University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Scene continues.
Valerius and Valeria meeting.
Valerius.
Now, my Valeria, where's the charming she
That calls me to her? with a Lover's Haste
I fly to execute the dear Command.

Valeria.
'Tis not the Lover, but the Friend she wants,
If thou dar'st own that Name.

Valerius.
The Friend, my Sister!
There's more than Friendship in a Lover's Breast,
More warm, more tender is the Flame he feels—

Valeria.
Alas, these Raptures suit not her Distress,
She seeks th'indulgent Friend, whose sober Sense
Free from the Mists of Passion might direct
Her jarring Thoughts, and plead her doubtful Cause.

Valerius.
Am I that Friend? O did she turn her Thought
On me for that kind Office?

Valeria.
Yes, Valerius.
She chose you out to be her Advocate
To Curiatius; 'tis the only Hope
She now dares cherish; her relentless Brother
With Scorn rejects her Tears, her Father flies her,
And only you remain to sooth her Cares,
And save her ere she sinks.

Valerius.
Her Advocate
To Curiatius!

Valerius.
'Tis to him she sends you,
To urge her Suit, and win him from the Field.
But come; her Sorrows will more strongly plead
Than all my Grief can utter.

Valerius.
To my Rival!
To Curiatius plead her Cause, and teach
My Tongue a Lesson which my Heart abhors!
Impossible! Valeria, prithee say
Thou saw'st me not; the Business of the Camp
Confin'd me there; Farewel.

[Going.
Valeria.
What means my Brother?
You cannot leave her now; for shame turn back;
Is this the Virtue of a Roman Youth?
O by these Tears!

Valerius.
They flow in vain, Valeria:
Nay, and thou knowest they do. O Earth and Heaven!
This Combat was the Means my happier Stars
Found out, to save me on the Brink of Ruin;
And can I plead against it, turn Assassin
On my own Life?

Valeria.
Yet thou can'st murder her
Thou dost pretend to love; away, Deceiver;
I'll seek some worthier Messenger to plead
In Beauty's Cause; but first inform Horatia,
How much Valerius is the Friend she thought him.

[Going.
Valerius.
O Heav'ns! stay, Sister; 'tis an arduous Task.

Valeria.
I know the Task is hard, and thought I knew
Thy Virtue too.

Valerius.
I must, I will obey thee.
Lead on.—Yet, prithee, for a Moment leave me,
'Till I can recollect my scatter'd Thoughts,
And dare to be unahappy.

Valeria.
My Valerius!
I fly to tell her you but wait her Pleasure.

[Exit.
Valerius.
Yes, I will undertake this hateful Office;
It never can succeed.—Yet at this Instant
It may be dangerous, while the People melt
With fond Compassion.—No, it cannot be;
His Resolution's fix'd, and virtuous Pride
Forbids an Alteration. To attempt it
Makes her my Friend, and may afford hereafter
A thousand tender Hours to move my Suit.
That Hope determines all.

[Exit.
SCENE, Another Apartment.
Horatia and Valeria. Horatia with a Scarf in her Hand.
Horatia.

Valeria.
Dear Maid,
Restrain your Sorrows, I've already told you
My Brother will with Transport execute
Whatever you command.

Horatia.
O wherefore then
Is he away? each Moment now is precious,
If lost, 'tis lost for ever, and if gain'd,
Long Scenes of lasting Peace, and smiling Years
Of Happiness unhop'd-for wait upon it.

Valeria.
I will again go seek him; pray be calm;
Success is thine if it depends on him.

[Exit.
Horatia.

Enter Valerius and Valeria.
Valerius.
Save you, gracious Lady;
On the first Message which my Sister sent me
I had been here, but was oblig'd by Office,
Ere to their Champions each resign'd her Charge,
To ratify the League 'twixt Rome and Alba.

Horatia.
Are they engag'd then?

