A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 18

Let us entreat him to forsake our town; So shall we gain a friend of Rome and him.

[MARIUS _awaketh_.

But mark how happily he doth awake.

MARIUS. What, breathe I yet, poor man, with mounting sighs, Choking the rivers of my restless eyes?

Or is their rage restrain'd with matchless ruth?

See how amaz'd these angry lords behold The poor, confused looks of wretched Marius.

Minturnians, why delays your headsman thus To finish up this ruthful tragedy?

L. FAVORINUS. Far be it, Marius, from our thoughts or hands To wrong the man protected by the G.o.ds: Live happy, Marius, so thou leave our town.

MARIUS. And must I wrestle once again with fate, Or will these princes dally with mine age?

PAUSANIUS. No, matchless Roman; thine approved mind, That erst hath alter'd our ambitious wrong, Must flourish still, and we thy servants live To see thy glories, like the swelling tides, Exceed the bounds of fate and Roman rule.

Yet leave us, lord, and seek some safer shed, Where, more secure, thou may'st prevent mishaps; For great pursuits and troubles thee await.

MARIUS. Ye piteous powers, that with successful hopes And gentle counsels thwart my deep despairs, Old Marius to your mercies recommends His hap, his life, his hazard, and his son.

Minturnians, I will hence, and you shall fly Occasions of those troubles you expect.

Dream not on dangers, that have sav'd my life.

Lordings, adieu: from walls to woods I wend; To hills, dales, rocks, my wrong for to commend.

[_Exit_.

L. FAVORINUS. Fortune, vouchsafe his many woes to end.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SYLLA[125] _in triumph in his chair triumphant of gold, drawn by four Moors; before the chariot, his colours, his crest, his captains, his prisoners_: ARCATHIUS, _Mithridates' son_; ARISTION, ARCHELAUS, _bearing crowns of gold, and manacled. After the chariot, his soldier's bands_; BASILLUS, LUCRETIUS, LUCULLUS, _besides prisoners of divers nations and sundry disguises_.

SYLLA. You men of Rome, my fellow-mates in arms, Whose three years' prowess, policy, and war, One hundred threescore thousand men at arms Hath overthrown and murder'd in the field; Whose valours to the empire have restor'd All Grecia, Asia, and Ionia, With Macedonia, subject to our foe, You see the froward customs of our state Who, measuring not our many toils abroad, Sit in their cells, imagining our harms: Replenishing our Roman friends with fear.

Yea, Sylla, worthy friends, whose fortunes, toils, And stratagems these strangers may report, Is by false Cinna and his factious friends Revil'd, condemn'd, and cross'd without a cause: Yea, Romans, Marius must return to Rome, Of purpose to upbraid your general.

But this undaunted mind that never droop'd; This forward body, form'd to suffer toil, Shall haste to Rome, where every foe shall rue The rash disgrace both of myself and you.

LUCRETIUS. And may it be that those seditious brains Imagine these presumptuous purposes?

SYLLA. And may it be? Why, man, and wilt thou doubt, Where Sylla deigns these dangers to aver?

Sirrah, except not so, mis...o...b.. not so: See here Aneparius' letters, read the lines, And say, Lucretius, that I favour thee, That darest but suspect thy general.

[_Read the letters and deliver them_.

LUCRETIUS. The case conceal'd hath mov'd the more mis...o...b..; Yet pardon my presumptions, worthy Sylla, That to my grief have read these hideous harms.

SYLLA. Tut, my Lucretius, fortune's ball is toss'd To form the story of my fatal power: Rome shall repent; babe, mother, shall repent: Air, weeping cloudy sorrows, shall repent: Wind, breathing many sorrows, shall repent-- To see those storms, concealed in my breast, Reflect the hideous flames of their unrest.

But words are vain, and cannot quell our wrongs: Brief periods serve for them that needs must post it.

Lucullus, since occasion calls me hence, And all our Roman senate think it meet, That thou pursue the wars I have begun, As by their letters I am certified, I leave thee Cymbria's legions to conduct, With this proviso that, in ruling still, You think on Sylla and his courtesies.

LUCULLUS. The weighty charge of this continued war, Though strange it seem, and over-great to wield, I will accept, if so the army please.

SOLDIERS. Happy and fortunate be Lucullus our general.

SYLLA. If he be Sylla's friend, else not at all: For otherwise the man were ill-bested, That gaining glories straight should lose his head.

