard my vow!  
What thunders do you, when provoked, prepare,  
If such dire cruelties your favours are?  
And in what sort do you correct offence,  
When you delight to punish innocence?   

Scena Secunda.  Sabina. julia. Sabina. 
Is it dispatched my julia, tell me plain:  
Have I a Brother, or a Husband slain?  
Or have their impious weapons made at once  
A Sacrifice of all the Champions;  
And to prevent my hate to th' Vanquishers,  
T' a general obsequy condemned my tears?  julia. 
Can you so long be ignorant of the news?  Sabina. 
Is that your wonder? pray how should I choose?  
Do you not know, that shut up here within,  
Camilla and myself have prisoners been?  
We are secured, our tears are dangerous grown,  
We else ere this betwixt their Swords had flown,  
And our despair, sprung from chaste love, had won  
Perhaps from both the Camps, compassion.  julia. 
An object of that pity did not need,  
Betwixt their noble courages to plead,  
Since their appearance was enough alone,  
To stay their fury's execution.  
No sooner were their plumed crests beheld,  
Waving with warlike bravery in the Field,  
But through both Armies straight a murmur risen,  
To see friends so allied, chose out for foes.  
This horror seizes, that soft pity fires,  
A third the fury of their zeal admires;  
This high applauds their virtue to the sky,  
And that condemns it for barbarity.  
Their various thoughts, met in one gen'ral voice,  
All blame their Chieftains, and detest their choice:  
And not enduring to behold the sight  
Of that unnatural, and bloody fight,  
Exclaiming loud, some do advance in haste,  
And interposing part them at the last.  Sabina. 
I own you incense Gods! you've heard my prayer!  julia. 
You are not yet where you suppose you are.  
You now may hope, and moderate your fears;  
Yet there is still to justify your tears.  
In vain men strive t'avert them from their fate,  
Their generosity is deaf to that.  
The glory of this choice, their Reason blinds,  
And has so dazzled their ambitious minds,  
That when men leave them to their desperate ways,  
They're pleased, and take all pity for disgrace.  
The Camp's affliction foils their glories light;  
Nay they had rather with both Armies fight,  
And perish by those hands their fury stayed,  
Than quit their interests in th' election made.  Sabina. 
Persist they then so obstinate?  julia. 
They do,  
At which both Armies to sedition grow,  
And vote from both sides, with a gen'ral voice,  
Either for Battle, or another choice.  
Their Leaders presence can no more persuade,  
Authority's contemned, or disobeyed.  
Nay, their ungoverned heat went on so far,  
Nought could reduce them, nor command, nor prayer.  
Until the King (held sometime in suspense  
At so undisciplined an insolence)  
Was fain himself at last his power to try,  
And thus attempt t' appease the mutiny.  
" Since Soldiers thus (said he) you animate  
" Your selves and fellows in this hot debate,  
" Let us consult the sacred powers and try,  
" If with another choice the Gods comply;  
" What impious mortal, when they once reveal  
" Their dark decrees, dares then dispute their will▪  
This said, his words seemed to be powerful charms,  
And even from the Champions forced their Arms;  
That thirst of glory which so dimmed their eyes,  
Blind, as it was, adored the Deities.  
Their heat submitted unto Tullius sense,  
And awed by Piety or deference,  
A Law of his advice both Armies made,  
As both their Sceptres he alike had swayed:  
The rest will from the Victims deaths be known.  Sabina. 
The Gods an impious Combat will not own.  
Since 'tis deferred my dying hopes revive,  
And I begin to see my wishes thrive.   

Scena Tertia.  Sabina. Camilla. julia. Sabina. 
Sister, I have good news!  Camilla. 
I think I know  
What that good news is, if you call it so;  
I heard it told my Father, but I find  
No comfort in't to my afflicted mind:  
This but prorogues our miseries which shall  
Return more violent by this interval;  
And all the rays of comfort it doth shed,  
Is only that our tears are respited.  Sabina. 
The Gods did not in vain this tumult fire.  Camilla. 
We rather do in vain of them inquire.  
They have instructed Tullius in this choice,  
And theirs but seldom meet the public voice:  
For you must know that the immortal Gods  
Descend more rarely to the mean abodes  
Of common souls, than unto Princes far,  
Who here below their own Vice-gerents are,  
And whose unlimited pow'r's a secret beam  
Of the Divinity's annexed to them.  julia. 
To argue thus is wilfully to rear  
Against yourself the obstacles you fear.  
We only know heavens will, when moved by prayer,  
In sacred Oracles the Gods declare;  
Neither can you despair: but first you must,  
The truth of what you late had thence distrust▪  Camilla. 
All Oracles do in mysterious sense  
Still shroud themselves from our intelligence,  
And when we think we understand them most,  
The most we grope, and are in error lost;  
Far then from building our assurances  
On their illegible, and dark decrees.  
When least they seem perplexed, then to be sure,  
We should suspect them to be most obscure.  Sabina. 
By what's already done, we ought to give  
Our griefs, and fears, some respite, and reprieve,  
T' allay our sorrows, and to give some scope,  
Some entertainment to a pleasing hope;  
When heavens favour does her Arms disclose  
Half open, ready to embrace our woes;  
Who than the happy Auspice does not own,  
And does expect no blessing, merits none?  
That recontracts them, and she takes offence,  
To see her bounties checked by diffidence.  Camilla. 
Heaven acts alone in all his deep designs;  
Nor fits events to flatter humane minds.  julia. 
Heaven has alarmed your bosom thus, to fit  
You better for the joys must follow it.  
Farewell! I'll go inquire of your affairs;  
In the mean time pray moderate your cares:  
I hope these sad reflections will all prove,  
At my return soft arguments of love;  
And that we yet shall dedicate this night  
Sacred to Hymen, and to chaste delight.  Sabina. 
I hope so too.  Camilla. 
I dare not.  julia. 
The success  
Will soon discover who the best can guests.   

Scena Quarta.  Sabina. Camilla. Sabina. 
Sister, amidsed these cares, permit my love  
To chide those griefs I needs must disapprove.  
What would you do if in my state you were,  
Had you as much as I t' excuse your fear,  
And did expect from their too fatal Arms  
Losses to equal mine, and equal harms?  Camilla. 
Oh Sister! speak with judgement, not design,  
When you would parallel your ills to mine:  
All people look with a far different eye▪  
On others harms, and those concern them nigh:  
But mine considered right, yours are a dream,  
A mere illusion, when compared with them.  
You only have Horatio's death to fear,  
Brothers, compared to Husbands, nothing are.  
When saffroned Hymen by the Nuptial tie  
Unites us to another Family,  
He disengages us from every claim  
That once pretended to, from whence we came.  
Those different ties no parallel admit,  
To follow Husbands, we our Parents quit:  
But when just going to be made a Spouse,  
The Servant that a Father's care bestows,  
Although below a Husband in his claim,  
Stands yet a Rival with a Brother's name.  
Those interests our thoughts betwixt them share,  
Our choice, and vows perplexed, and doubtful are.  
Thus Sister, you at least have in your tears  
Or what to wish, or what may ease your fears.  
Whilst I, if heavens hand do not forbear,  
Have nothing left to hope, but all to fear.  Sabina. 
Sister methinks you argued very ill  
When Friends so near must one another kill;  
And we, though th' obligations different seem,  
Our Parents leave, without forgetting them.  
Hymen does not those Characters remove;  
Nor does it follow that because we love  
Our Husband's best, we should our Brother's hate.  
Nature still keeps her Laws inviolate.  
When we of force must one or th'other lose,  
At either's life's expense, 'tis hard to choose;  
Nor know we then which interest is supreme:  
" All ills are equal, when they are extreme.  
And when all's done, this man you so esteem  
Will only prove, as you shall value him.  
The least distaste, or jealousy may prove  
Powerful enough to banish him your love.  
Do that by Reason, may by Chance be done,  
And leave your blood out of comparison.  
'Tis ill to raise up interests against those,  
Our births do of necessity impose.  
I then if heavens hand do not forbear,  
Have nothing left to hope, but all to fear:  
Whilst you have this advantage in your tears;  
Or what to wish, or what to ease your fears.  Camilla. 
Sister I see Love never pierced your heart,  
You know him not, nor ever felt his dart:  
We may resist him in his infant state,  
But when he rules, and sways, 'tis then too late;  
And chief when Father's allowances  
Have so obliged our Faith by their decrees,  
Till they have made this little Tyrant reign  
Over our hearts a lawful Sovereign.  
Love mildly enters: but by power he sways,  
And when a soul his bait once swallowed has,  
In vain it then attempts to give it o'er,  
It has no more the will it had before.  
His chains are strong, as bright, and delicate.   