Valerius.
No, not yet engag'd;
Soft Pity for a while suspends the Onset;
The Sight of near Relations, arm'd in Fight
Against each other, touch'd the Gazers Hearts;
And Senators on each Side have propos'd
To change the Combatants.

Horatia.
My Blessings on them!
Think you they will succeed?

Valerius.
The Chiefs themselves
Are resolute to fight.

Horatia.
Insatiate Virtue!
I must not to the Field; I am confin'd
A Prisoner here; or sure these Tears would move
Their flinty Breasts.—Is Curiatius too
Resolv'd on Death?—O Sir, forgive a Maid,
Who dares in spite of Modesty confess
Too soft a Passion. Will you pardon me,
If I intreat you to the Field again
An humble Suitor from the veriest Wretch,
That ever knew Distress.

Valerius.
Dear Lady speak;
What would you I should do?

Horatia.
O bear this to him.

Valerius,
To whom?

Horatia.
To Curiatius bear this Scarf;
And tell him if he ever truly lov'd;
If all the Vows he breath'd were not false Lures
To catch th'unwary Mind,—and sure they were not!
O tell him now he may with Honour cease
To urge his cruel Right; the Senators
Of Rome and Alba will approve such Mildness.
Tell him his Wife, if he will own that Name,
Intreats him from the Field; his lost Horatia
Begs on her trembling Knees he would not tempt
A certain Fate, and murder her he loves.
Tell him if he consents, she fondly swears
By every God the varying World adores,
By this dear Pledge of vow'd Affection swears,
To know no Brothers and no Sire but him;
With him, if Honour's harsh Commands require it,
She'll wander forth, and seek some distant Home,
Nor ever think of Rome or Alba more.

Valeria.
Well, well, he will; do not torment thyself.

Horatia.
[Catching hold of the Scarf, which she looked upon attentively while Valeria spoke.

Valerius.
Could I, sweet Lady,
But paint your Grief with half the Force I feel it,
I need but tell it him, and he must yield.

Horatia.
It may be so. Stay, stay, besure you tell him,
If he rejects my Suit, no Power on Earth
Shall force me to his Arms; I will devise—
I'll die and be reveng'd!

Valeria.
Away, my Brother;
But oh for Pity, do your Office justly;
[Aside to Valerius.
Let not your Passion blind your Reason now,
But urge her Cause with Ardor.

Valerius.
By my Soul
I will Valeria; her Distress alarms me;
And I have now no Interest but hers.

[Exit.
Valeria.
Come, dearest Maid, indulge not thus your Sorrows:
Hope smiles again, and the sad Prospect clears.
Who knows th'Effect your Message may produce;
The milder Senators ere this perhaps
Have mov'd your Lover's Mind; and if he doubts,
He's yours.

Horatia.
He's gone.—I had a thousand Things;
And yet I'm glad he's gone. Think you, Valeria,
Your Brother will delay? they may engage
Before he reaches them.

Valeria.
The Field's so near,
That a few Minutes bring him to the Place:
And 'tis not probable the Senators
So soon should yield a Cause of so much Justice.

Horatia.
Alas, they should have thought on that before,
'Tis now too late. The Lion when he's rous'd
Must have his Prey, whose Den we might have past
In Safety while he slept. To draw the Sword,
And fire the youthful Warrior's Breast to Arms
With aweful Visions of immortal Fame,
And then to bid him sheath it, and forget
He ever hop'd for Conquest and Renown;
Vain, vain Attempt!

Valeria.
Yet when that just Attempt
Is seconded by Love, and Beauty's Tears
Lend their soft Aid to melt the Hero down;
What may we not expect?

Horatia.
My dear Valeria,
Fain wou'd I hope I had the Power to move him.

Valeria.
You have, you must; Success is yours already.

Horatia.
And yet should I succeed, the hard-gain'd Strife
May chance to rob me of my future Peace.
He may not always with the Eyes of Love
Look on that Fondness which has stab'd his Fame.
He may regret too late the Sacrifice
He made to Love, and a fond Woman's Weakness;
And think the milder Joys of social Life
But ill repay him for the mighty Loss
Of Patriot-reputation!

