  Chor. I Sound alarum then flames of fire. Enter Discord. Hearke how the Romaine drums sound bloud & death, And Mars high mounted on his Thracian Steede: Runs madding through Pharsalias purple fieldes. The earth that’s wont to be a Tombe for Men It’s now entomb’d with Carkases of Men. The Heauen appal’d to see such hideous sights, For feare puts out her euer burning lights. The Gods amaz’d (as once in Titans war,) Do doubt and feare, which boades this deadly iar The starrs do tremble, and forsake their course, The Beare doth hide her in forbidden Sea, Feare makes Bootes swiften her slowe pace, Pale is Orion, Atlas gins to quake, And his vnwildy burthen to forsake. CÆsars keene Falchion, through the Aduerse rankes, For his sterne Master hewes a passage out, Through troupes & troonkes, & steele, & standing blood: He whose proud Trophies whileom Asia field, And conquered Pontus, singe his lasting praise. Great Pompey; Great, while Fortune did him raise, Nowe vailes the glory of his vanting plumes And to the ground casts of his high hang’d lookes. You gentle Heauens. O execute your wrath On vile mortality, that hath scornd your powers. You night borne Sisters to whose haires are ty’d In Adamantine Chaines both Gods and Men Winde on your webbe of mischiefe and of plagues, And if, O starres you haue an influence: That may confounde this high erected heape Let Rome, growne proud, with her vnconquered strength, Perish and conquered Be with her owne strength: And win all powers to disioyne and breake, Consume, confound, dissolue, and discipate What Lawes, Armes and Pride hath raised vp. Act I sc. i Enter Titinius Tit. The day is lost our hope and honours lost, The glory of the Romaine name is lost, The liberty and commonweale is lost, The Gods that whileom heard the Romaine state, And Quirinus, whose strong puissant arme, Did shild the tops and turrets of proud Rome, Do now conspire to wracke the gallant Ship, Euen in the harbor of her wished greatnesse. And her gay streamers, and faire wauering sayles, With which the wanton wind was wont to play, To drowne with Billows of orewhelming woes. Enter Brutus Bru. The Foe preuayles, Brutus, thou striuest in vaine. Many a soule to day is sent to Hell, And many a galant haue I don to death, In Pharsalias bleeding Earth: the world can tell, How litle Brutus praizd this puffe of breath, If losse of that my countries weale might gaine, But Heauens and the immortall Gods decreed: That Rome in highest of her fortunes pich, In top of souerainty and imperiall swaye. By her owne height should worke her owne decay. Enter Pompey Pom. Where may I fly into some desert place, Some vncouth, vnfrequented craggy rocke, Where as my name and state was neuer heard. I flie the Batle because here I see, My friends lye bleeding in Pharsalias earth. Which do remember me what earst I was, Who brought such troopes of soldiars to the fielde, And of so many thousand had command: Which tels me I was wont to stay and winne. But now a souldier of my scatred traine: Offered me seruice and did call me Lord, O then I thought whome rising Sunne saw high, Descending he beheld my misery: Flie to the holow roote of some steepe rocke, And in that flinty habitation hide, Thy wofull face: from face and view of men. Yet that will tell me this, if naught beside: Pompey was neuer wont his head to hide Flie where thou wilt, thou bearst about thee smart, Shame at thy heeles and greefe lies at thy heart. Tit. But see Titinius where two warriers stand, Casting their eyes downe to the cheareles earthe: Alasse to soone I know them for to bee Pompey and Brutus, who like Aiax stand, When as forsooke of Fortune mong’st his foes, Greife stopt his breath nor could he speake his woes, Pom. Accursed Pompey, loe thou art descried. But stay; they are thy friends that thou behouldest, O rather had I now haue met my foes: Whose daggers poynts might straight haue piercd my woes Then thus to haue my friends behold my shame. Reproch is death to him that liu’d in Fame, Bru. Brutus Cast vp thy discontented looke: And see two Princes thy two noble friends, Who though it greeues me that I thus them see, Yet ioy I to bee seene they liuing be. He speakes vnto them. Let not the change of this succesles fight, (O noble Lords,) dismay these daunteles mindes, Which the faire vertue not blind chance doth rule, CÆsar not vs subdued hath, but Rome, And in that fight twas best be ouerthrowne. Thinke that the Conqueror hath won but smale, Whose victory is but his Countries fal, Pom. O Noble Brutus, can I liue and see, My Souldiars dead, my friends lie slaine in field, My Country subiect to a Tirants rule, My foe triumphing and my selfe forlorne. Oh had I perished in that prosperous warre Euen in mine Honors height, that happy day, When Mithridates fall did rayse my fame: Then had I gonne with Honor to my graue. But Pompey was by envious heauens reseru’d, Captiue to followe CÆsars Chariot wheeles Riding in triumph to the Capitol: And Rome oft grac’d with Trophies of my fame, Shall now resound the blemish of my name. Bru. Oh what disgrace can taunt this worthinesse, Of which remaine such liuing monuments Ingrauen in the eyes and hearts of men. Although the oppression of distressed Rome And our owne ouerthrow, might well drawe forth, Distilling teares from faynting cowards eyes, Yet should no weake effeminate passion sease Vpon that man, the greatnesse of whose minde And not his Fortune made him term’d the Great. Pom. Oh I did neuer tast mine Honours sweete Nor now can iudge of this my sharpest sowre. Fifty eight yeares in Fortunes sweete soft lap Haue I beene luld a sleepe with pleasant ioyes, Me hath she dandled in her foulding Armes, And fed my hopes with prosperous euentes: Shee Crownd my Cradle with successe and Honour, And shall disgrace a waite my haples Hearse? Was I a youth with Palme and Lawrell girt, And now an ould man shall I waite my fall? Oh when I thinke but on my triumphs past, The Consul-ships and Honours I haue borne; The fame and feare where in great Pompey liu’d, Then doth my grieued Soule informe me this, My fall augmented by my former bisse. Bru. Why do we vse of vertues strength to vant, Wee talke of courage, then, is courage knowne, When with mishap our state is ouerthrowne: Neuer let him a Souldiers Title beare. Wihch in the cheefest brunt doth shrinke and feare, Thy former haps did Men thy vertue shew, But now that fayles them which thy vertue knew, Nor thinke this conquest shalbe Pompeys fall: Or that Pharsalia shall thine honour bury, Egipt shalbe vnpeopled for thine ayde. And Cole-black Libians, shall manure the grounde In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men. Pom. O second hope of sad oppressed Rome, In whome the ancient