University of Virginia Library

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 than thee.
Have I, a Roman, such a Son begot,
Whose honor 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 honor 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 honor to forsake:
Nor let your wisdom be betray'd by love,
To suffer what it self must disapprove.

Old HOR.
My Son, it were a rigor 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, Proclus, and Guards.

Sir, to my house you too much honor 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 honor 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.
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 Conqueror 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
Of his deserts; whatever grace is meant
To him, we all shall joyn with full consent;
But if his valor must 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 others did in Marriage give.
Daugthers 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 Conqueror 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 whil'st 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 amd 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 that his blood may purify that

Where Romulus slew 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 honor 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, your sentence to attend,
That here my life may with my honor end.
I no assistance heretofore did need,
But now, without your leave I dare not bleed;
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'm 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 blood (it may be) might those gods appease,
Whom his too rigid virtue 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 and Sabina 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 passion 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 passion mov'd,
He had been faultless had he Rome not lov'd:
Valerius if he please can tell how high
My sense of Honor 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 own,
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 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 Laurels, 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 honor 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 near 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 virtue are allow'd:
Uncertain rumor 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;
Virtue and Honor 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.
Sir suffer me—

KING.
[To Sabina

[Exeunt Omnes.