The Roman revenge: A tragedy. By Aaron Hill, Esq;.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- PROLOGUE.

- Persons Represented.

- ACT 1.

- SCENE 1.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE. V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- ACT. II.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- ACT III.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- ACT. IV.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- SCENE. IX.

- ACT.V.

- SENEI.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- EPILOGUE. In D illegible etta:

THE ROMAN REVENGE.

THE ROMAN REVENGE. A TRAGEDY. By AARON HILL, Esq

Sold by M. Mechell, at the King's arms in Fleet-street; and likewise to be had at the Booksellers of London and Westminster. M,DCC,LIII. Price one Shilling and Six-pence.]

PROLOGUE.

TELL me, ye matchless Fair! Ye fearless Brave!

Is there one Briton— born to be a Slave?

No.—While your Prince half Europe's Ri•hts maintains,

Nor Souls, nor Bodies, here, can stoop to Chains.

Angels, and Englishmen, like Homage, pay:

Bow, but, from Love,—and, but by Choice obey:

I oyal, to keason's Rights, not Slavery's Awe,

The Sons of Freedom serve the Kings, of Law.

Act, with no Clogs on Sense, no Clouds on Art,

But let in Truth's whole Light, to hear the Heart.

Such, once, was Rome-to Strength, not Luxury, train'd:

Then Liberty was Hers, and Virtue reign'd:

Safe, in her own felt Power, and bluntly brave,

She scorn'd alike to be— or make— a Slave.

No puny Popeling, yet, Man's Birth-right Stole:

Foe, to th' invaded Empire—of the SOUL!

Plain, prideless Rule bound short Ambition's Plea:

But left Thought, Art, Faith, Hope, and Conscience free.

Far other Fame was hers, when Church-craft reign'd,

Then, every Cherub's Face, with Gall, was stain'd:

Sweet-ey'd Religion, sow'rd, by priestly Leaven,

Frown'd on pale Peace—and shook her Keys at Heaven.

More than her Maker's Rights, She found too small,

And murmur'd, that his Grants cou'd give —but ALL.

Wil'd, Inconsistent, Blasphemous, and Vain,

Revers'd God's Laws—to propogate his Reign!

Her Creeds taught Curses.—Her proud Schools Debate

Nothing, but Fool, a Flattery, 'scap'd her Hate.

She lov'd Obedience,—but she lov'd it, blind:

And, safelier to subdue, debas'd Mankind.

No Pardon, there, let Britain's Sins presume;

Freedom, and Truth, are HERETICS—at Rome.

Religion's Dark•ners will no Reverence feel

For Faith, that bears no Craft, and blinds no Zeal:

Learning, uncurb'd by Cant; Truth, wash'd from Wiles,

An Earth, that Reasons—and a Heaven that smiles:

Homage, that no Sedition can betray,

Yet Liberty, that laughs at lawless Sway.

Such had the World's vain Mistress, then, been fram'd,

When this Night's Story Rome's Attention claim'd;

Freedom had nurs'd no Son, to blast her Reign,

And Caesar had a Soul, without one Stain.

Persons Represented.

MEN.

- Julius Caesar, Dictator.

- Marcus Brutus, his Son by Servilia, but not knowing himself to be so.

- Marc Antony, Consul of Rome.

- Ta•bilius; A Roman Poet, favour'd by Brutus.

- Cassius,

- C••ber,

- De••mus,

- Casca,

- Cinna,

- Marcellus,

Conspirators against Caesar.

- Trinovantius, A British Tribune, faithful to Caesar.

- Curio A Roman Tribune, in his Confidence.

- An Augur: Officers, Lictors, and Plebeians.

WOMEN.

- Calphurnia, Cae•ar's Wife.

- Portia, Wife to Brutus.

- Flavia, A Lady, Attendant on Calphurnia.

SCENE. The Capital, and Places adjoing.

ACT 1.

SCENE 1.

A Hall in Caesar's House.

CASSIUS. TORBILIUS. (Crossing.)

CASSIUS.

STAY! turn!—The imperfect Dawn deceives my Sight,

Or, 'tis Torbilius.

TORBILIUS.

Cassius:

CASSIUS.

He!—How comes it,

I meet thee, in the House of hated Caesar!

TORBILIUS.

Portia, to-night, was frighted, in a Dream;

And, hast'ning hither, to alarm Calphurmia,

Call'd for my Hand, to guide her.

CASSIUS.

In the Forum.

Expect strong Clash, this Morning.

TORBILIUS.

Will Caesar, then,

Be King.

CASSIUS.

He will—yet, Dreams of a to-morrow.

TORBILIUS.

So dies, our Plot abortive.

CASSIUS.

Rather, die Caesar!

Fix Brutus ours—and yon pale—rising Sun

Shall drink the Tyrant's Blood, before its setting.

TORBILIUS.

Speak softly.—'Tis an unsafe Scene, for Treason.

CASSIUS.

Not now.—The House is Desart.—Every Eye,

Busied remote, strays upward, from the Grove;

Hard, thro' dim Dawn, the Patient Augurs pore,

Watchful to teach mysterious Birds, to lie,

And mock insulted Heaven, to flatter Caesar.

TORBILIUS.

Wait you the Auguries?

CASSIUS.

Away—light Questioner!

Brutus, and I, with more tame Slaves, call'd Senators,

Last Night, beseeching Audience, kingly Caesar

Told us, fair Meanings shun'd the Shade of Night,

And bad us, when Day rose, attend his Pleasure:

I came a willing Hour too soon—for, oh!

Such a Discovery!—Such Intelligence!

TORBILIUS.

Whence flows it?

CASSIUS.

Whence do all Court Secrets flow?

Kings trust their Minions—and King-Blasters bribe 'em:

Caesar, to-night, sat writing, till alarmed,

He heard Calphurnia shriek, and rose to aid her.

Left, in his Closet, lay a half transcrib'd,

And strangely—purpos'd WILL:—wherein who (think'st thou)

But Brutus!—Our last Hope—Rome's freeborn Brutus!

Is nam'd the Tyrant's SON! and Heir of Empire!

TORBILIUS.

In Form of Will adopted?

CASSIUS.

Direly; adopted!

Own'd his true natural-born decendant Son,

By Cato's solemn Sister!—Curse her Hypocrisy!

'Twas Ruin—to the Hopes of Rome, and Liberty.

TORBILIUS.

What Bribe had Power, to force a Friend from Caesar.

CASSIUS.

Thy Friend, and mine—imperial Gold!—more Eloquent,

Than ten smooth Caesars! bought a true King-Server

From his Lord's Bosom,—Opportunely near,

He caught the inviting Moment:—left his Covert,—

Read—started—sent to press my early coming,

And, private here, in the still dusk, discolosed it.

TORBILIUS.

Gods! What persidious Friendships cheat Mankind!

CASSIUS.

Laugh, and be wise.—So, to betray, gives Greatness.

—Forget not thou, mean-while, to speed thy Charge:

Prepare cold Brutus for the Day's Impression:

Swell him, with all his prais'd Forefather's Pride;

Fume his enhaling Soul with Flatte'ry's Incence,

And share divided Rome's best Hopes, with Cassius

TORBILIUS.

Why must Rome's Hopes depend on One Man's Aid?

CASSIUS.

All Men are Ours in Brutus.—Thou, and I,

And every Roman, leagu'd, to cut off Caesar,

Hate Caesar.—Every burning Breast, but His,

Has sep'arate, inselt, private Cause, for Malice:

Who will believe, we strike for Rome.—So known,

So mark'd, malignant to the Name of Caesar?

Brutus is Caesar's Idol!—and loves Caesar!

His Aid will consecrate Revenge to Virtue.

He can, when Caesar bleeds, turn Tears to Triumph,

And blot the whitest Star, that lights his Character.

TORBILIUS.

But this is Baseness, Cassius!—grant it needful,

The Man shou'd die—why must we kill his Virtues?

Why, to oppose his reigning, must we rob

His natural Rights?—why shade the Soul, he shines by?

No—let us own the Beauties of his Heart:

Weeping, confess his Brave'ry, Tempe'rence, Pity,

Long patient Courtings of rejected Peace—

Yet—dreadful Darings, in Contempt of Danger?

Else, we shall spot Laws Face, with Marks of Envy,

Treating this vastness of a Mind, like Heaven's,

As if keen-ey'd for Guilt, but blind to Goodness.

CASSIUS.

Perish his Goodness!—grind my Ear no more

With his curst Qualities:—I hate his Power:

I hate myself—hate Rome—hate Life, Joy, Victory,

Hate every Hope, but one.—to make Him feel,

That slighted Cassius drew down Fate on Caesar.

This let me live to teach him—Then,—tho' Rome,

Sunk, round me, till her tumbling Capital

Smoak'd, for my funeral Pile.—'Twere Death, with Glory.

TORBILIUS.

Cassius! my Soul, less fiery, cannot strain

Resentment into Frenzy:—In my Sense,

Reason, not Rage, shou'd measure Plotter's Passions.

Be temperate, or

CASSIUS. Hastily.

By Heaven! he comes! you Gallery

Sounds, with his Step.—The holy Farce is ended:

Poet,—farewell.—

Exit Cassius.

TORBILIUS. alone.

Farewell, detested Envy!

Motives like thine, turn Justice into Murder.

Something shall, strait, be done.—Caesar! be safe:

He, who forgave my Guilt, demands my Virtue.

Exit.

SCENE II.

CAESAR, Preceded by Lictors, and Officers, and follow'd at some Distance, by an Augur.

AUGUR.

Caesar! imperial Caesar! hear the Gods.

CAESAR.

Go:—Thou art known.—The Gods, thou serv'st, are Senators:

Cassrus, thy Phaebus—and his Gold, thy Jove.

AUGUR.

Rest, from this fatal March, restrain'd by Heaven,

And, by such unpropitious Auguries, warn'd.

CAESAR.

Shame on your pious Frauds! they tire Indulgence.

AUGUR.

Check not the Voice of Truth: 'twas form'd, for Plainness.

CAESAR.

Own it with conscious Shame.—If Truth loves Plainness.

Why are the God's clear Wills perplex'd, by Art?

AUGUR.

Speaks Rome's high Pontiff This?

CAESAR.

He does, bold Augur!

'To rescue Zeal, from Pride's unhallow'd Claim;

That robs, to reve'rence Heaven.

AUGUR.

Heaven calls for Faith.

CAESAR.

How dare you, then, make Infidels, by Falsehood?

Wou'd you, o're Reason, stretch the Chain of Faith,

Gild it, with Heaven's broad Light: Touch the taught Heart.

Nobly, speak out:—and tell th' attracted World,

Nothing is from the Gods, that shakes Man's Honesty.

AUGUR.

Oh! stay thy fatal March—change thy rash Views;

Bid thy rais'd Eagles fall the expanded Wing:

Air's plumy People, screaming from the Left,

Stoop in their Flight, to warn Thee:—Omens on Omens,

Bode unauspecious Doom—and teem, with Death.

CAESAR.

No more.

Augur

the Gods

Caesar

away—I know 'em, best,

Who know 'em Friends to Virtue.—

AUGUR.

Virtue is Liberty.

The Foes of Freedom can attract no Gods,

To prop their falling Standards;—Heaven beglooms

Thy Star, with some dire Fate:—but what, is Darkness.

CAESAR.

Go: search it, in the Air,—and, if thou find'st it,

Arm'd, in its ugliest Menace, bring it hither.—

When Screams of Birds can shake a Soldier's Heart,

Thou shalt lead Priests to fight, for feeble Rome,

And lend their Arts, to Caesar.

AUGUR.

Tremble.—

CAESAR.

Away.

Exit Augur.

SCENE III.

CAESAR alone.

CAESAR.

I wou'd, be happy.—Why, then, am I Great?

Men, who desert their Peace, to serve their Glory,

Toil, for the Malice of oblig'd Mankind:

Yet—weigh, warm Heart, impartially sincere,

Whence Opposition Springs—and Love its Boldness.

Why claim I Power Supreme?—was Empire—mine?

Freedom is every Roman's native Right;

And every Roman Voice demands it back,

Where Power's, unjustly, held—the Opposer's just:

But,—where even Freedom is, by Choice, corrupt,

How fruitless—to redeem the willing Slave.

Can I recall the Dead?—Rome gives up Rome;

The cheapen'd Varlets rate their venal Votes,

And sell their Soul's Redeemer.—Sleep, Ambition?

How easier 'tis to save, than mend, a People!

Fall, servile Rome!—No.—Rome is Caesar's Country.

And, who dares injure, where he's born—to save?

Foes! wrong me on—till pardon'd into Friends:

Busy, for Greatness, I'll neglect Revenge;

Take Envy in Reward, and make it Fame.

What new, kind Fear, alarms thy Lady's Love?

Enter Flavia frighted.

FLAVIA.

Danger, most instant, she wou'd, now, impart,

E're Cassius, and his proud Confederates come—

Those Enemies of all her Hopes—and Gaesar!

CAESAR.

Go: tell her, Caesar dreads no Enemies,

But those, Her selt Afflictions teach to wound him.

Exit Flavia.

CAESAR. Kneeling.

Hear me, Thou! self-producing, dark, first Cause!

All-ruling! all-evading! aweful Power,

Whom, under various Names, blind worship seeks!

If, till compell'd, I drew the public Sword,

Sheath'd, in my Bosom, let the Guilty fall!

rises

But, if brib'd Hopes, or partial Sense of Liberty,

Sovereign'd, a Senate, o'er a Nation, Slaves:

Then, Tyranny (assum'd, to bar a Tyrant)

Gave Rome five Hundred Kings—lest one shou'd reign.

If I must war—be edg'd my Sword, for Glory:

Better to hold, than bear tyrannic Sway:

Where but the Great are free—Reason's, a Slave,

SCENE IV.

CALPHURNIA, to CAESAR, (ent'ring hastily.)

CALPHURNIA.

Caesar! my Life!—my Love!

CAESAR.

my Soul's soft Care!

Thou tremblest!—Some new Vision has alarm'd Thee.

CALPHURNIA.

Heaven is alarm'd—for Virtue sleeps, in Danger.

CAESAR.

Rest, from thy Dreams, by Day—thou dear Intruder!

Fears, and Affections, are for happier Hours:

War, and our Country's Cares, demand us, now.

CALPHURNIA.

Can you be deaf to Warnings, from the Gods?

Portia came, trembling, from a dreadful Dream,

That proves mine ominous.

CAESAR.

What has she dreamt?

CALPHURNIA.

Frighted, she saw her Father's ent'ring Shadow

Glide thro' her Chamber, in a dusky Ray:

Stopping, it fix'd a pale, and empty Eye,

Spoke, in a thin, faint, death-denoting Voice,

And pierc'd her to the Soul.—Portia, Thou'rt mine,

Th' unbodied Phantom cry'd.—Brutus no more

Thy Lord—nor Caesar Rome's.—It said, and pass'd,

And melted into Air, and flow'd away.

CAESAR.

The night-born Tremblings of a timid Love,

Unstedfasted by Reason!

CALPHURNIA.

Be it no more!—

Yet, see not these dire Men:—They find, and dread

Their Power's Destruction, in the Crown of Caesar.

Hence, have their plotting Fears, this Day, combin'd,

To blast thy Purpose—or, cut short thy Life.

Soft knocking at the Door.

CAESAR.

Go, with thy medling Tenderness.—They come;

Anon, thou shalt be heard:

CALPHURNIA.

—One Word indulge me:

E're to the People's public Voice propos'd,

Plebian Votes permit this Crown to Caesar,

Hear a sad Secret, my touch'd Heart wou'd tell Thee.

CAESAR.

Give thyself Peace.—I will.

CALPHURNIA.

May all Rome's Gods,

In pity of her Fate, defend, and bless thee.

Exit Calphurnia, meeting Antony who bows to her, in passing.

SCENE. V.

CAESAR, MARC ANTONY.

ANTONY.

Health, and a length of happy Days to Caesar!

Freedom, and Faction join, to crown him King.

CAESAR.

Who wou'd be King of Faction, Antony?

Monarchs, by Freedom crown'd, reign Kings, indeed!

ANTONY.

Why checks that boding Sigh, the public Joy?

What is there, in the Course of worldly Dread,

That thy great Heart can Sigh for?

CAESAR.

—For a Friend

ANTONY.

No Friend to Caesar needs a Sigh, in Rome.

CAESAR.

Oh, Antony!—who wou'd not sigh, in Rome,

That thinks of her lost Virtues.

ANTONY.

—If there lives

One, who not hates Oppression, let him love

Rome, and her Virtues.—Both grown false, and hateful.

CAESAR.

Hate not the Guilty, but the guilt, my Antony:

Ne're shall thy Soul expand, in public Love,

Till it can bear, and pardon, private Wrongs.

ANTONY.

When Slander stings us, what shou'd Sufferers do?

CAESAR.

Invulnerably Faultless, shame Detraction.—

Why shou'd th'ungrounded Slanders of th' Unjust,

Provoke us, to deserve 'em?—Late, when here

We met, I told thee, Caesar, had a Son.

ANTONY.

If I forsake thy Race

—Caesar

swear nothing, Antony

Exacting Oaths, I must suspect Deceit:

And he, who trusts the doubted, cheats Himself.

ANTONY.

But who?—what Star of Rome is Caesar's—Son!

CAESAR.

Suppose it Brutus.—

ANTONY. Starting.

—Every God renounce him!

CAESAR.

