 | Horace |  |
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima.
Horace the Father. Camilla.Horace the Father.
Urge me no more Camilla, do not try
Your int'rest, for this Son of Infamy;
Let him avoid my sight if he be wise,
As basely he outran his enemies
To save the coward blood he prizes so:
He is not safe unless he fly me too.
Sabina may conceal him, or (by Jove)
The Sov'reign power of the Gods above.—
Camilla.
Ah (gentle Sir) do not resent it so,
Rome you shall see, will with a smoother brow
Look on his noble merit, and at least
Excuse his vertue by such odds opprest.
Horace the Father.
No matter daughter what Romes censures are,
A Father's int'rest is particular.
I know the ways true vertue does profess;
“Numbers do still ingloriously oppress.
Her masculine vigour still maintains its heat,
And under odds may perish, not retreat.
But silence, what does young Valerius bring?
Scena Secunda.
Horace the Father. Valerius. Camilla.Valerius.
Sir I am hither order'd by the King
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Horace the Father.
Take no care,
It is an office that you both may spare;
And I had rather see those Sons lie slain
In Honours lap, then that survives with shame.
Two Sons are nobly fall'n with my applause,
Like men of honour in their Countries Cause;
And that will serve to make my shame the less.
Valerius.
But, Sir, the third is such a happiness,
As all their shares may in your bosom claim.
Horace the Father.
If with himself he had put out my name.
Valerius.
You only frown upon his merit.
Horace the Father.
True,
From me alone his punishment is due.
Valerius.
What in his manly conduct can you blame?
Horace the Father.
Is it by flight that Souldiers purchase fame?
Valerius.
But his retreat was glorious in this case.
Horace the Father.
You double my confusion, and disgrace.
Sure 'tis a new example, that in fight,
Men seek out glory by the way of flight.
Valerius.
Where lies your wonder, or where lies your shame?
To have begot a Son improves his name?
One that for Rome has Crowns and Triumphs won!
What can a Father wish for in a Son?
Horace the Father.
What Scepters, or what Triumphs, what applause,
Whilst Rome now truckles under Alba's Laws?
Valerius.
What makes you harp so upon Rome's defeat,
Can you of what is past, be ign'rant yet?
Horace the Father.
Was not the Combat ended in his flight?
Valerius.
Alba a while imagin'd so, but streight
She better knew what 'twas for him to fly,
Who wore upon his Sword Rome's Destiny.
Horace the Father.
Is Rome triumphant then?
Valerius.
Learn Sir to know
The Valour of that Son y'ave blemisht so:
Left single to dispute it with the three,
And those all wounded, he untoucht, and free;
Too weak for all; too strong for any one,
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Pretended flight to fight on better terms,
And by that stratagem divides their Arms.
They all pursue, but with such diff'rent speed,
As weak, and wounded, more or less they bleed:
When Horace seeing his design had took,
Faces about, and with Heroick look,
Grown now secure of Conquest, bravely stays
Him that was foremost in the eager chace:
Which prov'd your Son-in-law, who vext to see,
He durst alone dispute it with the three,
Vainly discover'd in his falling on,
A noble courage, when his strength was gone.
Then Alba fearing her brave Champions fall,
Did to the second for assistance call;
Who weak attempts his haste to animate,
And being come, finds he is come too late:
His Brother had e're his arrival paid
His lifes dear tribute to the Conqueror's blade.
Camilla.
Alas!
Valerius.
Yet panting, bravely he supplies
His room, and doubles your Son's Victories;
His courage without vigour to maintain
The daring enterprize, prov'd weak, and vain;
And to revenge his Brother whilst he tries,
Down by his side he conquer'd falls, and dies.
His room, and doubles your Son's Victories;
His courage without vigour to maintain
The daring enterprize, prov'd weak, and vain;
And to revenge his Brother whilst he tries,
Down by his side he conquer'd falls, and dies.
The rowling Orbs ring with a various cry,
Alba for sorrow groans, Rome shouts for joy:
When our brave Hero ready to compleat
His triple Conquest, thought it was not yet
Enough to conquer, but he would engage,
And further whet his bold opposers rage.
Alba for sorrow groans, Rome shouts for joy:
When our brave Hero ready to compleat
His triple Conquest, thought it was not yet
Enough to conquer, but he would engage,
And further whet his bold opposers rage.
