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If, shunning faults which nobler bards commit,
He wants the force to strike th' attentive pit,
Be just, and tell him so; he asks advice,
Willing to learn, and would not ask it twice.
Your kind applause may bid him write-beware!
Or kinder censure teach him to forbear.

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THE ROMAN FATHER.

ACT I. SCene 1.

A Room in HORATIUS's House A Soldier crosses the Stage, HORATIA following.

Horatia.

STAY, soldier. As you parted from my father,
Something I overheard of near concern,

But all imperfectly. Said you not Alba

Was on the brink of fate, and Rome determin'd
This day to crush her haughty rival's power,

Or perish in th' attempt?

Sold. 'Twas so resolv'd

This morning, lady, ere I left the camp.

Our heroes are tir'd out with ling'ring war,

And half-unmeaning fight.

Horatia. "Alas! I hop'd

"The kind remorse which touch'd the kindred states, "And made their swords fall lightly on the breasts "Of foes they could not hate, might have produc'd "A milder resolution." Then this day

Is fix'd for death or conquest? [He bows. ] To me death,
Whoever conquers! [Aside.] I detain you, sir.
Commend me to my brothers; say, I wish-

But wherefore should I wish? The gods will crown
Their virtues with the just success they merit-
Yet let me ask you, sir-

Sold. My duty, lady,

Commands me hence. Ere this they have engag'd; And conquest's self would lose its charms to me, Should I not share the danger.

As the Soldier goes out, VALERIA enters, who looks first on him, and then on HORATIA.

Valeria. My dear Horatia, wherefore wilt thou

court

The means to be unhappy? Still enquiring,
Still more to be undone. I heard it too;
And flew to find thee, ere the fatal news

Had hurt thy quiet, that thou might'st have learnt it
From a friend's tongue, and dress'd in gentler terms.
Horatia. Oh, I am lost, Valeria! lost to virtue.
Ev'n while my country's fate, the fate of Rome,
Hangs on the conqueror's sword, this breast can feel
A softer passion, and divide its cares.

Alba to me is Rome. Wouldst thou believe it?
I would have sent, by him thou saw'st departing,
Kind wishes to my brothers; but my tongue
Denied its office, and this rebel heart

Ev'n dreaded their success. Oh, Curiatius !
Why art thou there, or why an enemy?

Valeria. Forbear this self-reproach; he is thy husband,

And who can blame thy fears? If fortune make him
A while thy country's foe, she cannot cancel
Vows register'd above. What tho' the priest
Had not confirm'd it at the sacred altar;
Yet were your hearts united, and that union
Approv❜d by each consenting parent's choice.
Your brothers lov'd him as a friend, a brother;
And all the ties of kindred pleaded for him,
And still must plead, whate'er our heroes teach us,
Of patriot-strength. Our country may demand
We should be wretched, and we must obey;
But never can require us not to feel

That we are miserable: nature there
Will give the lie to virtue.

Horatia. True; yet sure

A Roman virgin should be more than woman.
Are we not early taught to mock at pain,
And look on danger with undaunted eyes?
But what are dangers, what the ghastliest form
Of death itself?-Oh, were I only bid

To rush into the Tiber's foaming wave,

"Swol❜n with uncommon floods," or from the height Of yon Tarpeian rock, whose giddy steep

Has turn'd me pale with horror at the sight,
I'd think the task were nothing! but to bear
These strange vicissitudes of tort'ring pain,
To fear, to doubt, and to despair as I do----
Valeria. And why despair? Have we so idly learn'd

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