University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Sabina.

Scena Secunda.

Sabina. Julia.
Sabina.
Is it dispatcht my Julia, tell me plain:
Have I a Brother, or a Husband slain?
Or have their impious weapons made at once
A Sacrifice of all the Champions;
And to prevent my hate to th'Vanquishers,
T'a general obsequy condemn'd my tears?

Julia.
Can you so long be ign'rant of the news?

Sabina.
Is that your wonder? pray how should I choose?
Do you not know, that shut up here within,
Camilla and my self have pris'ners been?
We are secur'd, our tears are dang'rous grown,
We else e're this betwixt their Swords had flown,
And our despair, sprung from chast love, had won
Perhaps from both the Camps, compassion.

Julia.
An object of that pity did not need,
Betwixt their noble courages to plead,
Since their appearance was enough alone,
To stay their furies execution.
No sooner were their plumed crests beheld,
Waving with warlike brav'ry in the Field,
But through both Armies strait a murmur rose,
To see friends so ally'd, chose out for foes.
This horror seizes, that soft pity fires,
A third the fury of their zeal admires;
This high applauds their vertue to the sky,
And that condemns it for barbarity.
Their various thoughts, met in one gen'ral voice,
All blame their Chieftains, and detest their choice:
And not enduring to behold the sight
Of that unnatural, and bloody fight,
Exclaiming loud, some do advance in haste,
And interposing part them at the last.

Sabina.
I owe you incense Gods! y'ave heard my prayer!

Julia.
You are not yet where you suppose you are.
You now may hope, and moderate your fears;
Yet there is still to justifie your tears.
In vain men strive t'avert them from their fate,
Their generosity is deaf to that.
The glory of this choice, their Reason blinds,
And has so dazled their ambitious minds,
That when men leave them to their desp'rate ways,
They're pleas'd, and take all pity for disgrace.
The Camps affliction foils their glories light;
Nay they had rather with both Armies fight,
And perish by those hands their fury staid,
Than quit their int'rests in th'election made.

Sabina.
Persist they then so obstinate?

Julia.

Sabina.
The Gods an impious Combat will not own.
Since 'tis deferr'd my dying hopes revive,
And I begin to see my wishes thrive.

Scena Tertia.

Sabina. Camilla. Julia.
Sabina.
Sister, I have good news!

Camilla.
I think I know
What that good news is, if you call it so;
I heard it told my Father, but I find
No comfort in't to my afflicted mind:
This but prorogues our miseries which shall
Return more violent by this interval;
And all the rays of comfort it doth shed,
Is only that our tears are respited.

Sabina.
The Gods did not in vain this tumult fire.

Camilla.
We rather do in vain of them enquire.
They have instructed Tullius in this choice,
And theirs but seldom meet the publick voice:
For you must know that the immortal Gods
Descend more rarely to the mean abodes
Of common souls, than unto Princes far,
Who here below their own Vice-gerents are,
And whose unlimited pow'r's a secret beam
Of the Divinity's annext to them.

Julia.
To argue thus is wilfully to rear
Against your self the obstacles you fear.
We only know Heav'ns will, when mov'd by pray'r,
In sacred Oracles the Gods declare;
Neither can you despair: but first you must,
The truth of what you late had thence distrust.

Camilla.
All Oracles do in mysterious sence
Still shrowd themselves from our intelligence,
And when we think we understand them most,
The most we grope, and are in error lost;
Far then from building our assurances
On their illegible, and dark decrees.
When least they seem perplext, then to be sure,
We should suspect them to be most obscure.

Sabina.
By what's already done, we ought to give
Our griefs, and fears, some respite, and reprieve,
T'allay our sorrows, and to give some scope,
Some entertainment to a pleasing hope;
When Heav'ns favour does her Arms disclose
Half open, ready to embrace our woes;
Who then the happy Auspice does not own,
And does expect no blessing, merits none?
That recontracts them, and she takes offence,
To see her bounties checkt by diffidence.

Camilla.
Heav'n acts alone in all his deep designs;
Nor fits events to flatter humane minds.

Julia.
Heav'n has alarm'd your bosom thus, to fit
You better for the joys must follow it.
Farewel! I'le go enquire of your affairs;
In the mean time pray moderate your cares:
I hope these sad reflexions will all prove,
At my return soft arguments of love;
And that we yet shall dedicate this night
Sacred to Hymen, and to chaste delight.

Sabina.
I hope so too.

Camilla.
I dare not.

Julia.
The success
Will soon discover who the best can guess.

