University of Virginia Library

SCENA V.

Horatius, Camilla, Proculus, and two other Souldiers, carrying each of them a sword of the Curiatii.
Horat.
Sister, behold the arm that hath reveng'd
our two brave brothers; that hath broke the course
of our contrary Destinies, that makes us
Masters of Alba; lastly, see the arm
that makes to day the fortune of two States:
Behold these marks of honour, these fair testimonies
of glory, and give what thou ought'st unto
the happinesse of my Victory.

Cam.
Receive then
my tears; 'tis that which I do owe unto it.

Horat.
Rome will see none after such high exploits;
and our two brothers slain in the misfortune
of arms, are paid enough with blood, there needs
no tears to mingle with it. When the losse
is reveng'd, 'tis recovered.

Cam.
Since they are
satisfi'd by the blood that's shed, I'll cease
to mourn more for them, and forget their death,
which your hand hath reveng'd. But who shall now
revenge my Lovers, to make me forget
his losse too?

Horat.
What saist thou, unfortunate!

Cam.
O my dear Curiatius!

Horat.
Infinite boldnesse
of an unworthy Sister! Must the name of
a publick enemy, whom I have conquered,
be in thy mouth, and his love in thy heart?
Thy criminall heat aspireth to revenge,
thy mouth demands it, and thy heart longs for it;
follow thy passion lesse, stint thy desires,
make me not blush to understand thy sighs;
thy flames henceforth ought to be smothered,
banish them from thy soule, and think upon
my trophies, let them ever be hereafter
thy onely entertainement.

Cam.
Give me then
a heart like thine, barbarian. If thou wouldst
have me to speak my thoughts, restore unto me
my Curiatius, or leave my flame
to act; my joy and griefs depend upon
his fortune: I ador'd him living, and
I mourne him dead. Seeke not thy sister where
thou left'st her; thou shalt see no more in me
but an offended Love, which like a furie
fix'd to thy steps, incessantly shall haunt thee,
and still reproach thee with his death. Inhumane,
blood thirsty Tiger, that forbid'st me teares,
that wouldst that in his death I should finde charmes,
and that extolling thy exploits to heaven,
I should my self kill him a second time!
May such misfortunes waite upon thy life,
that thou fall'st to the point to beare me envie,
and sullie soone by some unworthy act
that glory deare to thy brutalitie!

Horat.
O heaven! who ever saw so high a madness?
Believ'st thou then that I should be insensible
of such an outrage, and that I should suffer
this foule dishonour in my blood! Love, love
that death which makes our happinesse; but preferre
that which thy birth owes to the interests
of Rome, before the memory of a man.

Cam.
Rome, th'only object of my sad resentment!
Rome, unto whom thine arm hath sacrific'd
my Lover! Rome, that gave thee birth, and whom
thou dost adore! Lastly, Rome that I hate
because she honours thee! May all her neighbours
conspire together in a league against her,
and sap her yet unsettled foundations:
and if this of all Italie be not
sufficient, let the East joyn with the West
against her; let a thousand severall Nations
(from the ends of the Universe) passe the seas
and mountains to destroy her; let her self
orethrow her walls upon her self, and with
her own hands tear her bowels; let the anger
of heaven (by my prayers kindled) make a deluge
of fire to rain upon her; may mine eyes
see those brave thunderbolts to fall upon her,
her houses ashes, and her laurels dust;
see the last Roman breathing his last gasp,
and I the cause of this, to die with pleasure.

Horat.
Putting his hand to his sword, and following his Sister, who flies him.
It is too much, my patience gives place
to reason. Go thy wayes to hell, and joyn
thy self there with thy Curiatius.

Cam.
Wounded behind the Stage.
O Traitor!

Horat.
Coming again upon the Stage.
Such sudden punishment let every one
receive, that dares lament a Roman enemy.