ACT V.

_Enter_ BELL'-IMPERIA _and_ HIERONIMO.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Is this the love thou bear'st Horatio?

Is this the kindness that thou counterfeit'st?

Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears?

Hieronimo, are these thy passions,

Thy protestations and thy deep laments,

That thou wert wont to weary men withal?

O unkind father! O deceitful world!

With what excuses canst thou show thyself,

With what dishonour and the hate of men[275]--

Thus to neglect the loss and life[276] of him,

Whom both my letters and thine own belief

Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered?

Hieronimo, for shame, Hieronimo,

Be not a history to after-times

Of such ingratitude unto thy son:

Unhappy mothers of such children then,

But monstrous fathers to forget so soon

The death of those, whom they with care and cost

Have tender'd so, thus careless should be lost.

Myself, a stranger in respect of thee,

So lov'd his life, as still I wish their deaths.

Nor shall his death be unreveng'd by me,

Although I bear it out for fashion's[277] sake:

For here I swear, in sight of heaven and earth,

Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain,

And give it over, and devise no more,

Myself should send their hateful souls to hell,

That wrought his downfal with extremest death.

HIERONIMO.

But may it be, that Bell'-Imperia

Vows such revenge as she hath deign'd to say?

Why then I see, that heav'n applies our drift,

And all the saints do sit soliciting

For vengeance on those cursed murderers.

Madam, 'tis true, and now I find it so:

I found a letter, written in your name,

And in that letter, how Horatio died.

Pardon, O, pardon, Bell'-Imperia,

My fear and care in not believing it;

Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean

To let his death be unreveng'd at full:

And here I vow, so you but give consent,

And will conceal my resolution,

I will ere long determine of their deaths,

That causeless thus have murdered my son.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal,

And aught, that[278] may effect for thine avail,

Join with thee to revenge Horatio's death.

HIERONIMO.

On,[279] then; whatsoever I devise,

Let me entreat you, grace my practices:

For why the plot's already in mine head.

Here they are--

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR _and_ LORENZO.

BALTHAZAR.

How now, Hieronimo? what, courting Bell'-Imperia?

HIERONIMO.

Ay, my lord, such courting as, I promise you,

She hath my heart; but you, my lord, have hers.

LORENZO.

But now, Hieronimo, or never we are to entreat your help.

HIERONIMO.

My help? why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me;

For you have given me cause: ay, by my faith[280] have you.

BALTHAZAR.

It pleas'd you at th' entertainment of th' ambassador,

To grace the king so much as with a show:

Now, were your study so well-furnished,

As for the passing of the first night's sport,

To entertain my father with the like,

Or any suchlike pleasing motion,

Assure yourself it would content them well.

HIERONIMO.

Is this all?

LORENZO.

Ay, this is all.

HIERONIMO.

Why then, I'll fit you; say no more:

When I was young,[281] I gave my mind,

And plied myself to fruitless poetry;

Which though it profit the professor nought,

Yet is it[282] passing pleasing to the world.

LORENZO.

And how for that?

HIERONIMO.

Marry, my good lord, thus:

And yet, methinks, you are too quick with us.

When in Toledo, there I studied,

It was my chance to write a tragedy,

See here, my lords, [_Shows them a book._

Which (long forgot) I found this other day:

Now would your lordships favour me so much

As but to grace me with your acting it,

I mean, each one of you to play a part,

Assure you it will prove most passing strange,

And wondrous pleasurable[283] to that assembly.

BALTHAZAR.

What, would you have us play a tragedy?

HIERONIMO.

Why, Nero thought it no disparagement,

And kings and emperors have ta'en delight,

To make experience of their wits in plays.

LORENZO.

Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo;

The prince but asked a question.

BALTHAZAR.

In faith, Hieronimo, and you be

In earnest, I'll make one.

LORENZO.

And I another.

HIERONIMO.

Now, my good lord, could you entreat

Your sister Bell'-Imperia to make one,

For what's a play without a woman in't?

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo;

For I must needs be employed in your play.

HIERONIMO.

Why, this is well: I tell you, lordings,

It was determined to have been acted

By gentlemen and scholars too;

Such as could tell what to speak.

BALTHAZAR.

And now it shall be play'd[284] by princes and courtiers,

Such as can tell how to speak;

If, as it is our country manner,

You will but let us know the argument.

HIERONIMO.

That shall I roundly. The chronicles of Spain

Record this written of a knight of[285] Rhodes:

He was betroth'd, and wedded at the length,

To one Perseda, an Italian dame,

Whose beauty ravish'd all that her beheld;

Especially the soul of Solyman,

Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest.

By sundry means sought Solyman to win

Perseda's love, and could not gain the same:

Then 'gan he break his passions to a friend--

One of his bashaws, whom he held full dear;

Her had this bashaw long solicited,

And saw she was not otherwise to be won,

But by her husband's death, this knight of Rhodes;

Whom presently by treachery he slew:

She, stirr'd with an exceeding hate therefore,

As cause of this slew Solyman:

And, to escape the bashaw's tyranny,

Did stab herself: and this[286] the tragedy.

LORENZO.

Ay, sir!

BELL'-IMPERIA.

But say, Hieronimo, what then became of him,

That was the bashaw?

HIERONIMO.

Marry, thus; moved with remorse of his misdeeds,

Ran to a mountain-top, and hung[287] himself.

BALTHAZAR.

But which of us is to perform that part?

HIERONIMO.

O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it:

I'll play the murderer, I warrant you;

For I already have conceited that.

BALTHAZAR.

And what shall I?

HIERONIMO.

Great Solyman, the[288] Turkish emperor.

LORENZO.

And I?

HIERONIMO.

Erastus, the knight of Rhodes.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

And I?

HIERONIMO.

Perseda, chaste and resolute.--

And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn,

For each of you to note your parts,

And act it, as occasion's offered you,

You must provide a Turkish cap,

A black mustachio and a falchion.

[_Gives a paper to_ BALTHAZAR.

You with a cross, like to[289] a knight of Rhodes.

[_Gives another to_ LORENZO.

And, madam, you must attire yourself.

[_Gives_ BELL'-IMPERIA _another_.

Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress,[290]

Which to your discretion shall seem best.

And as for me, my lords, I'll look to one,

And with the ransom that the viceroy sent,

So furnish and perform this tragedy,

As[291] all the world shall say, Hieronimo

Was liberal in gracing of it so.

BALTHAZAR.

Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.

HIERONIMO.

A comedy! fie! comedies are fit for common wits:

But to present a kingly troop withal,

Give me a stately-written tragedy;

_Tragoedia cothurnata_, fitting kings,

Containing matter, and not common things.

My lords, all this must be perform'd,

As fitting for the first night's revelling.

The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit,

That in one hour's meditation

They would perform any thing in action.

LORENZO.

And well it may; for I have seen the like

In Paris 'mongst the French tragedians.

HIERONIMO.

In Paris? mass, and well-remembered!

There's one thing more that rests for us to do.

BALTHAZAR.

What's that, Hieronimo? forget not anything.

HIERONIMO.

Each one of us must act his part

In unknown languages,

That it may breed the[292] more variety:--

As you, my lord, in Latin: I in Greek:

You in Italian,--and for because I know

That Bell'-Imperia hath practised the French,

In courtly French shall all her phrases be.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

You mean to try my cunning then, Hieronimo?

BALTHAZAR.

But this will be a mere confusion,

And hardly shall we all be understood.

HIERONIMO.

It must be so; for the conclusion

Shall prove the invention, and all was good:

And I myself in an oration,

And with a strange and wondrous show besides,

That I will have there behind a curtain,

Assure yourself, shall make the matter known:

And all shall be concluded in one scene,

For there's no pleasure ta'en in tediousness.

BALTHAZAR.

How like you this?

LORENZO.

Why thus, my lord, we must resolve

To soothe his humours up.

[_Aside._

BALTHAZAR.

On,[293] then, Hieronimo; farewell till soon.

HIERONIMO.

You'll ply this gear?

LORENZO.

I warrant you. [_Exeunt all but_ HIERONIMO.

HIERONIMO.

Why[294] so: now shall I see the fall of Babylon,

Wrought by the heav'ns in this confusion.

And if the world like not this tragedy,

Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo. [_Exit._

_Enter_ ISABELLA _with a weapon_.

ISABELLA.

Tell me no more: O monstrous homicides!

Since neither piety nor pity moves

The king to justice or compassion,

I will revenge myself upon this place,

Where thus they murder'd[295] my beloved son.

[_She cuts down the arbour._

Down with these branches and these loathsome boughs

Of this unfortunate and fatal pine:

Down with them, Isabella: rent them up;

And burn the roots from whence the rest is sprung.

I will not leave a root, a stalk, a tree,

A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf,

No, not an herb within this garden-plot.

Accursed complot of my misery!

Fruitless for ever may this garden be,

Barren the earth, and blissless[296] whosoever

Imagines not to keep it unmanur'd!

An eastern wind commix'd with noisome airs

Shall blast the plants and the young saplings:

The earth with serpents shall be pestered,

And passengers, for fear to be infect,

Shall stand aloof; and (looking at it) tell,

There murder'd died the son of Isabel.

Ay, here he died, and here I him embrace.

See, where his ghost solicits with his wounds,[297]

Revenge on her that should revenge his death.

Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son;

For sorrow and despair hath cited me,

To hear Horatio plead with Rhadamant:

Make haste, Hieronimo; or hold accus'd[298]

Thy negligence in pursuit of their deaths,

Whose hateful wrath bereav'd him of his breath,--

Ha, nay, thou dost delay their deaths,

Forgiv'st the murd'rers of thy noble son,

And none but I bestir me--to no end.

And as I curse this tree from further fruit,

So shall my womb be cursed for his sake;

And with this weapon will I wound the breast,

The hapless breast, that gave Horatio suck.

[_She stabs herself._

_Enter_ HIERONIMO: _he knocks up the curtain_.

_Enter the_ DUKE OF CASTILE.

CASTILE.

How now, Hieronimo, where's your[299] fellows,

That you take all this pain?

HIERONIMO.

O sir, it is for the author's credit,

To look that all things may go well:

But, good my lord, let me entreat your grace,

To give the king the copy of the play:

This is the argument of what we show.

CASTILE.

I will, Hieronimo.

HIERONIMO.

One thing more, my good[300] lord.

CASTILE.

What's that?

HIERONIMO.

Let me entreat your grace

That when the train are[301] pass'd into the gallery,

You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.

CASTILE.

I will, Hieronimo. [_Exit_ CAST.

HIERONIMO.

What, are you ready, Balthazar?

Bring a chair and a cushion for the king.

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR, _with a chair_.

Well done, Balthazar, hang up the title:[302]

Our scene is Rhodes: what, is your beard on?

BALTHAZAR.

Half on; the other is in my hand.

HIERONIMO.

Despatch for shame, are you so long? [_Exit_ BAL.

Bethink thyself, Hieronimo,

Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs

Thou hast receiv'd by murder of thy son.

And lastly, [but] not least, how Isabel,

Once his mother and thy[303] dearest wife,

All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself.

Behoves thee there, Hieronimo, to be reveng'd:

The plot is laid of dire revenge;

On,[304] then, Hieronimo, pursue revenge:

For nothing wants but acting of revenge. [_Exit._

_Enter Spanish_ KING, VICEROY, DUKE OF CASTILE,

_and their train_.

KING.

Now, Viceroy, shall we see the tragedy

Of Solyman, the Turkish Emperor,

Perform'd of pleasure by your[305] son the prince,

My nephew, Don Lorenzo, and my niece?

VICEROY.

Who? Bell'-Imperia?

KING.

Ay, and Hieronimo our marshal,

At whose request they deign[306] to do't themselves:

These be our pastimes in the court of Spain.

Here, brother, you shall be the bookkeeper,

This is the argument of that they show.

[_Gives him a book._

_Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo, in sundry languages, was

thought good to be set down in English more largely, for

the easier understanding to every public reader._

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR, BELL'-IMPERIA, _and_ HIERONIMO.

BALTHAZAR.

Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours yield heav'ns the honour,

And holy Mahomet our sacred prophet!

And be thou grac'd with every excellence,

That Solyman can give, or thou desire.

But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less,

Than in reserving this fair Christian[307] nymph

Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence,

Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant,

The warlike heart of Solyman to wait.

KING.

See, Viceroy, that is Balthazar your son,

That represents the emperor Solyman:

How well he acts his amorous passion! [_Aside._

VICEROY.

Ay, Bell'-Imperia hath taught him that. [_Aside._

CASTILE.

That's because his mind runs all on Bell'-Imperia.

HIERONIMO.

Whatever joy earth yields, betide[308] your majesty.

BALTHAZAR.

Earth yields no joy without Perseda's love.

HIERONIMO.

Let then[309] Perseda on your grace attend.

BALTHAZAR.

She shall not wait on me, but I on her,

Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield:

But let my friend the Rhodian knight come forth,

Erastus, dearer than my life to me,

That he may see Perseda my belov'd.

_Enter_ ERASTUS.

KING.

Here comes Lorenzo. Look upon the plot,

And tell me, brother, what part plays he?

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Ah, my Erastus, welcome to Perseda.

LORENZO.

Thrice happy is Erastus, that thou liv'st:

Rhodes' loss is nothing to Erastus' joy;

Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives.

BALTHAZAR.

Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erastus

And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul.

HIERONIMO.

Remove Erastus, mighty Solyman,

And then Perseda will be quickly won.

BALTHAZAR.

Erastus is my friend; and, while he lives,

Perseda never will remove her love.

HIERONIMO.

Let not Erastus live to grieve great Solyman.

BALTHAZAR.

Dear is Erastus in our princely eye.

HIERONIMO.

But if he be your rival, let him die.

BALTHAZAR.

Why, let him die; so love commandeth me:

Yet grieve I that Erastus should so die.

HIERONIMO.

Erastus, Solyman saluteth thee,

And lets thee wit by me his highness' will,

Which is, thou shouldst be thus employed.

[_Stabs him._

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Ay me, Erastus!

See, Solyman, Erastus slain!

BALTHAZAR.

Yet liveth Solyman to comfort thee:

Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,

But with a gracious eye behold his grief,

That with Perseda's beauty is increas'd,

If by Perseda's grief be not releas'd.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;

Relentless are mine ears to thy laments,

As thy butcher is pitiless and base,

Which seiz'd on my Erastus, harmless knight:

Yet by thy pow'r thou thinkest to command;

And to thy power Perseda doth obey:

But, were she able, thus she would revenge

Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince:

[_Stabs him._

And on herself she would be thus reveng'd.

[_Stabs herself._

KING.

Well said, old marshal, this was bravely done.

HIERONIMO.

But Bell'-Imperia plays Perseda well.

VICEROY.

Were this in earnest, Bell'-Imperia,

You would be better to my son than so.

KING.

But now what follows for[310] Hieronimo?

HIERONIMO.

Marry, this follows for Hieronimo:

Here break we off our sundry languages,

And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue.

Happily you think (but bootless are[311] your thoughts)

That this is fabulously counterfeit;

And that we do as all tragedians do,

To die to-day for fashioning our scene

(The death of Ajax or some Roman peer),

And in a minute starting up again,

Revive to please to-morrow's audience:

No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,

The hopeless father of a hapless son,

Whose tongue is tun'd[312] to tell his latest tale,

Not to excuse gross errors in the play.

I see, your looks urge instance of these words;

Behold the reason urging me to this:

[_He shows his dead son._

See here my show, look on this spectacle;

Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end:

Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain:

Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost:

Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft:

But hope, heart, treasure, joy, and bliss,

All fled, fail'd, died: yea, all decay'd with this.

From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life;

They murder'd me, that made these fatal marks:

The cause was love, whence grew this mortal hate;

The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar;

The love, my son to Bell'-Imperia:

But night, the coverer of accursed crimes,

With pitchy silence hush'd these traitors'[313] harms,

And lent them leave, for they had sorted[314] leisure

To take advantage in my garden-plot

Upon my son, my dear Horatio:

There merciless they butcher'd up my boy,

In black dark night, to pale dim cruel death.

He shrieks, I heard; and yet (methinks) I hear

His dismal outcry echo in the air:

With soonest speed I hasted to the noise;

Where hanging on a tree I found my son,

Through girt with wounds, and slaughter'd as you see:

And griev'd I, think you, at this spectacle?

Speak, Portugal, whose loss resembles[315] mine,

If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,

'Tis like I wail'd[316] for my Horatio.--

And you, my lord, whose reconciled son

March'd in a net, and thought himself unseen,

And rated me for brainsick lunacy,

With[317]--God, amend that mad Hieronimo!

How can you brook our play's catastrophe?

And here behold this bloody handkerchief,

Which at Horatio's death I, weeping, dipp'd

Within the river of his bleeding wounds:

It as propitious, see, I have reserved,[318]

And never hath it left my bloody[319] heart,

Soliciting remembrance of my vow

With these, O, these accursed murderers.

Which now perform'd my heart is satisfi'd.

And to this end the bashaw I became,

That might revenge me on Lorenzo's life;

Who therefore was appointed to the part,

And was to represent the Knight of Rhodes,

That I might kill him more conveniently:--

So, Viceroy, was this Balthazar thy son,

That Solyman, which Bell'-Imperia,

In person of Perseda, murdered,

Solely appointed to that tragic part,

That she might slay him that offended her.

Poor Bell'-Imperia miss'd her part in this;

For though the story say'th, she should have died,

Yet I of kindness, and of care to her,

Did otherwise determine of her end;

But love of him, whom they did hate too[320] much,

Did urge her resolution to be such.--

And, princes, now behold Hieronimo,

Author and actor in this tragedy,

Bearing his latest fortune in his fist;

And will as resolute conclude his part,

As any of the actors gone before.

And, gentles,[321] thus I end my play.

Urge no more words: I have no more to say.

[_He runs to hang himself._

KING.

O, hearken, Viceroy. Hold, Hieronimo!

Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain.

VICEROY.

We are betrayed; my Balthazar is slain!

Break ope the doors; run, save Hieronimo.

[_They run in and hold_ HIERONIMO.

Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events;

Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm.

HIERONIMO.

Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life,

Which I this day have offered to my son.

Accursed wretch, why stay'st[322] thou him, that was

Resolv'd to die?

KING.

Speak, traitor! damned bloody murderer, speak!

For now I have thee, I will make thee speak.

Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?

VICEROY.

Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?

CASTILE.

Why hast thou butcher'd both my children thus?

HIERONIMO.

But are you sure that they are dead?

CASTILE.

Ay, slain too sure.

HIERONIMO.

What, and yours too?

VICEROY.

Ay, all are dead; not one of them survive.

HIERONIMO.

Nay, then I care not; come, and we shall be friends:

Let us lay our heads together.

See, here's a goodly noose will hold them all.

VICEROY.

O damned devil, how secure[323] he is!

HIERONIMO.

Secure? why dost thou wonder at it?

I tell thee, Viceroy, this day I have seen revenge,[324]

And in that fight am grown a prouder monarch,

Than ever sat under the crown of Spain.

Had I as many lives as there be stars,

As many heavens to go to as those lives,

I'd give them all, ay, and my soul to boot,

But I would see thee ride in this red pool.

CASTILE.

Speak, who were thy confederates in this?

VICEROY.

That was thy daughter, Bell'-Imperia;

For by her hand my Balthazar was slain:

I saw her stab him.

HIERONIMO.

O good words! as dear to me was my Horatio,

As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.

My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,

And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar

Am I at last revenged thoroughly;

Upon whose souls may heav'ns be yet aveng'd[325]

With greater far than these afflictions.

Methinks, since I grew inward[326] with revenge,

I cannot look with scorn enough on death.

KING.

What, dost thou[327] mock us, slave? Bring tortures forth.

HIERONIMO.

Do, do, do; and meantime I'll torture you.

You had a son, as I take it; and your son

Should have been married to your daughter: ha, was't not so?

You had a son too, he was my liege's nephew:

He was proud and politic: had he liv'd,

He might ha' come to wear the crown of Spain:

I think 'twas so; 'twas I that killed him,

Look you, this same hand was it that stabb'd

His heart--do you see this hand?--

For one Horatio, if you ever knew him?

A youth--one that they hang'd up in his father's garden:

One that did force your valiant son to yield,

While your valiant son did take him prisoner.

VICEROY.

Be deaf, my senses; I can hear no more.

KING.

Fall, heaven, and cover us with thy sad ruins.

CASTILE.

Roll all the world within thy pitchy cloud.

HIERONIMO.

Now do I applaud what I have acted.

_Nunc mors;_ [_nunc_] _cæde, manus._[328]

KING.

Why speakest thou not?[329]

HIERONIMO.

What lesser liberty can kings afford

Than harmless silence? then, afford it me:

Sufficeth, I may not, nor I will not tell thee.

KING.

Fetch forth the tortures.

Traitor as thou art, I'll make thee tell.

HIERONIMO.

Indeed, thou may'st torment me, as his wretched son

Hath done in murd'ring my Horatio;

But never shalt thou force me to reveal

The thing which I have vow'd inviolate:

And therefore, in despite of all thy threats,

Pleas'd with their deaths, and eas'd with their revenge,

First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart.

[_He bites out his tongue._

KING.

O monstrous resolution of a wretch!

See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,

Rather than to reveal what we requir'd.

CASTILE.

Yet can he write.

KING.

And if in this he satisfy us not,

We will devise th' extremest kind of death

That ever was invented for a wretch.

[_He makes signs for a knife to mend his pen._

CASTILE.

O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.

VICEROY.

Here; and advise thee, that thou write the troth.

Look to my brother, save Hieronimo.

[_He with the knife stabs the duke and himself._

KING.

What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?

My brother, and the whole succeeding hope

That[331] Spain expected after my decease!

Go bear his body hence, that we may mourn

The loss of our beloved brother's death,

That he may be entomb'd whate'er befall:

I am the next, the nearest--last of all.

VICEROY.

And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:

Take up our hapless son, untimely slain;

Set me with him, and he with woeful me,

Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann'd,

And let the wind and tide hale me along

To Scylla's barking and untamed gulph;

Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron,

To weep my want for[332] my sweet Balthazar:

[_Exeunt._

[_The trumpets sound a dead march; the_ KING OF

SPAIN _mourning after his brother's body, and_

_the_ KING OF PORTINGAL _bearing the body of_

_his son_.

_Enter_ GHOST _and_ REVENGE.

GHOST.

Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects,

When blood and sorrow finish my desires:

Horatio murder'd in his father's bower;

Vild Serberine by Pedringano slain;

False Pedringano hang'd by quaint device;

Fair Isabella by herself misdone;

Prince Balthazar by Bell'-Imperia stabb'd;

The Duke of Castile and his wicked son

Both done to death by old Hieronimo.

My Bell'-Imperia fall'n, as Dido fell:

And good Hieronimo slain by himself.

Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul.

Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine

That, by the virtue of her princely doom,

I may comfort my friends in pleasing sort,

And on my foes work just and sharp revenge.

I'll lead my friend Horatio through those fields,

Where never-dying wars are still inur'd:

I'll lead fair Isabella to that train

Where pity weeps, but never feeleth pain:

I'll lead my Bell'-Imperia to those joys,

That vestal virgins and fair queens possess:

I'll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays,

Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days.

But say, Revenge, (for thou must help, or none)

Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?

REVENGE.

This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,

Where none[333] but furies, bugs,[334] and tortures dwell.

GHOST.

Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request:

Let me be judge, and doom them to unrest.

Let loose poor Tityus from the vulture's gripe,

And let Don Cyprian supply his room;

Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion's wheel,

And let the lover's endless pains surcease;

Juno forgets old wrath, and grants him ease;

Hang Balthazar about Chimera's neck,

And let him there bewail his bloody love,

Repining at our joys that are above:

Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone,

And take from Sisiphus his endless moan:

False Pedringano, for his treachery,

Let him be dragg'd through boiling Acheron,

And there live, dying still in endless flames,

Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names.

REVENGE.

Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes;

To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes:

For here, though death hath[335] end their misery,

I'll there begin their endless tragedy. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[271] _Bright_, 1618, '23, '33.

[272] _Unto_, ditto.

[273] _And_, ditto.

[274] _Thus_, 1618.

[275] [After this line the old copies, by an apparent error, print:

"From this dishonour and the hate of men."]

[276] _Life and loss_, 1618, '23, '33.

[277] _Fashion_, 1623, '33.

[278] _What_, 1633.

[279] _O then_, 1618, '23, '33.

[280] _By mine honour_, 1618, '23, '33.

[281] Ben Jonson has borrowed this thought. See "Every Man in his

Humour," act i. sc. 1--

"Myself was once a studient, and indeed

Fed with the selfsame humour he is now:

Dreaming on nought but idle poetry,

That fruitless and unprofitable art,

Good unto none, but least unto the professors."

[282] _It is_, 1633.

[283] [Old copies, _plausible_.]

[284] _Said_, 1618, '23, '33.

[285] _Of the Rhodes_, 1618.

[286] _This is_, 1816, '23, '33.

[287] _Hang'd_, ditto.

[288] _That_, 1618.

[289] _To_, omit, ditto.

[290] _i.e._, Diana.

[291] _That_, 1623, '33.

[292] _The_, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[293] _O then_, 1633.

[294] _I why_, ditto.

[295] Where _they murdered_, 1618, '23. _Where they have murdered_,

1633.

[296] _Blessless_, 1618, '23, '33.

[297] _Solicited with his wounds_, ditto.

[298] _To hold exclude_, ditto.

[299] _Thy_, 1618, '23, '33.

[300] _Good my_, 1633.

[301] _Is_, 1618, '23, '33.

[302] Mr Malone was usually very accurate in his quotations; but in

this line he made a singular mistake (edition of Shakespeare, 1821,

iii. 108), where, referring to the play, he cites thus:--

"Well done, Balthazar, hang up the tilt"--instead of "hang up the

title." He thus lost a material passage, to show that of old a board

was hung up on the stage with the title and scene of the piece--

"Hang up the _title_;

Our scene is Rhodes."

So also in "Wily Beguil'd" 1606--

"PROLOGUE. How now, my honest rogue, what play shall we have

here to-night?

PLAYER. Sir, you may look upon the title.

PROLOGUE. What, 'Spectrum' once again?"

The title of "Spectrum" is afterwards removed by the sleight of hand of

a juggler, and "Wily Beguil'd" substituted for it.--_Collier._

[303] _My_, 1623, '33.

