University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

CÆSAR, ANTHONY.
ANTHONY.
Now, Cæsar, royalty is thine, at length
The glorious period is arrived, when Rome
Ever to thy deserts unjust, each thought
By thy transcendent virtue changed, shall own,
Beholding thee, her guardian, her avenger,
Her conqueror, and her king; within this breast,
Envy, thy soul can witness, is unknown.
Most true to Cæsar, I have prized his fame
Beyond himself. These hands have forged the chain
Which thou shalt brace upon the neck of Rome,
Well-pleased to be the second of mankind.
Prouder in fixing on thy head the crown,
Greater and more illustrious, serving thee,
Than to possess th'imperial rule, and call
These dignities my own.—Hah! answer'st thou,
But with that deep-drawn sigh? Dost thou repine,
Contemplating those honours, which I view
With exultation? Absolute o'er Rome,
Her King, and mighty master of the world,
Canst thou complain? Alas! Can Cæsar mourn?
Can Cæsar fear? What can inspire with terror
A soul like thine?

CÆSAR.
Affection, Anthony.
Yes, thou selected of my heart, attend,
Nought will I hide from thee. By fate decreed,
On Babylonia's hostile plains, thou know'st
I soon shall spread my banners; the disgrace
Of Crassus, and the lasting shame of Rome,
Prepared t'avenge upon the barbarous Parthian.
My war-desiring eagle check'd so long,
Now struggles to be free, and aims his flight
T'ward the hoarse Bosphorus. My veterans, tried
In many a field, wait but to view the crown
Circling my brow, the signal of their march.
Perhaps a country, which to Philip's son
Yielded so tamely, Cæsar may attempt,
Without imputed rashness, to subdue.
Haply th'intrepid Gauls, heroic Pompey,
And all his legions Roman-born, compared
With subjugated Persia, may be rated
High in account; at least my bosom dares
Cherish th'idea. Neither can thy friend
Banish the conscious thought, that he whose arms
Vanquish'd the Rhine, shall triumph o'er th'Euphrates.
But tho' his soul hope elevates, unveil'd
Is reason's eye.—Wisdom the most profound,
Is oft deceiv'd.—Fortune at length may cease
My footsteps to pursue, and wearied turn
Back from the course; she may abandon Cæsar,
As Pompey fell a victim to her snares.
For mid tumultuous factions, as in battle,
An almost imperceptive line is drawn
Between defeat and victory. Forty years
Are now elapsed, a space of time, in which
I rose thro' patient service, to command,
And the full blaze of military glory.
The subject world hath bent to my controul,
Its doom awaiting, and I still have mark'd
In each bold effort, that the fate of nations
Depended on an instant.—Accidents
No foresight can elude; but well I know,
Fear and this heart shall ever more be strangers;
That I will vanquish without arrogance,
Or die without a murmur.—But, by all
The laws of tender friendship, Oh! remain
United with my children! Fix the bond
Indissoluble! To thy sway, and theirs,
May Rome, by me defended and subdued,
May the whole earth, yield homage! And the name,
The glorious name of King, on me bestow'd,
To them, and thee descend! Oh, Anthony!
My heart's fond wish, my last request at parting,
Is, that my sons in thee may find a father;
Shall I insult thee by demanding oaths?
I ask them not, sureties of human faith,
Holy and vain. Thy promise is the best,
The firmest tie; that, I believe more pure,
Than altars consecrated to the gods,
Which throngs of perjured votaries surround.

ANTHONY.
Hard is the fate of Anthony, that thou
Must seek the paths of war and death without him;
That for thy service, he, in Italy
Must dwell immew'd, while glory guides thy steps
To Asia's confines. But thy noble heart
Thus doubting fortune, and presaging ills,
More sensibly affects me.—To thy kindness
Wounding each finer nerve, how can my tongue
Form a reply? Mysterious all it seems!
Didst thou not talk of sons? And bid me share
Empire with them? I know no son of thine,
Except Octavius, none but him adopted,
No other Cæsar to protect thy line.

CÆSAR.
The time, my friend, no longer will permit me
To hide from thee the bitterness of grief
Preying in secret on a father's heart.
Octavius, by the laws, not otherwise,
Is now my son, he bears the name of Cæsar,
And was the object of my choice. But fate
(Shall I pronounce it cruel, or benign?)
Hath made me father to a real son;
One whom I dearly love, but who (so great
Is my misfortune) all my tenderness
Beholds with fix'd aversion.