What God renounces Excellence, in Man?

ANTONY.

Brutus is hard, and stern.—and, what is Man,

Who cannot weep for Man—and feel, for Nature?

CAESAR.

Servilia was, in secret, vow'd my Wife,

When Cato, whose austere, and captious Virtue,

Repell'd even Virtue—if it cross'd his own

Jealous of our Assistance,—yet, undreaming,

How far one soft, stol'n, amo'rous Hour had borne us,

Snatch'd the succeeding Day, and, in my Absence,

Forc'd her, distracted, to a Brutus's Arms.

ANTONY.

What mean the wanton Powers, who license Chance,

To shame thee, with a Son, unlike, as Brutus!

Sedition, will not hear, the call of Blood:

Intractably morose, it shuts out Pity,

And starves Humanity, to cherish Pride.

CAESAR.

Time, that transforms us all, shall win back Brutus.

ANTONY.

Time's Comqueror might reclaim him.

CAESAR.

Who's that?

ANTONY.

—Death.

CAESAR.

How!—To whom speak'st thou this?

ANTONY.

—To Man.

CAESAR.

—Be one.

And, when thou speak'st again—speak, to the Father.

ANTONY.

If I offended—Caesar can be partial.

CAESAR.

No.—For, I see thee honest, through thy Error.

ANTONY.

I thought, Revenge of Wrongs was right of Nature.

CAESAR.

Men think but to the Limits of their Minds.

For me—despising Wrongs, I shun Severity.

ANTONY.

Yet, sure! Allenvied Greatness, wou'd be safe.

CAESAR.

Greatness is safest, when it dares forgive.

ANTONY.

Rome hates your Power.

CAESAR.

Then, she shall love my Mercy.

ANTONY.

I can but wish thee bless'd:—And, still, serve on.

CAESAR.

Come, thou shalt aid me.—Thou hast lent thy Arm

To conquer Nations for me:—Conquer Brutus:

Teach him, that noblest Courage shuns to hate:

Charm him, to taste the Power of gentle Sway;

New humanize his Heart, to thy soft Model,

And graft Politeness on his Savage Virtue.

ANTONY.

When Caesar bids—his Antony obeys:

Had Brutus been my Son—I, too, had hop'd.

Enter CURIO.

CURIO.

Caesar!—th' expected Lords'

CAESAR.

Admit 'em, Curio.

Exit Curio

SCENE VI.

Caesar, seated: Antony, Brutus, Cassius, Cimber, Decimus, Casca, Cinna, Marcellus, advancing to their Seats.

CAESAR.

Health to the Jealous for their Country's Freedom;

Caesar's Distrusters, welcome!—Cimber! Decimus!

Marcellus! Gasca! Cassius! Brutus!—All!

This Day, the Senate sits: quick, therefore, teach me

The previous Purpose of your offer'd Zeal.

BRUTUS.

Rome dreads to lose her Caesar, in a King.

CAESAR.

What wou'd you do with this fam'd Sybil's Prophesy?

How check the public Terror?—Must I march

With trembling Legions, unsustain'd at Heart,

And desperate, from Defect of, but a Name?

By Oracles fore-doom'd for Parthia's Fall?

Cassius, you smile.—The Great should judge the Great:

For, never mean Man's Thoughts out-stretch'd his Feeling:

Speak, Brutus—were your Choice your General's Leader,

What wou'd you wish him called?

BRUTUS.

Rome call'd him—Consul.

CAESAR.

Rome did so—but, when superstitious Dread

Of hostile Arms has damp'd a Nation's Fire,

Changes, which tend to raise dejected Hope,

Are Wisdom.

BRUTUS.

Wisdom has its Fears.—

CAESAR.

—Speak boldly:

Attentive, even from Foes, to borrow Benefit,

I court Suspicion's Gall, to aid my Judgment,

With all th' instructive Doubts of Men, who hate me.

BRUTUS.

No Foe has Caesar—but his Crown has many.

ANTONY.

King, was a Title, aweful, anicent, sacred.

CIMBER. Rising.

Plain Truth is a blunt Talker—never, rash Consul.

Never did Sylla, Marius, Pompey,—Never,

In all the Boldness of usurp'd Command,

Dare the shun'd Name—howe'er they grasp'd the Power:

Nor challenge kingly Style, in freeborn Rome.

But Liberty, perhaps, becomes too bold.

CAESAR.

True Liberty is bold, without Presumption:

And, without Flattery, gentle.—Cassius, be heard.

CASSIUS. Raising.

Caesar has sworn, to guard our ancient Rights;

Sworn, to uphold one sole Supreme—the Law:

Caesar unperjur'd, Rome can fear no King.

CAESAR.

Malice, disguis'd in Counsel,—Keep it, Cassius:

Permitted Slander is a willing Tax,

That patient Power pays, to the Rights of Liberty.

DECIMUS. rising

Be Caesar King—but, still, let Rome be free!

CAESAR.

A plain Man's honest Prayer.—Brutus why dumb?

BRUTUS. rising mournfully.

I must be dumb, if neutral:—but, compell'd

To speak, disdain to speak, unlike a Roman:

What helps it to Rome's Friends, if Rome wears Fetters,

That Foes, in Asia, join, to drag her Chain?

Leave Parthea safely fierce:—Dangers remote

Touch but our Fears—Domestick Ones are felt.

CAESAR.

Brutus! Thou err'st, undreaming it.—Thou, Cassius,

Art, knowingly, an unmisled Misleader:

Thy Passions fram'd the Pile:—good Decimus,

Marcellus, Cimber, and such live Materials,

Buttress thy factious Building:—'Tis in vain,

To reason with the Partial: Men, who call

Their own corrected Pride, the public Danger;

Else, I wou'd say, to Minds, that could reflect,

Be Freemen among Freemen.—hard Controul

Breaks a wrong'd People's Spirits, into Slaves,

Or, spur's 'em into Rebell's.—'Tis dishonest:

What Right have we to Freedom, not alike

The Property, ev'n of the Poorest Roman?

BRUTUS.

When fed the lab'ring Ox, abreast the Lion?

CAESAR.

How venal is all Rome!—Her every Senator

Sold, to his Passion's Biddings.—Brutus is sold

To Pride,—to avarice, some:—These Envy draw;

Those Fear;—in Others, hopes of promis'd Power

Warp the Dependent Will, to crooked Reasonings;

Loose, as the Bribes, that bought 'em.

CASSIUS.

—Voices, Caesar!

Are, sometimes, sold—where Hands retain their Liberty.

CAESAR.

True—Angry Cassius!—But, the Head, misguiding,

Hands will mistake the Mark, and wound Themselves.

How soon have you forgot Pharsalia's Field?

CASSIUS.

Fortune decided, there:—At Rome, 'tis Law,

CAESAR.

Fortune decided strangely Caius Cassius!

If I, by having conquer'd, must obey,

And you, from being beaten, claim Command!

ANTONY. rising with Emotion.

Aften such sierce, unveil'd, presumtuous Menace,

Rome must forget, ferever, to obey,

Or Caesar, once, to pardon.

CAESAR. to Cassius.

—Cassius, it grieves me,

That Thou compell'st a Sentence, too severe,

rises

Since Mercy serves but to excite Offence,

And Bounty spurs Ingratitude—be—safe:—

Sunk, to the Shelter of a wrong'd Man's Pity,

Too feeble to provoke.—Escape Revenge.

comes forward

BRUTUS holding him.

Call it no Crime, to apprehend Distress!

If Liberty offends, and Truth grows Treason,

Thank Heaven, the most dejected Slave, on Earth,

Holds Priviledge to die.—But Caesar frowns!

Note it, attentive Gods! and wake, for Freedom!

Imperial Caesar frowns!— Rome's Master frowns—

That Opposition speaks uncourtly Truth.

turning to go.

CAESAR.

No more.—The Rest, when in full Senate, met:—

Till then, farewell.—

Exeunt Senators.

—Stay Consul,—Brutus—stay.

SCENE VII.

CAESAR. BRUTUS. ANTONY.

CAESAR. —after a long Look, fix'd carnestly upon Brutus,

Maxims, inhumam, fierce, and blind, like Thine,

Disgrace a Freeman's Name.

Brutus turns to go

—Stay, I command Thee;

Return, rash Man—and know—'tis Caesar, calls.

BRUTUS. returning.

All my adhering Heart feels Caesar, King,

Leave but Rome's Senate free, devoted Brutus

Shall rest thy willing Slave.—

CAESAR.

Proud, as Thou art

Of Liberty, thou hast not learnt, that Freedom,

Beyond all Yokes, hates, most, this Yoke of Prejudice,

That makes Men Siaves, at Soul.—THINK freely, Brutus

And let us argue, like unbiass'd Romans:

Thou talk'st of Rights—Rome's Rights:—are not the People

The assembled People; ROME? Is not Law Theirs?

Counsel, that, not complied with, would compell,

Turns Law to Tyranny.

BRUTUS.

Shall Tumult reign?

Shall high-born Senates serve, and Groundlings govern?

CAESAR.

No.—Mark the Senate's Bounds—and mark the People's:

Foresight, and Guardian Care, and weigh'd Advice.

Debated Means, and Remedies propos'd,

These and these only, are the SENATE's Rights:

Propounded Laws accepted, or refus'd,

This is the PEOPLE's Claim: and both are Rome.

BRUTUS.

Thanks to the Gods, Rome boasts some Patriots, still.

CAESAR.

Yes—grasping Hopes undue and check'd of Aim,

Patriots, in Aid of Vengeance! they combine,

To clog the Wheels, they can no longer guide:

Hiding low-self, behind the Public Cause,

They Murmur, till they purchase private Ease,

Then, License General Pain, to curse Mankind.

BRUTUS.

Held not the Senate S•ale most Weight, in Rome?

CAESAR.

Rome felt it, Brutus—till my Arms relive'd her.

BRUTUS.

He, who, by Arms, rules Freemen, teaches Slaves—

By Arms, to rule that Ruler.

CAESAR.

Trust a try'd Sword.

BRUTUS.

Curse its bold Use—in any Hand, but Caesar's,

When, to the vulgar Herd, it levels Nobles,

Born, to be Great—and mixes Hinds with Consuls.

CAESAR.

Born did'st thou say?—mark, how thy partial Pride,

Barring the Gates of Hope, wou'd shut out Merit!

No Man was ever Born, but form'd to Greatness:

Who, but aspiring—Hinds—were—Rome's first Fathers?

Unvulgar Spirit rais'd their Deeds to Fame,

And, thence, unvulgar Reverence mark'd 'em Noble.

—But, in our Hands, diminish'd Honour Shrinks

To bare Degree,—and shames the Rights of Rank.

Heaven!—what a difference 'twixt Old Rome, and Ours?

Our first fam'd Ancestors gave worth—to Blood:—

We, from a worthless Birth, wou'd steal Distinction.

Pensions, with us, take Place:—with them, 'twas Virtue.

Our Av'rice Plunders Friends: Their conquering Bounty

Took nothing, ev'n from Foes—but Power of Insult.

BRUTUS.

Grant us less worthy; still Their Claims are Ours:

And Sons, who basely quit their Father's Rights,

Deserve to live, like Slaves—or die, like Traitors.

CAESAR.

Fie!—let us Blush, to name our Father's Right's,

Who leave their Claim to Honesty, forgot!

BRUTUS.

Oft, in sunk States, when Power presumes, on Vice,

New Crimes call out new Virtues.

CAESAR.

Rome's new Virtues

Match her new Maxims: Mark their Grandeur, Brutus

Active, in other's Industry, we build,—

Race, Game, Dress, Dance, Feast, and drink deep, for Glory:

Ours are the Tastes of Life: Let humbler States

Learn its lean Duties:—We, to lighten Joy,

Have, elegantly painless! cast off Care:—

Hunger, and Thirst, and loose Desires—anticipate:

Posponing nothing—but Thought, Fame, and Justice.

Vallies we teach to rise: O'er levell'd Hills

Stretch the tir'd Sight:—But, inward turn no Eye:

Ourselves the darkest Part of our own Prospect.

Well say they, Rome is chang'd.—'Tis chang'd, indeed!

Women are chang'd to Men,—and Men to Women.

Anger has chang'd its Mark:—Roman's shock Roman's,

Yet, tame to Parthian Insults, hold back Vengeance,

That Robbers may have Rest,—and Bribery Leisure.

ANTONY.

To Sons of Faction, screen'd but by Rome's Crimes,

Why name we Roman Virtues?

BRUTUS.

—On Thy Voice

Dwells Eloquence, that make ev'n Error charming,

O, too persuasive Caesar!—But Thou, Antony,

Shalt know, that, when fall'n Rome's degenerate Consuls

Live,—a King's Slaves,—Brutus shall die—a Roman.

Exit.

SCENE VIII.

CAESAR. ANTONY.

ANTONY. after a Pause.

Now, Caesar! what deserve such Romans?

CAESAR. after a short Pause.

—Freedom.

ANTONY.

They are too f•ee, who treat their Friends, with Insult,

CAESAR.

If Man were plac'd above the Reach of Insult.

To Pardon, were no Virtue:—Think, warm Antony,

What Mercy is—'Tis daring to be wrong'd,

Yet, unprovok'd by Pride, persist in Pity.

ANTONY.

Power, that endures Contempt, invites Rebellion,

CAESAR.

Dream not, that Moderation weakens Power:

The heart-felt Sovereign smiles, at Faction's Rage;

And those malignant Men, who hate unjustly,

We punish most, when we are most belov'd.

ANTONY.

What Prince, who was not fear'd, was, eyer, safe?

CAESAR.

Only, in War, he shoud be fear'd.—In Peace, be honour'd Antony.

ANTONY.

Even Self-defence requires, at least, that bloody Cassius fall.

CAESAR.

Why shou'd I strike the Weak, who cannot wound me▪

ANTONY.

Punish the guilty Will, that dar'd imagine.

CAESAR.

So Minions teach tame Kings, to merit Hate.

ANTONY.

Where Kings suspect,—preventing, they secure.

CAESAR.

Scorn to suspect, where thou woud'st scorn to fear.

Nor waste, on ev'ry slight and weak Offence,

The Dignity of Vengeance.—I will, anon,

Trust Brutus with his Birth: Nature must move him.

If not—I leave him to the Gods, and Time.

ANTONY.

Shall he oppose, yet, wear his Father's Crown?

CAESAR.

Shou'd Life allot me Hope, to stretch Rome's Soul

To Latitude for Liberty—'twere more

Than Empire, to restore her.—If the Task,

Hard, and extensive, calls for lengthening Years,

While, in untimely Hour, I, distant, die,

Brutus, by this last Light, will judge my Purpose.

gives a Paper.

ANTONY.

Long may the Gods, preserving Caesar's Life,

Protect his Purposes, from Care, not Caesar's.

CAESAR.

Life has too short a Reach, for long Designs:

And, oft, the Fruit not ripe, the Tree declines:

No Help unneedful, Man shou'd all purfue,

Lest Time slide from him,—and his Hopes die, too.

End of the First ACT.

ACT. II.

SCENE I.

A Room in Caesar's House. Two Chairs plac'd: Calphurnia, Flavia.

CALPHURNIA.

GO, Flavia;—spread Enquiry through the Palace:

While I, prolonging Time, by every Art

Of apprehensive Love, hold Caesar, fix'd

In Conference, till slow Torbilius comes:

Fittest Reporter of his own sad Tale,

To force Belief, and fire reluctant Vengeance.

CAESAR. without

Where is this bosom Counseller of Caesar?

CALPHURNIA.

Fly—find Torbilius:—when he comes, touch soft

My Silver Bell, that the known Sound may war me.

Exit Flavia.

CAESAR.

Tis past, Calphurnia.—The try'd Faction's hatred

Repell'd obtruded Candor.

CALPHURNIA.

Shun thy Forgiveness?

CAESAR.

Men, of contracted Views, distrust kind Meanings;

For, no Heart credits, what it cannot feel.

What frightful Story has my Dreamer, now?

CALPHURNIA.

A sad, and dreadful Truth.-No Dream-No Doubting:

He, whose dire Property the Secret rests,

Guardian of Caesar's Life, demands his Ear.

For me—I cou'd but speak my Fears, and Follies.

CAESAR

Follies have Charms, when Fears, like thine, are follies:

Man may draw Profit, then, from Woman's Weakness:

And, in one tender Wife's mistaking Faith,

Find Recompence, for every Friend, that's false.

they sit.

CALPHURNIA

Can there be Rest, in Danger?

CAESAR.

Sure! There shou'd not:

CALPHURNIA.

Why is Ambition, then, too hard for Peace?

Why, always busy, to be never blest,

Does restless Caesar sacrifice, unthank'd,

The Taste, the Quiet, the Serene, of Life,

For an ungrateful World, that hates his Bounty?

CAESAR.

'Tis the great Mind's expected Pain, Calphurnia

To Labour for the Thankless:—He, who seeks

Reward in Ruling, makes Ambition Guilt:

And, living for Himself, disclaims Mankind.

CALPHURNIA.

Alas!—the Friend to All obliges none.

CAESAR.

'Tis nobler to protect Mankind, than please.

CALPHURNIA.

Is it a Crime, when Virtue loves itself?

CAESAR.

Princes shou'd widen self:—Their Power, and Heart,

Alike Receptive, must make room for All:

'Tis theirs, to Sigh, for every Sufferer's Woe;

Lend their own Joys, that others may be glad:

Think ev'en for unborn Ages; and transmit

Blessings unshar'd—and quiet, not their own.

