 | The Death of Caesar |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
BRUTUS, ANTHONY, DOLABELLA.ANTHONY.
The pride, the rancorous ill-will betray'd
In this refusal, less th'impression bears
Of virtue's aweful image, than of rude
Ferocious manners. Cæsar's generous kindness,
But above all, his power, might claim, methinks,
More of respect, a more complying will.
To talk with him, at least, e'en Brutus self
Might condescend. Ah! didst thou know t'ward whom
Thou hast presumed to foster this resentment,
Didst thou but know, how would thy shuddering heart.—
BRUTUS.
I shudder now, but from thy language springs
Th'impassion'd feeling. Enemy to Rome,
Which thou hast sold, can thy vain fancy hope
By guile, or by corruption, to o'ercome
The firm resolves of Brutus?—Hence, away!
But unaccompanied by me; go, cringe
Under th'uplifted scourge! I know the scope
Of Anthony's designs, how low he bends,
And pants to be a slave.—A king thy aim!
And thou of Roman birth!
ANTHONY.
A human heart
At least is mine, and Brutus must confess,
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Ne'er have I strove with curious search to gain
Those rare-existing qualities of mind,
Which, deem'd all-powerful to complete the heroe,
Form but a stern barbarian, whose fierce temper,
And haughtiness, unyielding and unmoved,
Pollute that virtue which he boasts t'enjoy,
And make her beauties loathsome.
SCENE II.
BRUTUSalone.
What baseness, Heaven! What ignominy! See,
My wretched country, your protectors! See
What successors are yours, Horatius, Decius,
And thou, th'avenger of our laws, whose blood
Beats in this kindred heart, unrivall'd Brutus!
What poor remains, just gods! of the once great,
Once aweful majesty of Rome! Before
The hand which braces on our chains we crouch
Abject, and trembling. All is Cæsar's, all—
Our very virtues he hath ravish'd from us,
And in the midst of Roman citizens
I seek for Rome in vain.—You, whom these eyes
Have seen expire, whose fortitude still lives,
And shall to the end of time! You truly great!
Whose statues I approach, while down my cheek
Rolls the warm tear of sympathy and love!
Pompey's illustrious, and untainted race!
Thou, divine Cato! Thou, the last whose veins
Th'heroic blood of Scipio fill'd! from you
On me descending, spring again to life
The sparks of those bright virtues which so strong
Enkindled your immortal souls, you still
Survive in Brutus; you, within my bosom
Have stored up all that honour, which the tyrant
Hath from the Roman name unseemly torn.
My wretched country, your protectors! See
What successors are yours, Horatius, Decius,
And thou, th'avenger of our laws, whose blood
Beats in this kindred heart, unrivall'd Brutus!
What poor remains, just gods! of the once great,
Once aweful majesty of Rome! Before
The hand which braces on our chains we crouch
Abject, and trembling. All is Cæsar's, all—
Our very virtues he hath ravish'd from us,
And in the midst of Roman citizens
I seek for Rome in vain.—You, whom these eyes
Have seen expire, whose fortitude still lives,
And shall to the end of time! You truly great!
Whose statues I approach, while down my cheek
Rolls the warm tear of sympathy and love!
Pompey's illustrious, and untainted race!
Thou, divine Cato! Thou, the last whose veins
Th'heroic blood of Scipio fill'd! from you
On me descending, spring again to life
The sparks of those bright virtues which so strong
Enkindled your immortal souls, you still
Survive in Brutus; you, within my bosom
Have stored up all that honour, which the tyrant
Hath from the Roman name unseemly torn.
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What do I view? What paper, at the foot
Of Pompey's statue placed? My name it bears,
What is its import?—“Dost thou sleep then Brutus,
“And Rome in fetters?”—No, I do not sleep,—
My eyes are always open, Rome, for thee.
Cast not on me the vile reproach of bonds
Which I detest. Another scroll?—“No longer
“Boast thou the name, thou art not Brutus.”—Gods?
How keen the taunt! deep, deep it pierces here.
Now, Cæsar! tyrant! tremble! it is fix'd.
Thy mortal wound behold!—“Thou art not Brutus!”
I am, by earth and Heaven above, I am,
I will be Brutus. I devote myself
To death, my countrymen, to glorious death,
Or you shall live free as the air you breathe,
Unshackled by a master.—I perceive
With joy, that Rome still fosters virtuous hearts.
