University of Virginia Library

ACTUS II.

SCENA I.

Horatius, Curiatius.
Curiatius.
Thus Rome hath fitly placed her esteeme,
she should have chosen otherwise unworthily;
this City proud in you and in your brothers,
hath found three warriours, which she doth preferre
before all others, and opposing to us
no other armes but yours, braveth all ours
with one sole house: we will believe that, seeing
all is committed to your hands, there is
no Romane besides Horace and his Sons:
This choice can fill three Families with Glory,
and consecrate their names to future ages:
Oh yes! the honour which your doth receive
by this choice, can immortalize all three;
and since with you my fortune and may flame
have made me place my Sister, chuse my wife,
that which I ought to be, and what I am
to you already, makes me take your part
as much as possibly I can: But sadly
another interest doth restraine my Joy,
and mingles bitterness amongst those sweets;
the war hath cast such a refulgent ray
upon your Valour, that I shake for Alba,
and foresee its misfortune; since you combat,
her ruine is assur'd; in making you
the choice, even destiny her selfe hath sworn it.
I see herein too plain her fatall projects,
and do already count my selfe your subject.

Horat.
So little reason have you to lament
for Alba, that Rome rather should be pitied,
seeing those she rejecteth, and the three
she names; alas! it is a fatall blindness
for her, in having so many brave Hero's
to chuse, and yet to take the worst; a thousand
of her faire Children, far more worthy of her
then we, could better have sustain'd her quarell:
But though this combat points me out a grave,
the Glory of this choice doth swell me up
with a just pride, my spirit doth receive
a masculine assurance by't, I dare
by vertue of it to hope much from my
small Valour, and what ere the projects be
of envious fortune, I do not account me.
it'h' number of your subjects: Rome hath too much
attributed to me; but my ravish'd soul
shall satisfie her expectation,
or lose its life; he that resolves to die,
or overcome, is seldome overcome;
this generous despair doth hardly perish:
but come what will, Rome shall be free, not subject
until my last gasp assure my defeat.

Curiat.
Alas! how much am I here to be pitied!
that which my Country will, my Amitie
forbids: Cruel extremities! to see
Alba enslaved, or her Victory
bought at the dear rate of a life so precious,
and the chief good whereto her wishes tend,
purchased at the price of your last sighs:
What prayers shall I form? what happinesse
expect? on every side I must shed tears;
on every side my desires are betrai'd.

Horat.
What! would you weep me dying for my Country?
Such a death for a generous heart hath charms;
the glory that attends it doth allow
no tears; and I should blesse my fortune, if
the State and Rome could lose lesse by my death.

Curiat.
How ever, Sir, permit your friends to fear it,
they onely in so fair a death as this
are to be weep'd, the glory ont's for you,
the losse for them: it maketh you immortal,
and rendreth them miserable; what is it
one loseth not in losing of a friend
so faithful! But I see Flavian approach,
he brings me here some news. Hath Alba yet
made choice of her three combatants?

SCENA II.

Horatius, Curiatius, Flavianus.
Flavian.
I come
to tell you of it.

Curiat.
Well, who are the three?

Flav.
You, Sir, and your two brothers.

Curiat.
Who?

Flav.
You, I say,
and your two brothers. But why this sad countenance
and this severe look? doth the choice displease you?

Curiat.
No, but it doth surprize me,
I thought my self unworthy of so great
an honour.

Flav.
Shall I tell (Sir) the Dictator
that sent me to you, with what little joy
you do receive it? This cold entertainment
doth make me wonder.

Curiat.
Tel him, that Amitie, Love, and Allyance
can't hinder the three Curiatii
to serve their Country 'gainst the three Horatii.

Flav.
Against them! oh! it is too much for me
to speak in few words.

Curiat.
Carry him my answer,
and leave us in repose.

—Exit. Flavian.

SCENA III.

Curiatius, Horatius.
Curiat.
How heaven hell and earth conspire against us,
and make us war! Gods, divels, men, and fortune
prepare a general assault against us;
in the condition that we are, I dare them
to do their worst now, what so e'r they have
of horrible and cruel, is much less
then th'honour which they do unto us both.

