Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven! that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Then, feeling what small things are boistrous there, Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes: see else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, Hub. Well, see to live: I will not touch thine eyes, For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : * Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised. Hub. Peace! no more. Adieu! Your uncle must not know but you are dead : Arth. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me. Much danger do I undergo for thee. HORATIUS. SHAKSPERE. LARS PORSENA of Clusium array. East and west and south and north And tower and town and cottage * Owns. Shame on the false Etruscan Is on the march for Rome. The horsemen and the footmen Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine. Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves But now no stroke of woodman Grazes the milk-white steer; In the Volsinian mere. The harvests of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; And in the vats of Luna, This year the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls, Whose sires have marched to Rome. To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote, In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. I wis, in all the Senate, There was no heart so bold, In haste they girded up their gowns, They held a council standing Before the River-gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. Out spoke the Consul roundly: "The bridge must straight go down; For, since Janiculum is lost, Nought else can save the town." Just then a scout came flying, 66 All wild with haste and fear: On the low hills to westward And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come; Now through the gloom appears, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, [Here Horatius, Lartius, and Herminius undertake to keep back the enemy from passing the bridge till it can be hewn down.] Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Came flashing back the noonday light, As that great host, with measured tread, The Three stood calm and silent, |