CALPHURNIA.

Virtues, so rais-d, as these, but waste their Warmth,

And shine, unfelt, in Rome.—The Vulgar Eye

Sees, by its own low Level:—As Men act,

They judge: and, by corrupt Self-Interest weigh'd,

Goodness, like Heaven's, wou'd seem Self-Interest, too.

CAESAR.

No Matter.—Virtue Triumphs, by Neglect:

Vice, while it darkens, lends but Foil, to Brightness:

And juster Times, removing Slander's Veil,

Wrong'd Merit, after Death, is help'd to live.

CALPHURNIA.

Can present Pain be cur'd, by future Ease?

CAESAR.

Who wou'd not, once, look dim, to shine, for ever?

CALPHURNIA.

How happy is it for a Wife, who loves,

When lowlier Prospects bound her Lord's Desires,

And Home-felt Quiet fills his peaceful Heart!

Why wou'd you be a King?—wait, till some King

Aspires, to be a Caesar:—Lend not Envy

New Props to lean against: This threat'ning Name

Beats on the Roman's unaccustom'd Ear,

Like a black Storm—and blasts the Hope of Liberty.

CAESAR.

Never, henceforth, disturb thy gentle Breast,

With false Forebodings, from a regal Toy!

Know me above its Want:—beyond its Glory:

Given, tho' unheld, It meets the Parthian Prophesy;

Bids the rous'd Legion's superstitious Hearts

Resume lost Ardor:—and fure Victory's, Theirs.

CALPHURNIA.

Tho' Parthia fell, there's a Patrician Envy,

That, never quench'd, burns but with fiercer Blaze,

From each new Proof, that Old Injustice wrong'd thee:

Taink of those Midnight Haunters of my Fancy!

Think, how I saw thee bleed, at every Vein:

While, at each spouting Stream, a murderous Roman

Stain'd his extended Arm, and roar'd for Liberty.

Cassius!—stern Cassius!—

starting up

—Blast him, Heaven!—methinks,

I see him, there,—full, in my Eyes, he glares!

Pale, in the horrid Transport of his Vengeance;

And, dreadfully, enjoys the ghastly Scene!—

Kneels.

Oh! grant thyself, to live: Grant sad Calphurnia

That Prayer:—She begs it, but for Rome, and Nature.

CAESAR.

Why wilt thou kneel?-What coud'st thou ask, in vain!

CALPHURNIA.

Death—instant Death, to that malignant Cassius!

CAESAR.

Since thou were't first my Wife, I never saw thee

Cruel, till this strange Moment!—Dovelike gentle,

Healing Compassion sooth'd thy Heart, to Softness:

And, on thy sparkling Eye, sat weeping Mercy.

CALPHURNIA.

'Tis Mercy, to Mankind, to punish Villains.

CAESAR.

Rise: and relieve me, from this new Distress.

Bell rings without.

CALPHURNIA. Rising.

I will:—And thou shalt owe to Woman's Fear

A Safety, manly Confidence had lost Thee.

CAESAR.

How art thou heated, by an idle Dream,

To strike at fansied Guilt, with real Anger!

CALPHURNIA.

The Wife of Caesar wrongs not, even his Foes.

Flavia! Lucilia! here—who waits, without?

Enter a Lady.

The Man, with whom I held Discourse, this Morning!

Bid him Re-enter.

Exit Lady.

CAESAR.

Who!—What Man is this?

CALPHURNIA.

Torbilius—the sow're Satirist:—Thy Enemy.—

CAESAR.

No Enemy of mine—if Wit's his Friend.

CALPHURNIA.

Once, when condemn'd, for libelling my Caesar,

Thy all-permitting Mercy, not alone

Forgave—but, bad him claim distinguish'd Bounty;

Till Wit, misled, cou'd find the way to Judgment.

CAESAR.

I know him not:—What can'st thou hope, Calphurnid,

From these slight Men?—So bold, yet, blind of Soul,

That Wit, with them, supplies the Place of Virtue;

And, censuring other's Faults, absolves their own.

CALPHURNIA.

Staying, when Portia went, his trembling Gratitude.

Pray'd Audience, in a Cause, that touch'd the Life

Of threat'ned Caesar:—For the Rest, he comes:

Let his own Tongue retrace the horrid Tale.

SCENE II.

CAESAR, CALPHURNIA, TORBILIUS.

TORBILIUS.

Hail, Caesar! more than Victor!—Common Conquerors

Vanquish but Power: Caesar subdues the Will.

CAESAR.

Why dost thou flatter!—Stranger to my Passions,

Whence wou'd thy Skill presume, to judge my Virtue?

Take heed, thou sell'st not Praise, to purchase Scorn!

Encomium is a bold, and dange'rous Province!

It calls for Reason:—Slander asks but Rage:

Who drt Thou?—what is thy Pretence, in Rome?

TORBILIUS.

Touch'd by the Muse's Love, I, there, indulge

The tuneful Transports of Satiric Fire:

Rome is a fruitful Field, for Themes, like mine!

And Brutus, wit's kind Patron! loves my Verse.

CAESAR.

Where Wit wants Patronage—a State wants Wisdom.

Keen, tho' the Darts, by angry Genious thrown,

The Wise can Guide 'em, while the Base Restrain:

Satire, in honest Hands, is Murmuring Virtue:

And He, who fears its Hiss, deserves its Sting.

Yet, tis a dangerous, and malignant, Good!

Tho' Freedom's Property, 'tis Faction's Spoil.

Where justly bold, 'tis Reason's manliest Impulse:

Where blindly virulent, 'tis Wit's Disease.

Think, and distinguish:—Are thy Censures weigh'd?

Dost thou Proportion Anger, to its Cause?

TORBILIUS.

Had I done that, I had not wrong'd thy Name:

I was not just:—For, I was Caesar's Foe.—

Can Caesar have forgot Torbilius Asper?

CAESAR.

Why wonder'st thou at that?—For my own Sake,

My Friend imprints Remembrance;—but my Foe,

For His, shou'd be FORGOTTEN.

TORBILIUS.

Generous Caesar,

Forgetting me, forgets the Guilt, he pardon'd,

And Claims not his own Virtues!

CAESAR.

Roman! learn

To measure Truth, more justly:—Benefits,

From their Receiver only, claim Remembrance:

He, who bestows, and not forgets—resumes 'em

TORBILIUS.

Perish the Mem'ory, and the Man, together,

When I forget such Greatnef?—

CALPHURNIA.

Spare thy Words:—

And hasten to disclose thy Thanks, in Action.

CAESAR.

What know'st Thou, that deserv'd Attention, here?

TORBILIUS.

Cassius, whose Love of Rome, is Hate of Caesar,

Lists an implicit Clan of warm Resenters:

Men, who, with dim Discernment, tracing Liberty,

Plunge headlong in Sedition.—Among these,

He stoop'd his active Bribe'ry, ev'n to me:

Courting my humble Aid, to influence Brutus,

Whose Name, and Power, might Mask the Face of Murder.

CAESAR.

Whom would they Murder?

TORBILIUS.

—Rome's last Hope, in Caesar.

CALPHURNIA.

Now, Caesar! now, am I an idle Dreamer?

CAESAR.

Does Brutus know this Purpose?

TORBILIUS.

—Yet he does not:

And Caesar, still, might guard the generous Heart

Of his belov'd: And save him, from the Vile.

All Flatter'y's full-try'd Power Unites, to shake him:

That done, the Tempter ply's his Master Engine;

Draws him, this Day, to meet the assassin Faction:

Then—but that Heaven defends Thee—join'd by Brutus,

Th' encourag'd Murde'rers strike:—not join'd forbear.

CAESAR.

If Caesar's Death must wait, till Brutus strikes,

His Life wou'd prove immortal!—Men, of Heat,

Like Cassius, torture their distemper'd Reason,

To Act their Passion's Impulse:—Brutus weighs

Desire's warm Pleas, in the cool Scale of Justice:

Finds Force, in Other's Claims, against Himself,

And loves the Virtue. that condemns him.

CALPHURNIA.

Go on, Torbilius!—Set, in Caesar's View,

What Cassius loves; and Point us out His Virtues.

CAESAR.

It shall not need:—He stands condemn'd, already.

CALPHURNIA. Joyfully.

To what condemn'd?

CAESAR.

Condemn'd to live, Calphurnia.

CALPHURNIA.

What! and not tortur'd?

CAESAR.

—Pride's severest Rack

Is that sharp Mercy, which descends from Scorn.

Think it a Fault, to fear these choleric Praters:

Their hot, slight, Threat'nings waste themselves, in Slander;

And rail away Revenge, to gradual Peace:

But, there's a cold, slow, silent, patient Malice,

That carries Mischief with it!—Such a Soul,

As Brutus Acts by—had it Will, for Murder:

Cool, in its govern'd Hate, might call for Cruelty.—

What read'st Thou?

TORBILIUS.

—Silent Summoners, to Murder

These Cassius Causes to be dropt, with Art,

Where Brutus must be sure to find, and read 'em.

CALPHUREIA.

What wiles has Malice!

CAESAR.

Poor, and petty, Crafts!

They want but my Regard, to lend 'em Weight.

Returning the Paper.

Torbilius, meet 'em:—and, with strictest Note,

Mark, what Impression Cassius makes on Brutus.

All, Thou canst learn of That, be swift to bring me;

And trust the Claims of Gratitude, to Caesar.

TORBILIUS.

The grateful make no Claims.—A mindful Debtor

Pays—not obliges:—Never met, in one,

The Poet, and the Miser:—The same Fire,]

That sparkles, in his Fancy's native Blaze,

Glows, at his honest Heart; and burns out Baseness:

True Genious will not—cannot; stoop to Bribes:

And He, who sells his Passions, ne're had Wit,—

Or had it, for a Curse, unmix'd with Judgment.

CAESAR.

'Tis nobly said;—and, with a warmth, that only

Suspected Virtue feels.—Henceforth, be mine:

On modest Merit, not to force Reward,

Were to degrade Supremacy.

CALPHURNIA.

Where meet They?

TORBILIUS.

In the cool Grot, behind the Platan Grove:

There Brutus, oft alone, and oft with Friends,

Steals an unbusied Hour, for reasoning deeply:

Or, in free Mirth, dilates the slack'ning Soul.

CALPHURNIA,

What was the appointed Time?

TORBILIUS.

The fatal Choice,

Yet doubtful, must depend alone on Brutus.

Some Three Hours, hence, I look to find 'em met,

CALPHURNIA.

Go, good Tarbilius.—Wait within my Call:

For I shall Try thy Faith in Caesar's Cause.

Exit Torbilius

SCENE III.

CAESAR, CALPHURNIA.

CALPHURNIA.

I am alarm'd. for Brutus!

CAESAR.

Doubt him not:

CALPHURNIA.

Is he ambitious?

CAESAR.

No,—but he is vain.

CALPHURNIA.

Then, beyond Hope, he's lost.—Ambitious Men

Lead, and discern—but vain Ones follow, blind.

CAESAR.

Thou hast contagious Power, in that Suspicion:

Great Minds, on some unguarded Quarter, weak,

Find their try'd Virtue, there, sublimely frail:

Were Cassius artful!—Had his Malice, Coldness,

—Cou'd he first praise,—and, then, attack, where warmest,

The Public-hearted Brutus.

CALPURNIA.

Nay he does;

'Tis from that Point, he levels all his Aim.—

Who knows not Brutus proud!—and Flattery's Art

Sets Pride at work, to sap her own Foundation:

And pull down Character, to build up Name.

CAESAR.

Then, Cassius merits my regard:—and dies:

Light, in himself, he, yet, deserves but Scora:

Awak'ning Danger, in corrupted Brutus,

He makes his own rais'd Mischief worth Revenge.

CALPHURNIA.

But, can I trust a Doubt, like this, to chance?

Th' unsure Conversion of a rash Man's Spleen?

Who knows, but, feigning Penitence, Torbilius

Courts you to Confidence, he would betsay?

No.—It shall ne'er be said, that Caesar's Wife

Left Caesar's Safety, to Another's Faith.

She, who, too lightly weighs a Husband's Danger,

Takes Arms, at Heart, against him.

CAESAR.

Trust Torbillius,

He will deserve thy Faith:—Reflecting Minds,

By Gratitude once gain'd, relapse no more.

CALPHURNIA.

Thus will I sound his Purpose:—then, confide.—

Portia, this Morning, press'd a Visit, from me:

Oft, thro' her Garden's private Gate, unmark'd,

Ent'ring alone, that Grot, invites my Notice:

There, silently conceal'd, where Art-form'd Rocks

Lend jutting Umbrage to the cavy Screen,

I hear, what Cassius moves:—What Brutus yields:

This, if the Satrist dissuades:—he's false:

This, if he aids, Calphurnia judges Cassius:

And Life, or Death, be His, as Justice Dooms.

CAESAR.

In Love, and Anger, Woman's Will is deaf;

I know, thy gen'rous Purpose is too firm,

To let my Fears for Thee, forbid this Danger.

Yet, while, in Dread of mine, thou dar'st thus rashly,

Be it my Care to interpose, in Thine.

Curio, the Tribune, with a Guard, must wait Thee.

CALPHURNIA.

Their Number will detect me.

CAESAR.

No,—let Torbilius,

Singly, and slow, unnotic'd, introduce 'em;

Thro' the lone Postern, that adjoins the Grove.

CALPHURNIA.

Bless the kind Thought!—And now, shou'd Murder dare

One Glance, at thy dear Bosom, bloody Cassius

Shall, on the guilty Spot, that Moment die.

CAESAR.

Spare thy disorder'd Heart.—Cassius is hasty!

But, Brutus shall with mild Reproof, reduce

The Madman's Rage, and shame him into Safety.

I dread to arm Thee.—Prejudice is rash.—

CALPHURNIA.

Have I been subject, then, to rash Impressions?

CAESAR.

Thy Reason, I cou'd trust—but not thy Anger:

Religion's Curb, in He•rt's, like Thine, binds surest:

Swear, by some sacred Tye.—

CALPHURNIA.

Hear me, whole Heaven!

By Rome's raiss'd Fate!—By her Forefather's God's!

By aweful Vesta's unexpiring Flame!

By Venus, M•ther of thy Race, o' Caesar!

If Treason leaves out Time to reach thy Ear,

E're Danger catch thy Life—Cassius shall live,

To learn his Doom from Thee.—and 'scape my Vengance.

CAESAR.

See! the concurring Gods have sent Thee Curio!

SCENE IV.

CAESAR, CALPHURNIA, CURIO.

CURIO.

Shouts, from ••patient Crowds, demand a King;

And royal •aesar glads the Streets of Rome.

CAESAR. after writing in a Table-Book.

Curio!—Joy's flattering Sounds are loud Deceivers:—

C•lphurnia's busy Fears have trac'd a Traitor,

B•rn to high Rank, and fam'd for Arms, and Envy.

Go, with due Strength; guard thou the Wife of Caesar:

And, if this Blank, that, now, conceals his Name,

Fill'd, by her Hand, points out the guilty Roman,

Weigh Caesar's Life, with His:—and be this Warrant

Thy Sword's Authority, to do me Right.

giving the Table-Book to Curio.

CURIO.

Where e're your Danger warrant's me to strike,

If Treason 'scape my Sword—let Flight in War,

Want—and eternal Infamy, Revenge,

The Cause of Caesar, on his Soldier's Name!

CAESAR.

Marc Antony return'd!

CALPHURNIA.

Curio! thy Ear.—

SCENE V.

CAESAR, ANTONY.

ANTONY.

All is prepar'd;—pale Cassius Looks, still paler:

And starts at every Shout, that Shakes the Forum:

Never, henceforth, let Noise be call'd Sedition:

Rome's public Mouth outroars a hundred Senates!

One loud Consent unites her grateful Tribes,

And Parthia's Fall takes Date, from Caesar's Crown.

CAESAR.

Join'd Brutus, in that Voice.—

ANTONY.

No Roman hop'd it:

Reserves, they know, must guard the Stoick's Gravity:

What sowre Solemnity of Look, like His,

Stoops a lost Smile, to grace Plebeian Lightness!

Men, who can laugh, as I do—jovial Thinkers!

Fram'd for their Ease, and born, to hate Affliction!

See Things, but as they are! void of the Wit,

That hunts for cover'd Anguish! long, sound Sleepers!

Dull, satisfied, glad Rogues! they trust their Senses,

Love their Friend's, best: and wish, but what they want.

Brutus is deep:—dives farther into Bliss—

Shakes his superior Brow, and pities Fools,

Who dare be happy, against Rules of Policy,

CAESAR.

Where coud'st thou find him, now?

ANTONY.

Immur'd, at Home,

Sagely despising his good Lords,—the People:—

And shutting Caesar's Triumph, from his Ear.

CAESAR.

Take this Occasion, Antony, to visit him;

Bid his wish'd Presence grace thy publick Zeal!

If he declines it, sting him, to Resentment:

Watch, in that Warmth of Heart. what Thoughts escape him;

Sound the dark Depth of his Designs;—and tell him,

That to the Capitol, thou mean'st to bring me:

Rome's Crown, by Freemen given to guard their Liberty,

ANTONY.

How noisy is that Nothing! All its Virtue

Dwells in its Sound:—It means but covered Tyranny.

CAESAR.

