ACT V., SCENE 3.

TANCRED _in haste cometh out of his palace with_ JULIO.

TANCRED. Where is my daughter?

JULIO. Behold, here, woful king!

TANCRED. Ah me! break, heart; and thou, fly forth, my soul.

What, doth my daughter Gismund take it so?

What hast thou done? O, let me see thine eyes!

O, let me dress up those untrimmed locks![87]

Look up, sweet child, look up, mine only joy,

'Tis I, thy father, that beseecheth thee:

Rear up thy body, strain thy dying voice

To speak to him; sweet Gismund, speak to me.

GISMUNDA. Who stays my soul? who thus disquiets me?

TANCRED. 'Tis I, thy father; ah! behold my tears,

Like pearled dew, that trickle down my cheeks,

To wash my silver hairs.

GISMUNDA. O father king,

Forbear your tears, your plaint will not avail.

TANCRED. O my sweet heart, hast thou receiv'd thy life

From me, and wilt thou, to requite the same,

Yield me my death? yea, death, and greater grief--

To see thee die for him, that did defame

Thine honour thus, my kingdom, and thy name?

GISMUNDA. Yea, therefore, father, gave you life to me,

That I should die, and now my date is done.

As for your kingdom and mine own renown,

Which you affirm dishonoured to be,

That fault impute it where it is; for he,

That slew mine Earl, and sent his heart to me,

His hands have brought this shame and grief on us.

But, father, yet if any spark remain

Of your dear love; if ever yet I could

So much deserve, or at your hands desire,

Grant that I may obtain this last request.

TANCRED. Say, lovely child, say on, whate'er it be,

Thy father grants it willingly to thee.

GISMUNDA. My life I crave not, for it is not now

In you to give, nor in myself to save;

Nor crave I mercy for mine Earl and me,

Who hath been slain with too much cruelty.

With patience I must a while abide

Within this life, which now will not be long.

But this is my request--father, I pray

That, since it pleased so your majesty,

I should enjoy my love alive no more,

Yet ne'ertheless let us not parted be,

Whom cruel death could never separate:

But as we liv'd and died together here,

So let our bodies be together tomb'd:

Let him with me, and I with him, be laid

Within one shrine, wherever you appoint.

This if you grant me, as I trust you will,

Although I live not to requite this grace,

Th'immortal gods due recompense shall give

To you for this: and so, vain world, farewell--

My speech is painful, and mine eyesight fails.

TANCRED. My daughter dies--see how the bitter pangs

Of tyrannous death torments her princely heart!

She looks on me, at me she shakes her head;

For me she groans; by me my daughter dies;

I, I the author of this tragedy.--

On me, on me, ye heavens, throw down your ire!

Now dies my daughter! [_she dies_] hence with

princely robes! [_He throws aside his robes_.

O fair in life! thrice fairer in thy death!

Dear to thy father in thy life thou wert,

But in thy death dearest unto his heart;

I kiss thy paled cheeks, and close thine eyes.

This duty once I promis'd to myself

Thou shouldst perform to me; but ah! false hope,

Now ruthful, wretched king, what resteth thee?

Wilt thou now live wasted with misery?

Wilt thou now live, that with these eyes didst see

Thy daughter dead? wilt thou now live to see

Her funerals, that of thy life was stay?

Wilt thou now live that wast her life's decay?

Shall not this hand reach to this heart the stroke?

Mine arms are not so weak, nor are my limbs

So feebled with mine age, nor is my heart

So daunted with the dread of cowardice,

But I can wreak due vengeance on that head,

That wrought the means these lovers now be dead.

Julio, come near, and lay thine own right hand

Upon my thigh[88]--now take thine oath of me.

JULIO. I swear to thee, my liege lord, to discharge

Whatever thou enjoinest Julio.

TANCRED. First, then, I charge thee that my daughter have

Her last request: thou shalt within one tomb

Inter her Earl and her, and thereupon

Engrave some royal epitaph of love.

That done, I swear thee thou shalt take my corpse

Which thou shalt find by that time done to death,

And lay my body by my daughter's side--

Swear this, swear this, I say.

JULIO. I swear.

But will the king do so unkingly now?

TANCRED. A kingly deed the king resolves to do.

JULIO. To kill himself?

TANCRED. To send his soul to ease.

JULIO. Doth Jove command it?

TANCRED. Our stars compel it.

JULIO. The wise man overrules his stars.

TANCRED. So we.

JULIO. Undaunted should the minds of kings endure.

TANCRED. So shall it in this resolution.

Julio, forbear: and as thou lov'st the king,

When thou shalt see him welt'ring in his gore.

Stretching his limbs, and gasping in his groans,

Then, Julio, set to thy helping hand,

Redouble stroke on stroke, and drive the stab

Down deeper to his heart, to rid his soul.

Now stand aside, stir not a foot, lest thou

Make up the fourth to fill this tragedy.

These eyes that first beheld my daughter's shame;

These eyes that longed for the ruthful sight

Of her Earl's heart; these eyes that now have seen

His death, her woe, and her avenging teen;

Upon these eyes we must be first aveng'd.

Unworthy lamps of this accursed lump,

Out of your dwellings! [_Puts out his eyes_] So; it fits us thus

In blood and blindness to go seek the path

That leadeth down to everlasting night.

Why fright'st thou, dastard? be thou desperate;

One mischief brings another on his neck,

As mighty billows tumble in the seas,

Now, daughter, seest thou not how I amerce

My wrath, that thus bereft thee of thy love,

Upon my head? Now, fathers, learn by me,

Be wise, be warn'd to use more tenderly

The jewels of your joys. Daughter, I come.

[_Kills himself_.

FINIS.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY JULIO.

Lo here the sweets of grisly pale despair!

These are the blossoms of this cursed tree,

Such are the fruits of too much love and care,

O'erwhelmed in the sense of misery.

With violent hands he that his life doth end,

His damned soul to endless night doth wend.

Now resteth it that I discharge mine oath,

To see th'unhappy lovers and the king

Laid in one tomb. I would be very loth

You should wait here to see this mournful thing:

For I am sure, and do ye all to wit,

Through grief wherein the lords of Salerne be,

These funerals are not prepared yet:

Nor do they think on that solemnity.

As for the fury, ye must understand,

Now she hath seen th'effect of her desire,

She is departed, and hath left our land.

Granting this end unto her hellish ire.

Now humbly pray we, that our English dames

May never lead their loves into mistrust;

But that their honours may avoid the shames,

That follow such as live in wanton lust.

We know they bear them on their virtues bold,

With blissful chastity so well content

That, when their lives and loves abroad are told,

All men admire their virtuous government;

Worthy to live where fury never came,

Worthy to live where love doth always see,

Worthy to live in golden trump of fame,

Worthy to live and honoured still to be.

Thus end our sorrows with the setting sun:

Now draw the curtains, for our scene is done.

R.W.

THE WOUNDS OF CIVIL WAR.

_EDITION.

The Wounds of Civill War. Lively set forth in the true Tragedies of

Marius and Scilla. As it hath beene publiquely plaide in London, by the

Right Honourable the Lord high Admirall his Servants. Written by Thomas

Lodge, Gent_. O vita! misero longa, faelici brevis. _London, Printed by

John Danter, and are to be sold at the signe of the Sunne in Paules

Church-yarde_. 1594. 4to.

MR. COLLIER'S PREFACE.[89]

Thomas Lodge, in his "Alarum against Usurers," 1584, speaks of his

"birth," and of "the offspring from whence he came," as if he were at

least respectably descended; and on the authority of Anthony Wood, it

has been asserted by all subsequent biographers that he was of a

Lincolnshire family. [The fact is, that Lodge was the second son of Sir

Thomas Lodge, Lord Mayor of London, who died in 1584, by his wife, the

daughter of Sir William Laxton.] Thomas Salter, about the year 1580,

dedicated his "Mirror of Modesty" to [the poet's mother, Lady Anne

Lodge].

Langbaine seems to be under a mistake when he states that Lodge was of

Cambridge. Wood claims him for the University of Oxford,[90] where he

traces him as early as 1573, when he must have been about seventeen

years old, if he were born, as is generally supposed, in 1556. We are

told by himself that he was a Servitor of Trinity College, and that he

was educated under Sir Edward Hoby. At what time and for what cause

Lodge left Oxford is not known; but Stephen Gosson, in the dedication of

his "Plays Confuted in Five Actions," printed about 1582,[91] accuses

him of having become "a vagrant person, visited by the heavy hand of

God," as if he had taken to the stage, and thereby had incurred the

vengeance of heaven. In 1584, when Lodge answered Gosson, he was a

student of Lincoln's Inn;[92] and to "his courteous friends, the

Gentlemen of the Inns of Court," he dedicated his "Alarum against

Usurers." He afterwards, as he informs Lord Hunsdon, in the epistle

before his "Rosalynde," 1590, "fell from books to arms;" and he calls it

"the work of a soldier and a scholar," adding that he had sailed with

Captain Clarke to the islands of Terceras and the Canaries. In 1596, he

published his "Margarite of America," and he mentions that it was

written in the Straits of Magellan, on a voyage with Cavendish. To this

species of vagrancy, however, Gosson did not refer.

That Lodge was vagrant in his pursuits we have sufficient evidence; for,

after having perhaps been upon the stage, having entered himself at

Lincoln's Inn, having become a soldier, and having sailed with Clarke

and Cavendish, he went, according to Wood, to study medicine at

Avignon.[93] This change, if it took place at all, which may admit of

doubt,[94] did not occur until after 1596. In 1595 his "Fig for Momus"

appeared. Besides Satires, it contains Epistles and Eclogues; and in one

of the latter Lodge speaks in his own person, under the character of

"Golde" (the same letters that compose his name), and there states his

determination no longer to pursue ill-rewarded poetry--

"Which sound rewards, since this neglected time,

Repines to yield to men of high desert,

I'll cease to ravel out my wits in rhyme,

For such who make so base account of art;

And since by wit there is no means to climb,

I'll hold the plough awhile, and ply the cart;

And if my muse to wonted course return,

I'll write and judge, peruse, commend and burn."

The dedication of his "Wit's Misery, and the World's Madness," is dated

"from my house, at Low Layton, 5th November 1596."

The principal reasons for supposing that Lodge studied medicine are the

existence of a "Treatise of the Plague," published by "Thomas Lodge,

Doctor in Physic," in 1603, and of a collection of medical recipes in

MS., called "The Poor Man's Legacy," addressed to the Countess of

Arundel, and sold among the books of the Duke of Norfolk.[95] [There can

be little or no question that the physician and poet were one and the

same. In "England's Parnassus," 1600, he is called indifferently Thomas

Lodge and Doctor Lodge.] The author of the "Treatise of the Plague"

expressly tells the Lord Mayor of London, in the dedication, that he was

"bred and brought up" in the city. Thomas Heywood, in his "Troja

Britannica," 1609, enumerates the celebrated physicians then living--

"As famous Butler, Pedy, Turner, Poe,

Atkinson, Lyster, _Lodge_, who still survive."--C. 3.

It hardly deserves remark that Lodge is placed last in this list; but

had he been the same individual who had written for the stage, was the

friend of so many dramatists, and was so well known as a lyric poet, it

seems likely that Heywood would have said more about him.[96] It is a

singular coincidence, that having written how to prevent and cure the

plague, he should die of that disease during the great mortality of

1625. Wood's expressions on this point, however, are not decisive: "He

made his last _exit_ (of the plague, I think) in September 1625, leaving

then behind him a widow called Joan." It has been conjectured [rather

foolishly] that he was a Roman Catholic, from a statement made by one of

his biographers that, while he practised medicine in London, he was much

patronised by persons of that persuasion.

There are but two existing dramatic productions on the title-pages of

which the name of Lodge is found:[97] the one he wrote alone, and the

other in partnership with Robert Greene:--

(1.) The Wounds of Civill War. Lively set forth in the true Tragedies of

Marius and Scilla, &c. Written by Thomas Lodge, Gent. 1594, 4to.

(2.) A Looking Glasse for London and Englande. Made by Thomas Lodge,

Gentleman, and Robert Greene, _in Artibus Magister_. 1594, 1598, 1602,

1617, all in 4to.[98]

The most remarkable [of his works], and that which has been most often

reprinted, is his "Rosalynde" which, as is well known, Shakespeare

closely followed in "As You Like It."[99]

Anterior to the date of any of his other pieces must have been Lodge's

defence of stage-plays, because Stephen Gosson replied to it about 1582.

It was long thought, on the authority of Prynne, that Lodge's tract was

called "The Play of Plays," but Mr Malone ascertained that to be a

different production. The only copy of Lodge's pamphlet seen by Mr

Malone was without a title, and it was probably the same that was sold

among the books of Topham Beauclerc in 1781. It is spoken of in "The

French Academy" [1589] as having "lately passed the press;" but Lodge

himself, in his "Alarum against Usurers," very clearly accounts for its

extreme rarity: he says, "by reason of the slenderness of the subject

(because it was in defence of plaies and play-makers) the godly and

reverent that had to deal in the cause, misliking it, forbad the

publishing;" and he charges Gosson with "comming by a private unperfect

coppye," on which he framed his answer, entitled, "Plays confuted in

Five Actions."

Mr Malone ("Shakespeare," by Boswell, ii. 250) contends that Spenser

alludes to Lodge, in his "Tears of the Muses," under the name of Alcon,

in the following lines:--

"And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise

His tunes from lays to matters of more skill;"

and he adds that Spenser calls Lodge Alcon, from one of the characters

in "A Looking Glasse for London and Englande;" but this argument would

apply just as much to Lodge's coadjutor Greene. Mr Malone further argues

that Lodge, roused by this applause (which he repaid in his "Phillis"),

produced not long afterwards a "matter of more skill," in "The Wounds of

Civil War."

THE MOST LAMENTABLE AND TRUE

TRAGEDIES OF

MARIUS AND SYLLA.[100]

_Enter on the Capitol_ SULPITIUS, _Tribune_, CAIUS MARIUS,

Q. POMPEY, _Consul_, JUNIUS BRUTUS, LUCRETIUS, CAIUS GRANIUS,

LECTORIUS, LUCIUS MERULA, _Jupiter's Priest, and_ CINNA;

_whom placed, and their Lictors before them with their rods

and axes_, SULPITIUS _beginneth_.

SULPITIUS. Grave senators, and fathers of this state,

Our strange protractions and unkind delays

Where weighty wars doth call us out to fight,

Our factious wits, to please aspiring lords,

(You see) have added power unto our foes,

And hazarded rich Phrygia and Bithinia,

With all our Asian holds and cities too.

Thus Sylla seeking to be general,

Who is invested in our consul's pall,[101]

Hath forced murders in a quiet state;

The cause whereof even Pompey may complain,

Who, seeking to advance a climbing friend,

Hath lost by death a sweet and courteous son.

Who now in Asia but Mithridates

Laughs at these fond dissensions I complain?

While we, in wrangling for a general,

Forsake our friends, forestal our forward war,

And leave our legions full of dalliance:

Waiting our idle wills at Capua.

Fie, Romans! shall the glories of your names,

The wondrous beauty of this capitol,

Perish through Sylla's insolence and pride;

As if that Rome were robb'd of true renown,

And destitute of warlike champions now?

Lo, here the man, the rumour of whose fame,

Hath made Iberia tremble and submit:

See Marius, that in managing estate,

Though many cares and troubles he hath pass'd,

And spent his youth, upon whose reverend head

The milk-white pledge of wisdom sweetly spreads.

He, six times consul, fit for peace or war,

Sits drooping here, content to brook disgrace,

Who glad to fight through follies of his foes

Sighs for your shame, whilst you abide secure.

And I that see and should recure these wrongs,

Through Pompey's late vacation and delay,

Have left to publish him for general,

That merits better titles far than these.

But, nobles, now the final day is come,

When I, your tribune, studying for renown,

Pronounce and publish Marius general,

To lead our legions against Mithridates,

And crave, grave fathers, signs of your content.

