112 Ss3v

May Eaſt and Weſt conſpire to make her fall;

And all the Nations of the barbaronsbarbarous World,

To ruine her, o’re Hills and Seas be hurl’d:

Nor theſe loath’d Walls may her own fury ſpare,

But with her own hands her own bowels tear;

And may Heaven’s anger kinled by my wo,

Whoſe deluges of fire upon her throw;

May my eyes ſee her Temples overturn’d,

Theſe Houſes aſhes, and thy Lawrels burn’d;

See the laſt gaſp which the laſt Roman draws,

And die with joy for having been the cauſe.

Horace.

Reaſon o’recomes my patience, fly to hell,

And this ſad ſtory to thy Lover tell.

purſues her with his Sword.

Camilla.

Ah Traytor—

Is wounded behind the theater.

Hor.

—Periſh, and be that their doom,

reentring.

Who dare lament an enemy of Rome.

Scen. VI.

Horace, Proculus.

Proculus.

What have you done?

Horace.

That which I not repent

Her crime deſerv’d no leſs a puniſhment.

Procu.

This rigour in a brother ſeem’d too great,

Horace.

The name of ſiſter I muſt now forget,

Her execrations have remov’d her place

And all her title to the Horatian Race

Her treacherous prayers her juſt reſentment warm’d

And 113 Ss4r (113)

And her own blood againſt her ſelf ſhe arm’d;

Her curſes ſhould, before they are fulfil’d

(As Monſters births as ſoon as born) be kill’d.

Scen. VII.

To them Sabina.

Sabina.

Why ſhould not this brave fury ſtill proceed,

And your pleas’d Eyes on that fair object feed,

Camilla in her Fathers arms expir’d?

If with theſe generous ſtrokes you are not tir’d,

Why ſhould you not to your dead Siſter joyn

The ſad remainders of the Alban Line?

Our ſufferings like our ſins ſhould equal be;

She but laments for one, and I for three;

Her crime no longer could reſiſt your will,

Mine trebles hers, and yet continues ſtill.

Horace.

Your tears (Sabina) or my ſight forbear,

Seem not unworthy of the name you bear,

My deareſt half, and let our mutual flame

Which is and was, be ever ſtill the ſame;

Let both our minds be one, and ſince to thine

I cannot condeſcend, grow up to mine.

I feel the grief which gives thee this tranſport

Borrow my Strength thy weakneſs to ſupport:

My honour do not envy but partake,

And mine for once thy own example make;

Of two great families thy ſelf and I

Are only left, then why ſhould either dye?

Sabina.

Find greater ſouls to emulate your own

Then mine; the ſorrows under which I groan,

Alas! not you but my misfortune wrought,

Towards you I have no misbecoming thought:

Yet 114 Ss4v (114)

Yet Roman Vertue I renounce, ſince I

To purchaſe that muſt ſell humanity.

Can the deplored Siſter of the dead,

Like a great Conquerours Wife advance her head?

Let publick Trophies publique Joys adorn,

Whilſt we in private, private loſses mourn,

Nor value goods which common are to all,

Whilſt on our ſelves domeſtick miſchiefs fall.

When thou cam’ſt in thou might’ſt have left thy State

Behind thee, and thy Laurels at the Gate,

Mixing thy tears with mine. This vain diſcourſe

Gives me no comfort, but much more remorſe;

Thy rage my crime redoubl’d could not fire;

Camilla’s happy ſhe hath her deſire,

Juſtly to her that love thou did’ſt reſtore

Of which by thee ſhe had been rob’d before:

Let now the belov’d Author of my grief

Puniſh my guilt, or give my tears relief.

’Tis ſtrange that neither favour nor offence

My merits, nor my crimes can recompenſe;

Nor one nor other ſhall unwelcome come

When from a Husband I receive my doome.

Horace.

Ye Gods, when ye did firſt to Women truſt

The Empire of Man’s Soul you were unjuſt.

Strange! that ſuch weak aſsailants ſtill ſhould win

The Field, and our unguarded hearts take in.

Where art thou loſt? my vertue either fly,

Or leave thy tears, elſe thou or I muſt dye.

Exeunt all but Sabina.

Sabi.

Anger and pity deaf to my deſires,

Both fly my crimes, and both my ſorrow tires:

If neither grace nor puniſhment I have,

When dead I ſhall find quiet in my grave.

Exit.
Act. 115 Tt1r (115)

Act V. Scen. I.

Old Horace, Young Horace.

Old Hor.

