A great skirmish in Rome and long, some slain. At last enter SYLLA triumphant, with POMPEY, METELLUS, Citizens, Soldiers.
SYLLA. Now, Romans, after all these mutinies,
Seditions, murders and conspiracies,
Imagine with impartial hearts at last,
What fruits proceed from these contentious brawls.
Your streets, where erst the fathers of your state
In robes of purple walked up and down,
Are strewed with mangled members, streaming blood:
And why? the reasons of this ruthful wrack
Are your seditious innovations,
Your fickle minds inclin'd to foolish change.
Ungrateful men! whilst I with tedious pain
In Asia seal'd my duty with my blood,
Making the fierce Dardanians faint for fear,
Spreading my colours in Galatia,
Dipping my sword in the Enetans' blood,
And foraging the fields of Phocida,
You called my foe from exile with his friends;
You did proclaim me traitor here in Rome;
You raz'd my house, you did defame my friends.
But, brawling wolves, you cannot bite the moon,
For Sylla lives, so forward to revenge,
As woe to those that sought to do me wrong.
I now am entered Rome in spite of force,
And will so hamper all my cursed foes.
As be he tribune, consul, lord, or knight,
That hateth Sylla, let him look to die.
And first to make an entrance to mine ire,
Bring me that traitor Carbo out of hand.
POMPEY. O Sylla, in revenging injuries,
Inflict the pain where first offence did spring,
And for my sake establish peace in Rome,
And pardon these repentant citizens.
SYLLA. Pompey, I love thee, Pompey, and consent
To thy request; but, Romans, have regard,
Lest over-reaching in offence again,
I load your shoulders with a double pain.
[_Exeunt citizens.
Bring in_ CARBO bound.
But, Pompey, see where jolly Carbo comes,
Footing it featly like a mighty man.
What, no obeisance, sirrah, to your lord?
CARBO[151]. My lord? No, Sylla: he that thrice hath borne
The name of consul scorns to stoop to him,
Whose heart doth hammer nought but mutinies.
POMPEY. And doth your lordship then disdain to stoop?
CARBO. Ay, to mine equal, Pompey, as thou art.
SYLLA. Thine equal, villain? no, he is my friend;
Thou, but a poor anatomy of bones,
Cas'd in a knavish tawny withered skin.
Wilt thou not stoop? art thou so stately then?
CARBO. Sylla, I honour gods, not foolish men.
SYLLA. Then break that wither'd bough, that will not bend[152],
And, soldiers, cast him down before my feet: [They throw him down.
Now, prating sir, my foot upon thy neck,
I'll be so bold to give your lordship check.
Believe me, soldiers, but I over-reach;
Old Carbo's neck at first was made to stretch.
CARBO. Though body bend, thou tyrant most unkind,
Yet never shalt thou humble Carbo's mind.
SYLLA. O sir, I know, for all your warlike pith
A man may mar your worship with a with.[153]
You, sirrah, levied arms to do me wrong;
You brought your legions to the gates of Rome;
You fought it out in hope that I would faint;
But, sirrah, now betake you to your books,
Entreat the gods to save your sinful soul:
For why this carcase must in my behalf
Go feast the ravens that serve our augurs' turn.
Methinks I see already, how they wish
To bait their beaks in such a jolly dish.
CARBO. Sylla, thy threats and scoffs amate me not.
I prythee, let thy murderers hale me hence;
For Carbo rather likes to die by sword,
Than live to be a mocking-stock to thee.
SYLLA. The man hath haste; good soldiers, take him hence:
It would be good to alter his pretence.
But be advis'd that, when the fool is slain,
You part the head and body both in twain.
I know that Carbo longs to know the cause,
And shall: thy body for the ravens[154], thy head for daws.
CARBO. O matchless ruler of our capitol,
Behold poor Rome with grave and piteous eye
Fulfilled with wrong and wretched tyranny!
[Exit CARBO _cum militibus.
Enter_ SCIPIO, NORBANUS, and CARINNA.[155]
SYLLA. Tut, the proud man's prayer will never pierce the sky.
But whither press these mincing senators?
NORBANUS. We press with prayers, we come with mournful tears,
Entreating Sylla by those holy bands,
That link fair Juno with her thundering Jove,
Even by the bonds of hospitality,
To pity Rome afflicted through thy wrath.