Scena Quarta.

Sabina. Camilla.
Sabina.
Sister, amidst these cares, permit my love
To chide those griefs I needs must disapprove.
What would you do if in my state you were,
Had you as much as I t'excuse your fear,
And did expect from their too fatal Arms
Losses to equal mine, and equal harms?

Camilla.
Oh Sister! speak with judgment, not design,
When you would parallel your ills to mine:
All people look with a far diff'rent eye
On others harms, and those concern them nigh:
But mine consider'd right, yours are a dream,
A meer illusion, when compar'd with them.
You only have Horatio's death to fear,
Brothers, compar'd to Husbands, nothing are.
When saffron'd Hymen by the Nuptial tye
Unites us to another Family,
He disengages us from ev'ry claim
That once pretended to, from whence we came.
Those diff'rent ties no parallel admit,
To follow Husbands, we our Parents quit:
But when just going to be made a Spouse,
The Servant that a Father's care bestows,
Although below a Husband in his claim,
Stands yet a Rival with a Brother's name.
Those interests our thoughts betwixt them share,
Our choice, and vows perplext, and doubtful are.
Thus Sister, you at least have in your tears
Or what to wish, or what may ease your fears.
Whilst I, if Heav'ns hand do not forbear,
Have nothing left to hope, but all to fear.

Sabina.
Sister methinks you argu't very ill
When Friends so near must one another kill;
And we, though th'obligations diff'rent seem,
Our Parents leave, without forgetting them.
Hymen does not those Characters remove;
Nor does it follow that because we love
Our Husbands best, we should our Brothers hate.
Nature still keeps her Laws inviolate.
When we of force must one or th'other lose,
At either's life's expence, 'tis hard to choose;
Nor know we then which interest is supream:
“All ills are equal, when they are extream.
And when all's done, this man you so esteem
Will only prove, as you shall value him.
The least distaste, or jealousie may prove
Pow'rful enough to banish him your love.
Do that by Reason, may by Chance be done,
And leave your blood out of comparison.
'Tis ill to raise up int'rests against those,
Our births do of necessity impose.
I then if Heav'ns hand do not forbear,
Have nothing left to hope, but all to fear:
Whilst you have this advantage in your tears;
Or what to wish, or what to ease your fears.

Camilla.
Sister I see Love never pierc'd your heart,
You know him not, nor ever felt his dart:
We may resist him in his infant state,
But when he rules, and sways, 'tis then too late;
And chiefly when Fathers allowances
Have so oblig'd our Faith by their decrees,
Till they have made this little Tyrant reign
Over our hearts a lawful Sovereign.
Love mildly enters: but by pow'r he sways,
And when a soul his bait once swallow'd has,
In vain it then attempts to give it o're,
It has no more the will it had before.
His chains are strong, as bright, and delicate.

Scena Quinta.

Horace the Father. Sabina. Camilla.
Horace the Father.
Daughters I must unwelcome news relate;
But 'twere a vain endeavour to conceal,
What will it self, alas! so soon reveal.
Your Brothers are engag'd by Heav'ns decree.

Sabina.
I must confess these news astonish me,
And I expected from the heav'nly Race,
Far less injustice, and far greater grace:
But speak no comforts; nor in vain declare
How noble souls should their disasters bear.
Reason it self insufferable grows,
When such afflictions it attempts t'oppose.
In our own hands, our mischiefs cure we have,
And who resolve to dye, mischance may brave.
We could perhaps pretend whilst you are by,
A fruitless, false, and seeming constancy:
But so to counterfeit, and in a time
Wherein our frailties licens'd were a crime;
We leave that artifice to men; nor care
To pass for other than indeed we are;
Nor would we have your noble heart abate
By our example to complain of Fate.
No! take these ills without emotion;
See our tears trickle, but refrain your own.
All that we beg in this distress, is that
Whilst your brave spirit triumphs over fate,
We whose weak hearts no griefs conceal'd can keep,
May be allow'd, without offence to weep.