From this ſad object let our eyes retire,

And the high juſtice of the Gods admire:

For when our Pride exalts it ſelf, they know

The means to lay our high ambition low;

Our greateſt pleaſures are with ſadneſs mixt,

And blemiſhes on virtues face are fixt.

I cannot think my poor Camilla free

From blame, yet her I leſs accuſe then thee.

Have I, a Roman, ſuch a Son begot,

Whoſe honour ſuch a barbarous Act ſhould blot?

Would ſhe had liv’d though with much greater guilt,

Unleſs ſome other hand her blood had ſpilt.

That might have look’d like juſtice, but in thee,

Unnatural fury and raſh cruelty.

Horace.

Sir, Childrens lives their Fathers wills attend,

And mine, if you but give the word, ſhall end.

I thought it juſt, where ſhe her life receiv’d,

She ſhould it loſe, but if I misbeliev’d;

If you my zeal judge brutiſh and prophane,

And that this action did your honour ſtain,

The hand that made the blot ſhall it deface,

And free from infamy th’ Horatian Race.

Let fond affection no pretences make

Your intereſt or honour to forſake:

Nor let your wiſdom be betray’d by love,

To ſuffer what it ſelf muſt diſapprove.

Tt Old 116 Tt1v (116)

Old Hor.

My son, it were a rigour too extream,

If for thy fault my ſelf I ſhould condemn.

If my command ſhould thee to Death engage,

Why not to life? who ſhall ſupport my age

If thou ſhould’ſt fail? let my concernments clear

This doubt; but ſtay the Kings approach I hear.

Scen. II.

Tullus, Old Horace, Young Horace, Valerius, Proculus, and Guards.

Sir, to my houſe you too much honour bring,

I could not here expect to ſee my King.

Upon my knees——

King.

——Riſe Father, riſe, the grace

I now perform, is what becomes my place.

To him, I cannot too much honour ſhow,

To whoſe great merit I a Kingdom owe.

I came to make my former promiſe good.

As I believ’d, I ſince have underſtood

That you declar’d, when your two Son’s were loſt,

That conſtant courage which their Fame ſhall boaſt.

To ſuch a publick and heroick Soul,

I thought ’twould be ſuperfluous to condole.

But you, ſoon conſolation well may need,

For your victorious Son’s unworthy deed.

He to the publick too much zeal did ſhow,

When, like a Sacrifice, he rudely ſlew

His only Siſter, ’twas that made me fear,

How you this unexpected grief could bear.

Old Hor. 117 Tt2r (117)

Old Hor.

With great reſentment, yet with patience.

King.

That ſhews the vertue of experience.

Your age hath taught you how in all eſtates

Ill fortune with our good participates.

Few know like you, this remedy t’ apply,

But let their vertue for their intereſt dye.

If my compaſsion can allay your grief,

I give my ſelf, when I give you relief.

You and my ſelf the ſame extreams do move,

But let your ſorrow not tranſcend my Love.

Val.

Sir, ſince the powers above does Kings intruſt,

To diſtribute below what’s fit and juſt,

Subjects from them (by conſequence) may crave,

That Vice and Virtue their rewards may have.

Theſe men the matter falſely repreſent,

As fit for pity, not for puniſhment.

Suffer——

Old Hor.

——A Conquerour to dye!

King.

——Yet hear

With patience, and th’ event you need not fear.

In this we imitate the powers divine,

Our juſtice both on good and bad does ſhine.

And vertue by rewards muſt be preferr’d,

As much as vice by puniſhment deterr’d.

Val.

Then Sir, be pleas’d to lend a gracious ear

And think in mine the voice of Rome you hear.

We envy not his Fame or high report,

Nor do we wiſh that his reward fall ſhort

Tt2 Of 118 Tt2v (118)

Of his deſerts; whatever grace is meant

To him, we all ſhall joyn with full conſent;

But if his valour muſt a triumph have,

His murther does as much require a grave.

Nothing but death can make that tempeſt ceaſe,

If you would reign, and Rome preſerve in peace.

When Rome and Alba did in Friendſhip live,

They to each other did in marriage give

Daughters and Sons, but in the fatal ſtrife,

How many Sons and Brothers loſt their life?

The ſad reſentment for our private loſs,

The publick joy of every houſe did croſs.

If he this arbitrary power enjoy,

Whoever he diſlikes, he will deſtroy:

Whoſe life will this bold Conquerour forbear,

When his own Siſters blood he would not ſpare?

And found that generous way to end the cryes

Of a ſad Lady, when her Lover dyes.

Even Rome it ſelf his triumph did enſlave,

When power of life and death to him ſhe gave.

