The Works of John Sheffield Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham. In two volumes ... The third edition, Corrected |
 | I. |
 | The Works of John Sheffield |  |
273
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Scene a Street, through which Cæsar passes in Pomp to the Senate-house, attended by those Senators who were with him at the End of the former Act.Enter Spurinna hastily.
Cæsar.
The Ides of March are come.
[To Spurinna.
Spurinna.
But not yet past.
Be pleas'd, great Cæsar, to peruse this Parchment.
Messala.
'Tis from a Friend of Cæsar, this Petition;
At your first Leisure read his humble Suit.
Spurinna.
Oh! Cæsar, read mine first, 'tis for your Safety:
274
Cæsar.
What most concerns ourself, shall last be read:
I'll lay it up against a Time of Leisure.
[To Cassius.
Cassius.
What! do you trouble Cæsar in the Street?
Bring your Petitions to the Capitol.
Spurinna.
But, mine concerns his Life.
Cassius.
I know it does;
Therefore away; we'll all take care of that.
SCENE II.
The Scene is changed to the Senate-house, which appears full of Senators, who all rise up at Cæsar's Coming. One of them whispers Brutus.Senator.
All good Success attend your Enterprize.
Cassius.
What did he say?
Brutus.
He wish'd me good Success.
275
See, he makes up to Cæsar earnestly.
We are betray'd! But I will kill myself;
Cæsar or Cassius never shall go back.
Brutus.
There is no Danger, Cassius; Cæsar smiles;
You may perceive they talk of something else.
Decius Brutus.
Let's all kneel round to beg for Cymber's Life.
Brutus.
'Tis mean at any time, but needless now;
Go you; I will not kneel.
Cassius.
Well, what you please.
Casca strikes first; but stay, Cæsar will speak.
SCENE III.
Cæsar sits on a Seat above the rest; then rises up and speaks, while the Senators stand round him.
Now, rev'rend Lords, if any weighty Thoughts
Oppress your Minds, unload your Cares on me;
For that's a Burthen which belongs to Pow'r.
Is there a barb'rous People yet so rude,
Or so remote, as not to fear your Arms?
I'll make them join with all the World besides
In due Submission to superior Virtue.
Is that great Parthian King so haughty grown,
As not to reverence this awful Senate?
My Arms shall haste to humble all his Pride,
And bring him bowing to your least Commands.
Others, to raise themselves, depress their Country;
But my Ambition is to make your Valour
Shine out more bright to all the subject World.
Yet vain were all my Triumphs, if I should
Be fear'd abroad, and not be lov'd at home;
Therefore, what Enemy have I not pardon'd?
The Name of Foe excuses Hate, and Harm;
And he that fears it least, forgives it soonest.
Cold Friends, indeed, are something more provoking;
Yet I can pass them by with Scorn and Pity.
The equal Law shall run its even Course;
Nothing shall interpose, except my Mercy;
Justice herself may lean that way sometimes.
Plain Merit shall not languish unregarded,
While cunning Courtship steals away the Favour.
On this depend; and while I govern thus,
You will not grudge, if I shall govern long;
And not resign my Pow'r, like unlearn'd Sylla,
For want of Skill to use it.
Casca.
Oppress your Minds, unload your Cares on me;
For that's a Burthen which belongs to Pow'r.
276
Or so remote, as not to fear your Arms?
I'll make them join with all the World besides
In due Submission to superior Virtue.
Is that great Parthian King so haughty grown,
As not to reverence this awful Senate?
My Arms shall haste to humble all his Pride,
And bring him bowing to your least Commands.
Others, to raise themselves, depress their Country;
But my Ambition is to make your Valour
Shine out more bright to all the subject World.
Yet vain were all my Triumphs, if I should
Be fear'd abroad, and not be lov'd at home;
Therefore, what Enemy have I not pardon'd?
The Name of Foe excuses Hate, and Harm;
And he that fears it least, forgives it soonest.
Cold Friends, indeed, are something more provoking;
Yet I can pass them by with Scorn and Pity.
The equal Law shall run its even Course;
Nothing shall interpose, except my Mercy;
Justice herself may lean that way sometimes.
Plain Merit shall not languish unregarded,
While cunning Courtship steals away the Favour.
On this depend; and while I govern thus,
You will not grudge, if I shall govern long;
277
For want of Skill to use it.
Oh! I can hold no longer.
[They all stab Cæsar, who struggles with them till he sees Brutus strike.
Cæsar.
What, Brutus too! Nay, then 'tis Time to die.
[Falls down, and covers himself with his Robes.
Brutus.
Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead.
Nay, stir not, worthy Lords, nor be amaz'd;
We mean no Harm to any Roman here:
Consul, retire, for fear the coming Crowd
Should press too much upon your rev'rend Age.
Cassius.
Run to the Streets, and cry out, Liberty!
Ring in their Ears aloud that pleasing Sound.
Stoop, Romans, stoop,
And let us bathe our Hands in Cæsar's Blood,
Bespot our Garments, and besmear our Swords;
Then walk we forth into the Market-place,
And waving our red Weapons o'er our Heads,
278
Brutus.
