Thou might'st have lived, for thou hadst spared Irene. Car. I heard her, pitied her, and wished to ⚫ save her. Mah. And wished-Be still thy fate to wish in vain ! Car. I heard, and softened, till Abdalla brought Her final doom, and hurried her destruction. Mah. Abdalla brought her doom! Abdalla brought it! The wretch, whose guilt, declared by tortured Cali, My rage and grief had hid from my remembrance! Abdalla brought her doom! Has. Abdalla brought it, While she yet begged to plead her cause before thee. Mah. O seize me, madness! Did she call on me? I feel, I see the ruffian's barbarous rage. me. My spirits fail; awhile support me, vengeanceBe just, ye slaves, and to be just, be cruel! Contrive now racks, imbitter every pang, Though sluggish idler, dilatory slave! That marked my course, suspicious of my purpose, Rushed out and seized me, thoughtless and unarmed, Breathless, amazed, and on the guarded beach Detained me, till Demetrius set me free. Mus. So sure the fall of greatness raised on crimes; So fixed the justice of all-conscious Heaven. EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY ASPASIA. MARRY a Turk! a haughty tyrant king, But how the devil should he please us all? And for one man-one wife's enough in conscience. In vain proud man usurps what's woman's duc; For us alone, they honour's paths pursue: Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend; Woman the source, the object, and the end. Though wealth and power and glory they receive, These all are trifles, to what we can give. For us the statesman labours, hero fights, Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights; And when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms. THE ROMAN FATHER. BY WHITEHEAD. PROLOGUE. BRITONS, to-night, in native pomp we come, What can we frame, a polish'd age to please? Our bard has play'd a most adventurous part, And turn'd upon himself the critic's art: Stripp'd each luxuriant plume from fancy's wings, These are his arts; if these cannot atone ACT I. Horatia. Oh, I am lost, Valeria, lost to virtue! Even while my country's fate, the fate of Rome, Hangs on the conqueror's sword, this breast can feel A softer passion, and divide its cares! Alba to me is Rome. Wouldst thou believe it? And who can blame thy fears? If fortune make him Awhile thy country's foe, she cannot cancel us, Of patriot strength. Our country may demand Horatia. True; yet sure A Roman virgin should be more than woman. Valeria. And why despair? Have we so idly The noblest lessons of our infant days, Who hears the victor's threats, and sees his sword Impending o'er him, feels no surer fate, Though less delayed than mine! What should I hope? That Alba conquer?-Cursed be every thought Which looks that way! The shrieks of captive Horatias And if Rome conquers, then Horatia dies! Valeria. Why wilt thou form vain images of horror, Industrious to be wretched? Is it, then, And love shall combat in Horatia's cause. His soul's too great to give me such a trial; I should despise the slave who dared survive Didst thou not wish me to the temple?-Come, Val. 'Twere tedious, lady, and unnecessary, Had caught each other's eyes, nor dared to lift Then nearer drew, and at the third alarm, Hor. 'Twas so, just so, (Though I was then a child, yet I have heard you Proceed, Valerius, they would hear the event. Valeria. Alas, Horatia, 'tis not to the temple-And yet, methinks, the Albans—pray go on.' That thou wouldst fly; the shout alone alarms thee. But do not thus anticipate thy fate; Why shouldst thou learn each chance of varying war, Which takes a thousand turns, and shifts the scene From bad to good, as fortune smiles or frowns? Stay but an hour perhaps, and thou shalt know The whole at once.-I'll send-I'll fly myself To ease thy doubts, and bring thee news of joy. Horatia. Again, and nearer too-I must attend thee. Valeria. Hark! 'tis thy father's voice; he comes to cheer thee. Enter HORATIUS and VALERIUS. Horatius. [Entering.] News from the camp, my child! Save you, sweet maid! [Seeing VALERIA. Your brother brings the tidings, for, alas! I am no warrior now; my useless age, Far from the paths of honour, loiters here In sluggish inactivity at home. Yet I remember Horatia. You'll forgive us, sir, If with impatience we expect the tidings. Horatius. I had forgot; the thoughts of what I was Engrossed my whole attention.-Pray, young soldier, Relate it for me; you beheld the scene, Val. Gentle lady, The scene was piteous, though its end be peace. Horatia. Peace? O, my fluttering heart! by what kind means? Val. Our king Hostilius, from a rising mound, Even to the thickest press, and cried, 'My friends, Horatia. There spoke his country's father! this The flight of earth-born kings, whose low ambition But tends to lay the face of nature waste, Val. As he himself could wish, with eager transport. In short, the Roman and the Alban chiefs Horatia. Kind Heaven, I thank thee! Blessed be the friendly grief that touched their souls! Blessed be Hostilius for the generous counsel! Valeria. Now, Horatia, Your idle fears are o'er. Horatia. Yet one remains. Who are the champions? Are they yet elected? Has Rome Val. The Roman chiefs now meet in council, And ask the presence of the sage Horatius. Hor. [After having seemed some time in thought.] Sweet lady! 'tis so solemnly agreed to, Hor. And yet 'twere well to end these civil broils : The neighbouring states might take advantage of them. -Would I were young again! How glorious Were death in such a cause!-And yet, who knows Some of my boys may be selected for it-Perhaps may conquer Grant me that, kind gods, And close my eyes in transport!-Come, Valerius, I'll but dispatch some necessary orders, ven, That one at least may share the glorious task. [Exit. Val. Rome cannot trust her cause to worthier hands. They bade me greet you, lady.— [To HORAtia. Well, Valeria, This is your home, I find: your lovely friend, And you, I doubt not, have indulged strange fears, And run o'er all the horrid scenes of war? Valeria. Though we are women, brother, we are Romans, Not to be scared with shadows, though not proof 'Gainst all alarms, when real danger threatens. Horatia. [With some hesitation.] My brothers, gentle sir, you said were well. Saw you their noble friends the Curiatii? The truce, perhaps, permitted it. Val. Yes, lady, I left them jocund in your brothers' tent, My father may have business- -Oh, Valeria, I dread to hear, and let me learn to die, Can you administer the baneful potion, Val. You talk in riddles ! [Exit. Valeria. They're riddles, brother, which your Though you affect surprise. Was Curiatius Val. What could I do? this peace has ruined me; Valeria. Yes, now you must resolve to follow The advice I gave you first, and root this passion Entirely from your heart; for know, she doats, Even to distraction doats on Curiatius; And every fear she felt, while danger threatened, Will now endear him more. Val. Cruel Valeria, You triumph in my pain! Valeria. By Heaven, I do not; I only would extirpate every thought Which gives you pain, nor leave one foolish wish For hope to dally with. When friends are mad, 'Tis most unkind to humour their distraction; Harsh means are necessary. Val. Yet we first Should try the gentler. Valeria. Did I not? Ye powers! Did I not soothe your griefs, indulge your fond ness, While the least prospect of success remained? Like friends, whom envious storms awhile had Intreat you daily to declare your passion, parted, Joying to meet again. Horatia. Sent they no message! Val. None, fair one, but such general salutation Horatia. Ay, Caius ! did he mention me? now O yes, I do remember, when your brother VOL. II. Seek out unnumbered opportunities, Val. Alas! thou know'st, Valeria, woman's heart Valeria. True, these are arts for those that love at leisure; R |