[304] _On them_, 1618, '23, '33.

[305] _Our_, ditto.

[306] _Denie_, 1618.

[307] _Christian_, omitted, 1633.

[308] _Betinde_, 1618.

[309] _Then let_, 1618, '23, '33.

[310] _For_, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[311] _Be_, 1618, '23, '33.

[312] _Turn'd_, 1618.

[313] _The trait'rous_, 1623, '33.

[314] _To sort_ is _to choose_ or _select_. As in the "Third Part of

Henry VI.," v. 6--"For I will _sort_ a pitchy day for thee;" and in

Ford's "Lover's Melancholy,"--"We shall _sort_ time to take more notice

of him."

[315] _Resemble_, 1618, '23.

[316] _Waile_, 1633.

[317] _Which_, 1618, '23, '33.

[318] _Preserv'd_, ditto.

[319] _Bleeding_, 1623, '33.

[320] _So_, 1623, '33.

[321] _Gentlies_, ditto.

[322] _Staidst_, 1623, '33.

[323] In the sense of the Latin _securus_, "securus admodum de bello

animi securi homo." A negligent security arising from a contempt of the

object offered.--Dr Warburton's note on "Troilus and Cressida," iv. 5.

See also Dr Farmer's note on the above passage.

[324] [Old copies, _reveng'd_.]

[325] _Revenged_, 1618, '23, '33.

[326] Intimate. So, in the "Malcontent," iv. 3: "Come, we must be

_inward_; thou and I all one;" and again, in Tourneur's "Revenger's

Tragedy," ii.--

"My lord, most sure on't; for 'twas spoke by one,

That is most _inward_ with the duke's son's lust."

[327] _Thou_, omitted, 1623, '33.

[328] _Nunc mers,_[330] _cadæ manus,_ 1618.

[329] [_i.e._, In reply to the question as to his confederates.]

[330] _Mens_, 1623, '33.

[331] _Of_, 1618, '23, '33.

[332] _Of_, 1623, '33.

[333] _Nought_, 1618, '23, '33.

[334] Goblins, or terrors of the night. So, in "Arden of Feversham,"

1592--

"Nay, then let us go sleepe, when _bugs_ and feares

Shall kill our courages with their fancies worke."

Again, in Churchyard's "Challenge," p. 180--

"And in their place some fearful _bugges_,

As blacke as any pitche,

With bellies big and swagging dugges,

More loathsome then a witch."

And in the same author's "Worthiness of Wales," p. 16, edit. 1776--

"A kind of sound, that makes a hurling noyse,

To feare young babes with brute of _bugges_ and toyes."

[335] _Doth_, 1623, '33.

CORNELIA.

1. _Cornelia. At London, Printed by Iames Roberts, for N.L. and John

Busbie, 1594, 4to._

2. _Pompey the Great, his faire Cornelias Tragedie: Effected by her

Father and Husbands downe-cast, death, and fortune. Written in French

by that excellent Poet Ro. Garnier, and translated into English by

Thomas Kid. At London, Printed for Nicholas Ling, 1595, 4to._

This translation from Garnier's "Cornelia" would not perhaps have been

inserted in the present remodelled edition of Dodsley, if it had not

happened that it completes Kyd's dramatic productions, and that it

formed part of the former edition, which there has been a desire to

preserve in its full integrity, except under such circumstances as have

been already explained.

[PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.]

THOMAS KYD, the translator of the following play, is better known as

the author of the second part of "Jeronimo," a performance which was

ridiculed by almost every contemporary poet, than by any other of his

works. The time and place of his birth and death, the circumstances

of his life and his profession, otherwise than as a writer, are all

equally unknown. From the dedication of "Cornelia" to the Countess of

Sussex it may be inferred that, like the generality of the devotees

of poetry in his time, he was poor; and from the promise of another

tragedy, called "Portia," as _his next summer's better travel_

which never appeared, it may be conjectured that he was prevented by

death. Notwithstanding the ridicule thrown upon him on account of

"The Spanish Tragedy," he appears to have been well esteemed by some

of his contemporaries. Francis[336] Meres enumerates him among the

best tragic writers of his times; and Ben[337] Jonson ranks him with

Lyly and Marlowe, calling him Sporting Kyd. Another writer[338] says,

"'Cornelia's Tragedy,' however not respected, was excellently well done

by Thomas Kyd." Mr Hawkins[339] was of opinion that Kyd was the author

of "Solyman and Perseda," a play which certainly in its manner bears a

striking resemblance to "The Spanish Tragedy." Malone (ed. by Bosw.,

ii. 316) attributed to Kyd the old plays of "King Lear," "Hamlet," and

"The Taming of a Shrew," the first and third printed in Steevens's "Six

Old Plays," 1779, the "Hamlet" no longer known. The edition of "The

Taming of a Shrew" used by Steevens was the third (1617). The first of

1594 has been republished in the Shakespeare Society's Series, 1844.

The second was in 1596.

Robert Garnier, from whom this play is translated, was a poet in

considerable estimation during the reigns of Charles IX. and Henry

III. and IV. He was born in the country of Maine in 1534, studied the

law, and obtained some preferment, as well as reputation, in that

profession. He was the author of eight plays, and died at Paris in

the year 1590, at the age of fifty-six years. See "Recherches sur les

Théâtres de France," par. M. De Beauchamps, 4to. 1755, p. 39.

_To the Virtuously Noble, and Rightly-honoured Lady, the_ COUNTESS OF

SUSSEX.

Having no leisure (most noble lady) but such as evermore is travailed

with the afflictions of the mind, than which the world affords no

greater misery, it may be wondered at by some how I durst undertake

a matter of this moment, which both requireth cunning, rest, and

opportunity; but chiefly, that I would attempt the dedication of so

rough, unpolished a work to the survey of your so worthy self.

But being well-instructed in your noble and heroic dispositions, and

perfectly assured of your honourable favours past (though neither

making needless glozes of the one, nor spoiling paper with the other's

Pharisaical embroidery), I have presumed upon your true conceit and

entertainment of these small endeavours, that thus I proposed to make

known my memory of you and them to be immortal.

A fitter present for a patroness so well-accomplished I could not find

than this fair president of honour, magnanimity, and love. Wherein what

grace that excellent GARNIER hath lost by my default, I shall beseech

your honour to repair with the regard of those so bitter times and

privy broken passions that I endured in the writing it.

And so vouchsafing but the passing of a winter's week with desolate

"Cornelia," I will assure your ladyship my next summer's better travel

with the tragedy of "Portia," and ever spend one hour of the day in

some kind service to your honour and another of the night in wishing

you all happiness. Perpetually thus devoting my poor self

Your honour's in all humbleness,

T. K.

* * * * *

INTERLOCUTORS.

M. CICERO.

PHILIP.

DECIMUS BRUTUS.

M. ANTONY.

CORNELIA.

C. CASSIUS.

JULIUS CÆSAR.

_The Messenger._

CHORUSES.

FOOTNOTES:

[336] ["Palladis Tamia,"] 1598, p. 283.

[337] Verses to the memory of Shakespeare.

[338] "Polimanteia," &c., by W.C., 4to, Cambr., 1595. In the Epistle,

&c. (Oldys's MSS. Notes on Langbaine.)

[339] "Origin of the Drama," vol. ii.

THE ARGUMENT.

Cornelia, the daughter of Metellus Scipio, a young Roman lady, as much

accomplish'd with the graces of the body and the virtues of the mind

as ever any was, was first married to young Crassus, who died with

his father in the discomfiture of the Romans against the Parthians;

afterward she took to second husband Pompey the Great, who (three years

after), upon the first fires of the civil wars betwixt him and Cæsar,

sent her from thence to Mitilen, there to attend the uncertain success

of those affairs. And when he saw that he was vanquish'd at Pharsalia,

returned to find her out, and carry her with him into Egypt, where his

purpose was to have re-enforced a new army, and give a second assault

to Cæsar.

In this voyage he was murdered by Achillus and Septimius the Roman

before her eyes, and in the presence of his young son Sextus and some

other Senators his friends. After which, she retired herself to Rome.

But Scipio her father (being made general of those that survived after

the battle,) assembled new forces, and occupied the greater part of

Afric, allying himself to Juba, king of Numidia. Against all whom Cæsar

(after he had ordered the affairs of Egypt and the state of Rome) in

the end of winter marched. And there (after many light encounters)

was a fierce and furious battle given amongst them, near the walls of

Tapsus. Where Scipio seeing himself subdued and his army scattered, he

betook himself with some small troop to certain ships, which he caused

to stay for him.

Thence he sailed toward Spain, where Pompey's faction commanded, and

where a sudden tempest took him on the sea, that drave him back to

Hippon, a town in Afric, at the devotion of Cæsar, where (lying at

anchor) he was assailed, beaten and assaulted by the adverse fleet; and

for he would not fall alive into the hands of his so mighty enemy, he

stabb'd himself, and suddenly leapt overboard into the sea, and there

died.

Cæsar (having finished these wars, and quietly reduced the towns and

places thereabout to his obedience) returned to Rome in triumph for his

victories; where this most fair and miserable lady, having overmourn'd

the death of her dear husband, and understanding of these cross events

and hapless news of Afric, together with the piteous manner of her

father's end, she took (as she had cause) occasion to redouble both her

tears and lamentations, wherewith she closeth the catastrophe of this

their tragedy.

CORNELIA

ACT I.

CICERO. Vouchsafe, immortals, and (above the rest)

Great Jupiter, our city's sole protector,

That if (provok'd against us by our evils)

You needs will plague us with your ceaseless wrath,

At least to choose those forth that are in fault,

And save the rest in these tempestuous broils:

Else let the mischief that should them befall,

Be pour'd on me, that one may die for all.

Oft hath such sacrifice appeas'd your ires,

And oft ye have your heavy hands withheld

From this poor people, when (with one man's loss)

Your pity hath preserv'd the rest untouch'd:

But we, disloyal to our own defence,

Faint-hearted do those liberties enthral,

Which to preserve (unto our after-good)

Our fathers hazarded their dearest blood.

Yet Brutus Manlius, hardy Scoevola,

And stout Camillus, are returned from Styx,

Desiring arms to aid our Capitol.

Yea, come they are, and fiery as before;

Under a tyrant see our bastard hearts

Lie idly sighing; while our shameful souls

Endure a million of base controls.

Poison'd ambition (rooted in high minds),

'Tis thou that train'st us into all these errors:

Thy mortal covetise[340] perverts our laws,

And tears our freedom from our franchis'd hearts.

Our fathers found thee at their former walls;

And humbled to their offspring left thee dying.

Yet thou, reviving, soil'dst[341] our infant town

With guiltless blood by brother's hands out-launch'd;

And hong'st (O hell) upon a fort half-finish'd

Thy monstrous murder for a thing to mark.

"But faith continues not where men command.

Equals are ever bandying for the best:

A state divided cannot firmly stand.

Two kings within one realm could never rest."

This day, we see, the father and the son

Have fought like foes Pharsalia's miseries;

And with their blood made marsh the parched plains,

While th' earth, that groan'd to bear their carcases,

Bewail'd th' insatiate humours of them both;

That as much blood in wilful folly spent,

As were to tame the world sufficient.

Now, Parthia, fear no more, for Crassus' death

That he[342] will come thy borders to besiege:

Nor fear the darts of our courageous troops;

For those brave soldiers, that were sometime wont

To terrify thee with their names, are dead;

And civil fury, fiercer than thine hosts,

Hath in a manner this great town o'erturn'd,

That whilom was the terror of the world,

Of whom so many nations stood in fear,

To whom so many nations prostrate stoop'd,

O'er whom (save Heaven) nought could signiorise,

And whom (save Heaven) nothing could affright;

Impregnable, immortal, and whose power

Could never have been curb'd, but by itself.

For neither could the flaxen-hair'd High-Dutch

(A martial people, madding after arms),

Nor yet the fierce and fiery-humour'd French:

The Moor that travels to the Libyan sands,

The Greek, th' Arabian, Macedons or Medes,

Once dare t' assault it, or attempt to lift

Their humbled heads in presence of proud Rome.

But, by our laws from liberty restrain'd,

Like captives liv'd eternally enchain'd.

But, Rome (alas) what helps it that thou tied'st

The former world to thee in vassalage?

What helps thee now t' have tam'd both land and sea?

What helps it thee, that under thy control

The morn and midday both by east and west,

And that the golden sun, where'er he drive

His glitt'ring chariot, finds our ensigns spread:

Sith it contents not thy posterity;

But as a bait for pride (which spoils us all),

Embarks us in so perilous a way,

As menaceth our death and thy decay?

For, Rome, thou now resemblest a ship

At random wand'ring in a boist'rous sea,

When foaming billows feel the northern blasts!

Thou toil'st in peril, and the windy storm

Doth topside-turvey toss thee as thou float'st.

Thy mast is shiver'd, and thy mainsail torn,

Thy sides are beaten, and thy hatches broke.

Thou want'st thy tackling, and a ship unrigg'd

Can make no shift to combat with the sea.

See how the rocks do heave their heads at thee,

Which if thou shouldst but touch, thou straight becom'st

A spoil to Neptune, and a sportful prey

To th' Glaucs and Tritons, pleas'd with thy decay!

Thou vaunt'st not of thine ancestors in vain,

But vainly count'st thine own victorious deeds.