I here (said he) have immolated these
My Brothers angry Manes to appease;
And my third adversary (Rome) shall be
A Sacrifice to thy concerns, and thee.
My Brothers angry Manes to appease;
And my third adversary (Rome) shall be
A Sacrifice to thy concerns, and thee.
Which said, he flew at his surviving foe;
Nor was the conquest disputable now:
The Alban goar'd with wounds, with mortal pain,
Could moving hardly his own weight sustain:
But as mild Victims to the Altar go,
And yield their necks unto the mortal blow:
So he defenceless bow'd unto his fate,
And in his fall secur'd the Roman State.
Nor was the conquest disputable now:
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Could moving hardly his own weight sustain:
But as mild Victims to the Altar go,
And yield their necks unto the mortal blow:
So he defenceless bow'd unto his fate,
And in his fall secur'd the Roman State.
Horace the Father.
Oh my brave Son, my Joy, Honor's bright ray,
Of a declining State the only stay!
Oh noble vertue that thy blood dost grace!
Prop of thy Country! Glory of thy Race!
When shall I in thy gen'rous breast pour forth
Excuses for those thoughts that wrong'd thy worth?
When shall my love, which now too tender grows,
In tears of joy bathe thy victorious brows?
Valerius.
You may do that, Sir, in a little space,
The King will send him straight to your embrace;
Who till the morn the Sacrifice defers,
Due to those Pow'rs have made us Conquerors.
To day we only do our thanks express
In Io Pæans for the great success.
The King now gracing your Son's Triumph, has
In the mean time afforded me the grace,
To be the man he pleases to employ,
At once to bring you news of grief, and joy:
Nor does he think this complement enough,
Unless to give your worth a further proof
How he does prize it, he in person come,
With his own mouth to pay the thanks of Rome.
Horace the Father.
Such thanks for me far too illustrious are,
And I conceive my self already far
Out-paid in these you offer me, for all
My brave Sons Service, and my two Sons fall.
Valerius.
The King imperfect Honours ne're bestows,
And Rome's proud Scepter rescu'd from her Foes,
Makes him believe all Honours he can shew,
Much short of what's to you and Horace due,
I'le go inform him what a noble sence
Vertue inspires you with in all events;
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Horace the Father.
That will prove
So fair an office as will bind my love.
Scena Tertia.
Horace the Father. Camilla.Horace the Father.
Daughter 'tis now no time to weep, and in
This shine of Honour, such a show's ill seen.
Domestick losses we unjustly prize,
When they procure us publick Victories.
Rome triumphs over Alba, and 'tis fit,
Unto that single good, all ills submit.
You in your Servant lose a man, no more;
A loss that Rome can easily restore.
After this Victory, what Roman bloud,
Of such a match will not be justly proud?
This shine of Honour, such a show's ill seen.
Domestick losses we unjustly prize,
When they procure us publick Victories.
Rome triumphs over Alba, and 'tis fit,
Unto that single good, all ills submit.
You in your Servant lose a man, no more;
A loss that Rome can easily restore.
After this Victory, what Roman bloud,
Of such a match will not be justly proud?
I'le go inform Sabina of what's past,
The news to her no doubt will bitter taste;
And her three Brothers, by a Husband slain,
Will give her juster reason to complain.
But yet I hope by gentle ways t'appease
Those sorrows, which like fluctuating Seas,
Do often overwhelm the noblest mind;
And that her prudence with her courage joyn'd,
Will make that gen'rous love rule in her heart,
Due to the worthy Victors brave desert.
I'th' interim conquer your effeminate grief,
And if he come, receive our Roman Chief,
With such a constant brow as may declare,
How worthy of him you his Sister are;
And by your noble carriage make it good,
That in one Womb, Heav'n form'd you of one Blood.
The news to her no doubt will bitter taste;
And her three Brothers, by a Husband slain,
Will give her juster reason to complain.
But yet I hope by gentle ways t'appease
Those sorrows, which like fluctuating Seas,
Do often overwhelm the noblest mind;
And that her prudence with her courage joyn'd,
Will make that gen'rous love rule in her heart,
Due to the worthy Victors brave desert.
I'th' interim conquer your effeminate grief,
And if he come, receive our Roman Chief,
With such a constant brow as may declare,
How worthy of him you his Sister are;
And by your noble carriage make it good,
That in one Womb, Heav'n form'd you of one Blood.
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Scene Quarta.
Camilla.