Ever distinguishing Substances, from Sound:

There is in Liberty, what God's approve;

And only Men, like Gods, have Taste, to share.

There is in Liberty, what Pride perverts,

To serve Sedition, and perplex Command:

True Liberty leaves all Things free,—but Guilt;

And fetters every Thing,—but Art and Virtue.

False Liberty holds nothing bound, but Power,

And lets loose every Tye, that strengthens Law.

ANTONY.

Caesar, in Science, as in Power, Supream,

Calls Lustre, out of Darkness!—But to Me,

What seems most strange, of Faction's strange Effects,

Is, that among those Crowds, she tempts to Mischeif,

I see good Men, belov'd for every Virtue!

Blindly misdrawn, to hate the peace they wish.

CAESAR.

Boast fully blind, a Bigot's Proof is Trust;

Faultless in Purpose, yet—his Choice unjust!

Active, that erring Zeal may Truth invade,

Enthusiast Pride obtrudes her blund'ring Aid.

Fierce to the Field, keen Disputants she draws,

Implicit Props of some unreasoning Cause!

Th' absur'd Reformer Order overthrows,

And works up Discord—for the World's Repose!

Jealous of Enemies, disquiets Friends,

Groans, without Wound; and without Fruit, contends,

Wildly sincere! unprevalently strong!

Struggling for Right—and introducing Wrong:

End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Grand Apartment in the House of Brutus.

BRUTUS, ANTONY.

BRUTUS.

URGE it no more—I am fix'd.

ANTONY.

Think wiselier Brutus

BRUTUS.

Consul! when bold Oppression grapples Law,

Men, who protect the Oppressor, stab the State.

ANTONY.

Men, who so roughly dare Mischarge their Lord,

Pretending Liberty, pursue but Pride.

BRUTUS.

Caesar, however rais'd, is less than Lord.

ANTONY.

Caesar however wrong'd, is more than Friend:

Even Gratitude has made Respect, a Duty:

Present, or absent Thou—the Tribes will crown him.

BRUTUS.

Crown? whom?

ANTONY.

One, whom if Brutus knew but rightly,

BRUTUS.

I fear I do!

ANTONY.

No—if you did, you'd tremble.

BRUTUS.

I have already, trembled Antony!

Trembled—to hear a Roman tempt a Roman,

And dare corrupt a Patrsot, yet unsold!

ANTONY.

Corrupt, I wou'd not.—All I wou'd, I dare.

BRUTUS.

The basely bold shou'd learn, to dread the Just.

ANTONY.

When Brutus bids me dread—I hear and Smile.

BRUTUS.

Smile on your King: Flattery was made for Thrones.

The rough, wrong'd Roman frowns, with honest scorn.

ANTONY.

Brutus, I rev'erence Firmness; but despise

Th' Hypocrisy of Envy! I have a heart,

That being human, feels for humankind.

I tow're not to the Gods:—Virtue, once rais'd

Above Compassion, ceases to be Virtue:

Aiming at more than Man, thou sink'st to less.

BRUTUS.

I wou'd be less than King; and more than Slave.

ANTONY.

Farewell:—rash Zealots blindly grow unjust;

And Pride inflexible,, and deaf, as Thine,

Professing Virtue, make's ev'n Virtue hateful.

Exit.

SCENE II.

BRUTUS alone.

Heaven! what a Change in Rome!—breathe these her Sou•

Oh! griev'd Quirinus! what Reproach wero Thine,

Did not thy fellow Gods disdain to note us!

Rome has no Remnant, now, of Roman Greatness:

Sold, or seduced, we give up Claim by Claim,

Till even our Virtues are engros'd by Caesar!

O, Souls of long lost Glory! Fabii! Decii

O, all ye Pompey's! Scipio's! Cato's! hear me!

Re-kindle, in my Breast, your patriot Lights:

And live, once more in Brutus!—fill this Heart,

With Caesar's Fire—but, let it flame, for Rome.

SCENE III.

BRUTUS, TORBILIUS

BRUTUS.

Torbilius! Thou intrud'st on my Retirement:

The Muse, and my sad Heart are, now, not social,

TORBILIUS.

Cassius approaches.—There's a Name, indeed,

Unsocial!—Every Muse wou'd start, to hear it.

BRUTUS.

Thou wrong'st him.—Cassius is a noble Roman.

TORBILIUS.

There is a Jaundice, in thy Judgment, Brutus,

That lends him Golden Colour, from thy own:

I know him, to the Soul.—Have sounded all

The Shallows of his Envy;—and I cou'd,

But that an Oath, injoin'd, has bound my Tongue,

Convince thee, that he dares assault thy Honour;

And plots, to blast thee to the World, for ever.

BRUTUS.

Who bound thee, by such Oath?

TORBILIUS.

Calphurnia's Piety.

BRUTUS.

What had Calphurnia's Piety to do

With Plots? and Oaths? and Secrecy? and Brutus?

TORBILIUS.

Earnest, herself, to warn endanger'd Brutus

With Consequence, she fear'd, my Words might lose,

She claims your instant Ear:—Be swift—incline it.

Shun the too near Approach of Cassius, hither:

And, hast'ning to the House of Caesar, weigh,

What her Wish forms, to guard thy Fame, and Virtue.

BRUTUS.

Thou art too bold, Torbilius:—Tell Calphurnia,

I, best, myself, defend my Honour's Claims:

And grasp, too hard, to need a Woman's Aiding.

Torbilius!— Rome has lost thee.—Caesar's Bounties

Have brib'd thy Gratitude, to slander Honesty.

TORBILIUS.

Ill am I known, where, most, my Heart lies open,

If, after all my rash Contempts of Power,

Brutus can doubt me Venal:—Yet, doubt on:

No undeserv'd Reproach adheres to Virtue.

No Matter what bold Slander wounds Torbilius,

Where he, who Wrongs him, has the Rights of Friendship.

BRUTUS.

I will not see Calphurnia.

TORBILIUS.

Oh! revoke those fatal Words, lest

BRUTUS.

By the Gods! I will not; till Cassius, and his Friends have, first, been heard.

TORBILIUS.

Cassius is Caesar's Enemy.

BRUTUS.

But I am Brutus;- and thou know'st me Caesar's Friend.

Let that Truth, known, content thee.

TORBILIUS.

—No.—It cannot:

Brutus not fearing, I must fear for Brutus.

Greatness of Soul, confiding in itself,

Exposes an unguarded Side, to Baseness.

BRUTUS.

What woud'st thou lead me to?

TORBILIUS.

To one kind Promise:

I urge it but to save thee.—I conjure thee;

By every Claim of long, untir'd Adherence!

By every Recompence, thou ow'st my Dangers!

By every grateful Sense of every Duty!

Love, Friendship, Reverence, Faith, Advice, and Service!

Promise, whatever dire Result the Gods

Permit,—for Cassius comes on no light Errand!

Previous to any Deed, thy will may purpose,

To hear my Thoughts:—Intrust me with thy own:

And teach my willing Hand, and Heart, to aid thee.

BRUTUS.

I see the strangely mov'd:—I will, by Heaven!

Intrust thee, unreserv'd, and seek thy Counsel.

TORBILIUS.

Bark on, ye Dogs of envy! Bark, in vain:

Brutus is Safe, and Spotless

Exit Torbilius.

BRUTUS. Alone.

—Caesar's Graces.

Win every Heart! and no Corruption's Power

Out-bribes the native Sweetness of his Pity.

SCENE IV.

BRUTUS, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, CASCA.

CASSIUS.

Hail! death-devoted Brutus! Romes last Friend!

DECIMUS.

Guardian, in vain, of our expiring Liberty!

CASSIUS.

Caesar, To-morrow, marches hence, a King.

BRUTUS.

What are Rome's Prospects, then?

CASSIUS.

Taxes, and Chains.

Brutus, farewell, for ever

Embracing.

—Life grows Shameful,

Where Freedom is resign'd, and Man's a Slave.

BRUTUS.

Can Cassius feel Despair?

CASSIUS.

When Rome Despairs.

DECIMUS.

When even her Soul—her Brutus!—Breaths for Caesar▪

CASSIUS.

No Force on Earth, but our unshaken Hearts

Held back this bold Invader.

DECIMUS.

Caesar's too Wise,

To spare our Lives, who live,—to shake his Throne.

CASSIUS.

Escaping us, he meets but Men:—Not Romans.

BRUTUS.

Oh! Honour, Virtue, and the Rights of Law!

CASSIUS.

Tis past:—The Laws have been.—Honour, and Virtue

Are, now, the public Jest of penfion'd Parasites:

Who sell Submission, and receive back—Scorn.

DECIMUS.

Rome, and the World are fall'n!—'tis Caesar, All!

CASSIUS.

All, that Six Hundred bleeding Years have gain'd,

Thrown, at one Cast, to Caesar!—Why had Times,

Like these, a Brutus?—Grac'd with fruitless Virtues?

BRUTUS.

If I have Virtues—Why shou'd They be Fruitless?

CASSIUS

Join every Power, above?—To bless that Question!

DECIMUS.

Hear yon licentios Noise!

Shouts at a Distance

BRUTUS.

—Curse the vile Sound!

'Tis Breath of Adulation! Rome's lost Gods

Expell'd!—And Insense paid to human Pride!

Shouts again.

CASSIUS.

Again!—Those Shouts are Insult.

DECIMUS.

—Cimber comes,

And, if I read him Rightly, in his Look,

Caesar's Attempts succeeds; for, see! he's Angry.

SCENE V.

BRUTUS, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, CASCA, CIMBER.

CASSIUS.

Tell us, what wou'd they?

CIMBER.

—Slavery, they wou'd

BRUTUS.

Have we a King, in Rome?

CIMBER.

Have we a Freeman?

CASSIUS.

What call you Caesar?

BRUTUS.

Less, when he dares be more.

CIMBER.

Caesar high-seated,—Sovereign of the Slaves!

Shone, from the Capitol, as who wou'd say,

Make me a God, and Rome shall shake with Thunder:

Up, from Ten Thousand bribe-attesting Throats,

Flew purchas'd Gratulation: "Hail, Great Caesar!

"Rome's dread Avenger!—Fate of punish'd Parthia!

"Star of thy Country's Hope? And War's brave Guider!".

Timely, to cool this Madness, at its Height,

So Heaven decreed it!—In Stalks Antony;

Blast him, deaf Genius of devoted Rome!

A cushion'd Crown, and Scepter, sham'd his Hands:

Yet, was his venal Eye fix'd bold, on Caesar.

Down sunk, at once, the Tempest of Applause;

Hush'd, as a Coward, in his Midnight Bush,

The sick'ning People flatter'd into Silence;

He, 'midst a horrid Glare of wide-stretch'd Eyes,

Unheeding, on his Master's Brow, set, soft,

The regal Gew-gaw:—Then, with abject Knee,

Bent, for inflructive Homage,—be a KING,

He cry'd—and reign o'er Rome, that rules the World,

Caesar, mean while, who watch'd the public Eye,

And read Reluctance, Grief, and Terror, there;

Starting indignant with well-acted Scorn,

Hurl'd, from his Front, the uninclining Toy;

And cry'd—"I am not King, my Friend—but Caesar.

BRUTUS.

O, Truth!—Beyond all Pride of kingly Greatness!

CIMBER.

Then, general Joy new-voic'd the gaping Press;

And shook the distant Roofs, with loud Concurrence;

Even Antony, then, blush'd.

CASSIUS.

—And did not Caesar?

CIMBER.

Caesar smil'd sweet Contempt:—And then, again,

Th' unfeeling Fools, more charm'd, renew'd their Shouting:

I laugh'd, aloud: to mark him thanking Rome,

For finding Virtues in him, which he had not!

At length, disdainful of the hard Constraint,

Parting, he frown'd Sincerity.—The Rest

You'l learn, when I do.

BRUTUS.

What means That?

CIMBER.

—Anon,

The Senate sits.

BRUTUS.

What then?

CIMBER.

Why then, Six Hours

May pass, betwixt his pushing back the Crown,

And our exacted Votes, to bid him take it.

BRUTUS.

Holds he that Hope?

DECIMUS.

Yes: And who helps us?

CASSIUS.

—Death.

BRUTUS.

Death is, indeed, the Slave's last Hope:—but, he,

Who dares embrace that Help, might find a better.

CASSIUS.

While my doom'd Country had a Gasp for Life,

I struggled on, to live:—Now, World, farewell!

No God sustain'd me, to support the State:

But, to die, with it, still, is left to Freedom.

To Heaven's imperial Rome, from ours, I go;

There, no bold Caesar sways:—There Pompey serves!

No Roman, there, need blush to owne a Master:

Where even a Cato finds, and fears, a Lord!

These will I follow, thus.

Drawing his Sword.

BRUTUS. Disarming him.

—Follow we none:

'Tis ours, to lend, not borrow, brave Example.

'Tis ours, to stem the Tide of a bad World,

And justify to Time the Roman Greatness.

Much is to Anger due—but more to Rome.

Cato had died, unblam'd—first, killing Caesar;

But, turning on himself, his erring Sword,

He fell, unjustly:—For, he punish'd Innocence.

CASSIUS.

What can we, in a World, despairing, round us?

BRUTUS. Shewing a Billet.

See! What the Friends of Liberty expect!

See! What they hope from Romans!

CASSIUS.

This Reproach

I, too, have met with:—And 'twas hard to bear!

BRUTUS.

Cassius!—'twas harder, far,—to have deserv'd it.

CIMBER.

Good Talkers might attract a Gown-man's Praise:

And had Time Ears—fine Words were Marks of Wisdom:

But lose this Day, no Orator, in Rome,

Must be admir'd, but Caesar.

BRUTUS.

—E're this Day

Yet passes,—Twenty Tyrant's Fortunate,

As ours—but never Greatness equall'd Caesar!

Might expiate, with their Lives, their bold Ambition.

CIMBER.

Ay! That's a Flower of Speech, my Rhetoric reaches!

CASSIUS.

Rome lives again! She breath'd, in that rais'd Voice!

And Brutus has receiv'd her.—

DECIMUS.

—Fatal Name

To Tyrants!—Brutus, to assert his Race,

Speaks the dire Duty, which We dar'd but think.

CASSIUS.

My Friend has reconcil'd me to myself;—

If there is future Glory due to Cassius,

Brutus bestows it, all—BRUTUS! and ROME!

Flow mix'd, ye reverend Names! down Time's dark Stream!

By Ages emulating Ages, bless'd!

Decimus! Cinna! Casca! Patriot's! Roman's!

Join your Sword's Aid: Obey this gener'ous Leader.

Live to approve, and to support his Vengeance;

And drive Dejection from the Heart of Virtue,

CIMBER.

All Rome will think, and Act, with Roman Brutus.

DECIMUS.

Born the Sustainers of patrician Honour,

Senates, despis'd, wou'd fall with double Shame,

Surviv'd, by their Despiser.—

CASSIUS.

—See a List,

Shinning with Names, of Rome's distinguish'd Sons!

Associates, All, to strike one Glorious Blow!

BRUTUS. Taking the Paper

Soft, Cassius!—have a Care! nor arm Revenge

Too Strongly:—lest it look, perhaps, like Baseness.

One were enough, to bid a Tyrant die,

Who dar'd Himself, die with him.

CASSIUS.

Roman's numberless

Stand, now prepar'd for Summons.

BRUTUS.

Summon none:

Shou'd they be sold to Caesar, they're untrusty:—

And, if they fear him, heartless.—

CASSIUS.

Such a Tongue,

As Cicero's.

CIMBER.

No.—let us list no Praters;

These Speechmen of the Senate range but Periods:

Tropes are their Javelins:—Climax forms their Ranks:

And, when they charge, 'tis with some smart Harangue.

Twill be Renown enough, for these Tongue—Cohorts,

To praise our Bravery, when it meets Success:

Or, if it fails, teach pliant Law to teize us.

CASSIUS.

Enough!- then, Caesar finds us, in the Senate.—

BRUTUS.

There, be it lawful, O, immortal Guiders!

To consecrate this Sword, that, once, was Cato's,

To Cato's Death, reveng'd! and murder'd Pompey's.

Draws.

All the Conspitators draw their Swords.

CASSIUS.

Now, I will •ive.—Li••, now, becomes a Roman.

BRUTUS.

No.—Let no vain false Hope of Life deceive ye:

Know—yet despise, your Danger.—Caesar's Friends

Crowd his tame Senate:—Ardent, All! and try'd,

In Service of their Master, while the People,

The suffe'ring People! pleas'd at once, and wretched!

Doat on the Tyrant's Heart, whose Hand they fear!

Think, too, tis CAESAR, we presume to wound:

Caesar! who aw'd an Army, with his Frown!

Our Death, in the Attempt, is fix'd as Fate:

But, what a Death!—How to be wish'd, and envied!

Dying, that unborn Rome may live, in Liberty!

CASSIUS.

How will our Deaths endear yon aweful Capitol!

That Seat of our Oppression, doom'd by Heaven,

The Scene of our Revenge!

DECIMUS.

—But, shou'd the People—

CIMBER.

Why let the People prate:—So People will—

Bless the Light Murmurings of their hungry Love!

Poor Gnats! They know, tis Summer, now, with Caesar:

Cloud but his Sunshine—all their Buzzing ceases.

BRUTUS.

Kneel, gener'ous Friends: They kneel, Brutus continues standing. Raise your Right Hands, to Heaven;

Swear—by the all-dreaded Powers, to wait my Call:

Nor, till I sound him, touch the Life of Caesar.—All the Conspirators.