Q. POMPEY. Believe me, noble Romans and grave senators,

This strange election, and this new-made law

Will witness our unstable government,

And dispossess Rome of her empery:

For although Marius be renown'd in arms,

Famous for prowess, and grave in warlike drifts,

Yet may the sunshine of his former deeds

Nothing eclipse our Sylla's dignity.

By lot and by election he was made

Chief general against Mithridates,

And shall we then abridge him of that rule?

'Twere injury to Sylla and to Rome:

Nor would the height of his all-daring mind

Brook to the death so vile and foul disgrace.

J. BRUTUS. Why, Pompey, as if the senate had not power

To appoint, dispose, and change their generals!

Rome shall belike be bound to Sylla's rule,

Whose haughty pride and swelling thoughts puff'd-up

Foreshows the reaching to proud Tarquin's state.

Is not his ling'ring to our Roman loss

At Capua, where he braves it out with feasts,

Made known, think you, unto the senate here?

Yes, Pompey, yes; and hereof are we sure,

If Romans' state on Sylla's pride should lie,

Rome's conquests would to Pontus' regions fly;

Therefore, grave and renowned senators,

(Pillars that bear and hold our rule aloft,

You stately, true, and rich pyramids)

Descend into the depth of your estates;

Then shall you find that Sylla is more fit

To rule in Rome domestical affairs,

Than have the conquest of Bithinia,

Which, if once got, he'll but by death forego:

Therefore I say [let] Marius [be] our general.

LUCRETIUS. So thus we strive abroad to win renown,

And nought regard at home our waning states.

Brutus, I say, the many brave exploits,

The warlike acts that Sylla has achiev'd

Show him a soldier and a Roman too,

Whose care is more for country than himself.

Sylla nill brook[102], that in so many wars,

So hard adventures and so strange extremes,

Hath borne the palm and prize of victory,

Thus with dishonour to give up his charge.

Sylla hath friends and soldiers at command,

That first will make the towers of Rome to shake,

And force the stately capitol to dance,

Ere any rob him of his just renown.

Then we that through the Caspian shores have run,

And spread with ships the Oriental sea,

At home shall make a murder of our friends,

And massacre our dearest countrymen.

LECTORIUS. The power of Sylla nought will 'vail 'gainst Rome;

And let me die, Lucretius, ere I see

Our senate dread for any private man. Therefore,

Renown'd Sulpitius, send for Sylla back:

Let Marius lead our men in Asia.

L. MERULA. The law the senate wholly doth affirm:

Let Marius lead our men in Asia.

ClNNA. Cinna affirms the senate's censure just,

And saith let Marius lead the legions forth.

C. GRANIUS. Honour and victory follow Marius' steps!

For him doth Granius wish to fight for Rome.

SULPITIUS. Why then, you sage and ancient sires of Rome,

Sulpitius here again doth publish forth,

That Marius by the senate here is made

Chief general to lead the legions out

Against Mithridates and his competitors.

Now victory, for honour of Rome, follow Marius!

[_Here let_ MARIUS _rouse himself_.

MARIUS. Sage and imperial senators of Rome,

Not without good advisement have you seen

Old Marius silent during your discourse:

Yet not for that he fear'd to plead his cause,

Or raise his honour trodden down by age,

But that his words should not allure his friends

To stand on stricter terms for his behoof.

Six times the senate by election hath

Made Marius consul over warlike Rome,

And in that space nor Rome nor all the world

Could ever say that Marius was untrue.

These silver hairs, that hang upon my face,

Are witnesses of my unfeigned zeal.

The Cymbrians, that erewhile invaded France,

And held the Roman empire in disdain,

Lay all confounded under Marius' sword:

Fierce Scipio, the mirror once of Rome,

Whose loss as yet my inward soul bewails,

Being ask'd who should succeed and bear his rule,

Even this, quoth he, shall Scipio's armour bear;

And therewithal clapp'd me upon the back.[103]

If then, grave lords, my former-passed youth

Was spent in bringing honours unto[104] Rome,

Let then my age and latter date of years,

Be sealed up for honour unto Rome.

_Here enter_ SYLLA, _with Captains and Soldiers_.

SULPITIUS. Sylla, what mean these arms and warlike troops?

These glorious ensigns and these fierce alarm[s]

'Tis proudly done to brave the capitol!

SYLLA. These arms, Sulpitius, are not borne for hate,

But maintenance of my confirmed state:

I come to Rome with no seditious thoughts,

Except I find too froward injuries.

SULPITIUS. But wisdom would you did forbear

To yield these slight suspicions of contempt,

Where as the senate studieth high affairs.

SYLLA. What serious matters have these lords in hand?

SULPITIUS. The senators with full decree appoint

Old Marius for their captain-general,

To lead thy legions into Asia,

And fight against the fierce Mithridates.

SYLLA. To Marius? Jolly stuff! Why then I see

Your lordships mean to make a babe of me.

J. BRUTUS. 'Tis true, Sylla, the senate hath agreed

That Marius shall those bands and legions bear,

Which you now hold, against Mithridates.

SYLLA. Marius should[105] lead them then, if Sylla said not no;

And I should be a consul's shadow then.

Trustless senators and ungrateful Romans,

For all the honours I have done to Rome,

For all the spoils I brought within her walls,

Thereby for to enrich and raise her pride,

Repay you me with this ingratitude?

You know, unkind, that Sylla's wounded helm

Was ne'er hung up once, or distain'd with rust:

The Marcians that before me fell amain,

And like to winter-hail on every side,

Unto the city Nuba I pursued,

And for your sakes were thirty thousand slain.

The Hippinians and the Samnites Sylla brought

As tributaries unto famous Rome:

Ay, where did Sylla ever draw his sword,

Or lift his warlike hand above his head

For Romans' cause, but he was conqueror?

And now, unthankful, seek you to disgrade

And tear the plumes that Sylla's sword hath won?

Marius, I tell thee Sylla is the man

Disdains to stoop or vail his pride to thee.

Marius, I say thou may'st nor shalt not have

The charge that unto Sylla doth belong,

Unless thy sword could tear it from my heart,

Which in a thousand folds impales[106] the same.

MARIUS. And, Sylla, hereof be thou full assur'd:

The honour, whereto mine undaunted mind

And this grave senate hath enhanced me,

Thou nor thy followers shall derogate.

The space[107] of years that Marius hath o'erpass'd

In foreign broils and civil mutinies,

Hath taught him this: that one unbridled foe

My former fortunes never shall o'ergo.

SYLLA. Marius, I smile at these thy foolish words;

And credit me, should laugh outright, I fear,

If that I knew not how thy froward age

Doth make thy sense as feeble as thy joints.

MARIUS. Sylla, Sylla, Marius' years have taught

Him how to pluck so proud a younker's plumes;

And know, these hairs, that dangle down my face,

In brightness like the silver Rhodope,

Shall add so haughty courage to my mind,

And rest such piercing objects 'gainst thine eyes,

That mask'd in folly age shall force thee stoop.

SYLLA. And by my hand I swear, ere thou shalt 'maze me so,

My soul shall perish but I'll have thy beard.

Say, grave senators, shall Sylla be your general?

SULPITIUS. No: the senate, I, and Rome herself agrees

There's none but Marius shall be general.

Therefore, Sylla, these daring terms unfit

Beseem not thee before the capitol.

SYLLA. Beseem not me? Senators, advise you.

Sylla hath vowed, whose vows the heavens record,

Whose oaths have pierc'd and search'd the deepest vast,

Ay, and whose protestations reign on earth:

This capitol, wherein your glories shine,

Was ne'er so press'd and throng'd with scarlet gowns

As Rome shall be with heaps of slaughtered souls,

Before that Sylla yield his titles up.

I'll make[108] her streets, that peer into the clouds,

Burnish'd with gold and ivory pillars fair,

Shining with jasper, jet, and ebony,

All like the palace of the morning sun,

To swim within a sea of purple blood,

Before I lose the name of general.

MARIUS. These threats against thy country and these lords,

Sylla, proceed from forth a traitor's heart;

Whose head I trust to see advanced up

On highest top of all this capitol,

As erst was many of thy progeny,

Before thou vaunt thy victories in Rome.

SYLLA. Greybeard, if so thy heart and tongue agree,

Draw forth thy legions and thy men at arms;

Rear up thy standard and thy steeled crest,

And meet with Sylla in the fields of Mars,

And try whose fortune makes him general.

MARIUS. I take thy word: Marius will meet thee there,

And prove thee, Sylla, traitor unto Rome,

And all that march under thy trait'rous wings.

Therefore they that love the Senate and Marius,

Now follow him.

SYLLA. And all that love Sylla come down to him:

For the rest, let them follow Marius,

And the devil himself be their captain.

[_Here let the Senate rise and cast away their gowns,

having their swords by their sides. Exit_ MARIUS, _and

with him_ SULPITIUS, JUNIUS, BRUTUS, LECTORIUS.

Q. POMPEY. Sylla, I come to thee.

LUCRETIUS. Sylla, Lucretius will die with thee.

SYLLA. Thanks, my noble lords of Rome.

[_Here let them go down, and_ SYLLA _offers to go

forth, and_ ANTHONY _calls him back_:

ANTHONY. Stay, Sylla; hear Anthony breathe forth

The pleading plaints of sad declining Rome.

SYLLA. Anthony, thou know'st thy honey words do pierce

And move the mind of Sylla to remorse:

Yet neither words nor pleadings now must serve:

When as mine honour calls me forth to fight:

Therefore, sweet Anthony, be short for Sylla's haste.

ANTHONY. For Sylla's haste! O, whither wilt thou fly?

Tell me, my Sylla, what dost thou take in hand?

What wars are these thou stirrest up in Rome?

What fire is this is kindled by thy wrath?

A fire that must be quench'd by Romans' blood.

A war that will confound our empery;

And last, an act of foul impiety.

Brute beasts nill break the mutual law of love,

And birds affection will not violate:

The senseless trees have concord 'mongst themselves,

And stones agree in links of amity.

If they, my Sylla, brook not to have jar,

What then are men, that 'gainst themselves do war?

Thou'lt say, my Sylla, honour stirs thee up;

Is't honour to infringe the laws of Rome?

Thou'lt say, perhaps, the titles thou hast won

It were dishonour for thee to forego;

O, is there any height above the highest,

Or any better than the best of all?

Art thou not consul? art thou not lord of Rome?

What greater titles should our Sylla have?

But thou wilt hence, thou'lt fight with Marius,

The man the senate, ay, and Rome hath chose.

Think this, before thou never lift'st aloft,

And lettest fall thy warlike hand adown,

But thou dost raze and wound thy city Rome:

And look, how many slaughter'd souls lie slain

Under thy ensigns and thy conquering lance,

So many murders mak'st thou of thyself.

SYLLA. Enough, my Anthony, for thy honey'd tongue

Washed in a syrup of sweet conserves[109],

Driveth confused thoughts through Sylla's mind:

Therefore suffice thee, I may nor will not hear.

So farewell, Anthony; honour calls me hence:

Sylla will fight for glory and for Rome.

[_Exit_ SYLLA _and his followers_.

L. MERULA. See, noble Anthony, the trustless state of rule,

The stayless hold of matchless sovereignty:

Now fortune beareth Rome into the clouds,

To throw her down into the lowest hells;

For they that spread her glory through the world,

Are they that tear her proud, triumphant plumes:

The heart-burning pride of proud Tarquinius

Rooted from Rome the sway of kingly mace,

And now this discord, newly set abroach,

Shall raze our consuls and our senates down.

ANTHONY. Unhappy Rome, and Romans thrice accurs'd!

That oft with triumphs fill'd your city walls

With kings and conquering rulers of the world,

Now to eclipse, in top of all thy pride,

Through civil discords and domestic broils.

O Romans, weep the tears of sad lament,

And rend your sacred robes at this exchange,

For fortune makes our Rome a banding ball[110],

Toss'd from her hand to take the greater fall.

GRANIUS. O, whence proceed these foul, ambitious thoughts,

That fire men's hearts and make them thirst for rule?

Hath sovereignty so much bewitch'd the minds

Of Romans, that their former busied cares,

Which erst did tire in seeking city's good,

Must now be chang'd to ruin of her walls?

Must they, that rear'd her stately temples up,

Deface the sacred places of their gods?

Then may we wail, and wring our wretched hands,

Sith both our gods, our temples, and our walls,

Ambition makes fell fortune's spiteful thralls.

[_Exeunt all_.

[_A great alarum. Let young_ MARIUS _chase_ POMPEY

over the stage, and old_ MARIUS _chase_ LUCRETIUS.

_Then let enter three or four Soldiers, and his

ancient with his colours, and_ SYLLA _after them

with his hat in his hand: they offer to fly away_.

SYLLA. Why, whither fly you, Romans,

What mischief makes this flight?

Stay, good my friends: stay, dearest countrymen!

1ST SOLDIER. Stay, let us hear what our Lord Sylla say'th.

SYLLA. What, will you leave your chieftains, Romans, then,

And lose your honours in the gates of Rome?

What, shall our country see, and Sylla rue,

These coward thoughts so fix'd and firm'd in you?

What, are you come from Capua to proclaim

Your heartless treasons in this happy town?

What, will you stand and gaze with shameless looks,

Whilst Marius' butchering knife assails our throats?

Are you the men, the hopes, the stays of state?

Are you the soldiers prest[111] for Asia?

Are you the wondered legions of the world,

And will you fly these shadows of resist?

Well, Romans, I will perish through your pride,

That thought by you to have return'd in pomp;

And, at the least, your general shall prove,

Even in his death, your treasons and his love.

Lo, this the wreath that shall my body bind,

Whilst Sylla sleeps with honour in the field:

And I alone, within these colours shut,

Will blush your dastard follies in my death.

So, farewell, heartless soldiers and untrue,

That leave your Sylla, who hath loved you. [_Exit_.

1ST SOLDIER. Why, fellow-soldiers, shall we fly the field,

And carelessly forsake our general?

What, shall our vows conclude with no avail?

First die, sweet friends, and shed your purple blood,

Before you lose the man that wills you good.

Then to it, brave Italians, out of hand!

Sylla, we come with fierce and deadly blows

To venge thy wrongs and vanquish all thy foes.

[_Exeunt to the alarum_.

ACTUS SECUNDUS, SCENA PRIMA.

_Enter_ SYLLA _triumphant_; LUCRETIUS, POMPEY,

_with Soldiers_.

SYLLA. You, Roman soldiers, fellow-mates in arms,

The blindfold mistress of uncertain chance

Hath turn'd these traitorous climbers from the top,

And seated Sylla in the chiefest place--

The place beseeming Sylla and his mind.

For, were the throne, where matchless glory sits

Empal'd with furies, threatening blood and death,

Begirt with famine and those fatal fears,

That dwell below amidst the dreadful vast,

Tut, Sylla's sparkling eyes should dim with clear[112]

The burning brands of their consuming light,

And master fancy with a forward mind,

And mask repining fear with awful power:

For men of baser metal and conceit

Cannot conceive the beauty of my thought.

I, crowned with a wreath of warlike state,

Imagine thoughts more greater than a crown,

And yet befitting well a Roman mind.

Then, gentle ministers of all my hopes,

That with your swords made way unto my wish,

Hearken the fruits of your courageous fight.

In spite of all these Roman basilisks,

That seek to quell us with their currish looks,

We will to Pontus: we'll have gold, my hearts;

Those oriental pearls shall deck our brows.

And you, my gentle friends, you Roman peers:

Kind Pompey, worthy of a consul's name,

You shall abide the father of the state,

Whilst these brave lads, Lucretius, and I,

In spite of all these brawling senators,

Will, shall, and dare attempt on Asia,

And drive Mithridates from out his doors.

POMPEY. Ay, Sylla, these are words of mickle worth,

Fit for the master of so great a mind.

Now Rome must stoop, for Marius and his friends

Have left their arms, and trust unto their heels.

SYLLA. But, Pompey, if our Spanish jennets' feet

Have learnt to post it of their mother-wind,

I hope to trip upon the greybeard's heels,

Till I have cropp'd his shoulders from his head.

