Classic Poem

Act. 4. Scen: 1.

O: Horace. Camilla.

O: HORACE.

Go; no more breath for such a Coward loose;
Let him fly me, as he has done his Foes;
To save that wretched Life, he held so dear,
He has done little if he now appear.
Sabina may prevent it, or I vow,
By all the Pow'rs to which we Mortals bow; —

CAMILLA

Oh! Sir! this cruell thought no more pursue;
Or Rome her self will kinder be then you.
And she her self; though all that's dear she loose;
Valour opprest by Number will excuse.

O: HORACE.

I'm not concern'd, what mercy Rome confers,
I have a Fathers right distinct from hers;
I know no Humane Virtu ever yet
Could an assurance against Fortune get.
But this I know too, boldly it may say,
I'le honour win, who ever wins the day.
And this. — But stay, what does Valerius bring?

Scen. 2.

O. Horace, Camilla, Valerius.

VALERIUS.

I'm sent to wait upon you from the King;
Who mourns your loss —

O: HORACE.

— That merits not his care;
And I the needless complement can spare;
I my Sons death, rather then shame would know;
And tears, then blushes better can allow.
They that are slain, like men of honour dy'd.
And thats enough; —

VALERIUS

But they are all supply'd,
By him that lives, & his immortall Fame.

O: HOR.

Would he had perish'd too, & all my Name.

VALER.

Can only you his vertue disesteem?

O. HOR.

'Tis I alone that ought to punish him.

VALER.

And what offence has in his conduct been?

O: HOR.

But what great vertue in his flight was seen?

VALER.

Flight in this case, wears an illustrious name.

O: HOR.

Why do you cover my grey hairs with shame?
Th'example's rare indeed! & few would dy,
If men could catch bright honour when they fly.

VALER.

Doe you a shame, & a confusion call,
T'have had a son who has preserv'd us all?
Who with new Triumphs did Rome 's Empire save,
What greater Honours could a Father have?

O: HOR.

What honours, & what triumphs brings he home,
When Alba must dispose the fate of Rome ?

VAL.

What great success of Alba has appear'd?
Or have you yet but half the story heard?

O: HOR:

Was not the Combat ended by his flight?

VALER.

So Alba thought, at that mistaken sight.
But she soon found, he fled, but as became
A man entrusted with his Countrey's Fame.

O: HOR:

Does Rome triumph?

VALER.

O! his great story hear,
To whom you so unjustly are severe.
When he against three Foes was left alone;
Each of them having wounds, he having none;
Too weak for all, too strong for eithers rage;
He dextrously himself did disengage;
The stratagem of seeming flight he try'd;
And so th'abused Brothers does divide;
They all pursue, yet not with equall hast;
But as their wounds permit them, slow, or fast;
Horace looks back upon the scatterd Foe;
His looks, me=thought, new & brave hopes did show;
He waits your Son=in=Law, for he was first;
Who much incens'd to see that he so durst;
His utmost braving does in vain express;
For loss of blood deny's his arm success;
Alba , whose hopes with Curiac's strength decaydd
Crys out aloud for the next Brothers ay'd;
Who with vain hast consumes the small remain
Of his spent force, & finds his Brother slain.

CAMILLA.

Alas! my Curiace —

VALERIUS

Faint, & out of breath,
He strives yet nobly, to revenge his death;
But meets his own; the plains & Hills around,
With Alban cryes, & Roman shouts resound;
Our Hero, when so near his triumph drew;
Not only Conquers now, but braves them too;
I to my Brothers shades give what is past;
But to thee Rome , I sacrifise this last;
Accept Dear Country this so noble blood;
(Says he) & hasts, to make his promise good;
The victory did scarce admit suspence;
The wounded Alban making small defence;
But as a Victim to the Altar goes;
And his throat offers to the deadly blows;
So he gave up his undefended breath;
Securing Rome's dominion by his death.