We swear.—

BRUTUS.

—But shou'd he—(some kind God restrain him!)

Force my afflicted Hand, to point the Way.—

Then,—by that thin, pale, Flight of Roman Ghosts,

Whose hov'ring Forms skim o'er th' unburied Bones,

Which the wan Moon sees whit'ning twelve lost Fields!

Their Murd'rer, if he Reigns, in Rome. All shall die!

CASSIUS.

Brutus, kneel with us.—Rome exempts no Knee:

BRUTUS. Kneels.

Blast, Heaven! The Man, who spares a Tyrant's Life!

Be he Son, Patron, Brother, Friend, or—Father!

BRUTUS.

Or Father?—Cassius!

CASSIUS.

Son, Friend, Father, Brother:

Tyrants can Claim no Kindred: They renounce

All social Ties:—And hate a hating World.

The expanding Soul, that swells a Roman Breast.

Stretch'd beyond Rights of Blood, attones 'em, All,

By Virtue, Glory, Liberty, and Law.

BRUTUS.

Be it, then, SWORN.— All—By Earth, and Heaven, we swear.

BRUTUS.

Soul-shaking Oath!—tis past, and, from this Moment,

Rise and put up their Swords.

No Man has Parent, Child, or Friend—but Rome,

If there, among us, shrinks one recreant Slave,

Curse him, ye Gods! For every Guilt of Caesar!

And never let his Race know Comfort, more.

loud Thunder.

Hark! the confirming Powers approve my Curse—

Or, testify Dislike, in Peals of Thunder!

CASSIUS.

Let 'em call on: The Brave, they know, are ready,

BRUTUS.

We meet, then, at the Capitol.

CASSIUS.

—Haste, Decimus—

With heedful Caution, Summon each great Name,

That gilds our Glorious List:—previous, we meet,

(Immortal Brutus!) in thy aweful Grot.

There, shalt thou fan their Fire; confirm their Hearts:

Unite their Purpose, and instruct their Hands:

That one concurring Spirit may direct,

And no Confusion Rise, to blast our Vengeance.

BRUTUS.

'Tis dreadful!—But, 'tis necessary:—Mark!

When you pale Sun, that, with receding Ray,

Starts from our notic'd Purpose!—When that Sun,

Slow-measuring, sheds an Hour—This private Key

Admits you, thro' the Grove:—Be punctual All.

Gives Cassius a Key, then, advances to a Statue of Cato.

Cato! Lost Soul of Freedom! Witness forme!

Here, I divest my Heart of Love, Grief, Pity,

Of every tender call of pleading Nature,

That moves too soft a Pang.

The Thunder repeated.

—Again!—'Tis Strange!

Why hangs this infelt Weight, upon my Purpose?

Can it be terrible.—To die for Rome!

What has he left to fear, who saves his Country!

Enter Marcellus, hastily

MARCELLUS.

Break off—or, be prevented:—Caesar comes.

CASSIUS.

Now, let him die.

BRUTUS.

—Avoid him, thro' that Gallery.

Exeunt Conspirators.

SCENE VI.

BRUTUS, CAESAR.

CAESAR.

With whom dost thou retire?

BRUTUS.

—With banish'd Liberty.

CAESAR.

Vain, honest Purposer! Made weak by Virtue!

Thou wrong'st the Friend of every Wish, thou form'st!

Cited by Antony, why cam'st thou not?

Or why, not coming, was Reproach thought needful?

With insolent Contempt of Power above thee?

Find'st thou Delight, in living to offend?

There's not a Name, in all thy private Friendships,

That is not mark'd, in public, as my Foe.

BRUTUS.

When Foes to Caesar are the Friends of Rome,

May Heaven inspire his Will, to love their Counsel!

CAESAR.

Speak out:—The just Enjoy the Slanderer's Malice,

And weigh their Virtue's Force, by bad Men's Censure.

BRUTUS.

All Men confess the Force of Caesar's Virtues:

Resistless Virtues!—They endear the Chains

Of a submitting World, that smiles, and suffers!

CAESAR.

Thou art, thyself, in Chains, and see'st it not;

Thou art that poorest of blind Slaves—a Tool!

Whose Bluntness works for Wills, that scorn thy Promptness.

So work'd they, once, on Pompey.—Weak well-meaner.

Driven, yet, too proud to follow!—Had he conquer'd,

His flexile Yoke had gall'd, both Men, and Laws:

Then, what had Brutus been?

BRUTUS.

—Lord of one Dagger.

CAESAR.

Fell mind!—And can there none be found, for Caesar?

BRUTUS.

Strike, first—and blast the distant Possibility!

CAESAR.

No.—Brutus!—There's a Power forbids that Blow:

Read this, blind Wanderer!—Know thyself, and me.

Gives him Servilia's Letter.

BRUTUS.

Caesar, I die:—Punish'd by Heaven's just Hand,

At once, my Life forsakes me, and my Love.

Pity, when I am gone, and think of—Brutus:

The Life, you gave him [Starts] will deserve your Care.

Farewell!—And, for the Father, may the Gods,

To the Son's Heart, transfer the Mother's Love!

Servilia!—Heaven, Servilia!—wrote she this?

She did—and, if I wake, Rome sleeps forever.

CAESAR.

I had not thought, till my return from Parthia,

To trust thee with this Secret, of thy Birth:

But to protect Thee, from the Willes of Cassius,

I claim Thee, and Precipitate my Purpose.

Offers to embrace him, who starts back

BRUTUS.

Rome! Virtue! Nature!

CAESAR.

Nature! young Man, call it

By its sincerer Titles? call it Pride,

Self-soothing.—Hurl your Bolts, ye Gods! at Faction!

Faction!—that finds a Power to blot out Nature!

BRUTUS.

Spare an astonished Wretch, who lives too long.

CAESAR.

Is there, who fears to be the Son of Caesar?

Wretch, say'st thou?—to be born the World's next Heir,

And reap the Laurels of a Hundred Victories?

BRUTUS.

Oh, Caesar!—

CAESAR.

Lab'ring with a Will to speak,

Some infelt Horror checks thy rising Accents.

BRUTUS.

Caesar!

CAESAR.

Speak like my Son.

BRUTUS.

Wou'd I were dead.

CAESAR.

Sounds Death more soft than Son?

BRUTUS.

Such if I am,

Brutus, unbow'd to Kings, may kneel to Caesar.

Kneels.

CAESAR.

On.—

BRUTUS. Offering his Sword

—Kill me;—or, forbear to be a King.

CAESAR.

Thy very Soul's a Rebel:—not alone

To Power, but ev'en to Blood:—unatural Traitor!

Rise, and repent:—and, when thou think'st, like Man,

Be own'd Rome's Son, and mine:—till then, be Brutus,

Turning to go.

BRUTUS. Holding his Robe.

Oh! stay.—I never can quit Claim to Caesar:

Hear, if a Father, with a father's Ear;

Or, judge with a Friend's Heart, and ease my Horror.

CAESAR.

Leave me.—My Heart is Adamant:—Away;—

My Blood grows warm against thee: Dread thy danger.

Be gone—or, I shall catch Disdain, from Thine,

Till, conqu'ring Pity, to repel Presumption,

To punish Insolence, I push back Nature.

Caesar, at least, was born, to govern Brutus.

BRUTUS.

He was—he was—but not to govern Rome.

CAESAR.

Headstrong Enthusiast! Stubborness, like Thine,

Embroils Republicks; and makes Tyrants needful:

Go: join thy savage Friends: chase Fear from Faction:

Bid Guilt sleep safe, in my Contempt of Treachery:

Their Conqueror stands subdued, by his own Mercy:

—Yet bid their Blindness learn, when Claims contend,

And Rights invaded rouse resenting Realms,

'Tis Fierceness, in the Free, most, hazards Freedom.

And Liberty is lost to punish Pride.

Exit Caesar.

BRUTUS. Rising

Let me not leave him, tho' Despair has caught me:

But, following, sigh for Rome—and live for Caesar.

Why was I born to think, and be unbless'd,

To licence Reason, is to forfeit Rest:

He, who assumes Distinction, calls for Woe;

Peace is a Cottage Claim, and loves the Low.

Nor Shame, nor Trust, nor Envy, finds us, there!

Hearts, fill'd with Quiet, leave no Void, for Care.

End of the Third Act.

ACT. IV.

SCENE I.

A Grot in the Garden of Brutus.

CALPHURNIA, TORBILIUS.

CALPHURNIA

'TIS near the appointed Hour:

TORBILIUS.

I judge, tis past.

CALPHURNIA.

Then Heaven, that loves its Likeness, wake for Caesar,!

TORBILIUS.

In this Out-Grot, they meet:—In that adjoining,

Curio has close conceal'd his chosen Guard,

Each Moment strength'ning, by admitted Files:

Hence vocal Windings, which pervade the Rock,

Swell whisp'ring Sounds to Loudness.

CALPHURNIA.

How look'd Portia?

TORBILIUS.

Sad—till she heard your animating Name:

Then, like a Sun-beam, radiant thro' a Mist,

She smil'd away her Anguish.

CALPHURNIA.

—At her Approach,

Leave me Torbilius.

TORBILIUS.

—Who then guards you hence?

CALPHURNIA.

I mark'd th' impending Ivy, o'er the Arch—

Grieve, not tho' Pride repell'd thy honest Purpose,

Nor fear the endangering Fate of stubborn Brutus:

My Friendship, in alarming Portia's dread,

Will caution, and preserve him.—Go:—she's here.

[Exit Toroilius bowing to Portia, whom he meets ent'ring.

SCENE II.

CALPHURNIA, PORTIA.

PORTIA.

This mournful Grot ne're touch'd my Taste till now:

But present Friends bring Sunshine to the Soul.

And Seats of Horror change to Scenes of Bliss.

'Twas fortunate, thou call'dst thy Portia, hither!

Brutus is sad to-day, and Purposes

Retirement, here, beneath this sullen Shade:

Our Presence will relieve him.

CALPHURNIA.

—Stop him, Portia!

Let me not find him:—save my Eyes that Horror!

PORTIA.

Good Heaven!—what has he done?

CALPHURNIA.

Stay not, to ask:

Even that lost Moment may be fatal to him.

Go; bid him guard his Ear from cruel Cassius:

Time will permit no more; go warn him—save him.—

If thou delay'st a Moment, Fate o'ertakes him;

And staying but, till Cassius comes—he dies.

PORTIA.

Be clear in Pity to my beating Heart;

Brutus has been traduced.—He loaths all Falsehood▪

CALPHURNIA.

Shunning the Falsehood loath'd, he may be safe.

PORTIA.

He comes.—Now, hear him justify his Fame,

From this foul Charge—and vindicate thy Goodness.

CALPHURNIA.

No.—Tis thy Weight must shake his concious Soul.

Save his endanger'd Name, and bless my Notice.

PORTIA.

I cannot move:—forgive my trembling Knees,

My Heart restrains their Power.

CALPHURNIA.

Alas! I pity Thee:

Rest, and recall thy Spirits, and receive him.

Aside.

Now, to my fatal Post.—

Exit.

SCENE III.

PORTIA. alone. After an astonish'd Pause.

—Some dreadful Meaning!

And my too wakeful Fears confirm it just:

Cassius, of late, with warm, assiduous Art,

Flatters my Brutus, whom his Envy shun'd:

Cassius is wily, proud, malicious, bitter!

Burns, with ungovern'd Hate: and brooks not Caesar.

Associate Vice may taint the soundest Virtue:

And Honour bleeds, shou'd Caesar fall by Brutus!

Not that my patriot Heart disclaims the Roman!

I, who was born to Liberty's great Guardian,

By right of Nature, shun tyrannic Sway:

Yet Brutus—twice offending—twice forgiven,

Twice, forfeited to Caesar's Clemency,

His own lost rights to Justice:—shou'd he, then,

Quench the kind Light, he lives by, the rash Murderer

Kills his own Fame, and dies to every Virtue;

SCENE IV.

PORTIA, BRUTUS

BRUTUS.

Who call'd thee hither Portia?

PORTIA.

Rome's kind Gods.

BRUTUS.

In Haste they summon'd, and, in Haste they left thee.

Was it, because they saw Calphurnia with thee?

And shun Society with Caesar's Friends?

PORTIA.

Ne're may the Gods forsake the Friends of Caesar,

Since Brutus more than all Men, such, by Gratitude,

Merits Protection from the Powers, who love it.—

Does Cassius move in Grots?

BRUTUS.

Why ask'st thou that?

PORTIA.

Romans, who meditate the Death of Caesar,

And owe him not their Lives, may mean no Murder.

BRUTUS.

Torbilius is a Traitor:—Rome is bought,

And all those guardian Gods, who lov'd her Liberty.

Forsake her, and support the Cause of Caesar.

PORTIA.

Rome bought?—and Traitors?—If I watch thy Look:

Rage, and Despair, have dim'd thy Eyes with Anguish,

If I regard thy Language,—Death dwells, there,

And, like a Groan, at Midnight, frights my Fancy.

Stay I would ask.

BRUTUS.

Ask nothing;—'tis a Time

For Action:—keep thy Words for idler moments [is going.

PORTIA. Holding him.

Hark! tis thy Fate, that calls the.

BRUTUS.

I have heard it:

Why woud'st thou thus restrain me? -thoughtless Portia!

Be wiser.—All the Lives of Rome's best Friends

Demand me! Theirs the Fate, that calls!—Away:—

Honour, and Oaths, and Death, and Glory—call me.

PORTIA. Still holding him.

By Heaven! you go not, till you first relieve me,

From this dark Torment, which your Words implant:

I'll know, what Friends? what Oaths?

BRUTUS.

Loosen thy Hold:

Nay, if thou stay'st me, my unwilling Strength

Must break ungently from this ill-tim'd Rashness.

Forces himself away

PORTIA. With a Dagger

Turn, Brutus! turn,—regard this silent Pleader?

If thou woud'st wish to spare the Breast of Portia,

Dread the determin'd Hand of Cato's Daughter.

BRUTUS.

What wou'd thy Madness hint? what means that dagger▪

PORTIA. Pointing a Dagger to her Breast.

Stir, not a Step.—Thy first vain Start to seize me,

Plunges Deliverance to my rescued Heart,

Which unconfiding Brutus loves to torture.

BRUTUS.

What would thy Soul-distracting Purpose frame?

PORTIA.

The bloody Secret, thou conceal'st from Portia,

Thou shar'st, with every vulgar Friend of Rome.

BRUTUS. Suspended, and amaz'd.

Why woud'st thou bid me license future Scorn,

To haunt my hated Name?—Make me not faithless,

Lest Songs teach Times to come my Hearts fond weakness;

That, to a Woman's Tongue, resign'd a Secret,

Which sunk the World's last Hope;—and gave up Rome.

PORTIA.

Where sleeps the Spirit of thy stern Forefather?

Whose awful Firmness, sculptur'd into Life,

Frowning thro' Stone, disclaims degenerate Rome!

Teach him, some God! that CATO call'd Me Daughter▪

Brutus believes me light, like vulgar Woman!

Oh!—'twas for this, the sorrowing Shade resought me;

Hinted Futurity, through mystic Night,

And shew'd me, Brutus wou'd be Mine—no more.

Find, in that dreadful Warning, how HE judg'd:

Feel, what he thought of his own Portia's Daring.

Trusting the Fortitude, he gave—HE knew,

That Cato's Daughter could not dread to hear

The worst, that Cato's Spirit dar'd to tell.

BRUTUS.

Generous, I know thou art;—But thou art Woman:

Secrets of State, and Blood, o'erload your Minds.

PORTIA.

Tis the false Reasoning of a Sex, that wrongs us:

Why shou'd a Secret's weight o'erload the Heart

Of Portia—yet, disturb not that of Brutus?

All, thou can'st wish me, thou shalt find, I am:

All, thou can'st suffer, thou shalt feel, I dare.

Poorly, perhaps, thou think'st, the Fear of Wounds,

And Pain, and Sword's, and threat'ning Death, might shake me!

—Judge,—by this willing Blow—

Strikes the Dagger into her Left Arm, which Brutus, advancing swiftly, snatches from her.

"—off—off—by Heaven

Thy Failure had transferr'd it to my Heart.

Learn, from this bleeding Proof, that,—when I shrink

from Thoughts of Death, I fear not for my own.

BRUTUS.

What has thy Pride's ill-grounded Rashness done!

Oh! let me Mend that error of thy Hand:—

Bind up th' ungentle Wound, and call Aid to thee.

PORTIA.

Never!—tho'Death divide us!—Never—never

Shall Portia veil this Mark, how Brutus lov'd her;

Till, to Redeem her Life, he trusts her Vertue.

BRUTUS.

Perish the Pride of such a dear-bought Fame,

As costs my widow'd Heart the Life of Portia!

—Read that dire List.

Gives her the Roll.

Till my Return conceal it:

And weigh those mighty Names, against ONE Caesar.

PORTIA Permitting Brutus to bind her Arm with his Handkerchief.

Must Caesar die?

BRUTUS.

—Twas sworn.

PORTIA.

—Did Brutus swear.

BRUTUS.

He did:—A dreadful Oath!—ask what, hereafter▪

Bound to the Gods, those angry Souls of Rome.

Submitting to my Hand, the public Vengeance,

Kill Caesar, instant,—or permit his Life,

As Brutus warrants, or with-holds, the Blow.

PORTIA.

