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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.
| Horatius
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