The Deed is done, what need we triumph in it?
SCENE IV.
Enter a Senator.
Well now, what News?
Senator.
The People are amaz'd,
Cry out, and stare, and run about the Streets,
As in an Earthquake.
[They all stoop down to Cæsar's Body, except Brutus.
Casca.
How many Ages hence
Shall this our lofty Scene be acted o'er,
In States unborn, and Accents yet unknown!
Trebonius.
How many times shall Cæsar bleed in Sport,
While the attentive Throng shall melt in Tears,
To see his Fall!
Brutus.
As oft as that shall be,
279
The Men who gave their Country Liberty.
Let's venture forth.
Cassius.
Come, on then, let's away.
Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his Steps
With all the best and boldest Sons of Rome.
Brutus.
What! Antony return'd, and without Arms!
SCENE V.
Enter Antony, and taking no Notice of them, falls on his Knees to Cæsar's Body.Antony.
I was unable to defend thy Life,
And therefore now can scarce endure my own,
Thou great good Man! Is all thy Race of Glory
Brought to this wretched End? Didst thou scorn Death
In all those bloody Fields, to find it here?
Oh, 'tis I feel it; thou art past the Pain;
But in my Heart 'tis acted o'er and o'er.
For ev'ry Thought of thee, and of thy Love,
Gives me fresh Sorrow: Take my Tribute here
Of Sighs and Tears that always shall attend thee.
And therefore now can scarce endure my own,
Thou great good Man! Is all thy Race of Glory
Brought to this wretched End? Didst thou scorn Death
In all those bloody Fields, to find it here?
Oh, 'tis I feel it; thou art past the Pain;
But in my Heart 'tis acted o'er and o'er.
For ev'ry Thought of thee, and of thy Love,
280
Of Sighs and Tears that always shall attend thee.
I ask your Pardon, noble Lords; my Thoughts
Were too much there, to look on aught besides.
Yet think not I repent of what I said;
For I will speak the Praises of my Friend,
Nor fear ev'n Heav'n, should it reply in Thunder.
He was my Friend, and I will still be his,
Tho' the Gods rage, and Mankind meanly joins;
Who shew Regard to Heav'n in nothing else
But slighting Merit, when the Gods forsake it.
Yet I, of all suspected, and alone,
Will boldly thus embrace this precious Body.
Nay, gaze not on me with such threat'ning Looks;
Think not, that if I valu'd now my Life,
I am so foolish to expose it thus.
What Hour so fit for me, what Death so glorious,
As here to fall with Cæsar, and by you,
The Master Spirits, sure, of all the World?
Kill me then quickly; kill me with those Daggers
That reek in Blood of him I lov'd so well:
For, could I languish out a thousand Years,
I ne'er should find myself so fit to die:
'Tis now a Pleasure, what may be a Pain.
Were too much there, to look on aught besides.
Yet think not I repent of what I said;
For I will speak the Praises of my Friend,
Nor fear ev'n Heav'n, should it reply in Thunder.
He was my Friend, and I will still be his,
Tho' the Gods rage, and Mankind meanly joins;
Who shew Regard to Heav'n in nothing else
But slighting Merit, when the Gods forsake it.
Yet I, of all suspected, and alone,
Will boldly thus embrace this precious Body.
Nay, gaze not on me with such threat'ning Looks;
Think not, that if I valu'd now my Life,
I am so foolish to expose it thus.
What Hour so fit for me, what Death so glorious,
As here to fall with Cæsar, and by you,
The Master Spirits, sure, of all the World?
Kill me then quickly; kill me with those Daggers
That reek in Blood of him I lov'd so well:
For, could I languish out a thousand Years,
I ne'er should find myself so fit to die:
'Tis now a Pleasure, what may be a Pain.
Brutus.
Oh! Antony, beg not your Death of us.
281
How much my soften'd Heart approv'd your Praise.
Rough tho' we seem, and tho' our Hands are bloody,
Yet, Antony, you only see our Hands,
Which, free, as those of Justice, from all Rage,
Have done a Deed, spite of our softer Souls.
Your Friendship to dead Cæsar we esteem,
And value yours the more: then join with us
To settle Rome firm in its ancient Freedom;
And we will join with you to make you great;
As great as can consist with Liberty.
Cassius.
Your Voice shall sound as high as any Man's
In the Election of new Magistrates.
Brutus.
Only be patient till you hear the Cause
Of all this seeming Cruelty. You know
Cæsar us'd me as kindly as yourself.
Were I ambitious, or sought private Ends,
This, sure, was not the Way. Witness, you Gods!
None e'er who kill'd himself, lov'd him he slew,
Better than I lov'd Cæsar!
Antony.
Oh my Heart!
282
Give me your Hands, I must accept your Love,
Most noble Brutus, and yours, Caius Cassius.
Alas! my Credit stands on slipp'ry Ground;
And there's a Precipice on either Side.
To answer this your Gentleness with Rage,
(When you thus spare me ev'n against my Will)
That would appear but a too rough Return:
Yet may not this too look like Fear, or Flatt'ry?