Scena Quinta.  Horace the Father. Sabina. Camilla. Horace the Father. 
Daughters I must unwelcome news relate;  
But ' 'ttwere a vain endeavour to conceal,  
What will itself, alas! so soon reveal.  
Your Brothers are engaged by heavens decree.  Sabina. 
I must confess these news astonish me,  
And I expected from the heavenly Race,  
Far less injustice, and far greater grace:  
But speak no comforts; nor in vain declare  
How noble souls should their disasters bear▪  
Reason itself insufferable grows,  
When such afflictions it attempts t'oppose.  
In our own hands, our mischiefs cure we have,  
And who resolve to die, mischance may brave.  
We could perhaps pretend whilst you are by,  
A fruitless, false, and seeming constancy:  
But so to counterfeit, and in a time  
Wherein our frailties licenced were a crime;  
We leave that artifice to men; nor care  
To pass for other than indeed we are;  
Nor would we have your noble heart abate  
By our example to complain of Fate.  
No! take these ills without emotion;  
See our tears trickle, but refrain your own.  
All that we beg in this distress, is that  
Whilst your brave spirit triumph over fate,  
We whose weak hearts no griefs concealed can keep,  
May be allowed, without offence to weep.  Horace the Father. 
I am so far from blaming what you do,  
That I admire I turn not woman too;  
Nor should perhaps these blows of Fortune bear,  
Were I concerned so nearly, as you are.  
Not that this choice can have the power to make  
Me hate your Brothers for their Country's sake:  
Whose noble persons maugre this sad War,  
Are all of them unto my bosom dear:  
But friendship is not seated in that row,  
Nor feels th' effects Love and Relation do.  
I feel not for them in my breast those woes,  
You as a Sister, she a Lover does.  
I can look on them as the foes of Rome,  
And wish, and pray my Sons may overcome.  
They (praised be Heaven) worthy their Country are,  
Astonishment did not their worths impair,  
And I their honours saw redoubled rise,  
Whilst they two Camps compassion could despise:  
Which if it had their frailty overcome,  
And had their virtue not repelled it home,  
This hand should quickly have revenged the shame  
Done by their weak consent unto my name:  
But since the Camp's despite of them would choose  
Anew, and them in piety refuse;  
I now confess that to the heavenly powers,  
My vows, and prayers went along with yours.  
And would all-pitying Heaven have heard my voice,  
Alba had been reduced t' another choice.  
My Sons we then should have triumphant seen,  
And they from blood so dear unstained had been.  
Then had the Roman names illustrious height  
Leaned on th' event of a more humane fight:  
But since heavens prudence otherwise does please  
To order things, I veil to its Decrees.  
My thoughts in generosity I dress,  
And in the public state my happiness.  
Try you to do as much, t'allay your care,  
And wisely weigh that you both Romans are.  
You are become so, and you yet are one,  
A treasure above all comparison.  
A day will come, that through the Globe our Rome,  
Dreadful as kill thunder, shall become.  
When the world daring at our eagle's Wings,  
That glorious name shall be the pride of Kings.   

Scena Sexta.  Horace the Father. Sabina. Camilla. julia. Horace the Father. 
Dost thou come to us julia to declare  
Whose noble brows the Victor's Laurels wear?  julia. 
Rather the Combats sad effects, for Rome  
Is Alba's Captive, and your Sons o'ercome.  
Two slain outright, her Lord survives alone.  Horace the Father. 
Of a sad fight a sad conclusion!  
Rome, Alba's subject, and in such a need  
My Son not fight, whilst he had blood to bleed!  
It cannot be! you are deceived, 'tis plain,  
Rome is unconquered, or my Son is slain;  
I better do my bloods true temper know,  
And he so well, what he to Rome does owe,  
He could not, durst not, but o'ercome, or die.  julia. 
A thousand more might see't, as well as I.  
He acted wonders till his Brother's fall;  
But when once left to fight against them all,  
And half hemmed in, flight did his person save.  Horace the Father. 
And th' injured Soldiers not dispatch 〈◊〉▪  
Would they afford the Coward a retreat?  julia. 
I came away upon the fad defeat.  Camilla. 
Oh! my dear Brothers!  Horace the Father. 
Stay! lament not all!  
Two are so fallen, I emulate their fall.  
Let noblest Flowers on their Tombs be laid,  
I in their glorious death their loss am paid;  
And 'twas their virtue's fortune not to be,  
Survivors of their Country's Liberty;  
Nor see it by a stranger Prince be swayed;  
Nor to a neighbouring State, a Province made.  
Lament the base survivor, and the shame  
His coward flight has branded on my name.  
Lament the infamy of all our Race,  
And the Horatian glory's black disgrace.  julia. 
What should he against three have done?  Horace the Father. 
Have died,  
Or by a brave despair been fortified.  
Or had he but demurred to his defeat,  
Rome had been subject something later yet:  
He than had left these aged hoary hairs  
As bright with honour, as they're white with years;  
And he, though he had died, had carried hence,  
For a frail life, a noble recompense.  
He now accountable to Rome remains,  
For all the coward blood that swells his veins.  
And every drop preserved by such a shame,  
Has quenched his glory, and eclipsed his fame.  
Each hour on's life, after an act so base,  
His shame, and mine, still more and more betrays.  
I'll cut it short, and whilst my rage puts on  
A Father's power o'er an unworthy Son;  
I in his punishment will make it known,  
How much the poultron's baseness I disown.  Sabina. 
Be governed less, Sir, by that generous heat,  
And do not raise our mischiefs higher yet.  Horace the Father. 
Sabina you may best these mischiefs bear,  
You in these ills have yet the easiest share,  
You in this ruin yet do nothing lose;  
Heaven has preserved your Brothers, and your Spouse.  
'Tis to your Country we are Subjects made,  
Your Brother's Victors are, whilst Rome's betrayed,  
And dazzled by the lustre of their fame,  
You ne'er consider our eternal shame:  
But your affection to this beast will make  
Your bosom soon, our miseries partake.  
These tears you shed weak intercessors are;  
For by the Powers above I here do swear  
These hands shall wash e'er day do quit the sky,  
In his false blood, the Roman infamy.  Sabina. 
His rage transports him, let us interpose.  
Must we (just Heaven) still meet succeeding woes?  
Our ills are grown too mighty to withstand,  
When fury threatens from a Parent's hand.   

SONG.  

(1.)  
BEauty that itself can kill,  
Through the finest tempered steel,  
Can those wounds she makes endure,  
And insult it o'er the brave,  
Since she knows a certain cure,  
When she is disposed to save:  
But when a Lover bleeding lies,  
Wounded by other Arms,  
And that she sees those harms,  
For which she knows no remedies;  
Then Beauty Sorrows livery wears,  
and whilst she melts away in tears,  
Drooping in sorrow shows  
Like Roses overcharged with morning dews.   

