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Show (lid) ^ et Roman Virtue I renounce, imce I To put-chafe that muft fell humanity. Can the deplored J ifter of the dead, Like a great Conquerors Wife advance her head ? L et publick Trophies publick Joys adorn, Whilft we in private, private loffes mourn, Nor value goods which common are to allp" Whilft on our felves domeftick mifchiefs fall. W h e n thou cam'ft in thou might'ft have left thy State Behind thee, and thy Laurel's at the Gate, Mixing thy.tears with mine. This vain difcourfe Gives m e no comfort, out much more remorfe ', Thy rage m y crime redoubl'd could not fire -, Camillas happy fhe hath her defire, Juftly to her that love thou did'ft rcftore Of which by thee (he had been rob'd before : Let now the belov'd Author of m y grief Punifh m y guilt, or give m y tears relief. 'Tis ftrange that neither favour nor offence M y merits, nor m y crimes can recompenfe ', Nor one nor other (hall unwelcome come When from a Husband I receive m y doome HORACE. Ye gods, when ye did firft to W o m a n truft The Empire of Man's Soul you were unjuft. Strange I that fnch weak a/Iailants ftill fhould win The Field, and our unguarded hearts take in. Where art thou loft ? m y vertue either fly, Or leave thy tears, eKe thou or I muft dye. (Exeunt all but Sabina. ; SAB IN. Anger and pity deaf to m y defires, Both fly m y crimes, and both m y forrow tires : If neither grace nor punifhment I have, W h e n dead I (hall find quiet in m y grave. Exit. ACT. C"5) i^mmmm^tmmmtt A C T V. SCEN. I. Old Horace, Young Horace. From this fad ob;e& Jet our eves retire And the high ;uftice of the g S Zirc • for when our Pride exalts it folf, they know The means to lay our high ambi ion low • Our greateft pJCafUres are with fidncfi L And blemnhes on virtues face are fixt I cannot: think m y poor Camilla free From blame, yet her I lefs aceufethan thee v££l*i R ° m a n ' fuch a S°« begot Unlefs te^Jfig&tfj*"**, That might have look'd like juftice, t£ifl thee Unnatural fury and raft cruelty. ' HORACE. Sir Childrens lives their Fathers wills attend And mine, if you but give the word ft5P J 1 thought it juft, wheregfte S f i f c i d S She ftould it Jofe, but if I misbehevd? It you m y zeal judge brutift and Prophane And that tfts adion did your h o n o f E ' The hand that made the blot ftall it deface And free from infamy th' Horatian Race. Let fond aftedion no pretences make Your intereft or honor to forfake • Nor let your wifdom be betray'd by love, T o fuffer what it felf m ift difapprove. Tt old |