And for his son, the proud, aspiring boy,

His beardless face and wanton, smiling brows,

Shall, if I catch him, deck yond' capitol.

The father, son, the friends and soldiers all,

That fawn on Marius, shall with fury fall.

LUCRETIUS. And what event shall all these troubles bring?

SYLLA. This--Sylla in fortune will exceed a king.

But, friends and soldiers, with dispersed bands

Go seek out Marius' fond confederates:

Some post along those unfrequented paths,

That track by nooks unto the neighbouring sea:

Murder me Marius, and maintain my life.

And that his favourites in Rome may learn

The difference betwixt my fawn and frown,

Go cut them short, and shed their hateful blood,

To quench these furies of my froward mood.

[_Exit Soldiers_.

LUCRETIUS. Lo, Sylla, where our senators approach;

Perhaps to 'gratulate thy good success.

_Enter_ ANTHONY, GRANIUS, LEPIDUS.

SYLLA. Ay, that _perhaps_ was fitly placed there:

But, my Lucretius, these are cunning lords,

Whose tongues are tipp'd with honey to deceive.

As for their hearts, if outward eyes may see them,

The devil scarce with mischief might agree them.

LEPIDUS. Good fortune to our consul, worthy Sylla.

SYLLA. And why not general 'gainst the King of Pontus?

GRANIUS. And general against the King of

Pontus.

SYLLA. Sirrah, your words are good, your thoughts are ill.

Each milkwhite hair amid this mincing beard,

Compar'd with millions of thy treacherous thoughts,

Would change their hue through vigour of thy hate.

But, did not pity make my fury thrall,

This sword should finish hate, thy life, and all.

I prythee, Granius, how doth Marius?

GRANIUS. As he that bides a thrall to thee and fate:

Living in hope, as I and others do,

To catch good fortune, and to cross thee too.

SYLLA. Both blunt and bold, but too much mother-wit.

To play with fire, where fury streams about:

Curtail your tale, fond man, cut off the rest;

But here I will dissemble for the best.

GRANIUS. Sylla, my years have taught me to discern

Betwixt ambitious pride and princely zeal;

And from thy youth these peers of Rome have mark'd

A rash revenging humour[113] in thy brain.

Thy tongue adorn'd with flowing eloquence,

And yet I see imprinted in thy brows

A fortunate but froward governance.

And though thy rival Marius, mated late

By backward working of his wretched fate,

Is fall'n; yet, Sylla, mark what I have seen

Even here in Rome. The fencer Spectacus

Hath been as fortunate as thou thyself;

But when that Crassus' sword assayed his crest,

The fear of death did make him droop for woe.

SYLLA. You saw in Rome this brawling fencer die,

When Spectacus by Crassus was subdued.

Why so? but, sir, I hope you will apply,

And say like Spectacus that I shall die.

Thus peevish eld, discoursing by a fire,

Amidst their cups will prate how men aspire.

Is this the greeting, Romans, that you give

Unto the patron of your monarchy?

Lucretius, shall I play a pretty jest?

LUCRETIUS. What Sylla will, what Roman dare withstand?

SYLLA. A brief and pleasing answer, by my head.

Why, tell me, Granius, dost thou talk in sport?

GRANIUS. No, Sylla, my discourse is resolute.

Not coin'd to please thy fond and cursed thoughts:

For were my tongue betray'd with pleasing words

To feed the humours of thy haughty mind,

I rather wish the rot should root it out.

SYLLA. The bravest brawler that I ever heard.

But, soldiers, since I see he is oppress'd

With crooked choler, and our artists teach

That fretting blood will press through open'd veins,

Let him that has the keenest sword arrest

The greybeard, and cut off his head in jest.

Soldiers, lay hands on Granius.

GRANIUS. Is this the guerdon[114] then of good advice?

SYLLA. No, but the means to make fond men more wise.

Tut, I have wit, and carry warlike tools,

To charm the scolding prate of wanton fools.

Tell me of fencers and a tale of fate!

No, Sylla thinks of nothing but a state.

GRANIUS. Why, Sylla, I am arm'd the worst to try.

SYLLA, I pray thee then, Lucretius, let him die.

[_Exeunt with_ GRANIUS.

Beshrew me, lords, but in this jolly vein

'Twere pity but the prating fool were slain.

I fear me Pluto will be wrath with me,

For to detain so grave a man as he.

ANTHONY. But seek not, Sylla, in this quiet state

To work revenge upon an aged man,

A senator, a sovereign of this town.

SYLLA. The more the cedar climbs, the sooner down:

And, did I think the proudest man in Rome

Would wince at that which I have wrought or done,

I would and can control his insolence.

Why, senators, is this the true reward,

Wherewith you answer princes for their pain,

As when this sword hath made our city free,

A braving mate should thus distemper me?

But, Lepidus and fellow-senators,

I am resolved, and will not brook your taunts:

Who wrongeth Sylla, let him look for stripes.

ANTHONY. Ay, but the milder passions show the man;

For as the leaf doth beautify the tree,

The pleasant flow'rs bedeck the painted spring,

Even so in men of greatest reach and power

A mild and piteous thought augments renown.

Old Anthony did never see, my lord,

A swelling show'r, that did continue long:

A climbing tower that did not taste the wind:

A wrathful man not wasted with repent.

I speak of love, my Sylla, and of joy,

To see how fortune lends a pleasant gale

Unto the spreading sails of thy desires;

And, loving thee, must counsel thee withal:

For, as by cutting fruitful vines increase,

So faithful counsels work a prince's peace.

SYLLA. Thou honey-talking father, speak thy mind.

ANTHONY. My Sylla, scarce those tears are dried up,

That Roman matrons wept to see this war:

Along the holy streets the hideous groans

Of murdered men infect the weeping air:

Thy foes are fled, not overtaken yet,

And doubtful is the hazard of this war:

Yea, doubtful is the hazard of this war,

For now our legions draw their wasteful swords

To murder whom? Even Roman citizens!

To conquer whom? Even Roman citizens!

Then, if that Sylla love these citizens,

If care of Rome, if threat of foreign foes,

If fruitful counsels of thy forward friends,

May take effect, go fortunate, and drive

The King of Pontus out of Asia;

Lest, while we dream on civil mutinies,

Our wary foes assail our city walls.

POMPEY. My long-concealed thoughts, Mark Anthony,

Must seek discovery through thy pliant words.

Believe me, Sylla, civil mutinies

Must not obscure thy glories and our names.

Then, sith that factious Marius is suppress'd,

Go spread thy colours 'midst the Asian fields;

Meanwhile myself will watch this city's weal.

SYLLA. Pompey, I know thy love, I mark thy words,

And, Anthony, thou hast a pleasing vein;

But, senators, I harbour[115] in my head

With every thought of honour some revenge.

_Enter LUCRETIUS with the head_.

Speak, what, shall Sylla be your general?

LEPIDUS. We do decree that Sylla shall be general?

SYLLA. And wish you Sylla's weal and honour too?

ANTHONY. We wish both Sylla's weal and honour too.

SYLLA. Then take away the scandal of this state,

Banish the name of tribune out of town;

Proclaim false Marius and his other friends

Foemen and traitors to the state of Rome,

And I will wend and work so much by force,

As I will master false Mithridates.

LEPIDUS. The name of tribune hath continued long.

SYLLA. So shall not Lepidus, if he withstand me.

Sirrah, you see the head of Granius:

Watch you his hap, unless you change your words.

Pompey, now please me: Pompey, grant my suit.

POMPEY. Lictors, proclaim this our undaunted doom.

We will that Marius and his wretched sons:

His friends Sulpitius, Claudius, and the rest

Be held for traitors, and acquit the men,

That shall endanger their unlucky lives;

And henceforth tribune's name and state shall cease.

Grave senators, how like you this decree?

LEPIDUS. Even as our consuls wish, so let it be.

SYLLA. Then, Lepidus, all friends in faith for me,

So leave I Rome to Pompey and my friends,

Resolv'd to manage those our Asian wars.

Frolic, brave soldiers, we must foot it now:

Lucretius, you shall bide the brunt with me.

Pompey, farewell, and farewell, Lepidus.

Mark Anthony, I leave thee to thy books;

Study for Rome and Sylla's royalty.

But, by my sword, I wrong this greybeard's head;

Go, sirrah, place it on the capitol:

A just promotion fit for Sylla's foe.

Lordings, farewell: come, soldiers, let us go.

[_Exit_.

POMPEY. Sylla, farewell, and happy be thy chance,

Whose war both Rome and Romans must advance.

[_Exeunt Senators_.

_Enter the Magistrates of Minturnum with_ MARIUS

_very melancholy_: LUCIUS FAVORINUS, PAUSANIUS,

_with some attendants_.

PAUSANIUS. My lord, the course of your unstayed fate,

Made weak through that your late unhappy fight,

Withdraws our wills that fain would work your weal:

For long experience and the change of times,

The innocent suppressions of the just,

In leaning to forsaken men's relief,

Doth make us fear, lest our unhappy town

Should perish through the angry Roman's sword.

MARIUS. Lords of Minturnum, when I shap'd my course,

To fly the danger of pursuing death,

I left my friends, and all alone attain'd,

In hope of succours, to this little town,

Relying on your courtesies and truth.

What foolish fear doth then amaze you thus?

FAVORINUS. O Marius, thou thyself, thy son, thy friends,

Are banished, and exiles out of Rome,

Proclaim'd for traitors, reft of your estates,

Adjudg'd to death with certain warrantise:

Should then so small a town, my lord, as this

Hazard their fortunes to supply your wants?

MARIUS. Why, citizens, and what is Marius?

I tell you, not so base as to despair,

Yea, able to withstand ingratitudes.

Tell me of foolish laws, decreed at Rome

To please the angry humours of my foe!

Believe me, lords, I know and am assur'd,

That magnanimity can never fear,

And fortitude so conquer silly fate,

As Sylla, when he hopes to have my head,

May hap ere long on sudden lose his own.

PAUSANIUS. A hope beseeming Marius; but, I fear,

Too strange to have a short and good event.

MARIUS. Why, Sir Pausanius, have you not beheld

Campania plains fulfill'd with greater foes,

Than is that wanton milk-sop, nature's scorn.

Base-minded men to live in perfect hope,

Whose thoughts are shut within your cottage eaves,

Refuse not Marius, that must favour you:

For these are parts of unadvised men,

With present fear to lose a perfect friend,

That can, will, may control, command, subdue,

That braving boy, that thus bewitcheth you.

FAVORINUS. How gladly would we succour you, my lord,

But that we fear--

MARIUS. What? the moonshine in the water!

Thou wretched stepdame of my fickle state,

Are these the guerdons of the greatest minds?

To make them hope and yet betray their hap,

To make them climb to overthrow them straight?

Accurs'd thy wreak[116], thy wrath, thy bale, thy weal,

That mak'st me sigh the sorrows that I feel!

Untrodden paths my feet shall rather trace,

Than wrest my succours from inconstant hands:

Rebounding rocks shall rather ring my ruth,

Than these Campanian piles, where terrors bide:

And nature, that hath lift my throne so high,

Shall witness Marius' triumphs, if he die.

But she, that gave the lictor's rod and axe

To wait my six times consulship in Rome,

Will not pursue where erst she flattered so.

Minturnum then, farewell, for I must go;

But think for to repent you of your no.

PAUSANIUS. Nay stay, my lord, and deign in private here

To wait a message of more better worth:

Your age and travels must have some relief;

And be not wrath, for greater men than we

Have feared Rome and Roman tyranny.

MARIUS. You talk it now like men confirmed in faith.

Well, let me try the fruits of your discourse,

For care my mind and pain my body wrongs.

PAUSANIUS. Then, Favorinus, shut his lordship up

Within some secret chamber in the state.

Meanwhile, we will consult to keep him safe,

And work some secret means for his supply.

MARIUS. Be trusty, lords; if not, I can but die.

[_Exit_ MARIUS.

PAUSANIUS. Poor, hapless Roman, little wottest thou

The weary end of thine oppressed life.

LUCIUS. Why, my Pausanius, what imports these words?

PAUSANIUS. O Lucius, age hath printed in my thoughts

A memory of many troubles pass'd.

The greatest towns and lords of Asia

Have stood on tickle terms through simple truth:

The Rhodian records well can witness this.

Then, to prevent our means of overthrow,

Find out some stranger, that may suddenly

Enter the chamber, where as Marius lies,

And cut him short; the present of whose head

Shall make the Romans praise us for our truth,

And Sylla prest to grant us privilege.

LUCIUS. A barbarous act to wrong the men that trust.

PAUSANIUS. In country's cause injustice proveth just.

Come, Lucius, let not silly thought of right

Subject our city to the Roman's might:

For why you know in Marius only end

Rome will reward, and Sylla will befriend.

LUCIUS. Yet all successions will us discommend.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ MARIUS _the younger_; CETHEGUS, LECTORIUS,

_with Roman Lords and Soldiers_.

YOUNG MARIUS. The wayward lady of this wicked world,

That leads in luckless triumph wretched men,

My Roman friends, hath forced our desires,

And fram'd our minds to brook too base relief.

What land or Lybian desert is unsought

To find my father Marius and your friend?

Yea, they whom true relent could never touch--

These fierce Numidians, hearing our mishaps,

Weep floods of moan to wail our wretched fates.

Thus we, that erst with terrors did attaint

The Bactrian bounds, and in our Roman wars

Enforc'd the barbarous borderers of the Alps

To tremble with the terrors of our looks,

Now fly, poor men, affrighted without harms:

Seeking amidst the desert rocks and dens

For him, that whilom in our capitol

Even with a beck commanded Asia.

Thou woful son of such a famous man,

Unsheathe thy sword, conduct these warlike men

To Rome, unhappy mistress of our harms:

And there, since tyrants' power hath thee oppress'd,

And robb'd thee of thy father, friends, and all,

So die undaunted, killing of thy foes,

That were the offspring of these wretched woes.

LECTORIUS. Why, how now, Marius, will you mate us thus,

That with content adventure for your love?

Why, noble youth, resolve yourself on this,

That son and father both have friends in Rome,

That seek old Marius' rest and your relief.

YOUNG MARIUS. Lectorius, friends are geason[117] now-a-days,

And grow to fume, before they taste the fire.

Adversities bereaving man's avails,

They fly like feathers dallying in the wind:

They rise like bubbles in a stormy rain,

Swelling in words, and flying faith and deeds.

CETHEGUS. How fortunate art thou, my lovely lord,

That in thy youth may'st reap the fruits of age;

And having lost occasion's holdfast now,

May'st learn hereafter how to entertain her well.

But sudden hopes do swarm about my heart:

Be merry, Romans; see, where from the coast

A weary messenger doth post him fast.

_Enter_ CINNA'S SLAVE, _with a letter enclosed,

posting in haste_.

LECTORIUS. It should be Cinna's slave, or else I err,

For in his forehead I behold the scar,

Wherewith he marketh still his barbarous swains.

YOUNG MARIUS. O, stay him, good Lectorius, for me-seems

His great post-haste some pleasure should present.

LECTORIUS. Sirrah, art thou of Rome?

SLAVE. Perhaps, sir, no.

LECTORIUS. Without perhaps, say, sirrah, is it so?

SLAVE. This is Lectorius, Marius' friend, I trow;

Yet were I best to learn the certainty,

Lest some dissembling foes should me descry. [_Aside_.

YOUNG MARIUS. Sirrah, leave off this foolish dalliance,

Lest with my sword I wake you from your trance.

SLAVE. O happy man, O labours well-achiev'd!

How hath this chance my weary limbs revived:

O noble Marius! O princely Marius!

YOUNG MARIUS. What means this peasant by his great rejoice?

SLAVE. O worthy Roman, many months have past

Since Cinna, now the consul and my lord,

Hath sent me forth to seek thy friends and thee.

