 | The Roman Revenge |  |
25
ACT. II.
SCENE I.
A Room in Cæsar's House. Two Chairs plac'd: Calphurnia, Flavia.CALPHURNIA.
Go, Flavia;—spread Enquiry through the Palace:
While I, prolonging Time, by every Art
Of apprehensive Love, hold Cæsar, fix'd
In Conference, till slow Torbilius comes:
Fittest Reporter of his own sad Tale,
To force Belief, and fire reluctant Vengeance.
CÆSAR.
(without)
Where is this bosom Counseller of Cæsar?
CALPHURNIA.
Fly—find Torbilius:—when he comes, touch soft
My Silver Bell, that the known Sound may war me.
[Exit Flavia.
CÆSAR.
Tis past, Calphurnia.—The try'd Faction's hatred
Repell'd obtruded Candor.
CALPHURNIA.
Shun thy Forgiveness?
CÆSAR.
Men, of contracted Views, distrust kind Meanings;
For, no Heart credits, what it cannot feel.
What frightful Story has my Dreamer, now?
26
A sad, and dreadful Truth.-No Dream-No Doubting:
He, whose dire Property the Secret rests,
Guardian of Cæsar's Life, demands his Ear.
For me—I cou'd but speak my Fears, and Follies.
CÆSAR.
Follies have Charms, when Fears, like thine, are follies:
Man may draw Profit, then, from Woman's Weakness:
And, in one tender Wife's mistaking Faith,
Find Recompence, for every Friend, that's false.
(they sit.)
CALPHURNIA.
Can there be Rest, in Danger?
CÆSAR.
Sure! There shou'd not:
CALPHURNIA.
Why is Ambition, then, too hard for Peace?
Why, always busy, to be never blest,
Does restless Cæsar sacrifice, unthank'd,
The Taste, the Quiet, the Serene, of Life,
For an ungrateful World, that hates his Bounty?
CÆSAR.
'Tis the great Mind's expected Pain, Calphurnia
To Labour for the Thankless:—He, who seeks
Reward in Ruling, makes Ambition Guilt:
And, living for Himself, disclaims Mankind.
CALPHURNIA.
Alas!—the Friend to All obliges none.
CÆSAR.
'Tis nobler to protect Mankind, than please.
27
Is it a Crime, when Virtue loves itself?
CÆSAR.
Princes shou'd widen self:—Their Power, and Heart,
Alike Receptive, must make room for All:
'Tis theirs, to Sigh, for every Sufferer's Woe;
Lend their own Joys, that others may be glad:
Think ev'en for unborn Ages; and transmit
Blessings unshar'd—and quiet, not their own.
CALPHURNIA.
Virtues, so raised, as these, but waste their Warmth,
And shine, unfelt, in Rome.—The Vulgar Eye
Sees, by its own low Level:—As Men act,
They judge: and, by corrupt Self-Interest weigh'd,
Goodness, like Heaven's, wou'd seem Self-Interest, too.
CÆSAR.
No Matter.—Virtue Triumphs, by Neglect:
Vice, while it darkens, lends but Foil, to Brightness:
And juster Times, removing Slander's Veil,
Wrong'd Merit, after Death, is help'd to live.
CALPHURNIA.
Can present Pain be cur'd, by future Ease?
CÆSAR.
Who wou'd not, once, look dim, to shine, for ever?
CALPHURNIA.
How happy is it for a Wife, who loves,
When lowlier Prospects bound her Lord's Desires,
And Home-felt Quiet fills his peaceful Heart!
Why wou'd you be a King?—wait, till some King
Aspires, to be a Cæsar:—Lend not Envy
28
Beats on the Roman's unaccustom'd Ear,
Like a black Storm—and blasts the Hope of Liberty.
CÆSAR.
Never, henceforth, disturb thy gentle Breast,
With false Forebodings, from a regal Toy!
Know me above its Want:—beyond its Glory:
Given, tho' unheld, It meets the Parthian Prophesy;
Bids the rous'd Legion's superstitious Hearts
Resume lost Ardor:—and sure Victory's, Theirs.
CALPHURNIA.
Tho' Parthia fell, there's a Patrician Envy,
That, never quench'd, burns but with fiercer Blaze,
From each new Proof, that Old Injustice wrong'd thee:
Think of those Midnight Haunters of my Fancy!