Thy soldiers (Sylla) murder innocents:
O, whither will thy lawless fury stretch,
If little ruth ensue thy country's harms?
SYLLA. Gay words, Norbanus, full of eloquence,
Accompanied with action and conceit:
But I must teach thee judgment therewithal
Dar'st thou approach my presence, that hast borne
Thine arms in spite of Sylla and his friends?
I tell thee, foolish man, thy judgment wanted
In this presumptuous purpose that is pass'd:
And, loitering scholar, since you fail in art,
I'll learn you judgment shortly to your smart.
Despatch him, soldiers; I must see him die.
And you, Carinna, Carbo's ancient friend,
Shall follow straight your headless[156] general.
And, Scipio, were it not I lov'd thee well,
Thou should'st accompany these slaves to hell:
But get you gone, and if you love yourself.
[Exit SCIPIO.
CARINNA. Pardon me, Sylla! pardon, gentle Sylla!
SYLLA. Sirrah, this gentle name was coin'd too late,
And shadow'd in the shrouds of biting hate.
Despatch! [Kill him.] why so; good fortune to my friends—
As for my foes, even such shall be their ends.
Convey them hence. Metellus, gentle Metellus,
Fetch me Sertorius from Iberia:
In doing so thou standest me in stead,
For sore I long to see the traitor's head.
METELLUS. I go, confirm'd to conquer him by sword,
Or in th'exploit to hazard life and all. [Exit.
SYLLA. Now, Pompey, let me see: those senators
Are dangerous stops of our pretended[157] state,
And must be curtail'd, lest they grow too proud.
I do proscribe just forty senators,
Which shall be leaders in my tragedy.
And for our gentlemen are over-proud,
Of them a thousand and six hundred die;
A goodly army, meet to conquer hell.
Soldiers, perform the course of my decree.
Their friends my foes, their foes shall be my friends.
Go sell their goods by trumpet at your wills:
Meanwhile Pompey shall see, and Rome shall rue,
The miseries that shortly shall ensue.
[Exeunt.
Alarum, skirmish, a retreat. Enter YOUNG MARIUS
upon the walls of PRAENESTE with some Soldiers,
all in black and wonderful melancholy.
YOUNG MARIUS. O endless course of needy man's avail!
What silly thoughts, what simple policies,
Make man presume upon this traitorous life!
Have I not seen the depth of sorrow once,
And then again have kiss'd the queen of chance.
O Marius, thou, Tillitius, and thy friends,
Hast seen thy foe discomfited in fight:
But now the stars have form'd my final harms.
My father Marius lately dead in Rome;
My foe with honour doth triumph in Rome,
My friends are dead and banished from Rome.
Ay, Marius, father, friends, more blest than thee!
They dead, I live; I thralled, they are free.
Here in Praeneste am I cooped up,
Amongst a troop of hunger-starved men,
Set to prevent false Sylla's fierce approach,
But now exempted both of life and all.
Well, fortune, since thy fleeting change hath cast
Poor Marius from his hopes and true desires,
My resolution shall exceed thy power.
Thy colour'd wings steeped in purple blood,
Thy blinding wreath distain'd in purple blood,
Thy royal robes wash'd in my purple blood,
Shall witness to the world thy thirst of blood;
And when the tyrant Sylla shall expect
To see the son of Marius stoop to fear,
Then, then, O, then, my mind shall well appear,
That scorn my life, and hold mine honour dear.
[Alarum. A retreat.
Hark how these murderous Romans, viper-like,
Seek to bewray their fellow-citizens.
O wretched world, from whence with speedy flight
True love, true zeal, true honour late is fled!
SOLDIER. What makes my lord so careless and secure,
To leave the breach and here lament alone?
YOUNG MARIUS. Not fear, my friend, for I could never fly;
But study how with honour for to die.
I pray thee, call the chiefest citizens;
I must advise them in a weighty cause:
Here shall they meet me; and, until they come,
I will go view the danger of the breach.
[Exit YOUNG MARIUS, with the Soldiers.
Enter, with drums and Soldiers, LUCRETIUS, with
other Romans, as TUDITANUS, &c.
LUCRETIUS. Say, Tuditanus, didst thou ever see
So desperate defence as this hath been.