She calls aloud for vengeance, upon me
She turns her eyes, she stimulates my soul,
And nerves with double strength this tardy hand;
She calls for blood,—her voice determines,—Rome,
Thou shalt be satisfied.
Of Pompey's statue placed? My name it bears,
What is its import?—“Dost thou sleep then Brutus,
“And Rome in fetters?”—No, I do not sleep,—
My eyes are always open, Rome, for thee.
Cast not on me the vile reproach of bonds
Which I detest. Another scroll?—“No longer
“Boast thou the name, thou art not Brutus.”—Gods?
How keen the taunt! deep, deep it pierces here.
Now, Cæsar! tyrant! tremble! it is fix'd.
Thy mortal wound behold!—“Thou art not Brutus!”
I am, by earth and Heaven above, I am,
I will be Brutus. I devote myself
To death, my countrymen, to glorious death,
Or you shall live free as the air you breathe,
Unshackled by a master.—I perceive
With joy, that Rome still fosters virtuous hearts.
She calls aloud for vengeance, upon me
She turns her eyes, she stimulates my soul,
And nerves with double strength this tardy hand;
She calls for blood,—her voice determines,—Rome,
Thou shalt be satisfied.
SCENE III.
BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CINNA, CASCA, DECIMUS, Attendants.CASSIUS.
This, Brutus, is our last embrace. The hour
Is come, my friends, and we must fall beneath
The ruin of our laws; henceforth from Cæsar
No favour I expect; he knows my thoughts;
He is not ignorant how far we dare.
Our souls, invincible by base corruption,
Have with astonishment his plans o'erwhelm'd.
But soon will he awake; our deaths succeed,
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The fated time complete; the love of country,
Of honour, of the laws, exists no more;
From her foundations Rome herself is torn;
This day she sinks beneath his feet; he triumphs
Over mankind, he triumphs over Rome.
For him alone our thoughtless ancestors
Thro' danger rush'd to conquest. The proud spoils
Of hostile kings, the sceptre of the world,
Six hundred years of virtue, toils, and war,
Were but a stake for Cæsar, he hath won
All at a cast, and with rank appetite
Devours those precious fruits, which scarce six ages,
Ages of matchless glory, could produce.
Oh, Brutus! Wert thou born for servitude?
Freedom is lost,—quench'd is its vital flame.
BRUTUS.
Rather it is prepared again to rise,
And more intensely blaze.
CASSIUS.
What dost thou say?—
Hark!—Whence these sudden shouts!
BRUTUS.
The worthless herd—
It is their clamorous voice. Regard them not.
CASSIUS.
Did'st thou not say that freedom—Hark! the shouts
Are louder still.
SCENE IV.
BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CIMBER, DECIMUS.CASSIUS.
What means this tumult, Cimber?
Can'st thou inform us?
DECIMUS.
Who, our suffering country,
Wounds with fresh insults? What hast thou beheld?
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Rome's everlasting shame. This idol proud,
This Cæsar, I beheld him in the temple
Seated aloft, as rivalling the god
Who lightens from the capitol. That place
He chose, t'unfold his arrogant design,
Of joining Persia to the Roman empire.
The people hail'd him with each glorious name,
War's thunder-bolt, avenger of his country,
And conqueror of the world. But loaded thus
With honours, his exorbitant ambition
Was not content, another title still
Remain'd behind. When Anthony was seen,
Amid these shouts, and loud acclaims of joy,
Advancing through the multitude, and soon
He gain'd the temple. Oh, disgrace! Oh, crime!
Sinking a Roman e'en beneath contempt!
He gain'd the temple, bearing in his hand
A crown and sceptre. All at once was hush'd,—
A sudden tremor thro' th'assembly ran;
While he, with insolence unparallel'd,
Unaw'd, and unabash'd, the diadem
Placed on the head of Cæsar, to the ground
Bent his submissive knees, and cried aloud,
Reign, Cæsar! o'er th'extensive earth bear sway!
And o'er a grateful people!—At these words,
You might have seen a deadly paleness spread
On each beholder's cheek; the vaulted roof
Rang with their lamentations; horror-struck
Some wildly fled; here others blushing stood
With honest shame; some pour'd forth tears of grief
Mingled with rage.—Cæsar, who plainly read
In every visage these expressive marks
Of indignation, his dissembled part,
Long conn'd within his mind, now acted, threw
Down at his feet the regal ornaments,
And trampled on them.—Then what pleasure reign'd!