All Lybia, with our Roman presidents,

Numidia, full of unfrequented ways,

These weary limbs have trod to seek you out,

And now, occasion pitying of my pains,

I late arriv'd upon this wished shore,

Found out a sailor born in Capua,

That told me how your lordship pass'd this way.

YOUNG MARIUS. A happy labour, worthy some reward.

How fares thy master? What's the news at Rome?

SLAVE. Pull out the pike from off this javelin-top,

And there are tidings for these lords and thee.

YOUNG MARIUS. A policy beseeming Cinna well:

Lectorius, read, and break these letters up.[118]

LETTER.

To his Honourable friend Marius the younger, greeting.

_Being consul (for the welfare both of father and son, with other thy

accomplices), I have, under an honest policy, since my instalment in the

consulship, caused all Sylla's friends that were indifferent, with the

other neighbouring cities, to revolt. Octavius, my fellow-consul, with

the rest of the senate, mistrusting me, and hearing how I sought to

unite the old citizens with the new, hath wrought much trouble, but to

no effect. I hope the soldiers of Capua shall follow our faction, for

Sylla, hearing of these hurly-burlies, is hasting homeward, very

fortunate in his wars against Mithridates. And it is to be feared that

some of his friends here have certified him of my proceedings, and

purpose to restore you. Cethegus and Lectorius I hear say are with you.

Censorinus and Albinovanus will shortly visit you. Therefore haste and

seek out your father, who is now, as I hear, about Minturnum. Levy what

power you can with all expedition, and stay not_.

Rome, the 5 Kalends of December.

_Your unfeigned friend,_

CINNA, _Consul_.

YOUNG MARIUS. Yea, fortune, shall young Marius climb aloft?

Then woe to my repining foes in Rome!

And if I live, sweet queen of change, thy shrines

Shall shine with beauty 'midst the capitol.

Lectorius, tell me what were best be done?

LECTORIUS. To sea, my lord; seek your warlike sire:

Send back this peasant with your full pretence,

And think already that our pains have end,

Since Cinna, with his followers, is your friend.

YOUNG MARIUS. Yea, Romans, we will furrow through the foam

Of swelling floods, and to the sacred twins

Make sacrifice, to shield our ships from storms.

Follow me, lords; come, gentle messenger,

Thou shalt have gold and glory for thy pains.

[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA.

_Enter_ CINNA, OCTAVIUS, ANTHONY, _Lictors, Citizens_.

CINNA. Upbraiding senators, bewitch'd with wit,

That term true justice innovation;

You ministers of Sylla's mad conceits,

Will consuls, think you, stoop to your controls?

These younger citizens, my fellow-lords,

Bound to maintain both Marius and his son,

Crave but their due, and will be held as good

For privilege as those of elder age;

For they are men conform'd to feats of arms,

That have both wit and courage to command.

These favourites of Octavius, that[119] with age

And palsies shake their javelins in their hands,

Like heartless men attainted all with fear:

And should they then overtop the youth?

No, nor this consul, nor Mark Anthony,

Shall make my followers faint or lose their right;

But I will have them equal with the best.

ANTHONY. Why then the senate's name, whose reverend rule

Hath blazed our virtues 'midst the western isle,

Must be obscur'd by Cinna's forced power.

O citizens! are laws of country left?

Is justice banish'd from this capitol?

Must we, poor fathers, see your drooping bands

Enter the sacred synod of this state?

O brutish fond presumptions of this age!

Rome! would the mischiefs might obscure my life,

So I might counsel consuls to be wise.

Why, countrymen, wherein consists this strife?

Forsooth the younger citizens will rule;

The old men's heads are dull and addle now;

And in elections youth will bear the sway.

O Cinna, see I not the woful fruits

Of these ambitious stratagems begun?

Each flattering tongue that dallieth pretty words

Shall change our fortunes and our states at once.

Had I ten thousand tongues to talk the care,

So many eyes to weep their woful miss,

So many pens to write these many wrongs,

My tongue your thoughts, my eyes your tears, should move,

My pen your pains by reason should approve.

CINNA. Why, Anthony, seal up those sugar'd lips,

For I will bring my purpose to effect.

ANTHONY. Doth Cinna like to interrupt me, then?

CINNA. Ay, Cinna, sir, will interrupt you now.

I tell thee, Mark, old Marius is at hand,

The very patron of this happy law,

Who will revenge thy cunning eloquence.

ANTHONY. I talk not, I, to please or him or thee,

But what I speak, I think and practise too:

'Twere better Sylla learnt to mend in Rome,

Than Marius come to tyrannise in Rome.

OCTAVIUS. Nay, Marius shall not tyrannise in Rome,

Old citizens; as Sylla late ordain'd,

King Tullius' laws shall take their full effect:

The best and aged men shall in their choice,

Both bear the day, and firm [th'] election.

CINNA. O brave! Octavius, you will beard me then,

The elder consul and old Marius' friend;

And these Italian freemen must be wrong'd.

First shall the fruit of all thine honours fail,

And this my poniard shall despatch thy life.

LEPIDUS. Such insolence was never seen in Rome:

Nought wanteth here but name to make a king.

OCTAVIUS. Strike, villain, if thou list, for I am prest

To make as deep a furrow in thy breast!

YOUNG CITIZEN. The young men's voices shall prevail, my lords.

OLD CITIZEN. And we will firm our honours by our bloods.

[_Thunder_.

ANTHONY. O false ambitious pride in young and old!

Hark, how the heavens our follies hath controll'd.

OLD CITIZEN. What, shall we yield for this religious fear?

ANTHONY. If not religious fear, what may repress

These wicked passions, wretched citizens?

O Rome, poor Rome, unmeet for these misdeeds,

I see contempt of heaven will breed a cross.

Sweet Cinna, govern rage with reverence. [_Thunder_.

O fellow-citizens, be more advis'd!

LEPIDUS. We charge you, consuls, now dissolve the court;

The gods condemn this brawl and civil jars.

OCTAVIUS. We will submit our honours to their wills:

You, ancient citizens, come follow me.

[_Exit_ OCTAVIUS; _with him_ ANTHONY _and_ LEPIDUS.

CINNA. High Jove himself hath done too much for thee,

Else should this blade abate thy royalty.

Well, young Italian citizens, take heart,

He is at hand that will maintain your right;

That, entering in these fatal gates of Rome,

Shall make them tremble that disturb you now.

You of Preneste and of Formiae,

With other neighbouring cities in Campania,

Prepare to entertain and succour Marius.

YOUNG CITIZEN. For him we live, for him we mean to die.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ OLD MARIUS _with his_ KEEPER _and two_ SOLDIERS.

MARIUS. Have these Minturnians, then, so cruelly

Presum'd so great injustice 'gainst their friends?

JAILER. Ay, Marius, all our nobles have decreed

To send thy head a present unto Rome.

MARIUS. A Tantal's present it will prove, my friend,

Which with a little smarting stress will end

Old Marius' life, when Rome itself at last

Shall rue my loss, and then revenge my death.

But tell me, jailer, could'st thou be content,

In being Marius, for to brook this wrong.

JAILER. The high estate your lordship once did wield,

The many friends that fawn'd, when fortune smil'd,

Your great promotions and your mighty wealth,

These, were I Marius, would amate me so,[120]

As loss of them would vex me more than death.

MARIUS. Is lordship then so great a bliss, my friend?

JAILER. No title may compare with princely rule.

MARIUS. Are friends so faithful pledges of delight?

JAILER. What better comforts than are faithful friends?

MARIUS. Is wealth a mean to lengthen life's content?

JAILER. Where great possessions bide, what care can touch?

MARIUS. These stales[121] of fortune are the common plagues,

That still mislead the thoughts of simple men.

The shepherd-swain that, 'midst his country-cot,

Deludes his broken slumbers by his toil,

Thinks lordship sweet, where care with lordship dwells.

The trustful man that builds on trothless vows,

Whose simple thoughts are cross'd with scornful nays,

Together weeps the loss of wealth and friend:

So lordship, friends, wealth spring and perish fast,

Where death alone yields happy life at last.

O gentle governor of my contents,

Thou sacred chieftain of our capitol,

Who in thy crystal orbs with glorious gleams

Lend'st looks of pity mix'd with majesty,

See woful Marius careful for his son,

Careless of lordship, wealth, or worldly means,

Content to live, yet living still to die:

Whose nerves and veins, whose sinews, by the sword

Must lose their workings through distempering stroke,

But yet whose mind, in spite of fate and all,

Shall live by fame, although the body fall.

JAILER. Why mourneth Marius this recureless chance?

MARIUS. I pray thee, jailer, would'st thou gladly die?

JAILER. If needs, I would.

MARIUS. Yet were you loth to try?

JAILER. Why, noble lord, when goods, friends, fortune fail,

What more than death might woful man avail?

MARIUS. Who calls for death, my friend, for all his scorns?

With Aesop's slave will leave his bush of thorns.

But since these trait'rous lords will have my head,

Their lordships here upon this homely bed

Shall find me sleeping, breathing forth my breath,

Till they their shame, and I my fame, attain by death.

Live, gentle Marius, to revenge my wrong!

And, sirrah, see they stay not over-long;

For he that erst hath conquer'd kingdoms many,

Disdains in death to be subdu'd by any.

[_He lies down_.

_Enter_ LUCIUS FAVORINUS, PAUSANIUS, _with_

PEDRO, _a Frenchman_.

JAILER. The most undaunted words that ever were.

The mighty thoughts of his imperious mind,

Do wound my heart with terror and remorse.

PAUSANIUS. 'Tis desperate, not perfect nobleness:

For to a man that is prepar'd to die,

The heart should rend, the sleep should leave the eye.

But say, Pedro, will you do the deed?

PEDRO.[122] Mon monsieurs, per la sang Dieu, me will make a trou so

large in ce belly, dat he sal cry hough, come un porceau. Featre de

lay, il a tue me fadre, he kill my modre. Faith a my trote mon espee

fera le fay dun soldat, sau sau. Ieievera come il founta pary: me will

make a spitch-cock of his persona.

L. FAVORINUS. If he have slain thy father and thy friends,

The greater honour shall betide the deed;

For to revenge on righteous estimate

Beseems the honour of a Frenchman's name.

PEDRO. Mes messiers, de fault avoir argent; me no point de argent, no

point kill Marius.

PAUSANIUS. Thou shalt have forty crowns; will that content thee?

PEDRO. Quarante escus, per le pied de madam, me give more dan foure to

se prittie damosele, dat have le dulces tittinos, le levres Cymbrines.

O, they be fines!

L. FAVORINUS. Great is the hire, and little is the pain;

Make therefore quick despatch, and look for gain.

See where he lies in drawing on his death,

Whose eyes, in gentle slumber sealed up,

Present no dreadful visions to his heart.

PEDRO. Bien, monsieur, je demourera content: Marius, tu es mort. Speak

dy preres in dy sleepe, for me sal cut off your head from your epaules,

before you wake. Qui es stia? what kinde a man be dis?

L. FAVORINUS. Why, what delays are these? why gaze ye thus?

PEDRO. Nostre dame! Jesu! estiene! O my siniors, der be a great diable

in ce eyes, qui dart de flame, and with de voice d'un bear cries out,

Villain! dare you kill Marius? Je tremble: aida me, siniors, autrement

I shall be murdered.

PAUSANIUS. What sudden madness daunts this stranger thus?

PEDRO. O me, no can kill Marius; me no dare kill Marius! adieu,

messieurs, me be dead, si je touche Marius. Marius est un diable.

Jesu Maria, sava moy![123]

[_Exit fugiens_.

PAUSANIUS. What fury haunts this wretch on sudden thus?

L. FAVORINUS. Ah, my Pausanius, I have often heard,

That yonder Marius in his infancy

Was born to greater fortunes than we deem:

For, being scarce from out his cradle crept,

And sporting prettily with his compeers,

On sudden seven young eagles soar'd amain,

And kindly perch'd upon his tender lap.

His parents, wondering at this strange event,

Took counsel of the soothsayers in this;

Who told them that these sevenfold eagles' flight

Forefigured his seven times consulship:[124]

And we ourselves (except bewitch'd with pride)

Have seen him six times in the capitol,

Accompanied with rods and axes too.

And some divine instinct so presseth me,

That sore I tremble, till I set him free.

PAUSANIUS. The like assaults attain my wand'ring mind,

Seeing our bootless war with matchless fate.

Let us entreat him to forsake our town;

So shall we gain a friend of Rome and him.

[MARIUS _awaketh_.

But mark how happily he doth awake.

MARIUS. What, breathe I yet, poor man, with mounting sighs,

Choking the rivers of my restless eyes?

Or is their rage restrain'd with matchless ruth?

See how amaz'd these angry lords behold

The poor, confused looks of wretched Marius.

Minturnians, why delays your headsman thus

To finish up this ruthful tragedy?

L. FAVORINUS. Far be it, Marius, from our thoughts or hands

To wrong the man protected by the gods:

Live happy, Marius, so thou leave our town.

MARIUS. And must I wrestle once again with fate,

Or will these princes dally with mine age?

PAUSANIUS. No, matchless Roman; thine approved mind,

That erst hath alter'd our ambitious wrong,

Must flourish still, and we thy servants live

To see thy glories, like the swelling tides,

Exceed the bounds of fate and Roman rule.

Yet leave us, lord, and seek some safer shed,

Where, more secure, thou may'st prevent mishaps;

For great pursuits and troubles thee await.

MARIUS. Ye piteous powers, that with successful hopes

And gentle counsels thwart my deep despairs,

Old Marius to your mercies recommends

His hap, his life, his hazard, and his son.

Minturnians, I will hence, and you shall fly

Occasions of those troubles you expect.

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

Lordings, adieu: from walls to woods I wend;

To hills, dales, rocks, my wrong for to commend.

[_Exit_.

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

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SYLLA[125] _in triumph in his chair triumphant of gold,

drawn by four Moors; before the chariot, his colours, his crest,

his captains, his prisoners_: ARCATHIUS, _Mithridates' son_;

ARISTION, ARCHELAUS, _bearing crowns of gold, and manacled. After

the chariot, his soldier's bands_; BASILLUS, LUCRETIUS, LUCULLUS,

_besides prisoners of divers nations and sundry disguises_.

SYLLA. You men of Rome, my fellow-mates in arms,

Whose three years' prowess, policy, and war,

One hundred threescore thousand men at arms

Hath overthrown and murder'd in the field;

Whose valours to the empire have restor'd

All Grecia, Asia, and Ionia,

With Macedonia, subject to our foe,

You see the froward customs of our state

Who, measuring not our many toils abroad,

Sit in their cells, imagining our harms:

Replenishing our Roman friends with fear.

Yea, Sylla, worthy friends, whose fortunes, toils,

And stratagems these strangers may report,

Is by false Cinna and his factious friends

Revil'd, condemn'd, and cross'd without a cause:

Yea, Romans, Marius must return to Rome,

Of purpose to upbraid your general.

But this undaunted mind that never droop'd;

This forward body, form'd to suffer toil,

Shall haste to Rome, where every foe shall rue

The rash disgrace both of myself and you.

LUCRETIUS. And may it be that those seditious brains

Imagine these presumptuous purposes?

SYLLA. And may it be? Why, man, and wilt thou doubt,

Where Sylla deigns these dangers to aver?

Sirrah, except not so, misdoubt not so:

See here Aneparius' letters, read the lines,

And say, Lucretius, that I favour thee,

That darest but suspect thy general.

[_Read the letters and deliver them_.

LUCRETIUS. The case conceal'd hath mov'd the more misdoubt;

Yet pardon my presumptions, worthy Sylla,

That to my grief have read these hideous harms.

SYLLA. Tut, my Lucretius, fortune's ball is toss'd

To form the story of my fatal power:

Rome shall repent; babe, mother, shall repent:

Air, weeping cloudy sorrows, shall repent:

Wind, breathing many sorrows, shall repent--

To see those storms, concealed in my breast,

Reflect the hideous flames of their unrest.

But words are vain, and cannot quell our wrongs:

Brief periods serve for them that needs must post it.