(2.)  
Nor do women, though they wear▪  
The most tender character,  
Suffer in this case alone:  
Hearts enclosed with iron Walls,  
In humanity must groan  
When a noble Hero falls.  
Pitiless courage would not be  
An honour, but a shame;  
Nor bear the noble name  
Of valour, but barbarity;  
The generous even in success  
Lament their enemy's distress:  
And scorn it should appear  
Who are the Conquered, with the Conqueror.   

CHORUS.  
These are th' effects of War, and these  
The Sacrifices are to peace;  
Peace, that once broken in her right  
Nothing but blood can reunite:  
Wars Handmaid Fury prompts her on,  
To blood and devastation;  
Nor ceases till whole Countries lie,  
Overwhelmed in one calamity,  
Or though the Sacrifice for all,  
Should in one single person fall;  
Yet in whatever falls amiss,  
The public still a loser is.  
And as a radiant Gem outvies  
Masses of Metal in her prize:  
One Heroes loss, more loss includes,  
Then vile Plebeian multitudes.  
A bloody Combat here we see  
Fought for an empty sovereignty,  
When they lie weltering on the sand,  
Who were the fittest to command.  
Thus man himself still undermines,  
And blind destroys his own designs,  
For the victorious here may boast  
An Empire when the Ruler's lost.  
Who now with better title may,  
Rome's Battles, or her Sceptre sway,  
Then they who her brave Champions were?  
Prince's then truly Princes are,  
When with a Parents love they stake  
Their persons for their people's sake.  
Oh Rome! Oh Alba! what desire  
First set your noble breasts on fire!  
Or what offence engaged your steel,  
The blood of your Allies to spill!  
'Tis vicious Envy that has made  
You thus each others bounds invade;  
Envy the souls most foul disease,  
That pines at others happiness,  
Has made you thus each other hate,  
Because you both were fortunate.  
Thus humane glories do procure  
The dangers which they should secure;  
Bare reputation will suffice  
To make a thousand Enemies;  
And virtue the more bright she shines,  
Serves but to light men's dark designs,  
To give their malice aim, and guide  
The poisoned dart into her side;  
'Tis emulation animates  
The fury, and the spleen of States;  
And till that emulation cease  
The world will never be at peace.  
The Combat now is overblown,  
But the event not truly known.  
The Scene will soon unto your eye  
Open the Tragic History.  
Then they who may the Conquest boast,  
When they consider what it cost,  
Shall find the triumph they have got▪  
So empty and so dearly bought,  
That though success have served their will,  
Their woes have made them equal still.    
The end of the Third Act.   

Actus Quartus.  

Scena Prima.  Horace the Father. Camilla. Horace the Father. 
URge me no more Camilla, do not try  
Your interest, for this Son of Infamy;  
Let him avoid my sight if he be wise,  
As basely he outran his enemies  
To save the coward blood he prizes so:  
He is not safe unless he fly me too.  
Sabina may conceal him, or (by jove)  
The sovereign power of the Gods above.—  Camilla. 
Ah (gentle Sir) do not resent it so,  
Rome you shall see, will with a smother brow  
Look on his noble merit, and at least  
Excuse his virtue by such odds oppressed.  Horace the Father. 
No matter daughter what Rome's censures are,  
A Father's interest is particular.  
I know the ways true virtue does profess;  
" Numbers do still ingloriously oppress.  
Her masculine vigour still maintains its heat,  
And under odds may perish, not retreat.  
But silence, what does young Valerius bring?   

Scena Secunda.  Horace the Father. Valerius. Camilla. Valerius. 
Sir I am hither ordered by the King▪  
To comfort, and assure you—  Horace the Father. 
Take no care,  
It is an office that you both may spare;  
And I had rather see those Sons lie slain  
In Honour's lap, then that survives with shame.  
Two Sons are nobly fallen with my applause,  
Like men of honour in their Country's Cause;  
And that will serve to make my shame the less.  Valerius. 
But, Sir, the third is such a happiness,  
As all their shares may in your bosom claim.  Horace the Father. 
If with himself he had put out my name.  Valerius. 
You only frown upon his merit.  Horace the Father. 
True,  
From me alone his punishment is due.  Valerius. 
What in his manly conduct can you blame?  Horace the Father. 
Is it by flight that Soldier's purchase fame?  Valerius. 
But his retreat was glorious in this case.  Horace the Father. 
You double my confusion, and disgrace.  
Sure 'tis a new example, that in fight,  
Men seek out glory by the way of flight.  Valerius. 
Where lies your wonder, or where lies your shame?  
To have begot a Son improves his name?  
One that for Rome has Crowns and Triumphs won!  
What can a Father wish for in a Son?  Horace the Father. 
What Sceptres, or what Triumphs, what applause,  
Whilst Rome now truckles under Alba's Laws?  Valerius. 
What makes you harp so upon Rome's defeat,  
Can you of what is past, be ignorant yet?  Horace the Father. 
Was not the Combat ended in his flight?  Valerius. 
Alba a while imagined so, but straight  
She better knew what 'twas for him to fly,  
Who wore upon his Sword Rome's Destiny.  Horace the Father. 
Is Rome triumphant then?  Valerius. 
Learn Sir to know  
The Valour of that Son you've blemished so:  
Left single to dispute it with the three,  
And those all wounded, he untouched, and free;  
Too weak for all; too strong for any one,  
He wisely their united force to shun,  
Pretended flight to fight on better terms,  
And by that stratagem divides their Arms.  
They all pursue, but with such different speed,  
As weak, and wounded, more or less they bleed:  
When Horace seeing his design had took,  
Faces about, and with Heroick look,  
Grown now secure of Conquest, bravely stays  
Him that was foremost in the eager chase:  
Which proved your Son-in-law, who vexed to see,  
He durst alone dispute it with the three;  
Vainly discovered in his falling on,  
A noble courage, when his strength was gone.  
Then Alba fearing her brave Champions fall,  
Did to the second for assistance call;  
Who weak attempts his haste to animate,  
And being come, finds he is come too late:  
His Brother had e'er his arrival paid  
His life's dear tribute to the Conqueror's blade.  Camilla. 
Alas!  Valerius. 
Yet panting, bravely he supplies  
His room, and doubles your Son's Victories;  
His courage without vigour to maintain  
The daring enterprise, proved weak, and vain;  
And to revenge his Brother whilst he tries,  
Down by his side he conquered falls, and dyes.  
The rolling Orbs ring with a various cry,  
Alba for sorrow groans, Room shouts for joy:  
When our brave Hero ready to complete  
His triple Conquest, thought it was not yet  
Enough to conquer, but he would engage,  
And further whet his bold opposers rage.  
I here (said he) have immolated these  
My Brothers angry Manes to appease;  
And my third adversary (Rome) shall be  
A Sacrifice to thy concerns, and thee.  
Which said, he flew at his surviving foe;  
Nor was the conquest disputable now:  
The Alban gored with wounds, with mortal pain,  
Can moving hardly his own weight sustain:  
But as mild Victims to the Altar go,  
And yield their necks unto the mortal blow:  
So he defenceless bowed unto his fate,  
And in his fall secured the Roman State.  Horace the Father. 
Oh my brave Son, my Joy, honour's bright ray,  
Of a declining State the only stay!  
Oh noble virtue that thy blood dost grace!  
Prop of thy Country! Glory of thy Race!  
When shall I in thy generous breast pour forth  
Excuses for those thoughts that wronged thy worth?  
When shall my love, which now too tender grows,  
In tears of joy bathe thy victorious brows?  Valerius. 
You may do that, Sir, in a little space,  
The King will send him strait to your embrace;  
Who till the morn the Sacrifice defers,  
Due to those Powers have made us Conquerors.  
To day we only do our thanks express  
In Io Paeans for the great success.  
The King now gracing your Son's Triumph, has  
In the mean time afforded me the grace,  
To be the man he pleases to employ,  
At once to bring you news of grief, and joy:  
Nor does he think this compliment enough,  
Unless to give your worth a further proof  
How he does prise it, he in person come,  
With his own mouth to pay the thanks of Rome.  Horace the Father. 
Such thanks for me far too illustrious be▪  
And I conceive myself already far  
Out-paid in these you offer me, for all  
My brave Sons Service, and my two Sons fall.  Valerius. 
The King imperfect Honours ne'er bestows,  
And Rome's proud Sceptre rescued from her Foes,  
Makes him believe all Honours he can show,  
Much short of what's to you and Horace due▪  
I'll go inform him what a noble sense  
Virtue inspires you with in all events;  
And how you love his Service.  Horace the Father. 
That will prove  
So fair an office as will bind my love.   