What helpeth us the things that they did then,

Now we are hated both of gods and men?

"Hatred accompanies prosperity,

For one man grieveth at another's good,

And so much more we think our misery,

The more that fortune hath with others stood:

So that we seld[343] are seen, as wisdom would,

To bridle time with reason as we should.

For we are proud, when Fortune favours us,

As if inconstant chance were always one,

Or, standing now, we should continue thus.

O fools, look back, and see the rolling stone,

Whereon she blindly lighting sets her foot,

And slightly sows that seldom taketh root."

Heaven heretofore (inclin'd to do us good)

Did favour us with conquering our foes,

When jealous Italy (exasperate

With our uprising) sought our city's fall.

But we, soon tickled with such flatt'ring hope,

Wag'd farther war with an insatiate heart,

And tir'd our neighbour countries so with charge,

And with their loss we did our bounds enlarge.

Carthage and Sicily we have subdued,

And almost yoked all the world beside:

And, solely through desire of public rule,

Rome and the earth are waxen all as one:

Yet now we live despoil'd and robb'd by one

Of th' ancient freedom, wherein we were born.

And e'en that yoke, that wont to tame all others,

Is heavily return'd upon ourselves.

"A note of chance that may the proud control,

And show God's wrath against a cruel soul.

For Heaven delights not in us, when we do

That to another, which ourselves disdain.

Judge others, as thou would'st be judg'd again;

And do but as thou wouldst be done unto.

For, sooth to say (in reason), we deserve

To have the selfsame measure that we serve."

What right had our ambitious ancestors

(Ignobly issued from the cart and plough)

To enter Asia? What, were they the heirs

To Persia or the Medes, first monarchies?

What interest had they to Africa?

To Gaul or Spain? Or what did Neptune owe us

Within the bounds of farther Britainy?

Are we not thieves and robbers of those realms,

That ow'd us nothing but revenge for wrongs?

What toucheth us the treasure or the hopes,

The lives or liberties, of all those nations,

Whom we by force have held in servitude;

Whose mournful cries and shrieks to heaven ascend,

Importuning both vengeance and defence

Against this city, rich of violence?

"'Tis not enough (alas) our power t' extend,

Or overrun the world from east to west,

Or that our hands the earth can comprehend,

Or that we proudly do, what like us best.[344]

He lives more quietly, whose rest is made,

And can with reason chasten his desire,

Than he that blindly toileth for a shade,

And is with others' empire set on fire.

Our bliss consists not in possessions,

But in commanding our affections;

In virtue's choice, and vice's needful chace

Far from our hearts, for staining of our face."

CHORUS. Upon thy back (where Misery doth sit),

O Rome, the heavens with their wrathful hand

Revenge the crimes thy fathers did commit.

But if (their farther fury to withstand,

Which o'er thy walls thy wrack sits menacing)

Thou dost not seek to calm heaven's ireful king,

A farther plague will pester all the land.

"The wrath of heaven, (though urg'd) we see, is slow

In punishing the evils we have done:

For what the father hath deserv'd we know,

Is spared in him and punish'd in the son.

But to forgive the apter that they be,

They are the more displeased, when they see

That we continue our offence begun."

"Then from her loathsome cave doth Plague repair,

That breathes her heavy poisons down to hell;

Which with their noisome fall corrupt the air,

Or meagre Famine, which the weak foretell,

Or bloody War (of other woes the worst)

Which where it lights doth show the land accurs'd,

And ne'er did good, wherever it befell."

War, that hath sought th' Ausonian fame to rear,

In warlike Emony[345] (now grown so great

With soldiers' bodies that were buried there),

Which yet to sack us toils in bloody sweat:

T' enlarge the bounds of conquering Thessaly,

Through murder, discord, wrath, and enmity,

Even to the peaceful Indian's pearled seat.

Whose entrails fir'd with rancour, wrath, and rage,

The former petty combats did displace,

And camp to camp did endless battles wage,

Which on the mountain-tops of warlike Thrace

Made thund'ring Mars (Dissension's common friend)

Amongst the forward soldiers first descend,

Arm'd with his blood-besmeared keen coutelace.

Who first attempted to excite to arms

The troops enraged with the trumpet's sound,

Headlong to run and reck no after-harms;

Where in the flow'red meads dead men were found,

Falling as thick (through warlike cruelty)

As ears of corn for want of husbandry;

That (wastful) shed their grain upon the ground.

O war, if thou wert subject but to death,

And by desert might'st fall to Phlegethon,

The torment that Ixion suffereth,

Or his whose soul the vulture seizeth on,

Were all too little to reward thy wrath:

Nor all the plagues that fiery Pluto hath

The most outrageous sinners laid upon.

Accursed caitiffs! wretches that we are!

Perceive we not that for the fatal doom

The Fates make haste enough, but we (by war)

Must seek in hell to have a hapless room?

Or fast enough do foolish men not die,

But they (by murder of themselves) must hie,

Hopeless to hide them in a hapless tomb?

All sad and desolate our city lies,

And for fair corn-ground are our fields surcloy'd

With worthless gorse,[346] that yearly fruitless dies,

And chokes the good, which else we had enjoy'd.

Death dwells within us, and if gentle peace

Descend not soon, our sorrows to surcease,

Latium (already quail'd) will be destroy'd.

FOOTNOTES:

[340] So, in Ben Jonson's "Catiline," act ii. sc. 3--

"But you think, Carius,

'Tis _covetise_ hath wrought me: if you love me,

Change that unkind conceit."

In the "Alchymist," act ii. sc. 3--

"Why, this is covetise!"

And in "Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Divell," p. 29:

"Under vellany I comprehend murder, treason, theft, cousnage,

cut-throat _covetise_, and such like."

[341] _Foyld'st_, first and second edition.

[342] [Old copies, _we_.]

[343] Seldom. It is a word often used by ancient writers. See Mr

Steevens's note on "Coriolanus," act ii. sc. 1. Again, in Churchyard's

"Worthiness of Wales," 1587--

"So many springs that _sield_ that soil is dry."

[344] What pleases us best. So in "King Lear," act ii. sc. 1--

"His face _likes_ me not."

In the "Maid's Tragedy," act ii.--

"What look _likes_ you best."

In "The Woman-Hater," act i. sc. 3--

"If I can find no company that _likes_ me."

In "Euphues and his England," 1582, p. 16: "Enquire no farther than

beseemeth you, least you heare that which cannot _like you_." And

ibid., p. 92: "This _liked_ them all exceedingly. And thus Surius with

a good grace and pleasant speech began to enter into the lists with

Camilla."

[345] Æmonia, where Pharsalia was.--_S. P._

ACT II.

CORNELIA, CICERO.

CORNELIA. And will ye needs bedew my dead-grown joys,

And nourish sorrow with eternal tears?

O eyes, and will ye ('cause I cannot dry

Your ceaseless springs) not suffer me to die?

Then make the blood from forth my branch-like veins,

Like weeping rivers, trickle by your vaults;

And sponge my body's heat of moisture so,

As my displeased soul may shun my heart.

Heavens, let me die, and let the Destinies

Admit me passage to th' infernal lake;

That my poor ghost may rest where powerful fate

In death's sad kingdom hath my husband lodg'd.

Fain would I die, but darksome ugly death

Withholds his dart, and in disdain doth fly me,

Maliciously knowing, that hell's horror

Is milder than mine endless discontent;

And that, if death upon my life should seize,

The pain supposed would procure mine ease.

But, ye sad Powers, that rule the silent deeps

Of dead-sad night, where sins do mask unseen:

You that amongst the darksome mansions

Of pining ghosts 'twixt sighs, and sobs, and tears,

Do exercise your mirthless empery:[347]

Ye gods (at whose arbitrement all stand),

Dislodge my soul, and keep it with yourselves,

For I am more than half your prisoner.

My noble husbands (more than noble souls)

Already wander under your commands.

O, then shall wretched I, that am but one,

(Yet once both theirs) survive, now they are gone?

Alas! thou should'st, thou should'st, Cornelia,

Have broke the sacred thread that tied thee here,

When as thy husband Crassus (in his flower)

Did first bear arms, and bare away my love.

And not (as thou hast done) go break the bands,

By calling Hymen once more back again.

Less hapless, and more worthily thou might'st

Have made thine ancestors and thee renown'd:

If (like a royal dame), with faith fast kept,

Thou with thy former husband's death had'st slept.

But partial Fortune and the powerful Fates,

That at their pleasures wield our purposes,

Bewitch'd my life, and did beguile my love.

Pompey, the fame that ran of thy frail honours,

Made me thy wife, thy love, and (like a thief)

From my first husband stole my faithless grief.

But if (as some believe) in heaven or hell

Be heavenly powers or infernal spirits,

That care to be aveng'd of lovers' oaths--

Oaths made in marriage, and after broke;

Those powers, those spirits (mov'd with my light faith),

Are now displeas'd with Pompey and myself,

And do with civil discord (furthering it)

Untie the bands that sacred Hymen knit:

Else only I am cause of both their wraths,

And of the sin that sealeth up thine eyes;

Thine eyes (O deplorable Pompey!)--I am she,

I am that plague, that sacks thy house and thee.

For 'tis not heaven, nor Crassus ('cause he sees

That I am thine) in jealousy pursues us.

No, 'tis a secret cross, an unknown thing,

That I receiv'd from heaven at my birth,

That I should heap misfortunes on their head,

Whom once I had receiv'd in marriage-bed.

Then ye, the noble Romulists that rest,

Henceforth forbear to seek my murdering love,

And let their double loss, that held me dear,

Bid you beware, for fear you be beguil'd.

Ye may be rich, and great in Fortune's grace,

And all your hopes with hap may be effected;

But if ye once be wedded to my love,

Clouds of adversity will cover you.

So pestilently fraught with change of plagues

Is mine infected bosom from my youth.

Like poison that (once lighting on the body)

No sooner toucheth than it taints the blood;

One while the heart, another while the liver

(According to th' encountering passages),

Nor spareth it what purely feeds the heart,

More than the most infected filthiest part,

Pompey, what holp it thee (say, dearest life),

Tell me what holp thy warlike valiant mind

T' encounter with the least of my mishaps?

What holp it thee, that under thy command

Thou saw'st the trembling earth with horror maz'd?

Or where the sun forsakes th' ocean sea,

Or watereth his coursers in the west,

T' have made thy name be far more fam'd and fear'd,

Than summer's thunder to the silly herd?

What holp it, that thou saw'st, when thou wert young,

Thy helmer deck'd with coronets of bays?

So many enemies, in battle rang'd,

Beat back like flies before a storm of hail?

T' have look'd askance, and see so many kings

To lay their crowns and sceptres at thy feet?

T' embrace thy knees, and, humbled by their fate,

T' attend thy mercy in this mournful state?

Alas, and herewithal what holp it thee,

That even in all the corners of the earth

Thy wand'ring glory was so greatly known,

And that Rome saw thee, while thou triumph'dst thrice

O'er three parts of the world that thou had'st yok'd;

That Neptune, welt'ring on the windy plains,

Escap'd not free from thy victorious hands;

Since thy hard hap, since thy fierce destiny,

(Envious of all thine honours) gave thee me,

By whom the former course of thy fair deeds

Might (with a biting bridle) be restrain'd:

By whom the glory of thy conquests got

Might die disgrac'd with mine unhappiness.

O hapless wife! thus ominous to all,

Worse than Megæra, worse than any plague;

What foul infernal, or what stranger hell

Henceforth wilt thou inhabit, where thy hap

None other's hopes with mischief may entrap?

CICERO. What end, O race of Scipio, will the Fates

Afford your tears? Will that day never come,

That your disastrous griefs shall turn to joy,

And we have time to bury our annoy?

CORNELIA. Ne'er shall I see that day; for heaven and time

Have fail'd in power to calm my passion.

Nor can they (should they pity my complaints)

Once ease my life, but with the pangs of death.

CICERO. "The wide world's accidents are apt to change,

And tickle[348] Fortune stays not in a place;

But (like the clouds) continually doth range,

Or like the sun that hath the night in chase.

Then as the heavens (by whom our hopes are guided)

Do coast the earth with an eternal course,

We must not think a misery betided

Will never cease, but still grow worse and worse.

When icy winter's pass'd, then comes the spring,

Whom summer's pride with sultry heat pursues;

To whom mild autumn does earth's treasure bring--

The sweetest season that the wise can choose.

Heaven's influence was ne'er so constant yet,

In good or bad as to continue it."

When I was young, I saw against poor Sylla,

Proud Cinna, Marius, and Carbo flesh'd

So long, till they 'gan tyrannise the town,

And spill'd such store of blood in every street,

As there were none but dead men to be seen.

Within a while, I saw how Fortune play'd,

And wound those tyrants underneath her wheel,

Who lost their lives and power at once by one,

That (to revenge himself) did with his blade

Commit more murder than Rome ever made.

Yet Sylla, shaking tyranny aside,

Return'd due honours to our commonwealth,

Which peaceably retain'd her ancient state,

Grown great without the strife of citizens;

Till this ambitious tyrant's time, that toil'd

To stoop the world and Rome to his desires.

But flatt'ring chance, that train'd his first designs,

May change her looks, and give the tyrant over,

Leaving our city, where so long ago

Heavens did their favours lavishly bestow.

