The Works of John Sheffield Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham. In two volumes ... The third edition, Corrected |
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 | The Works of John Sheffield |  |
SCENE I.
Enter two Roman Senators at one Door, Trebonius and Casca at another.1 Senator.
Hail, good Trebonius.
2 Senator.
Health to worthy Casca.
Will you go with us to the Sports to-day?
1 Senator.
Before this Cæsar's Time, we had no Shews
Magnificent as these.
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But we had Triumphs:
And tho' the Conqueror sat high exalted,
We all partook both of his Fame and Merit:
The gaz'd-on Warrior in the gilded Chariot
Enjoy'd his Fill of Fame, but, as Rome's Subject:
And, to his great Renown in glorious Arms,
A higher, much more valu'd Crown, was added;
Immortal Praise for serving well his Country.
Casca.
Oh how our Hearts were fir'd at Pompey's Triumphs!
The Blood more lively danc'd within our Veins:
The very Image of it strikes my Fancy!
Methinks I see a thousand noble Captives
Drooping with Grief, which yet was lighter made
By his kind Usage. After came the Treasures;
Our Treasures! for it was not then as now,
When one Man's greedy Gripe ingrosses all.
We did not, as Law-Suiters for Contention,
Disburse more Charges than the Prize was worth;
Grow Beggars, only to make others rich.
Trebonius.
But then, at last, behold ev'n captive Kings
In golden Chains with pensive Thought look down,
Remembring they had us'd their Subjects worse.
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Yet shew'd a gloomy Comfort through their Sadness,
For being vanquish'd by so brave a People.
Trebonius.
Which of us, then, oh which of us went home
From such a Spectacle unmov'd with Joy,
With virtuous Pride, to see our Blood well spent,
Our Treasures manag'd, and our Glory rais'd?
Casca.
Yet ev'n to Pompey, Chief of all our State,
No Roman but disdain'd a mean Submission;
A Tribute only owing to the Gods.
Trebonius.
But now we crouch, and stand in servile Awe;
Like Children, fear the Goblin we have made.
This Cæsar, tho' Dictator, is our Creature,
And from Election all his Pride proceeds.
Casca.
We meet these Murmurs now in ev'ry Mouth;
Ill-boding Sounds to late unsettled Pow'r,
Like new-built Houses, easily blown down.
Trebonius.
Ye Cæsar, still intrepidly serene,
Goes proudly on, despising us, and Danger.
| The Works of John Sheffield | |