 | The Banishment of Cicero |  |
5
ACT I.
SCENE I.
CLODIUS, Enters alone.
Romans, you have your wish; at length you've found
A Tribune; one, who knows your brutal lust
For civil slaughter, and will sate its rage
On the first Spirits of imperial Rome.
I saw you, as you rent your throats for Clodius,
How vulture-like you turn'd aloft in air
Your carrion beaks, and snuft the winds for prey:
And ye shall have it; to the lips in blood,
Patrician blood, I'll steep you; till the days
Of Gracchus shall look white compar'd to mine,
Now Aulus—
Enter A. Gabinius, Consul.
6
Happiness and length of days
Wait on our Tribune, and my noble Friend!
CLODIUS.
Why how now, Consul, these are terms of office,
And savour of the Fasces.
GABINIUS.
Pass on there.
Exeunt Lictors, &c.
CLODIUS.
And now, my Friend, how looks the day abroad?
GABINIUS.
To you clear and propitious; to your foes,
And that old scoffing pedant Cicero,
Louring and mournful, as the garb he wears.
CLODIUS.
Say'st thou the garb?
GABINIUS.
Why, he hath put on black;
Know you not that? Caius, and all the rest;
The whole Tribe mourns; Terentia too—
CLODIUS.
'Tis well;
'Tis as I wisht it.
GABINIUS.
Your new law condemns him,
Which interdicts the elemental uses,
To whomsoever shall have put to death
A Citizen untried.
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'Tis not the law,
But he himself by this unmanly act
That doth himself condemn: Weak, shallow coward!
I would have had his ruin my own work;
But he runs on my toils, as if he meant
To be my rival in his own destruction.
GABINIUS.
Hear thou this, Catiline! and ye that bled
At the proud Consul's bidding!
CLODIUS.
Yes, Gabinius,
In my revenge the dead themselves shall join;
And by the quick'ning powers of vengeance rous'd,
The ashes of your brave friend Catiline
Shall leap and burst their urn.
GABINIUS.
He was my Friend,
My brave, unhappy, much-lamented Friend;
With pride I own it: Oh! were this the day,
When, with my foot on yon proud Pleader's neck,
I might proclaim it in the Senate's face,
Up to the beard of Cato.
CLODIUS.
Soft you now;
I hold the Senate as our Friends, Gabinius.
GABINIUS.
Hang 'em, dull herd, they're each man's friends by turns,
The latest speaker ever has their voices.
8
By dealing forth his own applause amongst them,
And his stale cant of Danger to the State,
Had almost wrought his hearers to the pitch
Of driving Publius Clodius forth from Rome,
The Enemy' of his Country.
CLODIUS.
Hah! Where met they?
GABINIUS.
I' the Fane of Concord.
CLODIUS.
Fane of Concord say'st thou?
I tell thee, Aulus, in that very spot,
Which now they call of Concord, but which soon
Shall prove the scene of civil desolation;
I will make fat the dogs of Rome with slaughter,
E're I will move one foot from out these walls
At their audacious bidding.
GABINIUS.
Fear it not;
Their tumult had the life but of a moment;
When strait they fell to prayers and abject tears,
Which I with scorn repuls'd; whereat enrag'd,
Uprose the Tribune Ninnius, and mov'd
That that august Assembly should adopt
The same dark weeds which Marcus Tullius wore,
And dignify his sorrows with their own.
CLODIUS.
The Senate mourn for Cicero? For Cicero
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In each base palm, (O wavering worthless Senate)
For him to reap the harvest of my hopes?
My curses on the name!
GABINIUS.
Why rave you thus?
And what am I? hath not my edict power
To shake the Senate from their feeble votes?
And it hath done it; from the Rostrum's height
I have denounc'd my war upon their heads:
I've silenc'd Lucius Lamia's saucy tongue;
Two hundred miles from Rome the exile wanders:
And what more aweful is there in the name
Of Cicero, than Lamia? O my Publius,
Leave we to prey upon the wretched limbs,
And at the head and vital source of all,
Strike; there direct one bold decisive blow,
And live at large hereafter.
CLODIUS.
Greatly said!
Thy Friendship's warm and animating spirit,
Breath'd on my ripening projects, calls 'em forth
To full-grown life, in the same fruitful period
At once conceiv'd and born; and therefore, Aulus,
Thou shalt receive a fruitful recompence;
Not bare Cilicia; but a richer lot,
Syria, the wealthiest province of the state,
Shall crown thy fortune, shall repair the breach
10
That else might fasten on thy naked state,
And pull thee down to shame.—Of this enough,
This saucy Tribune Ninnius.—'Tis well;
'Tis well. O Memory register that deed!
