University of Virginia Library

Oh hear her Sir, in whose afflicted mind
A Wifes and Sisters sorrows are combin'd;
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 sacrific'd, thereby
A sadder death, than in himself, shall dye.
The death I beg, and which I must obtain,
Will finish mine, but aggravate his pain.
Behold Sir, here th'excesses of my woe,
And the sad state my life's reduc't unto.
How can I without horror e're embrace
A man whose Sword has murther'd all my race;
And without wickedness a Husband hate,
For his brave Service to his Prince and State?
By death, then 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 Husbands infamy:
If by my blood I may those Deities,
His severe vertue may have mov'd, appease,
Atone Camilla's angry Ghost, and save
To Rome a man so fortunate and brave.

I that defence Sir then must undertake,
My Son and Daughter unconcern'd forsake;
They with Valerius side, and are all three
Combin'd together in conspiracy
Against that little blood does yet remain
From War and Ruine, to restore my name.
Speaking to Sabina.
Thou who by fruitless sorrows, which oppose
The duty that a Wife her Husband owes,
Thy Husband would'st 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 dy'd,
And they in that are fully satisfi'd.
Since Heav'n destin'd 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 frantick 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, dry 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 vertue does that sudden passion raise,
To love even to Idolatry our foes,
And curse our Country for their overthrows:
These are call'd 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 e're this
Punish'd the forfeit, had he done amiss;
I should have made the sovereign pow'r known,
That Nature gives a Father o're his Son.
Sir, I love honour, nor can brook disgrace,
Much less a Crime unpunish'd in my Race.
[pointing to Valerius.
Of which I only shall his witness need,
He can resolve you what my rage decreed,
When (ign'rant yet of one half of the fight)
I thought Rome ruin'd in his shameful flight.
I wonder who bids him busie his cares
About my private Family-affairs?
I wonder whence the priviledge he draws,
Without my leave to plead my Daughters cause?
Or by what right does he an int'rest claim,
Where I her Father unoffended am?
But 'tis objected as a politick 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 blush 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 secur'd 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 would'st thou have him dye,
What Scene is proper for his Tragedy?
Within these Walls, where still the people raise
High Acclamations to his Valours praise?
Or in the Camp yet fuming with a flood
Of the late conquer'd 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 Lifts, within, without the Town,
All places eccho 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 her self 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 cafe.
To day I Father of four Children was,
Of which three in Rome's Quarrel 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
Advanc'd above the common pitch by far,
To censure vertue, 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 thy self, thy glory then
Shall live, and flourish amongst worthy men;
Although a less occasion may perchance
Abuse short-sighted vulgar ignorance.
Abhor thy life no more, but live, at least
For mine, thy Kings, and Countries interest.
Live, Romes opposers bravely to oppose,
And fight her Battels with her bravest foes.

Sir, I have said too much, though the affair
May well excuse a Father in his care.
I have pronounc'd the general sence of Rome,
And now expecting stay your final doom.

Valerius no more,
I yet retain all you have said before,
And have consider'd every circumstance,
Reason, and word, that serves to prove th'offence.

This bloody fact committed in despight
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 Romes Imperial Head,
In favour of his life does highly plead:
But for his Valour, I who now do sway
A two-fold Scepter, had been forc'd t'obey;
And where I sit a double Monarch Crown'd,
Had been a Captive made, subdu'd, and bound,
Many good Subjects in their Countries Wars
Can only serve their Princes by their pray'rs.
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 vertues 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 Countries 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 Souldier, spirit too sublime,
Thy vertue sets thy glory 'bove thy Crime.
Since generosity th'offence did make,
Th'effect we pardon for the causes sake.
Live to thy Countries 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 past 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're we begin, take care
To purifie th'unhappy Conqueror.
Be that his Fathers 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 ungovern'd heat
Did her brave Lovers, and her Fate compleat.
The day that saw them dye, e're hence he goes
Shall see one Monument their Corps enclose.