ANTHONY.
Who is he?
This son? With such ingratitude possess'd!
So little worthy of the blood, from which
High Heaven decreed his birth!

CÆSAR.
Attend! Thou know'st
Th'unhappy Brutus, train'd to savage virtue
By the stern lore of Cato. The severe
Unyielding champion of our ancient laws.
The rigid foe of arbitrary power,
Ever to me adverse; he drew the sword,
And where my various enemies arose,
Was always the most active in their service.
My captive in the fields of Thessaly,
Whose life, against his will, I twice preserved;
Born at a distance from me, and among
My most inveterate adversaries bred.

ANTHONY.
Brutus! Can he—

CÆSAR.
Trust not my words alone.
Read this.

ANTHONY.
Ye powers above! Servilia!
Cato's aspiring sister!

CÆSAR.
We in private,
By marriage were united. When our first
Of feuds began, relentless in his wrath,
Cato, not even waiting for my absence,
Forced her to wed another. But the day
Which saw these rites, saw her new spouse expire.
Under the name of Brutus, this my son,
His uncle educated.—Gracious Heaven!
Was he reserved to persecute me still
With hate unceasing!—But that letter read,
And see the whole disclosed.

ANTHONY
[Reads.]
“Cæsar, I feel approaching death.—The gods
“Will, in their anger, soon dissolve at once
“My life and love. Yet recollect, that Brutus,
“From thee derives his being.—Oh, farewel!
“And may that true affection, which the mother
“In her last moments for his father feels,
“Ever inspire the bosom of the son!
Servilia.”
And art thou by the stern decree of fate,
Cursed with a son so much unlike thyself?

CÆSAR.

ANTHONY.
I doubt it. Well I know his savage firmness.
His sect admits not of th'impassion'd heart,
Nor suffers it to feel; intractable,
Making its boast to harden the stern soul
Against the soft impressions of humanity;
To overcome and trample under foot
Indignant nature; to this sect alone
Brutus attends, and only heeds its dictates.
Opinions, which to reason's eye appear
Shocking and monstrous, but by them stiled duty,
With absolute dominion tyrannize
Over their iron bosoms.—Cato's self,
That hapless stoic, that romantic hero,
Who fell a sacrifice at Utica,
Rather than condescend to be forgiven,
Preferring death before thy tender friendship;
E'en Cato was less haughty, less severe,
And threaten'd less of danger, than the man
Whom thy exalted generosity
Would fain compel to gratitude and love.

CÆSAR.
What say'st thou? Dost thou know, my friend, what pangs
Thy words impart?

ANTHONY.
Affection prompts my tongue
I cannot flatter thee.

CÆSAR.
Yet all things own
Time's mollifying power.

ANTHONY.
My mind despairs
Of its success.

CÆSAR.
What! will his hate—

ANTHONY.
Believe me—

CÆSAR.
Enough of this!—I am his father still.
Have I not sav'd my most inveterate foes?
Nay strain'd them to my breast? And must I not
Covet with warmest wish t'acquire the love
Of Rome, and of my son? Oh, rapturous thought!
Having subdued each inimical heart,
(Triumph sublime of mercy!) to behold
Willing adorers of my sovereign power
The world, and Brutus!—Thine it is, to aid me
In this great purpose; thou hast lent thy arm,
Copartner in my victories o'er mankind,
Now gain a victory over Brutus; bend,
Soften his fierce reluctant soul; prepare
By slow degrees his wild unpolisht virtue
For that important secret, which must soon
Be to his ears disclosed, but which my mind
Labouring with anxious doubt hath never yet
Dared to reveal.

ANTHONY.
What would I not attempt
At thy request? but here I can perceive
No ground of hope, the trial will be vain.

SCENE II.

CÆSAR, ANTHONY, DOLABELLA.
DOLABELLA.
Cæsar, the senators await thy pleasure,
And ask an audience.

CÆSAR.
Slow hath been their meeting.
Let them approach.

ANTHONY.
They come: on every brow
What desperate hatred and fix'd malice lours.

SCENE III.

CÆSAR, ANTHONY, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CIMBER, DECIMUS, CINNA, CASCA, &c. LICTORS.
CÆSAR
[Sitting.]