Horat.
Fortune, that opens us the lists of honour,
offers a glorious matter to our constancy.
she draines her force to strengthen a misfortune.
To measure her self better with our Valour,
as she esteemeth us not common souls,
she doth exclude our fortunes from the common.
To fight an enemy for the general safety,
and to expose ones self alone to stroaks
against a stranger, is but the effect of
a simple vertue, thousands have already
perform'd it, thousands can perform it still:
to lay ones life down for his Country, is
so faire a fate, so worthy an exposure,
that all should strive to purchase such a death:
But to be willing for to sacrifice
unto the publick that which we do love,
to tye us resolutely to the combat
against our other self, t'assault a party
that takes the Brother of a wife, and Lover
of a deare Sister for its sole defender,
and breaking all these knotts, to arme for's Country
against a blood which one would purchase with
his life, is such a vertue as belongs not
but unto us: The glorious lustre of
its great name makes but few jealous of it;
very few men have so imprinted it
i'th' heart, as to dare to aspire unto
so much renown.

Curiat.
'Tis true, our names henceforth
shall never dye, th'occasion is faire
'tis fit we cherish it, we shall be held
the mirrous of a vertue very rare.
But for all that, our constancy and courage
savours a little of barbarity:
few even of the great hearts would be proud
to goe this way to immortality;
at how high price soever we do set
such a smoake, such vanity; obscurity
is better then so much renown: for my part,
I dare avouch it, and you might have seen it,
that I consulted not upon my duty;
nor our long amity: Love, nor alliance
could e'r suspend my spirit a moments space;
and since by this choice Alba shewes indeed
that she esteemeth me asmuch as Rome
doth you, I think to do as much for her
as you for Rome; I have as good a heart:
but lastly, I'm a man. I see your honour
consists in shedding of my blood, that all
mine doth depend on peircing of your body:
ready t'espouse the Sister, I must kill
the Brother, and all for my Countries sake;
although without fear I fly to my duty,
my heart is fiercely angry, and I tremble
for horrour on't; I cannot chuse but pity
my self, and cast an envious eye on those
whose lives our war hath ravish'd, yet without
any desire to retreat, or relinquish;
this sad and Violent honour moveth me,
but shakes me not; I love that which it gives me,
and waile that which it taketh away from me:
and if Rome doth demand a higher vertue,
I thank the Gods that made me not a Romane,
to conserve yet something of humane in me.

Horat.
If you are not a Romane, make your self
worthy to be so: if you equall me,
make it appear more plainly. Solid vertue,
whereof I boast, admits no weakness with
its constancy, and it is ill to enter
into the lists of honour, and at first step
to looke behind us; our misfortune's great,
it is arriv'd unto the highest point,
I look it boldly in the face, without
trembleing to see it. Against whom soever
my Country doth imploy me, I accept
this glory blindly, but yet joyfully:
that, to receive such faire commands, should smother
in us all other sentiments; who considers,
besides to serve her, any other thing,
disposeth himself poorly to his duty;
this sacred right breaketh all other bonds;
Rome hath found out my arm, I'le not examine it;
with as sincere and full a joy as I
Married the sister, I will fight the brother.
And lastly, to cut off this frivolous speech,
Alba hath nam'd you, I know you no more.

Curiat.
I know you yet, and that is it which kills me;
but this sharpe vertue was not known unto me;
as our misfortune now is, 't is arriv'd
unto the highest point, suffer me to
admire it, and not imitate it.

Horat.
No, no,
embrace not vertue by constraint: and since
you finde more pleasure in complaint, enjoy
so sweet a good with all full liberty.
Behold my Sister comes to lament with you:
I'le goe to see yours, to resolve her soul
unto this thought, that she is still my wife,
to love you still, though I dye by your hands,
and to take to her in her great'st misfortune
the sentiments of Romane.

SCENA IIII.

Horatius, Curiatius, Camilla
Horat.
Sister, have you
heard what accompt they make of Curiatius?

Cam.
Alas! my fortune hath much chang'd her face.

Horat.
Arme you with constancy, and shew your self
my Sister: if your Lover by my death
returne a conquerour, receive him not
as murtherer of a Brother, but as a man
of honour, that doth what he ought to do,
that serves his Country well, and shewes to all
by his high vertue that he's worthy of you;
and so, as if I liv'd, finish the marriage:
But if this sword cut off his destiny,
give to my Victory such entertainment:
do not reproach me with your Lovers death;
your tears flow from you, and your heart's oppress'd,
consummate with him all this weakness, Sister,
quarrel with Heaven and Earth, curse envious fortune,
but think no more of death after the combat.
Sir, I will leave you but a moment with her,
since we must go together where bright honour
doth call us.—
Exit Horatius.

SCENA V.