Lucullus, since occasion calls me hence,

And all our Roman senate think it meet,

That thou pursue the wars I have begun,

As by their letters I am certified,

I leave thee Cymbria's legions to conduct,

With this proviso that, in ruling still,

You think on Sylla and his courtesies.

LUCULLUS. The weighty charge of this continued war,

Though strange it seem, and over-great to wield,

I will accept, if so the army please.

SOLDIERS. Happy and fortunate be Lucullus our general.

SYLLA. If he be Sylla's friend, else not at all:

For otherwise the man were ill-bested,

That gaining glories straight should lose his head.

But, soldiers, since I needly[126] must to Rome,

Basillus' virtues shall have recompense.

Lo, here the wreath, Valerius, for thy pains,

Who first didst enter Archilaus' trench:

This pledge of virtue, sirrah, shall approve

Thy virtues, and confirm me in thy love.

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

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

I will be happy in despite of state.

And why? because I never feared fate.

But come, Arcathius, for your father's sake:

Enjoin your fellow-princes to their tasks,

And help to succour these my weary bones.

Tut, blush not, man, a greater state than thou

Shall pleasure Sylla in more baser sort.

Aristion is a jolly-timber'd man,

Fit to conduct the chariot of a king:

Why, be not squeamish, for it shall go hard,

But I will give you all a great reward.

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

SYLLA. Arcathius, these are fortunes of the field.

Believe me, these brave captives draw by art,

And I will think upon their good desert.

But stay you, strangers, and respect my words.

Fond heartless men, what folly have I seen!

For fear of death can princes entertain

Such bastard thoughts, that now from glorious arms

Vouchsafe to draw like oxen in a plough?

Arcathius, I am sure Mithridates

Will hardly brook the scandal of his name:

'Twere better in Pisae[127] to have died,

Aristion, than amidst our legions thus to draw.

ARISTION. I tell thee, Sylla, captives have no choice,

And death is dreadful to a captive man.

SYLLA. In such imperfect mettles[128] as is yours:

But Romans, that are still allur'd by fame,

Choose rather death than blemish of their name.

But I have haste, and therefore will reward you.

Go, soldiers, with as quick despatch as may be,

Hasten their death, and bring them to their end,

And say in this that Sylla is your friend.

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

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

Desire you still to lead a servile life?

Dare you not buy delights with little pains?

Well, for thy father's sake, Arcathius,

I will prefer thy triumphs with the rest.

Go, take them hence, and when we meet in hell,

Then tell me, princes, if I did not well.

[_Exeunt milites_.

Lucullus, thus these mighty foes are down,

Now strive thou for the King of Pontus' crown.

I will to Rome; go thou, and with thy train

Pursue Mithridates, till he be slain.

LUCULLUS. With fortune's help: go calm thy country's woes,

Whilst I with these seek out our mighty foes.

_Enter MARIUS solus, from the Numidian mountains,

feeding on roots_.

MARIUS. Thou, that hast walk'd with troops of flocking friends,

Now wand'rest 'midst the labyrinth of woes;

Thy best repast with many sighing ends,

And none but fortune all these mischiefs knows.

Like to these stretching mountains, clad with snow,

No sunshine of content my thoughts approacheth:

High spire their tops, my hopes no height do know,

But mount so high as time their tract reproacheth.

They find their spring, where winter wrongs my mind,

They weep their brooks, I waste my cheeks with tears.

O foolish fate, too froward and unkind,

Mountains have peace, where mournful be my years.

Yet high as they my thoughts some hopes would borrow;

But when I count the evening end with sorrow.

Death in Minturnum threaten'd Marius' head,

Hunger in these Numidian mountains dwells:

Thus with prevention having mischief fled,

Old Marius finds a world of many hells,

Such as poor simple wits have oft repin'd;

But I will quell, by virtues of the mind,

Long years misspent in many luckless chances,

Thoughts full of wrath, yet little worth succeeding,

These are the means for those whom fate advances:

But I, whose wounds are fresh, my heart still bleeding,

Live to entreat this blessed boon from fate,

That I might die with grief to live in state.

Six hundred suns with solitary walks

I still have sought for to delude my pain,

And friendly echo, answering to my talks,

Rebounds the accent of my ruth again:

She, courteous nymph, the woful Roman pleaseth,

Else no consorts but beasts my pains appeaseth.

Each day she answers in yon neighbouring mountain,

I do expect, reporting of my sorrow,

Whilst lifting up her locks from out the fountain,

She answereth to my questions even and morrow:

Whose sweet rebounds, my sorrow to remove,

To please my thoughts I mean for to approve.

Sweet nymph, draw near, thou kind and gentle echo,

[_Echo_[129]. _I_.

What help to ease my weary pains have I?

What comfort in distress to calm my griefs?

_Griefs_.

Sweet nymph, these griefs are grown, before I thought so.

_I thought so_.

Thus Marius lives disdain'd of all the gods.

_Gods_.

With deep despair late overtaken wholly.

_O lie_.

And will the heavens be never well appeased?

_Appeased_.

What mean have they left me to cure my smart?

_Art_.

Nought better fits old Marius' mind than war.

_Then war_[130].

Then full of hope, say, Echo, shall I go?

_Go_.

Is any better fortune then at hand?

_At hand_.

Then farewell, Echo, gentle nymph, farewell.

_Farewell_.

O pleasing folly to a pensive man!

Well, I will rest fast by this shady tree,

Waiting the end that fate allotteth me.

[_Sits down_.

_Enter_ MARIUS _the son_, ALBINOVANUS, CETHEGUS,

LECTORIUS, _with Soldiers_.

YOUNG MARIUS. My countrymen, and favourites of Rome,

This melancholy desert where we meet,

Resembleth well young Marius' restless thoughts.

Here dreadful silence, solitary caves,

No chirping birds with solace singing sweetly,

Are harbour'd for delight; but from the oak,

Leafless and sapless through decaying age,

The screech-owl chants her fatal-boding lays.

Within my breast care, danger, sorrow dwell;

Hope and revenge sit hammering in my heart:

The baleful babes of angry Nemesis

Disperse their furious fires upon my soul.

LECTORIUS. Fie, Marius, are you discontented still,

When as occasion favoureth your desire!

Are not these noble Romans come from Rome?

Hath not the state recall'd your father home?

YOUNG MARIUS. And what of this? What profit may I reap,

That want my father to conduct us home?

LECTORIUS. My lord, take heart; no doubt this stormy flaw[131],

That Neptune sent to cast us on this shore,

Shall end these discontentments at the last.

MARIUS. Whom see mine eyes? What, is not yon my son?

YOUNG MARIUS. What solitary father walketh there?

MARIUS. It is my son! these are my friends I see.

What, have sore-pining cares so changed me?

Or are my looks distemper'd through the pains

And agonies that issue from my heart?

Fie, Marius! frolic, man! thou must to Rome,

There to revenge thy wrongs, and wait thy tomb.

YOUNG MARIUS. Now, fortune, frown and palter if thou please.

Romans, behold my father and your friend.

O father!

MARIUS. Marius, thou art fitly met.

Albinovanus, and my other friends,

What news at Rome? What fortune brought you hither?

ALBINOVANUS. My lord, the Consul Cinna hath restor'd

The doubtful course of your betrayed state,

And waits your present swift approach to Rome,

Your foeman Sylla posteth very fast

With good success from Pontus, to prevent

Your speedy entrance into Italy.

The neighbouring cities are your very friends;

Nought rests, my lord, but you depart from hence.

YOUNG MARIUS. How many desert ways hath Marius sought,

How many cities have I visited!

To find my father, and relieve his wants!

MARIUS. My son, I 'quite thy travails with my love.

And, lords and citizens, we will to Rome,

And join with Cinna. Have you shipping here?

What, are these soldiers bent to die with me?

SOLDIERS. Content to pledge our lives for Marius.

LECTORIUS. My lord, here, in the next adjoining port,

Our ships are rigg'd, and ready for to sail.

MARIUS. Then let us sail unto Etruria,

And cause our friends, the Germans, to revolt,

And get some Tuscans to increase our power.

Deserts, farewell! Come, Romans, let us go--

A scourge for Rome, that hath depress'd us so.

[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS QUARTUS, SCENA PRIMA.

_Enter_ MARK ANTHONY, LEPIDUS, OCTAVIUS, FLACCUS, _Senators_.

OCTAVIUS. What helps, my lords, to overhale these cares?

What means or motions may these mischiefs end?

You see how Cinna, that should succour Rome

Hath levied arms to bring a traitor in.

O worthless traitor, woe to thine and thee,

That thus disquieteth both Rome and us?

ANTHONY. Octavius, these are scourges for our sins;

These are but ministers to heap our plague.

These mutinies are gentle means and ways,

Whereby the heavens our heavy errors charm.

Then with content and humbled eyes behold

The crystal shining globe of glorious Jove;

And, since we perish through our own misdeeds,

Go let us flourish in our fruitful prayers.

LEPIDUS. 'Midst these confusions, mighty men of Rome,

Why waste we out these troubles all in words?

Weep not your harms, but wend we straight to arms,

Lo, Ostia[132] spoil'd, see Marius at our gate!

And shall we die like milksops, dreaming thus?

OCTAVIUS. A bootless war to see our country spoil'd.

LEPIDUS. Fruitless is dalliance, whereas dangers be.

ANTHONY. My lord, may courage wait on conquer'd men?

LEPIDUS. Ay, even in death most courage doth appear.

OCTAVIUS. Then, waiting death, I mean to seat me here;

Hoping that consuls' name and fear of laws

Shall justify my conscience and my cause.

_Enter a_ MESSENGER.

Now, sirrah, what confused looks are these?

What tidings bringest thou of dreariment?[133]

MESSENGER. My lords, the Consul Cinna, with his friends,

Have let in Marius by _Via Appia_,

Whose soldiers waste and murder all they meet;

Who, with the consul and his other friends,

With expedition hasteth to this place.

ANTHONY. Then to the downfal of my happiness,

Then to the ruin of this city Rome.

But if mine inward ruth were laid in sight,

My streams of tears should drown my foes' despite.

OCTAVIUS. Courage, Lord Anthony: if fortune please,

She will and can these troubles soon appease;

But if her backward frowns approach us nigh,

Resolve with us with honour for to die.

LEPIDUS. No storm of fate shall bring my sorrows down;

But if that fortune list, why, let her frown.

ANTHONY. Where states oppress'd by cruel tyrants be,

Old Anthony, there is no place for thee.

[_Drum strikes within_.

Hark, by this thundering noise of threatening drums,

Marius with all his faction hither comes.

OCTAVIUS. Then like a traitor he shall know, ere long,

In levying arms he doth his country wrong.

_Enter_ MARIUS, _his Son_, CINNA, CETHEGUS, LECTORIUS, _with

Soldiers: upon sight of whom_ MARK ANTHONY _presently flies_.

MARIUS. And have we got the goal of honour now,

And in despite of consuls enter'd Rome?

Then rouse thee, Marius. leave thy ruthful thoughts;

And for thy many cares and toils sustain'd,

Afflict thy foes with quite as many pains.

Go, soldiers, seek out Bebius and his friends,

Attilius, Munitorius, with the rest;

Cut off their heads, for they did cross me once;

And if your care can compass my decree,

Remember that same fugitive Mark Anthony,

Whose fatal end shall be my fruitful peace.

I tell thee, Cinna, nature armeth beasts

With just revenge, and lendeth in their kinds

Sufficient warlike weapons of defence;

If then by nature beasts revenge their wrong,

Both heavens and nature grant me vengeance now.

Yet whilst I live and suck this subtle air,

That lendeth breathing coolness to my lights,

The register of all thy righteous acts,

Thy pains, thy toils, thy travails for my sake,

Shall dwell by kind impressions in my heart,

And I with links of true, unfeigned love

Will lock these Roman favourites in my breast,

And live to hazard life for their relief.

CINNA. My lord, your safe and swift return to Rome

Makes Cinna fortunate and well a-paid;

Who, through the false suggestions of my foes,

Was made a cypher[134] of a consul here:

Lo, where he sits commanding in his throne,

That wronged Marius, me, and all these lords.

YOUNG MARIUS. To 'quite his love, Cinna, let me alone.

How fare these lords that, lumping, pouting, proud,

Imagine now to quell me with their looks?

Now welcome, sirs, is Marius thought so base?

Why stand you looking babies in my face?

Who welcomes me, him Marius makes his friend;

Who lowers on me, him Marius means to end.

FLACCUS. Happy and fortunate thy return to Rome.

LEPIDUS. And long live Marius[135] with fame in Rome.

MARIUS. I thank you, courteous lords, that are so kind.

YOUNG MARIUS. But why endures your grace that braving mate,

To sit and face us in his robes of state?

MARIUS. My son, he is a consul at the least,

And gravity becomes Octavius best,

But, Cinna, would in yonder empty seat

You would for Marius' freedom once entreat.

_CINNA presseth up, and OCTAVIUS stayeth him_.

OCTAVIUS. Avaunt, thou traitor, proud and insolent!

How dar'st thou press near civil government.

MARIUS. Why, Master Consul, are you grown so hot?

I'll have a present cooling card for you.

Be therefore well advis'd, and move me not:

For though by you I was exil'd from Rome,

And in the desert from a prince's seat

Left to bewail ingratitudes of Rome;

Though I have known your thirsty throats have long'd

To bathe themselves in my distilling blood,

Yet Marius, sirs, hath pity join'd with power.

Lo, here the imperial ensign which I wield,

That waveth mercy to my wishers-well:

And more: see here the dangerous trote of war,

That at the point is steel'd with ghastly death.

OCTAVIUS. Thou exile, threaten'st thou a consul then?

Lictors, go draw him hence! such braving mates

Are not to boast their arms in quiet states.

MARIUS. Go draw me hence! What! no relent, Octavius?

YOUNG MARIUS. My lord, what heart indurate with revenge

Could leave this lozel[136], threat'ning murder thus?

Vouchsafe me leave to taint that traitor seat

With flowing streams of his contagious blood.

OCTAVIUS. The father's son, I know him by his talk,

That scolds in words, when fingers cannot walk.

But Jove, I hope, will one day send to Rome

The blessed patron of this monarchy,

Who will revenge injustice by his sword.

CINNA. Such braving hopes, such cursed arguments:

So strict command, such arrogant controls!

Suffer me, Marius, that am consul now,

To do thee justice, and confound the wretch.

MARIUS. Cinna, you know I am a private man,

That still submit my censures to your will.

CINNA. Then, soldiers, draw this traitor from the throne,

And let him die, for Cinna wills it so.

YOUNG MARIUS. Ay, now, my Cinna, noble consul, speaks.

Octavius, your checks shall cost you dear.

OCTAVIUS. And let me die, for Cinna wills it so!

Is then the reverence of this robe contemn'd?

Are these associates of so small regard?

Why then, Octavius willingly consents

To entertain the sentence of his death.

But let the proudest traitor work his will;

I fear no strokes, but here will sit me still.

Since justice sleeps, since tyrants reign in Rome,

Octavius longs for death to die in Rome.

CINNA. Then strike him where he sits; then hale him hence.

OCTAVIUS. Heavens punish Cinna's pride and thy offence.

[_A Soldier stabs him; he is carried away_.

CINNA. Now is he fallen that threaten'd Marius;

Now will I sit and plead for Marius.

MARIUS. Thou dost me justice, Cinna, for you see

These peers of Rome of[137] late exiled me.

LEPIDUS. Your lordship doth injustice to accuse

Those, who in your behalf did not offend.

FLACCUS. We grieve to see the aged Marius

Stand like a private man in view of Rome.

CINNA. Then bid him sit; and lo, an empty place:

Revoke his exile from his government,

And so prevent your farther detriment.

LEPIDUS. We will account both Marius and his friends,

His son and all his followers, free in Rome:

And since we see the dangerous times at hand,

And hear of Sylla's confidence and haste,

And know his hate and rancour to these lords,

We[138] him create for consul, to prevent

The policies of Sylla and his friends.

