SCENE IV.
Enobarbus and
Demetrius.
Enob.
Hey!—What's tow'rd us now, I trow?
—All gone, all vanish'd! The devil and his seductions!
Dem.
O—I do see, 'tis hopeless all—He is lost!
He drowns, and dashes back the officious hands
Who risque themselves to save him!—Rest you happy!
I'll straight aboard.
Enob.
But this one day, this hour; indulge
me yet, I pray you. Though she bury him in
the catacombs, or cover him up under a pyramid
of her plackets, I'll find and fetch him to you,
trust me.
Dem.
It matters not—Perdition on 'em both!
Cæsar and Antony!
How this great vessel of the world does reel,
Beneath such rulers!—Was it then for these,
That the great Tully spoke, that Cato bled,
And our last Brutus struck?
Enob.
Nay, nay—if the people cannot chuse
but call out for burdens, I pray the gods they may
be properly blister'd. There was that very honest
hearted, but silly headed fellow, call'd Brutus,
whom you mentioned—he, forsooth, must impose
liberty upon his countrymen against their wills.
But, we paid him off for his impertinence, and
have given a future caveat to all such undertakers.
Dem.
Gods, gods!—O Rome, O honour!—Where, my friend,
Where is our country now? All swallow'd up,
In the wide ocean of unpaled licentiousness
That deluges mankind!—Shew me but one Roman,
One of the ancient stamp, of the old metal,
And I will pay my worship to the wonder,
And bend as to some god!—But, for this Antony,
He, of all Romans, is the most degenerate,
The deepest sunk from virtue.
Enob.
You wrong him, Demetrius, you wrong
him, by the gods! Twice has he doubled the exploits
of the great Xenophon, in the celebrated retreat
of his ten thousand Greeks; through Parthia,
once; and once, when conquering, though
conquer'd, he slew the consuls Hirtius and Pansa.
Dem.
I have heard of this.
But his late foils have dimm'd his former glories.
Enob.
But not extinguish'd, Demetrius.—Had
you but seen him, covering his little band, even
under his own courage! travelling through hostile
tracts, attended and begirt with a multitude of his
enemies; deserts before him, famine at his heels,
and all the elements in confederacy against him!—
Why, man, he browzed like the roe upon leaves
and bark, and quaffed the puddle that turned the
very oxen to loathing!—Yet his cheek lanked not.
By Jupiter, I think his step grew the firmer, and
the brow of his captainship more chearly elevated!—
We had nothing to live upon, but the confidence
and love that we catch'd from his looks; and his
courage served us all for armour and encampment.
Dem.
Pity, pity, pity!
Had he been born one hundred years ago,
He were indeed a Roman!
Enob.
And then, the sweetest companion—that
ever taught philosophy to play the fool! It were
your loss of a happy remembrance, to depart without
knowing him. But, aptly, here he comes.