Camilla, Curiatius.
Cam.
Wilt thou go, my deare Heart? art thou pleas'd with
this fatall honour so farre, as to purchase it
at the expense of all our happiness?

Curiat.
Alas! I see I must, do what I can,
either of grief die, or Horatius hand;
I go to this illustrious imployment
as to my punishment, a thousand times
I curse th'accompt they make of me, I hate
that Valour which doth make Alba esteeme me;
my flame doth pass from despaire even to crime,
it quarrells with and doth assault the Gods:
I wail you, and my self, but I must go.

Cam.
No, no, I know thee better, thou desir'st
that I should pray thee, and that so my power
excuse thee to thy Country. Thou art but
too famous by thy other brave exploits,
Alba already hath receiv'd by them
all what thou ow'st her, none then thee hath better
sustain'd this war, none with dead bodies hath
more covered this ground, thy name cannot
grow greater, there is nothing wanting to it;
suffer some other here t'ennoble his.

Curiat.
Should I premit, and see before mine eyes
another head crown'd with immortal lawrels,
which glory doth prepare me, and my Country
reproach this to my vertue, that it might
have triumphed, if I had combated?
and by my Love, my Valour lull'd asleepe,
crown so many exploits with such an infamy?
No, Alba, after th'honour thou hast given me,
thou shalt not fall, nor vanquish but by me;
thou hast committed to my hands thy fate,
I'le give to thee a good accompt of it,
and live without reproach, or dye with shame.

Cam.
I hope thou wilt not so betray my trust.

Curiat.
Before I'm yours, I must be for my Country.

Cam.
But wilt thou for it so deprive thy self
of brother in law, thy sister of her husband,
I of my brothers?

Curiat.
Such is our misfortune:
the choice of Alba and of Rome, takes off
all sweetness from the names (sometime so sweet)
of Brother in law and Sister.

Cam.
Wilt thou also
come to present me with his head, and ask
my hand for guerdon of thy Victory?

Curiat.
In the condition wherein I am,
I must no more think of it; without hope,
to love you, is all that which I can do.
You weepe, my dear Heart.

Cam.
I have cause to weepe,
my cruell Lover doth ordain me death;
and when our Hymen lights his torch, alas!
he with his hand doth put it out, and opens
a tombe unto me; this unpitiful heart
is obstinate to my destruction,
and sayes it loves me, when it murthers me.

Curiat.
What powerful discourse hath a Mistress when
she's blubbered with tears? and how strong is
a faire eye with such help? how tender is
my heart become at this so sad a sight?
my constancy against it laboureth
with some regret. Assault not with your griefes
my glory, and leave me alone to save
my vertue from your tears, I feele it tottering,
and ill defends it self: the more I am
your Lover, the less am I Curiatius,
already weake in combating 'gainst Amity,
should it o'rcome at once both love and pity?
Begone, love me no more, shed no more tears;
where I oppose th'offence to such strong Armes,
I shall defend me better 'gainst your anger;
and to deserve it, I'le no more looke on you,
revenge your self of an ingratfull person,
and punish an inconstant. Shew you not
your self as sensible of this injury?
I have no more eyes for you. Yet you have
for me! must there be more yet? I renounce
my faith unto you. Rigorous vertue, whose
Victime I am. What! canst not thou resist,
without th'assistance of a crime?

Cam.
Commit
no other crime, and I attest the Gods,
that farre from hating thee, I'le love thee more:
yes, I will cherish thee, false and ingrateful,
and cease t'aspire unto the name of fratricide.
Why am I Romane, or why Art not thou so?
I would prepare thee Laurells with my hand,
I would encourage thee, and not distract thee,
and I would treate thee as I do my brother.
Alas! I was to day blinde in my wishes,
I did against thee when I did for him.
He returns: what misfortune! if the love
of his wife workes no more upon his soul,
then mine doth upon thine!

SCENA VI.

Horatius, Curiatius, Sabina, Camilla.
Curiat.
Good Gods! Sabina followes him. Is not
Camilla strong enough to shake my heart,
but you must joyn my Sister too? And leaving
her tears to conquer me, bring you her hither
to seeke the same advantage?