Scena Tertia.  Horace the Father. Camilla. Horace the Father. 
Daughter 'tis now no time to weep, and in  
This shine of Honour, such a shows ill seen.  
Domestic losses we unjustly prise,  
When they procure us public Victories.  
Rome triumphs over Alba, and 'tis fit,  
Unto that single good, all ills submit.  
You in your Servant lose a man, no more;  
A loss that Rome can easily restore.  
After this Victory, what Roman blood,  
Of such a match will not be justly proud?  
I'll go inform Sabina of what's past,  
The news to her no doubt will bitter taste;  
And her three Brothers, by a Husband slain,  
Will give her juster reason to complain.  
But yet I hope by gentle ways t' appease  
Those sorrows, which like fluctuating Seas,  
Do often overwhelm the noblest mind;  
And that her prudence with her courage joined,  
Will make that generous love rule in her heart,  
Due to the worthy Victor's brave desert.  
I'th' interim conquer your effeminate grief,  
And if he come, receive our Roman Chief,  
With such a constant brow as may declare,  
How worthy of him you his Sister are;  
And by your noble carriage make it good,  
That in one Womb, Heaven formed you of one Blood.   

Scena Quarta.  Camilla. 
Yes, by assured signs I'll make him see  
That virtuous Love can baffle Destiny;  
Nor yet those tyr'nnous cruel laws obeys  
Our froward Stars seat in a Parent's place.  
Unpitying Father! on so just a score  
Thou call'st my sorrows womanish and poor:  
But I the more it does afflict thee, will  
Dote on his memory, more lament him still,  
And make that sorrow thou condemn'st to rise  
Equal to fortunes direct cruelties.  
Did ever fortune in a few hours space,  
So often vary her inconstant face!  
So often kind, and cruel, good, and ill!  
And struck so often ere she struck to kill?  
Was ever soul that in one day did bear  
Such turns of joy, and grief, of hope, and fear?  
A soul subjected unto more events,  
And bandied so with various accidents:  
An Oracle, a Dream, a Battle, Peace;  
By turns assure, astonish, fright, appease.  
My Nuptials are prepared, and strait my Love  
Against my Brother's Arms, his Arms must prove:  
Both Camps abhor the choice, and stay their rage,  
Whom the unpitying Gods again engage.  
Rome seems o'ercome, and Curiace's hand  
From blood of mine alone remains unstained.  
Was not my grief (ye Powers) then too small,  
For Rome's misfortune, and my Brother's fall?  
Did not my hopes flatter my innocence,  
When I thought still to love him no offence?  
His death has paid me home for't, and to that,  
The cruel way of telling me his fate.  
His Rival brings the news, and to my face  
Repeats the hateful truth of his disgrace.  
Apparent joy doth on his forehead sit,  
Pleased with my loss more than Rome's benefit;  
Whilst building airy hopes in his vain head,  
He, with my Brother, triumphs o'er the dead.  
But this is nothing still to what's behind,  
On this occasion I am joy enjoined.  
I must applaud the Conqueror's desert,  
And kiss th' inhuman hand that gores my heart.  
It is in such a deplorable case  
A crime to weep, and but to sigh disgrace.  
Their brutish virtue in this shock of fate,  
Will have me fancy myself fortunate.  
It is it seems a rule the virtuous have,  
We must be barbarous ere we can be brave.  
Degenerate then my heart, let us disclaim  
This Father's Virtue, and this Brother's Fame.  
'Tis honourable to be counted base,  
Where Virtue rises by such brutish ways.  
Break out my griefs, 'tis fruitless to forbear!  
When all's once lost, what have we left to fear?  
Let us this bloody Conqueror despise,  
And far from shunning him confront his eyes;  
Reproach his Victory, provoke his Spleen,  
And please yourselves, by your displeasing him,  
See where he comes, now let us bravely show  
What to a Lover's death, chaste Lovers owe.   

Scena Quinta.  Horace. Camilla. Preculus, and two Soldiers, each bearing a Sword of the Curiatij. Horace. 
See Sister here the Arm that has on all  
The Alban Champions wreaked our Brother's fall;  
The Arm that with the froward Fates of Rome  
Single has fought, and single overcome;  
The Arm has conquered Alba, and alone  
Betwixt two States struck the decision.  
Behold the Trophies which these Romans bear,  
These noble Ensigns of a Conqueror:  
And pay the thanks thou ow'st those Powers that bless  
The Roman Arms with such a fair success.  Camilla. 
Then take my tears, for these are all I owe.  Horace. 
Such actions should not be rewarded so.  
And our brave Brother's noble fall appears  
Repaid with blood enough t' excuse your tears.  
" Losses revenged once to be losses cease.  Camilla. 
Since then appeased with blood, they rest in peace,  
I shall forbear to pay that Funeral debt,  
And will their deaths you have revenged forget:  
But who'll revenge me for a Lovers fall,  
And dry those tears I pay his Funeral?  Horace. 
What sayest thou wretch?  Camilla. 
Ah my dear Cuirass!  Horace. 
Impudent woman, and my blood's disgrace,  
Does yet that name in thy remembrance live,  
And in thy heart a love for him survive,  
That as a public enemy to Rome  
I to my deathless Glory, have o'ercome?  
This criminal flame does to revenge aspire!  
Thy mouth proclaims th'unnatural hearts desire!  
Govern thy passion better, and be wise,  
Let me not blush to hear thy guilty sighs.  
'Tis now high time to quench that flame, and chase  
Those clouds of sorrow which obscure thy face,  
That on my triumph it may smiling shine.  Camilla. 
Give me a heart, Barbarian, then like thine,  
And since thou wilt have me my soul explain,  
Restore my Love, or let my Passion reign.  
My joy, and grief, were by his Fortune led,  
Living I loved him, and lament him dead.  
Seek not thy Sister where thou leftest her last;  
Thy cruelty that title has defaced.  
And having broke that bond, I am become  
An injured Lover in a Sister's room.  
Who, like a fury, on thy steps will wait,  
To blast thee with reproaches for his fate.  
Obdurate Tiger! who forbid'st mine eyes  
Should pay their Tribute to his Obsequies.  
Wouldst have my tongue to flatter thee, approve,  
Boast, and applaud the slaughter of my Love,  
And to the Skies, whilst thy exploits I rear,  
Become a second time his murderer?  
May miseries consort that life of thine,  
Till they increase, that thou may'st envy mine;  
And may'st thou by some act of horror blot  
The glory thy barbarity has got.  Horace. 
Heaven! what a madness rages in her tongue,  
Thinkest thou I'm grown insensible of wrong,  
That this affront I suffer in my blood?  
Approve his death, makes for the public good;  
And to his memory prefer at least,  
That which thy birth owes to Rome's interest.  Camilla. 
Rome! that alone does my affliction prove,  
Rome! to whom thou hast sacrificed my Love!  
Rome! that first gave thee life! that perfectly  
I hate, because she does so honour thee!  
May all her neighbours in one cause conspire,  
To sack her Walls, and ruin her by fire.  
And if all Italy appear too few,  
May East and West join in the mischief too.  
Far as the frozen poles may Nations come,  
O'er Hills, and Seas, to sack imperious Rome.  
May her own Walls overwhelm and bury her,  
And may her own Hands her own Bowels tear▪  
May Heaven to whose wrath I votaress am,  
Rain on her Bosom deluges of Flame.  
May I behold a Lightning fall so just,  
Her Buildings ashes, and her Laurels dust.  
May I of heavens justice be so graced,  
To see the last of Romans breathe his last.  
And lastly (ye just Powers) I desire  
I may be cause of all, and pleased expire.  Horace drawing his Sword, and pursuing her. 
It is too much: Patience a while, give place!  
Down into Hell to seek thy Cuirass.  Camilla behind the Scene. 
Oh Traitor!  Horace. 
So may all offenders die  
That dare lament a Roman enemy.   