That I lov'd Cæsar, I must ever own;
That he lov'd me, his Favours shew'd too well:
How shall I do my Part to him, and you?
Unless you will vouchsafe to give me Reasons
Why Cæsar died; and let me bury him
(As it becomes his Friend) with decent Honour:
Then I'll but steep his Ashes in my Tears,
And in his cold Urn smother all my Sorrow.
Brutus.
'Tis just, we grant it; take his Body hence;
And I will join myself to do him Honour.
Cassius.
Hold, Brutus; first consider well of that:
The easy Rabble may be mov'd against us.
Who knows how Rhet'ric may prevail on Fools?
Brutus.
We need not, Cassius, be so much concern'd;
283
'Twas Cæsar's Soul we fear'd, and that once gone,
We cannot use his harmless Corpse too well.
Cassius.
But yet I fear the worst.
Brutus.
Besides, I'll go,
And speak before him in the Market-place.
But, Antony, your Praise must be so nice,
As not to blame our Action: you may shew
Both Love to Cæsar, and Esteem of us.
Cassius.
His Speech shall be your Pattern; so we leave you
To pay that Pity which you owe your Friend.
[Exeunt all but Antony.
SCENE VI.
Antony, who stands over the Body of Cæsar, alone.Antony.
Pity indeed! but what a wretched Change:
That thou shouldst move it! Thou, whose wond'rous Soul
Was high as e'er Humanity attain'd;
Yet gentle as the humblest of Mankind.
[Enter some Friends of Antony.
Thy vast Ambition was but just, and like
The Element of Fire when first created,
Which soar'd above the rest, to shine more glorious,
And chear the under World with Light and Heat.
Thou still shalt shine a Comet, and portend
A black and bloody Scene of Civil War.
These Wounds inspire me with prophetick Skill,
Which like dumb Mouths op'ning their bloody Lips,
Seem to intreat the Utt'rance of my Tongue.
Now the whole World disturb'd, will miss thee soon;
Men shall bemoan their Master, beat their Breasts,
And lay upon thy Death all their Misfortunes.
Wars, Bloodshed, Massacres, such horrid Deeds,
And fatal Fury, shall be so familiar,
That Custom shall take off all Sense of Crime,
And Shame and Guilt shall be but Words forgot,
Lost in the boundless Licence of the Times.
That thou shouldst move it! Thou, whose wond'rous Soul
Was high as e'er Humanity attain'd;
284
Thy vast Ambition was but just, and like
The Element of Fire when first created,
Which soar'd above the rest, to shine more glorious,
And chear the under World with Light and Heat.
Thou still shalt shine a Comet, and portend
A black and bloody Scene of Civil War.
These Wounds inspire me with prophetick Skill,
Which like dumb Mouths op'ning their bloody Lips,
Seem to intreat the Utt'rance of my Tongue.
Now the whole World disturb'd, will miss thee soon;
Men shall bemoan their Master, beat their Breasts,
And lay upon thy Death all their Misfortunes.
Wars, Bloodshed, Massacres, such horrid Deeds,
And fatal Fury, shall be so familiar,
That Custom shall take off all Sense of Crime,
And Shame and Guilt shall be but Words forgot,
Lost in the boundless Licence of the Times.
Come, let us bear him to the Market-place.
This is a Jewel yet, tho' dropt by Fortune;
With which we'll purchase Popularity,
And set up for ourselves in this new World.
Our Tears and Grief will soften their hard Hearts,
Fit to receive Impression from our Words.
And when Crowds listen once, there is no Fear:
They have the People's Hearts, who have their Ear.
[Exeunt with the Body of Cæsar.
This is a Jewel yet, tho' dropt by Fortune;
With which we'll purchase Popularity,
And set up for ourselves in this new World.
Our Tears and Grief will soften their hard Hearts,
285
And when Crowds listen once, there is no Fear:
They have the People's Hearts, who have their Ear.
To be sung after the Fourth Act.
Fourth CHORUS.
How great a Curse has Providence
Thought fit to cast on Human-kind!
Learning, Courage, Eloquence,
The gentlest Nature, noblest Mind,
Were intermixt in one alone;
Yet in one Moment overthrown.
Thought fit to cast on Human-kind!
Learning, Courage, Eloquence,
The gentlest Nature, noblest Mind,
Were intermixt in one alone;
Yet in one Moment overthrown.
Could Chance, or sensless Atoms join
To form a Soul so great as his?
Or would those Pow'rs we hold Divine,
Destroy their own chief Master-piece?
Where so much Difficulty lies,
The doubtful are the only wise.
To form a Soul so great as his?
Or would those Pow'rs we hold Divine,
Destroy their own chief Master-piece?
Where so much Difficulty lies,
The doubtful are the only wise.
286
And, what must more perplex our Thoughts;
Great Jove the best of Romans sends,
To do the very worst of Faults,
And kill the kindest of his Friends.
All this is far above our Reach,
Whatever Priests presume to preach.
Great Jove the best of Romans sends,
To do the very worst of Faults,
And kill the kindest of his Friends.
All this is far above our Reach,
Whatever Priests presume to preach.
| The Works of John Sheffield | |