TUDITANUS. As in Numidia, tigers wanting food,
Or, as in Lybia, lions full of ire,
So fare these Romans on Praeneste walls.
LUCRETIUS. Their valour, Tuditanus, and resist,
The man-like fight of younger Marius,
Makes me amaz'd to see their miseries,
And pity them, although they be my foes.
What said I? Foes? O Rome, with ruth I see
Thy state consum'd through folly and dissension!
Well, sound a parley; I will see if words
[Sound a parley—YOUNG MARIUS appears upon the walls with the Citizens.
Can make them yield, which will not fly for strokes.
YOUNG MARIUS. What seeks this Roman warrior at our hands?
LUCRETIUS. That seeks he, Marius, that he wisheth thee:
An humble heart and then a happy peace.
Thou see'st thy fortunes are depress'd and down;
Thy victuals spent; thy soldiers weak with want;
The breach laid open, ready to assault:
Now, since thy means and maintenance are done,
Yield, Marius, yield. Praenestians, be advis'd;
Lucretius is advis'd to favour you.
I pray thee, Marius, mark my last advice:
Relent in time; let Sylla be thy friend;
So thou in Rome may'st lead a happy life,
And those with thee shall pray for Marius still.
YOUNG MARIUS. Lucretius, I consider on thy words:
Stay there awhile; thou shalt have answer straight.
LUCRETIUS. Apollo grant that my persuasions may
Preserve these Roman soldiers from the sword.
YOUNG MARIUS. My friends and citizens of Praeneste town,
You see the wayward working of our stars;
Our hearts confirm'd to fight, our victuals spent.
If we submit, it's Sylla must remit;
A tyrant, traitor, enemy to Rome,
Whose heart is guarded still with bloody thoughts.
These flattering vows Lucretius here avows,
Are pleasing words to colour poison'd thoughts.
What, will you live with shame, or die with fame?
1ST CITIZEN. A famous death, my lord, delights us most.
2D CITIZEN. We of thy faction, Marius, are resolv'd To follow thee in life and death together.
YOUNG MARIUS. Words full of worth, beseeming noble minds:
The very balsamum to mend my woes.
O countrymen! you see Campania spoil'd;
A tyrant threat'ning mutinies in Rome;
A world despoil'd of virtue, faith, and trust.
If then, no peace, no liberty, no faith,
Conclude with me, and let it be no life!
Live not to see your tender infants slain;
These stately towers made level with the land;
This body mangled by our enemy's sword:
But full resolv'd to do as Marius doth,
Unsheathe your poniards, and let every friend
Bethink him of a soldier-like farewell.
Sirrah, display my standard on the walls,
And I will answer yond Lucretius:
Who loveth Marius, now must die with Marius!
LUCRETIUS. What answer will your lordship then return us?
YOUNG MARIUS. Lucretius, we that know what Sylla is—
How dissolute, how trothless and corrupt,
In brief conclude to die, before we yield:
But so to die—Lucretius, mark me well—
As loth to see the fury of our swords
Should murther friends and Roman citizens.
Fie, countrymen! what fury doth infect
Your warlike bosoms, that were wont to fight
With foreign foes, not with Campanian friends.
Now unadvised youth must counsel eld;
For governance is banish'd out of Rome.
Woe to that bough, from whence these blooms are sprung!
Woe to that Aetna, vomiting this fire!
Woe to that brand, consuming country's weal!
Woe to that Sylla, careless and secure,
That gapes with murder for a monarchy!
Go, second Brutus, with a Roman mind,
And kill that tyrant. And for Marius' sake,
Pity the guiltless wives of these your friends.
Preserve their weeping infants from the sword,
Whose fathers seal their honours with their bloods.
Farewell, Lucretius: first I press in place [Stab.
To let thee see a constant Roman die.
Praenestians, lo, a wound, a fatal wound!
The pain but small, the glory passing great!
Praenestians, see a second stroke! why so; [Again.
I feel the dreeping dimness of the night,
Closing the coverts of my careful eyes.
Follow me, friends; for Marius now must die
With fame, in spite of Sylla's tyranny.[158]
[Moritur.
1ST CITIZEN. We follow thee our chieftain even in death. Our town is thine, Lucretius; but we pray For mercy for our children and our wives. [Moritur.
2D CITIZEN. O, save my son, Lucretius; let him live. [Moritur.