Yes, by assured signs I'le make him see
That vertuous Love can baffle Destiny;
Nor yet those tyr'nnous cruel laws obeys
Our froward Stars seat in a Parents place.
Unpitying Father! on so just a score
Thou call'st my sorrows womanish and poor:
But I the more it does afflict thee, will
Dote on his memory, more lament him still,
And make that sorrow thou condemn'st to rise
Equal to fortunes direst cruelties.
That vertuous Love can baffle Destiny;
Nor yet those tyr'nnous cruel laws obeys
Our froward Stars seat in a Parents place.
Unpitying Father! on so just a score
Thou call'st my sorrows womanish and poor:
But I the more it does afflict thee, will
Dote on his memory, more lament him still,
And make that sorrow thou condemn'st to rise
Equal to fortunes direst cruelties.
Did ever fortune in a few hours space,
So often vary her inconstant face!
So often kind, and cruel, good, and ill!
And strook so often e're she strook to kill?
Was ever soul that in one day did bear
Such turns of joy, and grief, of hope, and fear?
A soul subjected unto more events,
And bandied so with various accidents:
An Oracle, a Dream, a Battel, Peace;
By turns assure, astonish, fright, appease.
My Nuptials are prepar'd, and straight my Love
Against my Brothers Arms, his Arms must prove:
Both Camps abhor the choice, and stay their rage,
Whom the unpitying Gods again engage.
Rome seems o'recome, and Curiace's hand
From blood of mine alone remains unstain'd.
Was not my grief (ye Powers) then too small,
For Rome's misfortune, and my Brothers fall?
Did not my hopes flatter my innocence,
When I thought still to love him no offence?
His death has paid me home for't, and to that,
The cruel way of telling me his fate.
His Rival brings the news, and to my face
Repeats the hateful truth of his disgrace.
Apparent joy doth on his forehead fit,
Pleas'd with my loss more than Romes benefit;
Whilst building aiery hopes in his vain head,
He, with my Brother, triumphs o're the dead.
But this is nothing still to what's behind,
On this occasion I am joy enjoyn'd.
I must applaud the Conqueror's desert,
And kiss th'inhumane hand that gores my heart.
It is in such a deplorable case
A crime to weep, and but to sigh disgrace.
Their brutish vertue in this shock of fate,
Will have me fancy my self fortunate.
It is it seems a rule the vertuous have,
We must be barb'rous e're we can be brave.
Degenerate then my heart, let us disclaim
This Father's Vertue, and this Brother's Fame.
'Tis honourable to be counted base,
Where Vertue rises by such brutish ways.
Break out my griefs, 'tis fruitless to forbear!
When all's once lost, what have we left to fear?
Let us this bloody Conqueror despise,
And far from shunning him confront his eyes;
Reproach his Victory, provoke his Spleen,
And please your selves, by your displeasing him.
See where he comes, now let us bravely show
What to a Lover's death, chaste Lovers owe.
So often vary her inconstant face!
So often kind, and cruel, good, and ill!
And strook so often e're she strook to kill?
Was ever soul that in one day did bear
Such turns of joy, and grief, of hope, and fear?
A soul subjected unto more events,
And bandied so with various accidents:
An Oracle, a Dream, a Battel, Peace;
By turns assure, astonish, fright, appease.
My Nuptials are prepar'd, and straight my Love
Against my Brothers Arms, his Arms must prove:
Both Camps abhor the choice, and stay their rage,
Whom the unpitying Gods again engage.
Rome seems o'recome, and Curiace's hand
From blood of mine alone remains unstain'd.
Was not my grief (ye Powers) then too small,
For Rome's misfortune, and my Brothers fall?
Did not my hopes flatter my innocence,
When I thought still to love him no offence?
His death has paid me home for't, and to that,
The cruel way of telling me his fate.
His Rival brings the news, and to my face
Repeats the hateful truth of his disgrace.
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Pleas'd with my loss more than Romes benefit;
Whilst building aiery hopes in his vain head,
He, with my Brother, triumphs o're the dead.
But this is nothing still to what's behind,
On this occasion I am joy enjoyn'd.
I must applaud the Conqueror's desert,
And kiss th'inhumane hand that gores my heart.
It is in such a deplorable case
A crime to weep, and but to sigh disgrace.
Their brutish vertue in this shock of fate,
Will have me fancy my self fortunate.
It is it seems a rule the vertuous have,
We must be barb'rous e're we can be brave.