O. HORACE.

O! my brave Son! true heyr of all Renown!
Only supporter of a falling Crown!
O vertue! worthy of Romes boast, & mine!
Thy Countrey's succour! Glory of thy Line!
When into tenderness shall I convert
All my injustice to thy great desert?
When shall I my repenting kindness show?
And with glad tears, bath thy victorious brow?

VALERIUS

That your endearments may soon find a place,
The King will hasten him to your Embrace;
And therfore, till to morrow, is delay'd
The Sacrifice, which must to Heav'n be paÿèd.
This day no other Gratitude allows,
But songs of triumph, & the Publick vow's;
Where Horace waits the King, by whom I'm sent,
To ease your Grief, & heigthen your Content;
But this is not enough for him to pay;
He'll come himself; & that perhaps to day;
This noble action does oblige him soe,
That his own thanks he will on you bestow;
Who have resign'd your Sons, to save his Throne.

O: HORACE.

That honour is too great for me to own.
And what y'have said, rewards above my due;
The service of one Son, & death of two.

VALERIUS.

The King, who no imperfect bounty knows,
His rescu'd Scepter from insulting Foes,
Values so much, that all that he can doe,
He thinks below, either your Son, or you;
But I shall tell him with what noble Fire,
Heroick vertue does your Soul inspire;
And how much loyall Zeal to him you beare.

O: HORACE.

You'll much oblige me, by so kind a Care.

Scene. 3.

O: Horace. Camilla.

O: HORACE

Daughter, your tears are out of season now;
And misbecome the place, where honours grow.
Domestick losses we may well excuse;
When they doe publick victorys produce.
It is enough, that Rome does Alba sway;
What sufferings would not such a Glory pay?
You but a Man lost, when your Lover fell;
Whom you may quickly now repair as well.
What noble Roman , after this success;
But would be proud to make you an Address?
But to Sabina I this news must bear,
Whose blow must needs be very rude to her;
And her three Brothers by her Husband Slain;
Will give her much more Reason to complain;
But I despair not to appease her yet;
And she who is so brave, & so discreet;
Will without pain, her generous soul dispose,
To that submission, which her honour owes;
And first, be you Camilla , so discreet,
As your Triumphant Brother now to meet,
With such a cheerfull look, as may become,
One who loves nothing more, then him & Rome .
In brief, let him a Sister meet, & find
In the same blood, the same Heroick Mind.

Scen. 4.

CAMILLA.

Yes, I shall quickly to that Brother prove,
That none can fear to dy, who dares to Love;
Nor can submit to those stern Parents sway;
Whom cruell Heav'n condemns us to obey;
You blame my Grief, you call it mean, & poor;
But in revenge, I'le cherish it the more.
Relentless Father! & my Grief shall grow
As stubborn, & unmoveable as Thou.
Never did Fortune shift her treacherous part,
So many times, to break one single heart;
So oft to flatter, & so oft t'affright;
So oft to strike, before she kild outright;
Never in one day, did one heart appear,
So toss'd from Grief to Joy, from Hope to fear;
An Oracle asseures; a Dream torments;
The Battle threatens, & the Peace contents;
Just on my Marriage Eve, the Citties chose
My Lover, & my Brother to be Foes;
The souldiers murmure, & revoke the choice;
The Gods again, confirm it by their voice.
Rome seems subdu'd, & with my Brothers blood;
My Curiace only, unpolluted stood;
Did I, yee Gods! too coldly then complain
For Rome enthrall'd, & for my Brothers slain?
Did yee those secret motions disapprove,
Which still inclin'd my soul to hope, & Love?
His Death revenges on me that abuse;
With the sad way wherein I heard the news.
Valerius tells it; & to brave my Fate;
The sad event, does odiously relate;
An open gladness did his visage dress;
Less by Rome's Glory caus'd, then my distress;
Since by his Rivall's death, his hopes renew;
He seems to share my Brothers triumph too.
But this is nothing to my present woe;
I am requir'd with Joy to meet the blow;
I to the Conquerour must my praise impart;
And kiss a hand that stabs me to the heart.
And when my Grief so Justly great appears;
They place an Infamy upon my tears.
I must rejoice at what afflicts me thus;
And to be noble must be Barbarous.
But from this Father I'le degenerate;
And will deserve this Gallant Brother's hate.
For Humane frailty sure, Illustrious grows,
When Brutishness for Vertue they impose.
Appear my Griefs, why should you now forbeare?
When all is lost, what hath one then to feare?
This savage Conquerour I will not fly;
But will upbraid him with his Victory;
Offend his Conquest; irritate his rage;
And if ought can, let that my Grief asswage.
He comes; Let my Just sorrow now disclose,
What to a Lover slain, a Mistress ow's.

