Horace :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.

Sabina.

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.—

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.

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.

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.

Sabina.
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:

But vitious man, that sees and knows
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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.