But, soldiers, since I needly[126] must to Rome, Basillus' virtues shall have recompense.

Lo, here the wreath, Valerius, for thy pains, Who first didst enter Archilaus' trench: This pledge of virtue, sirrah, shall approve Thy virtues, and confirm me in thy love.

BASILLUS. Happy be Sylla, if no foe to Rome.

SYLLA. I like no ifs from such a simple groom.

I will be happy in despite of state.

And why? because I never feared fate.

But come, Arcathius, for your father's sake: Enjoin your fellow-princes to their tasks, And help to succour these my weary bones.

Tut, blush not, man, a greater state than thou Shall pleasure Sylla in more baser sort.

Aristion is a jolly-timber'd man, Fit to conduct the chariot of a king: Why, be not squeamish, for it shall go hard, But I will give you all a great reward.

ARCATHIUS. Humbled by fate, like wretched men we yield.

SYLLA. Arcathius, these are fortunes of the field.

Believe me, these brave captives draw by art, And I will think upon their good desert.

But stay you, strangers, and respect my words.

Fond heartless men, what folly have I seen!

For fear of death can princes entertain Such b.a.s.t.a.r.d thoughts, that now from glorious arms Vouchsafe to draw like oxen in a plough?

Arcathius, I am sure Mithridates Will hardly brook the scandal of his name: 'Twere better in Pisae[127] to have died, Aristion, than amidst our legions thus to draw.

ARISTION. I tell thee, Sylla, captives have no choice, And death is dreadful to a captive man.

SYLLA. In such imperfect mettles[128] as is yours: But Romans, that are still allur'd by fame, Choose rather death than blemish of their name.

But I have haste, and therefore will reward you.

Go, soldiers, with as quick despatch as may be, Hasten their death, and bring them to their end, And say in this that Sylla is your friend.

ARCATHIUS. O, ransom thou our lives, sweet conqueror!

SYLLA. Fie, foolish men, why fly you happiness?

Desire you still to lead a servile life?

Dare you not buy delights with little pains?

Well, for thy father's sake, Arcathius, I will prefer thy triumphs with the rest.

Go, take them hence, and when we meet in h.e.l.l, Then tell me, princes, if I did not well.

[_Exeunt milites_.

Lucullus, thus these mighty foes are down, Now strive thou for the King of Pontus' crown.

I will to Rome; go thou, and with thy train Pursue Mithridates, till he be slain.

LUCULLUS. With fortune's help: go calm thy country's woes, Whilst I with these seek out our mighty foes.

_Enter MARIUS solus, from the Numidian mountains, feeding on roots_.

MARIUS. Thou, that hast walk'd with troops of flocking friends, Now wand'rest 'midst the labyrinth of woes; Thy best repast with many sighing ends, And none but fortune all these mischiefs knows.

Like to these stretching mountains, clad with snow, No sunshine of content my thoughts approacheth: High spire their tops, my hopes no height do know, But mount so high as time their tract reproacheth.

They find their spring, where winter wrongs my mind, They weep their brooks, I waste my cheeks with tears.

O foolish fate, too froward and unkind, Mountains have peace, where mournful be my years.

Yet high as they my thoughts some hopes would borrow; But when I count the evening end with sorrow.

Death in Minturnum threaten'd Marius' head, Hunger in these Numidian mountains dwells: Thus with prevention having mischief fled, Old Marius finds a world of many h.e.l.ls, Such as poor simple wits have oft repin'd; But I will quell, by virtues of the mind, Long years misspent in many luckless chances, Thoughts full of wrath, yet little worth succeeding, These are the means for those whom fate advances: But I, whose wounds are fresh, my heart still bleeding, Live to entreat this blessed boon from fate, That I might die with grief to live in state.

Six hundred suns with solitary walks I still have sought for to delude my pain, And friendly echo, answering to my talks, Rebounds the accent of my ruth again: She, courteous nymph, the woful Roman pleaseth, Else no consorts but beasts my pains appeaseth.

Each day she answers in yon neighbouring mountain, I do expect, reporting of my sorrow, Whilst lifting up her locks from out the fountain, She answereth to my questions even and morrow: Whose sweet rebounds, my sorrow to remove, To please my thoughts I mean for to approve.

Sweet nymph, draw near, thou kind and gentle echo, [_Echo_[129]. _I_.