Horace the Father.
I am so far from blaming what you do,
That I admire I turn not woman too;
Nor should perhaps these blows of Fortune bear,
Were I concern'd so nearly, as you are.
Not that this choice can have the pow'r to make
Me hate your Brothers for their Countries sake:
Whose noble persons maugre this sad War,
Are all of them unto my bosom dear:
But friendship is not seated in that row,
Nor feels th'effects Love and Relation do.
I feel not for them in my breast those woes,
You as a Sister, she a Lover does.
I can look on them as the foes of Rome,
And wish, and pray my Sons may overcome.
They (prais'd be Heav'n) worthy their Country are,
Astonishment did not their worths impair,
And I their honours saw redoubled rise,
Whilst they two Camps compassion could despise:
Which if it had their frailty overcome,
And had their vertue not repell'd it home,
This hand should quickly have reveng'd the shame
Done by their weak consent unto my name:
But since the Camps despight of them would choose
Anew, and them in piety refuse;
I now confess that to the heav'nly powers,
My vows, and pray'rs went along with yours.
And would all-pitying Heav'n have heard my voice,
Alba had been reduc'd t'another choice.
My Sons we then should have triumphant seen,
And they from blood so dear unstain'd had been.
Then had the Roman names illustrious height
Lean'd on th'event of a more humane fight:
But since Heav'ns prudence otherwise does please
To order things, I vail to its Decrees.
My thoughts in generosity I dress,
And in the publick state my happiness.
Try you to do as much, t'allay your care,
And wisely weigh that you both Romans are.
You are become so, and you yet are one,
A treasure above all comparison.
A day will come, that through the Globe our Rome,
Dreadful as killing thunder, shall become.
When the world daring at our Eagles Wings,
That glorious name shall be the pride of Kings.

Scena Sexta.

Horace the Father. Sabina. Camilla. Julia.
Horace the Father.
Dost thou come to us Julia to declare
Whose noble brows the Victor's Laurels wear?

Julia.
Rather the Combats sad effects, for Rome
Is Alba's Captive, and your Sons o'recome.
Two slain out-right, her Lord survives alone.

Horace the Father.
Of a sad fight a sad conclusion!
Rome, Alba's subjects, and in such a need
My Son not fight, whilst he had blood to bleed!
It cannot be! you are deceiv'd, 'tis plain,
Rome is unconquer'd, or my Son is slain;
I better do my bloods true temper know,
And he so well, what he to Rome does owe,
He could not, durst not, but o'recome, or dye.

Julia.
A thousand more might see't, as well as I.
He acted wonders till his Brother's fall;
But when once left to fight against them all,
And half hemm'd in, flight did his person save.

Horace the Father.
And th'injur'd Souldiers not dispatch
Would they afford the Coward a retreat?

Julia.
I came away upon the fad defeat.

Camilla.
Oh! my dear Brothers!

Horace the Father.
Stay! lament not all!
Two are so fall'n, I emulate their fall.
Let noblest Flowers on their Tombs be laid,
I in their glorious death their loss am paid;
And 'twas their vertues fortune not to be,
Survivors of their Countries Liberty;
Nor see it by a stranger Prince be sway'd;
Nor to a neighb'ring State, a Province made.
Lament the base survivor, and the shame
His coward flight has branded on my name.
Lament the infamy of all our Race,
And the Horatian glory's black disgrace.

Julia.
What should he against three have done?

Horace the Father.
Have dy'd,
Or by a brave despair been fortifi'd.
Or had he but demurr'd to his defeat,
Rome had been subject something later yet:
He then had left these aged hoary hairs
As bright with honour, as they're white with years;
And he, though he had dy'd, had carried hence,
For a frail life, a noble recompence.
He now accomptable to Rome remains,
For all the coward blood that swells his veins.
And every drop preserv'd by such a shame,
Has quench'd his glory, and eclips'd his fame.
Each hour on's life, after an act so base,
His shame, and mine, still more and more betrays.
I le cut it short, and whilst my rage puts on
A Father's pow'r o're an unworthy Son;
I in his punishment will make it known,
How much the poultron's baseness I disown.

Sabina.
Be govern'd less, Sir, by that generous heat,
And do not raise our mischiefs higher yet.

Horace the Father.
Sabina you may best those mischiefs bear,
You in these ills have yet the easiest share,
You in this ruine yet do nothing lose;
Heav'n has preserv'd your Brothers, and your Spouse.
'Tis to your Country we are Subjects made,
Your Brothers Victors are, whilst Rome's betray'd,
And dazled by the lustre of their fame,
You ne're consider our eternal shame:
But your affection to this beast will make
Your bosom soon, our miseries partake.
These tears you shed weak intercessors are;
For by the Pow'rs above I here do swear
These hands shall wash e're day do quit the sky,
In his false blood, the Roman infamy.

Sabina.
His rage transports him, let us interpose.
Must we (just Heav'n) still meet succeeding woes?
Our ills are grown too mighty to withstand,
When fury threatens from a Parents hand.

SONG.

CHORUS.