CORNELIA. 'Tis true, the heavens (at leastwise if they please)

May give poor Rome her former liberty.

But though they would, I know they cannot give

A second life to Pompey that is slain.

CICERO. Mourn not for Pompey; Pompey could not die

A better death than for his country's weal.

For oft he search'd amongst the fierce alarms,

But (wishing) could not find so fair an end;

Till, fraught with years and honour both at once,

He gave his body (as a barricade)

For Rome's defence, by tyrants overlaid.

Bravely he died and (haply) takes it ill,

That (envious) we repine at Heaven's will.

CORNELIA. Alas, my sorrow would be so much less,

If he had died, his falchion in his fist:

Had he amidst huge troops of armed men

Been wounded by another any way,

It would have calmed many of my sighs.

For why t' have seen his noble Roman blood,

Mix'd with his enemies', had done him good.

But he is dead (O heavens!), not dead in fight,

With pike in hand upon a fort besieg'd,

Defending of a breach: but basely slain;

Slain traitorously, without assault in war.

Yea, slain he is, and bitter chance decreed

To have me there, to see this bloody deed.

I saw him; I was there; and in mine arms

He almost felt the poniard when he fell.

Whereat my blood stopp'd in my straggling veins;

Mine hair grew bristled like a thorny grove;

My voice lay hid half-dead within my throat;

My frightful heart (stunn'd in my stone-cold breast)

Faintly redoubled ev'ry feeble stroke;

My spirit, chained with impatient rage,

Did raving strive to break the prison ope;

Enlarg'd, to drown the pain it did abide

In solitary Lethe's sleepy tide.

Thrice (to absent me from this hated light)

I would have plung'd my body in the sea;

And thrice detain'd with doleful shrieks and cries

(With arms to heaven uprear'd) I 'gan exclaim

And bellow forth against the gods themselves

A bead-roll[349] of outrageous blasphemies;

Till (grief to hear, and hell for me to speak),

My woes wax'd stronger, and myself grew weak.

Thus day and night I toil in discontent,

And sleeping wake, when sleep itself, that rides

Upon the mists, scarce moisteneth mine eyes.

Sorrow consumes me, and, instead of rest,

With folded arms I sadly sit and weep.

And, if I wink, it is for fear to see

The fearful dreams'-effects that trouble me.

O heavens! what shall I do? alas, must I,

Must I myself be murderer of myself?

Must I myself be forc'd to ope the way,

Whereat my soul in wounds may sally forth?

CICERO. Madam, you must not thus transpose yourself;

We see your sorrow, but who sorrows not?

The grief is common; and (I muse), besides

The servitude that causeth all our cares,

Besides the baseness wherein we are yok'd,

Besides the loss of good men dead and gone,

What one he is that in this broil hath been,

And mourneth not for some man of his kin?

CORNELIA. If all the world were in the like distress,

My sorrow yet would never seem the less.

CICERO. "O, but men bear misfortunes with more ease,

The more indifferently that they fall;

And nothing more (in uproars) men can please,

Than when they see their woes not worst of all."

CORNELIA. "Our friends' misfortune doth increase our own."

CICERO. "But ours of others will not be acknown."[350]

CORNELIA. "Yet one man's sorrow will another touch."

CICERO. "Ay, when himself will entertain none such."

CORNELIA. "Another's tears draws tears from forth our eyes."

CICERO. "And choice of streams the greatest river dries."

CORNELIA. When sand within a whirlpool lies unwet,

My tears shall dry, and I my grief forget.

CICERO. What boot your tears,[351] or what avails your sorrow,

Against th' inevitable dart of death?

Think you to move with lamentable plaints

Persephone or Pluto's ghastly spirits,

To make him live that's locked in his tomb,

And wand'reth in the centre of the earth?

"No, no, Cornelia, Charon takes not pain

To ferry those that must be fetch'd again."

CORNELIA. Proserpina indeed neglects my plaints,

And hell itself is deaf to my laments.

Unprofitably should I waste my tears,

If over Pompey I should weep to death,

With hope to have him be reviv'd by them.

Weeping avails not: therefore do I weep.

Great losses greatly are to be deplor'd,

The loss is great, that cannot be restor'd.

CICERO. "Nought is immortal underneath the sun:

All things are subject to death's tyranny.

Both clowns and kings one selfsame course must run,

And whatsoever lives, is sure to die."

Then wherefore mourn you for your husband's death,

Sith, being a man, he was ordain'd to die?

Since Jove's own sons, retaining human shape,

No more than wretched we their death could 'scape.

Brave Scipio, your famous ancestor,

That Rome's high worth to Afric did extend;

And those two Scipios (that in person fought

Before the fearful Carthaginian walls),

Both brothers, and both war's fierce lightning fires,

Are they not dead? Yes, and their death (our dearth)

Hath hid them both embowell'd in the earth.

And those great cities, whose foundations reach'd

From deepest hell, and with their tops touch'd heaven;

Whose lofty towers like thorn-y-pointed spears,

Whose temples, palaces, and walls emboss'd,

In power and force, and fierceness, seem'd to threat

The tired world, that trembled with their weight;

In one day's space (to our eternal moans)

Have we not seen them turn'd to heaps of stones?

Carthage can witness; and thou, Heaven's hand-work,

Fair Ilium, razed by the conquering Greeks;

Whose ancient beauty, worth, and weapons seem'd

Sufficient t' have tam'd the Myrmidons.

"But whatsoe'er hath been begun, must end.

Death (haply that our willingness doth see)

With brandish'd dart doth make the passage free;

And timeless doth our souls to Pluto send."

CORNELIA. Would death had steep'd his dart in Lerna's blood!

That I were drown'd in the Tartarian deeps!

I am an offering fit for Acheron.

A match more equal never could be made

Than I and Pompey in th' Elysian shade.

CICERO. "Death's always ready, and our time is known

To be at Heaven's dispose, and not our own."

CORNELIA. Can we be over-hasty to good hap?

CICERO. What good expect we in a fiery gap?

CORNELIA. To 'scape the fears that follow Fortune's glances.

CICERO. "A noble mind doth never fear mischances."

CORNELIA. "A noble mind disdaineth servitude."

CICERO. Can bondage true nobility exclude?

CORNELIA. How, if I do or suffer that I would not?

CICERO. "True noblesse never doth the thing it should not."

CORNELIA. Then must I die.

CICERO. Yet dying think this still;

"No fear of death should force us to do ill."

CORNELIA. If death be such, why is your fear so rife?

CICERO. My works will show I never fear'd my life.

CORNELIA. And yet you will not that (in our distress),

We ask death's aid to end life's wretchedness.

CICERO. "We neither ought to urge, nor ask a thing,

Wherein we see so much assurance lies.

But if perhaps some fierce, offended king,

(To fright us) set pale death before our eyes,

To force us do that goes against our heart;

'Twere more than base in us to dread his dart.

But when, for fear of an ensuing ill,

We seek to shorten our appointed race,

Then 'tis for fear that we ourselves do kill,

So fond we are to fear the world's disgrace."

CORNELIA. 'Tis not for frailty or faint cowardice,

That men (to shun mischances) seek for death;

But rather he, that seeks it, shows himself

Of certain courage 'gainst uncertain chance.

"He that retires not at the threats of death,

Is not, as are the vulgar, slightly fray'd.[352]

For heaven itself, nor hell's infectious breath,

The resolute at any time have stayed.

And (sooth to say) why fear we, when we see

The thing we fear less than the fear to be?"

Then let me die, my liberty to save;

For 'tis a death to live a tyrant's slave.

CICERO. Daughter, beware how you provoke the heavens,

Which in our bodies (as a tower of strength)

Have plac'd our souls, and fortify'd the same;

As discreet princes set their garrisons

In strongest places of their provinces.

"Now, as it is not lawful for a man,

At such a king's departure or decease,

To leave the place, and falsify his faith;

So, in this case, we ought not to surrender

That dearer part, till heaven itself command it:

For as they lent us life to do us pleasure,

So look they for return of such a treasure."

CHORUS. "Whate'er the massy earth hath fraight,

Or on her nurselike back sustains,

Upon the will of Heaven doth wait,

And doth no more than it ordains.

All fortunes, all felicities,

Upon their motion do depend:

And from the stars doth still arise

Both their beginning and their end.

The monarchies, that cover all

This earthly round with majesty,

Have both their rising and their fall

From heaven and heaven's variety.

Frail men, or man's more frail defence,

Had never power to practise stays

Of this celestial influence,

That governeth and guides our days.

No cloud but will be overcast;

And what now flourisheth, must fade;

And that that fades, revives at last,

To flourish as it first was made.

The forms of things do never die,

Because the matter that remains

Reforms another thing thereby,

That still the former shape retains.

The roundness of two bowls cross-cast,

(So they with equal pace be aim'd),

Shows their beginning by their last,

Which by old nature is new-fram'd.

So peopled cities, that of yore

Were desert field, where none would bide,

Become forsaken as before,

Yet after are re-edified."

Perceive we not a petty vein,

Cut from a spring by chance or art,

Engendereth fountains, whence again

Those fountains do to floods convert?

Those floods to waves, those waves to seas,

That oft exceed their wonted bounds:

And yet those seas (as heavens please)

Return to springs by under-grounds.

E'en so our city (in her prime)

Prescribing princes every thing,

Is now subdu'd by conquering time,

And liveth subject to a king,

And yet perhaps the sun-bright crown,

That now the tyrant's head doth deck,

May turn to Rome with true renown,

If fortune chance but once to check.

The stately walls that once were rear'd,

And by a shepherd's hands erect,

(With hapless brother's blood besmear'd)

Shall show by whom they were infect.

And once more unjust Tarquin's frown

(With arrogance and rage inflam'd)

Shall keep the Roman valour down,

And Rome itself a while be tam'd.

And chastest Lucrece once again

(Because her name dishonour'd stood)

Shall by herself be careless slain,

And make a river of her blood;

Scorning her soul a seat should build

Within a body basely seen,

By shameless rape to be defil'd,

That erst was clear as heaven's queen.

But, heavens, as tyranny shall yoke

Our bastard hearts with servile thrall;

So grant your plagues (which they provoke)

May light upon them once for all.

And let another Brutus rise,

Bravely to fight in Rome's defence,

To free our town from tyranny,

And tyranny's[353] proud insolence.

FOOTNOTES:

[346] Furze. So in Shakespeare's "Tempest," act iv. sc. 1--

"_Pricking goss_ and thorns."--_S._

[347] _Imperium_, or command.

"My noble husbands (more than noble souls)

Already wander under _your commands_."--_S. P._

The word also occurs in "Henry V.," act i. sc. 2--

"Or there we'll sit,

Ruling, in large and ample _empery_."

"This word," says Mr Steevens, "which signifies _dominion_, is now

obsolete, though formerly in general use." So in "Claudius Tiberius

Nero," 1607--

"Within the circuit of our _empery_."

[348] _Tickle_ means _uncertain_ or _inconstant_. We still use the word

_ticklish_; and a _ticklish situation_ is understood for that state in

which we can have no sure dependence. So, in Churchyard's "Challenge,"

1593, p. 28--

"Yet climbing up, the tree of _tickle_ trust

Wee streache the arme, as farre as reach may goe,

Disguis'd with pompe, and pampred up with lust;

We gase alof, and never looke belowe,

Till hatchet comes, and gives the fauling bloe."

See also Mr Steevens's note on "Measure for Measure," act i. sc. 3.

[349] A bed-roll, or bede-roll, says Blount, in his "Glossographia,"

"is a roll or list of such as priests were wont to pray for in

churches."

[350] [Recognised, acknowledged.]

[351] _What avail_ your tears.

[352] Affrighted. So, in "Wily Beguiled," 1606: "I'll attire myself

fit for the same purpose like to some hellish hag or damned fiend,

and meet with Sophos wand'ring in the woods: O, I shall _fray_ him

terribly." _Ibid._: "He'll make himself like a devil, and _fray_ the

scholar." _Ibid._: "Why, didst thou _fray_ him?"

ACT III.

CORNELIA, CHORUS.

[CORNELIA.] The cheerful cock (the sad night's comforter)

Waiting upon the rising of the sun,

Doth sing to see how Cynthia shrinks her horn,

While Clytia takes her progress to the east;

Where, wringing wet with drops of silver dew,

Her wonted tears of love she doth renew.

The wand'ring swallow, with her broken song,

The country-wench unto her work awakes;

While Cytherea sighing walks to seek

Her murder'd love transform'd into a rose;

Whom (though she see) to crop she kindly fears;

But (kissing) sighs, and dews him with her tears;

Sweet tears of love, remembrancers to time,

Time past with me, that am to tears converted;

Whose mournful passions dull the morning's joys,

Whose sweeter sleeps are turn'd to fearful dreams;

And whose first fortunes (fill'd with all distress)

Afford no hope of future happiness.

But what disastrous or hard accident

Hath bath'd your blubber'd eyes in bitter tears,

That thus consort me in my misery?

Why do you beat your breasts? Why mourn you so?

Say, gentle sisters, tell me, and believe

It grieves me that I know not why you grieve.

CHORUS. O poor Cornelia, have not we good cause,

For former wrongs to furnish us with tears?

CORNELIA. O, but I fear that Fortune seeks new flaws,

And still (unsatisfied) more hatred bears.