The giddy multitude beheld at once
Their liberty confirm'd, wild transport rose,
And they were drunk with fond fantastic joy.
This Cæsar, I beheld him in the temple
Seated aloft, as rivalling the god
Who lightens from the capitol. That place
He chose, t'unfold his arrogant design,
Of joining Persia to the Roman empire.
The people hail'd him with each glorious name,
War's thunder-bolt, avenger of his country,
And conqueror of the world. But loaded thus
With honours, his exorbitant ambition
Was not content, another title still
Remain'd behind. When Anthony was seen,
Amid these shouts, and loud acclaims of joy,
Advancing through the multitude, and soon
He gain'd the temple. Oh, disgrace! Oh, crime!
Sinking a Roman e'en beneath contempt!
He gain'd the temple, bearing in his hand
A crown and sceptre. All at once was hush'd,—
A sudden tremor thro' th'assembly ran;
While he, with insolence unparallel'd,
Unaw'd, and unabash'd, the diadem
Placed on the head of Cæsar, to the ground
Bent his submissive knees, and cried aloud,
Reign, Cæsar! o'er th'extensive earth bear sway!
And o'er a grateful people!—At these words,
You might have seen a deadly paleness spread
On each beholder's cheek; the vaulted roof
Rang with their lamentations; horror-struck
Some wildly fled; here others blushing stood
With honest shame; some pour'd forth tears of grief
Mingled with rage.—Cæsar, who plainly read
In every visage these expressive marks
Of indignation, his dissembled part,
Long conn'd within his mind, now acted, threw
Down at his feet the regal ornaments,
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The giddy multitude beheld at once
Their liberty confirm'd, wild transport rose,
And they were drunk with fond fantastic joy.
Anthony stood astonish'd.—Cæsar feign'd
A well-becoming modesty, and blush'd.
The more he labour'd to conceal from them
His real feelings, their exulting voice
Praised him the more.—His criminal intent
Was cover'd thus beneath the specious shew
Of moderation: his refusal seem'd
As sprung from genuine magnanimity;
Vile, painful affectation all!—In secret,
Spite of his efforts, deeply pierced the sting;
Deep, tho' not audibly, he groan'd, to hear
Those praises lavishly bestow'd on virtues
Which never graced his soul.—In short, unable
His struggling passions longer to restrain,
The capitol he left, while on his brow
Sat sullen discontent. Then gave his orders,
That in an hour the senate should attend him.
Fix'd, Brutus, is the time: one little hour,
The period limited, when Cæsar's will
Shall regulate the govenment, and all
Our valued rights destroy. The senate, once
So just, and sacred, is corrupted, bought
With Cæsar's gold; with that, the larger half
Have purchased Rome; and sold again to him
The bargain of their infamy. More base
Than are the lowest of the multitude,
Who, doom'd to poverty and woe, still hear
At least the name of king, with some degree
Of inward horror.—Cæsar, who already
Possesses all the substance, all the power
Of royalty, is anxious for a crown.
The people have refused him, but the senate
Will gratify his wishes.—What remains?
On what shall we determine? Say, my brave,
My noble countrymen?
A well-becoming modesty, and blush'd.
The more he labour'd to conceal from them
His real feelings, their exulting voice
Praised him the more.—His criminal intent
Was cover'd thus beneath the specious shew
Of moderation: his refusal seem'd
As sprung from genuine magnanimity;
Vile, painful affectation all!—In secret,
Spite of his efforts, deeply pierced the sting;
Deep, tho' not audibly, he groan'd, to hear
Those praises lavishly bestow'd on virtues
Which never graced his soul.—In short, unable
His struggling passions longer to restrain,
The capitol he left, while on his brow
Sat sullen discontent. Then gave his orders,
That in an hour the senate should attend him.
Fix'd, Brutus, is the time: one little hour,
The period limited, when Cæsar's will
Shall regulate the govenment, and all
Our valued rights destroy. The senate, once
So just, and sacred, is corrupted, bought
With Cæsar's gold; with that, the larger half
Have purchased Rome; and sold again to him
The bargain of their infamy. More base
Than are the lowest of the multitude,
Who, doom'd to poverty and woe, still hear
At least the name of king, with some degree
Of inward horror.—Cæsar, who already
Possesses all the substance, all the power
Of royalty, is anxious for a crown.