Scen: 5:

Horace. Camilla.

HORACE.

Sister, this arm our Brothers has reveng'd;
And Rome's declining Destiny has chang'd.
Has to Rome's sway subjected Alba's Fate;
And in one day dispos'd of either State.
Behold what Trophy's I have won, & pay
What's due from you, to such a Glorious day.

CAMILLA

Receive my tears then, which are all I ow.

HORACE.

Rome in her triumphs, will not these allow;
Blood hath too well appeas'd our Brothers slain,
For you by tears to wash away their stain.
A loss that is reveng'd should be forgot.

CAMILLA

Since then our happless Brothers need them not.
I shall not think my tears to them [are] due;
Who are so fully sattisfy'd by you.
But who will make my happiness return?
Or call that Lover back for whom I mourn?

HORACE

How's that?

CAMILLA.

My Curiace! ah! too brave! too dear!

HORACE

Ha! what are those audacious words I hear?
Can my degenerate Sister, then, retain
Love for a Publick Foe, whom I have slain?
Thy Guilty passion to revenge aspires;
But govern better thy unjust desires;
Remove my blushes, & thy flames suppress;
And be in Love, only with my success;
Let these great Trophys thy delight confine.

CAMILLA.

Give me Barbarian, then, a heart like thine;
And since my thoughts I can no more disclaim;
Restore my Curiace , or excuse my Flame.
All my delight with his dear life is fled;
I lov'd him Living, & lament him Dead.
If thou the Sister seek'st thou left'st behind,
An injur'd Mistress only thou wilt find;
Who like a Fury still must thee pursue,
And still reproach thee with his Murther too.
Inhumane Brother! who forbid'st my tears;
To whom my ruine such a Joy appears;
Who of thy cruel Slaughters growing vain,
Wouldst have me kill my Curiace ├┤re again.
May such incessant Sorrow's follow thee,
That thou may'st be reduc'd to envy me!
And by some wretched action, soon defame
Thy so ador'd, & yet so brutish name.

HORACE

O Heav'ns! who ever saw such raging Love!
Believ'st thou nothing can my temper move?
And in my blood can I this shame permit?
Love, Love that blow which so ennobles it;
And the remembrance of one Man resign
To th'Interests of Rome , if not to mine.

CAMILLA.

To Rome ! the only object of my hate;
To Rome ! whose quarrell caus'd my Lovers Fate;
To Rome ! where thou wast born; to thee so deare;
Whom I abhor, because she thee reveres;
May all her Neighbours in one Knot Combine.
Her yet unsure foundations t'undermine;
And if Italian forces seem to small;
May East & West conspire to make her fall;
And all the Nations of the barbarous World,
To ruine her, ├┤re Hills, & Seas, be hurld;
Nor these loath'd walls, may her own Fury spare,
But with her own hands, her own bowells teare;
And may Heav'ns anger kindled by my woe,
Whole deluges of Fire upon her throw;
May my Eys see her Temples overturn'd,
These houses ashes, & thy Lawrells burn'd;
See the last gasp which the last Roman draws;
And dy with Joy, for having been the Cause.

HORACE

No Patience can this Insolence evade; — (kills her
Go! meet thy Curiace , in th'Infernall shade.

CAMILLA

Ah! Traytour! —

HORACE

Perish; & be that their doome,
Who dare lament an Enemy of Rome .

Scen. 6.

Horace, Proculus.