Think, how I saw thee bleed, at every Vein:
While, at each spouting Stream, a murderous Roman
Stain'd his extended Arm, and roar'd for Liberty.
Cassius!—stern Cassius!—
(starting up)
—Blast him, Heaven!—methinks,
I see him, there,—full, in my Eyes, he glares!
Pale, in the horrid Transport of his Vengeance;
And, dreadfully, enjoys the ghastly Scene!—
(Kneels.)
Oh! grant thyself, to live: Grant sad Calphurnia
That Prayer:—She begs it, but for Rome, and Nature.
CÆSAR.
Why wilt thou kneel?-What coud'st thou ask, in vain!
CALPHURNIA.
Death—instant Death, to that malignant Cassius!
29
Since thou were't first my Wife, I never saw thee
Cruel, till this strange Moment!—Dovelike gentle,
Healing Compassion sooth'd thy Heart, to Softness:
And, on thy sparkling Eye, sat weeping Mercy.
CALPHURNIA.
'Tis Mercy, to Mankind, to punish Villains.
CÆSAR.
Rise: and relieve me, from this new Distress.
(Bell rings without.)
CALPHURNIA.
(Rising.)
I will:—And thou shalt owe to Woman's Fear
A Safety, manly Confidence had lost Thee.
CÆSAR.
How art thou heated, by an idle Dream,
To strike at fansied Guilt, with real Anger!
CALPHURNIA.
The Wife of Cæsar wrongs not, even his Foes.
Flavia! Lucilia! here—who waits, without?
(Enter a Lady.)
The Man, with whom I held Discourse, this Morning!
Bid him Re-enter.
[Exit Lady.]
CÆSAR.
Who!—What Man is this?
CALPHURNIA.
Torbilius—the sow're Satirist:—Thy Enemy.—
CÆSAR.
No Enemy of mine—if Wit's his Friend.
CALPHURNIA.
Once, when condemn'd, for libelling my Cæsar,
30
Forgave—but, bad him claim distinguish'd Bounty,
Till Wit, misled, cou'd find the way to Judgment.
CÆSAR.
I know him not:—What can'st thou hope, Calphurnia,
From these slight Men?—So bold, yet, blind of Soul,
That Wit, with them, supplies the Place of Virtue;
And, censuring other's Faults, absolves their own.
CALPHURNIA.
Staying, when Portia went, his trembling Gratitude.
Pray'd Audience, in a Cause, that touch'd the Life
Of threat'ned Cæsar:—For the Rest, he comes:
Let his own Tongue retrace the horrid Tale.
SCENE II.
CÆSAR, CALPHURNIA, TORBILIUS.TORBILIUS.
Hail, Cæsar! more than Victor!—Common Conquerors
Vanquish but Power: Cæsar subdues the Will.
CÆSAR.
Why dost thou flatter!—Stranger to my Passions,
Whence wou'd thy Skill presume, to judge my Virtue?
Take heed, thou sell'st not Praise, to purchase Scorn!
Encomium is a bold, and dange'rous Province!
It calls for Reason:—Slander asks but Rage:
Who art Thou?—what is thy Pretence, in Rome?
TORBILIUS.
Touch'd by the Muse's Love, I, there, indulge
The tuneful Transports of Satiric Fire:
Rome is a fruitful Field, for Themes, like mine!
And Brutus, wit's kind Patron! loves my Verse.
31
Where Wit wants Patronage—a State wants Wisdom.
Keen, tho' the Darts, by angry Genious thrown,
The Wise can Guide 'em, while the Base Restrain:
Satire, in honest Hands, is Murmuring Virtue:
And He, who fears its Hiss, deserves its Sting.
Yet, tis a dangerous, and malignant, Good!
Tho' Freedom's Property, 'tis Faction's Spoil.
Where justly bold, 'tis Reason's manliest Impulse:
Where blindly virulent, 'tis Wit's Disease.
Think, and distinguish:—Are thy Censures weigh'd?
Dost thou Proportion Anger, to its Cause?
TORBILIUS.
Had I done that, I had not wrong'd thy Name:
I was not just:—For, I was Cæsar's Foe.—
Can Cæsar have forgot Torbilius Asper?
CÆSAR.
Why wonder'st thou at that?—For my own Sake,
My Friend imprints Remembrance;—but my Foe,
For His, shou'd be Forgotten.
