Cam. We, being pris'ners, were hurried straight away
To th' enemy's quarters, where my ill fate
Made me appear too pleasing to the eyes
Of their commander, who at first approach
Pretends to parley in a lover's style,
Protesting that my face had chang'd our fortunes,
And him my captive made: but finding soon,
How little he advanc'd in his design
By flattery and his feign'd submission,
He shifts his person, calls me his prisoner,
And swears my virgin treasure was his prize:
But yet protests he had much rather owe it
To my indulgence than his own good-fortune.
And so, through storms and calms, the villain still
Pursues his course to his accursed end;
But finding me inflexible to his threats
As well as fawnings, he resolves to use
The last and uncontrolled argument
Of impious men in power—force.
Por. Ah, poor Camilla! where was your dear[45] brother
At a time of such distress?
Cam. My brother? he, alas! was long before
Borne away from me in the first encounter;
Where having certainly behav'd himself
As well became his nation and his name,
Remain'd sore wounded in another house.
Por. Prythee, make haste to free me from this fright.
Cam. The brute approaches, and by violence
Endeavours to accomplish his intent:
I invocate my guardian angel, and resist,
But with unequal force, though rage supplied
Those spirits which my fear had put to flight.
At length, grown faint with crying out and striving,
I spied a dagger by the villain's side,
Which snatching boldly out, as my last refuge,
With his own arms I wound the savage beast:
He at the stroke unseiz'd me, and gave back.
So guilt produces cowardice. Then I,
The dagger pointing to my breast, cried out,
Villain, keep off, for, if thou dost persist,
I'll be myself both sacrifice and priest:
I boldly now defy thy lust and hate;
She, that dares choose to die, may brave her fate!
Por. O, how I love and envy thee at once!
[Porcia starts to her, and kisses her.
Go on, brave maid.
Cam. Immediately the drums and trumpets sound,
Pistols go off, and a great cry, To arms,
To arms! The lustful satyr flies. I stand,
Fix'd with amazement to the marble floor,
Holding my guardian dagger up aloft,
As if the ravisher had threaten'd still.
Por. I fancy thee, Camilla, in that brave posture,
Like a noble statue which I remember
To have seen of the enraged Juno,
When she had robb'd Jove of his thunderbolt.