Tarquin. He was: by power divine[5.11] The throne that long since he usurped is mine. Here we enthrone ourselves, cathedral state, Long since detained us, justly we resume; Then let our friends and such as love us cry, Live Tarquin, and enjoy this sovereignty! All. Live Tarquin and enjoy this sovereignty! [_Flourish_. _Enter_ Valerius. Valerius. The king himself, with such confederate peers As stoutly embrace his faction, being informed Of Tarquin’s usurpation, armèd comes Near to the entrance of the Capitol. Tarquin. No man give place; he that dares to arise And do him reverence, we his love despise. _Enter_ Servius, Horatius, Scevola, _and_ Soldiers. Servius. Traitor! Tarquin. Usurper! Servius. Descend. Tullia. Sit still. Servius. In Servius’ name, Rome’s great imperial monarch, I charge thee, Tarquin, disenthrone thyself, And throw thee at our feet, prostrate for mercy. Horatius. Spoke like a king. Tarquin. In Tarquin’s name, now Rome’s imperial monarch, We charge thee, Servius, make free resignation Of that arched wreath thou hast usurped so long. Tullia. Words worth an empire. Horatius. Shall this be brooked, my sovereign? Dismount the traitor. Sextus. Touch him he that dares. Horatius. Dares! Tullia. Dares. Servius. Strumpet, no child of mine! Tullia. Dotard, and not my father! Servius. Kneel to thy king. Tullia. Submit thou to thy queen. Servius. Insufferable treason! with bright steel Lop down these interponents that withstand The passage to our throne. Horatius. That Cocles dares. Sextus. We with our steel guard Tarquin and his chair. Scevola. A Servius! Aruns. A Tarquin! [_They fight;_ Servius _is slain_. Tarquin. Now are we king indeed; our awe is builded Upon this royal base, the slaughtered body Of a dead king; we by his ruin rise To a monarchal throne. Tullia. We have our longing; My father’s death gives me a second life Much better than the first; my birth was servile, But this new breath of reign is large and free: Welcome, my second life of sovereignty! Lucretius. I have a daughter, but, I hope, of mettle Subject to better temperature; should my Lucrece Be of this pride, these hands should sacrifice Her blood unto the gods that dwell below; The abortive brat should not out-live my spleen. But Lucrece is my daughter, this my queen. Tullia. Tear off the crown that yet empales the temples Of our usurping father--quickly, lords-- And in the face of his yet bleeding wounds Let us receive our honours. Tarquin. The same breath Gives our state life, that was the usurper’s death. Tullia. Here then by Heaven’s hand we invest ourselves: Music, whose loftiest tones grace princes crowned, Unto our novel coronation sound. [_Flourish_. Valerius _leads forward_ Horatius _and_ Scevola. Tarquin. Whom doth Valerius to our state present?