Brutus vertue shines, That purchast first the Romaine liberty, Let me imbrace thee: liue victorious youth, When death and angry fates shall call me hence, To free thy country from a Tyrants yoke. My harder fortune, and more cruell starrs. Enuied to me so great a happines. Do not prolong my life with vaine false hopes, To deepe dispaire and sorrow I am vow’d: Do not remououe me from that setled thought, With hope of friends or ayde of Ptolomey, Egipt and Libia at choyse I haue. But onely which of them Ile make my graue. Tit. Tis but discomfort which misgreeues thee this, Greefe by dispaire seemes greater then it is, Bru. Tis womannish to wayle and mone our greefe, By Industrie do wise men seeke releefe, If that our casting do fall out a misse, Our cunning play must then correct the dice. Pom. Well if it needs must bee then let me goe, Flying for ayde vnto my forrayne friends, And sue and bow, where earst I did command. He that goeth seeking of a Tirant aide, Though free he went, a seruant then is made. Take we our last farwell, then though with paine, Exit Pompey at on dore, Titinius at ACTVS I. SCENA 2.Enter CÆsar CÆs. Follow your chase, and let your light-foote steedes Flying as swift as did that winged horse That with strong fethered Pinions cloue the Ayre, Or’take the coward flight of your base foe. Bru. Do not with-drawe thy mortall woundring blade, But sheath it CÆsar in my wounded heart: Let not that heart that did thy Country wound Feare to lay Brutus bleeding on the ground. Thy fatall stroke of death shall more mee glad, Then all thy proud and Pompous victories; My funerall Cypresse, then thy Lawrell Crowne, My mournefull Beere shall winne more Praise and Fame Then thy triumphing Sun-bright Chariot. Heere in these fatall fieldes let Brutus die, And beare so many Romaines company. CÆsa. T’was not ’gainst thee this fatall blade was drawne Which can no more pierce Brutus tender sides Then mine owne heart, or ought then heart more deere, For all the wronges thou didst, or strokes thou gau’st CÆsar on thee will take no worse reuenge, Then bid thee still commande him and his state: True setled loue can neere bee turn’d to hate. Brut. To what a pitch would this mans vertues sore, Did not ambition clog his mounting fame, CÆsar thy sword hath all blisse from me taine And giuest me life where best were to be slaine. O thou hast robd me of my chiefest ioy, And seek’st to please me with a babish toye. Exit Brutus. CÆs. CÆsar Pharsalia doth thy conquest sound Ioues welcom messenger faire Victory, And Io ioyfull, Io doth she sing And through the world thy lasting prayses ring. But yet amidst thy gratefull melody I heare a hoarse, and heauy dolfull voyce, Of my deare Country crying, that to day My Glorious triumphs worke her owne decay. In which how many fatall strokes I gaue, So many woundes her tender brest receiu’d. Heere lyeth one that’s boucher’d by his Sire And heere the Sonne was his old Fathers death, Both slew vnknowing, both vnknowne are slaine, O that ambition should such mischiefe worke Or meane Men die for great mens proud desire. ACTVS 1. SCENA 3.Enter Anthony, Dolobella, Lord and others. An. From sad Pharsalia blushing al with bloud, From deaths pale triumphes, Pompey ouerthrowne, Romains in forraine soyles, brething their last, Reuenge, stange wars and dreadfull stratagems, Wee come to set the Lawrell on thy head And fill thy eares with triumphs and with ioyes. Dolo. As when that Hector from the Grecian campe With spoiles of slaughtered Argians return’d, The Troyan youths with crownes of conquering palme: The Phrigian Virgins with faire flowry wrethes Welcom’d the hope, and pride of Ilium, So for thy victory and conquering actes Wee bring faire wreths of Honor & renowne, Which shall enternally thy head adorne. Lord. Now hath thy sword made passage for thy selfe, To wade in bloud of them that sought thy death, The ambitious riuall of thine Honors high, Whose mightinesse earst made him to be feard Now flies and is enforc’d to giue thee place. Triumphing in thy spoyles and victories. CÆs. When Phoebus left faire Thetis watery couch, And peeping forth from out the goulden gate Of his bright pallace, saw our battle rank’d: Oft did hee seeke to turne his fiery steedes, Oft hid his face, and shund such tragick sights What stranger passest euer by this cost Thee this accursed soyle distainde with blood Not Christall riuers, are to quench thy thirst. For goaring streames, their riuers cleerenesse staines: Heere are no hils wherewith to feede thine eyes, But heaped hils of mangled Carkases, Heere are no birdes to please thee with their notes: But rauenous Vultures, and night Rauens horse. Anto. What meanes great CÆsar, droopes our generall, Or melts in womanish compassion: To see Pharsalias fieldes to change their hewe And siluer streames be turn’d to lakes of blood? Why CÆsar oft hath sacrific’d in France, Millions of Soules, to Plutoes grisly dames: And made the changed coloured Rhene to blush, To beare his bloody burthen to the sea. And when as thou in mayden Albion shore The Romaine, Ægle brauely didst aduance, No hand payd greater tribute vnto death, No heart with more couragious Noble fire And hope, did burne with glorious great intent. And now shall passion base that Noble minde, And weake euents that courrage ouercome? Let Pompey proud, and Pompeys Complices Die on our swords, that did enuie our liues, Let pale Tysiphone be cloyd with bloud: And snaky furies quench their longing thirst, And CÆsar liue to glory in their end. CÆs. They say when as the younger Affrican, Beheld the mighty Carthage wofull fall: And sawe her stately Towers to smoke from farre, Let pity then and true compassion, Moue vs to rue no traterous Carthage fall, No barbarous periurd enemies decay, But Rome our natiue Country, haples Rome, Whose bowels to vngently we haue peerc’d, Faire pride of Europe, Mistresse of the world, Cradle of vertues, nurse of true renowne, Whome Ioue hath plac’d in top of seauen hils: That thou the lower worldes seauen climes mightst rule. Thee the proud Parthian and the cole-black Moore, The sterne Tartarian, borne to manage armes, Doth feare and tremble at thy Maiesty. And yet I bred and fostered in thy lappe, Durst striue to ouerthrowe thy Capitol: And thy high Turrets lay as low as hell. Dolo. O Rome, and haue the powers of Heauen decreed, When as thy fame did reach vnto the Skie, And the wide Ocean was thy Empires boundes, And thou enricht with spoyles of all the world, Was waxen proud with peace and soueraine raigne: That Ciuill warres should loose what Forraine won, And peace his ioyes, be turn’d to luckles broyles. Lord. O Pompey, cursed cause of ciuill warre, Which of those hel-borne sterne Eumenides: Inflam’d