 | Horace |  |
Scena Prima.
Horace the Father. Horace.Horace the Father.
Let us from this sad spectacle retire,
Heav'ns never-sleeping justice to admire,
Which, when we swell to insolence, knows how
To scourge our pride, and lay our glories low.
Heav'n sorrow ever with our joy combines,
Sows seeds of frailty in the noblest minds,
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With an unblemish'd and a true renown.
Camilla did offend, nor do I wear
These clouds of sorrow in my face for her;
I think my self to be lamented more,
And more than her, alas! I thee deplore.
I do bewail my own sinister fate
To have a Daughter so degenerate;
And thee for having by misfortune dy'd
Thy noble Sword in such a Parricide.
Not that I do thy heat or justice blame,
Yet, I could wish thou hadst escap'd the shame:
Her crime (though worthy death) had better far
Been spar'd, than thou her executioner.
Horace.
My life, and death, Sir, in your sentence lie,
I thought that blow due to Romes injury:
But if that zeal do criminal appear,
If I eternal brands of shame must wear,
And if my arm be infamous become,
With one sole word you may pronounce my doom.
Take back that blood which my unworthy hand
Has by a coward act so basely stain'd.
I could not suffer in your vertuous Race
A crime that might your noble name disgrace:
Nor should you with an over-partial eye
Suffer this blemish in your Family.
In acts where honour suffers 'tis discern'd,
That such a Father as you are's concern'd.
T'excuse ill Sons, even Fathers should forbear,
Whilst they conceal our faults, they faulty are;
And his own fame that Father little moves,
Who spares that guilt his vertue disapproves.
Horace the Father.
Fathers sometimes from harsh extreams forbear,
And often spare their Sons themselves to spare.
Our age leans on their youthful strength, and spares
Them, since in them we must be sufferers.
I look upon thee with a diff'rent eye
From that thou censur'st thine own vertue by:
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I know—but see the Guards, the King's at hand.
| Horace | |