We of our lives no longer are ſecure,

Then whileſt his clemency is pleas’d t’indure.

To th’ intereſt of Rome, I here could add,

Of his raſh act, that ſpectacle ſo ſad.

Still that pure blood, which all his glory ſtains,

In drops upon his guilty cheek remains;

For youth and beauty would compaſsion move

From him, whoſe hate he ſacrific’d to love.

But why ſhould Art the eyes of juſtice blind?

The morning is for ſacrifice deſign’d.

Can he be fit before the Gods to ſtand,

To offer Incenſe with that guilty hand?

If in their ſervices ſuch men we dare

Employ, nor them, nor us will vengeance ſpare:

Not from his power did thoſe three conqueſts come,

But from the Genius of victorious Rome:

Of the ſame day, which he in triumph came,

’Tis juſt the night ſhould ſee his funeral flame,

And 119 Tt3r (119)

And that his blood may purify that Where Romulus flew his Brother Remus place

Where the vile Parricide committed was.

King.

Horace defend thy ſelf.

Horace.

——You know the fact,

And I believe your juſtice ſo exact,

That the leaſt conſcious man can hardly clear

Himſelf, when to his Prince his crimes appear.

Why ſhould I plead, when what I ſhould defend,

Onely on your diſpoſal muſt attend;

And mine own innocence I dare not truſt,

When you believe my accuſation juſt?

’Tis but my Life which freely I reſigne,

Let others ask, but I that ſuit decline:

Nor ſeek for that, which I would gladly loſe;

Nor blame my Siſters Lover, to accuſe

Her Brother: for her death, my voice conſpires

With his, and we have both the ſame deſires;

In this we only differ, he would ſtain,

My honour with a death I would maintain.

Few great and vertuous actions ſtand ſo clear,

But envy makes ſome ſpots and ſtains appear:

Which, as occaſion ſerves, is more or leſs,

Such as the ſtanders by are pleas’d to gueſs:

And thoſe who have done miracles before,

They ſtreight contemn if they can do no more.

’Tis but in vain, the mention to renew,

Of what your Majeſty did lately view;

And therefore, ſince I can perform no more,

Such noble actions as I did before,

’Tis fit, great Sir, you ſentence to attend,

That here my life may with my honour end.

I no aſs.iſtance heretofore did need,

But now, without your leave I dare not bleed;

My 120 Tt3v (120)

My life is yours, if any other ſhed

My blood, you are but robb’d when I am dead;

Rome wants not Worthies to ſupport your Crown,

And to advance your glory with their own.

And here I kneel, attending your command,

And only ask that by this fatal hand,

I may a fitting ſacrifice become,

Not to my Siſter, but to you and Rome.

Scen. III.

To them Sabina.

Sabina.

See in Sabina’s face drawn to the life,

The ſorrows of a Siſter and a Wife.

All that I ask, is, but that only I

May ſuffer, with my own loſt Family;

What I deſire, will be twice juſt, t’increaſe

His miſery, and make my own to ceaſe.

Think on the ſtreights I am in, muſt I embrace

The ſole deſtroyer of our Noble Race?

Nor is’t impiety in me to hate

That Princes ſervant, who confounds our State:

With my three Brothers blood I ſtand defil’d,

When to their murtherer I’me reconcil’d;

And your juſt ſentence will two crimes remove,

That though I ſhould not, yet I needs muſt love.

That which I ſeek, my own weak hand can give:

But I would be condemn’d that he might live.

My 121 Tt4r (121)

My blood (it may be) might thoſe Gods appeaſe,

Whom his too rigid vertue did diſpleaſe;

I ſhall Camilla’s injur’d Ghoſt attend,

Nor you want him, whoſe hand did Rome defend.

Old Hor.

You, who your duty to your griefs ſubmit,

To Sabina.

And for your Brother, your brave Husband quit,

Conſult their Ghoſts who for their Country fell;

And for that cauſe in bleſt Elizium dwell.

They are content the Gods decree ſhould ſtand,

That Rome the Sabine Nation ſhould command:

They happy are, ſecure from hopes and fears,

Nor ſighs for ſighs, nor tears return for tears.

Be like them, and from their example learn

Thy duty, and purſue thy chief concern.

He ’gainſt the Husband does the Wife enflame.

My Son’s brave action a foul crime does name,

Such as not puniſhment deſerves, but praiſe,

When Virtue did in Horace paſs.ion raiſe.

To love our Foes is meer Idolatry,

And rage to curſe our Country when we dye.