The people have refused him, but the senate
Will gratify his wishes.—What remains?
343
My noble countrymen?
CASSIUS.
On death—To finish
A life, the days of which are only number'd
By shame, succeeding shame. Its heavy chain
I have dragg'd on, while the least ray of hope
Beam'd on my country. Now eternal night
Closes around, and unavoidably
My being ends with hers. Let those who will,
Hang o'er her ashes their dejected heads,
And drop the loyal tear. I cannot raise
The arm of vengeance, but I can expire,
And mix with Rome in death.—I go where dwell
Our gods, and demi-gods—O Scipio! Pompey!
No more I hesitate your steps to tread;
And imitate the glorious deed of Cato.
BRUTUS.
No, Cassius—Let us generously scorn
Th'ignoble copyer's part. 'Tis ours to set
A bright example to succeeding times.
From us the world, suspended, even now
Expects its fate.—O valour's chosen band!
Friends of my soul! from us our country claims
Actions to justify her veneration,
And all that grateful love, with which (tho' ruin'd)
She will our memories cherish.—Had my words
Prevail'd with Cato, in his brave despair
More just, he would have seen the tyrant's blood
Commingled with his own. Against himself
He turn'd his blameless hand. No good from thence
Flow'd to mankind. Cato did all for glory;
For her he died, and not for Rome. There err'd,
And there alone, his high-aspiring soul.
CASSIUS.
In this dread hour what course shall we pursue?
And what is thy advice?
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Behold! and read!
To me alone directed.—We from this
May all be taught our duty.
[Shews the paper.
CASSIUS.
To my hands
Reproaches similar have been convey'd.
BRUTUS.
And have we not deserved them?
CIMBER.
It draws near—
The fatal crisis. In an hour the tyrant
Gives the last blow to Roman liberty.
BRUTUS.
An hour, and Cæsar in his bosom feels
The dagger's point.
CASSIUS.
Hah! there the mighty soul
Of Brutus spake. The nobly-daring thought
Proclaims the words his own.
DECIMUS.
Intrepid foe
Of arbitrary power! On thy great race
Reflecting lustre! kindred sentiments
Invigorate this breast.
CASSIUS.
Again I breathe.
Again th'emancipated spirits rush
Thro' their known channels. What due thanks? What praise
Can Cassius render thee? But this I own,
My hate of tyranny, my indignation,
Expected, from that strong and manly virtue,
Unequall'd, and peculiar to thyself.
Surely Rome's aweful genius hath inspired
Th'exalted purpose. In the name of Brutus
Some mystic power resides, announcing stern
The death of tyrants. Let us purge, my friend,
345
Let us avenge the capitol, nor wait
Till bursts the lingering thunder! Cimber! Cinna!
Ye Romans of unconquerable mould!
Are ye divided in your wills from us?
Beat not your bosoms with the same desires?
CIMBER.
True are our hearts, and own the mutual flame;
Communicated ardour. We despise
A life of baseness. We contemplate Cæsar
With fix'd abhorrence; for we love our country.
We will not halt, with prompt alacrity
Ready to join in vengeance. Is there aught
Of Roman virtue extant, it must hear
Brutus, and Cassius, from its slumbers rise,
And shine, with vital energy relumed.
DECIMUS.
Born to decide on all that may affect
The public weal; all criminals to judge,
And punish guilt; too long have we beheld
Oppression's hand stretch'd forth. While every breath
The tyrant draws, each intervening moment
Hind'ring the stroke of justice, is in us
A crime, for which we merit punishment.
CIMBER.
Shall we invite any to share with us
In this great enterprize?
BRUTUS.
And need we more
T'avenge our country than this chosen number?
Emilius, Dolabella, Lepidus,
And Bibulus, are either overcome
With fear, and tremble under Cæsar's power,
Or stoop before him, voluntary slaves,
Bought with his gold. For Cicero, tho' (most true)
He by his prudent care traced out the scheme
Of the most daring traitor to his country,
346
Cannot expect from him a strong support.
His flowing eloquence it may command;
Bold in the senate, in the desperate hour
Of peril, feeble; born with art, with grace,
T'harangue, but not avenge deep-injured Rome.