Valeria.

Horatia.
I fain would hope so. Yet we hear not of him.
Your Brother, much I fear, has sued in vain.
Could we not send to urge his slow Express?
This dread Uncertainty! I long to know
My Life or Death at once.

Valeria.
The Wings of Love
Cannot fly faster than my Brother's Zeal
Will bear him for your Service.

Horatia.
I believe it,
Yet doubt it too. My sickly Mind unites
Strange Contradictions.

Valeria.
Shall I to the Walls?
I may from thence with Ease survey the Field,
And can dispatch a Messenger each Moment
To tell thee all goes well.

Horatia.
My best Valeria!
Fly then. I know thy Heart is there already,
Thou art a Roman Maid, and tho' thy Friendship
Detains thee here with one who scarce deserves
That sacred Name, art anxious for thy Country.
But yet for Charity think kindly of me;
For thou shalt find by the Event, Valeria,
I am a Roman too, however wretched.
[Exit Valeria.
Am I a Roman then? Ye Powers, I dare not
Resolve the fatal Question I propose.
If dying would suffice, I were a Roman;
But to stand up against this Storm of Passions
Transcends a Woman's Weakness. Hark, what Noise!—
'Tis News from Curiatius; Love, I thank thee!
Enter a Servant.
Well, does he yield? distract me not with Silence:
Say in one Word.—

Servant.
Your Father—

Horatia.
What of him?
Would he not let him yield? O cruel Father!

Servant.
Madam, he's here—

Horatia.
Who!

Servant.
Borne by his Attendants.

Horatia.
What mean'st thou?

Horatius is led in by his Servants.
Horatius.
Lead me yet a little onward;
I shall recover straight.

Horatia.
My gracious Sire!

Horatius.
Lend me thy Arm, Horatia.—So—my Child,
Be not surpriz'd; an old Man must expect
These little Shocks of Nature, they are Hints
To warn us of our End.

Horatia.
How are you, Sir?

Horatius.
Better, much better. My frail Body could not
Support the swelling Tumult of my Soul.

Horatia.
No Accident I hope alarm'd you, Sir,
My Brothers—

Horatius.
Here, go to the Field again,
You Cautus and Vindicius; and observe
Each Circumstance; I shall be glad to hear
The manner of the Fight.

Horatia.
Are they engag'd?

Horatius.
They are, Horatia; but first let me thank thee
[During this Speech a Servant gives a Paper to Horatia.
For staying from the Field; I would have seen
The Fight myself, but this unlucky Illness
Has forc'd me to retire. Where is thy Friend?
What paper's that? Why dost thou tremble so?
Here let me open it.—From Curiatius!

Horatia.
O keep me not in this Suspence, my Father;
Relieve me from the Rack.

Horatius.
He tells thee here,
Here dare not do an Action that would make him
Unworthy of thy Love, and therefore—

Horatia.
Dies!
Well, I am satisfied.

Horatius.
I see by this
Thou hast endeavour'd to persuade thy Lover
To quit the Combat. Could'st thou think, Horatia,
He'd sacrifice his Country to a Woman?

Horatia.
I know not what I thought; he proves too plainly
Whate'er it was, I was deceiv'd in him
Whom I applied to.

Horatius.
Do not think so, Daughter;
Could he with Honour have declin'd the Fight,
I should myself have join'd in thy Request,
And forc'd him from the Field. But think, my Child,
Had he consented, and had Alba's Cause,
Supported by another Arm, been baffled,
What then could'st thou expect? Would he not curse
His foolish Love, and hate thee for thy Fondness?
Nay think, perhaps, 'twas Artifice in thee
To aggrandize thy Race, and lift their Fame
Triumphant o'er his Ruin and his Country's.
Think well on that, and Reason must convince thee.