PROCULUS

What have you done? —

HORACE

An honourable act.
Such an offence, does such revenge exact.

Act 4 Scen: 1

O: Horace Camilla.

O: HORACE

Go; no more breath for such a Coward loose;
Let him fly me, as he has done his Foes;
To save that wretched Life, he held so dear,
He has done little if he now appear.
Sabina may prevent it, or I vow,
By all the Pow'rs to which we Mortals bow; —

CAMILLA

Oh! Sir! this cruell thought no more pursue;
Or Rome her self will kinder be then you.
And she her self; though all that's dear she loose;
Valour opprest by Number will excuse.

O: HORACE.

I'm not concern'd, what mercy Rome confers,
I have a Fathers right distinct from hers;
I know no Humane Virtu ever yet
Could an assurance against Fortune get
But this I know too, boldly it may say,
I'le honour win, who ever wins the day.
And this — But stay, what does Valerius bring?

Scen 2

O: Horace, Camilla, Valerius

VALERIUS

I'm sent to wait upon you from the King;
Who mourns your loss —

O: HORACE

— That merits not his care;
And I the needless complement can spare;
I my Sons death, rather then shame would know;
And tears, then blushes better can allow.
They that are slain, like men of honour dy'd.
And thats enough; —

VALERIUS

But they are all supply'd,
By him that lives, & his immortall Fame.

O: HOR

Would he had perish'd too, & all my Name.

VALER

Can only you his vertue disesteem?

O: HOR

'Tis I alone that ought to punish him.

VALER

And what offence has in his conduct been?

O: HOR

But what great vertue in his flight was seen?

VALER.

Flight in this case, wears an illustrious name

O: HOR

Why do you cover my grey hairs with shame?
Th'example's rare indeed! & few would dy,
If men could catch bright honour when they fly.

VALER

Doe you a shame, & a confusion call,
I'have had a son who has preserv'd us all?
Who with new Triumphs did Rome 's Empire save,
What greater Honours could a Father have?

O: HOR

What honours, & what triumphs brings he home,
When Alba must dispose the fate of Rome?

VAI

What great success of Alba has appear'd?
Or have you yet but half the story heard?

O: HOR:

Was not the Combat ended by his flight?

VALER.

So Alba thought, at that mistaken sight.
But she soon found, he fled, but as became
A man entrusted with his Countrey's Fame.

O: HOR:

Does Rome triumph?

VALER.

O! his great story hear,
To whom you so unjustly are severe.
When he against three Foes was left alone;
Each of them having wounds, he having none;
Too weak for all, too strong for eithers rage;
He dextrously himself did disengage;
The stratagem of seeming flight he try'd;
And so th'abused Brothers does divide;
They all pursue, yet not with equall hast;
But as their wounds permit them, slow, or fast;
Horace looks back upon the scatterd Foe;
His looks, me=thought, new & brave hopes did show;
He waits your Son=in=Law, for he was first;
Who much incens'd to see that he so durst;
His utmost braving does in vain express;
For loss of blood deny's his arm success;
Alba , whose hopes with Curiac's strength decaydd
Crys out aloud for the next Brothers ay'd;
Who with vain hast consumes the small remain
Of his spent force, & finds his Brother slain

CAMILLA.

Alas! my Curiace —

VALERIUS

Faint, & out of breath,
He strives yet nobly, to revenge his death;
But meets his own; the plains & Hills around,
With Alban cryes, & Roman shouts resound;
Our Hero, when so near his triumph drew;
Not only Conquers now, but braves them too;
I to my Brothers shades give what is past;
But to thee Rome , I sacrifise this last;
Accept Dear Country this so noble blood;
(Says he) & hasts, to make his promise good;
The victory did scarce admit suspence;
The wounded Alban making small defence;
But as a Victim to the Altar goes;
And his throat offers to the deadly blows;
So he gave up his undefended breath;
Securing Rome's dominion by his death.