thy minde with such ambitious fire, As nought could quench it but thy Countries bloud. Dolo. But this no while thy valour doth destayne, Which found’st vnsought for cause of ciuill broyles, And fatall fuell which this fire enflamd. Anto. Let then his death set period to this strife, Which was begun by his ambitious life. CÆs. The flying Pompey to Larissa hastes, And by Thessalian Temple shapes his course: Where faire Peneus tumbles vp his waues, Him weele pursue as fast as he vs flies, Nor he though garded with Numidian horse, Nor ayded with the vnresisted powre: No not all Affrick arm’d in his defence Shall serue to shrowd him from my fatall sworde. Exit. Act I sc. ii ACT. I. SC. 4.Enter Cato. Ca. O where is banish’d liberty exil’d, To Affrick deserts or to Scythia rockes, Or whereas siluer streaming Tanais is? Happy is India and Arabia blest, And all the bordering regions vpon Nile That neuer knew the name of Liberty, But we that boast of Brutes and Colatins, And glory we expeld proud Tarquins name, Do greeue to loose, that we so long haue held. Why reckon we our yeares by Consuls names: And so long ruld in freedon, now to serue? They lie that say in Heauen there is a powre That for to wracke the sinnes of guilty men, Holds in his hand a fierce three-forked dart. Why would he throw them downe on OÉta mount Or wound the vnderringing Rhodope, And not rayne showers of his dead-doing dartes, Furor in flame, and Sulphures smothering heate Vpon the wicked and accurs’d armes That cruell Romains ’gainst their Country beare. Rome ware thy fall: those prodigies foretould, When angry heauens did powre downe showers of blood And fatall Comets in the heauens did blase, And all the Statues in the Temple blast, Did weepe the losse of Romaine liberty. Then if the Gods haue destined thine end, Yet as a Mother hauing lost her Sonne, Cato shall waite vpon thy tragick hearse, And neuer leaue thy cold and bloodles corse. Ile tune a sad and dol-full funerall song, Thy sacred ashes will I wash with teares, And thus lament my Countries obsequies. Act I sc. iii ACT. I. SC. 5.Enter Pompey and Cornelia. Cor. O cruel Pompey whether wilt thou flye, And leaue thy poore Cornelia thus forlorne, Is’t our bad fortune or thy cruell will That still it seuers in extremity. O let me go with thee, and die with thee, Nothing shall thy Cornelia grieuous thinke That shee endures for her sweete Pompeys sake. Pom. Tis for thy weale and safty of thy life, Whose safty I preferre before the world, Because I loue thee more then all the world, That thou (sweete loue) should’st heere remaine behinde Till proofe assureth Ptolomyes doubted faith. Cor. O deerest, what shall I my safty call, That which is thrust in dangers harmefull mouth? Lookes not the thing so bad with such a name, Call it my death, my bale, my wo, my hell, That which indangers my sweete Pompeys life. Pom. It is no danger (gentle loue) at all, Tis but thy feare that doth it so miscall. Cor. Ift bee no danger let me go with thee, And of thy safty a partaker bee, Alas why would’st thou leaue mee thus alone: Thinkst thou I cannot follow thee by Land That thus haue followed thee ouer raging Seas, Or do I varie in inconstant hopes: O but thinke you my pleasure luckles is And I haue made thee more vnfortunate. Tis I, tis I, haue caus’d this ouerthrow, Tis my accursed starres that boade this ill, And those mis-fortunes to my princely loue, And end my woes by ending of my life, Pom. What meanes my loue to aggrauate my griefe, And torture my enough tormented Soule, With greater greuance then Pharsalian losse? Thy rented hayre doth rent my heart in twayne, And these fayr Seas, that raine downe showers of tears, Do melt my soule in liqued streames of sorrow. If that in Ægipt any daunger bee, Then let my death procure thy sweet liues safety, Cor. Can I bee safe and Pompey in distresse, Or may Cornelia suruiue they death, What daunger euer happens to my Soule. What daunger eke shall happen to my life, Nor Libians quick-sands, nor the barking gulfe, Or gaping Scylla shall this Vnion part, But still Ile chayne thee in my twining armes, And if I cannot liue Ile die with thee. Pom. O how thy loue doth ease my greeued minde, Which beares a burthen heauier then the Heauens, Vnder the which steele-shouldred Atlas grones But now thy loue doth hurt thy selfe and me, And thy to ardent strong affection, Hinders my setled resolution. Then by this loue, and by these christall eyes, More bright then are the Lamps of Ioues high house, Let me in this (I feare) my last request. Not to indanger thy beloued life, But in this ship remayne, and here awaite, How Fortune dealeth with our doubtfull State, Cor. Not so perswaded as coniurd sweete loue, By thy commanding meeke petition. I cannot say I yeeld, yet am constraind, This neuer meeting parting to permit, Then go deere loue, yet stay a little while, Some what I am shure, tis more I haue to say, Nay nothing now but Heauens guide thy steps. Yet let me speake, why should we part so soone, Do women leaue their husbands in such hast, Pom. More faithfull, then that fayre deflowred dame, That sacrifizde her selfe to Chastety, And far more louing then the Charian Queene, That dranke her Husbands neuer sundred heart. If that I dye, yet will it glad my soule, Which then shall feede on those Elisian ioyes, That in the sacred Temple of thy breast, My liuing memory shall shrined bee. But if that enuious fates should call thee hence, And Death with pale and meager looke vsurpe, Vpon those rosiate lips, and Currall cheekes, Then Ayre be turnde, to poyson to infect me, Earth gape and swallow him that Heauens hate, Consume me Fire with thy deuouring flames, Or Water drowne, who else would melt in teares. But liue, liue happy still, in safety liue, Who safety onely to my life can giue. Exit. Cor. O he is gon, go hie thee after him, My vow forbids, yet still my care is with thee, My cryes shall wake the siluer Moone by night, And with my teares I will salute the Morne. No day shall passe with out my dayly plaints, No houre without my prayers for thy returne. My minde misgiues mee Pompey is betrayd. O Ægypt do not rob me of my loue. Why beareth Ptolomy so sterne a looke? O do not staine thy childish yeares with blood: Whil’st Pompey florished in his Fortunes pride, Ægypt and Ptolomy were faine to serue And shue for grace to my distressed Lord: But little bootes it, to record he was, To be is onely that which Men respect, Go poore Cornelia wander by the shore And see the waters raging Billowes swell, And beate with fury gainst the craggy rockes, To that compare thy strong tempestuous griefe. Sorrow shuts vp the passage of thy breath: And dries the teares that pitty faine would shed, This onely therefore, this will I still crie, Let Pompey liue although Cornelia die. Exit. Act I sc. iv ACTVS I. SCENA. 