University of Virginia Library

Let us at last, my troubled Soul, appease
These inward mutinies, disturb our peace,
And stand no longer neuter in this War,
But, or for Alba, or for Rome declare.
Let us no more divide our fruitless care,
But nourish hope, to overcome despair.
Yet to which side, alas! should we adhere,
Where both the interests, equally are dear!
Alas! which party cleave to, which refuse;
Or 'twixt a Brother, and a Husband choose?
Nature, or Love, for either side do plead,
And I by duty unto both am led.
Then let us rather in this fatal strife,
Continue still a Sister, and a Wife.
Let us their honours above all prefer,
Their vertues imitate, and cease to fear.
The death that threatens is so brave an end,
We fearless should the sad report attend.
Let us no more the Fates inhumane call;
Think in what cause, not by whose hands they fall:
Let us caress them who have bravely fought,
Nor wrong their Valours merit with a thought,
Save of the glory, and eternal grace,
Their Arms atchieve unto their noble race;
Nor once consider at whose bloods expence
Vertue has rais'd them to that eminence.
Let our concerns, and int'rest be the same
Their Houses interests are, in which I am
A Daughter, or a Wife; so near ally'd
To both their noble bloods, that neither side
Can of the other any triumph win,
But by their Swords atchievements, who are mine.

Fortune whatever ills thou dost dispence,
I've found a way t'extract some joy from thence:
I now can view fearless, and undismay'd,
This Tragedy in all its terrors plaid:
I can behold the dead without despair,
And without horror see the Vanquisher.

Oh flattering illusion! false delight!
Thou pleasing error, and impuissant light!
Which with a conterfeited Ray hast shown
How short thy stay was, and how soon th'art gone!
Like Lightnings in obscurity, that make
By their retiring flames, the night more black;
Mine eyes thou strook'st not with a short-liv'd beam,
But with more darkness to envelop them.
By thee my griefs too soon enchanted were,
And for that moments truce I pay too dear.
I feel my heart pierc'd thorow with the steel,
Just now employ'd my dearest friends to kill.
Contemplating their deaths, I not at all
Think in what quarrel, but by whom they fall;
Nor see the Victor rais'd to eminence,
But I consider at whose bloods expence.
I find my int'rest only is the same,
With the afflicted house in which I am
A Daughter, or a Wife, so near ally'd
To both their noble bloods, that neither side
Can from the other any triumph win,
But by their deaths, and ruine who are mine.

Is this the peace then I have pray'd for so?
Yet too propitious Gods, y'ave heard my vow!
What thunders do you, when provok'd, prepare,
If such dire cruelties your favours are?
And in what sort do you correct offence,
When you delight to punish innocence?