Scena Sexta.  Horace. Proculus. Proculus. 
What have you done?  Horace. 
An exemplary act,  
And a due justice for so foul a fact.  Proculus. 
But to your Sister this was too severe.  Horace. 
Never tell me how near allied we were.  
My Father scorns to own a child so base,  
Curses her Country, and disclaims her Race;  
All ties of Love are forfeited and gone,  
And she is stripped of all Relation.  
Her nearest Kindred cannot but disclaim  
A beast that brands her Family with shame.  
The promptest vengeance, and most cruel must,  
For such a Crime as hers be styled most just;  
And those her impious whishes ought to be  
Stifled like Monsters in their infancy.   

Scena Septima.  Horace. Sabina. Proculus. Sabina. 
Why stops thy noble fury here? Come nigh,  
See in her Father's arms Camilla die.  
Come glut thine eyes with the alluring sight,  
And if thou thinkest what's done be yet too light,  
To thy dear Rome offer the blood remains  
O'th' Curiatij in Sabina's veins.  
Never spare theirs, whilst of thine own so free;  
But to Camilla's join my destiny:  
Our crimes, as well as miseries, are one,  
Like her my Brother's slaughter I bemoan;  
Transgressing more thy cruel Laws, than she;  
She only wept for one, but I for three,  
To give thy fury a more just pretence.  Horace. 
Sabina, dry your tears, or get you hence.  
Render thyself worthy Horatio's Wife,  
And that repute thy chaste, and virtuous life,  
Has from mankind, as thy just merit won,  
And wound me not with mean compassion.  
If th'absolute interest of a virtuous flame  
Commands our hearts and souls to be the same,  
It is thy part to raise thy heart to mine,  
I ought not to thy weaknesses decline.  
I love thee, and I know thy soul's grown sad,  
Call in my virtue to thy frailties aid;  
Instead of clouding it, my glory share,  
And without stripping me my triumphs wear.  
Art thou so great a foe unto my fame,  
That I should please thee better clad in shame?  
Discover now the virtue of that flame  
That seats a Husband in his sovereign claim  
Above th' inferior interest of blood,  
And learn by my example to be good.  Sabina. 
Some nobler soul to imitate you choose;  
I blame thee not, alas! for what I lose:  
My thoughts are governed as they ought to be,  
And I do rather blame mischance than thee.  
But I all claim to Roman Virtue quit,  
If inhumanity must purchase it;  
Nor can I in my own esteem appear  
Wife unto him, who is the Conqueror▪  
But that at once I see myself again  
The deplorable Sister of the slain.  
Let us in public, public Conquests own,  
Lament domestic miseries at home,  
And not regard a good derives to all,  
When on ourselves peculiar mischiefs fall.  
Why (cruel man) dost thou those Trophies wear  
Lay by those Laurels when thou interest here,  
And join with me in tears.—  
Will not this raise  
Thy virtue's spleen to end my wretched days?  
Can my repeated crime not move thine ire?  
Camilla's blessed could raise thy fury's fire!  
She tempted from thee, what she wished for most,  
And finds below all that above she lost.  
Dear cause of all the woes my heart oppress,  
Incline to pity if thine anger cease:  
One of the passions to thy choice propose,  
To scourge my frailty, or to end my woes.  
For death by favour, or desert I move,  
Be't an effect of Justice or of Love,  
It shall be welcome, and I'll kiss the brand  
Performs that office from a Husband's hand.  Horace. 
You are unjust you Gods! why do you give  
Imperious women this prerogative  
O'er noble souls, and pleased sit looking on,  
Whilst they insult in their dominion?  
To what a straight am I reduced, when I  
To save my virtue am enforced to fly?  
Farewell, follow me not, or dry your tears▪  Sabina. 
Oh wrath! O pity! deaf unto my prayer's!  
My crime I see's neglected, and my woe  
Does in the repetition tedious grow.  
Thus, though I tempt his spirit various ways,  
I can obtain nor punishment, nor grace:  
But once again my tears their power shall try,  
And if that fail, by my own hand I'll die.   

SONG.  

(1.)  
THe young, the fair, the chaste, the good,  
The sweet Camilla, in a flood  
Of her own Crimson lies  
A bloody, bloody sacrifice  
To Death and man's inhuman cruelties.  
Weep Virgins till your sorrow swells  
In tears above the Ivory Cells  
That guard those Globes of light;  
Drown, drown those beauties of your eyes.  
Beauty should mourn, when beauty dies;  
And make a general night,  
To pay her innocence its Funeral rite.   

(2.)  
Death since his Empire first begun,  
So foul a conquest never won,  
Nor yet so fair a prize;  
And had he had a heart, or eyes,  
Her beauties would have charmed his cruelties.  
Even Savage Beasts will Beauty spare,  
Chafed Lions fawn upon the fair;  
Nor dare offend the chaste:  
But vicious man, that sees and knows  
The mischiefs his wild fury does,  
Humours his passions haste,  
To prove ungoverned man the greatest beast.   

CHORUS.  
Rome, thou hast bought thy Triumph dear,  
And like a greedy purchaser,  
Hast laid a greater treasure forth,  
Than Alba's fealty is worth.  
What hast thou won, that can make good  
The two Horatii's lavished blood?  
Or who are left fit to supply  
The noble Curiatij?  
You now may with confederate Arms  
Invade your Borderers in swarms,  
And think like two united Seas,  
T' o'erflow your neighbouring Provinces;  
And for new Conquests may prepare,  
When you are weaker than you were.  
Too brave Horatio, thou hadst won  
Glory to have outdared the Sun,  
And live a Precedent in Rome  
To virtue ages yet to come.  
But this last act of thine has thrown  
So black a cloud o'er thy renown,  
That future times at once must see  
Thy Valour and thy Cruelty.  
Thus as the Sun does climb the skies,  
He still in brighter Beams doth rise,  
Till in his full Meridian placed,  
His glories thence decline as fast;  
So men by dangerous degrees,  
Arrived at honour's precipice,  
Striving ambitiously to get  
To brighter stations higher yet:  
There wanting footing for their pride,  
They topple on the other side;  
And in one act do forfeit more,  
Than all they had achieved before.  
Were Love, and Piety such crimes,  
In these so celebrated times,  
That Fury must in justice stead  
Levelly the mourners with the dead?  
Must charming beauty, at whose feet  
Valour its conquests should submit,  
That Sex that privileged should be  
Even from inhumanity,  
Th' effects of brutish fury feel?  
Thy virtues sweet Camilla still,  
Do in thy evening brighter rise  
To baffle humane cruelties.  
And bravest Heroes when they shall  
This great example of thy fall,  
In the world's brightest Annals see,  
Even they themselves shall envy thee.    
The end of the Fourth Act.   

Actus Quintus.  