Her prayers for miſchief with her parting breath,

He thought a crime, and puniſh’d it with death.

Love to his Country his high paſs.ion mov’d,

He had been faultleſs. had he Rome not lov’d:

Valerius if he pleaſe can tell how high

My ſenſe of Honour and revenge did flye,

When me a falſe report did firſt perſwade,

That my Son’s flight his Country had betray’d;

But who with my affairs did him intruſt,

Boldly to judge Camilla’s death unjuſt?

Why in my houſe does he preſume to owne,

An intereſt which I my ſelf lay down?

My Son’s crime pardon’d may the ſame produce,

No matter, if it find the ſame excuſe.

For 122 Tt4v (122)

For ſhame forbear Valerius this reproach,

To Valerius.

Nor into our concernments make approach;

My Son affronted by th’ Horatian blood,

The crimes of his own family withſtood:

And now thou baſely wouldſt to aſhes turn

Thoſe Lawrels, which his conquering brows adorn:

Thou who for fear didſt from that thunder hide

Thy head, wouldſt him condemn of Paricide.

Rome, canſt thou ſee him ſacrific’d, by whom

Thou haſt the honour to be ſtill call’d Rome?

Within the Roman Walls he cannot dye,

Where his exploits ten thouſand voices cry;

Nor in the fields which his victorious arm,

Glutted with Sabine blood (which ſtill is warm)

Nor neer thoſe three new Tombs, which ſtand t’expreſs

His courage, and our Nations happineſs.

Rome will afford but a few ſtanders by,

And Alba, when they ſee his Face will fly.

Four of my off-spring ſaw the morning Sun,

To the King.

Of which Rome’s intereſt has left but one

To ſerve your ſelf, and Rome; be pleas’d to give

The Father leave to adviſe the Son to live.

Horace, believe not that the ſtupid crowd,To his Son.

Fit Judges of true vertue are allow’d:

Uncertain rumour from their groundleſs. cries,

Grows in one moment, in another dyes.

Do like thy Anceſtors, and then thy Name

Will be recorded in the books of Fame;

Vertue and Honour lift themſelves too high,

To be the objects of a Vulgar eye:

Then hate not life, but for thy Country live,

Thy King, and me, who thee that Life did give:

And the reſult of all I ſay, is this,

That Rome has ſpoken in my voice, not his.

Val. 123 Uu1r (123)

Val.

Sir, ſuffer me——

King.

Valerius, no replies;

What each hath ſaid in my remembrance lies:

In equal ſcales both arguments I lay,

And that ſhall be my rule, which moſt does weigh.

I muſt confeſs that his enormous deed,

All bounds and laws of Nature did exceed:

But that high crime was acted by that hand,

By which our laws, and Rome it ſelf does ſtand;

And like a foul ingratitude ’twould ſhow,

To take that life, to which themſelves they owe.

It was his ſingle valour chang’d our doom,

Rome had ſerv’d Alba, as that now ſerves Rome;

And I my ſelf had then a ſubject been,

Now on my head two Diadems are ſeen.

All my good ſubjects may good wiſhes bring,

And with devout obedience ſerve their King,

But few that favour from the Gods obtain,

To ſave one Kingdom, and another gaine:

And thoſe whoſe power makes the Laws obey’d,

Of the ſame laws, ought not to ſtand afraid.

Our Father Romulus his brother kill’d,

And on his blood did Romes foundation build:

Why therefore ſhould they find a different Fate,

Who redeem’d Rome, and who did Rome create?

Thy merits if thou liv’ſt may higher climbe,

And raiſe thy honour far above thy crime;

Enjoy that life which reſcu’d Rome and me:

Our ſelves we muſt condemn condemning thee.

You and Valerius now like Friends ſhall live,

And each the others paſsions may forgive;

Both may be well excus’d, for thine did move,

From too much zeal, and his from too much love.

Sabina be advis’d, too long to grieve, To Sabina.

Uu On 124 Uu1v (124)

On thy great Heart will marks of weakneſs leave.

Thoſe tears, which for thy gallant Brothers flow,

When dry’d, will thee much more their Siſter ſhow.

To morrow we to thank the Gods reſolve,

And if our Prieſts young Horace can abſolve,

The Heavenly powers our ſacrifice will pleaſe,

Her Father ſhall Camilla’s Ghoſt appeaſe:

As yeſterday did end their love and life,

This day one Tomb ſhall make them Man and Wife.

Some hearing of this great deliverance,

Are come, Sir, to preſent you with a dance.

Exuent Omnes.

Finis