6.Enter CÆsar, Cleopatra, Dolobella, Lord and others Chor. II Enter Discord Flashes of fire. Antho. Now CÆsar hath thy flattering Fortune heapt Those golden gifts and promis’d victories, By fatall signes at Rubicon foretould: Then triumph in thy glorious greatest pride, And boast thou cast the lucky Die so well, Now let the Triton that did sound alarme, In his shrill trump resound the victory, That Heauen and Earth may Ecco of thy fame: Yet thinke in this thy Fortunes Iollity. Though CÆsar be as great as great may be, Yet Pompey once was euen as great as he, And how he rode clad in Setorius spoyles: And the Sicilian Pirats ouerthrowe. Who basely now by Land and Sea doth flie, The heauenly Rectors prosecuting wrath, Yet Sea nor Land can shroud him from this iar, O how it ioyes my discord thirsting thoughts, To see them waight, that whilom flow’d in blisse. To see like Banners, vnlike quarrels haue. And Roman weapons shethd in Roman blood, For this I left the deepe Infernall shades And past the sad Auernus vgly iawes, And in the world came I, being Discord hight, Discord the daughter of the greesly night. To make the world a hell of plauges and woes, Twas I that did the fatal Aple fling, Betwixt the three Idean goddesses, That so much blood of Greekes and Troians spilt, Twas I that caused the deadly Thebans warre, And made the brothers swell with endlesse hate. And now O Rome, woe, woe, to thee I cry Which to the world do bring al misery. Act II sc. i ACTVS 2. SCENA 4.Enter Achillas, and Sempronius. Ach. Here are we placed, by Ptolomies command, To murther Pompey when he comes on shore, Then braue Sempronius prepare they selfe. To execute the charge thou hast in hand, Sem. I am a Romaine, and haue often serued, Vnder his collours, when in former state, Pompey hath bin the Generall of the field, But cause I see that now the world is changd: And like wise feele some of King Ptolomeis gould. Ile kill him were he twenty Generalls, And send him packing to his longest home. I maruell of what mettell was the French man made. Who when he should haue stabbed Marius, Marius, had I beene there, thou neere hadst liu’d, To brag thee of thy seauen Consulships. Achil. Brauely resolu’d, Noble Sempronius, The damnedst villaine that ere I heard speake: But great men still must haue such instruments, To bring about their purpose, which once donne, The deede they loue, but do the doer hate: Thou shalt no lesse (stout Romaine) be renown’d, For being Pompeys Deaths-man, then was he, That fir’d the faire Ægiptian Goddesse Church. Sem. Nay that’s al one, report say what she list, Tis for no shadowes I aduenture for: Heere are the Crownes, heere are the wordly goods, This betweene Princes doth contention bring: Brothers this sets at ods, turnes loue to hate; It makes the Sonne to wish his Father hang’d That he thereby might reuell with his bagges: And did I knowe that in my Mothers womb, There lurk’d a hidden vaine of Sacred gould, This hand, this sword, should rape and rip it out. Achil. Compassion would that greedinesse restraine. Sem. I that’s my fault, I am to compassionate, Why man, art thou a souldier and dost talke Of womanish pity and compassion? Mens eyes must mil-stones drop, when fooles shed teares, But soft heeres Pompey, Ile about my worke. Enter Pompey. Pom. Trusting vpon King Ptolomeys promis’d fayth, And hoping succor, I am come to shore: In Egipt heere a while to make aboade. Sem. Fayth longer Pompey then thou dost expect. Pom. See now worlds Monarchs, whom your state makes proud That thinke your Honors to be permanent, Of Fortunes change see heere a president, Who whilom did command, now must intreate And sue for that which to accept of late, Vnto the giuer was thought fortunate. In reckning vp these rusty titles now, Which thy ambition grac’d thee with before, I must confesse thou wert my Generall, But that cannot a vaile to saue thy life. Talke of thy Fortune while thou list, There is thy fortune Pompey in my fist. Pom. O you that know what hight of honor meanes, What tis for men that lulled in fortunes lap, Haue climd the heighest top of soueraignety. From all that pomp to be cast hed-long downe, You may conceaue what Pompey doth sustayne, I was not wont to walke thus all alone, But to be met with troopes of Horse and Men. With playes and pageants to be entertaynd, A courtly trayne in royall rich aray, With spangled plumes, that daunced in the ayre, Mounted on steeds, with braue Caparisons deckt, That in their gates did seeme to scorne the Earth. Was wont my intertaynment beautiefie, But now thy comming is in meaner sort, They by thy fortune will thy welcom rate. Sem. What dost thou for such entertaynement looke, Pompey how ere thy comming hether bee, I haue prouided for thy going hence. Achi. I will draw neere, and with fayre pleasing shew, Wellcome great Pompey as the Siren doth The wandering shipman with her charming song. Pom. O how it greeues a noble hauty mind, Framed vp in honors vncontrouled schoole, To serue and sue, whoe erst did rule and sway What shall I goe and stoope to Ptolomey, Nought to a noble mind more greefe can bring Then be a begger where thou wert a King, Ach. Wellcome a shore most great and gratious prince Welcome to Ægipt and to Ptolomey. The King my Maister is at hand my Lord, To gratulate your safe ariuall heere. Which must thy comming gratulate a non, Pom. Thanks worthy Lord vnto your King and you, It ioyes me much that in extremity, I found so sure a friend as Ptolomey, Sem. Now is the date of thy proud life expird, To which my poniard must a full poynt put, Pompey from Ptolomey I come to thee, From whome a presant and a guift I bring, This is the gift and this my message is Stab him Pom. O Villaine thou hast slayne thy Generall, And with thy base hand gor’d my royall heart. Well I haue liued till to that height I came, That all the world did tremble at my name, My greatnesse then by fortune being enuied, Stabd by a murtherous villaynes hand I died. Ach. What is he dead, then straight cut of his head, That whilom mounted with ambitions wings: CÆsar no doubt with praise and noble thanks, Regarding well this well deserued deede, Whome weele present with this most pleasing gift, Sem. Loe you my maisters, hee that kills but one, Is straight a Villaine and a murtherer cald, But they that vse to kill men by the great, And thousandes slay through their ambition, They are braue champions, and stout warriors cald, Tis like that he that steales a rotten sheepe That in a dich would else haue cast his hide, He for his labour hath the haltars hier. But Kings and mighty Princes of the world, By letter pattens rob both Sea and Land. Do not then Pompey of thy murther plaine, Since thy ambition halfe the world hath slayne. Act II sc. ii ACTVS 2. SCENA. 