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"Each distant object of refin'd distress,

"Shuts out all means of happiness, nor leaves it
"In fortune's power to save you from destruction.”
Like some distemper'd wretch, your wayward mind
Rejects all nourishment, or turns to gall

The very balm that should relieve its anguish.
He will admire thy love, which could persuade him
To give up glory for the milder triumph

Of heart-felt ease and soft humanity.

Horatia. I fain would hope so. Yet we hear not of him.

Your brother, much I fear, has su'd in vain.
Could we not send to urge this slow express-
This dread uncertainty! I long to know
My life or death at once.

"Valeria. The wings of love

"Cannot fly faster than my brother's zeal "Will bear him for your service.

"Horatia. I believe it,

"Yet doubt it too. My sickly mind unites "Strange contradictions."

Valeria. Shall I to the walls?

I may from thence with ease survey the field,
And can dispatch a messenger each moment,
To tell thee all goes well.

Horatia. My best Valeria!

Fly then; "I know thy heart is there already.”
Thou art a Roman maid; and though thy friendship
Detains thee here with one who scarce deserves
That sacred name, art anxious for thy country.

But yet for charity think kindly of me ;

For thou shalt find by the event, Valeria,

I am a Roman too, however wretched. [Exit Valeria. Am I a Roman then? Ye powers! I dare not

Resolve the fatal question I propose.

If dying would suffice, I were a Roman :

But to stand up against this storm of passions,

Transcends a woman's weakness. Hark! what noise? 'Tis news from Curiatius !-Love, I thank theel

Enter a Servant.

Well, does he yield? Distract me not with silence. Say, in one word

Serv. Your father

Horatia. What of him?

Would he not let him yield? Oh, cruel father!

Serv. Madam, he's here

Horatia. Who?

Serv. Borne by his attendants.

Horatia. What mean'st thou ?

Enter HORATIUS, led in by his Servants. Horatius. Lead me yet a little onward;

I shall recover straight.

Horatia. My gracious sire!

Horatius. Lend me thy arm, Horatia-So-.My

child,

Be not surpris'd; an old man must expect
These little shocks of nature; they are hints
To warn us of our end.

Horatia. How are you, sir?

Horatius. Better, much better. My frail body could

not

Support the swelling tumult of

my soul.

Horatia. No accident, I hope, alarm'd you, sir!

My brothers

Horatius. Here, go to the field again,

You, Cautus and Vindicius, and observe

Each circumstance. I shall be glad to hear

The manner of the fight.

Horatia. Are they engag'd ?

Horatius. They are, Horatia. But first let me thank thee

For staying from the field. I would have seen
The fight myself; but this unlucky illness
Has forc'd me to retire. Where is thy friend?

Enter a Servant, who gives a paper to HORATIA, and

retires.

What paper's that? Why dost thou tremble so?
Here, let me open it. [Takes the paper and opens it.]
From Curiatius I'

Horatia. Oh, keep me not in this suspense, my

father!

Relieve me from the rack.

Horatius. He tells thee here,

He dare not do an action that would make him

Unworthy of thy love; and therefore

Horatia. Dies !

Well-I am satisfied.

Horatius. I see by this

Thou hast endeavour'd to persuade thy lover

To quit the combat. Couldst thou think, Horatia, He'd sacrifice his country to a woman ?

Horatia. I know not what I thought. He proves

too plainly,

Whate'er it was, I was deceiv'd in him

Whom I applied to.

Horatius. Do not think so, daughter;

Could he with honour have declin'd the fight,
I should myself have join'd in thy request,
And forc'd him from the field. But think, my child,
Had he consented, and had Alba's cause,
Supported by another arm, been baffled,

What then couldst thou expect? Would he not curse
His foolish love, and hate thee for thy fondness ?
Nay, think, perhaps, 'twas artifice in thee

To aggrandize thy race, and lift their fame

Triumphant o'er his ruin and his country's.

Think well on that, and reason must convince thee. Horatia. [Wildly.] Alas! had reason ever yet the power

To talk down grief, or bid the tortur'd wretch
Not feel his anguish? 'Tis impossible.

Could reason govern, I should now rejoice

They were engag'd, and count the tedious moments
Till conquest smil'd, and Rome again was free.
Could reason govern, I should beg of Heaven
To guide my brother's sword, and plunge it deep
Ev'n in the bosom of the man I love:

I should forget he ever won my soul,

Forget 'twas your command that bade me love him, Nay, fly perhaps to yon detested field,

And spurn with scorn his mangled body from me. Horatius. Why wilt thou talk thus? Pry'thee, be more calm.

I can forgive thy tears; they flow from nature;
And could have gladly wish'd the Alban state
Had found us other enemies to vanquish.

But Heaven has will'd it, and Heaven's will be done!

The glorious expectation of success

Buoys up my soul, nor lets a thought intrude
To dash my promis'd joys! What steady valour
Beams from their eyes: just so, if fancy's power
May form conjecture from his after-age,

Rome's founder must have look'd, when, warm in

youth,

And flush'd with future conquest, forth he march'd
Against proud Acron, with whose bleeding spoils
He grac'd the altar of Feretrian Jove-
Methinks I feel recover'd: I might venture
Forth to the field again. What ho! Volscinius!
Attend me to the camp.

Horatia. My dearest father,

Let me entreat you stay; the tumult there
Will discompose you, and a quick relapse
May prove most dangerous.

If they offend you.

I'll restrain my tears,

Horatius. Well, I'll be advis'd.

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