CINNA. Then, both confirm'd by state and full consent,

The rods and axe to Marius I present,

And here invest thee with the consul's pall.

FLACCUS. Long, fortunate, and happy life betide

Old Marius in his sevenfold consulship.

YOUNG MARIUS. And so let Marius live and govern Rome,

As cursed Sylla never look on Rome.

MARIUS. Then plac'd in consul's throne, you Roman states,

[_He takes his seat_.

Recall'd from banishment by your decrees,

Install'd in this imperial seat to rule,

Old Marius thanks his friends and favourites,

From whom this final favour he requires:

That, seeing Sylla by his murderous blade

Brought fierce seditions first to head in Rome,

And forced laws to banish innocents,

I crave by course of reason and desert,

That he may be proclaimed, as erst was I,

A traitor and an enemy of Rome.

Let all his friends be banish'd out of town;

Then, cutting off the branch where troubles spring,

Rome shall have peace and plenty in her walls.

CINNA. In equity it needs must be, my friends,

That one be guilty of our common harms:

And since that Marius is accounted free,

Sylla with all his friends must traitors be.

YOUNG MARIUS. My father's reasons, Romans, are of force;

For if you see, and live not to secure,

You know that, in so great a state as this,

Two mighty foes can never well agree.

LEPIDUS. Then let us seek to please our consul first,

And then prepare to keep the exile out.

Cinna, as Marius and these lords agree,

Firm this edict, and let it pass for me.

CINNA. Then, Romans, in the name of all this state,

I here proclaim and publish this decree;

That Sylla with his friends, allies, and all,

Are banish'd exiles, traitors unto Rome:

And to extinguish both his name and state,

We will his house be razed to the ground,

His goods confiscate: this our censure is.

Lictor, proclaim this in the market-place,

And see it executed out of hand.

[_Exit Lictor_.

MARIUS. Now see I, senators, the thought, the care,

The virtuous zeal that leads your toward minds

To love your friends, and watch your common good:

And now, establish'd consul in this place,

Old Marius will foresee advenient harms.

Sylla, the scourge of Asia, as we hear,

Is press'd to enter Italy with sword.

He comes in pomp to triumph here in Rome:

But, senators, you know the wavering wills

Of foolish men--I mean the common sort--

Who, through report of innovations,

Of flattering humours of well-temper'd tongues,

Will change, and draw a second mischief on.

I like your care, and will myself apply

To aim and level at my country's weal.

To intercept these errors by advice,

My son young Marius, Cethegus, and my friends,

Shall to Praeneste, to prevent and stop

The speedy purpose of our forward foe.

Meanwhile, ourselves will fortify this town,

This beauty of the world, this maiden-town;

Where streaming Tybris, with a pleasant tide,

Leads out the stately buildings of the world.

Marius, my hope, my son, you know your charge:

Take those Iberian legions in your train,

And we will spare some Cymbrians to your use.

Remember thou art Marius' son, and dream

On nought but honour and a happy death!

YOUNG MARIUS. I go, my lord, in hope to make the world

Report my service and my duty too;

And that proud challenger of Asia

Shall find that Marius' son hath force and wit.

[_Exit cum_ CETHEGO.

MARIUS. Go, thou, as fortunate as Greeks to Troy;

As glorious as Alcides in thy toils;

As happy as Sertorius in thy fight;

As valiant as Achilles in thy might:

Go, glorious, valiant, happy, fortunate,

As all those Greeks and him of Roman state!

_Enter, led in with Soldiers_, CORNELIA and FULVIA.

CORNELIA. Traitors! why drag you thus a prince's wife,

As if that beauty were a thrall to fate?

Are Romans grown more barbarous than Greeks,

That hate more greater than Cassandra now?

The Macedonian monarch was more kind,

That honour'd and reliev'd in warlike camp

Darius' mother, daughters, and his wife.

But you unkind to Roman ladies now,

Perhaps as constant as the ancient queens;

For they, subdu'd, had friendship in disgrace,

Where we, unconquer'd, live in woful case.

MARIUS. What plaintive pleas presents that lady there?

Why, soldiers, make you prisoners here in Rome?

1ST SOLDIER. Dread consul, we have found Cornelia here

And Sylla's daughter posting out of town.

MARIUS. Ladies of worth, both beautiful and wise,

But near allied unto my greatest foe:

Yet Marius' mind, that never meant disgrace,

More likes their courage than their comely face.

Are you Cornelia, madam, Sylla's wife?

CORNELIA. I am Cornelia, Sylla's wife; what then?

MARIUS. And is this Fulvia, Sylla's daughter, too?

FULVIA. And this is Fulvia, Sylla's daughter, too.

MARIUS. Two welcome guests, in whom the majesty

Of my conceit and courage must consist.

What think you, senators and countrymen?

See, here are two, the fairest stars of Rome.

The dearest dainties of my warlike foe,

Whose lives upon your censures do subsist.[139]

LEPIDUS. Dread consul, the continuance of their lives

Shall egg on Sylla to a greater haste;

And, in bereaving of their vital breath,

Your grace shall force more fury from your foe.

Of these extremes we leave the choice to you.

MARIUS. Then think that some strange fortune shall ensue.

FULVIA. Poor Fulvia, now thy happy days are done!

Instead of marriage pomp, the fatal lights

Of funerals must masque about thy bed:

Nor shall thy father's arms with kind embrace

Hem in thy shoulders, trembling now for fear.

I see in Marius' looks such tragedies,

As fear my heart; and fountains fill mine eyes.

CORNELIA. Fie, Fulvia! shall thy father's daughter faint,

Before the threats of danger shall approach?

Dry up those tears, and like a Roman maid,

Be bold and silent, till our foe have said.

MARIUS. Cornelia, wife unto my traitor-foe,

What gadding mood hath forc'd thy speedy flight

To leave thy country, and forsake thy friends?

CORNELIA. Accursed Marius, offspring of my pains,

Whose furious wrath hath wrought thy country's woe,

What may remain for me or mine in Rome,

That see the tokens of thy tyrannies?

Vile monster, robb'd of virtue, what revenge

Is this, to wreak thine anger on the walls?

To raze our house, to banish all our friends,

To kill the rest, and captive us at last?

Think'st thou by barbarous deeds to boast thy state,

Or spoiling Sylla, to depress his hate?

No, Marius, but for every drop of blood

And inch of wrong he shall return thee two.

FLACCUS. Madam, in danger wisdom doth advise

In humble terms to reconcile our foes.

MARIUS. She is a woman, Flaccus; let her talk,

That breathes forth bitter words instead of blows.

CORNELIA. And in regard of that, immodest man,

Thou shouldst desist from outrage and revenge.

LECTORIUS. What, can your grace endure these cursed scoffs?

MARIUS. Why, my Lectorius, I have ever learnt

That ladies cannot wrong me with upbraids;

Then let her talk, and my concealed hate

Shall heap revengement upon Sylla's pate.

FULVIA. Let fevers first afflict thy feeble age;

Let palsies make thy stubborn fingers faint;

Let humours, streaming from thy moisten'd brains,

With clouds of dimness choke thy fretful eyes,

Before these monstrous harms assail my sire.

MARIUS. By'r lady,[140] Fulvia, you are gaily read:

Your mother well may boast you for her own;

For both of you have words and scoffs at will.

And since I like the compass of your wit,

Myself will stand, and, ladies, you shall sit.

And, if you please to wade in farther words,

Let's see what brawls your memories affords.

CORNELIA. Your lordship's passing mannerly in jest;

But that you may perceive we smell your drift,

We both will sit, and countenance your shift.

MARIUS. Where constancy and beauty do consort,

There ladies' threatenings turn to merry sport.

How fare these beautiful? what, well at ease?

FULVIA. As ready as at first for to displease;

For, full confirm'd that we shall surely die,

We wait our ends with Roman constancy.

MARIUS. Why, think you Marius hath confirm'd your death?

FULVIA. What other fruit may spring from tyrant's hands?

MARIUS. In faith then, ladies, thus the matter stands:

Since you mistake my love and courtesy,

Prepare yourselves, for you shall surely die.

CORNELIA. Ay, Marius, now I know thou dost not lie;

And that thou mayst, unto thy lasting blame,

Extinguish in our deaths thy wished fame,

Grant us this boon that, making choice of death,

We may be freed from fury of thine ire.

MARIUS. An easy boon; ladies, I condescend.

CORNELIA. Then suffer us in private chamber close

To meditate a day or two alone;

And, tyrant, if thou find us living then,

Commit us straight unto thy slaughtering-men.

MARIUS. Ladies, I grant; for Marius nill deny

A suit so easy and of such import;

For pity 'twere that dames of constancy

Should not be agents of their misery.

[_Here he whispers_ LECTORIUS.

Lectorius, hark, despatch.

[_Exit_ LECTORIUS.

CORNELIA. So, Fulvia, now the latest doom is fix'd,

And nought remains but constant Roman hearts

To bear the brunt of irksome fury's spite.

Rouse thee, my dear, and daunt those faint conceits,

That trembling stand aghast at bitter death.

Bethink thee now that Sylla was thy sire,

Whose courage heaven nor fortune could abate:

Then, like the offspring of fierce Sylla's house,

Pass with the thrice-renowned Phrygian dame,

As to thy marriage, so unto thy death:

For nought to wretches is more sweet than death.

FULVIA. Madam, confirm'd as well to die as live,

Fulvia awaiteth nothing but her death.

Yet had my father known the course of change,

Or seen our loss by lucky augury,

This tyrant nor his followers had liv'd

To 'joy the ruin of fierce Sylla's house.

MARIUS. But, lady, they that dwell on fortune's call

No sooner rise, but subject are to fall.

FULVIA. Marius, I doubt not but our constant ends

Shall make thee wail thy tyrant's government.

MARIUS. When tyrant's rule doth breed my care and woe,

Then will I say two ladies told me so.

But here comes Lectorius. Now, my lord.

Have you brought those things?

_Enter_ LECTORIUS.

LECTORIUS. I have, noble consul.

MARIUS. Now, ladies, you are resolute to die?

CORNELIA. Ay, Marius, for terror cannot daunt us.

Tortures were framed to dread the baser eye,

And not t'appal a princely majesty.

MARIUS. And Marius lives to triumph o'er his foes,

That train their warlike troops amidst the plains,

And are enclos'd and hemm'd with shining arms,

Not to appal such princely majesty.

Virtue, sweet ladies, is of more regard

In Marius' mind, where honour is enthron'd,

Than Rome or rule of Roman empery.

[_Here he puts chains about their necks_.

The bands, that should combine your snow-white wrists,

Are these which shall adorn your milk-white necks.

The private cells, where you shall end your lives,

Is Italy, is Europe--nay the world.

Th'Euxinian Sea, the fierce Sicilian Gulf,

The river Ganges and Hydaspes' stream

Shall level lie, and smooth as crystal ice,

While Fulvia and Cornelia pass thereon.

The soldiers, that should guard you to your deaths,

Shall be five thousand gallant youths of Rome,

In purple robes cross-barr'd with pales of gold,

Mounted on warlike coursers for the field,

Fet[141] from the mountain-tops of Corsica,

Or bred in hills of bright Sardinia,

Who shall conduct and bring you to your lord.

Ay, unto Sylla, ladies, shall you go,

And tell him Marius holds within his hands

Honour for ladies, for ladies rich reward;

But as for Sylla and for his compeers,

Who dare 'gainst Marius vaunt their golden crests,

Tell him for them old Marius holds revenge,

And in his hands both triumphs life and death.

CORNELIA. Doth Marius use with glorious words to jest,

And mock his captives with these glosing[142] terms?

MARIUS. No, ladies;

Marius hath sought for honour with his sword,

And holds disdain to triumph in your falls.

Live, Cornelia: live, fair and fairest Fulvia!

If you have done or wrought me injury,

Sylla shall pay it through his misery.

FULVIA. So gracious, famous consul, are thy words,

That Rome and we shall celebrate thy worth,

And Sylla shall confess himself o'ercome.

CORNELIA. If ladies' prayers or tears may move the heavens,

Sylla shall vow himself old Marius' friend.

MARIUS. Ladies, for that I nought at all regard:

Sylla's my foe, I'll triumph over him;

For other conquest glory doth not win.

Therefore come on,

That I may send you unto Sylla.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter a_ CLOWN, _drunk, with a pint of wine in his hand,

and two or three_ SOLDIERS.

1ST SOLDIER. Sirrah, dally not with us; you know where he is.

CLOWN. O, sir, a quart is a quart in any man's purse, and drink is

drink, and can my master live without his drink, I pray you?

2D SOLDIER. You have a master then, sirrah?

CLOWN. Have I a master, thou scoundrel? I have an orator to my master,

a wise man to my master. But, fellows, I must make a parenthesis of

this pint-pot, for words make men dry: now, by my troth, I drink to

Lord Anthony.

3D SOLDIER. Fellow-soldiers, the weakness of his brain hath made his

tongue walk largely; we shall have some novelties by-and-by.

CLOWN. O most surpassing wine,

Thou marrow of the vine!

More welcome unto me

Than whips to scholars be.

Thou art, and ever was,

A means to mend an ass;

Thou makest some to sleep,

And many mo to weep,

And some be glad and merry,

With heigh down derry, derry.

Thou makest some to stumble,

And many mo to fumble,

And me have pinky neyne.[143]

More brave and jolly wine!

What need I praise thee mo,

For thou art good, with heigh-ho!

3D SOLDIER. If wine then be so good, I prithee, for thy part,

Tell us where Lord Anthony is, and thou shalt have a quart.

CLOWN. First shall the snow be black,

And pepper lose his smack,

And stripes forsake my back:

First merry drunk with sack,

I will go boast and track,

And all your costards crack,

Before I do the knack

Shall make me sing alack.

Alack, the old man is weary,

For wine hath made him merry.

With a heigh-ho.

1ST SOLDIER. I prythee leave these rhymes, and tell us where thy

master is?

CLOWN. Faith, where you shall not be,

Unless ye go with me.

But shall I tell them so?

O, no, sir, no, no, no.

The man hath many a foe,

As far as I do know:

You do not flout me, I hope.

See how this liquor fumes,

And how my force presumes.

You would know where Lord Anthony is? I perceive you.

Shall I say he is in yond farmhouse? I deceive you.

Shall I tell you this wine is for him? The gods forfend,

And so I end. Go, fellow-fighters, there's a bob for ye.

2D SOLDIER. My masters, let us follow this clown, for questionless this

grave orator is in yonder farmhouse[144]. But who cometh yonder?

_Enter_ OLD ANTHONY.

ANTHONY. I wonder why my peasant stays so long,

And with my wonder hasteth on my woe,

And with my woe I am assailed with fear,

And with my fear await with faintful breath

The final period of my pains by death.

1ST SOLDIER. Yond's the man we seek for, soldiers. Unsheathe your

swords, and make a riddance of Marius' ancient enemy.

CLOWN. Master, fly, fly,

Or else you shall die!

A plague on this wine,

Hath made me so fine!

And will you not be gone?

Then I'll leave you alone,

And sleep upon your woe,

With a lamentable heigh-ho.

[_Exit_.

ANTHONY. Betrayed at last by witless oversight!

Now, Anthony, prepare thyself to die.

Lo, where the monstrous ministers of wrath

Menace thy murder with their naked swords.

2D SOLDIER. Anthony, well-met: the consul Marius, with other confederate

senators, have adjudged thee death, therefore prepare thyself, and think

we favour thee in this little protraction.

ANTHONY. Immortal powers, that know the painful cares

That wait upon my poor distressed heart,

O, bend your brows, and level all your looks

Of dreadful awe upon these daring men!

And thou, sweet niece of Atlas, on whose lips

And tender tongue the pliant muses sit,

Let gentle course of sweet aspiring speech,

Let honey-flowing terms of weary woe,

Let fruitful figures and delightful lines

Enforce a spring of pity from their eyes,

Amaze the murd'rous passions of their minds,

That they may favour woful Anthony.

O countrymen, what shall become of Rome,

When reverend duty droopeth through disgrace?