2.Enter Cornelia. Corne. O traterous villaines, hold your murthering hands, Imbrue them heere, heere in Cornelias brest. Ay mee as I stood looking from the Ship (Accursed shippe that did not sinke and drowne: And so haue sau’d me from so loath’d a sight) Thee to behold what did betide my Lord, My Pompey deere (nor Pompey now nor Lord) I sawe those villaines that but now were heere: Bucher my loue and then with violence, To drawe his deare beloued Body hence; What dost thou stand to play the Oratrix, And tell a tale of thy deere husbands death? Doth Pompey, doth thy loue moue thee no more? Go cursed Cornelia rent thy wretched haire, Drowne blobred cheekes in seas of saltest teares. And if, it be true that sorrowes feeling powre, Could turne poore Niobe into a weeping stone O let mee weepe a like, and like stone be, And you poore lights, that sawe this tragick sight, Be blind and punnish’d with eternall night. Vnhappy long to speake, bee neare so bould Since that thou this so heauy tale hast tould. These are but womanish exclamations Light sorrowe makes such lamentations, Pompey no words my true griefe can declare, This for thy loue shalbe my best welfare. Stab her selfe. Act II sc. iii ACT. 2. SCE. 3.Enter CÆsar, Cleopatra, Anthony, CÆsar. There sterne Achillas and Fortunius lie, Traytorous Sempronius and proud Ptolomey, Go plead your cause fore the angry Rhadamant, And tel him why you basely Pompey slew. And let your guilty blood appease his Ghost, That now sits wandring by the Stygian bankes, For Pompey though thou wert mine enemy, And vayne ambition mou’d vs to this strife; Yet now in death when strife and enuy cease. Thy princely vertues and thy noble minde, Moue me to rue thy vndeserued death, That found a greater daunger then it fled; Vnhapy man to scape so many wars, And to protract thy glorious day so long, Here for to perish in a barbarous soyle, And end liues date stabd by a Bastards hand, But yet with honour shalt thou be Intomb’d, I will enbalme thy body with my teares, And put thy ashes in an Vrne of gold, And build with marble a deserued graue. Whose worth indeede a Temple ought to haue. Dolo. See how compassion drawes foorth Princely teares And Vertue weepes her enemies funerall, So sorrowed the mighty Alexander, When Bessus hand caus’d Darius to die. Ant. These greeued sorrowing Princes do with me, Ioyntly agree in Contrariety, Alacke we mourne, greeued is our mind alike, Our gate is discontented, heauy our lookes, Our sorrowes all a like, but dislike cause. Their foe is their grifes causer which my friend, It is the losse of one that makes them wayle, But I, that one there is a cruell one, Do wayle and greeue and vnregarded mone. Fayre beames cast forth from these dismayfull eyes, Chaine my poore heart, in loue and sorrowes giues, Cleo. Forget sweete Prince these sad perlexed thoughts, Withdraw thy mind in clowdy discontent, And with Ægiptian pleasures feed thine eyes, Wilt thou be hould the Sepulchers of Kings, And Monuments that speake the workemens prayse? Ile bring thee to Great Alexanders Tombe, Where he, whome all the world could not suffice, And shew thee all the cost and curious art, Which either Cleops or our Memphis boast: Would you command a banquit in the Court, Ile bring you to a Royall goulden bowre, Fayrer then that wherein great Ioue doth sit, And heaues vp boles of Nectar to his Queene, A stately Pallace, whose fayre doble gates: Are wrought with garnish’d Carued Iuory, And stately pillars of pure bullion framd. With Orient Pearles and Indian stones imbost, With golden Roofes that glister like the Sunne, Shalbe prepard to entertaine my Loue: Or wilt thou see our Academick Schooles, Or heare our Priests to reason of the starres, Hence Plato fecht his deepe Philosophy: And heere in Heauenly knowledg they excell. Antho. More then most faire, another Heauen to me, The starres where on Ile gaze shalbe thy face, Thy morall deedes my sweete Philosophy, Venus the muse whose ayde I must implore: O let me profit in this study best, For Beauties scholler I am now prefest. Lord. See how this faire Egiptian Sorceres, Enchantes these Noble warriars man-like mindes, And melts their hearts in loue and wantones. CÆs. Most glorious Queene, whose cheerefull smiling words Expell these cloudes that ouer cast my minde. CÆsar will ioy in Cleopatras ioy, And thinke his fame no whit disparaged, To change his armes, and deadly sounding droms, For loues sweete Laies, and Lydian harmony, And now hang vp these Idle instruments. My warlike speare and vncontrouled crest: My mortall wounding sword and siluer shield, And vnder thy sweete banners beare the brunt, Of peacefull warres and amarous Alarmes: Why Mars himselfe his bloudy rage alayd, And great Alcides, when he did returne: From Iunos taskes, and Nemean victories, From monsters fell, and Ncmean toyles: Reposed himselfe in Deianiras armes. Heere will I pitch the pillars os my fame, Heere the non vltra of my labors write, And with these Cheekes of Roses, lockes of Gold, End my liues date, and trauayles manifould. Dolo. How many lets do hinder vertuous mindes, From the pursuit of honours due reward, Be sides Caribdis, and fell Scyllas spight: More dangerous Circe and Calipsoes cup, Then pleasant gardens of Alcionus: And thousand lets voluptiousnesse doth offer. CÆs. I will regard no more these murtherous spoyles, And bloudy triumphs that I lik’d of late: But in loues pleasures spend my wanton dayes, Ile make thee garlondes of sweete smelling flowers, And with faire rosall Chaplets crowne thy head, The purple Hyacinth of Phoebus Land: Fresh Amarinthus that doth neuer die, And faire Narcissus deere respendent shoars, And Violets of Daffadilles so sweete, Shall Beautify the Temples of my Loue, Whil’st I will still gaze on thy beautious eyes, And with Ambrosean kisses bath thy Cheekes. Cleo. Come now faire Prince, and feast thee in our Courts Where liberal CÆres, and LiÆus fat, Shall powre their plenty forth and fruitfull store, The sparkling liquor shall ore-flow his bankes: And MeroÉ learne to bring forth pleasant wine, Fruitfull Arabia, and the furthest Ind, Shall spend their treasuries of Spicery VVith Nardus Coranets weele guird our heads: And al the while melodious warbling notes, Passing the seauen-fould harmony of Heauen: Shall seeme to rauish our enchanted thoughts, Changed by thee to feast in Iolity: Antho. O how mine stares suck vp her heauenly words, The whilst mine eyes do prey vpon her face: CÆs. Winde we then Anthony with this Royall Queene, This day weele spend in mirth and banqueting. Antho. Had I Queene, Iunoes heard-mans hundred