LUCRETIUS. A wondrous and bewitched constancy,
Beseeming Marius' pride and haughty mind.
Come, let us charge the breach; the town is ours.
Both male and female, put them to the sword:
So please you, Sylla, and fulfil his word.
[Exeunt.
A little skirmish. A retreat. Enter in royally LUCRETIUS.
LUCRETIUS. Now, Romans, we have brought Praeneste low,
And Marius sleeps amidst the dead at last:
So then to Rome, my countrymen, with joy,
Where Sylla waits the tidings of our fight.
Those prisoners that are taken, see forthwith
With warlike javelins you put them to death.
Come, let us march! See Rome in sight, my hearts,
Where Sylla waits the tidings of our war.
Enter SYLLA, VALERIUS FLACCUS, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, Citizens'
Guard: SYLLA, seated in his robes of state, is saluted by
the Citizens, &c.
FLACCUS. Romans, you know, and to your griefs have seen
A world of troubles hatched here at home,
Which through prevention being well-nigh cross'd
By worthy Sylla and his warlike band,
I, consul, with these fathers think it meet
To fortify our peace and city's weal,
To name some man of worth that may supply
Dictator's power and place; whose majesty
Shall cross the courage of rebellious minds.
What think you, Romans, will you condescend?
SYLLA. Nay, Flaccus, for their profits they must yield;
For men of mean condition and conceit
Must humble their opinions to their lords.
And if my friends and citizens consent,
Since I am born to manage mighty things,
I will, though loth, both rule and govern them.
I speak not this, as though I wish to reign,
But for to know my friends: and yet again
I merit, Romans, far more grace than this.
FLACCUS. Ay, countrymen, if Sylla's power and mind,
If Sylla's virtue, courage, and device,
If Sylla's friends and fortunes merit fame,
None then but he should bear dictator's name.
POMPEY. What think you, citizens, why stand ye mute?
Shall Sylla be dictator here in Rome?
CITIZENS. By full consent Sylla shall be dictator.
FLACCUS. Then in the name of Rome I here present
The rods and axes into Sylla's hand;
And fortunate prove Sylla, our dictator.
[Trumpets sound: cry within, SYLLA Dictator.
SYLLA. My fortunes, Flaccus, cannot be impeach'd.
For at my birth the planets passing kind
Could entertain no retrograde aspects:
And that I may with kindness 'quite their love,
My countrymen, I will prevent the cause
'Gainst all the false encounters of mishap.
You name me your dictator, but prefix
No time, no course, but give me leave to rule
And yet exempt me not from your revenge.
Thus by your pleasures being set aloft,
Straight by your furies I should quickly fall.
No, citizens, who readeth Sylla's mind,
Must form my titles in another kind:
Either let Sylla be dictator ever,
Or flatter Sylla with these titles never.
CITIZENS. Perpetual be thy glory and renown:
Perpetual lord dictator shalt thou be.
POMPEY. Hereto the senate frankly doth agree.
SYLLA. Then so shall Sylla reign, you senators.
Then so shall Sylla rule, you citizens,
As senators and citizens that please me
Shall be my friends; the rest cannot disease me.
Enter LUCRETIUS, with Soldiers.
But see, whereas Lucretius is return'd!
Welcome, brave Roman: where is Marius?
Are these Praenestians put unto the sword?
LUCRETIUS. The city, noble Sylla, razed is,
And Marius dead—not by our swords, my lord,
But with more constancy than Cato died.
SYLLA. What, constancy! and but a very boy?
Why then I see he was his father's son.
But let us have this constancy described.
LUCRETIUS. After our fierce assaults and their resist,
Our siege, their sallying out to stop our trench,
Labour and hunger reigning in the town,
The younger Marius on the city's wall
Vouchsaf'd an inter-parley at the last;
Wherein with constancy and courage too
He boldly arm'd his friends, himself, to death;
And, spreading of his colours on the wall,
For answer said he could not brook to yield,
Or trust a tyrant such as Sylla was.
SYLLA. What, did the brainsick boy upbraid me so?
But let us hear the rest, Lucretius.
LUCRETIUS. And, after great persuasions to his friends
And worthy resolution of them all,
He first did sheathe his poniard in his breast,
And so in order died all the rest.
