The Tragedy Of Caesar's Revenge Part 4

_Ca.s.si._ The times drawe neere by gratious heauens a.s.signd When _Philips_ Sonne must fall in _Babilon_, In his triumphing proud persumption: But see where melancholy _Brutus_ walkes, 1390 Whose minde is hammering on no meane conceit: Then sound him _Ca.s.sius_, see how hee is inclined, How fares young _Brutus_ in this tottering state.

_Bru._ Euen as an idle gazer, that beholdes, His Countries wrackes and cannot succor bring.

_Ca.s.si._ But wil _Brute_ alwaies in this dreame remaine, And not bee mooued with his Countries mone.

_Bru._ O that I might in _Lethes_ endles sleepe, And neere awaking pleasant rest of death Close vp mine eyes, that I no more might see, 1400 Poore _Romes_ distresse and Countries misery.

_Casi._ No _Brutus_ liue, and wake thy sleepy minde, Stirre vp those dying sparkes of honors fire, VVhich in thy gentle breast weare wont to flame: See how poore _Rome_ opprest with Countries wronges, Implores thine ayde, that bred thee to that end, Thy kins-mans soule from heauen commandes thine aide: That lastly must by thee receiue his end, Then purchas honor by a glorious death, Or liue renown'd by ending _Caesars_ life. 1410 _Bru._ I can no longer beare the Tirants pride, I cannot heare my Country crie for ayde, And not bee mooued with her pitious mone, _Brutus_ thy soule shall neuer more complaine: That from thy linage and most vertuous stock, A b.a.s.t.a.r.d weake degenerat branch is borne, For to distaine the honor of thy house.

No more shall now the _Romains_ call me dead, Ile liue againe and rowze my sleepy thoughts: And with the Tirants death begin this life. 1420 _Rome_ now I come to reare thy states decayed, VVhen or this hand shall cure thy fatall wound, Or else this heart by bleeding on the ground.

_Cas._ Now heauen I see applaudes this enterprise, And _Rhadamanth_ into the fatall Vrne, That lotheth death, hath thrust the Tirants name, _Caesar_ the life that thou in bloud hast led: Shall heape a bloudy vengance on thine head. _Exeunt._

ACT. 2. SCE. 4. {SN _Act III sc. v_}

_Enter Caesar, Anthony Dolobella, Lords, and others._

_Caes._ Now servile _Pharthia_ proud in _Romaine_ spoile, 1431 Shall pay her ransome vnto _Caesars_ Ghost: Which vnreuenged roues by the Stygian strond, Exclaming on our sluggish negligence.

Leaue to lament braue _Romans_, loe I come, Like to the G.o.d of battell, mad with rage, To die their riuers with vermilion red: Ile fill _Armenians_ playnes and _Medians_ hils, With carkases of b.a.s.t.a.r.d _Scithian_ broode, And there proud Princes will I bring to _Rome_, 1440 Chained in fetters to my charriot wheeles: Desire of fame and hope of sweete reueng, Which in my brest hath kindled such a flame, As nor _Euphrates_, nor sweet _Tybers_ streame, Can quench or slack this feruent boyling heate: These conquering souldiers that haue followed me, From vanquisht _France_ to sun-burnt _Meroe_, Matching the best of _Alexanders_ troopes.

Shall with their lookes put _Parthian_ foes to flight, And make them twise turne their deceitfull lookes, 1450 _Ant._ The restlesse mind that harbors sorrowing thoughts, And is with child of n.o.ble enterprise, Doth neuer cease from honors toilesome taske, Till it bringes forth Eternall gloryes broode.

So you fayre braunch of vertues great discent, Now hauing finish'd Ciuill warres sad broyles, Intend by _Parthian_ triumphes to enlarge, Your contryes limits, and your owne renowne, But cause in _Sibilles_ ciuill writs we finde, None but a King that conquest can atchiue, 1460 Both for to crowne your deedes with due reward, And as auspicious signes of victorye.

Wee here present you with this _Diadem_, _Lord._ And euen as kings were banish'd _Romes_ high throne Cause their base vice, her honour did destayne, So to your rule doth shee submit her selfe, That her renowne there by might brighter shine, _Caesar._ Why thinke you Lords that tis ambitions spur.

That p.r.i.c.keth _Caesar_ to these high attempts, Or hope of Crownes, or thought of _Diadems_, 1470 That made me wade through honours perilous deepe, Vertue vnto it selfe a shure reward, My labours all shall haue a pleasing doome, If you but Iudge I will deserue of _Rome_: Did those old _Romaines_ suffer so much ill?

Such tedious seeges, such enduring warrs?

_Tarquinius_ hates, and great _Porsennas_ threats, To banish proude imperious tyrants rule?