O: HORACE

O! my brave Son! true heyr of all Renown!
Only supporter of a falling Crown!
O vertue! worthy of Romes boast, & mine!
Thy Countrey's succour! Glory of thy Line!
When into tenderness shall I convert
All my injustice to thy great desert?
When shall I my repenting kindness show?
And with glad tears, bath thy victorious brow?

VALERIUS

That your endearments may soon find a place,
The King will hasten him to your Embrace;
And therfore, till to morrow, is delay'd
The Sacrifice, which must to Heav'n be paÿèd
This day no other Gratitude allows,
But songs of triumph, & the Publick vow's;
Where Horace waits the King, by whom I'm sent,
To ease your Grief, & heigthen your Content;
But this is not enough for him to pay;
He'll come himself; & that perhaps to day;
This noble action does oblige him soe,
That his own thanks he will on you bestow;
Who have resign'd your Sons, to save his Throne

O: HORACE.

That honour is too great for me to own
And what y'have said, rewards above my due;
The service of one Son, & death of two

VALERIUS

The King, who no imperfect bounty knows,
His rescu'd Scepter from insulting Foes,
Values so much, that all that he can doe,
He thinks below, either your Son, or you;
But I shall tell him with what noble Fire,
Heroick vertue does your Soul inspire;
And how much loyall Zeal to him you beare

O: HORACE.

You'll much oblige me, by so kind a Care.

Scene 3.

O: Horace Camilla.

O: HORACE

Daughter, your tears are out of season now;
And misbecome the place, where honours grow
Domestick losses we may well excuse;
When they doe publick victorys produce.
It is enough, that Rome does Alba sway;
What sufferings would not such a Glory pay?
You but a Man lost, when your Lover fell;
Whom you may quickly now repair as well.
What noble Roman , after this success;
But would be proud to make you an Address?
But to Sabina I this news must bear,
Whose blow must needs be very rude to her;
And her three Brothers by her Husband Slain;
Will give her much more Reason to complain;
But I despair not to appease her yet;
And she who is so brave, & so discreet;
Will without pain, her generous soul dispose,
To that submission, which her honour owes;
And first, be you Camilla , so discreet,
As your Triumphant Brother now to meet,
With such a cheerfull look, as may become,
One who loves nothing more, then him & Rome .
In brief, let him a Sister meet, & find
In the same blood, the same Heroick Mind

Scen. 4

CAMILLA

Yes, I shall quickly to that Brother prove,
That none can fear to dy, who dares to Love;
Nor can submit to those stern Parents sway;
Whom cruell Heav'n condemns us to obey;
You blame my Grief, you call it mean, & poor;
But in revenge, I'le cherish it the more.
Relentless Father! & my Grief shall grow
As stubborn, & unmoveable as Thou
Never did Fortune shift her treacherous part,
So many times, to break one single heart;
So oft to flatter, & so oft t'affright;
So oft to strike, before she kild outright;
Never in one day, did one heart appear,
So toss'd from Grief to Joy, from Hope to fear;
An Oracle asseures; a Dream torments;
The Battle threatens, & the Peace contents;
Just on my Marriage Eve, the Citties chose
My Lover, & my Brother to be Foes;
The souldiers murmure, & revoke the choice;
The Gods again, confirm it by their voice.
Rome seems subdu'd, & with my Brothers blood;
My Curiace only, unpolluted stood;
Did I, yee Gods! too coldly then complain
For Rome enthrall'd, & for my Brothers slain?
Did yee those secret motions disapprove,
Which still inclin'd my soul to hope, & Love?
His Death revenges on me that abuse;
With the sad way wherein I heard the news.
Valerius tells it; & to brave my Fate;
The sad event, does odiously relate;
An open gladness did his visage dress;
Less by Rome 's Glory caus'd, then my distress;
Since by his Rivall's death, his hopes renew;
He seems to share my Brothers triumph too
But this is nothing to my present woe;
I am requir'd with Joy to meet the blow;
I to the Conquerour must my praise impart;
And kiss a hand that stabs me to the heart
And when my Grief so Justly great appears;
They place an Infamy upon my tears.
I must rejoice at what afflicts me thus;
And to be noble must be Barbarous.
But from this Father I'le degenerate;
And will deserve this Gallant Brother's hate.
For Humane frailty sure, Illustrious grows,
When Brutishness for Vertue they impose.
Appear my Griefs, why should you now forbeare?
When all is lost, what hath one then to feare?
This savage Conquerour I will not fly;
But will upbraid him with his Victory;
Offend his Conquest; irritate his rage;
And if ought can, let that my Grief asswage.
He comes; Let my Just sorrow now disclose,
What to a Lover slain, a Mistress ow's.

