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C U R T I U S. Camilla doubtit not, that Man is come Neither the Conquerour, nor Slave o f Rome -, Nor think he could before your face have ftood W ith Roman Fetters charg’d, or Roman blood. Glory and Rome, you love at fuch a rate, You would defpifc my chain, and Conqueft hate } And fince alike in an extream fo great I fear’d a ViXory, and a defeat----- ( C A M I L L A . ’Tis enough Curtins, I can guefs thy aim, Thou fly’ft a Field fo fatal to thy Flame; Rather then me, thy amorous heart would lofe. It to thy Countrey does thy Sword refufe. Let others make reflexions on thy Fame, And if they pleafe, fo great a paflions blame} I can no quarrel have to this defign, What moft thy Love fhews, moft obliges mine : And if to Alba fuccour that denys, Tis to make me the greater Sacrifice.