Sab.
No, no, Brother,
oh no, I come not here but to embrace you,
and to bid you adieu; your blood's too good,
feare not that there is any baseness in it,
nothing that may offend the constancy
of these great hearts; if this illustrious fate
should shake either of you, I should not own him
for brother, or for husband: may I yet
make a request unto you worthy of
so brave a Husband, and so brave a Brother?
I would at once take off impiety,
render unto the honour that expects it,
its purity, without mingling of crimes
set its faire lustre on it: in a word,
I faine would make you lawfull enemies;
I am the sole bond of that sacred knot
which joyneth you; when I shall be no more,
you shall be nothing unto one another;
breaking this chaine, you breake off your alliance;
and since your honour doth require effects
of hatred, purchase by my death the right
and priviledge to hate: Alba and Rome
will have it so, 'tis fit that you obey them;
let one of you two kill me, and the other
revenge me, then your fight shall not be strange,
or at least one of you shall justly fight
for to revenge his wife, or else his sister.
But what! you would sully so faire Glory,
if any other quarrell should provoake you:
your zeal unto your Country doth forbid you
such cares, you should do very little for it,
if less then this; unto it you must sacrifice,
and without hate, a Brother in law; no more then
deferre that which you ought to do; begin,
and practise by his wife to shed his blood,
begin to peirce his bosome by his sister;
begin to make a worthy sacrifice
of your illustrious lives to your deare praties
by the death of Sabina; y'are enemies,
you unto Alba, you to Rome, and I
to both of them: what! think you to reserve me
to see a Victory, where I shall behold
the laurels of a brother or a husband
smoake with a blood that I so cherished?
can I between you two govern my heart then?
fulfill the duty of sister and wife?
embrace the conquerour in weeping for
the conquered? no, no, before Sabina
shall feel this stroake, the death which I expect
from one of you, shall readily prevent it.
If you deny your hands, my own shall execute it;
on then, who holds you? on, inhumane hearts!
I shall have means enough to force you to it;
you shall not be so busie at the fight,
but in the mid'st this body shall arrest
your Swords, and spight of your refusals, force them
to make way here before they reach at you.

Horat.
O my wife!

Curiat.
O my sister!

Cam.
They begin
to mollifie.

Sab.
You sigh, your Visages
grow pale! are you those great hearts, those brave Heroes,
which Rome and Alba have tane for defenders?

Horat.
Wife, what have I done to thee, wherein have I
offended thee, that thou seek'st out against me
such a revenge? what have my honour done thee?
and wherefore comest thou with all thy force
tassault my vertue? satisfie thy self
at least to have astonish'd it, and leave me
to finish this great business. Thou would'st faine
reduce me to a strange point, if thou lov'dst
thy husband, thou wouldst not seeke to prevaile;
be gone then, and no longer leave the Victory
doubtful and in suspence, the dispute on't
makes me asham'd already: suffer me
to end my dayes with honour.

Sabina.
Well, proceed,
feare me no more; he comes to thy assistance.

SCENA VII.

The old Horatius, Horatius, Curiatius. Sabina, Camilla.
The old Horatius.
How comes this, Children? doth your love lull you
asleepe, or do you hearken to its charme?
Lose you yet time with women? even ready
to shed blood, looke you on effeminate tears?
begone, and leave these blubber'd fooles to their
misfortunes; their complaints have too much art
and tenderness for you; they would participate
their weakness to you, and there is no way
to shun those stroakes but onely to fly from them.

Sabina.
Feare nothing from them, they are worthy of you,
in spight of our endeavours; I perceive,
you may expect what ever you desire
both from a Son and Son in law; and if
our weakness could have changed them, we leave you
here to encourage them; come, Sister, come,
let us lose no more tears; against such vertues
they are but weake armes, 'tis but to despaire
that we must have recourse. Go, Tigers, go
to fight, and we will go to die.—

Exeunt women.

SCENA VIII.

The old Horatius, Horatius, Curiatius.
Horat.
Father, I do beseech you, entertain
these passionate Women; above all things see
they come not forth, their troublesome affection
would come with glory by their cryes and tears
to interrupt our combat, and what they
do to us, would with justice do; we may be,
perhaps, suspected of this evil artifice.
The honour of so faire a choice would be
too dearly bought, if we should be suspected
of any cowardize.

The old Horat.
I will have care of them;
begone, your Brothers do attend you: think
of nothing, but what's due unto your Country.

Curiat.
What fare-well shall I bid you, and what complements
use t'express my self?

The old Horat.
Oh! do not mollifie
my sentiments here: to encourage you
my voyce wants language, my heart cannot form
thoughts strong enough: At this adieu I have
my self tears in mine eyes. Do what you ought,
and in your combat have no other thought.