TORBILIUS.
Generous Cæsar,
Forgetting me, forgets the Guilt, he pardon'd,
And Claims not his own Virtues!
CÆSAR.
Roman! learn
To measure Truth, more justly:—Benefits,
From their Receiver only, claim Remembrance:
He, who bestows, and not forgets—resumes 'em.
TORBILIUS.
Perish the Mem'ory, and the Man, together,
When I forget such Greatness—
32
Spare thy Words:—
And hasten to disclose thy Thanks, in Action.
CÆSAR.
What know'st Thou, that deserv'd Attention, here?
TORBILIUS.
Cassius, whose Love of Rome, is Hate of Cæsar,
Lists an implicit Clan of warm Resenters:
Men, who, with dim Discernment, tracing Liberty,
Plunge headlong in Sedition.—Among these,
He stoop'd his active Bribe'ry, ev'n to me:
Courting my humble Aid, to influence Brutus,
Whose Name, and Power, might Mask the Face of Murder.
CÆSAR.
Whom would they Murder?
TORBILIUS.
—Rome's last Hope, in Cæsar.
CALPHURNIA.
Now, Cæsar! now, am I an idle Dreamer?
CÆSAR.
Does Brutus know this Purpose?
TORBILIUS.
—Yet he does not:
And Cæsar, still, might guard the generous Heart
Of his belov'd: And save him, from the Vile.
All Flatter'y's full-try'd Power Unites, to shake him:
That done, the Tempter ply's his Master Engine;
Draws him, this Day, to meet the assassin Faction:
Then—but that Heaven defends Thee—join'd by Brutus,
Th' encourag'd Murde'rers strike:—not join'd forbear.
33
If Cæsar's Death must wait, till Brutus strikes,
His Life wou'd prove immortal!—Men, of Heat,
Like Cassius, torture their distemper'd Reason,
To Act their Passion's Impulse:—Brutus weighs
Desire's warm Pleas, in the cool Scale of Justice:
Finds Force, in Other's Claims, against Himself,
And loves the Virtue, that condemns him.
CALPHURNIA.
Go on, Torbilius!—Set, in Cæsar's View,
What Cassius loves; and Point us out His Virtues.
CÆSAR.
It shall not need:—He stands condemn'd, already.
CALPHURNIA.
(Joyfully.)
To what condemn'd?
CÆSAR.
Condemn'd to live, Calphurnia.
CALPHURNIA.
What! and not tortur'd?
CÆSAR.
—Pride's severest Rack
Is that sharp Mercy, which descends from Scorn.
Think it a Fault, to fear these choleric Praters:
Their hot, slight, Threat'nings waste themselves, in Slander;
And rail away Revenge, to gradual Peace:
But, there's a cold, slow, silent, patient Malice,
That carries Mischief with it!—Such a Soul,
As Brutus Acts by—had it Will, for Murder:
Cool, in its govern'd Hate, might call for Cruelty.—
What read'st Thou?
34
—Silent Summoners, to Murder:
These Cassius Causes to be dropt, with Art,
Where Brutus must be sure to find, and read 'em.
CALPHUREIA.
What wiles has Malice
CÆSAR.
Poor, and petty, Crafts!
They want but my Regard, to lend 'em Weight.
(Returning the Paper.)
Torbilius, meet 'em:—and, with strictest Note,
Mark, what Impression Cassius makes on Brutus.
All, Thou canst learn of That, be swift to bring me;
And trust the Claims of Gratitude, to Cæsar.
TORBILIUS.
The grateful make no Claims.—A mindful Debtor
Pays—not obliges:—Never met, in one,
The Poet, and the Miser:—The same Fire,
That sparkles, in his Fancy's native Blaze,
Glows, at his honest Heart; and burns out Baseness:
True Genious will not—cannot; stoop to Bribes:
And He, who sells his Passions, ne're had Wit,—
Or had it, for a Curse, unmix'd with Judgment.
CÆSAR.
'Tis nobly said;—and, with a warmth, that only
Suspected Virtue feels.—Henceforth, be mine:
On modest Merit, not to force Reward,
Were to degrade Supremacy.
CALPHURNIA.
Where meet They?