And shall my euerdaring thoughts contend To marre what they haue brought to happy end: 1480 Or thinke you cause my Fortune hath expeld, My friends, come let vs march in iolity, Ile triumph Monarke-like ore conquering _Rome_, Or end my conquests with my countryes spoyles, _Dolo._ O n.o.ble Princely resolution.

These or not victoryes that we so call, That onely blood and murtherous spoyles can vaunt: But this shalbe thy victory braue Prince, That thou hast conquered thy owne climing thoughts, And with thy vertue beat ambition downe, 1490 And this no lesse inblazon shall thy fame.

Then those great deeds and chiualrous attempts, That made thee conqueror in _Thessalia_.

_Ant._ This n.o.ble mind and Pincely modesty, Which in contempt of honours brightnes shines, Makes vs to wish the more for such a Prince, Whose vertue not ambition won that praise, Nor shall we thinke it losse of liberty.

Or _Romaine_ liberty any way impeached, For to subiect vs to his Princely rule, 1500 Whose thoughts fayre vertue and true honor guides: Vouchsafe then to accept this goulden crowne, A gift not equall to thy dignity.

_Caes._ Content you Lordes for I wilbe no King, An odious name vnto the _Romaine_ eare, _Caesar_ I am, and wilbe _Caesar_ still, No other t.i.tle shall my Fortunes grace: Which I will make a name of higher state Then Monarch, King or worldes great Potentate.

Of _Ioue_ in Heauen, shall ruled bee the skie, 1510 The Earth of _Caesar_, with like Maiesty.

This is the Scepter that my crowne shall beare, And this the golden diadem Ile weare, A farre more rich and royall ornament, Then all the Crownes that the proud _Persian_ gaue: Forward my Lordes let Trumpets sound our march, And drums strike vp Reuenges sad alarms, _Parthia_ we come with like incensed heate, As great _Atrides_ with the angry Greekes, Marching in fury to pale walls of Troy. 1520

ACT. 3. SC. 5. {SN _Act III sc. vi_}

_Enter Ca.s.sius, Brutus, Trebonius, c.u.mber Casca._

_Tre._ Braue Lords whose forward resolution, Shewes you descended from true _Romaine_ line, See how old _Rome_ in winter of her age, Reioyseth in such Princely budding hopes, No lesse then once she in _Decius_ vertue did, Or great _Camillus_ bringing back of spoyles.

On then braue Lords of this attempt begun, The sacred Senate doth commend the deede: 1530 Your Countries loue incites you to the deed, Vertue her selfe makes warrant of the deed, Then n.o.ble _Romains_ as you haue begun: Neuer desist vntill this deede be done.

_Casi._ To thee Reueng doth _Ca.s.sius_ kneele him downe.

Thou that brings quiet to perplexed soules, And borne in Hel, yet harborest heauens ioyes, Whose fauor slaughter is, and dandling death, Bloud-thirsty pleasures and mis boding blisse: Brought forth of Fury, nurse of cankered Hate, 1540 To drowne in woe the pleasures of the world.

Thou shalt no more in duskish _Erebus_: And dark-some h.e.l.l obscure thy Deity, Insteede of _Ioue_ thou shalt my G.o.desse bee, To thee faire Temples _Ca.s.sius_ will erect: And on thine alter built of _Parian_ stone Whole _Hecatombs_ will I offer vp.

Laugh gentle G.o.desse on my bould attempt, Yet in thy laughter let pale meager death: Bee wrapt in wrinkels of thy murthering spoyles. 1550 _Bru._ An other _Tarquin_ is to bee expeld, An other _Brutus_ liues to act the deede: Tis not one nation that this _Tarquin_ wronges, All _Rome_ is stayn'd with his vnrul'd desires, Shee whose imperiall scepter was invr'd: To conquer Kings and to controul the world, Cannot abate the glory of her state, To yeeld or bowe to one mans proud desires: Sweete Country _Rome_ here _Brutus_ vowes to thee, To loose his life or else to set thee free. 1560 _Cas._ Shame bee his share that doth his life so prize, That to _Romes_ weale it would not sacrifize, My Poniardes point shall pearce his heart as deepe, As earst his sworde _Romes_ bleeding side did goare: And change his garments to the purple die, With which our bloud had staynd sad _Thessaly_.

_Cam._ Hee doth refuse the t.i.tle of a King, But wee do see hee doth vsurp the thing.

_Tre._ Our ancient freedome hee empeacheth more, Then euer King or Tyrant did before. 1570 _Cas._ The Senators by him are quite disgrac'd, _Rome_, _Romans_, Citty, Freedome, all defac'd.

