 | Horace |  |
Scena Octava.
Horace the Father. Horace. Curiace.Horace.
Confine (Sir) I beseech you to the House
These foolish Women, that they break not loose;
For if they should, their over-fondness might,
With cries, and tears perhaps disturb our fight,
And make the cens'ring world believe that we
Our selves were of the vile conspiracy.
This honour we should purchase then too dear,
If once suspected of so base a fear.
Horace the Father.
Leave that to me, and go, your Brothers stay,
And now your duty to your Countries pay.
27
How should I part, or in what method take—
Horace the Father.
Ah! do not tempt my grief, for vertues sake;
My voice wants terms t'enflame your noble brest,
And with perplexed thoughts my heart's opprest.
My tears swell up, to force their tender gates,
Do your devoire, and leave th'event to fates.
SONG.
(1.)
To Arms! to Arms! the Heroes cry,A glorious Death, or Victory.
Beauty and Love, although combin'd,
And each so powerful alone,
Cannot prevail against a mind
Bound up in resolution.
Tears their weak influence vainly prove,
Nothing the daring breast can move
Honour is blind, and deaf, ev'n deaf to love.
(2.)
The Field! the Field! where Valour bleeds,Spurn'd into dust by barbed steeds,
Instead of wanton Beds of Down
Is now the Scene where they must try,
To overthrow, or be o'rethrown;
Bravely to overcome, or dye.
Honour in her interest sits above
What Beauty, Prayers, or tears can move:
Were there no Honour, there would be no Love.
CHORUS.
How
prone are people tir'd with Peace,
To nauseate their happiness?
And headlong into mischief run,
To feed their foul ambition!
Leasure and Luxury, when met
In populous Cities, do beget
That Monster War, which at the first,
In little private discords nurst,
Grows higher by degrees, until
Having got power to his will,
He break into a general flame,
Beyond what Politie can tame.
No int'rest then escapeth free
From insolence, and cruelty;
And facts that flow from brutish lust,
The titles wear of great and just.
Nay when wars ensigns are display'd,
It is Religion to invade,
No matter whom, nor what the cause;
Nor is there room for other Laws,
Than what the Victor will on those
His riots have subdu'd, impose.
Yet there have still pretences been
The vilest practices to skreen.
There never wanted a pretence
To violate suff'ring innocence;
Though whatsoever men pretend,
Wealth, and Dominion are their end.
To nauseate their happiness?
And headlong into mischief run,
To feed their foul ambition!
28
In populous Cities, do beget
That Monster War, which at the first,
In little private discords nurst,
Grows higher by degrees, until
Having got power to his will,
He break into a general flame,
Beyond what Politie can tame.
No int'rest then escapeth free
From insolence, and cruelty;
And facts that flow from brutish lust,
The titles wear of great and just.
Nay when wars ensigns are display'd,
It is Religion to invade,
No matter whom, nor what the cause;
Nor is there room for other Laws,
Than what the Victor will on those
His riots have subdu'd, impose.
Yet there have still pretences been
The vilest practices to skreen.
There never wanted a pretence
To violate suff'ring innocence;
Though whatsoever men pretend,
Wealth, and Dominion are their end.
Imperious Rome! must Alba feel
The edge of thy invading Steel?
Alba thy Mother, from whose womb,
Thy Founder Romulus did come?
Or if thou tak'st an impious pride
To be esteem'd a Parricide,
Can nothing satiate thy will,
Unless that Brothers, Brothers kill?
The edge of thy invading Steel?
Alba thy Mother, from whose womb,
Thy Founder Romulus did come?
Or if thou tak'st an impious pride
To be esteem'd a Parricide,
Can nothing satiate thy will,
Unless that Brothers, Brothers kill?
Deluded Heroes! how they fly
To meet a cruel Destiny,
And sacrifice themselves to Fame,
A nothing, a meer airy name,
When in th'unnatural contest
Who conquer'd falls is happiest!
To meet a cruel Destiny,
And sacrifice themselves to Fame,
A nothing, a meer airy name,
When in th'unnatural contest
Who conquer'd falls is happiest!
29
'Tis Tyrant Honour unto thee
We owe this bloody Tragedy,
Whom, but the vertuous none obey,
And being so, become thy prey.
They see in thy deluding glass
Trophies and Triumphs, when, alas!
'Tis their own blood they haste to shed,
And live, but to lament the Dead.
We owe this bloody Tragedy,
Whom, but the vertuous none obey,
And being so, become thy prey.
They see in thy deluding glass
Trophies and Triumphs, when, alas!
'Tis their own blood they haste to shed,
And live, but to lament the Dead.
Deaf unto Piety, and Love,
The Combatants are gone to prove
Themselves true Patriots, when they are
The instruments of Civil War,
And hazard in a Combat more,
Than in a Battel heretofore.
The Combatants are gone to prove
Themselves true Patriots, when they are
The instruments of Civil War,
And hazard in a Combat more,
Than in a Battel heretofore.
Fate holds the balance whilst they fight,
And finds both scales of equal weight;
Valour with Valour even weighs
Honour with Honour, Praise with Praise;
But when she lays upon the beam
Her partial hand, and varies them,
Then one scale gets it, whilst on high,
The other kicks and knocks the Sky.
And finds both scales of equal weight;
Valour with Valour even weighs
Honour with Honour, Praise with Praise;
But when she lays upon the beam
Her partial hand, and varies them,
Then one scale gets it, whilst on high,
The other kicks and knocks the Sky.
| Horace | |