Degenerate then my heart, let us disclaim
This Father's Vertue, and this Brother's Fame.
'Tis honourable to be counted base,
Where Vertue rises by such brutish ways.
Break out my griefs, 'tis fruitless to forbear!
When all's once lost, what have we left to fear?
Let us this bloody Conqueror despise,
And far from shunning him confront his eyes;
Reproach his Victory, provoke his Spleen,
And please your selves, by your displeasing him.
See where he comes, now let us bravely show
What to a Lover's death, chaste Lovers owe.
Scena Quinta.
Horace. Camilla. Proculus, and two Souldiers, each bearing a Sword of the Curiatii.Horace.
See Sister here the Arm that has on all
The Alban Champions wreak'd our Brother's fall;
The Arm that with the froward Fates of Rome
Single has fought, and single overcome;
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Betwixt two States struck the decision.
Behold the Trophies which these Romans bear,
These noble Ensigns of a Conqueror:
And pay the thanks thou ow'st those Pow'rs that bless
The Roman Arms with such a fair success.
Camilla.
Then take my tears, for those are all I owe.
Horace.
Such actions should not be rewarded so.
And our brave Brother's noble fall appears
Repaid with blood enough t'excuse your tears.
“Losses reveng'd once to be losses cease.
Camilla.
Since then appeas'd with blood, they rest in peace,
I shall forbear to pay that Fun'ral debt,
And will their deaths you have reveng'd forget:
But who'l revenge me for a Lovers fall,
And dry those tears I pay his Funeral?
Horace.
What say'st thou wretch?
Camilla.
Ah my dear Curiace!
Horace.
Impudent woman, and my bloods disgrace,
Does yet that name in thy remembrance live,
And in thy heart a love for him survive,
That as a publick enemy to Rome
I to my deathless Glory, have o'recome?
Thy criminal flame does to revenge aspire!
Thy mouth proclaims th'unnatural hearts desire!
Govern thy passion better, and be wise,
Let me not blush to hear thy guilty sighs.
'Tis now high time to quench that flame, and chace
Those clouds of sorrow which obscure thy face,
That on my triumph it may smiling shine.
Camilla.
Give me a heart, Barbarian, then like thine,
And since thou wilt have me my soul explain,
Restore my Love, or let my Passion reign.
My joy, and grief, were by his Fortune led,
Living I lov'd him, and lament him dead.
Seek not thy Sister where thou leftst her last;
Thy cruelty that title has defac'd.
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An injur'd Lover in a Sisters room.
Who, like a fury, on thy steps will wait,
To blast thee with reproaches for his fate.
Obdurate Tyger! who forbid'st mine eyes
Should pay their Tribute to his obsequies.
Would'st have my tongue to flatter thee, approve,
Boast, and applaud the slaughter of my Love,
And to the Skies, whilst thy exploits I rear,
Become a second time his murtherer
May miseries consort that life of thine,
Till they increase, that thou may'st envy mine;
And may'st thou by some act of horror blot
The glory thy barbarity has got.
Horace.
Heav'n! what a madness rages in her tongue,
Think'st thou I'm grown insensible of wrong,
That this affront I suffer in my blood?
Approve his death, makes for the publick good;
And to his memory prefer at least,
That which thy birth owes to Rome's interest.
Camilla.
Rome! that alone does my affliction prove,
Rome! to whom thou hast sacrific'd my Love!
Rome! that first gave thee life! that perfectly
I hate, because she does so honour thee!
May all her neighbours in one cause conspire,
To sack her Walls, and ruine her by fire.
And if all Italy appear too few,
May East and West joyn in the mischief too.
Far as the frozen poles may Nations come,
O're Hills, and Seas, to sack imperious Rome.
May her own Walls o'rewhelm and bury her,
And may her own Hands her own Bowels tear:
May Heav'n to whose wrath I votress am,
Rain on her Bosom deluges of Flame.
May I behold a Lightning fall so just,
Her Buildings ashes, and her Laurels dust.
May I of Heav'ns justice be so grac't,
To see the last of Romans breathe his last,
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I may be cause of all, and pleas'd expire.
Horace drawing his Sword, and pursuing her.
It is too much: Patience a while, give place!
Down into Hell to seek thy Curiace.
Camilla behind the Scene.
Oh Traytor!
Horace.
So may all offenders die
That dare lament a Roman enemy.
Scena Sexta.
Horace. Proculus.Proculus.
What have you done?