Then, Caesar cannot die.—He pardoned Brutus.

BRUTUS.

Oh! I cou'd tell thee Wonders!—But the Help,

I fly to send thee.—and their forfeit Lives,

Whose Rashness I must warn, permit no more.

Portia, farewell:—If e're we meet again,

I will complain, of thy impatient Ardor,

And thou shalt justify the Heart of Brutus.

Exit hastily

SCENE V.

PORTIA. (alone.)

PORTIA.

Live, Caesar! live, and reign!—Tho' Cato's Blood.

Calls for Revenge;—and a whole People's Rights,

Usurp'd, absolve one bold Assumer's Fall;—

The Hand of Brutus must not stain Rome's Justice;

Nor, with detested Murder, pay back Mercy.

Peruses the Paper.

Heaven! what confederate Power! what Names, least likely,

Start from this dreadful Roll, and threaten Caesar!

—Wou'd I were still a Stranger to this Secret!

Yet, that unknown,—who had dissuaded Brutus?

Is he dissuaded?—let me weigh that Question.

Who knows but, while I speak, th' appointed Hour

Impends!—It DOES!—Farewell, he said—and left me!

Farewell!—then added—if again we meet!

IF!—Heaven! what meant that if?- tis plain he doubted,

Whether we ever were to meet, or No!

SCENE VI.

To PORTIA, enter CALPHURNIA, with TORBILIUS, CURIO, and Soldiers.

CALPHURNIA.

Never, unhappy Portia!—Far divided

Be Innocence like Thine, from Guilt and Murder!

Teach thy reluctant Heart, to give up Brutus:

For never will thy Eyes behold him more.

Portia fix'd in Amazement, lets fall the Roll, which Torbilius takes up, looks into, and offers to Calphurnia.

Let not the hated Scroll pollute my Touch!

Fly with it, hence—bear it, with Speed to Caesar:

Tell him, Torbilius! how the Gods have sav'd him:

TORBILIUS.

Happy, to miss thy Name, lov'd Brutus, here!

Well-vers'd in Caesar's Pity,—glad, I go.

Exit.

SCENE VII.

PORTIA, CALPHURNIA, SOLDIERS.

PORTIA.

Oh!—

CALPHURNIA.

Wife of Brutus!

PORTIA.

—Chill'd to Stone, by Horror,

Kindly, thou wak'st me, with that powerful Name.

And my recov'ring Breath implores thy Mercy.

CALPHURNIA.

The Wife of Caesar speaks: Absolve her Justice:

Had the too dreadul Danger been Calphurnia's,

Then, had my willing Pity met thy Prayer:

Sav'd, whom thou lov'st, and lost a Third vain Mercy,

But thou hast heard it! Brutus murders Caesar!

—Yes Cassius!—bloody Cassius!—I have wrong'd thee:

The Foe but wish'd Revenge:—The Friend resolv'd it.

PORTIA.

What does thy angry Virtue mean to do?

CALPHURNIA.

—Blast his vow'd Guilt, and force him to be safe.

Round, from the neighb'ring Grot, rush Caesar's friends,

Rapid for Interception:—If they find him,

Try thy wish'd Power: reclaim his Will, from Cassius,

Whom if his Fate has driven him, now, to join,

By all my Fear for Caesar's Life—he dies!

PORTIA.

Detain him, all ye Powers, who pity Woe!

Enter Curio with other Soldiers.

CURIO.

Vain was our speed:—There is an Iron Door,

That, opening to a Vault, beneath these Rocks,

Leads toward th' Aemilian Baths:—'scap'd thro' that Passage,

E'ere now, he rises in the Shade of Rome.

Portia faints.

CALPHURNIA. To a Soldier.

See! th' unhappy Sufferer faints!—support her:

To Curio, in a lower Voice.

Mean Time, while slow-returning Sense forsakes

Her pitied Ear, whose Sighs my Soul deplores,

Curio!—The blank Commision, Caesar gave thee,

Claims, from my Hand, a Name, to guide thy Duty:

Receives the Table-Book, from Curio, writes in, and returns it to him.

Brutus becomes the Void, with bloody Grace;

Take it, and know thy Hour.

PORTIA.

Bless'd, ye kind Rocks!

Bless'd, be your guardian Echos! That have swell'd

Death's Murmurings to my Ear:—If my Strength fail

Home, on the Wings of Love, and Fear, I'll fly: [not,

Brutus shall live; and every God shall guard him.

Starts up and goes out.

CALPHURNIA.

Restrain her, Curio!—The preventive Love,

This weeping Vertue bears her sentenc'd Lord,

Wou'd warm him from the Fate, his Guilt compells.

Curio brings her back.

Come—guide th' afflicted Trembler to my Palace.

PORTIA.

No.—Kill me, here:—Earth has no Place, so fit

For Portia's Death, as where her Brutus left her:

Art thou a Soldier? hear me:—All the Brave

Have Hearts to weep the Woe, their Hands have caus'd.

But Man is cruel.—Hear, Calphurnia!—Thou

Art Woman:—Thou art Caesar's tender Wife.

Measure another's Mis'ery, by thy own.

Pause but, to think thyself the Wife of Brutus;

'Twill plead my Cause, and force thee to forgive.

CALPHURNIA.

Cou'd Portia so forgive the sought, sworn, Death

Of Him, beyond whose Life she shuns to live?

Knock at thy own Heart's Door, and find mine justified:

Yet, bleeds my social Soul, and feels thy Fate;

Poor, suffering Excellence! And wretch, unguilty!

PORTIA.

Oh! I can never by a Wretch, by Thee!

I am thy Friend:- Dwell on that Thought, Calphurnia:

Even, when the CRADLE claim'd me, I was Thine:

Sorrows, and Pains, must come:—They come to All,

But, sure! they shou'd not come from those, we love.

CALPHURNIA

They cannot come from Love:-They may from Justice.

PORTIA.

Let Foes, and Strangers be, severely Just:

Friendship declines to punish, tho' 'tis wrong'd.

CALPHURNIA.

Think of the present Hour.

PORTIA.

Think of the Past;

When pratling Childhood, yet, had learnt no Power,

To lisp its little Meanings, into Sense;

Stammering our untaught Instinct, Side by Side,

We wander'd, fearful of each other's Fall,

And tripp'd, and smil'd, and totter'd, into Love.

Scarce felt our rip'ning Years a Sense of Woe:

'Twas Foreign, all—for all, within, was Peace.

While the divided City, round us, glow'd

With cruel Discord, and domestic Rage;

Even, while our dearest Friends took different Sides,

And Civil Fury shook the partial Soul:

We, still superior, to a Nation's Hate!

Smil'd on—confided, mix'd embracing Minds;

And all our Contest was—which, most, shou'd Love.

CALPHURNIA.

Why woud'st thou, thus, recall past Hours of Joy?

Those were the sun-shine Days, of Mirth, and Peace.

Now, 'tis all win'try Darkness,—War, and Blood!

PORTIA.

Brutus is dear to Portia.

CALPHURNIA.

—Not less dear

Is Godlike Caesar, to Calphurnia's Soul.

PORTIA.

If Brutus lives.

CALPHURNIA.

—Caesar, he swore, must die.

PORTIA.

Cruel Impatience! Not to hear Distress!

CALPHURNIA.

Patient I heard, till he confess'd it sworn:

Heard, till he told thee,—each dire Murderer dar'd

Vow Caesar dead,—when Brutus Wills it done.

PORTIA.

Brutus will not.

CALPHURNIA.

—Away- 'twas Sworn, 'twas SWORN.

Hear that, all-judging Heaven! And think, by whom•!

Ingratitude's a Guilt, that startles Nature,

And, with a Fury's Foulness, stains Mankind!

Constrain her, Curio!—Force her gently, on:

PORTIA.

Stay, Stay—I will be heard,—cruel Calphurnia!

CALPHURNIA.

Alas! What woud'st thou say?

PORTIA.

—Wou'd I cou'd tell!

Wou'd I were skill'd in Woe, to touch thy Pity!

Perhaps, I shou'd be Humbler?—Teach me, tell me.

Oh! I'm not stubborn.—If the Queen of Caesar,

Waits for the bended Knee; and, looking down

To suppliant Homage, tastes the Flatterer's Prayer:

See! Portia, prostrate on the Dust, implores thee,

Kneels.

See her Soul agoniz'd,—and ease her Terrors.

Grant him but Life! Spare his mistaking Virtue:

Banish him—far from Rome, and Power, and Caesar.

To unhous'd Seythia's bleakest Wilds, expose him:

Leave him one—one—but one! Sad, humble Shelter!

His Portia's aching Bosom!—Never—ah?—Never,

Will she forsake him!—Off, ye glittering Trifles!

Tears off her Jewels.

Ye Toys! That help to blind unbless'd Distinction!

Come—in their Place—Despair! Affliction! Penitence!

Be these my Claims!—For these my Brutus shares in.

Shuddering, and bare, I'll trace th' unsheltry Desert

Tread the bleak Wilderness of Want, unsighing,

Unwishing Comfort, and content with Pain.

Sleepless, myself, I'll watch his weary Slumbers,

Feed his pale Fire, hang o'er his heedless Bosom:

Break ye rude Snow-drifts, which the Storm blows round him,

And love him into Taste of safe Distress.

CALPHURNIA. To the Soldiers.

Why will ye wound Compassion, by Delay?

The Sorrows of a suffering Friend, are Torture,

None, but a Devil, at once can cause, and bear.

Relieve me, and, with tenderest Force, obey.

PORTIA. To the Soldiers,

Reverence, ye Slaves of Power! The Race of Cato:

His unsubmitting Soul survives, in mine:

And swells against Compulsion.

Soldiers step back.

—Dare not think,

I dread to die.—But know, that Portia's Death

Shall be the Choice of Portia.

At a Signal from Calphurnia, they seize her Hands.

—Hope, as soon,

To claim impassive Spirit!—High Disdain,

Resisting Insult, at a Thousand Doors,

Can let out Life, and laugh at vain Restraint!

I will, with stubborn Pain, imprison Breath,

And burst, indignant, from a World, that holds me.

I will, on stony Pavements, hard and cold,

As deaf Calphurnia! Dash my dizzy Brain:

I'll swallow Fire:—Rend, with impatient Teeth,

This suffering Flesh, and plunge from hated Light:

Unhand me, Torturers! Murderers!—Help! HELP!

I will extend my Voice, if Brutns hears not,

Till the forgetful Gods are rous'd to Justice!

CASSIUS. From the Garden.

Where are you? say! Whence flow'd that suffering Sound?

PORTIA.

Blest be th' attentive Powers!—'Tis Cassius calls.

CASSIUS. Without.

Haste, Cimber! Join Marcellus; guard the Postern:

Cross those arm'd Enter'ers, e're they reach the Grove:

Fabius!—Fulgentius!

CALPHURNIA.

Save me, righteous Jove!

CURIO.

Scorn this new Terror. Think, whose conquering Fortune

Summons a Sword, untaught to wrong his Cause.

Exeunt Curio, and Soldiers, drawing their Swords.

CALPHURNIA.

Heaven guard my Caesar,

PORTIA.

Save my Brutus, Gods!

Clashing of Swords heard, without.

SCENE VIII.

CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, CASSIUS,

CASSIUS. Entering.

Guard well those Priso'ners, while I—

Starts.

Calphurnia, here!

Nay then, some Villian has betray'd our Cause.

PORTIA.

Torbilius bears your listed Names to Caesar,

And Brutus, if you save him not, must die.

CASSIUS.

Freedom has Friends, in Heaven, too strong for Caesar;

No Note of Danger, ever, more shall reach

The Tyrant's watchful Ear:—Rome's vow'd Avenger's,

Now, at his Entrance to the insulted Senate,

Led on, by Liberty's returning Gods,

Shall, there, appease them, with his offer'd Blood.

Exit hastily.

SCENE. IX.

CALPHURNIA. Aside.

Hold firm my frighted Heart! Tis but a Moment!

Suffering with Dignity, disgrace not Glory:

Ev'n, in this dreadful Turn, preserve thy Greatness

Nor let thy trembling Fears, alarm'd for Caesar,

Lose the Distinction, due to Caesar's Wife.

Advances to Portia.

Portia! A Change, like this, might prompt weak Minds,

To justify Despair, and give up Virtue.

But I, who trust the Gods, with good Men's Safety,

Know, that, in Caesar's Triumphs, Heaven but guards

Th' assaulted Greatness, which, Itself, inspir'd:

Rising against Distress, Calphurnia smiles

At Traitor's Threats, and brightens from Eclipse.

Fearless, to persevere her Lord has taught her;

And, from meant Evil, force unwilling Good.

All, Thou must hope, when Caesar's cloudless Star

Meets, and shines through, and burns above this Tempest;

Is—that my Sentence may remain suspended,

Till the Dictator's never-wearied Mercy

Pours Penitence, on the touch'd Heart of Brutus.

PORTIA.

Slow Blessings come too late, and bring new Curses:

This, but a Moment past, had sav'd us, Both:

Now, Portia rules not, here:—Tis angry Cassius:

The proud Conspirators possess my Gates,

And Brutus, absent, leaves me to their Power,

He flew, to warn those rash, discover'd, Romans:

But hasty Rage makes frustrate every Care.

—Yet, claim what e're my Weakness can:—Tis due

To kind Forgiveness of a Friend's first Fault:

To our past Wish's, and our present Fears:

For, ah! Who knows, what dire Events impend,

To blast eluded Hope, and make both wretched?

—Come, to my Chamber, let us sadly move,

Pensive, from Fear, and terrified for Love:

There, let us mourn Ambition's restless Rage,

And mutual Mise'ry mutual Help engage.

CALPHURNIA,

Warm, from my willing Heart, I join that Prayer,

Ne're may Ambition waste a good Man's Care!

Vain are his Hopes reluctant Foes to bless:

And still, the more his Toils, his Praise the less.

End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT.V.

SENEI.

A Court before the Capitol.

CASSIUS, CIMBER, CINNA, CASCA.

CIMBER.

Sure! Never Day ran back, like this, before!

So sweet a Dawn, so chang'd, at once to Tempest:

CASSIUS.

Chang'd, like the Fate of Rome! Above, tis Sunshine:

Beneath, tis, all, due Darkness!—Senate's Power

Shall brighten, and plebeian Clouds ride low.

What hasty Footstep that?

CIMBER.

—'Tis Decimus!

Enter Decimus.

CASSIUS.

Alone! Why comes not Brutus?

DECIMUS.

—Near thy House

I met him hast'ning to suppend our Meeting:

And urg'd the general Cause, that claim'd his Presence.

CASSIUS.

He shou'd not, yet, have heard of Portia's Danger,

Nor Caesar's Warrant, found.—

DECIMUS.

I told no more

Than that Torbilius, trusted with our Names,

Lodg'd 'em, in Caesar's Hand.—So, what, before,

Was common Glory, common Safety, now,

Demanded instant:—therefore, here we met,

No more to part, till Rome, or Caesar fall.

CASSIUS.

Heard he that, firmly?

DECIMUS.

He's at Hand, to join us.

CASSIUS.

Then Fate is Ours: And this proud Climber's Height

Sinks to the Level, where his Name shall rot:

Mark, with what Ease a Tyrant's Empire falls!

But yesterday, this Man's exalted Praise

Trod on the Stars: and Caesar was a God!

To Day, the insulting Foot of Rome shall spurn him,

And mix his powerless Ashes with the Dust.

CIMBER.

Hark! Was not that a Scream?

CASSIUS.

Some Prophet Raven,

That, conscious, on the Dome's high moold'ring Roos,

Feels, and foretells, that Caesar's Ghost is rising.

A Noise hear'd, without, like the Fall of a Building

CIMBER.

Some horrid Ruin that!

CASSIUS.

Look out, good Decimus.

DECIMUS. Looking out

Amazement! The long, venerable, Line

Of Statues,—All Rome's old, and aweful Chiefs

Lie fallen! And shapeless Fragments load the Floor!

Long, and loud Thunder.

CIMBER.

Shoud not a Change, like this, that mixes Palaces

With the up heaving Center, at the Moment,

When our bold Purpose moves, alarm our Caution?

CASSIUS.

Blow, till ye burst, ye big-mouth'd Menacers!

'Tis but a Breeze, to Hearts, inflam'd for Glory.

CIMBER.

Breeze!—In such Breezes, Furies imp their Wings

Death! The Storm howls, as if the Winds felt Envy;

And woudd out-mouth the Thunder!—Call ye This

A Breeze?—my Feet want Steadiness!—The Pavement,

Heav'd, in disjointed Surge, rolls loose beneath me.

CASSIUS.

By Heaven, tis Glorious Ruin!—Round our Heads

Fall Rome's imperial Turrets:—Earthquake, and Tempest

Plow the mix'd Elements: Noises, far heard,

Live, in the Winds, and Voice the frantic Air.

Day darkens: and the Eye of Heaven seems quench'd.

Nature's wide-loos'ning Fabrick shakes, about us!

While we, with Nerves of Steel, press on to Vengeance.

Oh! my brave Friends! What future Fame is Ours!

What Cato cou'd not—what nor Asia's Aid,

Nor Pompey's failing Fleets—not tawny Afric,

With all her Sun-defying Swarms of War!

We few—we, Roman Few—have done—this Day!

CIMBER.

One Way, or other, we shall serve the Senate:

Living, we set it free.—And, if we die,

We teach it to vote safe;—and rail, in private.