35
In the cool Grot, behind the Platan Grove:
There Brutus, oft alone, and oft with Friends,
Steals an unbusied Hour, for reasoning deeply:
Or, in free Mirth, dilates the slack'ning Soul.
CALPHURNIA.
What was the appointed Time?
TORBILIUS.
The fatal Choice,
Yet doubtful, must depend alone on Brutus.
Some Three Hours, hence, I look to find 'em met.
CALPHURNIA.
Go, good Torbilius.—Wait within my Call:
For I shall Try thy Faith in Cæsar's Cause.
[Exit Torbilius
SCENE III.
CÆSAR, CALPHURNIA.CALPHURNIA.
I am alarm'd. for Brutus!
CÆSAR.
Doubt him not:
CALPHURNIA.
Is he ambitious?
CÆSAR.
No,—but he is vain.
CALPHURNIA.
Then, beyond Hope, he's lost.—Ambitious Men
Lead, and discern—but vain Ones follow, blind.
CÆSAR.
Thou hast contagious Power, in that Suspicion:
36
Find their try'd Virtue, there, sublimely frail:
Were Cassius artful!—Had his Malice, Coldness,
—Cou'd he first praise,—and, then, attack, where warmest,
The Public-hearted Brutus.
CALPHURNIA.
Nay he does;
'Tis from that Point, he levels all his Aim.—
Who knows not Brutus proud!—and Flattery's Art
Sets Pride at work, to sap her own Foundation:
And pull down Character, to build up Name.
CÆSAR.
Then, Cassius merits my regard:—and dies:
Light, in himself, he, yet, deserves but Scorn:
Awak'ning Danger, in corrupted Brutus,
He makes his own rais'd Mischief worth Revenge.
CALPHURNIA.
But, can I trust a Doubt, like this, to chance?
Th' unsure Conversion of a rash Man's Spleen?
Who knows, but, feigning Penitence, Torbilius
Courts you to Confidence, he would betray?
No.—It shall ne'er be said, that Cæsar's Wife
Left Cæsar's Safety, to Another's Faith.
She, who, too lightly weighs a Husband's Danger,
Takes Arms, at Heart, against him.
CÆSAR.
Trust Torbillius,
He will deserve thy Faith:—Reflecting Minds,
By Gratitude once gain'd, relapse no more.
37
Thus will I sound his Purpose:—then, confide.—
Portia, this Morning, press'd a Visit, from me:
Oft, thro' her Garden's private Gate, unmark'd,
Ent'ring alone, that Grot, invites my Notice:
There, silently conceal'd, where Art-form'd Rocks
Lend jutting Umbrage to the cavy Screen,
I hear, what Cassius moves:—What Brutus yields:
This, if the Satrist dissuades:—he's false:
This, if he aids, Calphurnia judges Cassius:
And Life, or Death, be His, as justice Dooms.
CÆSAR.
In Love, and Anger, Woman's Will is deaf;
I know, thy gen'rous Purpose is too firm,
To let my Fears for Thee, forbid this Danger.
Yet, while, in Dread of mine, thou dar'st thus rashly,
Be it my Care to interpose, in Thine.
Curio, the Tribune, with a Guard, must wait Thee.
CALPHURNIA.
Their Number will detect me.
CÆSAR.
No,—let Torbilius,
Singly, and slow, unnotic'd, introduce 'em;
Thro' the lone Postern, that adjoins the Grove.
CALPHURNIA.
Bless the kind Thought!—And now, shou'd Murder dare
One Glance, at thy dear Bosom, bloody Cassius
Shall, on the guilty Spot, that Moment die.
CÆSAR.
Spare thy disorder'd Heart.—Cassius is hasty!
38
The Madman's Rage, and shame him into Safety.
I dread to arm Thee.—Prejudice is rash.—
CALPHURNIA.
Have I been subject, then, to rash Impressions?
CÆSAR.
Thy Reason, I cou'd trust—but not thy Anger:
Religion's Curb, in Heart's, like Thine, binds surest:
Swear, by some sacred Tye.—
CALPHURNIA.
Hear me, whole Heaven!
By Rome's rais'd Fate!—By her Forefather's God's!
By aweful Vesta's unexpiring Flame!
By Venus, Mother of thy Race, o' Cæsar!
If Treason leaves but Time to reach thy Ear,
E're Danger catch thy Life—Cassius shall live,
To learn his Doom from Thee.—and 'scape my Vengance
CÆSAR.