CIMBER.
Thy speech demands
An answer, nor shall Cimber fear to speak.
These kingdoms, governments, and provinces,
The purchase of our toil; the universe
Thus canton'd out, would in the people's eyes,
Would by the jealous senate be esteem'd
A public outrage to the state, to us
No benefit, no favour.—Marius, Sylla,
Carbo, nor Pompey, in the proudest hour
Of their usurp'd authority, e'er dared
Bestow our conquests thus with lavish hand,
And make their will the law, much less assume
A language kings might use to their dependents.
No, Cæsar, from thy clemency of heart
And native generosity, we thought
A gift more precious to receive, a boon
By justice consecrated, far above
The realms so bounteously conferr'd upon us.

CÆSAR.
What gift would Cimber covet?

CIMBER.
Liberty.

CASSIUS.
Thy promise, nay thy solemn oath, was given,
For ever to destroy tyrannic power.
I deem'd the happy moment now arrived,
When the world's conqueror would have satisfied
Our hearts fond warmest wishes. From its ruins,
Steaming with blood, enslaved, and desolate,
Rome in that hope, again uprear'd her head,
Saw peace advance, and plenty smile around.
She has a prior right,—we are her children.
I know thy power; forget not thou thy oaths.

BRUTUS.
Let Cæsar still be great, but Rome be free.
Gods! shall she stretch her sway to distant Ind,
On Tiber's banks a slave! ah! what avails
Her mighty name to which the prostrate world
Submissive bends, or the vain-glorious boast
Of sovereign rule, if doom'd to bear the weight
Of ignominous fetters!—Oh, my country!
What will it profit thee, to be inform'd
That Cæsar hath acquired new troops of slaves!
Perhaps we ought not to esteem the Parthians
As our worst foes; we may have those whom more
We ought to dread.—Enough.—Let this suffice.

CÆSAR.
And thou too, Brutus!

ANTHONY,
to CÆSAR.
Mark their insolence,
And say if e'er ingratitude like this
Deserv'd a pardon?

CÆSAR.
Rash, unthinking men!
Are you to its extremest verge resolved
To urge my patience? and to weary out
My oft repeated bounty? Who are mine
By right of conquest, by my sword obtain'd?
Who crouch'd when Marius frown'd? and lowly bow'd
The slaves of Pompey? You, who only breathe
Till my impetuous wrath, too long restrain'd,
Dart headlong down upon its trembling quarry?
Ungrateful levellers, where republic zeal
Stifles each milder duty; your example
Hardens my breast, and turns to flint a heart,
The seat of clemency.—Before the face
Of Sylla, how reserved you stood! how mute!
He fix'd a curb on your licentious tongues.
But now you take advantage of my nature,
My generosity of soul gives birth
To all these insults, unwithheld by fear,
Because you know that Cæsar scorns revenge.
Hence you presume to brave me with the sounds
Of Rome, and of your country; hence derive
This affectation of superior greatness;
Hence dare these turgid sentiments produce
Before your conqueror. These arms, no doubt,
This spirit to Pharsalia's plains you brought.
Fate haply drew the line betwixt us there
With an unequal hand. Yet seems it just
To me, that those who knew not how to conquer,
Should learn to serve.

BRUTUS.
We all had learn'd to die,
That stands unquestion'd. Nor in Thessaly,
Did one of us his manly soul debase,
And ask to live.—Protracted life is ours,
Thy gift, protracted to be render'd vile.
Oh! how detested! if we must submit
Implicitly to Cæsar's sovereign will!
No; rather in thy fury let us fall!
Perish together!—Haste! begin with me!
If thy determination is to reign,
Strike, strike at once!

CÆSAR.
My answer thou shalt have
In private.—Now let all retire.
[The Senators go out.
Oh, Brutus!
Could I expect these taunting words from thee?
Know'st thou, like poison'd arrows, how they pierce
My inmost soul?—Thy life! Alas! his own
Is not more dear to Cæsar. From the senate,
And their blind erring rage, let deeds arise
So fell and horrible.—Oh! leave me not.
Thou hast the power to charm all anger from me,
And thou alone.—Oh, Brutus! leave me not.
Of all things to be wish'd, there is but one
Which Cæsar asks, thy confidence and love.

