I am concern'd, my sovereign,

That even the meanest part of me should blast
With impious grief a cause of so much glory.
But let the virtue of my boy excuse it.

Tullus. It does most amply. She has cause for

sorrow.

The shock was sudden, and might well alarm

A firmer bosom.

"The weak sex demand

"Our pity, not our anger; their soft breasts "Are nearer touch'd, and more expos'd to sorrows "Than man's experter sense. Nor let us blame "That tenderness which smooths our rougher na

tures,

"And softens all the joys of social life."
We leave her to her tears.

You must prepare for combat.
Are all that are allow'd

you.

For you, young soldier,

Some few hours

But I charge you

Try well your heart, and strengthen every thought
Of patriot in you. Think how dreadful 'tis
To plant a dagger in the breast you love;

To spurn the ties of nature, and forget

In one short hour whole years of virtuous friendship,
Think well on that.

Pub. I do, my gracious sovereign;
And think the more I dare subdue affection,
The more my glory.

Tullus. True; but yet consider,

Is it an easy task to change affections?
In the dread onset can your meeting eyes
Forget their usual intercourse, and wear

At once the frown of war, and stern defiance ?
Will not each look recall the fond remembrance
Of childhood past, when the whole open soul
Breath'd cordial love, and plighted many a vow
Of tend'rest import Think on that, young soldier,
And tell me if thy breast be still unmov'd?

Pub. Think not, oh, king, howe'er resolv'd on combat,

I sit so loosely to the bonds of nature,

As not to feel their force. I feel it strongly.
I love the Curiatii, and would serve them
At life's expence: but here a nobler cause
Demands my sword: for all connections else,
All private duties are subordinate

To what we owe the public.

Partial ties
Of son and father, husband, friend or brother,
Owe their enjoyments to the public safety,
And without that were vain.-Nor need we, sir,
Cast off humanity, and to be heroes

Cease to be men. As in our earliest days,
While yet we learn'd the exercise of war,
We strove together, not as enemies,
Yet conscious each of his peculiar worth,
And scorning each to yield; so will we now
Engage with ardent, not with hostile minds,
Not fir'd with rage, but emulous of fame.

Tullus. Now I dare trust thee; go and teach thy

brothers

To think like thee, and conquest is your own.

is is true courage, not the brutal force

Of vulgar heroes, but the firm resolve
Of virtue and of reason. He who thinks

Without their aid to shine in deeds of arms,
Builds on a sandy basis his renown;

A dream, a vapour, or an ague fit

May make a coward of him.-Come, Horatius,
Thy other sons shall meet thee at the camp,
For now I do bethink me, 'tis not fit

They should behold their sister thus alarm'd.

Haste, soldier, and detain them. [To one of the guards

Horatius. Gracious sir,

We'll follow on the instant.

Tullus. Then farewell.

When next we meet, 'tis Rome and liberty!

[Exit with guards.

Horatius. Come, let me arm thee for the glorious

toil.

I have a sword, whose lightning oft has blaz'd
Dreadfully fatal to my country's foes;

Whose temper'd edge has cleft their haughty crests,
And stain'd with life-blood many a reeking plain.
This shalt thou bear; myself will gird it on,
And lead thee forth to death or victory.

[Going.

-And yet, my Publius, shall I own my weakness; Though I detest the cause from whence they spring, I feel thy sister's sorrows like a father.

She was my soul's delight.

Pub. And may remain so.

This sudden shock has but alarm'd her virtue,

Not quite subdued its force.

At least, my father,

D

Time's lenient hand will teach her to endure

The ills of chance, and reason conquer love.
Horatius. Should we not see her?

Pub. By no means, my lord;

You heard the king's commands about my brothers,
And we have hearts as tender sure as they.
Might I advise, you should confine her closely,
Lest she infect the matrons with her grief,
And bring a stain we should not wish to fix
On the Horatian name.

Horatius. It shall be so.

We'll think no more of her. 'Tis glory calls,
And humbler passions beat alarms in vain.

[Exit.

AS HORATIUS goes off, HORATIA enters at another Door.

Horatia. Where is my brother?-Oh, my dearest Publius,

If e'er you lov'd Ifaratia, ever felt

That tenderness which you have seem'd to feel,
Oh, hear her now!

Pub. What wouldst thou, my Horatia?

Horatia. I know not what I would-I'm on the rack, Despair and madness tear my labʼring soul.

-And yet, my brother, sure you might relieve me.

Pub. How! by what means? By Heaven, I'll die
to do it.

Horatia. You might decline the combat.
Pub. Ha!

Horatia. I do not

Expect it from thee. Pr'ythee, look more kindly. -And yet, is the request so very hard ?

I only ask thee not to plunge thy sword

Into the breast thou lov'st, not kill thy friend;
Is that so hard --I might have said thy brother.
Pub. What canst thou mean? Beware, beware,

Horatia ;

Thou know'st 1 dearly love thee, nay, thou know'st
I love the man with whom I must engage.
Yet hast thou faintly read thy brother's soul,
If thou canst think intreaties have the power,
Though urg'd with all the tenderness of tears,
To shake his settled purpose: they may make
My task more hard, and my soul bleed within me,
But cannot touch my virtue.

Horatia. 'Tis not virtue

Which contradicts our nature, 'tis the rage

Of over-weening pride. Has Rome no champions
She could oppose but you? Are there not thousands
As warm for glory, and as tried in arms,

Who might without a crime aspire to conquest,
Or die with honest fame ?

Pub. Away, away!

Talk to thy lover thus. But 'tis not Caius

Thou wouldst have infamous.

Horatia. Oh, kill me not

With such unkind reproaches. Yes, I own

I love him, more

Pub. Than a chaste Roman maid

Should dare confess.