_Ca.s.si._ We come not Lords, as vnresolued men, For to shewe causes of the deed decreed, This shall dispute for mee and tell him why, This heart, hand, minde, hath mark'd him out to die: If it be true that furies quench-les thirst, Is pleas'd with quaffing of ambitious bloud, Then all you deuills whet my Poniards point, And I wil broach you a bloud-sucking heart: 1580 Which full of bloud, must bloud store to you yeeld, Were it a peerce to flint or marble stone: Why so it is for _Caesars_ heart's a stone, Els would bee mooued with my Countries mone.

They say you furies instigate mens mindes, And push their armes to finnish bloudy deedes: p.r.i.c.k then mine Elbo: goade my bloudy hand, That it may goare _Caesars_ ambitious heart. _Exeunt._

ACTVS 3. SCENA 6. {SN _Act III sc. vii_}

_Enter Caesar, Calphurnia._

_Caes._ Why thinkes my loue to fright me with her dreames? 1591 Shall bug-beares feare _Caesars_ vndaunted heart, Whome _Pompeys_ Fortune neuer could amaze, Nor the _French_ horse, nor _Mauritanian_ boe, And now shall vaine illusions mee affright: Or shadowes daunt, whom substance could not quell?

_Calphur._ O dearest _Caesar_, hast thou seene thy selfe, (As troubled dreames to me did faine thee seene:) Torne, Wounded, Maymed, Blod-slaughtered, Slaine, O thou thy selfe, wouldst then haue dread thy selfe: 1600 And feard to thrust thy life to dangers mouth.

_Caes._ There you bewray the folly of your dreame, For I am well, aliue, vncaught, vntoucht.

_Calphur._ T'was in the Senate-house I sawe thee so, And yet thou dreadles thither needes will go.

_Caes._ The Senate is a place of peace, not death, But these were but deluding visions.

_Calphur._ O do not set so little by the heauens, Dreames ar diuine, men say they come from _Ioue_, Beware betimes, and bee not wise to late: 1610 Mens good indeuours change the wills of Fate.

_Caes._ Weepe not faire loue, let not thy wofull teares Bode mee, I knowe what thou wouldest not haue to hap It will distaine mine honor wonne in fight To say a womans dreame could me affright.

_Cal._ O _Caesar_ no dishonour canst thou get, In seeking to preuent vnlucky chance: Foole-hardy men do runne vpon their death, Bec thou in this perswaded by thy wife: No vallour bids thee cast away thy life. 1620 _Caes._ Tis dastard cowardize and childish feare, To dread those dangers that do not appeare: _Cal._ Thou must sad chance by fore-cast, wise resist, Or being done say boote-les had I wist.

_Caes._ But for to feare wher's no suspition, Will to my greatnesse be derision.

_Cal._ There lurkes an adder in the greenest gra.s.se, Daungers of purpose alwayes hide their face: _Caes._ Perswade no more _Caesar's_ resolu'd to go.

_Cal._ The Heauens resolue that hee may safe returne, 1630 For if ought happen to my loue but well: His danger shalbe doubled with my death. _Exit._

_Enter Augur._

_Augur._ I, come they are, but yet they are not gon.

_Caes._ What hast thou sacrifiz'd, as custome is, Before wee enter in the Senat-house.

_Augur._ O stay those steeps that leade thee to thy death, The angry heauens with threeatning dire aspect, Boding mischance, and balfull ma.s.sacers, Menace the ouerthrowe of _Caesars_ powre: 1640 _Saturne_ sits frowning on the G.o.d of Warre, VVho in their sad coniunction do conspire, Vniting both their bale full influences, To heape mischance, and danger to thy life: The Sacrificing beast is heart-les found: Sad ghastly sightes, and raysed Ghostes appeare, Which fill the silent woods, with groning cries: The hoa.r.s.e Night-rauen tunes the chearles voyce, And calls the bale-full Owle, and howling Doge, To make a consort. In whose sad song is this, 1650 Neere is the ouerthrow of _Caesars_ blisse. _Exit._ _Caesar._ The world is set to fray mee from my wits, Heers harteles Sacrifice and visions, Howlinge and cryes, and gastly grones of Ghosts, Soft _Caesar_ do not make a mockery, Of these Prodigious signes sent from the Heauens, _Calphurnias_ Dre ame Iumping which _Augurs_ words, Shew (if thou markest it _Caesar_) cause to feare: This day the Senate there shalbe dissolued, And Ile returne to my _Calphurnia_ home, _One giues him a paper._ 1660 What hast thou heare that thou presents vs with, _Pre._ A thing my Lord that doth concerne your life.

Which loue to you and hate of such a deed, Makes me reueale vnto your excellence. _Caesar laughs._ Smilest thou, or think'st thou it some ilde toy, Thout frowne a non to read so many names.

