 | Horace |  |
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?
| Horace | |