Horatia.
[Wildly.
Alas, had Reason ever yet the Power
To talk down Grief, or bid the tortur'd Wretch
Not feel his Anguish? 'tis impossible.
Could Reason govern, I should now rejoice
They were engag'd, and count the tedious Moments
'Till Conquest smil'd, and Rome again was free.
Could Reason govern, I should beg of Heaven
To guide my Brother's Sword, and plunge it deep
Ev'n in the Bosom of the Man I love.
I should forget he ever won my Soul;
Forget 'twas your Command that bade me love him;
Nay fly perhaps to yon detested Field,
And spurn with Scorn his mangled Carcase from me.

Horatius.
Why wilt thou talk thus? Prithee be more calm:
I can forgive thy Tears, they flow from Nature,
And could have gladly wish'd the Alban State
Had found us other Enemies to vanquish.
But Heaven has will'd it, and Heaven's Will be done!
The glorious Expectation of Success
Buoys up my Soul, nor lets a Thought intrude
To dash my promis'd Joys.—What steady Valour
Beam'd from their Eyes! Just so, if Fancy's Power
May form Conjecture from his After-age,
Rome's Founder must have look'd, when warm in Youth
And flush'd with future Conquest forth he march'd
Against proud Acron, with whose bleeding Spoils
He grac'd the Altar of Ferctrian Jove.
—Methinks I feel recover'd; I might venture
Forth to the Field again. What ho! Volscinius,
Attend me to the Camp.

Horatia.
My dearest Father,
Let me intreat you stay; the Tumult there
Will discompose you, and a quick Relapse
May prove most dangerous. I'll restrain my Tears,
If they offend you.

Horatius.
Well, I'll be advis'd.
'Twere now too late, ere this they must have conquer'd,
—And here's the happy Messenger of Glory!

Enter Valeria.
Valeria.
All's lost, all's ruin'd, Freedom is no more!

Horatius.
What dost thou say?

Valeria.
That Rome's subdued by Alba.

Horatius.
It cannot be; where are my Sons? all dead?

Valeria.
Publius is still alive, the other Two
Have paid the fatal Debt they owed their Country.

Horatius.
Publius alive? you must mistake, Valeria;
He knows his Duty better.
He must be dead, or Rome victorious.

Valeria.
Thousands as well as I beheld the Combat;
After his Brother's Deaths he stood alone,
And acted Wonders against three Assailants;
'Till forc'd at last to save himself by Flight.

Horatius.
By Flight? and did the Soldiers let him pass?
O I am ill again!—the Coward Villain!

[Throwing himself into his Chair.
Horatia.
Alas, my Brothers!

Horatius.
Weep not for them, Girl;
They've died a Death which Kings themselves might envy,
And whilst they liv'd they saw their Country free.
O had I perish'd with them! But for him
Whose impious Flight dishonours all his Race,
Tears a fond Father's Heart, and tamely barters
For poor precarious Life his Country's Glory,
Weep, weep for him, and let me join my Tears!

Valeria.
What could he do, my Lord, when three oppos'd him?

Horatius.
He might have died!—O Villain, Villain, Villain!
—And he shall die; this Arm shall sacrifice
The Life he dared preserve with Infamy.
[Endeavouring to rise.
What means this Weakness? 'tis untimely now,
When I should punish an ungrateful Boy.
Was this his boasted Virtue which could charm
His cheated Sovereign, and brought Tears of Joy
To my old Eyes?—so young a Hypocrite!
O Shame, Shame, Shame!

Valeria.
Have patience Sir, all Rome
Beheld his Valour, and approv'd his Flight
Against such Opposition.

Horatius.
Tell not me,
What's Rome to me? Rome may excuse her Traitor;
But I'm the Guardian of my House's Honour,
And I will punish. Pray ye lead me forth,
I would have Air. But grant me Strength, kind Gods,
To do this Act of Justice, and I'll own,
Whate'er 'gainst Rome your awful Wills decree,
Ye still are just, and merciful to me!

Exeunt.