Scena Prima.  Horace the Father. Horace. Horace the Father. 
LEt us from this sad spectacle retire,  
heavens never-sleeping justice to admire,  
Which, when we swell to insolence, knows how  
To scourge our pride, and lay our glories low.  
Heaven sorrow ever with our joy combines,  
Sow's seeds of frailty in the noblest minds,  
And seldom does our bravest actions crown,  
With an unblemished and a true renown.  
Camilla did offend, nor do I wear  
These clouds of sorrow in my face for her;  
I think myself to be lamented more,  
And more than her, alas! I thee deplore.  
I do bewail my own sinister fate  
To have a Daughter so degenerate;  
And thee for having by misfortune died  
Thy noble Sword in such a Parricide.  
Not that I do thy heat or justice blame,  
Yet, I could wish thou hadst escaped the shame:  
Her crime (though worthy death) had better far  
Been spared, than thou her executioner.  Horace. 
My life, and death, Sir, in your sentence lie,  
I thought that blow due to Rome's injury:  
But if that zeal do criminal appear,  
If I eternal brands of shame must wear,  
And if my arm be infamous become,  
With one sole word you may pronounce my doom.  
Take back that blood which my unworthy hand  
Has by a coward act so basely stained.  
I could not suffer in your virtuous Race  
A crime that might your noble name disgrace:  
Nor should you with an over-partial eye  
Suffer this blemish in your Family.  
In acts where honour suffers 'tis discerned,  
That such a Father as you are's concerned.  
T' excuse ill Sons, even Fathers should forbear,  
Whilst they conceal our faults, they faulty are;  
And his own fame that Father little moves,  
Who spares that guilt his virtue disapproves.  Horace the Father. 
Father's sometimes from harsh extremes forbear,  
And often spare their Sons themselves to spare.  
Our age leans on their youthful strength, and spares  
Them, since in them we must be sufferers.  
I look upon thee with a different eye  
From that thou censur'st thine own virtue by:  
And though thy reputation blemished stand,  
I know— but see the Guards, the King's at hand.   

Scena Secunda.  Tullius. Valerius. Horace the Father, and Guards. Horace the Father. 
Great Sir, you do your Servant too much grace,  
I blush to see you in so mean a place.  
Permit me that in gratitude thus low.—  Tullius. 
No Father rise, and let your merit know  
I pay in this the least of what is due  
From virtuous Princes to such men as you.  
Such services pretend to all whate'er  
Subjects can merit or their Kings confer.  
Valerius word was passed; nor could I be  
Just to myself, till I had set him free.  
I heard from him; nor did I doubt befreo,  
With what a noble constancy you bore  
Your brave Sons deaths, and know that to a soul  
So fortified as yours, so right, and whole;  
What comforts I could bring would only prove  
Unnecessary compliments of Love:  
But now that I have heard what a sad fate  
Does on your conquering Sons brave valour wait,  
And that his zeal to th' public cause has led  
His sudden fury to commit a deed,  
Deprives you of an only Daughter; then  
Whilst I consider the most brave are men,  
I must confess I cannot choose but fear  
How your great heart, so great a blow can bear.  Horace the Father. 
Sir, with a troubled, but a patiented sense.  Tullius. 
A brave effect of your experience.  
Many by living long have learned to know  
That happiness is but a step to woe:  
But few apply that knowledge to the best,  
And most men's virtues truckle, when oppressed▪  
If in your King's compassion you can find  
A comfort to th' afflictions of your mind,  
Believe it great as them, and that I do  
With the same friendship love, and pity you.  Valerius. 
Since, mighty Sir, into the hands of King's  
Heaven delegates the Law to order things,  
And that within their sacred power lies  
Reward for virtue, punishment for vice:  
Permit a loyal Subject in this case,  
To prompt that justice your compassion stays,  
And say you seem this murder to forget,  
Whilst you lament, and do not punish it.  
Permit.—  Horace the Father. 
What! that Rome's conquering Champion die,  
And have his service paid with infamy?  Tullius. 
Let him say on, Horatio, and forbear,  
I who am to determine, aught to hear;  
And do not fear but I will do you right,  
It is at once my duty, and delight.  
When justice even, and unbiased flows,  
She than a Monarch for a Monarch shows.  
Divinity shines round about him then,  
Above the common race of common men:  
And that which makes me most commiserate  
The wretched fortune of your sad estate,  
Is, to hear justice clamoured on your Son,  
Who has for Rome so brave a service done.  Valerius. 
Permit then, justest Monarch, that in me  
All virtuous men appeal for equity.  
'Tis not, alas! that our repining hearts  
Envy those honours, crown his brave deserts;  
All you can give, short of his merit fall,  
His glorious actions shine above them all.  
Add new, and greater still to those before,  
We all are willing to contribute more:  
But let him since he could obscure his fame▪  
By such an act of horror, and of shame,  
At once for merit, and a crime so high,  
A Victor triumph, an Offender die.  
Check his wild rage, and rescue those remain  
Of Rome's brave offspring, if you mean to reign.  
Your people's ruin, or their safety lies,  
Or in his Pardon, or his Sacrifice.  
Few Romans ever could in Alba boast  
Of Alba's loss, but they in Alba lost  
Some such relation, as might force their eyes  
To private tears in public Victories.  
If such a virtuous sorrow then become  
Criminal to the interest of Rome;  
If his success oblige you to dispense,  
And privilege so great an insolence;  
Who will this barbarous Conqueror forbear,  
Whose fury would not his own Sister spare;  
Nor yet excuse the sorrow all approve  
In a chaste Virgin ravished of her Love?  
Rome, though she triumphs, is Horatio's slave,  
He has the sovereign Power to kill, or save;  
Nor have we now a longer time to live,  
Than as he's pleased to sentence, or forgive.  
I could to Rome's concernment add how base,  
Mean, and below a man, the action was;  
I could demand to have the murdered Maid,  
His Valour's triumph, in your presence laid:  
You than would see the yet warm Crimson rise,  
And blushing blame a Brother's cruelties.  
So sad a sight no Advocate would need,  
Her Youth and Beauty would for justice plead:  
But I abhor in such a case as this,  
All ways that bear a show of Artifice.  
To morrow you have set apart to pay  
Your Vows to Heaven for this victorious day:  
And can you think those Deities, that bear  
Thunder t' avenge the innocent sufferer,  
Will deign t' accept of Incense from a hand  
In a black Parricide so lately stained?  
So great a Sacrilege would draw on you  
The vengeance that to him alone is due.  
Look on him then as one whom Heaven does hate,  
And that wherein he has been fortunate,  
Rome's stars have more by their own influence done,  
Than by the Valour of their Champion:  
Since the same Gods who did his Conquest crown,  
Permit him thus to blemish his renown;  
And in one day, after exploits so high,  
To claim a Triumph, and deserve to die.  
This, Sir, is that your judgement must decide,  
Rome here has suffered the first Parricide,  
The consequence, and Heaven's displeasure, are  
The things Religion teaches us to fear;  
Preserve your people from his insolence,  
And appease Heaven by cens'ring his offence.  Tullius. 
Horace, make your defence.  Horace. 
Sir to what end,  
Should I an act you know so well defend?  
Your judgement's Law, though it pronounce me dead.  
Against Kings results, Offenders vainly plead,  
And the most innocent the Sun can show,  
When Kings conclude them criminal, are so.  
Nay, 'tis a crime t'excuse ourselves to those  
Who by their title, may our lives dispose;  
And when they cut us off we must believe  
It is because we are unfit to live.  
Pronounce my doom then Sir, I will obeyed;  
The life that others love, I ought to hate:  
Nor do I think Valerius too severe,  
He prosecutes his Mistress murderer.  
I do with him against myself conspire,  
He would my death, and 'tis my own desire;  
With this distinction, that I think by that  
To keep my honour in its present height;  
Whereas he thinks thereby to blot that name  
I would perpetuate to live in Fame▪  
We rarely meet occasions, Sir, wherein  
A hearts whole stock of courage may be seen:  
Valour acts more, or less, as time doth fit,  
And as occasion serves or hinders it,  
And manly, or effeminate, appears  
At the discretion of the censurers.  
The common sort, whose understandings be  
By ignorance limited to what they see,  
Proportion force by its effects, and guests  
At Valour, as effects are more or less;  
Expecting vainly, that who wonders do,  
Blessed once by Fortune, should do always so.  
After an act illustriously bright,  
All that seem less darken that actions light.  
Men look we always should in every place  
Perform our actions with an equal grace;  
Without considering in th' occasion  
What could have been, or more, or better done;  
Nor seeing that in actions of less fame,  
Th' occasion's less, the virtue still the same.  
Great names by this injustice are defaced,  
men's first Acts honours perish in their last:  
And who once reaches a supreme renown,  
If he will hold it there, must there sit down.  
I shall not boast what honour I have got,  
Yourself, great Sir, saw my three Combats fought:  
But 'twill be hard ever again to find  
An opportunity of such a kind,  
To crown my Valour's worth with a success  
That must not after these exploits go less.  
So that to give my Fame immortal breath,  
I have no way, but by immediate death.  
I should have died before, nor lived so long;  
I've lived already to my Glory's wrong.  
A man like me perceives his name decays,  
When but in danger of the least disgrace;  
And my own hand ere this had cleared the doubt,  
But my blood's yours, and dare not 〈◊〉 out,  
Without your leave: Sir, your allowance must  
Precede that action, else it were unjust.  
Rome wants no generous Warriors, there are those,  
When I am gone, will fight her bravest foes  
As well as I have done, and pluck fresh boughs  
Of greener Laurel to adorn her brows.  
Then with an useless man (great Sir) dispense,  
And if my acts deserve a recompense,  
Let this be it, that with this conquering Arm,  
Still with the vigour of late action warm,  
I sacrifice myself to my own fame,  
Without a mention of my Sister's name.   