CHORUS. Wherein can Fortune farther injure us,

Now we have lost our conquer'd liberty,

Our commonwealth, our empire, and our honours,

Under this cruel Tarquin's tyranny?

Under this outrage now are all our goods,

Where scattered they run by land and sea

(Like exil'd us) from fertile Italy,

To proudest Spain or poorest Getuly.[354]

CORNELIA. And will the heavens, that have so oft defended

Our Roman wars from fury of fierce kings,

Not once again return our senators,

That from the Libyc plains and Spanish fields

With fearless hearts do guard our Roman hopes?

Will they not once again encourage them

To fill our fields with blood of enemies,

And bring from Afric to our Capitol,

Upon their helms the empire that is stole?

Then, home-born household gods, and ye good spirits,

To whom in doubtful things we seek access,

By whom our family hath been adorn'd,

And graced with the name of African;

Do ye vouchsafe that this victorious title

Be not expired in Cornelia's blood?

And that my father now (in th' Afric wars)

The selfsame style by conquest may continue!

But, wretched that I am, alas, I fear--

CHORUS. What fear you, madam?

CORNELIUS. That the frowning heavens

Oppose themselves against us in their wrath.

CHORUS. Our loss (I hope) hath satisfied their ire.

CORNELIA. O no, our loss lifts Cæsar's fortunes high'r.

CHORUS. Fortune is fickle.

CORNELIA. But hath fail'd him never.

CHORUS. The more unlike she should continue ever.

CORNELIA. My fearful dreams do my despairs redouble.

CHORUS. Why suffer your vain dreams your head to trouble?

CORNELIA. Who is not troubled with strange visions?

CHORUS.--that of our spirit are but illusions.

CORNELIA. God grant these dreams to good effect be brought!

CHORUS. We dream by night, what we by day have thought.

CORNELIA. The silent night, that long had sojourned,

Now 'gan to cast her sable mantle off,

And now the sleepy wain-man softly drove

His slow-pac'd team, that long had travelled;

When (like a slumber, if you term it so)

A dulness, that disposeth us to rest,

'Gan close the windows of my watchful eyes,

Already tir'd and loaden with my tears;

And lo (methought) came gliding by my bed

The ghost of Pompey with a ghastly look;

All pale and brawn-fall'n,[355] not in triumph borne

Amongst the conquering Romans, as we us'd,

When he (enthronis'd) at his feet beheld

Great emperors, fast-bound in chains of brass.

But all amaz'd, with fearful hollow eyes,

His hair and beard deform'd with blood and sweat,

Casting a thin coarse linsel o'er his shoulders,

That torn in pieces trail'd upon the ground,

And, gnashing of his teeth, unlock'd his jaws

Which, slightly cover'd with a scarce-seen skin,

This solemn tale he sadly did begin:

Sleep'st thou, Cornelia? sleep'st thou, gentle wife,

And seest thy father's misery and mine?

Wake, dearest sweet, and o'er our sepulchres

In pity show thy latest love to us.

Such hap as ours attendeth on my sons,

The selfsame foe and fortune following them.

Send Sextus over to some foreign nation,

Far from the common hazard of the wars;

That (being yet sav'd) he may attempt no more

To 'venge the valour that is tried before.

He said; and suddenly a trembling horror,

A chill cold shivering (settled in my veins)

Brake up my slumber; when I oped my lips

Three times to cry, but could nor cry nor speak.

I mov'd mine head, and flung abroad mine arms

To entertain him; but his airy spirit

Beguiled mine embracements, and (unkind)

Left me embracing nothing but the wind.

O valiant soul, when shall this soul of mine

Come visit thee in the Elysian shades?

O dearest life, or when shall sweetest death

Dissolve the fatal trouble of my days,

And bless me with my Pompey's company?

But may my father (O extreme mishap!)

And such a number of brave regiments,

Made of so many expert soldiers,

That lov'd our liberty, and follow'd him,

Be so discomfited? O, would it were but an illusion!

CHORUS. Madam, never fear.

Nor let a senseless idol of the night

Increase a more than needful fear in you.

CORNELIA. My fear proceeds not of an idle dream,

For 'tis a truth that hath astonish'd me.

I saw great Pompey, and I heard him speak;

And, thinking to embrace him, op'd mine arms,

When drowsy sleep, that wak'd me at unwares,

Did with his flight unclose my fearful eyes

So suddenly, that yet methinks I see him.

Howbeit I cannot touch him, for he slides

More swiftly from me than the ocean glides.

CHORUS. "These are vain thoughts or melancholy shows,[356]

That wont to haunt and trace by cloister'd tombs:

Which eaths[357] appear in sad and strange disguises

To pensive minds, deceived with their shadows;

They counterfeit the dead in voice and figure,

Divining of our future miseries.

For when our soul the body hath disgag'd,

It seeks the common passage of the dead,

Down by the fearful gates of Acheron;

Where, when it is by Æacus adjudg'd,

It either turneth to the Stygian lake,

Or stays for ever in th' Elysian fields,

And ne'er returneth to the corse interr'd,

To walk by night, or make the wise afraid.

None but inevitable conquering death

Descends to hell, with hope to rise again;

For ghosts of men are lock'd in fiery gates,

Fast-guarded by a fell remorseless monster,

And therefore think not it was Pompey's sprite,

But some false demon that beguil'd your sight."

[_Exit._

_Enter_ CICERO.

CICERO. Then, O world's queen! O town that did extend

Thy conquering arms beyond the ocean,

And throng'dst thy conquests from the Libyan shores,

Down to the Scythian swift-foot fearless porters,[358]

Thou art embas'd;[359] and at this instant yield'st

Thy proud neck to a miserable yoke.

Rome, thou art tam'd, and th' earth, dew'd with thy blood,

Doth laugh to see how thou art signioris'd.

The force of heaven exceeds thy former strength:

For thou, that wont'st to tame and conquer all,

Art conquer'd now with an eternal fall.

Now shalt thou march, thy hands fast-bound behind thee,[360]

Thy head hung down, thy cheeks with tears besprent,

Before the victor; while thy rebel son,

With crowned front triumphing follows thee.

Thy bravest captains, whose courageous hearts

(Joined with the right) did reinforce our hopes,

Now murder'd lie for fowl to feed upon.

Petreus, Cato, and Scipio, are slain,

And Juba, that amongst the Moors did reign.

Now you, whom both the gods and fortune's grace

Hath sav'd from danger in these furious broils,

Forbear to tempt the enemy again,

For fear you feel a third calamity.

Cæsar is like a brightly-flaming blaze,

That fiercely burns a house already fir'd;

And, ceaseless launching out on every side,

Consumes the more, the more you seek to quench it,

Still darting sparkles, till it find a train

To seize upon, and then it flames amain.

The men, the ships, wherewith poor Rome affronts[361] him,

All powerless give proud Cæsar's wrath free passage,

Nought can resist him; all the power we raise,

Turns but to our misfortune and his praise.

'Tis thou, O Rome, that nurs'd his insolence;

'Tis thou, O Rome, that gav'st him first the sword,

Which murd'rer-like against thyself he draws,

And violates both God and Nature's laws.

Like moral Æsop's misled country swain,

That found a serpent pining in the snow,

And full of foolish pity took it up,

And kindly laid it by his household fire,

Till (waxen warm) it nimbly 'gan to stir,

And stung to death the fool that foster'd her.

O gods! that once had care of these our walls,

And fearless kept us from th' assault of foes:

Great Jupiter, to whom our Capitol

So many oxen yearly sacrific'd;

Minerva, Stator, and stout Thracian Mars,

Father to good Quirinus our first founder;

To what intent have ye preserv'd our town,

This stately town, so often hazarded

Against the Samnites, Sabines, and fierce Latins?

Why, from once footing in our fortresses

Have ye repell'd the lusty warlike Gauls?

Why from Molossus and false Hannibal

Have ye reserv'd the noble Romulists?

Or why from Cat'line's lewd conspiracies

Preserv'd ye Rome by my prevention?

To cast so soon a state, so long defended,

Into the bondage where (enthrall'd) we pine?

To serve (no stranger, but amongst us) one

That with blind frenzy buildeth up his throne?

But if in us be any vigour resting,

If yet our hearts retain one drop of blood,

Cæsar, thou shalt not vaunt thy conquest long,

Nor longer hold us in this servitude.

Nor shalt thou bathe thee longer in our blood:

For I divine, that thou must vomit it,

Like to a cur that carrion hath devour'd,

And cannot rest, until his maw be scour'd.

Think'st thou to signiorise, or be the king

Of such a number nobler than thyself?

Or think'st thou Romans bear such bastard hearts.

To let thy tyranny be unreveng'd?

No; for methinks I see the shame, the grief,

The rage, the hatred that they have conceived,

And many a Roman sword already drawn,

T' enlarge the liberty that thou usurp'st,

And thy dismember'd body (stabb'd and torn),

Dragg'd through the streets, disdained to be borne.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ CORNELIA [_and to her_ PHILIP].

PHILIP. Amongst the rest of mine extreme mishaps,

I find my fortune not the least in this,

That I have kept my master company,

Both in his life and at his latest hour:

Pompey the great, whom I have honoured

With true devotion both alive and dead.

One selfsame ship contain'd us, when I saw

The murd'ring Egyptians bereave his life;

And when the man that had affright the earth,

Did homage to it with his dearest blood;

O'er whom I shed full many a bitter tear,

And did perform his exequies with sighs:

And on the strand upon the river-side

(Where to my sighs the water seem'd to turn),

I wove a coffin for his corse of segs,[362]

That with the wind did wave like bannerets,

And laid his body to be burn'd thereon;

Which, when it was consum'd, I kindly took,

And sadly clos'd within an earthen urn

The ashy relics of his hapless bones;

Which having 'scap'd the rage of wind and sea,

I bring to fair Cornelia to inter

Within his elders' tomb, that honour'd her.

CORNELIA. Ah me! what see I?

PHILIP. Pompey's tender bones,

Which (in extremes) an earthen urn containeth.

CORNELIA. O sweet, dear, deplorable cinders?

O miserable woman, living--dying!

O poor Cornelia! born to be distress'd,

Why liv'st thou toil'd, that (dead) might'st lie at rest?

O faithless hands, that under cloak of love

Did entertain him, to torment him so!

O barbarous, inhumane, hateful traitors!

This your disloyal dealing hath defam'd

Your king and his inhospitable seat

Of the extremest and most odious crime,

That 'gainst the heavens might be imagined.

For ye have basely broke the law of arms,

And outrag'd over an afflicted soul;

Murder'd a man that did submit himself,

And injur'd him that ever us'd you kindly.

For which misdeed be Egypt pestered

With battle, famine, and perpetual plagues!

Let aspics, serpents, snakes, and Libyan bears,

Tigers and lions, breed with you for ever!

And let fair Nilus (wont to nurse your corn)

Cover your land with toads and crocodiles,

That may infect, devour, and murder you!

Else earth make way, and hell receive them quick--

A hateful race, 'mongst whom there doth abide

All treason, luxury, and homicide.

PHILIP. Cease these laments.

CORNELIA. I do but what I ought

To mourn his death.

PHILIP. Alas! that profits nought.

CORNELIA. Will Heaven let treason be unpunished?

PHILIP. Heavens will perform what they have promised.

CORNELIA. I fear the heavens will not hear our prayer.

PHILIP. The plaints of men oppress'd do pierce the air.

CORNELIA. Yet Cæsar liveth still.

PHILIP. "Due punishment

Succeeds not always after an offence:

For oftentimes 'tis for our chastisement,

That Heaven doth with wicked men dispense,

That, when they list, they may with usury

For all misdeeds pay home the penalty."

CORNELIA. This is the hope that feeds my hapless days,

Else had my life been long ago expired.

I trust the gods, that see our hourly wrongs,

Will fire his shameful body with their flames;

Except some man (resolved) shall conclude

With Cæsar's death to end our servitude.

Else (God to-fore) myself may live to see

His tired corse lie toiling in his blood:

Gor'd with a thousand stabs, and round about

The wronged people leap for inward joy.

And then come, Murder: then come, ugly Death:

Then, Lethe, open thine infernal lake!

I'll down with joy: because, before I died,

Mine eyes have seen what I in heart desir'd.

Pompey may not revive, and (Pompey dead)

Let me but see the murd'rer murdered.

PHILIP. Cæsar bewail'd his death.

CORNELIA. His death he mourned,

Whom while he liv'd, to live like him he scorn'd.

PHILIP. He punished his murd'rers.

CORNELIA. Who murder'd him,

But he that followed Pompey with the sword?

He murder'd Pompey that pursued his death,

And cast the plot to catch him in the trap.

He that of his departure took the spoil,

Whose fell ambition (founded first in blood)

By nought but Pompey's life could be withstood.

PHILIP. Photin and false Achillas he beheaded.

CORNELIA. That was because that, Pompey being their friend,

They had determined once of Cæsar's end.

PHILIP. What got he by his death?

CORNELIA. Supremacy.

PHILIP. Yet Cæsar speaks of Pompey honourably.

CORNELIA. Words are but wind, nor meant he what he spoke.

PHILIP. He will not let his statues[363] to be broke.

CORNELIA. By which disguise (whate'er he doth pretend)

His own from being broke he doth defend:

And by the trains, wherewith he us allures,

His own estate more firmly he assures.

PHILIP. He took no pleasure in his death, you see.

