University of Virginia Library

SCENA VII.

Horatius, Sabina, Proculus.
Sab.
Horatius,
why stayeth thy illustrious anger here?
come, see thy Sister in thy Fathers arms
render her spirit: sacrifice unto
the Country of the vertuous Horatii
the sad remains of Curiatius blood:
So prodigall of thy own, spare not theirs,
joyn thy Wife to thy Sister, separate not
Sabina and Camilla; our crimes are
alike, as are our miseries: I sigh
as well as shee, and do deplore my Brothers;
more guilty in this point 'gainst thy hard lawes,
in that she wept but one, and I weep three,
and that after her punishment my fault
continues.

Horat.
Dry thy tears, or hide them from
my sight, Sabina, make thee worthy of
my chast half, and endeavour not t'oppresse me
with an unworthie pitie: if the power
of a chaste flame leaveth unto us both
but one thought, and one soul, it is thy part
to raise thy sentiments to mine, not mine
to descend to the shame and poverty
of thine; I love thee, and I know the grief
that presseth thee; embrace my noble vertue
to overcome thy weaknesse, share my glory
in stead of sullying it, put it on rather
then take it from me: And thou of my honour
so mortall enemy, how much better should I
have pleased thee, if fall'n in infamy?
Be more a Wife then Sister, and conforming
thy self to me, make thee of my example
a law immutable.

Sab.
Seek more perfect souls
to imitate thee. I impute not to thee
my losses: I have the same sentiments
I ought to have of them, and have a quarrell
to fortune rather then unto thy duty.
But withall, I renounce the Roman vertue,
if to possesse it I must be inhumane,
and cannot see in me the Conquerours Wife,
without discerning there the Sister of
the Conquered. Let us participate
in publick of the publick Victories;
let us at home weep our domestick evils,
and not regard the common happinesse
when we behold our private miseries.
Why (cruel) dost thou covet to act otherwise?
Entring, leave here thy Laurels at the door,
mingle thy tears with mine. What? doth not this
effeminate discourse arm thy high vertue
against my sorrowfull dayes? Doth not my crime
(redoubled) move thy choler? O how happie
art thou, Camilla! She could soon displease thee,
and receive from thee what she did pretend:
she could below recover all her losse.
Dear Husband, of the torment that doth presse me
dear author, if thy anger ceases, hearken
to pitie; exercise the one or th'other
to punish my infirmitie, or end
my griefs. I ask death either for a favour,
or for a punishment (I care not whether.)
Let her be an effect of Love, or Justice,
it matters not; all her darts shall seem sweet
unto me, if I see them to come from
a Husbands hand.

Horat.
What an injustice is it
unto the Gods, to give up unto women
so great an Empire on the fairest souls,
and to be pleas'd to see such feeble Conquerours
to reigne so strongly o'r the noblest hearts?
My Vertue, unto what point dost thou come
to be reduc'd? Nothing can better warrant it
then fight. Adieu, follow me not, or hold
thy sighs.
—Exit Horatius.

Sab.
alone.
O Anger! Pitie! deaf to my desires!
You care not for my crime, and my grief tires you;
and I obtain from you nor punishment
nor favour. Well, once more by tears I'll try,
and if that fail, then by my self I'll die.