Leave to the orator, who charms his country,
The task of praising us, when we have done her
Essential service. No, I covet not
A soul but you, with whom I would partake
This honour more than mortal, this extreme
Of dangerous resolution. In an hour
The tyrant enters in the senate house,
There will I punish, there surprise him, there
Plunge in his guilty breast this hallow'd steel;
Revenging Cato's death, illustrious Pompey,
And every Roman citizen. Say that peril
Most imminent, awaits th'attempt! that placed
In every corner of the capitol
His watchful guards cast round their prying eyes!
The people yielding to each new impression,
Fluttering, and bending, osier-like, in doubt
Whether they ought to love, admire, or hate
Their plausible enslaver? O my friends!
We seem to rush on certain death. But, heaven!
How glorious, how supremely to be wish'd
That death! to fall, endeavouring to fulfil
A purpose so sublime! to see our blood
Mingled, and streaming with the blood of tyrants!
Yes, brave associates, we devote ourselves
To death, but with us Cæsar likewise dies.
While freedom by th'oppression of his crimes
Long smother'd, from its ashes shall again
Rise undecay'd, and shine thro' endless years.
CASSIUS.
Away then with debate! Let us at once
Ascend the capitol; in all his pride
347
And immolate the victim. On the people
Waste not a thought; if dubious now they seem,
Let them behold their idol on the ground,
And hear what execrations they will pour
On the once-worship'd form!
BRUTUS.
Swear then with me!
Swear on this sword! By Cato's spotless blood!
By mighty Pompey's! by the sacred manes
Of those true sons of Rome, who lifeless fell
On Afric's torrid plains! By all the gods
Avengers of our country! Swear that Cæsar
Shall stoop, and under your uplifted hands
Sink breathless in the dust.
CASSIUS.
Let us, my friends,
Beyond the tenor of this oath proceed;
And swear, with ardent zeal t'exterminate
All who hereafter o'er their kind shall dare
To claim dominion; be they e'en the sons
Born of our loins, our brothers, or our father,
If tyrants, Brutus, let them in the list
Be mark'd our bitterest foes! No son, no father
The true republican acknowledges,
But virtue, but the gods, the righteous laws,
And his dear native country.
BRUTUS.
Truth inspires
Thy tongue; henceforth for ever I unite
My blood with yours; this instant let us join
In blest relationship, adoption pure
Either of other! Our firm kindred tie,
The safety of the state, itself our true
Undoubted parent, our oppressor's blood,
Shall be the seal of these our heart-form'd bonds.
[He advances towards the statue of Pompey.
348
We vow! (whose statues in this aweful moment,
This crisis of our duty, animate
Our breasts with vigour) at thy sacred feet
We vow, O Pompey! that each act of ours
Is Rome's alone; the promptings of self-love
Forever banisht from our thoughts! To stand
Connected for the public weal, which seems
In us already to be form'd again,
And reassemble! All our vows we join,
To live, to draw the keen-edged sword, or die
In undissever'd union!—Haste! Prepare!
Already have we been too prodigal
Of irrecoverable time.
SCENE V.
CÆSAR, BRUTUS.CÆSAR.
Brutus return! I would a while converse
With thee in secret. Whither dost thou bend
Thy hasty footsteps?
BRUTUS.
Far from tyranny.
CÆSAR.
Lictors, detain him.
BRUTUS.
Be the work complete,
And take my life.
CÆSAR.
If, Brutus, in my wrath
I thirsted for thy blood, I need but speak,
And thou art mingled with the dead. Too well
Hast thou deserved it; thy ingratitude
And pride of heart is savagely intent
Ever to thwart my views. Again I find thee
Assembled with these Romans, whose designs
349
Who have so oft affronted me, dared blame
My every measure, my resentment scorn.
BRUTUS.
They spake to thee, as Romans ought to speak.
And wert thou by the gods inspired, their counsels.
Would lead thee still.
CÆSAR.
Thy boldness I endure;
Nay hear thee willingly; to thee descend
Even with pleasure from my higher station.
What layst thou to my charge?
BRUTUS.
A ravaged world;
The blood of nations, and thy plunder'd country;
Thy power; the very virtues which give birth
To thy injustice, bound (as 'twere) in league,
All thy attempts to render fortunate;
That fatal clemency which gilds thy chains;
A magic spell, wherewith to captivate
Th'infatuated world.
CÆSAR.
All these reproaches
Pompey had well deserved; who with the glare
Of his pretended virtue dazzled thine.
