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Show (no) Offend his Conqueft, irritate his rage, And if ought can, let that m y grief affwage: He comes, let m y juft forrow n o w difclofe, What to a Lbver (lain a Miftrefs owes. SCEN. V. Horace, Camilla. HORACE Sifter, this arm our Brothers has reveng'd, And Rome's declining Deftiny has chang'd -, Has to Romes fway fubje&ed Alba's Fate, And in one day xiifpos d of either State. Behold what Trophies I have won, and pay What's due from you to fuch a glorious day, CAMILLA. Receive m y tears then, which are all I owe. HORACE. Rome in her Triumphs will not thofe allow : Bloud hath too well appeas'd our Brothers flain, For you by tears to wafh away their ftain. A lofs that is *evengki, fhould be forgot. CAMILLA. Since then our haplefs Brothers needs them not, I fhall not think m y tears to them are due, W h o are fo fully fotisfi'd by you. But who will make m y happinefs return? Or call the Lover back for w h o m I mourn ? HORACE. How's that ? CAMILLA. My Curtius, ah too brave! too dear J HORACE. Ha! what are thofe audacious words I hear ? Can m y degenerate Sifter then retain Love for a publick Foe, W h o m I have flain? (ill) This guilty pafiion to revenge afpires* But govern better thy unjuft defires', Remove m y blufhes, and thy flame fupprefs* And be in love only with m y fuccefs : Let thefe great Trophies thy delight confine. CAMILLA. Give me, Barbarian, then, a heart like thine ; And fince m y thoughts I can no more difclaim Reftore m y Curtius, or excufe m y flame j All m y delight, with his dear life is fled, I lov'd him living, and lament him dead. If thou the Sifter feek'ft thou left'ft behind, A n injur'd Miftrefs only thou wilt find, W h o , like a Fury, ftill muft thee purfue, And ftill reproach thee with his murther too. Inhumane Brother ! w h o forbid'ft m y tears, T o whom m y ruine fuch a joy appears: W h o of thy cruel flaughters growing vain, Would'ft have m e kill m y Curtius o'er again i May fuch inceffant forrows follow thee, That thou may'ft be reduc'd to envy me, And by fome wretched action foon defame, Thy fo ador'd, and yet fo brutifh Name. HORACE. O Heavens! who ever faw fuch raging love! Believ'ft thou nothing can m y temper move ? And in m y blood can Tihis fhame permit? Love, love that blow which fo ennobles it j And the remembrance of one man refign, T o th' interefts of Rome, if not to mine. CAMILLA. T o Rome ! the only objefi of m y hate ! T o Rome! whofe quarrel caus'd m y Lover's Fate I T o Rome! where thou wert born, to thee fo dear. W h o m I abhor, 'caufe fhe does thee revere. M a y all her neighbours, in one knot combine, Her yet unfure foundations t* undermine £ And if Italian Foxces feem too fmall, |
