That I should live to this-my soul's too full;

Let this and this speak for me.-Bless thee, bless

thee !

[Embracing him.

But wherefore art thou absent from the camp?
Where are thy brothers? Has the Alban state
Determin'd? is the time of combat fix'd ?

Pub. Think not, my lord, that filial reverence,
However due, had drawn me from the field,
Where nobler duty calls; a patriot's soul
Can feel no humbler ties, nor knows the voice
Of kindred, when his country claims his aid.
It was the king's command I should attend you,
Else had I staid 'till wreaths immortal grac'd
My brows, and made thee proud indeed to see
Beneath thy roof, and bending for thy blessing,
Not thine, Horatius, but the son of Rome!

Horatius. Oh, virtuous pride!-'tis bliss too exquisite

For human sense !-thus, let me answer thee.

Where are my other boys?

[Embracing him again.

Pub. They only wait

'Till Alba's loit'ring chiefs declare her champions,

Our future victims, sir, and with the news

Will greet their father's ear.

Horatius. It shall not need,

Myself will to the field.

Come, let us haste,

My old blood boils, and my tumultuous spirits
Pant for the onset. O, for one short hour
Of vigorous youth, that I might share the toil

Now with my boys, and be the next my last!
Horatia. My brother!

Pub. My Horatia ere the dews

Of evening fall, thou shalt with transport own me ;
Shalt hold thy country's saviour in thy arms,
Or bathe his honest bier with tears of joy.
Thy lover greets thee, and complains of absence
With many a sigh, and many a longing look
Sent tow'rd the towers of Rome.

Horatia. Methinks, a lover

Might take th' advantage of the truce, and bear
His kind complaints himself, not trust his vows
To other tongues, or be oblig'd to tell
The passing winds his passion.

Pub. Dearest sister,

He with impatience waits the lucky moment
That may with honour bear him to your arms.
Didst thou but hear how tenderly he talks,
How blames the dull delay of Alban councils,
And chides the ling'ring minutes as they pass,
'Till fate determines, and the tedious chiefs
Permit his absence, thou wouldst pity him.
But soon, my sister, soon shall every bar
Which thwarts thy happiness be far away.
We are no longer enemies to Alba,

This day unites us, and to-morrow's sun

May hear thy vows, and make my friend my brother. Horatius. [Having talked apart with Valeria. ['Tis truly Roman.-Here's a maid, Horatia,

Laments her brother lost the glorious proof

Of dying for his country.-Come, my son,
Her softness will infect thee; pr'ythee, leave her.
Horatia. [Looking first on her father, and then tenderly

on her brother.] Not 'till my soul has pour'd
its wishes for him.

Hear me, dread god of war, prote& and save him!
[Kneeling.

For thee, and thy immortal Rome, he fights |
Dash the proud spear from every hostile hand
That dare oppose him; may each Alban chief
Fly from his presence, or his vengeance feel!
And when in triumph he returns to Rome, [Rising.
Hail him, ye maids, with grateful songs of praise,
And scatter all the blooming spring before him;
Curs'd be the envious brow that smiles not then,
Curs'd be the wretch that wears one mark of sorrow,
Or flies not thus with open arms to greet

him.

Enter TULLUS HOSTILIUS, VALERIUS, and Guards.

Valerius. The king, my lord, approaches.

Horatius. Gracious sir,

Whence comes this condescension ?

Tullus. Good old man;

Could I have found a nobler messenger,

I would have spar'd myself th' ungrateful task
Of this day's embassy, for much I fear

My news will want a welcome.

Horatius. Mighty king!

Forgive an old man's warmth

-They have not sure

Made choice of other combatants!-My sons,

Must they not fight for Rome?

Tullus. Too sure they must.

Horatius. Then I am blest!

Tullus. But that they must engage

Will hurt thee most, when thou shalt know with whom.

Horatius. I care not whom.

Tullus. Suppose your nearest friends,

The Curiatii, were the Alban choice,

Could you bear that? Could you, young man, support A conflict there?

Pub. I could perform my duty,

Great sir, though even a brother should oppose me, Tullus. Thou art a Roman! Let thy king embrace thee.

Horatius. And let thy father catch thee from his

arms.

Tullus. [To Publius.] Know then, that trial must be thine. The Albans

With envy saw one family produce

Three chiefs, to whom their country dared entrust The Roman cause, and scorn'd to be outdone.

Horatia. Then I am lost indeed; was it for this,

For this, I pray'd!

Pub. My sister |

Valeria. My Horatia! Oh, support her!

[Swoons.

Horatius. Oh, foolish girl, to shame thy father thus ! Here, bear her in.

[Horatia is carried in, Valerius and Valeria follow.

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