University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in Horatius's House.
Enter Horatius, Valeria following.
Horatius.
Away, away,—I feel my strength renew'd,
And I will hunt the Villain thro' the World;
No Desarts shall conceal, nor Darkness hide him.
He is well skill'd in Flight, but he shall find
'Tis not so easy to elude the Vengeance
Of a wrong'd Father's Arm, as to escape
His Adversary's Sword.

Valeria.
Restrain your Rage
But for a Moment Sir; when you shall hear
The whole unravel'd, you will find he's innocent.

Horatius.
It cannot be.

Valeria.
And see my Brother comes,
He may perhaps relate—

Horatius.
I will not hear him;
I will not listen to my Shame again.

Enter Valerius.
Valerius.
I come with kind condolance from the King
To sooth a Father's Grief, and to express—

Horatius.
I've heard it all; I pray you spare my Blushes.
I want not Consolation, 'tis enough
They perish'd for their Country. But the third—

Valerius.
True, he indeed may well supply their Loss,
And calls for all your Fondness.

Horatius.
All my Vengeance;
And he shall have it, Sir.

Valerius.
What means my Lord?
Are you alone displeas'd with what he has done?

Horatius.
'Tis I alone, I find, must punish it.

Valerius.
Punish, my Lord? What Fault has he committed?

Horatius.
Why will you double my Confusion thus?
Is Flight no Fault?

Valerius.
In such a Cause as his
'Twas glorious.

Horatius.
Glorious! O rare Sophistry,
To find a Way through Infamy to Glory!

Valerius.
I scarce can trust my Senses!—Infamy!
What, was it infamous to save his Country?
Is Art a Crime? Is it the Name of Flight
We can't forgive, though its ador'd Effect
Restor'd us all to Freedom, Fame, and Empire?

Horatius.
What Fame, what Freedom, who has saved his Country?

Valerius.
Your Son, my Lord, has done it.

Horatius.
How, when, where?

Valerius.
Is't possible? Did you not say you knew?

Horatius.
I care not what I knew; O tell me all,
Is Rome still free? has Alba? has my Son?
Tell me.

Valerius.
Your Son, my Lord, has slain her Champions.

Horatius.
What, Publius?

Valerius.
He.

Horatius.
O let me clasp thee to me—
Were there not three remaining?

Valerius.
True, there were;
But wounded all.

Horatius.
Your Sister here had told us
That Rome was vanquish'd, that my Son was fled—

Valerius.
And he did fly, but 'twas that Flight preserv'd us.
All Rome as well as she has been deceiv'd.

Horatius.
Let me again embrace thee.—Come, relate it.
Did I not say, Valeria, that my Boy
Must needs be dead, or Rome victorious?
I long to hear the Manner.—Well, Valerius.

Valerius.
Your other Sons, my Lord, had paid the Debt
They owed to Rome, and he alone remain'd
'Gainst three Opponents, whose united Strength,
Tho' wounded each, and robb'd of half their Force,
Was still too great for his. Awhile he stood
Their fierce Assaults, and then pretended Flight
Only to tire his wounded Adversaries.

Horatius.
Pretended Flight, and this succeeded, ha!
O glorious Boy!

Valerius.
'Twas better still, my Lord;
For all pursued, but not with equal Speed.
Each eager for the Conquest press'd to reach him,
Nor did the first 'till 'twas too late perceive
His fainter Brothers panting far behind.

Horatius.
He took them singly then? an easy Conquest,
'Twas Boy's Play only.

Valerius.
Never did I see
Such universal Joy, as when the last
Sunk on the Ground beneath Horatius' Sword;
Who seem'd awhile to parley as a Friend,
And would have given him Life, but Caius scorn'd it.

Valeria.
Caius! O poor Horatia!

Horatius.
Peace, I charge thee.
Go, dress thy Face in Smiles, and bid thy Friend
Wake to new Transports; let Ambition fire her;
What is a Lover lost? There's not a Youth
In Rome but will adore her; Kings will seek
For her Alliance now, and mightiest Chiefs
Be honour'd by her Smiles. Will they not, Youth?

[Exit Valeria.
Valerius.
Most sure, my Lord, this Day has added Worth
To her, whose Merit was before unequall'd.

Horatius.
How could I doubt his Virtue!—Mighty Gods,
This is true Glory, to preserve his Country,
And bid by one brave Act th'Horatian Name
In Fame's eternal Volumes be enroll'd.
Methinks already I behold his Triumph.
Rome gazes on him like a second Founder,
The wond'ring Eye of Childhood views with Awe
The new Divinity, and trembling Age
Crowds eager on to bless him ere it dies!
Ere long, perhaps, they will raise Altars to him,
And even with Hymns and Sacrifice adore
The Virtue I suspected!—Gracious Heav'n!
Where is he? Let me fly, and at his Feet
Forget the Father, and implore a Pardon
For such Injustice.

Valerius.
You may soon, my Lord,
In his Embraces lose the fond Remembrance
Of your mistaken Rage. The King ere this
Has from the Field dispatch'd him; he but stay'd
'Till he could send him home with some slight Honours
Of scatter'd Wreaths, and grateful Songs of Praise.
For 'till to-morrow he postpones the Pomp
Of solemn Thanks, and Sacrifice to Heaven
For Liberty restor'd. But hark! that Shout,
Which sounds from far, and seems the mingled Voice
Of Thousands, speaks him onward on his Way.

Horatius.
How my Heart dances!—Yet I blush to meet him.
But I will on. Come, come Horatia, leave
[Calling at the Door.
Thy Sorrow far behind, and let us fly
With open Arms to greet our common Glory.
[Exit Horatius.

Enter Horatia and Valeria, to Valerius.
Horatia.
Yes, I will go; this Father's hard Command
Shall be obey'd, and I will meet the Conqueror;
But not in Smiles.

Valerius.
O go not, gentle Lady;
Might I advise—

Valeria.
Your Griefs are yet too fresh,
And may offend him; do not, my Horatia.

Valerius.
Indeed 'twere better to avoid his Presence,
It will revive your Sorrows, and recall—

Horatia.
Sir, when I saw you last I was a Woman,
The Fool of Nature, a fond Prey to Grief,
Made up of Sighs and Tears. But now, my Soul
Disdains the very Thought of what I was;
'Tis grown too callous to be mov'd with Toys.
Observe me well; am I not nobly chang'd?
Flow my sad Eyes, or heaves my Breast one Groan?
No, for I doubt no longer. 'Tis not Grief,
'Tis Resolution now, and fix'd Despair.

Valeria.
My dear Horatia, you strike Terrors thro' me;
What dreadful Purpose hast thou form'd? O speak!

Valerius.
Talk gently to her.—Hear me yet, sweet Lady;
You must not go; whatever you resolve
There is a Sight will pierce you to the Soul.

Horatia.
What Sight?

Valerius.
Alas, I should be glad to hide it;
But it is—

Horatia.
What?

Valerius.
Your Brother wears in Triumph
The very Scarf I bore to Curiatius.

Horatia.
[Wildly.
Ye Gods, I thank ye! 'tis with Joy I hear it.
If I should falter now, that Sight would rouze
My drooping Rage, and swell the Tempest louder.
—But soft; they may prevent me; my wild Passion
Betrays my Purpose.—I'll dissemble with them.

[She sits down.
Valerius.
She softens now.

Valeria.
How do you, my Horatia?

Horatia.
Alas, my Friend, 'tis Madness which I utter—
Since you persuade me then, I will not go.
But leave me to myself; I would sit here,
Alone in silent Sadness pour my Tears,
And meditate on my unheard-of Woes.

Valerius
to Valeria.
'Twere well to humour this. But may she not
If left alone do Outrage on herself?

Valeria.
I have prevented that; she has not near her
One Instrument of Death.

Valerius.
Retire we then.
But oh not far, for now I feel my Soul
Still more perplex'd with Love. Who knows, Valeria,
But, when this Storm of Grief has blown its Fill,
She may grow calm, and listen to my Vows.

[Exeunt Valerius and Valeria.
After a short Silence Horatia rises, and comes forward.
Horatia.

[Exit.