Scena Tertia.  Tullius. Valerius. Horace the Father. Horace. Sabina and julia. Sabina. 
Oh hear her Sir, in whose afflicted mind  
A Wives and Sisters sorrows are combined;  
Who desolate at your sacred feet, in tears  
Laments her Race, and for her Husband fears.  
Not that I would by Artifice withdraw  
A guilty man from the offended Law;  
Use him like one, maugre his Victories,  
But the brave Criminal in me chastise.  
Let my unhappy blood his forfeit pay,  
The Victim's still the same, nor can you say  
Your justice is by pity overcome,  
Whilst I his dearer part, abide your doom.  
His matchless love makes it appear he lives  
In his own person less, than in his Wives:  
And he, if I be sacrificed, thereby  
A sadder death, than in himself, shall die.  
The death Ibeg, and which I must obtain,  
Will finishmine, but aggravate his pain.  
Behold Sir, here th' excesses of my woe,  
And the sad state my life's reduced unto.  
How can I without horror ere embrace  
A man whose Sword has murdered all my race;  
And without wickedness a Husband hate,  
For his brave Service to his Prince and State?  
By death, than Sir, preserve me from the Crime  
Either of loving, or not loving him.  
In this extremity I shall embrace  
The heaviest sentence for the greatest grace,  
I soon, alas! with this weak arm could do  
The thing for which I do so humbly sue:  
But Death will be more welcome, if thereby  
I may redeem my Husband's infamy:  
If by my blood I may those Deities,  
His severe virtue may have moved, appease,  
Atone Camilla's angry Ghost, and save  
To Rome a man so fortunate and brave.  Horace the Father speaking to the King▪ 
I that defence Sir then must undertake,  
My Son and Daughter unconcerned forsake;  
They with Valerius side, and are all three  
Combined together in conspiracy  
Against that little blood does yet remain  
From War and Ruin, to restore my name.  Speaking to Sabina. 
Thou who by fruitless sorrows, which oppose  
The duty that a Wife the Husband owes,  
Thy Husband wouldst forsake, and desperate,  
Accompany thy Brothers in their Fate:  
Go rather, and consult their generous Ghosts;  
'Tis true, their lives by Horace hand they lost:  
But 'twas in Alba's quarrel that they died,  
And they in that are fully satisfied.  
Since Heaven destined Alba for a slave,  
(If there remain remembrance in the Grave)  
They less repine at their mishap and wounds,  
Being the glory unto us redounds.  
Thy frantic sorrow they will all disclaim,  
Thy sighs, and tears, will disapprove, and blame,  
And will condemn the horror thou putst on,  
For such a Husband has so bravely done.  
Sabina be their Sister, try your tears,  
And do your duty, as they have done theirs.  Speaking to the King. 
Valerius animates himself in vain,  
Against this noble Hero to complain.  
A sudden passion in the course of time  
Was never yet reputed for a Crime;  
Rather than punishment, it merits praise  
When virtue does that sudden passion raise,  
To love even to Idolatry our foes,  
And curse our Country for their overthrows:  
These are called Crimes, these the offences were,  
He could not even in his Sister spare.  
His love to Rome, and her concerns alone  
Prompted his hand to execution.  
Had not his Countries love tempted his spleen,  
He at this instant innocent had been.  
How strangely do I talk! what was't I meant  
To say he had been; he is innocent:  
Or Sir, I had with my own hand ere this  
Punished the forfeit, had he done amiss;  
I should have made the sovereign power known,  
That Nature gives a Father o'er his Son.  
Sir, I love honour, nor can brook disgrace,  
Much less a Crime unpunished in my Race.  [pointing to Valerius. 
Of which I only shall his witness need,  
He can resolve you what my rage decreed,  
When (ignorant yet of one half of the fight)  
I thought Rome ruined in his shameful flight.  
I wonder who bids him busy his cares  
About my private Family-affairs?  
I wonder whence the privilege he draws,  
Without my leave to plead my Daughter's cause?  
Or by what right does he an interest claim,  
Where I her Father unoffended am?  
But 'tis objected as a politic care,  
That others may the like misfortune share,  
Sir, we are only jealous of the shame  
That in particular concerns our name;  
And letting others infamies alone,  
Do only bash at those which are our own.  Turning to Valerius. 
Thou may'st Valerius weep before his face,  
He's only angry at the Crimes on's Race:  
None, save those of his blood, can blast those boughs▪  
Of living Laurel that adorn his brows.  
Ye sacred wreaths, that Envy wishes dead,  
You, who from thunder have secured his head;  
Will you that sacred head abandon now,  
Unto a despicable Hangman's blow?  
Will ye, O Romans, on a day like this,  
See and permit the bloody Sacrifice▪  
Of that victorious Champion; but for whom,  
And his brave Valour, Rome had been no Rome?  
And suffer here a Roman to defame  
With accusations his illustrious name!  
Valerius say, where wouldst thou have him die,  
What Scene is proper for his Tragedy?  
Within these Walls, where still the people raise  
High Acclamations to his Valour's praise?  
Or in the Camp yet fuming with a flood  
Of the late conquered Curiatiis blood?  
Or else amongst the Alban Heroes Tombs?  
Sure that place worst the Tragedy becomes.  
That honourable Field that witnesses  
At once his prowess and our brave success.  
Thou canst not possibly choose out a place,  
To be the Theatre of his disgrace,  
Wherein his noble conquests will not rise  
In glory, to reproach your cruelties.  
The Camp, the Lists, within, without the Town,  
All places echo with his high renown.  
All things oppose, and all men disapprove  
The vain attempts of thy unjuster Love,  
That would with blood so Roman, and so pure,  
The glory of so bright a day obscure.  
Alba herself that object cannot see,  
And Rome with tears will stay that Tragedy.  Speaking to the King. 
But Sir, your justice will prevent that doom,  
You understand the interests of Rome.  
What he has done he yet may do again,  
And once more may her liberty maintain;  
Give nothing to my Age, Sir, in this case.  
To day I Father of four Children was,  
Of which three in Rome's Quarrels buried are,  
One I have left, reserve him, Sir, for her.  
Rob not this City by his Sacrifice  
Of that defence which in his Valour lies;  
And give me your permission, that I may  
Direct to him, what I have left to say.  Speaking to Horace. 
Horatio do not think the common bruit  
Can raise, or lessen a brave man's repute.  
The rabble ever do delight in noise,  
But in a trice, change their inconstant voice:  
And the renown they give us bears no date,  
But perishes as illegitimate.  
It is for Kings, great ones, for souls that are  
Advanced above the common pitch by far,  
To censure virtue, to discern, and know  
The noble spirits from the mean and low.  
From them alone a true renown proceeds,  
And they alone record illustrious deeds.  
Do always like thyself, thy glory then  
Shall live, and flourish amongst worthy men;  
Although a less occasion may perchance  
Abuse unbiased vulgar ignorance.  
Abhor thy life no more, but live, at least  
For mine, thy Kings, and Country's interest.  
Live, Rome's opposers bravely to oppose,  
And fight her Battles with the bravest foes.  
Sir, I have said too much, though the affair  
May well excuse a Father in his care.  
I have pronounced the general sense of Rome,  
And now expecting stay your final doom.  Valerius. 
Sir give me leave.—  Tullius. 
Valerius no more,  
I yet retain all you have said before,  
And have considered every circumstance,  
Reason, and word, that serves to prove th' offence.  
This bloody fact committed in despite  
Of Law, and Justice, almost in our sight,  
Violates Nature, nay doth higher rise,  
With humane rage to wound the Deities;  
And sudden passions that such crimes produce,  
For facts like this, are but a weak excuse.  
Our most indulgent Laws herein speak high,  
And by their censure he deserves to die.  
If by another way, and less severe,  
We do consider the offender here,  
His crime, though inexcusable, proceeds  
From the same Sword and Arm have done those deeds;  
By whose effects Rome bravely overcame,  
And I a King of two great people am.  
The double Crown on Rome's Imperial Head,  
In favour of his life does highly plead:  
But for his Valour, I who now do sway  
A twofold Sceptre, had been forced t'obey;  
And where I sit a double Monarch Crowned,  
Had been a Captive made, subdued, and bound.  
Many good Subjects in their Country's Wars  
Can only serve their Princes by their prayers.  
All men may love their Kings, but every one  
Cannot secure their States as he has done.  
The art, and power to establish Thrones,  
Are virtues Heaven gives few private ones.  
Such Servants are the Nerves, and strength of Kings,  
The Props of Kingdoms, and the glorious things  
They do and suffer in their Country's Cause,  
Seats them above the censure of the Laws.  
Let them be silent then, and here let Rome  
Forbear to utter an ungrateful doom  
On an offence she saw before, when yet  
She had no name, her Romulus commit;  
In her Deliverer she may forbear  
The fault she could in her rash Founder spare.  
Live then brave Soldier, spirit too sublime,  
Thy virtue sets thy glory 'bove thy Crime.  
Since generosity th' offence did make,  
Th' effect we pardon for the causes sake.  
Live to thy Country's noblest, bravest ends;  
But I must have you and Valerius friends;  
And in a friendship such as shall permit  
Fury, nor malice to extinguish it.  
And whether love, or obligation were  
The motives made him prosecute you here,  
Of what is passed no memory retain,  
But reconcile him to your love again.  
And sweet Sabina, let your great heart chase  
These marks of frailty from your lovely face.  
You can their Sister you lament express  
In nothing more, than in lamenting less.  
But we to morrow set apart to pay  
Thanks to the Gods for this victorious day;  
And Heaven would with an averted face  
Receive our Vows, and would withdraw his grace,  
Should not our Priests e'er we begin, take care  
To purify th' unhappy Conqueror.  
Be that his Father's task, he may with ease  
At the same time Camilla's Ghost appease.  
I pity her, and wish her soul may have  
What satisfaction can be in the Grave;  
Since in one day, one zeal's ungoverned heat  
Did her brave Lovers, and her Fate complete.  
The day that saw them die, ere hence he goes  
Shall see one Monument their Corpse enclose.  The King rises, and all follow him except Julia.  