That haue conspird and sworne thy b.l.o.o.d.y death, _Exit._

_Enter Ca.s.sius._

_Ca.s.sius._ Now must I come, and with close subtile girdes, Deceaue the prey that Ile deuoure anon, 1670 My Lord the Sacred Senate doth expect, Your royall presence in _Pompeius_ court: _Caesar._ _Ca.s.sius_ they tell me that some daungers nigh.

And death pretended in the Senate house.

_Ca.s.si._ What danger or what wrong can be, Where harmeles grauitie and vertue sits, Tis past all daunger present death it is, Nor is it wrong to render due desert.

To feare the Senators without a cause, Will bee a cause why theile be to be feared, 1680 _Caesa._ The Senate stayes for me in _Pompeys_ court.

And _Caesars_ heere, and dares not goe to them, Packe hence all dread of danger and of death, What must be must be; _Caesars_ prest for all, _Ca.s.si._ Now haue I sent him headlong to his ende, Vengance and death awayting at his heeles, _Caesar_ thy life now hangeth on a twine, Which by my Poniard must bee cut in twaine, Thy chaire of state now turn'd is to thy Beere, Thy Princely robes to make thy winding sheete: 1690 The Senators the Mourners ore the Hea.r.s.e, And _Pompeys_ Court, thy dreadfull graue shalbe.

{SN _Act III sc. viii_}

_Senators crie all at once._

_Omnes._ Hold downe the Tyrant stab him to the death: _Casi._ Now doth the musick play and this the song That _Ca.s.sius_ heart hath thirsted for so long: And now my Poniard in this mazing sound, Must strike that touch that must his life confound.

Stab on, stab on, thus should your Poniards play, Aloud deepe note vpon this trembling Kay. _stab him._ 1700 _Buco._ _Bucolian_ sends thee this. _stab him._ _c.u.m._ And _c.u.mber_ this. _stab him._ _Cas._ Take this fr _Casca_ for to quite _Romes_ wronges.

_Caes._ Why murtherous villaines know you wh you strike, Tis _Caesar_, _Caesar_, whom your Poniards pierce: _Caesar_ whose name might well afright such slaues: O Heauens that see and hate this haynous guilt, And thou Immortall _Ioue_ that Idle holdest Deluding Thunder in thy faynting hand, Why stay'st thy dreadfull doome, and dost with-hold, 1710 Thy three-fork'd engine to reuenge my death: But if my plaintes the Heauens cannot mooue, Then blackest h.e.l.l and _Pluto_ bee thou iudge: You greesly daughters of the cheereles night, Whose hearts, nor praier nor pitty, ere could lend, Leaue the black dungeon of your _Chaos_ deepe: Come and with flaming brandes into the world, Reuenge, and death, bringe seated in yout eyes: And plauge these villaynes for their trecheries.

_Enter Brutus._ 1720

_Bru._ I haue held _Anthony_ with a vaine discourse, The whilst the deed's in execution, But liues hee still, yet doth the Tyrant breath?

Chalinging Heauens with his blasphemies, Heere _Brutus_ maketh a pa.s.sage for thy Soule, To plead thy cause for them whose ayde thou crauest, _Caes._ What _Brutus_ to? nay nay, then let me die, Nothing wounds deeper then ingrat.i.tude, _Bru._ I b.l.o.o.d.y _Caesar_, _Caesar_, _Brutus_ too, Doth geeue thee this, and this to quite _Romes_ wrongs, 1730 _Ca.s.sius._ O had the Tyrant had as many liues.

As that fell _Hydra_ borne in _Lerna lake_, That heare I still might stab and stabing kill, Till that more liues might bee extinquished, Then his ambition, _Romanes_ Slaughtered.

_Tre._ How heauens haue iustly on the authors head, Returnd the guiltles blood which he hath shed, And _Pompey_ he who caused thy Tragedy, Here breathles lies before thy n.o.ble Statue,

_Enter Anthony._ 1740

_Anth._ What cryes of death resound within my eares, Whome I doe see great _Caesar_ buchered thus?

What said I great? I Caesar thou wast great, But O that greatnes was that brought thy death: O vniust Heauens, (if Heauens at all there be,) Since vertues wronges makes question of your powers, How could your starry eyes this shame behold, How could the sunne see this and not eclipze?

Fayre bud of fame ill cropt before thy time: What _Hyrcan_ tygar, or wild sauage bore, 1750 (For he more heard then Bore or Tyger was,) Durst do so vile and execrate a deede, Could not those eyes so full of maiesty, Nor priesthood (o not thus to bee prophand) Nor yet the reuerence to this sacred place, Nor flowing eloquence of thy goulden tounge, Nor name made famous through immortall merit, Deter those murtherors from so vild a deed?