DECIMUS.

See! What a pensive Visage Brutus brings!

CASSIUS.

Save us! He looks, as if the tumbling Statues

Had crush'd him into Cowardice!

SCENE II.

CASSIUS, CIMBER, DECIMUS,

CINNNA, CASCA, BRUTUS.

BRUTUS.

Rome's lost.

CIMBER.

Then, Coesar timely warn'd, has shun'd his Danger.

BRUTUS.

No.—The last Thing, Caesar will shun, is Danger.

—Roman's! Att•nd; and weep your Country's Fate:

I swore the Death of Caesar:—Curse me not,

Ye Parent Gods!—I thought it due, to Rome.

To Law—to Liberty—to Man's lost Rights;

To Power's Restraint, and a deliver'd World.

The Hour—the dreadful Hour, high Heaven! I nam'd!

Ev'n now, its, last dire Moment calls on Brutus:

And now, ev'n now, Brutus is Caesar's—SON!

Conspirator's, all start, and look down, in a speechless Astonishment.

BRUTUS after a long Pause.

Servilia was in secret wedlock join'd—

And gave He•self, and me—to Caesar's Love.

Conspirators still silent, fix'd, and amaz'd.

BRUTUS. After another short Pause.

Is there a Roman, so benumb'd of Soul,

So firm, so passionless, so steel'd a Stoick!

So nerv'd, beyond all vulgar Strength of Man!

That he dares urge what Brutus swore to do?

Cassius!—Thou tremblest.—

CASSIUS.

Thou shalt tremble, too,

At the last Counsel, I will live, to give thee.

BRUTUS.

Think, e're thou speak'st—for Nature is at Stake;

And, list'ning, dreads th' Advice, thou dar'st obtrude.

CASSIUS.

Mark then—were Brutus of Plebeian Mould,

Cassius wou'd say, serve on: The Tyrant Son

Shou'd aid th' Ambition of the Tyrant Father.

Rome had but mark'd two Caesar's for one Fate.

But thou wer't born her Friend—thy Name is Brutus,

And every Brutus breath'd, to bless Mankind.

Thy changeless Heart, inflexible for Virtue,

Patriots a Tyrant Blood, tho' drawn from Caesar.

BRUTUS.

Be dumb—be warn'd—'twere impious more to hear thee,

CASSIUS.

Nay mark—thou know'st what Cataline propos'd,

When, with a Rebel Hand, he shook his Country:

BRUTUS.

I know it, Cassius!

CASSIUS.

—On that lawless Day,

When, desp'rate, he presum'd an Act, like Caesar's,

Suppose—all—wily, with a Tyrant's Craft,

This Catiline had claim'd thee, for his Son?

BRUTUS.

Roman thou wrong'st me.—

CASSIUS.

Call me, then no Roman:

BRUTUS.

Twas a disgraceful Question:—It imply'd,—

A Brutus might be brib'd, to wrong his Country.

CASSIUS.

Caesar yet lives.—

BRUTUS.

—Caesar—and Catiline!

Gods!—what Disparities thou yok'st together!

—That Caesar's Policy not feigns me His,

Learn—I have Proof, too plain.—Servilia spoke

Spoke, from the Shades of Death, and own'd me Caesar's.

CASSIUS.

Did her Ghost tell this Dream?

BRUTUS.

The Dream is Thine,

Light Cassius!—She confess'd it, in her Letter:

CASSIUS.

Caesar has Arts, beyond thy honest reaching,—

But, let it pass—Caesar is Caesar, still;—

Be Bru•us cheated, by his Tale, or no—

He no less guilty.—Thou no less a Roman.

BRUTUS.

If he's my Father.—

CASSIUS.

Rome was still his Mother:

Where lives a bolder Paricide, than Caesar?

BRUTUS.

Away—my shrinking Soul abhors thy Purpose!

If I am Caesar's Son, Caesar, to me,

Is faultless:—Nature made me not his Judge.

And, till Rome's Gods redeem her, Brutus dares not.

CASSIUS.

If Duty binds—thy Soul was Son to Cato:

He form'd thy Truth, thy Firmness, and thy Virtue:

He taught thee to revere the Gods, thou swor'st by:

And feel the sacred Force, that firms on Oath.

BRUTUS.

Perish an Oath—against the Birth, I breathe by!

CASSIUS.

Thou but contribut'st Faith, to help Deceit!

Thou art not—can'st not be—the Son of Caesar:

I know, thou art not.

BRUTUS.

Cassius!—If I am!

—What Clash of Contradictions rends my Soul!

Horror, and Piety, divide my Virtue,

Save Caesar, all ye Gods!—But save Rome from him,

CASSIUS.

Caesar must not be safe,—Or, Rome must fall.

BRUTUS.

Oh, Cassius! partial Hatred weighs unjustly:

Mercy so tempers his Pretence to Power,

That Tyranny grows safe—and looks, like Freedom.

CASSIUS

There is an awful Equity, that towre's

Above Men's private Passions:—Tyrants die.—

And Sons of Tyrants want their Father's Virtues:

Then bleeds a groaning State! and Right, and Rapine

Descend from Heir to Heir, for ten red Ages,

E're comes Another Caesar.—Hence, 'us Mercy,

When One Man dies, to save the Blood of Nations.

BRUTUS.

Dies, Cassius!—by a SON!—Oh! righteous Heaven!

Ayert the impending Horror!—Foe to Nature,

Hint it no more—Or, Brutus, turns the Sword,

Thou point'st at Caesar's Life—against thy own.

CASSIUS,

I've heard I am too hasty!—Judge me Romans:—

You, who have seen the Proof, that Heaven has lent me;

Judge, to what daring Length, this rash, blind, Man

Provokes his Friend's Impatience:—Let that punish thee.

Gives him Caesar's Table-Book.

Read there, what envied Rights thy Birth derives

From Caesar's Blood—who, thus, cou'd sentence Thine.

BRUTUS. Reading.

"Wrong'd Caesar claims Redress from Curio's Sword'

"Be this his Warrant for dispatching—Brutus.

—If this was Caesar's, he believ'd me not

His Son.—and I have treated Truth, unkindly,

CASSIUS.

Yes—thou hast thank'd us well!—these Friends!—this Cassius,

Who in the Grove, from Caesar's Murderers, sav'd

Doom'd Portia, thy Belov'd! on Death's dire Verge.

And seizing Curio, found that Warrant with him.

BRUTUS. Reviewing the Warrant.

By Heav'n! tis Caesar's Hand.

CASSIUS,

—Tis Caesar's Heart:

He judg'd the Virtue, like his own-Disguise:

So try'd Corruption's Power—and held out Hope

Of proud Succession: Thou, if Caesar's Son.

Wert Heir to Caesar's Empire.—Failing, there,

He found One surer Way:—Marius, his Uncle,

Had taught him, that dead Foes resist no longer.

BRUTUS.

Oh! it is all, too plain!—Come, Cassius! Cimber!

Decimus! Casca! Cinna!—Guardian Friends?

Dwell in my Bosom; share the Joy, you give:

Help me to thank the Gods, I'm once more Brutus?

Oh; I cou'd play the Wanton—let loose Pleasure;—

Laugh with the light: grow thoughtless, and forget

Rome's Danger, for a Day—to Cherish Rapture!

Now, where's the Tempest?- where's the Thunder, Now?

Loud let it rend, unfear'd, the Arch of Heaven:

Tis ominous, no longer:—let it roar

Delightful? Brutus is no Son of Caesar!

That! let it swell that Sound?—let it to Earth,

Air—Heaven, and lowest Hell's lost Hope—proclaim,

That Roman Brutus is not SON to Caesar.

CASSIUS.

Thank the kind Gods, who sav'd thee from such Horror.

BRUTUS.

Indulgent Heaven! were I like happier Roman's,

Nature had now set free my patriot Hand,

And Brutus were again, but Friend to Caesar.

CASSIUS:

Time calls;—the Senate waits us.

BRUTUS.

Stay, stay Cassius!

I feel, I know not what, of Nameless Doubting,

Still, hov'ring dark, and slack'ning half my Heart:

Oh! I am, yet, his Son.—A Friends a Father:

And That kind Title has been, ever, Caesar's.

Trumpet heard at a distance.

Help Heaven! that Trumphet calls him to his Fate!

Fly, Decimus? prevent him: court him hither:

For the last Time, I'll press my Power, to save him.

CASSIUS.

Think—how expos'd thou leav'st the Friends of Rome!

BRUTUS.

If I betray you, may the Gods, I swore by,

Revenge your Cause! and Rome renounce my Name!

CASSIUS.

On thy known Truth, deserted we depend:

Fix'd in Belief, as if those Gods, invok'd,

Stood Pledges for thy Purpose.—On to the Senate.

Exeunt all, except Brutus.

BRUTUS. alone.

Immortal Taskers of this fatal Moment!

Free my entangled Thoughts from gathering Darkness,

And let Rome's safety flow from Caesar's Will!

—He comes—Oh, Shade of Cato! guard my Virtue

SCENE III.

BRUTUS, CAESAR. and LICTORS.

CAESAR. To the Lictors.

Retire, and wait within:—I wou'd be private.

Exeunt Lictors.

They tell me, thou ha'st Secrets to impart:

What are they?

BRUTUS.

—May the Soul of Rome inspire me!

CAESAR.

Wilt thou be Son to Caesar?

BRUTUS.

—Caesar's Son,—

With Pride—if Caesar will be Son of Rome.—

CAESAR.

Again?—persumptous Weakness! know thy Duty:

Whether wou'd popular Pretension drive Thee?

BRUTUS.

To live for Liberty—Or die for Glory:

CAESAR.

Thou mean'st a Substance, but thou serv'st a Name.

BRUTUS.

Rome's Senate held her Freedom more than Name.

CAESAR.

Her Senate, rich and proud, oppress'd her People:

Her People, poor and headstrong, spurn'd their Yoke:

Hence, rose the new Necessity, thou see'st not,

Of some unformal, Self-supporting Sword,

To cut Sedition boldly, to it's Root,

And rectify the crooked Growth of Empire.

This done—regenerate Rome grown fit f•r Liberty,

Make it thy future Gift:—and, therefore reign.

Now, 'tis Seditian's Cloak.—Her Trumpet's Call,

That State-disturbers arm by.

BRUTUS.

Teach the Senate

These found Defects; and shape their wish'd Redress,

Theirs is the Right to think, for councell'd Rome:

Caesar a King—Were all his Virtues Stars,

Rome's Rights invading, makes his Virtues—Crimes.

Caesar a Citizen, protecting Law,

Mix'd with the People, reigns the People's God.

CAESAR.

What Law? what People?—Government grew Graft,

And Violation throve by Law's Protection:

Power's tott'ring Ballance shall be fix'd more justly.

BRUTUS.

What single Hand has Right to fix Rome's Scale?

CAESAR.

All Men have Nature's Right, to bless their Country.

BRUTUS.

Blessings are Insuits, if by Force, impos'd.

CAESAR.

Then Heaven, that bless'd an unconcurring World,

Insulted Nature's Freedom.

BRUTUS.

Give up the Stubborn;

Trust Rome to Rome; and Freedom, to the God.

CAESAR.

Errors that spring from Pity, call for Pity.

BRUTUS.

Pity thy Country's Tears: the Groans of Millions!

CAESAR.

I did.—and, therefore, I assum'd Dominion.

BRUTUS.

Dominion adds no Fame to Worth like Caesar's:

Nature proclaim'd Thee Noblest.—Deeds, like thine,

Raise their Performer's Rank, till King sounds poorly,

Times purple plunderers, All, shall steal thy Name,

And bid their proudest Title be but—Caesar.

CAESAR.

Surphace, without a Depth!—false Patriots, thus,

Busied in Forms, let slip the Soul of Purpose!

While with delusive Toil, thou plow'st for Freedom,

Cheated by factious Seed, thou sow'st but Slavery.

Against One fansied Tyrant, blindly warm'd,

Thou, for a Hundred, help'st to curse thy Country.

BRUTUS.

They curse their Country, who disturb her Peace;

And march their iron Legions, o'er her Bosom.

CAESAR.

I shew'd thee, obstinate, persisting Rebel!

Peace had no Root, in Rome:—Her Rights were Forms:

Her Senate—a loud Hive of insect Kings;

That robb'd, and stung: and call'd Oppression—Priviledge.

Their lawful sovereign Lord, the People—Slaves:

Slaves! in the Mockery of imagin'd Freedom!

See thy Misguiders rightly.—Trust a Father:

Affection cannot injure:—Thou art pale!

Look on me Brutus!—What new Dream disturbs thee?

BRUTUS.

—Wake me some Roman God!

CAESAR.

—Wake thee, to feel

Nature's lost Power.

BRUTUS,

—I feel it All, for Caesar.

CAESAR.

What woud'st thou teach my Doubts to apprehend?

BRUTUS.

Vengeance, and Death, from Romans.

CAESAR.

Vengeance is Mine:

I won it in the Field,—to throw it back,—

And scorn'd the unmanly Trophy: Death is my Friend:

Come, when it will—tis but discharge from Care:

'Tis but to 'scape false Fears, and real Sorrows,

'Tis but to rest from Wrongs, and rise to Glory.

BRUTUS.

There's not an unbought Roman, in the Senate,

But meditates thy Murder.

CAESAR.

Murderers, Brutus;

Kill their own Character:—He, whom they strike,

Dies, to his Memory's Profit.—All, they can dare,

When they attempt like Men,—like Man, Itll meet.

BRUTUS.

But shou'd they mean some dark, dishonest Blow?

CAESAR.

Then Heav'n, that hates the base, will strike the Strikers.

BRUTUS.

If thou can'st fear, fear All.

CAESAR.

To say, I cannot,

Were light:—I will not, Brutus.—Feeble Fear

Is a low, fruitless, Passion:—It unnerves

Resistance; and obscures Prevention's Eye:

Meets a'short Blow, half-way;—and aids its Weakness

Life is not worth a Fear.

BRUTUS.

Fear for Mankind;

Fear, for the sate of Rome, that loses Caesar.

CAESAR.

No more. I know Rome's wants, and reign, to serve he▪

Menace to me, means Nothing: spare thy Terrors:

Not ev'n the Threats of Heaven alarm the Just:

Shou'd the contending Elements break loose,

And into formless Atoms, rend the World,

The Friend of Truth must fall—but falls unshaken.

BRUTUS.

Oh, Caesar!—my full Heart!—farewell, forever.

Turning away, Disordered.

CAESAR.

Brutus, in Tears!—so mourn we Griefs, we make?

Immortal Gods!—what Madness blinds Conceit!

He, who, unmov'd, resists the Voice of Nature,

Melts, in imagin'd Woes, and weeps for Rome.

BRUTUS.

No:—I but die for Rome.—I weep for Caesar,

Exit, in Confusion.

SCENE IV.

CAESAR, TRINOVANTIUS.

CAESAR.

What? my bold Briton—Welcome, Trinovantius,

I love thy Country's Virtues.

TRINOVANTIUS.

Caesar, hail!

When thy Friends fear—and ev'en a Brutus weeps.

May thy Gods guard thee, as thy Soldier wou'd!

CAESAR.

Long, has thy brave and faithful Cohort serv'd Me;

What are their Want's?—teach Caesar how please Thee.

TRINOVANTIUS.

No Briton wastes a Prayer upon Himself,

When his Friend's Life's in Danger.

CAESAR.

What then woud'st thou?

TRINOVANTIUS.

The Senate, met, and full of seeming Faith,

Wait thy wish'd Presence;—Rome's rais'd Throne invitee, thee,

Thy plain, well-m•aning. Friends, the Populace,

Bear offer'd In•ense, thro' the Streets-of Rome;

And pay their willing Worship to thy Statues.

All the pleas'd City smiles.—Yet, cou'd I move thee;

Cou'd thy old Soldier's first-felt Fear perswade;—

Caesar shou'd shun the sad-presaging Hour,

And bid this Diadem attend his Leisure.

CAESAR.

I thought, the Sons of Thame's had felt no Fears.

TRINOVANTIUS.

No Fears they feel from Earth's uniting Anger:

But▪ when Heaven frowns, 'tis impious, not to tremble.

All Nature, thro' her Works, seems, now, convuls'd:

—I met the pali• Vestals, wildly screaming:

Fled, from the e•tin•uish'd Fire, robeless, and bare:

And blind amidst the Dust of crumbling Towers;

Shook from the dark'nd Summits!—Doors of Sepulchre's

Untouch'd, fly open: and from silent Urns,

Where slept in Monumental Rest, the Bones

Of Rome's first Founders, slow-ascending Shades

Catch form;—and hov'ring, in the quick'n'd Air,

View some sad Fate, they want the Power to tell:

And shrink, and start—and fly the sick'ning Sun.

—Such boding Signs fore-note impending Fate:

And Heaven, from whom Kings hold, postpones thy Claim.

CAESAR.

Fie Trinovantius!—'T is to bold for Man!

'Tis Insolence, to list the Eternal Gods:

Make Nature bus, and un-hinge a World.

To lengthen, or cut short, a Mortal's Moment?

Th' all-ruling Powers have fi•'d our destin'd Space;

And we, too weak to shun, must wait their Will.

TRINOVANTIUS.

Tis whisper'd,—some great Names unite for Mischief.

CAESAR.

Ambition, born for Contest, owes Contempt

To Threat'ners.—

TRINOVANTIUS.