BRUTUS.
My heart, the blood in every vein is thine,
If thou regard thy promise. If thy mind
Is bent on tyranny, I from me cast
With deep abhorrence and contempt thy friendship.
I cannot stay with Anthony and thee,
With those who banish all the Roman from them,
Covet false grandeur, and demand a king.

SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, ANTHONY.
ANTHONY.
Have I deceived thee? Dost thou think the ties
Most dear to nature, can engage a heart
So proud? So rigid? Leave, for ever leave
In its obscurity the fatal secret
Which weighs thus heavy on thy generous mind.
Let him, determined as he is, lament
The fall of Rome, but at whose head he points
The vengeful shaft, of that let him remain
In total ignorance. From Cæsar sprung,
Warp'd from his high descent, he merits not
The glorious consanguinity. Ungrateful
To all thy bounty, all thy tender love
Repaying with ingratitude, cast off
These weaker feelings; and renounce the son.

CÆSAR.
It is impossible, I cannot banish
The affection of a parent.

ANTHONY.
Banish then
Far from thy thoughts the splendour which around
Circles the diadem! Retread the steps
By which I saw thee to the dazzling sane
Of glory climb, and press the vulgar earth
Thy milkiness of nature ill accords
With uncontroul'd authority, it mars
Thy greatness, and ambition's workmanship
Unseemly levels. Having bent the neck
Of haughty Rome, wilt thou thus tamely bear
The insolence of Cassius? Shall this Cimber,
This Cinna, unimportant as they are,
The lowest of the senate, dare assume
These airs of self-sufficiency before
The master of the universe? Shall these
Dare brave thy power? or live to check the will
Of him who conquer'd them? to whom they owe
Profound submission?

CÆSAR.
They were born my equals;
Struggling in war I vanquish'd them; and placed
So high above their station, I excuse
Their idly striving to shake off a yoke
By me imposed.

ANTHONY.
Less precious had their blood
Been in the eyes of Marius; Sylla's hand
Had long e'er now fall'n heavy on them.

CÆSAR.
Sylla
Was a barbarian, cruelty inspired
Each thought, each action. Massacre alone,
And savage fury form'd his politics
And all his greatness. Circled with a band
Of executioners, he govern'd Rome.
He was the terror of his country, Cæsar
Would be her pleasure, and her dear delight.
I know the people, in a day they change;
As reigns caprice, they deal around their hate
Or love with equal ease, profuse of both.
If my exalted rank provokes the sense
Of envy in them, by my generous deeds
Attracted, their affections still are mine.
To pardon those who cannot injure us,
Is no mistaken policy; tho' bound
In strongest fetters, by the semblance won
Of liberty, their weak erroneous minds
Regard me as its patron. It is right,
Above the pit to which I lure them on,
To scatter flowers, with gentle management
To soothe the tiger when around his limbs
We brace the chain, to please him when he feels
The galling load, and charm him to submission.
Let Cæsar from the bosom of his rivals
Force their esteem; be this their punishment.

ANTHONY.
Force thou their dread; know, to be fear'd and reign,
Are terms synonimous.

CÆSAR.
Away! no dread,
No fears would I inspire, but in the field,
And the stern hour of battle.

ANTHONY.
Soon the people
Will find thy easy temper and abuse it.

CÆSAR.
The people! No. It is their general wish
T'immortalize my bounty. See the temple,
Which Rome to Cæsar's clemency hath raised!

ANTHONY.
I see it well. Another she e'er long
May raise to vengeance; tremble at the thought!
Tremble, reflecting on these men, whose hearts
Are ulcerated deep, while fell despair
Feeds th'ever-rankling sore! Idolaters
Of Roman freedom, and from principle
Steel'd with remorseless cruelty. The soul
Of Cassius is alarm'd, his jealous eyes
Behold me placing on thy brow this day
The hated diadem; e'en in thy presence
Already have they dared to manifest
Their sullen discontent. Prudence requires
To gain the warmest of them to our side,
The most impetuous of these zealots. Deign
At least to hide thy purpose for a while,
And thus elude the danger of that stroke
They seem to meditate.

CÆSAR.
Could I have stoop'd
To fear, I would have stoop'd to punish them.
Let not thy counsels urge me on to deeds
On which abhorrence waits. I know to fight,
I know to conquer, but severity
I cannot, will not know.—Come, let us hence,
Dead be suspicion! in her blood-stain'd cave
Let vengeance sleep! Nor barbarous force extend
O'er the submissive world her iron rod!