eies, To gaze vpon these two bright Sunnes ofhirs: Yet would they all be blinded instantly. CÆs. VVhat hath some Melancholy discontent, Ore-come thy minde with trobled passions. Ant. Yet being blinded with the Sunny beames, Her beauties pleasing colours would restore, Decayed sight with fresh variety. Lord. Lord Anthony what meanes this trobled minde, CÆsar inuites thee to the royall feast, That faire Queene Cleopatra hath prepard. Antho. Pardon me worthy CÆsar and you Lords, In not attending your most gratious speech Thoughts of my Country, and returne to Rome, Som-what distempered my busy head. CÆs. Let no such thoughts distemper now thy minde, This day to Bacchus will wee consecrate, And in deepe goblets of the purest wine, Drinke healths vnto our seuerall friends at home. Antho. If of my Country or of Rome I thought, Twas that I neuer ment for to come there, But spend my life in this sweete paradise. Exeunt. Act II sc. iv ACT. 2. SCE. 4.Enter Cicero, Brutus, Casca, Camber, Trebonius. Cice. Most prudent heads, that with your councels wise, The pillars of the mighty Rome sustaine, You see how ciuill broyles haue torne our state: And priuate strife hath wrought a publique wo, Thessalia boasts that she hath seene our fall, And in the necks of all the world hath rang’d, Loosing her rule, to serue is now constraynd, Pompey the hope and stay of Common-weale, VVhose vertues promis’d Rome security Now flies distrest, disconsolate, forlorne, Reproch of Fortune, and the victors scorne. CÆs. VVhat now is left for wretched Rome to hope, But in laments and bitter future woe, To wey the downefall of her former pride: Againe Porsenna brings in Tarquins names, And Rome againe doth smoke with furious flames. In Pompeys fall wee all are ouerthrowne, And subiect made to conqueror Tirany. Bru. Most Noble Cicero and you Romaine Peeres, Pardon the author of vnhappy newes, And then prepare to heare my tragick tale. VVith that same looke, that great Atrides stood, At cruell alter staind with Daughters blood, When Pompey fled pursuing CÆsars sword, And thought to shun his following desteny. And then began to thinke on many a friend, And many a one recalled hee to minde: Who in his Fortunes pride did leaue their liues, And vowed seruice at his princely feete, From out the rest, the yong Egiptian King, VVhose Father of an Exild banish’d man Hee seated had in throne of Maiesty, Him chose, to whome he did commit his life, (But O, who doth remember good-turnes past) The Rising Sunne, not Setting, doth men please, To ill committed was so great a trust, Vnto so base a Fortune fauoring minde. For he the Conquerors fauor to obtaine, By Treason caus’d great Pompey to be slaine: Casca. O damned deede. Cam. O Trayterous Ptolomey. Tre. O most vnworthy and vngratefull fact. The rouling stone or euerturning wheele, The quenchles flames of firy Phlegeton, Or endles thirst of which the Poets talke, Are all to gentle for so vilde a deede. Cas. Well did the Cibills vnrespected verse. Bid thee beware of Crocadilish Nile, Ter. And art thou in a barbarous soyle betrayd, Defrawded Pompey of thy funerall rites, There none could weepe vpon thy funerall hearse, None could thy Consulshipes and triumphs tell, And in thy death set fourth thy liuing praise, None would erect to thee a sepulcher. Or put thine ashes in a pretious vrne, Cice. Peace Lords lament not noble Pompeys death, Nor thinke him wreched, cause he wants a Tombe, Heauen couers him whome Earth denyes a graue: Thinke you a heape of stones could him inclose, Whoe in the Oceans circuite buried is, And euery place where Roman names are heard, The world is his graue, where liuing fame doth blaze, His funerall praise through his immortall trump, And ore his tombe vertue and honor sits, With rented heare and eyes bespent with teares, And waile and weepe their deere sonne Pompeys death, Bru. But now my Lords for to augment this griefe, CÆsar the Senates deadly enimie, Aimes eke to vs, and meanes to tryumph heere, Vpon poore conquered Rome and common wealth, Cas. This was the end at which he alwayes aymd, Tre. Then end all hope of Romaines liberty, Rise noble Romaine, rise from rotten Tombes, And with your swordes recouer that againe: With your braue prowes won, our basenes lost, Gic. Renowned Lords content your trobled minds. Do not ad Fuell to the conquerors fier. Which once inflamed will borne both Rome and vs. CÆsar although of high aspiring thoughtes, Yet is of nature faire and courteous, You see hee commeth conqueror of the East: Clad in the spoyles of the Pharsalian fieldes, Then wee vnable to resist such powre: By gentle peace and meeke submission, Must seeke to pacify the victors wrath. Exeunt. Act II sc. v ACT. 2. SCE. 5.Enter Cato Senior, and Cato Iunior. Cato Senior with a booke in his hand. Cato Sen. Plato that promised immortality, Doth make my soule resolue it selfe to mount, Vnto the bowre of those Celestiall ioyes, VVhere freed from lothed Prison of my soule, In heauenly notes to Phoebus which shall sing: And Pean Io, Pean loudely ring. Then fayle not hand to execute this deede, Nor faint nor heart for to command my hand, VVauer not minde to counsell this resolue, But with a courage and thy liues last act, Now do I giue thee Rome my last farewell. Who cause thou fearest ill do therefore die, O talke not now of Cannas ouerthrowe, And raze out of thy lasting Kalenders, Those bloudy songes of Hilias dismall sight: And note with black, that black and cursed day, When CÆsar conquered in Pharsalia, Yet will not I his conquest glorifie: My ouerthrow shall neere his triumph grace, For by my death to the world Ile make that knowne, No hand could conquer Cato but his owne. stabs himself. Enter Cato Iunior running to him. Ca. Iun. O this it was my minde told me before, VVhat meanes my Father, why with naked blade, Dost thou assault, that faithfull princely hand: And mak’st the base Earth to drinke thy Noble bloud, Bee not more sterne, and cruell ’gainst thy selfe, Then thy most hateful enemies would be, No Parthian, Gaule, Moore, no not CÆsars selfe, VVould with such cruelty thy worth repay, O stay thy hand, giue me thy fatall blade: VVhich turnes his edge and waxeth blunt to wound, A brest so fraught with vertue excellent. Ca. Seni. Why dost thou let me of my firme resolue, Why dost thou slay me, or wilt thou betray Thy Fathers life vnto his foe-mens hands, And yet I wrong thy faith, and loue too much, In thy soules kindenesse, tis thou art vnkinde. Cat. Iun. If for your selfe you do this life reiect, Yet you your Sonnes and Countries: sake respect, Rob not my yong yeares of so sweete a stay, Nor take from Rome the Pillor of her strength. Cat. Sene. Although I die, yet do I leaue behinde, My vertues fauor to bee