Scen: 5:

Horace Camilla

HORACE

Sister, this arm our Brothers has reveng'd;
And Rome 's declining Destiny has chang'd
Has to Rome 's sway subjected Alba's Fate;
And in one day dispos'd of either State.
Behold what Trophy's I have won, & pay
What's due from you, to such a Glorious day.

CAMILLA

Receive my tears then, which are all I ow

HORACE

Rome in her triumphs, will not these allow;
Blood hath too well appeas'd our Brothers slain,
For you by tears to wash away their stain
A loss that is reveng'd should be forgot

CAMILLA

Since then our happless Brothers need them not.
I shall not think my tears to them [are] due;
Who are so fully sattisfy'd by you
But who will make my happiness return?
Or call that Lover back for whom I mourn?

HORACE

How's that?

CAMILLA.

My Curiace ! ah! too brave! too dear!

HORACE

Ha! what are those audacious words I hear?
Can my degenerate Sister, then, retain
Love for a Publick Foe, whom I have slain?
Thy Guilty passion to revenge aspires;
But govern better thy unjust desires;
Remove my blushes, & thy flames suppress;
And be in Love, only with my success;
Let these great Trophys thy delight confine.

CAMILLA.

Give me Barbarian, then, a heart like thine;
And since my thoughts I can no more disclaim;
Restore my Curiace , or excuse my Flame
All my delight with his dear life is fled;
I lov'd him Living, & lament him Dead.
If thou the Sister seek'st thou left'st behind,
An injur'd Mistress only thou wilt find;
Who like a Fury still must thee pursue,
And still reproach thee with his Murther too.
Inhumane Brother! who forbid'st my tears;
To whom my ruine such a Joy appears;
Who of thy cruel Slaughters growing vain,
Wouldst have me kill my Curiace ├┤re again.
May such incessant Sorrow's follow thee,
That thou may'st be reduc'd to envy me!
And by some wretched action, soon defame
Thy so ador'd, & yet so brutish name

HORACE

O Heav'ns! who ever saw such raging Love!
Believ'st thou nothing can my temper move?
And in my blood can I this shame permit?
Love, Love that blow which so ennobles it;
And the remembrance of one Man resign
To th'Interests of Rome , if not to mine

CAMILLA.

To Rome ! the only object of my hate;
To Rome ! whose quarrell caus'd my Lovers Fate;
To Rome ! where thou wast born; to thee so deare;
Whom I abhor, because she thee reveres;
May all her Neighbours in one Knot Combine.
Her yet unsure foundations t'undermine;
And if Italian forces seem to small;
May East & West conspire to make her fall;
And all the Nations of the barbarous World,
To ruine her, ├┤re Hills, & Seas, be hurld;
Nor these loath'd walls, may her own Fury spare,
But with her own hands, her own bowells teare;
And may Heav'ns anger kindled by my woe,
Whole deluges of Fire upon her throw;
May my Eys see her Temples overturn'd,
These houses ashes, & thy Lawrells burn'd;
See the last gasp which the last Roman draws;
And dy with Joy, for having been the Cause.

HORACE

No Patience can this Insolence evade; — (kills her
Go! meet thy Curiace , in th'Infernall shade.

CAMILLA

Ah! Traytour! —
HORACE

Perish; & be that their doome,
Who dare lament an Enemy of Rome .

Scen 6

Horace, Proculus

PROCULUS

What have you done? —

HORACE

An honourable act.
Such an offence, does such revenge exact.