University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, TRINOVANTIUS.
CÆSAR.
What? my bold Briton—Welcome, Trinovantius,
I love thy Country's Virtues.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Cæsar, hail!
When thy Friends fear—and ev'en a Brutus weeps.
May thy Gods guard thee, as thy Soldier wou'd!

CÆSAR.
Long, has thy brave and faithful Cohort serv'd Me;
What are their Wants?—teach Cæsar how to please Thee.

TRINOVANTIUS.
No Briton wastes a Prayer upon Himself,
When his Friend's Life's in Danger.

CÆSAR.
What then woud'st thou?

TRINOVANTIUS.
The Senate, met, and full of seeming Faith,
Wait thy wish'd Presence;—Rome's rais'd Throne invitee, thee,
Thy plain, well-meaning Friends, the Populace,
Bear offer'd Incense, thro' the Streets of Rome;
And pay their willing Worship to thy Statues.
All the pleas'd City smiles.—Yet, cou'd I move thee;
Cou'd thy old Soldier's first-felt Fear perswade;—
Cæsar shou'd shun the sad-presaging Hour,
And bid this Diadem attend his Leisure.

CÆSAR.
I thought, the Sons of Thame's had felt no Fears.

TRINOVANTIUS.
No Fears they feel from Earth's uniting Anger:
But, when Heaven frowns, 'tis impious, not to tremble.
All Nature, thro' her Works, seems, now, convuls'd:
—I met the palid Vestals, wildly screaming:
Fled, from the extinguish'd Fire, robeless, and bare:
And blind amidst the Dust of crumbling Towers;
Shook from the dark'nd Summits!—Doors of Sepulchre's
Untouch'd, fly open: and from silent Urns,
Where slept in Monumental Rest, the Bones
Of Rome's first Founders, slow-ascending Shades
Catch form;—and hov'ring, in the quick'n'd Air,
View some sad Fate, they want the Power to tell:
And shrink, and start—and fly the sick'ning Sun.
—Such boding Signs fore-note impending Fate:
And Heaven, from whom Kings hold, postpones thy Claim.

CÆSAR.
Fie Trinovantius!—'Tis to bold for Man!
'Tis Insolence, to list the Eternal Gods:
Make Nature busy, and un-hinge a World.
To lengthen, or cut short, a Mortal's Moment?
Th' all-ruling Powers have fix'd our destin'd Space;
And we, too weak to shun, must wait their Will.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Tis whisper'd,—some great Names unite for Mischief.

CÆSAR.
Ambition, born for Contest, owes Contempt
To Threat'ners.—

TRINOVANTIUS.
Yes.—But, cautious Note of Treason,
Timely, and oft, averts the Traitor's Purpose.

CÆSAR.
To live in daily Dread, is daily dying:
'Tis worse than Death:—'Tis Sickness never cur'd!

TRINOVANTIUS.
Suffer my Briton's to surround the Temple,
And trust malicious Senates to their Eye.

CÆSAR.
Who awes his Enemy, submits to fear him.
—Stay, my good Friend, thou comst no farther on.

TRINOVANTIUS.
I leave thee, Cæsar! with a strange Regret!
For my fore-boding Heart is filled with Terror.

CÆSAR.
Be comforted.—Thou over-rat'st my Danger.
Three hundred new Patrician's swell the Senate:
All, mine, for their own Safety:—Half the old,—
Names, like the Julian, fam'd, e're Rome was Rome!
Converts to slow-found Truth, embrace her warmly,
These, nobly owning, teach the Rest to owne,
When Error is Disgrace, Retraction's Virtue.
What apprehend'st thou, then, from that small Remnant,
Whose Weakness is too wise, to dare their Wish.

TRINOVANTUS.
O, Pallas! Pallas!—Guide of Martial Cæsar!
How grew the Master-Soldier of the World
Unmindful, what Success, in Deeds of Blood,
Crowns unexpected Rashness!—If we but think
Th'Attempt impossible, we make it safe.
—Had (but that Heaven forbids) this unfear'd Few,
Weak as they seem, dar'd in full Senate, strike,
Firm, and combin'd, at Cæsar's sacred Life;
His Friends, th'astonish'd many—powerless unnerv'd,
In Gaze of helpless Horror, had sat passive;
Each doubting each—a Foe; till Fate had reach'd thee,
And, while Prevention paus'd, Presumption triumph'd.

CÆSAR.
Briton! Thy Heart is manly: and thy Mind
Adorn'd with every Gift of Faith, and Wisdom!
Act, as thy Doubts inspire thee.—Since thou fear'st,
'Tis strange, that I, too, cannot!—Yet, beware,
Thou call'st no Aid of Arms:—Civil to Civil,
And, but to martial military.—Hear'st thou
(Loud Cry of A Cæsar—A Cæsar!)
Yon shoutig Swarm, that shakes Rome's echoing Domes?
Lead those loud Voters, from the o'rcrowded Streets,
To where their Cry may reach the Senate's Ear:
'Twill caution Guilt, perhaps! And aid Resolves.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Thanks to the Gods, thy Friends! Who led thee, once,
To charm our fraudless Isle!—By them inspir'd,
One grateful Briton saves the Roman Soul!

(Cæsar, and Trinovantius, turn to go off, on opposite Sides.)