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Show (86) SCEN. V. Camilla, Curtius* CAMILLA. But wilt thou go, and this fad Fame poflefs At the expence of all our happinefs > CURTIUS. Alas! what e r I do, I find that I Muft by m y grief, if* not by Horace, die; But as m y Torture I this Honor fee, And curfe the favour Alba does to m e ; I hate that Courage which fhe fo efteems, Nay m y defpairing paifion impious feems, And dares accufe the gods for all this w o ; I mourn our Fortune, but yet I muft go. CAMILLA. No, thou wouldft have m e all m y intereft ufe, And thee to Alba by m y power excufe : Thy former Afts have thee fo famous made, That to thy Country all thy debts are paid ; None better hath than thou the W a r upheld, Nor with more deaths cover'd the guilty field. Thy Name can be no greater than it is, Suffer fome other n o w t' ennoble his. CURTIUS. What, (hall m y Eyes anothers Temples fee Bound with thofe Laurels Fame prepares for m e t Or, by Pofterity, fhall it be thought, Alba had conquer'd, if I would have fought ? No, fince to m e fhe dares entruft her doom, She fharl, by me, or fall, or overcome : A good account HI of her Fortune give, And dye with Honor, or with Conqueft live. C A M I L LA But to betray m e then, thy love endures! CURTIUS. I was m y Country's e'r I could be yours. (§7) CAMILLA. Wilt thou thy Sifters mifery create, A n d widow her ? CURTIUS. Such is m y cruel Fate: Brother and Sifter, names fo fweet before, By Albas choice, and Rome's, are fo no more. CAMILLA. Wilt thou prefcnt m e with m y Brother's head, And on that ftep mount to the Bridal bed > CURTIUS. All I dare think (fo dear m y fame will coft) Is ftill to love, though all m y hope be loft You weep m y D e a r- CAMILLA. H o w can I tears avoid, W h o , by m y cruel Lover, am deftroy'd ? W h e n Hymen would his kindled Torch have lent H e puts out that, to dig m y Monument', This favage heart, m y ruine can decree, And fays he loves, when yet he murthers me CURTIUS. H o w eloquent are tears from eyeswe love! H o w ftrong does Beauty, with that fuccor, prove I M y heart diftolves at fuch a mournful fight, Nor againft that can all m y Virtue fight : Strike not m y Fame in this fubduing fhape, But let m y Honor from your tears efcape ; I feel it fhake, and fcarce defend the place, For Curtius to the Lover yields apace ; With Friendfhip it hath had enough to do, And muft it ftrive with Love, and Pity too > Go, love m e not, nor one tear more expofe For him that dares offend fuch charms as thofe : I better with your anger fhould have fought, And to defervc it all, I love you not: Punifh this treacherous, this ingrateful heart, At fuch an injury do you not ftart > |