CORNELIA. Because himself of life did not bereave him.

PHILIP. Nay, he was mov'd with former amity.

CORNELIA. He never trusted him but to deceive him.

But, had he lov'd him with a love unfeign'd,

Yet had it been a vain and trustless league:

"For there is nothing in the soul of man

So firmly grounded, as can qualify

Th' inextinguishable thirst of signiory.

Not Heaven's fear, nor country's sacred love,

Not ancient laws, nor nuptial chaste desire:

Respect of blood, or (that which most should move)

The inward zeal that nature doth require:

All these, nor anything we can devise,

Can stop the heart resolv'd to tyrannise."

PHILIP. I fear your griefs increase with this discourse.

CORNELIA. My griefs are such, as hardly can be worse.

PHILIP. "Time calmeth all things."

CORNELIA. No time qualifies

My doleful spirit's endless miseries.

My grief is like a rock, whence ceaseless strain

Fresh springs of water at my weeping eyes,

Still fed by thoughts, like floods with winter's rain:

For when, to ease th' oppression of my heart,

I breathe an autumn forth of fiery sighs,

Yet herewithal my passion neither dies,

Nor dries the heat the moisture of mine eyes.

PHILIP. Can nothing then recure these endless tears?

CORNELIA. Yes, news of Cæsar's death that med'cine bears.

PHILIP. Madam, beware; for, should he hear of this,

His wrath against you 'twill exasperate.

CORNELIA. I neither stand in fear of him nor his.

PHILIP. 'Tis policy to fear a powerful hate.

CORNELIA. What can he do?

PHILIP. Madam, what cannot men,

That have the power to do what pleaseth them?

CORNELIA. He can do me no mischief that I dread.

PHILIP. Yes, cause your death.

CORNELIA. Thrice happy, were I dead.

PHILIP. With rigorous torments.

CORNELIA. Let him torture me,

Pull me in pieces, famish, fire me up,

Fling me alive into a lion's den:

There is no death so hard torments me so,

As his extreme triumphing in our woe.

But if he will torment me, let him then

Deprive me wholly of the hope of death;

For I had died before the fall of Rome,

And slept with Pompey in the peaceful deeps,

Save that I live in hope to see, ere long,

That Cæsar's death shall satisfy his wrong.

[_Exeunt._

CHORUS. Fortune in power imperious

Us'd o'er the world and worldlings thus

To tyrannise:

When she hath heap'd her gifts on us,

Away she flies.

Her feet more swift than is the wind,

Are more inconstant in their kind

Than autumn's blasts:

A woman's shape, a woman's mind,

That seldom lasts.

One while she bends her angry brow,

And of no labour will allow:

Another while

She fleers again, I know not how,

Still to beguile.

Fickle in our adversities,

And fickle when our fortunes rise,

She scoffs at us:

That (blind herself) can blear our eyes,

To trust her thus.

The sun that lends the earth his light,

Beheld her never over-night

Lie calmly down,

But, in the morning following, might

Perceive her frown.

She hath not only power and will

T' abuse the vulgar wanting skill;

But when she list,

To kings and clowns doth equal ill

Without resist.

Mischance, that every man abhors,

And cares for crowned emperors

She doth reserve,

As for the poorest labourers

That work or starve:

The merchant, that for private gain

Doth send his ships to pass the main,

Upon the shore,

In hope he shall his wish obtain,

Doth thee adore.

Upon the sea or on the land,

Where health or wealth, or vines do stand,

Thou canst do much,

And often help'st the helpless band:

Thy power is such.

And many times (disposed to jest)

'Gainst one whose power and cause is best

(Thy power to try):

To him that ne'er put spear in rest

Giv'st victory.

For so the Libyan monarchy,

That with Ausonian blood did dye

Our warlike field,

To one that ne'er got victory

Was urg'd to yield.

So noble Marius, Arpin's friend,

That did the Latin state defend

From Cymbrian rage,

Did prove thy fury in the end,

Which nought could 'suage.

And Pompey, whose days haply led,

So long thou seem'dst t' have favoured

In vain, 'tis said,

When the Pharsalian field he led,

Implor'd thine aid.

Now Cæsar, swoll'n with honour's heat,

Sits signiorising in her seat,

And will not see,

That Fortune can her hopes defeat,

Whate'er they be.

From chance is nothing franchised;

And till the time that they are dead,

Is no man blest;

He only, that no death doth dread,

Doth live at rest. [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[353] [Old copies, _tyrannous_.]

[354] [Getullum, in Tripoli. See Hazlitt's "Classical Gazetteer," _in

v._]

[355] Similar to this expression is _chap-fallen_, still used by the

vulgar. In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Mad Lover," act ii., Calis says

_his palate's down_, which seems to have the same signification.

It will be seen by the following quotation from Webster's "Appius and

Virginia," 4to, 1654, that brawn-fall'n is something different from

what Reed has described it--

"Let

Th' enemies stript arm have his crimson'd _brawns_

Up to the elbowes in your traitorous blood."--Page 9.

[356] Dryden and Lee, in their tragedy of "Oedipus," act iv. sc. 1,

have the following beautiful passage, which may be compared with the

present--

"When the sun sets, shadows, that show'd at noon

But small, appear most long and terrible;

So when we think fate hovers o'er our heads.

Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds,

Owls, ravens, crickets seem the watch of death,

Nature's worst vermin scare her god-like sons.

Echoes, the very leavings of a voice,

Grow babling ghosts, and call us to our graves:

Each molehill thought swells to a huge Olympus,

While we fantastick dreamers heave and puff,

And sweat with an imagination's weight;

As if, like Atlas, with these mortal shoulders

We could sustain the burden of the world."

[357] _i.e._, Easy, easily. _Eath_ is an old Saxon word, signifying

ease. Hence _uneath_ [or _unneth_] for _uneasily_, [or, rather,

_scarcely_.] So, in the "Second Part of Henry VI.," act ii. sc. 4--

"_Uneath_ may she endure the flinty streets."--_S._

Again, in Spenser's "Fairy Queen," B. iv. c. 12. § 1--

"For much more _eath_ to tell the starres on hy,

Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation."

[358] Probably booters.--_S. P._

S. P. [Dr Pegge] would read _booters_; but he ought to have known that

the _Scythians_ were contemptuously styled _porters_, because they

_carried_ their huts and families about with them in wains; omnia sua

secum _portantes_. So Lucan, lib. ii. v. 641--

"Pigra palus _Scythici_ patiens Mæotica _plaustri_."

Again, Horace, "Carm.," lib. iii. Od. 24--

"Campestres melius _Scythoe_,

Quorum _plaustra_ vagas rite trahunt domos."

After all, what could _booters_ mean? Unless S. P. designed to

characterise the _Scythians_, as Homer does his countrymen,

®eÿknêmides Achaioi®, the well-_booted_ Greeks. [II. a. 17.]

Free-_booters_, indeed, is used for plunderers; but I know not that

_booters_ is ever employed, unless in conjunction with some epithet

that fixes its meaning.--_S._

[359] Dishonoured. So in Spenser's "Fairy Queen," B. iii. sc. 1. § 12--

"Thus reconcilement was between them knitt,

Through goodly temp'rance and affection chaste;

And either vow'd with all their power and witt,

To let not other's honour be defaste,

Of friend or foe, who ever it _embaste_."

[360] Mr Steevens observes that this passage is very like the following

in Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra," act iv. sc. 12--

"Would'st thou be windowed in great Rome, and see

Thy master thus with pleach'd arms bending down

His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd

To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat

Of fortunate Cæsar drawn before him branded

His baseness that ensued?"

[361] _To affront_ is to meet directly. As in "Fuimus Troes," act ii.

sc. 1--

"Let's then dismiss the legate with a frown;

And draw our forces toward the sea, to join

With the four kings of Kent, and so _affront_

His first arrival."

And in "Hamlet," act iii. sc. 1--

"That he, as 'twere by accident, may here

_Affront_ Ophelia."

See Mr Steevens's note on the last passage.

[362] Sedges.--_S._

[363] See Suetonius, _Jul. c. 75._--_S. P._

ACT IV.

CASSIUS, DECIMUS BRUTUS.

CASSIUS. Accursed Rome, that arm'st against thyself

A tyrant's rage, and mak'st a wretch thy king.

For one man's pleasure (O injurious Rome!)

Thy children 'gainst thy children thou hast arm'd:

And think'st not of the rivers of their blood,

That erst were shed to save thy liberty,

Because thou ever hatedst monarchy.

Now o'er our bodies (tumbled up on heaps,

Like cocks of hay, when July shears the field),

Thou build'st thy kingdom, and thou seat'st thy king,

And to be servile (which torments me most)

Employest our lives, and lavishest our blood.

O Rome, accursed Rome, thou murd'rest us,

And massacrest thyself in yielding thus.

Yet are there gods, yet is there heaven and earth,

That seem to fear a certain Thunderer?

No, no, there are no gods; or, if there be,

They leave to see into the world's affairs:

They care not for us, nor account of men,

For what we see is done, is done by chance.

'Tis Fortune rules; for equity and right

Have neither help nor grace in Heaven's sight.

Scipio hath wrench'd a sword into his breast,

And launch'd his bleeding wound into the sea.

Undaunted Cato tore his entrails out.

Affranius and Faustus murder'd died.

Juba and Petreus, fiercely combating,

Have each done other equal violence.

Our army's broken, and the Libyan bears

Devour the bodies of our citizens.

The conquering tyrant, high in Fortune's grace,

Doth ride triumphing o'er our commonwealth;

And mournful we behold him bravely mounted

(With stern looks) in his chariot, where he leads

The conquer'd honour of the people yok'd.

So Rome to Cæsar yields both power and pelf,

And o'er Rome Cæsar reigns in Rome itself.

But, Brutus, shall we dissolutely sit,

And see the tyrant live to tyrannise?

Or shall their ghosts, that died to do us good,

'Plain in their tombs of our base cowardice?

Shall lamed soldiers and grave grey-hair'd men

Point at us in their bitter tears, and say:

See where they go that have their race forgot!

And rather choose (unarm'd) to serve with shame,

Than (arm'd) to save their freedom and their fame?

BRUTUS. I swear by heaven, the Immortals' highest throne,

Their temples, altars, and their images,

To see (for one) that Brutus suffer not

His ancient liberty to be repress'd.

I freely march'd with Cæsar in his wars,

Not to be subject, but to aid his right.

But if (envenom'd with ambitious thoughts)

He lift his hand imperiously o'er us;

If he determine but to reign in Rome,

Or follow'd Pompey but to this effect;

Or if (these civil discords now dissolv'd)

He render not the empire back to Rome;

Then shall he see, that Brutus this day bears

The selfsame arms to be aveng'd on him;

And that this hand (though Cæsar blood abhor)

Shall toil in his, which I am sorry for.

I love, I love him dearly. "But the love,

That men their country and their birthright bear,

Exceeds all loves; and dearer is by far

Our country's love, than friends or children are."

CASSIUS. If this brave care be nourish'd in your blood,

Or if so frank a will your soul possess,

Why haste we not, even while these words are utter'd,

To sheathe our new-ground swords in Cæsar's throat?

Why spend we daylight, and why dies he not,

That by his death we wretches may revive?

We stay too long: I burn, till I be there

To see this massacre, and send his ghost

To theirs, whom (subtly) he for monarchy

Made fight to death with show of liberty.

BRUTUS. Yet haply he (as Sylla whilom did)

When he hath rooted civil war from Rome,

Will therewithal discharge the power he hath.

CASSIUS. Cæsar and Sylla, Brutus, be not like.

Sylla (assaulted by the enemy)

Did arm himself (but in his own defence)

Against both Cinna's host and Marius;

Whom when he had discomfited and chas'd,

And of his safety throughly was assur'd,

He laid apart the power that he had got,

And gave up rule, for he desired it not.

Where Cæsar, that in silence might have slept,

Nor urg'd by aught but his ambition,

Did break into the heart of Italy;

And like rude Brennus brought his men to field:

Travers'd the seas, and shortly after (back'd

With winter'd soldiers us'd to conquering),

He aim'd at us, bent to exterminate

Whoever sought to intercept his state:

Now, having got what he hath gaped for,

(Dear Brutus) think you Cæsar such a child,

Slightly to part with so great signiory?

Believe it not, he bought it dear, you know,

And travelled too far to leave it so.

BRUTUS. But, Cassius, Cæsar is not yet a king.

CASSIUS. No, but dictator; in effect as much.

He doth what pleaseth him--a princely thing.

And wherein differ they, whose power is such?

BRUTUS. He is not bloody.

CASSIUS. But by bloody jars

He hath unpeopl'd most part of the earth.

Both Gaul and Afric perish'd by his wars;

Egypt, Emathia, Italy, and Spain,

Are full of dead men's bones by Cæsar slain.

Th' infectious plague and famine's bitterness,

Or th' ocean (whom no pity can assuage),

Though they contain dead bodies numberless,

Are yet inferior to Cæsar's rage;

Who (monster-like) with his ambition

Hath left more tombs than ground to lay them on.

BRUTUS. Soldiers with such reproach should not be blam'd.

CASSIUS. He with his soldiers hath himself defam'd.

BRUTUS. Why, then, you think there is no praise in war.

CASSIUS. Yes, where the causes reasonable are.