O countrymen, what shall become of Rome,

When woful nature, widow of her joys,

Weeps on our walls to see her laws depress'd?

O Romans, hath not Anthony's discourse

Seal'd up the mouths of false seditious men,

Assoil'd[145] the doubts and quaint controls of power,

Relieved the mournful matron with his pleas?

And will you seek to murder Anthony?

The lions brook with kindness their relief;

The sheep reward the shepherd with their fleece;

Yet Romans seek to murder Anthony.

1ST SOLDIER. Why, what enchanting terms of art are these,

That force my heart to pity his distress?

2D SOLDIER. His action, speech, his favour and his grace,

My rancour rage and rigour doth deface.

3D SOLDIER. So sweet his words, that now of late, meseems,

His art doth draw my soul from out my lips.

ANTHONY. What envious eyes, reflecting nought but rage,

What barbarous heart, refresh'd with nought but blood,

That rends not to behold the senseless trees

In doly[146] season drooping without leaves?

The shepherd sighs upon the barren hills,

To see his bleating lambs with faintful looks

Behold the valleys robb'd of springing flowers,

That whilom wont to yield them yearly food.

Even meanest things, exchang'd from former state,

The virtuous mind with some remorse doth mate.

Can then your eyes with thundering threats of rage

Cast furious gleams of anger upon age?

Can then your hearts with furies mount so high,

As they should harm the Roman Anthony?

I, far more kind than senseless tree, have lent

A kindly sap to our declining state,

And like a careful shepherd have foreseen

The heavy dangers of this city Rome;

And made the citizens the happy flock,

Whom I have fed with counsels and advice:

But now those locks that, for their reverend white,

Surpass the down on Aesculapius' chin:

But now that tongue, whose terms and fluent style

For number pass'd the hosts of heavenly fires:

But now that head, within whose subtle brains

The queen of flowing eloquence did dwell--

_Enter a_ CAPTAIN.

These locks, this tongue, this head, this life, and all,

To please a tyrant, trait'rously must fall.

CAPTAIN. Why, how now, soldiers, is he living yet?

And will you be bewitched with his words?

Then take this fee, false orator, from me: [_Stabs him_.

Elysium best beseems thy faintful limbs.

ANTHONY. O blissful pains! now Anthony must die,

Which serv'd and lov'd Rome and her empery.

[_Moritur[147].

CAPTAIN. Go, curtal off that neck with present stroke,

And straight present it unto Marius.

1ST SOLDIER. Even in this head did all the muses dwell:

The bees, that sat upon the Grecian's lips,

Distill'd their honey on his temper'd tongue.

2D SOLDIER. The crystal dew of fair Castalian springs

With gentle floatings trickled on his brains:

The graces kissed his kind and courteous brows,

Apollo gave the beauties of his harp,

_Enter_ LECTORIUS _pensive_.

And melodies unto his pliant speech.

CAPTAIN. Leave these presumptuous praises, countrymen:

And see Lectorius, pensive where he comes.

Lo, here, my lord, the head of Anthony;

See here the guerdon fit for Marius' foe,

Whom dread Apollo prosper in his rule.

LECTORIUS. O Romans, Marius sleeps among the dead,

And Rome laments the loss of such a friend.

CAPTAIN. A sudden and a woful chance, my lord,

Which we intentive[148] fain would understand.

LECTORIUS. Though swoll'n with sighs, my heart for sorrow burst,

And tongue with tears and plaints be choked up,

Yet will I furrow forth with forced breath

A speedy passage to my pensive speech.

Our consul Marius, worthy soldiers,

Of late within a pleasant plot of ground

Sat down for pleasure near a crystal spring,

Accompanied with many lords of Rome.

Bright was the day, and on the spreading trees

The frolic citizens[149] of forest sung

Their lays and merry notes on perching boughs;

When suddenly appeared in the east

Seven mighty eagles with their talons fierce,

Who, waving oft about our consul's head,

At last with hideous cry did soar away.

When suddenly old Marius aghast,

With reverend smile, determin'd with a sigh

The doubtful silence of the standers-by.

Romans, said he, old Marius now must die:

These seven fair eagles, birds of mighty Jove,

That at my birthday on my cradle sat,

Now at my last day warn[150] me to my death,

And lo, I feel the deadly pangs approach.

What should I more? In brief, with many prayers

For Rome, his son--his goods and lands dispos'd--

Our worthy consul to our wonder died.

The city is amaz'd, for Sylla hastes

To enter Rome with fury, sword and fire.

Go place that head upon the capitol,

And to your wards, for dangers are at hand.

[_Exit_.

CAPTAIN. Had we foreseen this luckless chance before,

Old Anthony had liv'd and breathed yet.

[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS QUINTUS.

_A great skirmish in Rome and long, some slain. At

last enter_ SYLLA _triumphant, with_ POMPEY, METELLUS,

_Citizens, Soldiers_.

SYLLA. Now, Romans, after all these mutinies,

Seditions, murders and conspiracies,

Imagine with impartial hearts at last,

What fruits proceed from these contentious brawls.

Your streets, where erst the fathers of your state

In robes of purple walked up and down,

Are strewed with mangled members, streaming blood:

And why? the reasons of this ruthful wrack

Are your seditious innovations,

Your fickle minds inclin'd to foolish change.

Ungrateful men! whilst I with tedious pain

In Asia seal'd my duty with my blood,

Making the fierce Dardanians faint for fear,

Spreading my colours in Galatia,

Dipping my sword in the Enetans' blood,

And foraging the fields of Phocida,

You called my foe from exile with his friends;

You did proclaim me traitor here in Rome;

You raz'd my house, you did defame my friends.

But, brawling wolves, you cannot bite the moon,

For Sylla lives, so forward to revenge,

As woe to those that sought to do me wrong.

I now am entered Rome in spite of force,

And will so hamper all my cursed foes.

As be he tribune, consul, lord, or knight,

That hateth Sylla, let him look to die.

And first to make an entrance to mine ire,

Bring me that traitor Carbo out of hand.

POMPEY. O Sylla, in revenging injuries,

Inflict the pain where first offence did spring,

And for my sake establish peace in Rome,

And pardon these repentant citizens.

SYLLA. Pompey, I love thee, Pompey, and consent

To thy request; but, Romans, have regard,

Lest over-reaching in offence again,

I load your shoulders with a double pain.

[_Exeunt citizens.

Bring in_ CARBO _bound_.

But, Pompey, see where jolly Carbo comes,

Footing it featly like a mighty man.

What, no obeisance, sirrah, to your lord?

CARBO[151]. My lord? No, Sylla: he that thrice hath borne

The name of consul scorns to stoop to him,

Whose heart doth hammer nought but mutinies.

POMPEY. And doth your lordship then disdain to stoop?

CARBO. Ay, to mine equal, Pompey, as thou art.

SYLLA. Thine equal, villain? no, he is my friend;

Thou, but a poor anatomy of bones,

Cas'd in a knavish tawny withered skin.

Wilt thou not stoop? art thou so stately then?

CARBO. Sylla, I honour gods, not foolish men.

SYLLA. Then break that wither'd bough, that will not bend[152],

And, soldiers, cast him down before my feet: [_They throw him down_.

Now, prating sir, my foot upon thy neck,

I'll be so bold to give your lordship check.

Believe me, soldiers, but I over-reach;

Old Carbo's neck at first was made to stretch.

CARBO. Though body bend, thou tyrant most unkind,

Yet never shalt thou humble Carbo's mind.

SYLLA. O sir, I know, for all your warlike pith

A man may mar your worship with a with.[153]

You, sirrah, levied arms to do me wrong;

You brought your legions to the gates of Rome;

You fought it out in hope that I would faint;

But, sirrah, now betake you to your books,

Entreat the gods to save your sinful soul:

For why this carcase must in my behalf

Go feast the ravens that serve our augurs' turn.

Methinks I see already, how they wish

To bait their beaks in such a jolly dish.

CARBO. Sylla, thy threats and scoffs amate me not.

I prythee, let thy murderers hale me hence;

For Carbo rather likes to die by sword,

Than live to be a mocking-stock to thee.

SYLLA. The man hath haste; good soldiers, take him hence:

It would be good to alter his pretence.

But be advis'd that, when the fool is slain,

You part the head and body both in twain.

I know that Carbo longs to know the cause,

And shall: thy body for the ravens[154], thy head for daws.

CARBO. O matchless ruler of our capitol,

Behold poor Rome with grave and piteous eye

Fulfilled with wrong and wretched tyranny!

[_Exit_ CARBO _cum militibus.

Enter_ SCIPIO, NORBANUS, _and_ CARINNA.[155]

SYLLA. Tut, the proud man's prayer will never pierce the sky.

But whither press these mincing senators?

NORBANUS. We press with prayers, we come with mournful tears,

Entreating Sylla by those holy bands,

That link fair Juno with her thundering Jove,

Even by the bonds of hospitality,

To pity Rome afflicted through thy wrath.

Thy soldiers (Sylla) murder innocents:

O, whither will thy lawless fury stretch,

If little ruth ensue thy country's harms?

SYLLA. Gay words, Norbanus, full of eloquence,

Accompanied with action and conceit:

But I must teach thee judgment therewithal

Dar'st thou approach my presence, that hast borne

Thine arms in spite of Sylla and his friends?

I tell thee, foolish man, thy judgment wanted

In this presumptuous purpose that is pass'd:

And, loitering scholar, since you fail in art,

I'll learn you judgment shortly to your smart.

Despatch him, soldiers; I must see him die.

And you, Carinna, Carbo's ancient friend,

Shall follow straight your headless[156] general.

And, Scipio, were it not I lov'd thee well,

Thou should'st accompany these slaves to hell:

But get you gone, and if you love yourself.

[_Exit_ SCIPIO.

CARINNA. Pardon me, Sylla! pardon, gentle Sylla!

SYLLA. Sirrah, this gentle name was coin'd too late,

And shadow'd in the shrouds of biting hate.

Despatch! [_Kill him_.] why so; good fortune to my friends--

As for my foes, even such shall be their ends.

Convey them hence. Metellus, gentle Metellus,

Fetch me Sertorius from Iberia:

In doing so thou standest me in stead,

For sore I long to see the traitor's head.

METELLUS. I go, confirm'd to conquer him by sword,

Or in th'exploit to hazard life and all. [_Exit_.

SYLLA. Now, Pompey, let me see: those senators

Are dangerous stops of our pretended[157] state,

And must be curtail'd, lest they grow too proud.

I do proscribe just forty senators,

Which shall be leaders in my tragedy.

And for our gentlemen are over-proud,

Of them a thousand and six hundred die;

A goodly army, meet to conquer hell.

Soldiers, perform the course of my decree.

Their friends my foes, their foes shall be my friends.

Go sell their goods by trumpet at your wills:

Meanwhile Pompey shall see, and Rome shall rue,

The miseries that shortly shall ensue.

[_Exeunt_.

_Alarum, skirmish, a retreat. Enter_ YOUNG MARIUS

_upon the walls of_ PRAENESTE _with some Soldiers,

all in black and wonderful melancholy_.

YOUNG MARIUS. O endless course of needy man's avail!

What silly thoughts, what simple policies,

Make man presume upon this traitorous life!

Have I not seen the depth of sorrow once,

And then again have kiss'd the queen of chance.

O Marius, thou, Tillitius, and thy friends,

Hast seen thy foe discomfited in fight:

But now the stars have form'd my final harms.

My father Marius lately dead in Rome;

My foe with honour doth triumph in Rome,

My friends are dead and banished from Rome.

Ay, Marius, father, friends, more blest than thee!

They dead, I live; I thralled, they are free.

Here in Praeneste am I cooped up,

Amongst a troop of hunger-starved men,

Set to prevent false Sylla's fierce approach,

But now exempted both of life and all.

Well, fortune, since thy fleeting change hath cast

Poor Marius from his hopes and true desires,

My resolution shall exceed thy power.

Thy colour'd wings steeped in purple blood,

Thy blinding wreath distain'd in purple blood,

Thy royal robes wash'd in my purple blood,

Shall witness to the world thy thirst of blood;

And when the tyrant Sylla shall expect

To see the son of Marius stoop to fear,

Then, then, O, then, my mind shall well appear,

That scorn my life, and hold mine honour dear.

[_Alarum. A retreat_.

Hark how these murderous Romans, viper-like,

Seek to bewray their fellow-citizens.

O wretched world, from whence with speedy flight

True love, true zeal, true honour late is fled!

SOLDIER. What makes my lord so careless and secure,

To leave the breach and here lament alone?

YOUNG MARIUS. Not fear, my friend, for I could never fly;

But study how with honour for to die.

I pray thee, call the chiefest citizens;

I must advise them in a weighty cause:

Here shall they meet me; and, until they come,

I will go view the danger of the breach.

[_Exit_ YOUNG MARIUS, _with the Soldiers_.

_Enter, with drums and Soldiers_, LUCRETIUS, _with

other Romans, as_ TUDITANUS, &c.

LUCRETIUS. Say, Tuditanus, didst thou ever see

So desperate defence as this hath been.

TUDITANUS. As in Numidia, tigers wanting food,

Or, as in Lybia, lions full of ire,

So fare these Romans on Praeneste walls.

LUCRETIUS. Their valour, Tuditanus, and resist,

The man-like fight of younger Marius,

Makes me amaz'd to see their miseries,

And pity them, although they be my foes.

What said I? Foes? O Rome, with ruth I see

Thy state consum'd through folly and dissension!

Well, sound a parley; I will see if words

[_Sound a parley_--YOUNG MARIUS _appears

upon the walls with the Citizens_.

Can make them yield, which will not fly for strokes.

YOUNG MARIUS. What seeks this Roman warrior at our hands?

LUCRETIUS. That seeks he, Marius, that he wisheth thee:

An humble heart and then a happy peace.

Thou see'st thy fortunes are depress'd and down;

Thy victuals spent; thy soldiers weak with want;

The breach laid open, ready to assault:

Now, since thy means and maintenance are done,

Yield, Marius, yield. Praenestians, be advis'd;

Lucretius is advis'd to favour you.

I pray thee, Marius, mark my last advice:

Relent in time; let Sylla be thy friend;

So thou in Rome may'st lead a happy life,

And those with thee shall pray for Marius still.

YOUNG MARIUS. Lucretius, I consider on thy words:

Stay there awhile; thou shalt have answer straight.

LUCRETIUS. Apollo grant that my persuasions may

Preserve these Roman soldiers from the sword.

YOUNG MARIUS. My friends and citizens of Praeneste town,

You see the wayward working of our stars;

Our hearts confirm'd to fight, our victuals spent.

If we submit, it's Sylla must remit;

A tyrant, traitor, enemy to Rome,

Whose heart is guarded still with bloody thoughts.

These flattering vows Lucretius here avows,

Are pleasing words to colour poison'd thoughts.

What, will you live with shame, or die with fame?

1ST CITIZEN. A famous death, my lord, delights us most.

2D CITIZEN. We of thy faction, Marius, are resolv'd

To follow thee in life and death together.

YOUNG MARIUS. Words full of worth, beseeming noble minds:

The very balsamum to mend my woes.

O countrymen! you see Campania spoil'd;

A tyrant threat'ning mutinies in Rome;

A world despoil'd of virtue, faith, and trust.

If then, no peace, no liberty, no faith,

Conclude with me, and let it be no life!

Live not to see your tender infants slain;

These stately towers made level with the land;

This body mangled by our enemy's sword:

But full resolv'd to do as Marius doth,

Unsheathe your poniards, and let every friend

Bethink him of a soldier-like farewell.

Sirrah, display my standard on the walls,

And I will answer yond Lucretius:

Who loveth Marius, now must die with Marius!

LUCRETIUS. What answer will your lordship then return us?

YOUNG MARIUS. Lucretius, we that know what Sylla is--

How dissolute, how trothless and corrupt,

In brief conclude to die, before we yield:

But so to die--Lucretius, mark me well--

As loth to see the fury of our swords

Should murther friends and Roman citizens.