Scena Quarta.  julia. 

Heaven sweet Camilla did foretell,  
The Tragical event drew nigh;  
But did the secret part conceal,  
From the most piercing judgement's eye:  
It seemed to speak of Nuptial Joys,  
It seemed to soothe thy innocence,  
And did thy Death the while disguise,  
Deluding our intelligence.   

" Alba and Rome to morrow shall surcease  
" Their jars, thy Vows are heard, they shall have peace,  
" And thou be joined to Cuirass in a tie,  
" Never to be dissolved by Destiny.    

SONG.  

(1.)  
HOw frailty makes us to our wrong  
Fear, and be loath to die,  
When Life is only dying long  
And Death the remedy!  
We eat eternity,  
And still would grovel here beneath,  
Though still in woe and strife,  
When Life's the path that leads to Death,  
And Death the door to Life.   

(2.)  
The Fear of Death is the disease  
Makes the poor patiented smart;  
Vain apprehensions often freeze  
The vitals in the heart,  
Without the dreaded Dart.  
When fury rides on pointed steel  
Deaths fear the heart doth seize,  
Whilst in that very fear we feel  
A greater sting than his.   

(3.)  
But chaste Camilla's virtuous fear  
Was of a nobler kind,  
Not of her end approaching near  
But to be left behind,  
From her dear Love disjoined;  
When Death in courtesy decreed,  
To make the fair his prize,  
And by one cruelty her freed  
From humane cruelties.   

CHORUS.  
Thus Heaven does his will disguise,  
To scourge our curiosities,  
When too inquisitive we grow  
Of what we are forbid to know.  
Fond humane nature that will try  
To sound th' Abiss of Destiny!  
Alas! what profit can arise  
From those forbidden scrutinies,  
When Oracles what they foretell  
In such Aenigmas still conceal,  
That self-indulging man still makes  
Of deepest truths most sad mistakes!  
Or could our frailty comprehend  
The reach those riddles do intent:  
What boots it us when we have done,  
To foresee ills we cannot shun?  
But 'tis in man a vain pretence,  
To know or prophesy events,  
Which only execute, and move,  
By a dependence from above.  
'Tis all imposture to deceive  
The foolish and inquisitive,  
Since none foresee what shall befall,  
But Providence that governs all.  
Reason wherewith kind Heaven has blessed  
His creature man above the rest,  
Will teach humanity to know  
All that it should aspire unto;  
And whatsoever fool relies  
On false deceiving prophecies,  
Striving by conduct to evade  
The harms they threaten, or persuade,  
Too frequently himself does run  
Into the danger he would shun,  
And pulls upon himself the woe  
Fate meant he should much later know.  
By such delusions virtue strays  
Out of those honourable ways  
That lead unto that glorious end,  
To which the noble ever bend.  
Whereas if virtue were the guide,  
men's minds would then be fortified  
With constancy, that would declare  
Against supineness, and despair.  
We should events with patience wait,  
And nor despise, nor fear our Fate.    
The end of the Fifth and last Act.   
FINIS.   

A Catalogue of some Books Printed for Henry Brome since the dreadful Fire in London.  
THE History of the Life of the Duke of Espernon the great Favourite of France; wherein the History of France is continued from 1598. wheres D' Avila leaves off down to our times, 1642. in folio, price 16 s.  
Scarronnides, or Virgil travesty, a Mock-Poem on the first and 4th. Book of Virgil in English Burlesque: price 1 s. 6. d. Both by Charles Cotton Esquire.  
Elvira, a Comedy, or the worst not always true: by the Earl of Bristol: price 1 s.  
Mr. Simpsons' Division Viol.: in folio, price 8 s.  
His Compendium of Practical Music, octavo, price bound 2 s.  
Erasmus Colloquies in English: price 5 s.  
A Treatise wherein is demonstrated, that the Church and State of England are in equal danger with the Trade: in quarto: price I s. 6 d. By Roger Coke Esquire.  
Brome's Songs and Poems, in octavo: price 3 s.  
His Translation of Horace, with other worthy Persons: price 4 s.  
The Gentleman Apothecary, being a late and true Story turned out of French: price 6 d.