SYLLA. Now, by my sword, this was a worthy jest.[159]
Yet, silly boy, I needs must pity thee,
Whose noble mind could never mated be.
Believe me, countrymen, a sudden thought,
A sudden change in Sylla now hath wrought.
Old Marius and his son were men of name,
Nor fortune's laughs nor low'rs their minds could tame,
And when I count their fortunes that are past,
I see that death confirm'd their fames at last.
Then he that strives to manage mighty things,
Amidst his triumphs gains a troubled mind.
The greatest hope, the greatest harm it brings,
And poor men in content their glory find.
If then content be such a pleasant thing,
Why leave I country life to live a king?
Yet kings are gods, and make the proudest stoop;
Yea, but themselves are still pursued with hate:
And men were made to mount and then to droop.
Such chances wait upon uncertain fate.
That where she kisseth once, she quelleth twice;
Then whoso lives content is happy, wise.
What motion moveth this philosophy?
O Sylla, see the ocean ebbs and flows;[160]
The spring-time wanes, when winter draweth nigh:
Ay, these are true and most assured notes.
Inconstant chance such tickle turns has lent.
As whoso fears no fall, must seek content.
FLACCUS. Whilst graver thoughts of honour should allure thee,
What maketh Sylla muse and mutter thus?
SYLLA. I, that have pass'd amidst the mighty troops
Of armed legions, through a world of war,
Do now bethink me, Flaccus, of my chance:
How I alone, where many men were slain,
In spite of fate am come to Rome again.
And though[161] I wield the reverend stiles of state;
She[162], Sylla, with a beck could break thy neck.
What lord of Rome hath dar'd as much as I?
Yet, Flaccus, know'st thou not that I must die?
The labouring sisters on the weary looms
Have drawn my web of life at length, I know;
And men of wit must think upon their tombs:
For beasts with careless steps to Lethe go
Where men, whose thoughts and honours climb on high,
Living with fame, must learn with fame to die.
POMPEY. What lets, my lord, in governing this state,
To live in rest, and die with honour too?
SYLLA. What lets me, Pompey? why, my courteous friend,
Can he remain secure that wields a charge,
Or think of wit when flatterers do commend,
Or be advis'd that careless runs at large?
No, Pompey: honey words make foolish minds,
And pow'r the greatest wit with error blinds.
Flaccus, I murder'd Anthony, thy friend;
Romans, some here have lost at my command
Their fathers, mothers, brothers, and allies;
And think you, Sylla, thinking these misdeeds,
Bethinks not on your grudges and mislike?
Yes, countrymen, I bear them still in mind:
Then, Pompey, were I not a silly man
To leave my rule, and trust these Romans then?
POMPEY. Your grace hath small occasions of mistrust,
Nor seek these citizens for your disclaim.
SYLLA. But, Pompey, now these reaching plumes of pride,
That mounted up my fortunes to the clouds,
By grave conceits shall straight be laid aside,
And Sylla thinks of far more simple shrouds.
For having tried occasion in the throne,
I'll see if she dare frown, when state is gone.
Lo, senators, the man that sat aloft,
Now deigns to give inferiors highest place.
Lo, here the man whom Rome repined oft,
A private man content to brook disgrace.
Romans, lo, here the axes, rods, and all:
I'll master fortune, lest she make me thrall.
Now whoso list accuse me, tell my wrongs,
Upbraid me in the presence of this state.
Is none these jolly citizens among,
That will accuse, or say I am ingrate?
Then will I say, and boldly boast my chances,
That nought may force the man whom fate advances.
FLACCUS. What meaneth Sylla in this sullen mood,
To leave his titles on the sudden thus?
SYLLA. Consul, I mean with calm and quiet mind
To pass my days, till[163] happy death I find.
POMPEY. What greater wrong than leave thy country so?
SYLLA. Both it and life must Sylla leave in time.
CITIZEN. Yet during life have care of Rome and us.
SYLLA. O wanton world, that flatter'st in thy prime,
And breathest balm and poison mixed in one!
See how these wavering Romans wish'd my reign,
That whilom fought and sought to have me slain. [Aside.]
My countrymen, this city wants no store
Of fathers, warriors, to supply my room;
So grant me peace, and I will die for Rome.
Enter two Burglars to them, POPPEY and CURTALL.