Horace.
An exemplary act,
And a due justice for so foul a fact.
Proculus.
But to your Sister this was too severe.
Horace.
Never tell me how near ally'd we were.
My Father scorns to own a child so base,
Curses her Country, and disclaims her Race;
All ties of Love are forfeited and gone,
And she is stript of all Relation.
Her nearest Kindred cannot but disclaim
A beast that brands her Family with shame.
The promptest vengeance, and most cruel must,
For such a Crime as hers be stil'd most just;
And those her impious wishes ought to be
Stifled like Monsters in their infancy.
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Scena Septima.
Horace. Sabina. Proculus.Sabina.
Why stops thy noble fury here? Come nigh,
See in her Fathers arms Camilla dye.
Come glut thine eyes with the alluring fight,
And if thou think'st what's done be yet too light,
To thy dear Rome offer the blood remains
O'th' Curiatii in Sabina's veins.
Never spare theirs, whilst of thine own so free;
But to Camilla's joyn my destiny:
Our crimes, as well as miseries, are one,
Like her my Brother's slaughter I bemoan;
Transgressing more thy cruel Laws, then she;
She only wept for one, but I for three,
To give thy fury a more just pretence.
Horace.
Sabina, dry your tears, or get you hence.
Render thy self worthy Horatio's Wife,
And that repute thy chaste, and vertuous life,
Has from mankind, as thy just merit won,
And wound me not with mean compassion.
If th'absolute int'rest of a vertuous flame
Commands our hearts and souls to be the same,
It is thy part to raise thy heart to mine,
I ought not to thy weaknesses decline.
I love thee, and I know thy soul's grown sad,
Call in my vertue to thy frailties aid;
Instead of clouding it, my glory share,
And without stripping me my triumphs wear.
Art thou so great a foe unto my fame,
That I should please thee better clad in shame?
Discover now the vertue of that flame
That seats a Husband in his sov'reign claim
Above th'inferiour interest of blood,
And learn by my example to be good.
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Some nobler soul to imitate you choose;
I blame thee not, alas! for what I lose:
My thoughts are govern'd as they ought to be,
And I do rather blame mischance than thee.
But I all claim to Roman Vertue quit,
If inhumanity must purchase it;
Nor can I in my own esteem appear
Wife unto him, who is the Conquerour
But that at once I see my self again
The deplorable Sister of the slain.
Let us in publick, publick Conquests own,
Lament domestick miseries at home.
And not regard a good derives to all,
When on our selves peculiar mischiefs fall.
Why (cruel man) dost thou those Trophies wear
Lay by those Laurels when thou enter'st here,
And joyn with me in tears.—
I blame thee not, alas! for what I lose:
My thoughts are govern'd as they ought to be,
And I do rather blame mischance than thee.
But I all claim to Roman Vertue quit,
If inhumanity must purchase it;
Nor can I in my own esteem appear
Wife unto him, who is the Conquerour
But that at once I see my self again
The deplorable Sister of the slain.
Let us in publick, publick Conquests own,
Lament domestick miseries at home.
And not regard a good derives to all,
When on our selves peculiar mischiefs fall.
Why (cruel man) dost thou those Trophies wear
Lay by those Laurels when thou enter'st here,
And joyn with me in tears.—
Will not this raise
Thy vertues spleen to end my wretched days?
Can my repeated crime not move thine ire?
Camilla's blest could raise thy furies fire!
She tempted from thee, what she wisht for most,
And finds below all that above she lost.
Thy vertues spleen to end my wretched days?
Can my repeated crime not move thine ire?
Camilla's blest could raise thy furies fire!
She tempted from thee, what she wisht for most,
And finds below all that above she lost.
Dear cause of all the woes my heart oppress,
Incline to pity if thine anger cease:
One of the passions to thy choice propose,
To scourge my frailty, or to end my woes.
For death by favour, or desert I move,
Be't an effect of Justice or of Love,
It shall be welcome, and I'le kiss the brand
Performs that office from a Husband's hand.
Incline to pity if thine anger cease:
One of the passions to thy choice propose,
To scourge my frailty, or to end my woes.
For death by favour, or desert I move,
Be't an effect of Justice or of Love,
It shall be welcome, and I'le kiss the brand
Performs that office from a Husband's hand.
Horace.
You are unjust you Gods! why do you give
Imperious women this prerogative
O're noble souls, and pleas'd sit looking on,
Whilst they insult in their dominion?