Yes.—But, cautious Note of Treason,

Timely, and oft, averts the Traitor's Purpose.

CAESAR.

To live in daily Dread, is daily dying:

'•is worse than Death:—'Tis Sickness never cur'd!

TRINOVANTIUS.

Suffer my Briton's to surround the Temple,

And trust malicious Senates to their Eye.

CAESAR.

Who awes his Enemy, submits to fear him.

—Stay, my good Friend, thou comst no farther on.

TRINOVANTIUS.

I leave thee, Caesar! with a strange Regret!

For my fore-boding Heart is filled with Terror.

CAESAR.

Be comforted.—Thou over-rat'st my Danger.

Three hundred new Patrician's swell the Senate:

All, mine, for their own Safety:—Half the old,—

Names, like the Julian, fam'd, e're Rome was Rome!

Converts to slow-found Truth, embrace her warmly,

These, nobly owning, teach the Rest to owne,

When Error is Disgrace, Retraction's Virtue.

What apprehend'st thou, then, from that small Remnant,

Whose Weakness is too wise, to dare their With,

TRINOVANTUS.

O, Pallas! Pallas!—Guide of Martial Caesar!

How grew the Master-Soldier of the World

Unmindful, what Success, in Deeds of Blood,

Crowns unexpected Rashness!—If we but think

Th' Attempt impossible, we make it safe.

—Had (but that Heaven forbids) this unfear'd Few,

Weak as they seem, dar'd in full Senate, strike,

Firm, and combin'd, at Caesar's sacred Life;

His Friends, th' astonish'd many—powerless unnerv'd,

In Gaze of helpless Horror, had sat passive;

Each doubting each—a Foe; till Fate had reach'd thee,

And, while Prevention paus'd, Presumption triumph'd.

CAESAR.

Briton! Thy Heart is manly: and thy Mind

Adorn'd with every Gift of Faith, and Wisdom!

Act, as thy Doubts inspire thee.—Since thou fear'st,

'Tis strange, that I, too, cannot!—Yet, beware,

Thou call'st no Aid of Arms:—Civil to Civil,

And, but to martial military.—Hear'st thou

Loud Cry of A Caesar—A Caesar!

You shoutig Swarm, that shakes Rome's echoing Domes?

Lead those loud Voters, from the o'rerowded Streets,

To where their Cry may reach the Senate's Ear:

'Twill caution Guilt, perhaps! And aid Resolves.

TRINOVANTIUS.

Thanks to the Gods, thy Friends! Who led thee, once,

To charm our fraudless Isle!—By them inspir'd,

One grateful Briton saves the Roman Soul!

Caesar, and Trinovantius, turn to go off, on opposite Sides.

SCENE V.

TORBILIUS. (Ent'ring hastily.)

TRINOVANTIUS. meeting him.

Bless thy quick Step! Com'st thou to hold back Caesar?

TORBILIUS.

Brave Islander, I do:

TRINOVANTIUS.

Emperor! Dictator!

CAESAR.

Hush thy too busy Terrors.

TRINOVANTIUS. Aside.

Hold him, sweet Roman!

Tun'd Eloquence is thine: Tell him some Tale,

No matter on what Subject, make it but long,

Exit hastily.

CAESAR. seeing Torbilius.

Why art THOU, here!—Did Brutus vote for Murder?

TORBILIUS.

Shun the met Senate:—All mean Murder, there:

CAESAR.

All cannot.—Thou defam'st too broadly:—WHO?

TORBILIUS.

The Patriot Faction.

CAESAR.

Thou has't yoak'd Ideas,

Which Reason must divide.—Patriot, and Faction,

Like Oil on Waters, mix, when strongly shaken:

But never can unite.—disjoin'd, by Nature!

TORBILIUS.

Patriot's can envy.—And who envies—hates.

CAESAR.

Let 'em hate on.—In Men, who love their Country,

Envy but quickens Virtue.

TORBILIUS.

This black List

Contains O, Caesar! thirty Traitor's Names:

Traitors, by great Calphurnia's Care detected:

Traitors, who under Friendship's fair Disguise,

Have with confederate Malice, sworn thy Murder.

CAESAR. Taking the Roll.

Did my Calphurnia send thee?

TORBILIUS.

Caesar, she did:

CAESAR.

My Friend's Names, say'st thou, in this Roll of Traitors?

TORBILIUS.

All thy most trusted, most distinguished Friends?

CAESAR. After a Pause, returning the Roll, unopened.

Take back thy bloody List. and hide Man's baseness:

Where Trust is tainted by such dire Deceit,

Life is not worth preserving.

TORBILIUS.

Lov'd Calphurnia.

Demands it:—for her sake, repress thy Scorn.—

Stay but to go well-guarded.

CAESAR,

Against Enemies,

Caesar suffices for the Guard of Caesar:—

But, against Friends, Distrust were Violation.

TORBILIUS. Holding his Robe.

Stay, but to be convinced—ill-fated Caesar!

CAESAR.

I will not be convinced, that Faith is Weakness.

W•o wou'd take Pains to lose that Peace, he feels,

From generous Confidence in human Virtues?

If there are Wretches, who, oblig'd, betray,

'Tis Comfort, not to know 'em

Exit Caesar

SCENE VI.

To TORBILIUS enter TRINOVANTIUS and two Roman Officers.

TORBILIUS.

Oh! farewell,

Rome's Fame!—Her Evil Genius has prevail'd:

And Caesar's Death shall doom declining Empire.

Exit.

TRINOVANTIUS. Repelling a crowd of Plebeians?

Stand back, keep distance; reverence the sitting Senate:

Whom will you crown your King?

PLEBEIANS.

A Caesar.! A Caesar!

TRINOVANTIUS.

Bless your concurring Joy! ye grateful People!

Caesar is yours—and you are justly Caesar's!

Crown him with Rapture.—For were Caesar King,

Rome had no Tyrants: All your lordly Patrons,

Stripp'd of oppressive Power, shall call you Brothers.

Office, with equal Eye, shall search for Skill,

And Liberty become the poor Man's Claim.

There are, who justly dread in Caesar's Crown,

His Love of the Unhappy:—dread his Pity.

He will not see the groaning Debtor sold,

To feed the rich Man's Luxury.—No Tears

Of starving Want;—no iron Hand of Law;

No Slaves to fellow-subjects, shall make sad

The Streets of happy Rome—If Caesar reigns.

A cry from within—Liberty! Liberty: Liberty!

Hark! in that Cry, arose no voice of Joy!

By Heaven; they Murder Caesar! guard this Door,

Good Romans! Fulvius! Aetius! your try'd Swords,

And mine, dare enter.—Follow Me, and save him.

As they are going off, with their Swords drawn; they are stopt by Antony, who enters disordered.

ANTONY.

Spare your meant Aid:—alas! it comes to late:

Murder, with all Briareus's hundred Hands,

Pierc'd the World's Soul—and Conquest is no more.

TRINOVANTIUS.

Curses consume their Names; what villain Hand!—

ANTONY.

Casca struck first.—Caesar, up-starting seiz'd

The assassin Steel—back plung'd it home,—and cry'd,

No—villain Casca! No—thus, thy own Poiniard

Corrects thy feeble Purpose:—die— die—Traitor!

Down to the expecting Shades—say Caesar sent thee.

There, press'd beneath a storm of Wounds, at once,

He stood, and frown'd, and bled, on every Side:

Moving at last, Majestic—the red Hand

Of miscreant Brutus met his radiant Eye.

Then thus.— All, cruel Murderers? what! All?

And Thou! My SON 1 My BRUTUS! Nay then, to conquer,

Were to perpetuate Pain:—and Death grows Joy.

Speaking, he sunk:—Soft, o'er his manly form,

Smooth'd his disorder'd Robe—and, sighless, died.

Cry again, from within, Liberty! Liberty!

TRINOVANTIUS.

Edge this true Sword, kind Heaven! they dare descend.

Advancing to meet the Conspirators, he is held back by Marc Antony.

SCENE VII.

TRINOVANTIUS, ANTONY, and Officers, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, MARCELLUS, with bloody Daggers.

'Tis past—Ambition bleeds; and Rome is free:

Hail Lords of Rome reviv'd! Nation of Princes.

Now once more, Masters of a World, you won!

Dare vindicate the Hands, that broke your Chain.

TRINOVANTIUS. struggling against Antony.

Cowards! cold-hearted Cowards!—You, who thus

Fear to Revenge—'tis you, have murder'd Caesar.

ANTONY.

No, Trinovantius.—Trust the Gods, and Rome.

With Caesar's Vengeance!—carefull, thro' the Crowd,

I seek, but find not Brutus.

CIMBER. Enters wounded

—Who nam'd Brutus?

CASSIUS.

'Twas Antony—come forward, valiant Cimber!

Where ha'st thou left our Chief?

CIMBER.

[Unhappy Brutus!

Struck, by the Words, and Look, of dying Caesar,

He bow'd to weep upon the Wound, he made:

When, from a Gallery, bursting in, above,

Held twixt the frantic Vestals, there appear'd

Cato'• yet living Sister—lost Servilia!

See! cry'd the breathless Trembler, -Traitor! Paricide!

Call'd by thy Crimes, in vain, from a Retreat,

W'ere hid, (not dead) I shun'd a hated World,

Thy Mother's blasted Eye,—fell Monster! Murderer!

Finds thee, too late: And ev•ry God shall Curse thee,

She scream'd, and sunk, amid the vestal Train.

Brutus! all Wild, as with a Fury's Horror,

Gaz'd, up, down, round—wrung his clos'd Hands—ran—stopt,

Return'd—then, with a bursting sigh, resum'd

Composure: kneel'd, and kiss'd the Robe of Caesar?

But sn•tchin• a fall'n Dagger, rose, distracted,

And cry'd—take, take me Vengeance! Rome is free:

"But Brutus, in her Cause, has stabb'd a Father!

Near, as he aim'd the meditated Blow,

I br•ke its erring Force—and on this Arm,

Receiv'd the pointed Mischief.—So, prevented,

I left him, 'midst a Guard of weeping Romans.

ANTONY.

Well may he weep!—but when he reads a Charge,

The murder'd Father left the murdering Son;

What will he then endure?—what Cave has Earth,

So deep, so dark, to hide him from Himself!

When he shall see, that, to his bloody Hand;

Caesar consign'd the Power to fix Rom's Liberty.

CASSIUS.

Thou speak'st in Mystery, Marc Antony!

ANTONY.

Move to the Forum.—In the Face of Rome,

I shall unfold the Will of Rome's lost Guardian.

CASSIUS.

Cou'd artful Antony, prove Caesar wrong'd;

Cassius wou'd then confess, he was too hasty.

ANTONY.

Traitor! thy willing Envy lov'd the Error:

And thou shalt expiate—far, as lowest Vice.

Too weakly can attone for murdered Virtue,

This Hour's detested Guilt, by Death and Infamy.

TRINOVANTIUS.

Summon the People:—I'll revenge this Murder;

Then, mourn lost Rome—and guard Britannia's Liberty.

Exeunt Roman Offic•rs, and Plebeians.

ANTONY. coming forward.

Had but Ambition Eyes, to look thro' Time,

Twoud see its •rui•l•ss Toil, and shun to climb:

Fondness of Noise, and Crowds of Court would cease,

And Man's whole Happiness be plac'd in Peace.

Safe Liberty would guard each Patriot Throne,

And Tyrant be, henceforth, a Name unknown:

All Fruit of Power is Pain: and what is Fame?

When ev'n a Caesar's Glory stains his Name.

The END.

EPILOGUE. In D•etta:

CALPHURNIA.

WHAT think ye• Sirs, of ou• Quack-stage Ph•sician;

Who gives Folks Pills, in Verse—to cure Ambition?

PORTIA. entering Opposite

Fifty to One, he breaks:—for, to my Knowledge,

That Cure's too hard, even for our Female College!

And, (don't look silly, Sirs, when plainly told it)

Where we give out, You've poor Pretence, to hold it.

CALPHURNIA.

Well—but, pray, Madam!—was not this Intrusion?

Two—to One Epilogue?

PORTIA.

Bar—false Conclusion.

Cupid, that yokes you Smarts, nere dragg'd 'em hither,

Till broke to Female Tongues, Twice Two, together

CALPHURNIA.

Nay—if They're pleas'd, I am.—your Plot? pray tell us.

PORTIA.

The Plot, of Petticoats—to charm the Fellows.

CALPHURNIA.

Hang Petticoats.—I came, to roast Sedition.

PORTIA.

Well. and I'll souse it's Cause,—Stand clear, Ambition.

Begin.—

CALPHURNIA.

Do you

PORTIA.

I dare not.

CALPHRNIA.

Why?

PORTIA.

Depend on't

My Tongue, once well beginning, makes no end on't

CALPHURNIA.

N• matter.—Woman's Woman's Match, nere fear it.

PORTIA.

Is She?—come. plead the ••use—The Bench shall hear it.

CALPHURNIA. turns to the Audience

Tho', born, a Maid.—and, therefore, no Man-hater.

There's ONE He Thing I loathe—and That's, a Traitor.

〈◊〉. Contentless Monster▪—form'd to grumble.

No King can please him—and no Wife can humble.

What'ere hard Durance binds him,—(make no doubt on't)

He'll find some strange new Hole. and creep safe ou't on't.

Horrid, the Traitor's Wife's abhorr'd Condition!

PORTIA.

Worse, ten times worse, the Maid's, that weds Ambition!

Oh▪ Ladies!—too, too apt, to over rate it,

Catch a few, private Hints: and learn to hate it.

The Traitor, once for all's, but hang'd and quiet:

Th' ambitious Fribbler's Life's one, long-stretch'd, Riot.

Like a Nun's Flannel Shift, worn close, to teaze ye.

Ais Cow-itch Clasp sticks fast, and fondly yeFleas

CALPHURNIA.

Now, tis my Turn to speak—Avant, SEDITION!

PORTIA.

Not yet, this half hour.—Ladies, fly AMB•T•ON

Husbands, who that hard horny Taste, inherit,

Dry, like 'still Rose-Cakes, and turn, all, to Spirit.

Wrapt in Thought's Cloud, they're like (no doubt) to chear ye,

CALPHURNIA.

Who see, hear, touch.—and, yet, scarce know, there near ye.

Good Friend, and dear Ally!—henceforth, uniting,

Spite of bad Patterns, let's join Hands, for Fighting.

PORTIA.

A Match. so join'd, each Star must Conquest, mean us.

Lord help the poor French Prig. that falls, between us!

CALPHURNIA.

Say, what Ambition is.

PORTIA.

Tis Treason's Mother:

Nurse, of Debate—

CALPHURNIA.

Sly Devils! Both one, and To'ther!

What is Sedition?

PORTIA.

Virtue's false Pretence:

Religions Cloak,—the two-edg'd Sword, of Sense.

Tis Freedom's resty Start: Pride's patriot Plea:

Sound, that ca'nt hear: and Sight, that will not see.

Sedition! Thou art Discord never ending.

CALPHURNIA.

Ambition! Thou art pointing to the Head crack'd, past Power of mending

Past even St. Edward's Cure, thou dire King's Evil!

Thou first Plague Mark,—on Angel, Man, and Devil!

Snubborn as Woman's Will, thou hat'st Restriction:

And grow'st but ten Times worse, for Contradiction.

PORTIA.

Shun plotting Heads, dear Ladies—All miscarries,

When one, that hums and haws at Midnight,—Marries,

Better, plain downright Dunce. no Dreams pursuing.

CALPHURNIA.

One, that means bluntly and knows, what he's doing.

PORTIA.

Not him, whose towr'ing Mind, estrang'd from Pleasure,

Holds him, still busiest,—when his Wife's at Leizure.

CALPHURNIA.

Better, a Sportsman, sound of Wind, and hearty.

PORTIA.

Better a Sot—than Spouse dry drunk with Party.

CALPHURNIA.

A hunting Husband hallows, and wé beár him.

PORTIA.

A drunken Deary Staggers, and we steer him.

CALPHURNIA.

Each, conseious of his Wife, take Care to make her,

One Way, or other—an indulged Partaker.

But, your sage, Secret, Politician Lover,

Has nothing, fit for Woman to discover,

PORTIA.

No. He's a deep, dark, pensive, Comfort-hater-Bodied for Solitude.

CALPHURNIA.

And •ould—for Satire.

PORTIA

Stranger, at home, he looks abroad for Blessing!

And finds whatere he has, not w•rth Poss•ssing.

CALPHURNIA

Freedom, and Mirth, and Health, and Joy—despises.

PORTIA.

And Shuns all Rest.—H• so Profoundly, wise, is!

CALPHURNIA.

At length, (Thank Heaven) he dies: kind Vapours strike him.

And leaves behind—

PORTIA.

Ten Thousand Madmen, like him,

Information about this book

Title statement

The Roman revenge: A tragedy. By Aaron Hill, Esq;.

Hill, Aaron, 1685-1750.

Publication

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University of Oxford Text Archive
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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5172

ID [isbn10]

1106021711

ID [isbn13]

9781106021717

ID [TCP]

K105564.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313463543

ID [ECLL]

0594800900

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The Roman revenge: A tragedy. By Aaron Hill, Esq;., Hill, Aaron, 1685-1750.. [4],105,[3]p. ; 8⁰. [London] :: Sold by M. Mechell, at the King's arms in Fleet-Street; and likewise to be had at the booksellers of London and Westminster,. 1753.. [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT133179.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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