Yet what of that? Contemptuous silence quell'd
The vain light thought, and the rash project fell
With its first mover.
GABINIUS.
Couldst thou think it, friend,
That many of the first esteemed note,
Curio, Hortensius, and the old stoic Cato,
Aided the hateful motion? Weak indeed
His single voice; but, spreading as it roll'd,
It came upon us like the gathering thunder,
And the low murmur swell'd into a storm.
CLODIUS.
Are they so rank? And hath old Cato then
Forgot his rugged nature, and become
Fawning and smooth? To Marcus Tullius smooth?
Oh! I could burst with spleen.
GABINIUS.
No, Clodius, no:
Cato is still severe, is still himself;
Rough and unshaven in his squalid garb,
He told us he had long in anguish mourn'd,
Not in a private but the public cause;
Not for the wrong of one, but wrong of all,
Of Liberty, of Virtue, and of Rome.
11
No more, I sleep o'er Cato's drowsy theme:
He is the Senate's drone, and dreams of Liberty,
When Rome's vast Empire is set up to sale,
And portion'd out to each ambitious bidder
In marketable lots.—But now proceed;
Give me more names; these many I have wrote
Deep in the vengeful tablets of my heart.
GABINIUS.
Then in the front and foremost page of all
Print deep in everlasting characters,
The hated name of Milo; his alone,
When every other eye was red with tears,
His only burnt with hot and scalding rage;
He hates thee, Clodius; and when all were loud
For mourning, he with a disdainful air
Throwing his mantle by, in public view
Shew'd them his mailed corselet, bid 'em mark it;
For 'twas a Roman's dress; their sable scarves,
Them, as he said, he left to puling maids
And sedentary widows.
CLODIUS.
O Gabinius,
Let me not hear it; in the world there lives not
One, whom my soul holds in such perfect hate
As that same Milo. How it is I know not,
But by the Gods he awes my very blood;
Therefore no more of him.—What said my Cæsar?
Tell me how look'd the rising Sun of Rome?
12
What, know you not that Cæsar's new command
Forbids his entrance into Rome?
CLODIUS.
'Tis true:
But Pompey—
GABINIUS.
Oh! who shall attempt to read
In Pompey's face the movements of his heart?
The same calm artificial look of state,
His half-clos'd eyes in self-attention wrapt
Serve him alike to mask unseemly joy,
Or hide the pangs of envy and revenge.
CLODIUS.
See, yonder your old collegue Piso comes—
But name Hypocrisy and he appears;
How like his Grandsire's monument he looks?
He wears the dress of holy Numa's days,
The brow and beard of Zeno; trace him home,
You'll find his house the school of vice and lust,
The foulest sink of Epicurus' stye
And him the rankest swine of all the herd.
SCENE II.
CLODIUS, GABINIUS, PISO, attended by several Grecians, and others.PISO.
Now, by the soul of Socrates, I swear
(Aside to his attendants.
They do me wrong, who say I sought this load
13
What other taste of joy have I, alas!
Save only with a few learn'd friends about me,
To measure out my last low dregs of life
In peace, and creep into a silent grave.
CLODIUS.
Most learn'd and noble Piso, fairly met.
GABINIUS.
Welcome, thrice-worthy Collegue!
PISO.
Welcome both:
Shame of my old eyes that I saw you not.
GABINIUS.
Bear with me, Brother, if I'm bold to tell you
You've done me wrong.
PISO.
Name it, and be redrest.
GABINIUS.
You are too studious of your ease, and seek
To shift the burthen, you was bound to share,
Upon the weaker shoulders: From the Senate
Wherefore this morning absent? whilst I bear
The sweat and labour of the day, at home
You sit, wrapt up in calm philosophy,
And moralize at leisure: 'Tis not well.
PISO.
Give me your pardon, when my Country made me
Their Consul, did they make me young withal,
Active and vigorous, like thee, Gabinius?
14
Worn out with age and study? Let 'em then
Look for no other than an old man's service,
My counsel and my pray'rs; them they shall have.
I told you t'would be thus.
(To his Attendants.
CLODIUS.
Whence are these strangers?
PISO.
Of Athens.
CLODIUS.
Learn'd no doubt.—
PISO.
As Greece e'er bred.
Apollodorus, prithee call to mind
The lines which Athenæus (him, I mean
The Epigrammatist) writes in the praise
Of the wise Sect of Stoics, the sound school,
And true definers of the Sovereign Good;
Speak low, such are not for the public ear.
CLODIUS.
How this old specious rascal cheats the world!
Yon fellow is his parasite, his pimp;
I read it on his forehead.
PISO.
And did Clodia
Deliver this herself to you?
APOLLODORUS.
Herself,
With her own gracious lips.