thy youths guide: But for my Country, could my life it profit, Ile not refuse to liue that died for it, Now doth but one smal snuffe of breath remaine: And that to keepe, should I mine Honor staine? Cat. Iuni. Where you do striue to shew your vertue most, There more you do disgrace it Cowards vse, To shun the woes and trobles of this life: Basely to flie to deaths safe sanctuary, When constant vertues doth the hottest brunt’s, Of griefes assaultes vnto the end endure. Ca. Seni. Thy words preuaile, come lift me vp my Son, And call some help to binde my bleeding wounds. Cat. Iuni. Father I go with a more willing minde, Then did Æneas when from Troyan fire, He bare his Father, and did so restore: The greatest gift hee had receiued before. Exit. Cat. Seni. Now haue I freed mee of that hurtfull Loue, Which interrupted my resolued will, Which all the world can neuer stay nor change: CÆsar whose rule commands both Sea and Land, Is not of powre to hinder this weake hand, And time succeeding shall behold that I Although not liue, yet died courragiously, stab himselfe. Enter Cato Iunior. Ca. Iuni. O hast thou thus to thine owne harme deceiu’d me Well I perceiue thy Noble dauntles heart: Because it would not beare the Conquerors insolence, I know not whether I should more lament, That by thine owne hand thou thus slaughtred art, Or Ioy that thou so nobly didst depart. Exit. FINIS. ACTVS 2.Chor. III Enter Discord. Dis. Now CÆsar rides triumphantly through Rome, And deckes the Capitoll with Pompeys spoyle: Ambition now doth vertues seat vsurp, Then thou Reuengfull great Adastria Queene. Awake with horror of thy dubbing Drumm, And call the snaky furies from below, To dash the Ioy of their triumphing pride, Erinnis kindle now thy Stigian brands, In discontented Brutus boyling brest, Let CÆsar die a bleeding sacrifice, Vnto the Soule of thy dead Country Rome. Why sleepest thou Cassius? wake thee from thy dreame: And yet thou naught dost dreame but blood and death. For dreadfull visions do afright thy sleepe. And howling Ghosts with gastly horrors cry, By Cassius hand must wicked CÆsar die, Now Rome cast of thy gaudy paintcd robes And cloth thy selfe in sable colored weedes, Change thy vaine triumphs into funerall pomps, And CÆsar cast thy Laurell crowne apart, And bind thy temples with sad Cypres tree. Of warrs thus peace insues, of peace more harmes, Then erst was wrought by tragick wars alarmes, Exit. Act III sc. i ACT. 3. SCE. I.Enter Cassius. Cas. Harke how CÆsarians with resounding shoutes, Tell heauens of their pompes and victories, And daliance vayne of his Proud Curtezan, Had luld his sterne and bloody thoughts a sleepe, Now in Rome streets ore Romaines come to triumph, And to the Romains shews those Tropheyes sad, Which from the Romaines he with blood did get: The Tyrant mounted in his goulden chayre, Rides drawne with milke white palferies in like pride, As PhÆbus from his Orientall gate, Mounted vpon the firy Phlegetons backes. Comes prauncing forth, shaking his dewie locks: CÆsar thou art in gloryes cheefest pride, Thy sonne is mounted in the highest poynt: Thou placed art in top of fortunes wheele, Her wheele must turne, thy glory must eclipse, Thy Sunne descend and loose his radiant light, And if none be, whose countryes ardent loue, And losse of Roman liberty can moue, Ile be the man that shall this taske performe. Cassius hath vowed it to dead Pompeys soule, Cassius hath vowed it to afflicted Rome, Cassius hath vowed it, witnes Heauen and Earth, Exit. Act III sc. ii ACTVS 3. SCENA 2.Enter CÆsar, Antony, Dolobella, Lords, two Romaines, & others. CÆsar. Now haue I shaked of these womanish linkes, In which my captiud thoughts were chayned a fore, By that fayre charming Circes wounding look, And now like that same ten yeares trauayler, Leauing be-hind me all my trobles past. I come awayted with attending fame, Who through her shrill triump doth my name resound, And makes proud Tiber and Lygurian Poe, (Yet a sad witner of the Sunne-Gods losse,) Beare my names glory to the Ocean mayne, Which to the worlds end shall it bound it againe, With conquering spoyles and Tropheus proud returnd, When great Typheus fell, by thundering darts, And rod away with their CÆlestiall troops, In greatest pride through Heauens smooth paued way, So shall the Pompeous glory of my traine, Daring to match ould Saturns kingly Sonne, Call downe these goulden lampes from the bright skie, And leaue Heauen blind, my greatnes to admire. This laurell garland in fayre conquest made, Shall stayne the pride of Ariadnes crowne, Clad in the beauty of my glorious lampes, Cassiopea leaue thy starry chayre, And onmy Sun-bright Chariot wheels attend, Which in triumphing pompe doth CÆsar beare. To Earths astonishment, and amaze of Heauen: Now looke proude Rome from thy seuen-fould seate, And see the world thy subiect, at thy feete, And CÆsar ruling ouer all the world. Dolo. Now let vs cease to boast of Romulus, First author of high Rome and Romaines name. Nor talke of Scaurus, worthy Africans, The scurge of Libia and of Carthage pride, Nor of vnconquered Paulus dauntles minde, Since CÆsars glory them exceedes as farre As shining Phebe doth the dimmest starre. Ant. Like as the Ship-man that hath lost the starre. By which his doubtful ship he did direct, Wanders in darkenes, and in Cloudy night, So hauing lost my starr, my Gouernesse. Which did direct me, with her Sonne-bright ray, In greefe I wander and in sad dismay: And though of triumphes and of victoryes, I do the out-ward signes and Trophies beare, Yet see mine inward mind vnder that face, Whose collours to these Triumphes is disgrace, Lord. As when from vanquished Macedonia, Triumphing ore King Persius ouerthrow, Shewing the worlds spoyles which he had bereft, From the successors or great Alexander, With such high pomp, yea greater victories, CÆsar triumphing coms into fayre Rome, 1. Rom. In this one Champion all is comprehended, Which ancient times in seuerall men commended, Alcides strength, Achilles dauntles heart, Great Phillips Sonne by magnanimity. Sterne Pyrhus vallour, and great Hectors might, And all the prowes, that ether Greece or Troy, Brought forth in that same ten years Troians warre. 