See! the concurring Gods have sent Thee Curio!
SCENE IV.
CÆSAR, CALPHURNIA, CURIO.CURIO.
Shouts, from impatient Crowds, demand a King;
And royal Cæsar glads the Streets of Rome.
CÆSAR.
(after writing in a Table-Book.
Curio!—Joy's flattering Sounds are loud Deceivers:—
Calphurnia's busy Fears have trac'd a Traitor,
Born to high Rank, and fam'd for Arms, and Envy.
Go, with due Strength; guard thou the Wife of Cæsar:
39
Fill'd, by her Hand, points out the guilty Roman,
Weigh Cæsar's Life, with His:—and be this Warrant
Thy Sword's Authority, to do me Right.
(giving the Table-Book to Curio.)
CURIO.
Where e're your Danger warrant's me to strike,
If Treason 'scape my Sword—let Flight in War,
Want—and eternal Infamy, Revenge,
The Cause of Cæsar, on his Soldier's Name!
CÆSAR.
Marc Antony return'd!
CALPHURNIA.
Curio! thy Ear.—
SCENE V.
CÆSAR, ANTONY.ANTONY.
All is prepar'd;—pale Cassius Looks, still paler:
And starts at every Shout, that Shakes the Forum:
Never, henceforth, let Noise be call'd Sedition:
Rome's public Mouth outroars a hundred Senates!
One loud Consent unites her grateful Tribes,
And Parthia's Fall takes Date, from Cæsar's Crown.
CÆSAR.
Join'd Brutus, in that Voice.—
ANTONY.
No Roman hop'd it:
Reserves, they know, must guard the Stoick's Gravity:
What sowre Solemnity of Look, like His,
40
Men, who can laugh, as I do—jovial Thinkers!
Fram'd for their Ease, and born, to hate Affliction!
See Things, but as they are! void of the Wit,
That hunts for cover'd Anguish! long, sound Sleepers!
Dull, satisfied, glad Rogues! they trust their Senses,
Love their Friend's, best: and wish, but what they want.
Brutus is deep:—dives farther into Bliss—
Shakes his superior Brow, and pities Fools,
Who dare be happy, against Rules of Policy.
CÆSAR.
Where coud'st thou find him, now?
ANTONY.
Immur'd, at Home,
Sagely despising his good Lords,—the People:—
And shutting Cæsar's Triumph, from his Ear.
CÆSAR.
Take this Occasion, Antony, to visit him;
Bid his wish'd Presence grace thy publick Zeal!
If he declines it, sting him, to Resentment:
Watch, in that Warmth of Heart. what Thoughts escape him;
Sound the dark Depth of his Designs;—and tell him,
That to the Capitol, thou mean'st to bring me:
Rome's Crown, by Freemen given to guard their Liberty.
ANTONY.
How noisy is that Nothing! All its Virtue
Dwells in its Sound:—It means but covered Tyranny.
CÆSAR.
Ever distinguishing Substances, from Sound:
41
And only Men, like Gods, have Taste, to share.
There is in Liberty, what Pride perverts,
To serve Sedition, and perplex Command:
True Liberty leaves all Things free,—but Guilt;
And fetters every Thing,—but Art and Virtue.
False Liberty holds nothing bound, but Power,
And lets loose every Tye, that strengthens Law.
ANTONY.
Cæsar, in Science, as in Power, Supream,
Calls Lustre, out of Darkness!—But to Me,
What seems most strange, of Faction's strange Effects,
Is, that among those Crowds, she tempts to Mischeif,
I see good Men, belov'd for every Virtue!
Blindly misdrawn, to hate the peace they wish.
CÆSAR.
Boast fully blind, a Bigot's Proof is Trust;
Faultless in Purpose, yet—his Choice unjust!
Active, that erring Zeal may Truth invade,
Enthusiast Pride obtrudes her blund'ring Aid.
Fierce to the Field, keen Disputants she draws,
Implicit Props of some unreasoning Cause!
Th' absur'd Reformer Order overthrows,
And works up Discord—for the World's Repose!
Jealous of Enemies, disquiets Friends,
Groans, without Wound; and without Fruit, contends;
Wildly sincere! unprevalently strong!
Struggling for Right—and introducing Wrong:
End of the Second Act.
| The Roman Revenge | |