To what a strait am I reduc'd, when I
To save my vertue am enforc'd to fly?
Farewel, follow me not, or dry your tears.
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Oh wrath! O pity! deaf unto my prayr's!
My crime I see's neglected, and my woe
Does in the repetition tedious grow.
Thus, though I tempt his spirit various ways,
I can obtain nor punishment, nor grace:
But once again my tears their pow'r shall try,
And if that fail, by my own hand I'le die.
SONG.
(1.)
The young, the fair, the chaste, the good,The sweet Camilla, in a flood
Of her own Crimson lies
A bloody, bloody sacrifice
To Death and man's inhumane cruelties.
Weep Virgins till your sorrow swells
In tears above the Ivory Cells
That guard those Globes of light;
Drown, drown those beauties of your eyes.
Beauty should mourn, when beauty dies;
And make a general night,
To pay her innocence its Funeral rite.
(2.)
Death since his Empire first begun,So foul a conquest never won,
Nor yet so fair a prize;
And had he had a heart, or eyes,
Her beauties would have charm'd his cruelties.
Even Savage Beasts will Beauty spare,
Chaft Lions fawn upon the fair;
Nor dare offend the chaste:
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The mischiefs his wild fury does,
Humours his passions haste,
To prove ungovern'd man the greatest beast.
CHORUS.
Rome, thou hast bought thy Triumph dear,
And like a greedy purchaser,
Hast laid a greater treasure forth,
Than Alba's fealty is worth.
And like a greedy purchaser,
Hast laid a greater treasure forth,
Than Alba's fealty is worth.
What hast thou won, that can make good
The two Horatii's lavish'd blood?
Or who are left fit to supply
The noble Curiatii?
You now may with confederate Arms
Invade your Borderers in swarms,
And think like two united Seas,
T'o'reflow your neighb'ring Provinces;
And for new Conquests may prepare,
When you are weaker than you were.
The two Horatii's lavish'd blood?
Or who are left fit to supply
The noble Curiatii?
You now may with confederate Arms
Invade your Borderers in swarms,
And think like two united Seas,
T'o'reflow your neighb'ring Provinces;
And for new Conquests may prepare,
When you are weaker than you were.
Too brave Horatio, thou hadst won
Glory to have out-dar'd the Sun,
And live a President in Rome
To vertue ages yet to come.
But this last act of thine has thrown
So black a cloud o're thy renown,
That future times at once must see
Thy Valour and thy Cruelty.
Glory to have out-dar'd the Sun,
And live a President in Rome
To vertue ages yet to come.
But this last act of thine has thrown
So black a cloud o're thy renown,
That future times at once must see
Thy Valour and thy Cruelty.
Thus as the Sun does climb the skies,
He still in brighter Beams doth rise,
Till in his full Meridian plac't,
His glories thence decline as fast;
So men by dangerous degrees,
Arriv'd at honours precipice,
Striving ambitiously to get
To brighter stations higher yet:
There wanting footing for their pride,
They topple on the other side;
And in one act do forfeit more,
Than all they had atchiev'd before.
He still in brighter Beams doth rise,
Till in his full Meridian plac't,
His glories thence decline as fast;
So men by dangerous degrees,
Arriv'd at honours precipice,
Striving ambitiously to get
To brighter stations higher yet:
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They topple on the other side;
And in one act do forfeit more,
Than all they had atchiev'd before.
Were Love, and Piety such crimes,
In these so celebrated times,
That Fury must in Justice stead
Level the mourners with the dead?
Must charming beauty, at whose feet
Valour its conquests should submit,
That Sex that priviledg'd should be
Even from inhumanity,
Th'effects of brutish fury feel?
In these so celebrated times,
That Fury must in Justice stead
Level the mourners with the dead?
Must charming beauty, at whose feet
Valour its conquests should submit,
That Sex that priviledg'd should be
Even from inhumanity,
Th'effects of brutish fury feel?
Thy vertues sweet Camilla still,
Do in thy ev'ning brighter rise
To baffle humane cruelties.
And bravest Heroes when they shall
This great example of thy fall,
In the worlds brightest Annals see,
Even they themselves shall envy thee.
Do in thy ev'ning brighter rise
To baffle humane cruelties.
And bravest Heroes when they shall
This great example of thy fall,
In the worlds brightest Annals see,
Even they themselves shall envy thee.
The end of the Fourth Act.
| Horace | |