BRUTUS. He hath enrich'd the empire with new states.

CASSIUS. Which with ambition now he ruinates.

BRUTUS. He hath reveng'd the Gauls' old injury,

And made them subject to our Roman laws.

CASSIUS. The restful Almains with his cruelty

He rashly stirr'd against us without cause;

And hazarded our city and ourselves

Against a harmless nation, kindly given;

To whom we should do well (for some amends)

To render him, and reconcile old friends.

These nations did he purposely provoke,

To make an army for his after-aid

Against the Romans, whom in policy

He train'd in war to steal their signiory.

"Like them that (striving at th' Olympian sports,

To grace themselves with honour of the game)

Anoint their sinews fit for wrestling,

And (ere they enter) use some exercise."

The Gauls were but a fore-game fetch'd about

For civil discord, wrought by Cæsar's sleights;

Whom (to be king himself) he soon remov'd;

Teaching a people hating servitude

To fight for that, that did their deaths conclude.

BRUTUS. The wars once ended, we shall quickly know,

Whether he will restore the state or no.

CASSIUS. No, Brutus, never look to see that day,

For Cæsar holdeth signiory too dear.

But know, while Cassius hath one drop of blood

To feed this worthless body that you see,

What reck I death to do so many good?

In spite of Cæsar, Cassius will be free.

BRUTUS. A generous or true ennobled spirit

Detests to learn what tastes of servitude.

CASSIUS. Brutus, I cannot serve nor see Rome yok'd;

No, let me rather die a thousand deaths.

"The stiff-neck'd horses champ not on the bit,

Nor meekly bear the rider but by force:

The sturdy oxen toil not at the plough,

Nor yield unto the yoke, but by constraint."

Shall we then, that are men and Romans born,

Submit us to unurged slavery?

Shall Rome, that hath so many overthrown,

Now make herself a subject to her own?

O base indignity! A beardless youth,

Whom king Nicomedes could overreach,

Commands the world, and bridleth all the earth,

And like a prince controls the Romulists;

Brave Roman soldiers, stern-born sons of Mars,

And none, not one, that dares to undertake

The intercepting of his tyranny.

O Brutus, speak! O say, Servilius!

Why cry you aim![364] and see us used thus?

But Brutus lives, and sees, and knows, and feels,

That there is one that curbs their country's weal.

Yet (as he were the semblance, not the son,

Of noble Brutus, his great grandfather):

As if he wanted hands, sense, sight, or heart,

He doth, deviseth, sees, nor dareth ought,

That may extirp or raze these tyrannies.

Nor ought doth Brutus that to Brute belongs,

But still increaseth by his negligence

His own disgrace and Cæsar's violence.

The wrong is great, and overlong endur'd;

We should have practis'd, conspir'd, conjured

A thousand ways and weapons to repress,

Or kill outright, this cause of our distress.

CHORUS. Who prodigally spends his blood

Bravely to do his country good,

And liveth to no other end,

But resolutely to attempt,

What may the innocent defend,

And bloody tyrants' rage prevent:

And he that, in his soul assur'd,

Hath water's force and fire endur'd,

And pass'd the pikes of thousand hosts,

To free the earth from tyranny,

And fearless scours on dang'rous coasts,

T' enlarge his country's liberty:

Were all the world his foes before,

Now shall they love him evermore;

His glory, spread abroad by Fame

On wings of his posterity,

From obscure death shall free his name,

To live in endless memory.

All after-ages shall adore,

And honour him with hymns therefore.

Yearly the youth for joy shall bring

The fairest flowers that grow in Rome;

And yearly in the summer sing,

O'er his heroic kingly tomb.

For so the two Athenians,

That from their fellow-citizens

Did freely chase vile servitude,

Shall live for valiant prowess blest;

No sepulchre shall e'er exclude

Their glory, equal with the best.

But when the vulgar, mad and rude,

Repay good with ingratitude,

Hardly then they them reward,

That to free them from the hands

Of a tyrant, ne'er regard

In what plight their person stands.

For high Jove, that guideth all,

When he lets his just wrath fall,

To revenge proud diadems,

With huge cares did cross kings' lives,

Raising treasons in their realms

By their children, friends, or wives.

Therefore he, whom all men fear,

Feareth all men everywhere.

Fear, that doth engender hate

(Hate enforcing them thereto),

Maketh many undertake

Many things they would not do.

O, how many mighty kings

Live in fear of petty things!

For when kings have sought by wars

Stranger towns to have o'erthrown,

They have caught deserved scars,

Seeking that was not their own.

For no tyrant commonly,

Living ill, can kindly die;

But either traitorously surpris'd

Doth coward poison quail[365] their breath,

Or their people have devis'd,

On their guard, to seek their death.

He only lives most happily

That, free and far from majesty,

Can live content, although unknown;

He fearing none, none fearing him:

Meddling with nothing but his own,

While gazing eyes at crowns grow dim.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ CÆSAR _and_ MARK ANTONY.

CÆSAR. O Rome, that with thy pride dost overpeer

The worthiest cities of the conquer'd world;

Whose honour, got by famous victories,

Hath filled heaven's fiery vaults with frightful horror!

O lofty towers! O stately battlements!

O glorious temples! O proud palaces!

And you brave walls, bright heaven's masonry,

Grac'd with a thousand kingly diadems!

Are ye not stirred with a strange delight,

To see your Cæsar's matchless victories?

And how your empire and your praise begins

Through fame, which he of stranger nations wins?

O beauteous Tiber, with thine easy streams,

That glide as smoothly as a Parthian shaft!

Turn not thy crispy[366] tides like silver curl,

Back to thy grass-green banks to welcome us;

And with a gentle murmur haste to tell

The foaming seas the honour of our fight?

Trudge not thy streams to Triton's mariners,

To bruit the praises of our conquest past?

And make their vaunts to old Oceanus,

That henceforth Tiber shall salute the seas,

More fam'd than Tiger or fair Euphrates?

Now all the world (well-nigh) doth stoop to Rome:

The sea, the earth, and all is almost ours.

Be't, where the bright sun with his neighbour beams

Doth early light the pearled Indians,

Or where his chariot stays to stop the day,

Till heaven unlock the darkness of the night.

Be't, where the sea is wrapt in crystal ice,

Or where the summer doth but warm the earth.

Or here, or there, where is not Rome renown'd?

There lives no king (how great soe'er he be)

But trembleth if he once but hear of me.

Cæsar is now earth's fame and Fortune's terror,

And Cæsar's worth hath stain'd old soldiers' praises.

Rome, speak no more of either Scipio,

Nor of the Fabii, or Fabricians;

Here let the Decii and their glory die.

Cæsar hath tam'd more nations, ta'en more towns,

And fought more battles than the best of them.

Cæsar doth triumph over all the world,

And all they scarcely conquered a nook.

The Gauls, that came to Tiber to carouse,

Did live to see my soldiers drink at Loire;

And those brave Germans, true-born martialists,

Beheld the swift Rhine under-run mine ensigns.

The Britons (lock'd within a wat'ry realm,

And wall'd by Neptune) stoop'd to me at last.

The faithless Moor, the fierce Numidian,

Th' earth that the Euxine sea makes sometimes marsh,

The stony-hearted people that inhabit,

Where sevenfold Nilus doth disgorge itself,

Have all been urg'd to yield to my command;

Yea, even this city, that hath almost made

An universal conquest of the world;

And that brave warrior, my brother-in-law,

That (ill-advis'd) repined at my glory:

Pompey, that second Mars, whose haught'[367] renown

And noble deeds were greater than his fortunes,

Prov'd to his loss, but even in one assault

My hand, my hap, my heart exceeded his,

When the Thessalian fields were purpled o'er

With either army's murder'd soldiers' gore;

When he, to conquering accustomed,

Did conquered fly, his troops discomfited.

Now Scipio, that long'd to show himself

Descent of African (so fam'd for arms),

He durst affront me and my warlike bands

Upon the coasts of Libya, till he lost

His scatter'd army, and to shun the scorn

Of being taken captive, kill'd himself.

Now therefore let us triumph, Antony;

And, rend'ring thanks to Heaven as we go,

For bridling those that did malign our glory,

Let's to the Capitol.

ANTONY. Come on, brave Cæsar,

And crown thy head and mount thy chariot.

Th' impatient people run along the streets,

And in a rout against thy gates they rush,

To see their Cæsar after danger's past,

Made conqueror and emperor at last.

CÆSAR. I call to witness heaven's great Thunderer,

That 'gainst my will I have maintain'd this war.

Nor thirsted I for conquests bought with blood.

I joy not in the death of citizens;

But, through my self-will'd enemies' despite

And Romans' wrong, was I constrain'd to fight.

ANTONY. They sought t' eclipse thy fame; but destiny

Revers'd th' effect of their ambition;

And Cæsar's praise increas'd by their disgrace,

That reck'd not of his virtuous deeds. But thus

We see it fareth with the envious.

CÆSAR. I never had the thought to injure them.

Howbeit I never meant my greatness should

By any other's greatness be o'errul'd.

For as I am inferior to none,

So can I suffer no superiors.

ANTONY. Well, Cæsar, now they are discomfited,

And crows are feasted with their carcases;

And yet I fear you have too kindly sav'd

Those, that your kindness hardly will requite.

CÆSAR. Why, Antony, what would you wish me do?

Now shall you see that they will pack to Spain,

And, joined with the exiles there encamp'd,

Until th' ill spirit, that doth them defend,

Do bring their treasons to a bloody end.

ANTONY. I fear not those that to their weapons fly,

And keep their state in Spain, in Spain to die.

CÆSAR. Whom fear'st thou then, Mark Antony?

ANTONY. The hateful crew

That, wanting power in field to conquer you,

Have in their coward souls devised snares

To murder thee, and take thee at unwares.

CÆSAR. Will those conspire my death that live by me?

ANTONY. In conquer'd foes what credit can there be?

CÆSAR. Besides their lives, I did their goods restore.

ANTONY. O, but their country's good concerns them more.

CÆSAR. What, think they me to be their country's foe?

ANTONY. No, but that thou usurp'st the right they owe.[368]

CÆSAR. To Rome have I submitted mighty things.

ANTONY. Yet Rome endures not the command of kings.

CÆSAR. Who dares to contradict our empery?[369]

ANTONY. Those whom thy rule hath robb'd of liberty.

CÆSAR. I fear them not, whose death is but deferr'd.

ANTONY. I fear my foe, until he be interr'd.

CÆSAR. A man may make his foe his friend, you know.

ANTONY. A man may easier make his friend his foe.

CÆSAR. Good deeds the cruel'st heart to kindness bring.

ANTONY. But resolution is a deadly thing.

CÆSAR. If citizens my kindness have forgot,

Whom shall I then not fear?

ANTONY. Those that are not.

CÆSAR. What, shall I slay then all that I suspect?

ANTONY. Else cannot Cæsar empery endure.

CÆSAR. Rather I will my life and all neglect.

Nor labour I my vain life to assure;

But so to die, as dying I may live,

And, leaving off this earthly tomb of mine,

Ascend to heaven upon my winged deeds.

And shall I not have lived long enough,

That in so short a time am so much fam'd?

Can I too soon go taste Cocytus' flood?

No, Antony, death cannot injure us,

"For he lives long that dies victorious."

ANTONY. Thy praises show thy life is long enough,

But for thy friends and country all too short.

Should Cæsar live as long as Nestor did,

Yet Rome may wish his life eternised.

CÆSAR. Heaven sets our time; with heaven may nought dispense.

ANTONY. But we may shorten time with negligence.

CÆSAR. But Fortune and the heavens have care of us.

ANTONY. Fortune is fickle, heaven imperious.

CÆSAR. What shall I then do?

ANTONY. As befits your state;

Maintain a watchful guard about your gate.

CÆSAR. What more assurance may our state defend,

Than love of those that do on us attend?

ANTONY. There is no hatred more, if it be mov'd,

Than theirs whom we offend, and once belov'd.

CÆSAR. Better it is to die than be suspicious.

ANTONY. 'Tis wisdom yet not to be credulous.

CÆSAR. The quiet life, that carelessly is led,

Is not alonely happy in this world;

But death itself doth sometime pleasure us.

That death, that comes unsent for or unseen,

And suddenly doth take us at unware,

Methinks is sweetest; and, if heaven were pleas'd,

I could desire that I might die so well.

The fear of evil doth afflict us more

Than th' evil itself, though it be ne'er so sore.

[_Exeunt._

_A Chorus of_ CÆSAR'S _Friends_.

O fair sun, that gently smiles

From the orient-pearled isles,

Gilding these our gladsome days

With the beauty of thy rays:

Free fro' rage of civil strife,

Long preserve our Cæsar's life,

That from sable Afric brings

Conquests, whereof Europe rings.

And fair Venus, thou of whom

The Æneades are come,

Henceforth vary not thy grace

From Iulus' happy race.

Rather cause thy dearest son,

By his triumphs new-begun,

To expel fro' forth the land

Fierce war's quenchless firebrand.

That of care acquitting us

(Who at last adore him thus),

He a peaceful star appear,

From our walls all foes to clear.

And so let his warlike brows

Still be deck'd with laurel-boughs,

And his statues newly set

With many a fresh-flower'd coronet.

So in every place let be

Feasts and masques, and mirthful glee,

Strewing roses in the street,

When their emperor they meet.