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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

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

l'aleria. The wings of love
" Cannot fiy faster than my brother's zeal
“Will bear him for your service.

Horati.. I believe it, “ Yet doubt it too. My sickly mind unites Strange

contradictions.” Valeria. Shall I to the walls ? 1 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; “ į 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 l_Love, I thank thee!

Enter a Servant. Well, does he yield > Distract me not with silence. Say, in one word

Seru. 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.
Iloratius. Lead me yet a little onward ;
I shall recover straight,

Horatia. My gracious sire !
Horatius. Lend me thy arm, Horatia--So-. My

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


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

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

Relieve me from the rack.

Horatius. He teils 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 qut the combat. Couldst thou think, Horatia, lle'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.

Horaiius. 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 arni, been baffled, What then couldst thou expect? Would he not curse His foolish love, and hate thee for thy fondness? Nay, think, perhaps, 'twas irtifice 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 I had reason ever yet the

pouer 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 engagéd, and count the tedious moments Till conquest swild, and Rume again was free. Could reason govern, I should beg of Heaven o guide my brot er's sword, and plunge it deep

in the busum 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’ihee, 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 hol 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. I'll restrain my tears, If they offend you.

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

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