Fie, countrymen! what fury doth infect

Your warlike bosoms, that were wont to fight

With foreign foes, not with Campanian friends.

Now unadvised youth must counsel eld;

For governance is banish'd out of Rome.

Woe to that bough, from whence these blooms are sprung!

Woe to that Aetna, vomiting this fire!

Woe to that brand, consuming country's weal!

Woe to that Sylla, careless and secure,

That gapes with murder for a monarchy!

Go, second Brutus, with a Roman mind,

And kill that tyrant. And for Marius' sake,

Pity the guiltless wives of these your friends.

Preserve their weeping infants from the sword,

Whose fathers seal their honours with their bloods.

Farewell, Lucretius: first I press in place [_Stab_.

To let thee see a constant Roman die.

Praenestians, lo, a wound, a fatal wound!

The pain but small, the glory passing great!

Praenestians, see a second stroke! why so; [_Again_.

I feel the dreeping dimness of the night,

Closing the coverts of my careful eyes.

Follow me, friends; for Marius now must die

With fame, in spite of Sylla's tyranny.[158]

[_Moritur_.

1ST CITIZEN. We follow thee our chieftain even in death.

Our town is thine, Lucretius; but we pray

For mercy for our children and our wives.

[_Moritur_.

2D CITIZEN. O, save my son, Lucretius; let him live.

[_Moritur_.

LUCRETIUS. A wondrous and bewitched constancy,

Beseeming Marius' pride and haughty mind.

Come, let us charge the breach; the town is ours.

Both male and female, put them to the sword:

So please you, Sylla, and fulfil his word.

[_Exeunt_.

_A little skirmish. A retreat. Enter in royally_ LUCRETIUS.

LUCRETIUS. Now, Romans, we have brought Praeneste low,

And Marius sleeps amidst the dead at last:

So then to Rome, my countrymen, with joy,

Where Sylla waits the tidings of our fight.

Those prisoners that are taken, see forthwith

With warlike javelins you put them to death.

Come, let us march! See Rome in sight, my hearts,

Where Sylla waits the tidings of our war.

_Enter_ SYLLA, VALERIUS FLACCUS, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, _Citizens'

Guard_: SYLLA, _seated in his robes of state, is saluted by

the Citizens, &c_.

FLACCUS. Romans, you know, and to your griefs have seen

A world of troubles hatched here at home,

Which through prevention being well-nigh cross'd

By worthy Sylla and his warlike band,

I, consul, with these fathers think it meet

To fortify our peace and city's weal,

To name some man of worth that may supply

Dictator's power and place; whose majesty

Shall cross the courage of rebellious minds.

What think you, Romans, will you condescend?

SYLLA. Nay, Flaccus, for their profits they must yield;

For men of mean condition and conceit

Must humble their opinions to their lords.

And if my friends and citizens consent,

Since I am born to manage mighty things,

I will, though loth, both rule and govern them.

I speak not this, as though I wish to reign,

But for to know my friends: and yet again

I merit, Romans, far more grace than this.

FLACCUS. Ay, countrymen, if Sylla's power and mind,

If Sylla's virtue, courage, and device,

If Sylla's friends and fortunes merit fame,

None then but he should bear dictator's name.

POMPEY. What think you, citizens, why stand ye mute?

Shall Sylla be dictator here in Rome?

CITIZENS. By full consent Sylla shall be dictator.

FLACCUS. Then in the name of Rome I here present

The rods and axes into Sylla's hand;

And fortunate prove Sylla, our dictator.

[_Trumpets sound: cry within_, SYLLA _Dictator_.

SYLLA. My fortunes, Flaccus, cannot be impeach'd.

For at my birth the planets passing kind

Could entertain no retrograde aspects:

And that I may with kindness 'quite their love,

My countrymen, I will prevent the cause

'Gainst all the false encounters of mishap.

You name me your dictator, but prefix

No time, no course, but give me leave to rule

And yet exempt me not from your revenge.

Thus by your pleasures being set aloft,

Straight by your furies I should quickly fall.

No, citizens, who readeth Sylla's mind,

Must form my titles in another kind:

Either let Sylla be dictator ever,

Or flatter Sylla with these titles never.

CITIZENS. Perpetual be thy glory and renown:

Perpetual lord dictator shalt thou be.

POMPEY. Hereto the senate frankly doth agree.

SYLLA. Then so shall Sylla reign, you senators.

Then so shall Sylla rule, you citizens,

As senators and citizens that please me

Shall be my friends; the rest cannot disease me.

_Enter_ LUCRETIUS, _with Soldiers_.

But see, whereas Lucretius is return'd!

Welcome, brave Roman: where is Marius?

Are these Praenestians put unto the sword?

LUCRETIUS. The city, noble Sylla, razed is,

And Marius dead--not by our swords, my lord,

But with more constancy than Cato died.

SYLLA. What, constancy! and but a very boy?

Why then I see he was his father's son.

But let us have this constancy described.

LUCRETIUS. After our fierce assaults and their resist,

Our siege, their sallying out to stop our trench,

Labour and hunger reigning in the town,

The younger Marius on the city's wall

Vouchsaf'd an inter-parley at the last;

Wherein with constancy and courage too

He boldly arm'd his friends, himself, to death;

And, spreading of his colours on the wall,

For answer said he could not brook to yield,

Or trust a tyrant such as Sylla was.

SYLLA. What, did the brainsick boy upbraid me so?

But let us hear the rest, Lucretius.

LUCRETIUS. And, after great persuasions to his friends

And worthy resolution of them all,

He first did sheathe his poniard in his breast,

And so in order died all the rest.

SYLLA. Now, by my sword, this was a worthy jest.[159]

Yet, silly boy, I needs must pity thee,

Whose noble mind could never mated be.

Believe me, countrymen, a sudden thought,

A sudden change in Sylla now hath wrought.

Old Marius and his son were men of name,

Nor fortune's laughs nor low'rs their minds could tame,

And when I count their fortunes that are past,

I see that death confirm'd their fames at last.

Then he that strives to manage mighty things,

Amidst his triumphs gains a troubled mind.

The greatest hope, the greatest harm it brings,

And poor men in content their glory find.

If then content be such a pleasant thing,

Why leave I country life to live a king?

Yet kings are gods, and make the proudest stoop;

Yea, but themselves are still pursued with hate:

And men were made to mount and then to droop.

Such chances wait upon uncertain fate.

That where she kisseth once, she quelleth twice;

Then whoso lives content is happy, wise.

What motion moveth this philosophy?

O Sylla, see the ocean ebbs and flows;[160]

The spring-time wanes, when winter draweth nigh:

Ay, these are true and most assured notes.

Inconstant chance such tickle turns has lent.

As whoso fears no fall, must seek content.

FLACCUS. Whilst graver thoughts of honour should allure thee,

What maketh Sylla muse and mutter thus?

SYLLA. I, that have pass'd amidst the mighty troops

Of armed legions, through a world of war,

Do now bethink me, Flaccus, of my chance:

How I alone, where many men were slain,

In spite of fate am come to Rome again.

And though[161] I wield the reverend stiles of state;

She[162], Sylla, with a beck could break thy neck.

What lord of Rome hath dar'd as much as I?

Yet, Flaccus, know'st thou not that I must die?

The labouring sisters on the weary looms

Have drawn my web of life at length, I know;

And men of wit must think upon their tombs:

For beasts with careless steps to Lethe go

Where men, whose thoughts and honours climb on high,

Living with fame, must learn with fame to die.

POMPEY. What lets, my lord, in governing this state,

To live in rest, and die with honour too?

SYLLA. What lets me, Pompey? why, my courteous friend,

Can he remain secure that wields a charge,

Or think of wit when flatterers do commend,

Or be advis'd that careless runs at large?

No, Pompey: honey words make foolish minds,

And pow'r the greatest wit with error blinds.

Flaccus, I murder'd Anthony, thy friend;

Romans, some here have lost at my command

Their fathers, mothers, brothers, and allies;

And think you, Sylla, thinking these misdeeds,

Bethinks not on your grudges and mislike?

Yes, countrymen, I bear them still in mind:

Then, Pompey, were I not a silly man

To leave my rule, and trust these Romans then?

POMPEY. Your grace hath small occasions of mistrust,

Nor seek these citizens for your disclaim.

SYLLA. But, Pompey, now these reaching plumes of pride,

That mounted up my fortunes to the clouds,

By grave conceits shall straight be laid aside,

And Sylla thinks of far more simple shrouds.

For having tried occasion in the throne,

I'll see if she dare frown, when state is gone.

Lo, senators, the man that sat aloft,

Now deigns to give inferiors highest place.

Lo, here the man whom Rome repined oft,

A private man content to brook disgrace.

Romans, lo, here the axes, rods, and all:

I'll master fortune, lest she make me thrall.

Now whoso list accuse me, tell my wrongs,

Upbraid me in the presence of this state.

Is none these jolly citizens among,

That will accuse, or say I am ingrate?

Then will I say, and boldly boast my chances,

That nought may force the man whom fate advances.

FLACCUS. What meaneth Sylla in this sullen mood,

To leave his titles on the sudden thus?

SYLLA. Consul, I mean with calm and quiet mind

To pass my days, till[163] happy death I find.

POMPEY. What greater wrong than leave thy country so?

SYLLA. Both it and life must Sylla leave in time.

CITIZEN. Yet during life have care of Rome and us.

SYLLA. O wanton world, that flatter'st in thy prime,

And breathest balm and poison mixed in one!

See how these wavering Romans wish'd my reign,

That whilom fought and sought to have me slain. [_Aside_.]

My countrymen, this city wants no store

Of fathers, warriors, to supply my room;

So grant me peace, and I will die for Rome.

_Enter two Burglars to them_, POPPEY _and_ CURTALL.

CURTALL. These are very indiscreet counsels, neighbour Poppey,

and I will follow your misadvisement.

POPPEY. I tell you, goodman Curtall, the wench hath wrong. O vain

world, O foolish men! Could a man in nature cast a wench down, and

disdain in nature to lift her up again? Could he take away her

dishonesty without bouncing up the banns of matrimony? O learned

poet, well didst thou write fustian verse.

_These maids are daws

That go to the laws,

And a babe in the belly_.

CURTALL. Tut, man, 'tis the way the world must follow, for

_Maids must be kind,

Good husbands to find_.

POPPEY. But mark the fierse[164],

_If they swell before,

It will grieve them sore_.

But see, yond's Master Sylla: faith, a pretty fellow is a.

SYLLA. What seek my countrymen? what would my friends?

CURTALL. Nay, sir, your kind words shall not serve the turn: why, think

you to thrust your soldiers into our kindred with your courtesies, sir?

POPPEY. I tell you, Master Sylla, my neighbour will have the law: he had

the right, he will have the wrong; for therein dwells the law.

CONSUL. What desire these men of Rome?

CURTALL. Neighbour, sharpen the edge-tool of your wits upon the

whetstone of indiscretion, that your words may shine like the razors

of Palermo[165]: [_to_ POPPEY] you have learning with ignorance,

therefore speak my tale.

POPPEY. Then, worshipful Master Sylla, be it known unto you,

That my neighbour's daughter Dority

Was a maid of restority;

Fair, fresh, and fine

As a merry cup of wine;

Her eyes like two potch'd eggs,

Great and goodly her legs;

But mark my doleful ditty,

Alas! for woe and pity!

A soldier of your's

Upon a bed of flowers

Gave her such a fall,

As she lost maidenhead and all.

And thus in very good time

I end my rudeful rhyme.

SYLLA. And what of this, my friend? why seek you me,

Who have resign'd my titles and my state,

To live a private life, as you do now?

Go move the Consul Flaccus in this cause,

Who now hath power to execute the laws.

CURTALL. And are you no more master dixcator, nor generality of the

soldiers?

SYLLA. My powers do cease, my titles are resign'd.

CURTALL. Have you signed your titles? O base mind, that being in the

Paul's steeple of honour, hast cast thyself into the sink of simplicity.

Fie, beast!

Were I a king, I would day by day

Suck up white bread and milk,

And go a-jetting in a jacket of silk;

My meat should be the curds,

My drink should be the whey,

And I would have a mincing lass to love me every day.

POPPEY. Nay, goodman Curtall, your discretions are very simple; let

me cramp him with a reason. Sirrah, whether is better good ale or

small-beer? Alas! see his simplicity that cannot answer me: why,

I say ale.

CURTALL. And so say I, neighbour.

POPPEY. Thou hast reason; ergo, say I, 'tis better be a king than

a clown. Faith, Master Sylla, I hope a man may now call ye knave by

authority.

SYLLA. With what impatience hear I these upbraids,

That whilom plagued the least offence with death.

O Sylla, these are stales of destiny

By some upbraids to try thy constancy.

My friends, these scorns of yours perhaps may move

The next dictator shun to yield his state,

For fear he find as much as Sylla doth.

But, Flaccus, to prevent their farther wrong,

Vouchsafe some lictor may attach the man,

And do them right that thus complain abuse.

FLACCUS. Sirrah, go you and bring the soldier,

That hath so loosely lean'd to lawless lust:

We will have means sufficient, be assured,

To cool his heat, and make the wanton chaste.

CURTALL. We thank your mastership. Come, neighbour, let us jog.

Faith, this news will set my daughter Dorothy agog.

[_Exeunt cum Lictore_.

SYLLA. Grave senators and Romans, now you see

The humble bent of Sylla's changed mind.

Now will I leave you, lords, from courtly train

To dwell content amidst my country cave,

Where no ambitious humours shall approach

The quiet silence of my happy sleep:

Where no delicious jouissance or toys

Shall tickle with delight my temper'd ears;

But wearying out the lingering day with toil,

Tiring my veins, and furrowing of my soul,

The silent night, with slumber stealing on,

Shall lock these careful closets of mine eyes.

O, had I known the height of happiness,

Or bent mine eyes upon my mother-earth,

Long since, O Rome, had Sylla with rejoice

Forsaken arms to lead a private life!

FLACCUS. But in this humbleness of mind, my lord,

Whereas experience prov'd and art do meet,

How happy were these fair Italian fields,

If they were graced with so sweet a sun.

Then I for Rome, and Rome with me, requires

That Sylla will abide, and govern Rome.

SYLLA. O Flaccus, if th'Arabian phoenix strive

By nature's warning to renew her kind,

When, soaring nigh the glorious eye of heaven,

She from her cinders doth revive her sex,

Why should not Sylla learn by her to die,

That erst have been the Phoenix of this land?

And drawing near the sunshine of content,

Perish obscure to make your glories grow.

For as the higher trees do shield the shrubs

From posting Phlegon's[166] warmth and breathing fire,

So mighty men obscure each other's fame,

And make the best deservers fortune's game.

_Enter_ GENIUS.

But ah, what sudden furies do affright?

What apparitious fantasies are these?

O, let me rest, sweet lords, for why methinks

Some fatal spells are sounded in mine ears.

GENIUS. _Subsequitur tua mors: privari lumine Syllam,

Numina Parcarum jam fera precipiunt

Precipiunt fera jam Parcarum numina Syllam

Lumine privari: mors tua subsequitur.

Elysium petis, ô faelix! et fatidici astri

Praescius: Heroes, ô, petis innumeros!

Innumeros petis, ô, Heroes, praescius astri

Fatidici: et faelix, ô, petis Elysium_!

[Evanescit subitò.

SYLLA. _Ergó-ne post dulces annos properantia fata?

Ergo-ne jam tenebrae praemia lucis erunt?

Attamen, ut vitae fortunam gloria mortis

Vincat, in extremo funere cantet olor_.

POMPEY. How fares my lord? what dreadful thoughts are these?

What doubtful answers on a sudden thus?

SYLLA. Pompey, the man that made the world to stoop,

And fetter'd fortune in the chains of power,

Must droop and draw the chariot of fate

Along the darksome banks of Acheron.

The heavens have warn'd me of my present fall.

O, call Cornelia forth: let Sylla see

His daughter Fulvia, ere his eyes be shut.

[_Exit one for_ CORNELIA.