That haughty citizen, to Rome more fatal,
Disdain'd to share equality of rank
Even with Cæsar. Think'st thou had he proved
My conqueror, that his proud dilating soul
Would e'er have suffer'd liberty to breathe?
Thou too beneath his arbitrary yoke
Must have bent low; what then had Brutus done?
BRUTUS.
He would have slain him.
CÆSAR.
And hast thou decreed
Amid thy tow'ring thoughts this fate for me?
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Thou livest for my destruction.
BRUTUS.
If thy mind
Hath thus persuaded thee, prevent my fury,
Say, what restrains thee?
CÆSAR.
Nature; and a heart
Full of affection.—Read, ungrateful, read,
And know what blood within thy adverse breast
Is stirr'd 'gainst mine; see where thy hatred aims;
And if thou canst, pursue its dictates still.
BRUTUS.
What do I see? where am I? do my eyes
Deceive me?
CÆSAR.
Now, my son! my Brutus?
BRUTUS.
Cæsar
My father! O all-mighty gods!
CÆSAR.
I am in spite of thy ingratitude—
With what ferocious silence.—Oh! excuse me—
These sobs which burst forth from thy labouring bosom—
My son!—And do I hold thee mute within
My straining arms? Hath nature then the power
T'astonish only—not to soften thee?
BRUTUS.
Oh, dreadful fate!—I see despair before me.
Oh, my late solemn oaths! Alas, my country!
O Rome for ever dear!—Is Cæsar?—Hah!
Wretch that I am, why hath my line of life
Been stretch'd thus far?
CÆSAR.
Speak—speak—with what remorse
Is thy heart torn asunder! Hide not aught
From me.—Still wrapt in silence! dost thou dread
351
Doth it offend thy ear? Art thou afraid
That I shall lavish too much love upon thee?
That I shall make thee partner of my rank?
Alas! th'imperial sceptre of the world,
The power supreme, this Cæsar whom thou hatest,
Hath coveted for thee.—With thee, my son,
And with the young Octavius, willingly
Shall I divide those honours I have gain'd,
The produce of an hundred victories,
The regal title, and majestic sway.
BRUTUS.
O gods!
CÆSAR.
Fain would'st thou speak; and yet by force
Restrain thy tongue from utterance! These emotions;
Shall interpret them from tenderness,
Or from aversion sprung? What secret thus
Deep pent within thy bosom, seems t'o'erwhelm thee?
BRUTUS.
Cæsar.
CÆSAR.
My son! I listen with impatience.
BRUTUS.
I cannot speak to him.
CÆSAR.
Still dost thou fear
T'address me by the tender name of father?
BRUTUS.
If by that sacred tie I may invoke thee,
Oh, grant me one request!
CÆSAR.
Say, what, my Brutus?
To thee a favour granted, I shall think
Absolute gain.
BRUTUS.
Doom me to death this instant!
Or banish all ideas of a crown.
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Oh, unrelenting enemy! whose fierceness
Will tiger-like to no caresses yield,
Unmoved by my affection! Know, thy heart
Whence nature is expell'd, hath harden'd mine;
And all a father's tenderness extinguish'd.
Go, I renounce thee. Stern republican,
Away! my breast with desperate rage inspired,
Is taught by thy example, and the soul,
Which thou hast wounded thus inhumanly,
At length with thine shall cease to feel, and quell
Reluctant nature.—Go, I was not born
On minds like thine to waste with idle breath
Intreaties vain; from Brutus I have learn'd
To cast away humanity. No more
Cæsar declares thee his, or even knows thee.
Loosed by my power from every chain, no more
Will I to mercy yield opposing justice.
With firm and steady calmness I obey
The dictates of my wrath.—My easy heart
Is weary of forgiveness. From this time
Sylla shall be my pattern, all his acts
Of violence shall be renew'd by Cæsar.
Yes, let th'ungrateful tremble at th'effects
Of my awaken'd vengeance. Hence, begone,
Inhuman as thou art.—Go, meet again
Thy base unworthy friends.—They all have leagued
T'abuse, insult me, and shall all experience
My power and will to punish. They shall know
Both what I can, and what I dare. Henceforth
I am a convert to barbarity, and thou alone the cause.
BRUTUS.
Oh! thus inclined—
I will not leave him to his cruel purpose;
But save, if possible, my friends, and Cæsar.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
| The Death of Caesar | |