 | The Tragedy of Sertorius |  |
SCENE II.
Bebricius, Norbanus, Ligurius, Crassus, Decius; to Sertorius.Bebr.
Hail Noble Patriot of a happy State,
Blest in the Guardian! Lusitania owes,
As to the Gods, from undigested ways
Of Brutal living, unto nobler form'd,
Her Reformation. Why's obscur'd that brow?
What doubts can cause such gloomy fancies rise,
As in the hue of melancholy men?
Pensive with thought, thou shun'st Society.
Nor.
Know, brave Sertorius, that we all in thee
Wind up our Clue of life: as men devote,
To the Infernals, humane Sacrifice.
Thy breath, when form'd into a sound, is Law:
And not the dead shall, at the day of Doom
Call'd to appear, in mightier numbers rise,
Hudled to form from out their quiet Urns;
Than Lusitania, from her wide extents,
Crowd to attend Sertorius God-like call.
Lig.
Gods glory in thy make, thou man Divine,
True Similar to Rome's first Founder made;
3
That's Great, or Good! Not Mars himself on Earth,
When Illion Field's Divinities were Arm'd
For Troy or Greece, wrought wonders with his Sword
Out-doing thine; which Fame as loudly speaks
To the Extreams o'th' Universe yet known:
Chose out by Fate, Elected by the Gods,
To free thy Country from Tyrannick Rule;
Tho' to the eye of Mortals Heav'n obscures
The mystick Writ, till Fate unloose the hours
Which guide the Day to Rome's delivery.
Nor.
Heav'n own'd thy birth; and pleas'd was mighty Jove,
When, in the Characters of Fate, he saw
A man so God-like, that should know the change
Of Earthly joys, as he of those Divine,
When Sons of Earth made War against his Heav'n,
And climb'd Olympus; else, in Infant years,
weigh'd down with Iron: Under Cœpio's charge,
When Chance unjustly Crown'd the painted Gauls,
Thou swam'st the Torrent of impetuous Rhine,
And liv'd to gain new glories by their spoil.
Crass.
Fame loudly speaks the Action of that Day,
When Celtiberians broke their solemn Vow,
And, in Castula, call'd the Gryseans in,
To Martyr Rome, in slaughter of her Sons;
As angry Pow'rs ruffle their Sky to Storms:
Here, Sun-shine; there, upon the Northern Pole,
Destroying Flames make big the Elements
With Fate inevitable: so did'st Thou;
When, in the height of their vain glorious hope,
With speed of Hurricanes thy Sword destroy'd;
Consum'd the Villains e're a thought could rise,
And pluck'd a Laurel from the Victor's brow.
Bebr.
'Mongst men, for deeds so great, we court thy Rule;
And glory in thee: nay, the Vulgar Crowd
Pay adoration to thy just desert;
And blaze aloud that Fate attends thy Sword,
Edg'd sure by Death: for, when thou heav'st thy arm,
So Plagues devast, as thou mak'st void the space;
4
And Thunder with the Ratling of their Shields,
The frightned blood starts back into the heart,
And makes the Soul, with Terror, flye its Seat.
Sert.
If Gods have form'd me as you say; I live
Wholly devoted yours. The Roman name
Shall, with her Eagles, take a flight to you;
Pearch in your Temples; and a terror be
To Rome's ill Genij, which have ruin'd all:
That from the Ashes, like the Phœnix, may
Arise a greater, nobler Nation here.
Bebr.
Worthiest of men, when Sylla's bloody hands,
Embru'd in Slaughter, threatned Death and Fate;
When all the terrors froze us up with fear;
Thou sav'dst our Country, and dispers'd the Foe,
Did'st Acts beyond belief, secur'd us all:
And, with the Thunder of thy mighty deeds,
Scatter'd that storm which did obscure our day.
Now, safe in thee, we Sylla's pow'r defie;
Covet to Arm, when great Sertorius calls.
Sert.
Who would refuse to spend his dearest blood
When gratitude requires? Oh, Friends, I find
The deep impression which your loves have made;
Sole help to raise my Soul, with thought deprest.
Nor can I fear, thus circled by my Friends,
Vain glorious Sylla, who delights in blood:
Rapine, and Spoil, wait his Triumphant Car;
And, where he comes, like angry Fates, he breaks
Handfuls at once, not cuts 'em thread by thread.
Fearless of him, all others I despise;
And his new Pupil Pompey, big with threats:
His School-boy's rage, to call us on to Arms.
So the young Huntsmen, fearless of success,
Dart distant weapons 'gainst the dreadful Beast,
Till some barb'd Pile pierces his tawny side;
Lash'd by his tail to rage, he bellows out
Destruction, and lays waste the Armed Troop:
So rouz'd, so Arm'd, by our just Cause, we'll on.
We fight for Liberty, and for our Gods;
5
Who all the Temples of the Graces shuts;
Vertue and Peace are strangers to their breasts:
For them we Fight, and they must Crown our Swords.
Bebr.
Noble Sertorius! Lusitania's Patron!
Sert.
Rome's Fame shall bow to you; no longer blest;
For all her Ornaments, her Arts, her all,
To Osca shall be led; the noble youth
There Educated in the Roman way;
So Habited, when riper years come on:
That, in the compass of an Age, the VVorld
Shall see Old Rome the shadow of this New.
[Sound of Trumpets.
| The Tragedy of Sertorius | |