2. Rom. Faire Rome great monument of Romulus. Thou mighty seate of consuls and of Kings: Ouer-victorious now Earths Conquerer, Welcome thy valiant sonne that to thee brings, Spoyles of the world, and exquies of Kings. CÆsar. The conquering Issue of immortall Ioue. Which in the Persian spoyles first fetch his fame. Then through Hydasspis, and the Caspian waues, Vnto the sea vnknowne his praise did propagate, Must to my glory vayle his conquering crest: The Lybick Sands, and Africk Sirts hee past. Bactrians and Zogdians, knowne but by their names, Whereby his armes resistles, powers subdued, And Ganges streames congeald with Indian blood, Could not transeport his burthen to the sea. But these nere lerned at Mars his games to play, Nor tost these bloody bals, of dread and death: Arar and proud Saramna speaks my praise, Rohdans shrill Tritons through their brasen trumpes, Ecco my fame against the Gallian Towers, And Isis wept to see her daughter Thames. Chainge her cleere cristall, to vermilian sad, The big bond German and Heluetian stout, Which well haue learned to tosse a tusked speare, And well can curbe a noble stomackt horse, Can CÆsars vallour witnes to their greefe That with his cole-black Negroes to the field, Backt with Numidian and Getulian horse, Hath felt the puissance of a Roman sword. I entred Asia with my banners spred, Displayed the Ægle on the Euxin sea: By Iason first, and ventrous Argo cut, And in the rough Cimerian Bosphorus: A heauy witnesse of Pharnaces flight, And now am come to triumph heere in Rome, VVith greater glory then ere Romaine did. Exeunt. Act III sc. iii Sound drums and Trumpets amaine. Antho. Alas these triumphes mooue not me at all, But only do renew remembrance sad, Of her triumphing and imperious lookes, VVhich is the Saint and Idoll of my thoughtes: First was I wounded by her percing eye: Next prisoner tane by her captiuing speech, And now shee triumphes ore my conquered heart, In Cupids Chariot ryding in her pride, And leades me captiue bounde in Beauties bondes: CÆsars lip-loue, that neuer touched his heart, By present triumph and the absent fire, Is now waxt could; but mine that was more deepe, Ingrauen in the marble of my brest, Nor time nor Fortune ere can raze it out. Enter Anthonies bonus genius. Gen. Anthony, base femall Anthony, Thou womans souldiar, fit for nights assaults, Hast thou so soone forgot the discipline, And wilsome taskes thy youth was trayned to, Thy soft downe Pillow, was a helme of steele: The could damp earth, a bed to ease thy toyle, Afrigted slumbers were thy golden sleepes: Hunger and thirst thy sweetest delicates, Sterne horror, gastly woundes, pale greesly death: Thy winde depressing pleasures and delights, These manly labours luld in drowsy sleepe: The Gods (whose messenger I heere do stand) Will not then drowne thy fame in Idlenesse: Yet must Philippi see thy high exploytes, And all the world ring of thy Victories. Antho. Say what thou art, that in this dreadful sort Forbidd’st me of my Cleopatras loue. Gen. I am thy bonus Genius, Anthony, VVhich to thy dul eares this do prophecy: That fatall face which now doth so bewitch thee, Like to that vaine vnconstant Greekish dame, VVhich made the stately Ilian towres to smoke, Shall thousand bleeding Romains lay one ground: Hymen in sable not in saferon robes, Instead of roundes shall dolefull dirges singe. For nuptiall tapers, shall the furies beare, Blew-burning torches to increase your feare: The bride-grooms scull shal make the bridal bondes: And hel-borne hags shall dance an Antick round, VVhile Hecate Hymen (heu, heu) Hymen cries, And now methinkes I see the seas blew face: Hidden with shippes, and now the trumpets sound, And weake Canopus with the Ægle striues, Neptune amazed at this dreadfull sight: Cals blew sea Gods for to behold the fight, Glaucus and Panopea, Proteus ould, VVho now for feare changeth his wonted shape, Thus your vaine loue which with delight begunne: In Idle sport shall end with bloud and shame. Exit. Antho. VVhat wast my Genius that mee threatned thus? They say that from our birth he doth preserue: And on mee will he powre these miseries? VVhat burning torches, what alarums of warre, VVhat shames did he to my loues prophesie? O no hee comes as winged Mercurie, From his great Father Ioue, t’Anchises sonne To warne him leaue the wanton dalliance, Then wake the Anthony from this idle dreame, Cast of these base effeminate passions: Which melt the courrage of thy manlike minde, And with thy sword receiue thy sleeping praise. Exit. Act III sc. iv ACT. 3. SC. 3.Enter Brutus. Bru. How long in base ignoble patience, Shall I behold my Countries wofull fall, O you braue Romains, and among’st the rest Most Noble Brutus, faire befall your soules: Let Peace and Fame your Honored graues awaite, Who through such perils, and such tedious warres, Won your great labors prise sweete liberty, But wee that with our life did freedoms take, And did no sooner Men, then free-men, breath: To loose it now continuing so long, And with such lawes, such vowes, such othes confirm’d Can nothing but disgrace and shame expect: But soft what see I written on my seate, O vtinam Brute viueres. What meaneth this, thy courage dead, But stay, reade forward, Brute mortuus es. I thou art dead indeed, thy courrage dead Thy care and loue thy dearest Country dead, Thy wonted spirit and Noble stomack dead. Enter Cassius. Cassi. The times drawe neere by gratious heauens assignd When Philips Sonne must fall in Babilon, In his triumphing proud persumption: But see where melancholy Brutus walkes, Whose minde is hammering on no meane conceit: Then sound him Cassius, see how hee is inclined, How fares young Brutus in this tottering state. Bru. Euen as an idle gazer, that beholdes, Cassi. But wil Brute alwaies in this dreame remaine, And not bee mooued with his Countries mone. Bru. O that I might in Lethes endles sleepe, And neere awaking pleasant rest of death Close vp mine eyes, that I no more might see, Poore Romes distresse and Countries misery. Casi. No Brutus liue, and wake thy sleepy minde, Stirre vp those dying sparkes of honors fire, VVhich in thy gentle breast weare wont to flame: See how poore Rome opprest with Countries wronges, Implores thine ayde, that bred thee to that end, Thy kins-mans soule from heauen commandes thine aide: That lastly must by thee receiue his end, Then purchas honor by a glorious death, Or liue renown’d by ending CÆsars life. Bru. I can no longer beare the Tirants pride, I cannot heare my Country crie for ayde, And not bee mooued with her pitious mone, Brutus thy soule shall neuer more complaine: That from thy linage and most vertuous stock, A bastard weake degenerat branch is borne, For to distaine the honor of thy house. No more shall now the Romains call me dead, Ile liue againe and rowze my sleepy thoughts: And with the Tirants death begin this life. Rome now I come to reare thy states decayed, VVhen or this hand shall cure thy fatall wound, Or else this heart by bleeding on the ground. Cas. Now heauen I see applaudes this enterprise, And Rhadamanth into the fatall Vrne, That lotheth death, hath thrust the Tirants name, CÆsar the life that thou in bloud hast led: Shall heape a bloudy vengance on thine head. Exeunt.
|
|
