 | Horace |  |
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.
| Horace | |