15
Gods, Gods! I thank you:
As soon as I can quit me of her brother,
With my best speed I'll seek her: Soft you now;
Was there nought else?
APOLLODORUS.
Yes, more; the fatted quails,
And the red mullet for your mistress Lesbia.—
CLODIUS.
—Give me your pardon, grave and reverend Sir,
If I break in upon your better thoughts,
And beg your patient ear: You're not to learn
What public, bold, and undisguis'd affront
I have of late endur'd; endur'd from one,
A public railer; whom nor birth, nor fortune,
Manhood, nor merit, have made great and noble,
But rancour, pride, and swoln conceit, conspire
To render hateful.
PISO.
'Tis to Marcus Cicero
Your preface points; and I must needs confess
He is too bitter, and too sharp in speech;
That error set aside, I hold him clear
Of every other stain.
CLODIUS.
Alas, good man,
With what dim eyes you see him! As for me,
'Tis known how I have liv'd; and I must own
In heat of youth, and wantonness of spirit,
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But when he makes your gravity his jest,
Your wisdom and severity of manners
His table-scandal, every honest man
Cries out upon the wrong; and I who love,
Altho' I practise not your virtues, burn
For vengeance on the crime.
PISO.
When vice is honour,
I glory in reproach:—But wherefore this,
And whither would you lead? You say I'm wrong'd
Of Marcus Cicero; be his the shame,
Who did the wrong; I know not to revenge.
CLODIUS.
If private wrongs are nothing, yet your duty
To your lov'd Country, and the natural hatred,
Which each free Roman bears to slavery,
Bid you stand up and show yourself a man.
You talk of Pompey's greatness, and you tremble
At the fear'd name of Cæsar. Mighty Gods!
The tongue of this vain pedant plagues the state;
Ay, and enslaves you worse than their ambition,
Tho' it look up to Empire.
GABINIUS.
Come, no more.
If you are with us, thus with wide-stretch'd arms,
As Brother should greet Brother, we embrace you:
If not, be plain, tell us you hold not with us,
And we will on without you.
17
'Tis enough;
Piso, I know thy heart, and thou know'st mine;
Like cunning gamesters we have plied each other
With strained art, and run thro' every feint;
Now let us draw the undecided stake:
Take you your title of philosopher,
Barren unenvied lot: Let me depart
With the rich spoils of Macedon, which, Jove!
Thou know'st, I would have pour'd into his lap,
Who dar'd to own himself my friend.—Farewell.—
PISO.
Yet hear me, Clodius; what you take in hand
Demands mature and calm deliberation;
For trust me, 'tis no slight and trivial matter,
But bold and big with danger: Sleeps he then?
And hath the thunder of his eloquence
Forgot to roll? Or is it all as easy,
To buy the life of the first man of Rome,
As 'tis to traffick for the lowest slave?
When he was Consul, all men worship'd him;
He was the God of Rome: Not so you say,
“The Tyrant rather.”—Give me proof of that,
Let it outweigh the public voice, and make
The flatt'ring Senate liars; and by Heaven!
Had I and Marcus Cicero together
Laid in one womb, been foster'd at one breast,
Indignant I would shake him from my heart,
And give him up to justice and to thee.
18
And if I give you not the proof you ask,
Renounce me, Gods!
PISO.
Upon those terms we close;
At present strong occasions draw me hence;
To-night if you can relish such coarse fare
As my poor board affords, we will talk farther.
CLODIUS.
Agreed.
GABINIUS.
We'll be your thankful guests: Farewell.
(Exit Piso.
SCENE III.
CLODIUS, GABINIUS.CLODIUS.
So, he's my own! How quick the old fox doubled!
Why, what a world is this! Behold that man,
The noblest born in Rome; wealthy and old,
And seeming virtuous; yet a province buys him:
And shall a peasant of Arpinum check
The course of my success, and soar a pitch
Of virtue, which our Nobles cannot reach?
GABINIUS.
Say'st thou, our Nobles? Why they are his vassals,
And he ambitious sits among the clouds,
Like a strange meteor that appalls the world;
19
And deprecate his wrath.
CLODIUS.
Not so, Gabinius,
High as he is, this arm shall reach him yet,
And crush him in his pride; the bubble broke
All men will mock its emptiness; and thus
When flamy comets vex our frighted sphere,
Tho' now the nations melt with awful fear,
From the dread omen fatal ills presage,
Dire plague and famine, and war's wasting rage;
In time some brighter genius may arise,
And banish signs and omens from the skies,
Expound the comet's nature and its cause,
Assign its periods and prescribe its laws;
Whilst man grown wise, with his discoveries fraught,
Shall wonder how he needed to be taught.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
| The Banishment of Cicero | |