"'Tis now too late. The lion when he's rous'd "Must have his prey, whose den we might have

pass'd

"In safety while he slept. To draw the sword, "And fire the youthful warrior's breast to arms "With awful visions of immortal fame,

"And then to bid him sheath it, and forget "He ever hop'd for conquest and renown"Vain, vain attempt!

"Valeria. Yet when that just attempt

"Is seconded by love, and beauty's tears
"Lend their soft aid to melt the hero down,
"What may we not expect?

"Horatia. My dear Valeria!

"Fain would I hope I had the power to move him." Valeria. My dear Horatia, success is yours already. Horatia. And yet, should I succeed, the hard-gain'd strife

May chance to rob me of my future peace.
He may not always with the eyes of love

Look on that fondness which has stabb'd his fame.
He may regret too late the sacrifice

He made to love, and a fond woman's weakness;
And think the milder joys of social life

But ill repay him for the mighty loss
Of patriot-reputation !

Valeria. Pray, furbear;

And search not thus into eventful time

For ills to come. "This fatal temper, friend,

❝ Alive to feel, and curious to explore

"Each distant object of refin'd distress,

"Shuts out all means of happiness, nor leaves it
"In fortune's power to save you from destruction.”
Like some distemper'd wretch, your wayward mind
Rejects all nourishment, or turns to gall

The very balm that should relieve its anguish.
He will admire thy love, which could persuade him
To give up glory for the milder triumph

Of heart-felt ease and soft humanity.

Horatia. I fain would hope so. Yet we hear not of him.

Your brother, much I fear, has su'd in vain.
Could we not send to urge this slow express ?-
This dread uncertainty! I long to know
My life or death at once.

"Valeria. The wings of love

"Cannot fly faster than my brother's zeal "Will bear him for your service.

"Horatia. I believe it,

"Yet doubt it too. My sickly mind unites "Strange contradictions."

Valeria. Shall I to the walls?

I may from thence with ease survey the field,
And can dispatch a messenger each moment,
To tell thee all goes well.

Horatia. My best Valeria!

Fly then; "I know thy heart is there already." Thou art a Roman maid; and though thy friendship Detains thee here with one who scarce deserves

That sacred name, art anxious for thy country.

But yet for charity think kindly of me;

For thou shalt find by the event, Valeria,

I am a Roman too, however wretched. [Exit Valeria. Am I a Roman then? Ye powers! I dare not Resolve the fatal question I propose.

If dying would suffice, I were a Roman :

But to stand up against this storm of passions, Transcends a woman's weakness. Hark! what noise? 'Tis news from Curiatius -Love, I thank thee!

Enter a Servant.

Well, does he yield? Distract me not with silence. Say, in one word

Serv. Your father

Horatia. What of him?

Would he not let him yield? Oh, cruel father!
Serv. Madam, he's here-

Horatia. Who?

Serv. Borne by his attendants.
Horatia. What mean'st thou ?

Enter HORATIUS, led in by his Servants. Horatius. Lead me yet a little onward;

I shall recover straight.

Horatia. My gracious sire!

Horatius. Lend me thy arm, Horatia-So-. My

child,

Be not surpris'd; an old man must expect
These little shocks of nature; they are hints
To warn us of our end.

Horatia. How are you, sir?

Horatius. Better, much better. My frail body could

not

Support the swelling tumult of my soul.

Horatia. No accident, I hope, alarm'd you, sir! My brothers

Horatius. Here, go to the field again,

You, Cautus and Vindicius, and observe

Each circumstance. I shall be glad to hear

The manner of the fight.

Horatia. Are they engag'd?

Horatius. They are, Horatia. But first let me thank thee

For staying from the field. I would have seen
The fight myself; but this unlucky illness
Has forc'd me to retire. Where is thy friend?

Enter a Servant, who gives a paper to HORATIA, and

retires.

What paper's that? Why dost thou tremble so?
Here, let me open it. [Takes the paper and opens it.]
From Curiatius !

Horatia. Oh, keep me not in this suspense, my father!

Relieve me from the rack.

Horatius. He tells thee here,

He dare not do an action that would make him

Unworthy of thy love; and therefore

Horatia. Dies !

Well-I am satisfied.

Horatius. I see by this

Thou hast endeavour'd to persuade thy lover
To quit the combat. Couldst thou think, Horatia,
He'd sacrifice his country to a woman?

Horatia. I know not what I thought. He proves

too plainly,

Whate'er it was, I was deceiv'd in him

Whom I applied to.

Horatius. Do not think so, daughter;

Could he with honour have declin'd the fight,
I should myself have join'd in thy request,
And forc'd him from the field. But think, my child,
Had he consented, and had Alba's cause,
Supported by another arm, been baffled,

What then couldst thou expect? Would he not curse
His foolish love, and hate thee for thy fondness ?
Nay, think, perhaps, 'twas artifice in thee

To aggrandize thy race, and lift their fame
Triumphant o'er his ruin and his country's.

Think well on that, and reason must convince thee. Horatia. [Wildly.] Alas had reason ever yet the power

To talk down grief, or bid the tortur'd wretch
Not feel his anguish ? 'Tis impossible.

Could reason govern, I should now rejoice

They were engag'd, and count the tedious moments Till conquest smil d, and Rome again was free. Could reason govern, I should beg of Heaven

()

o guide my brot er's sword, and plunge it deep in the bosom of the man I love: