University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

In a large Hall.
Enter Brutus and a croud of Citizens.
With servants bearing the dead bodies.
Brutus.
Here lay them down, and bare their bleeding bosoms,
That I may feel their wounds, and weep upon them.
These wounds gape wide, and speak expressive language,
They speak your state, the sport of every ruffian,
Who plays with death and thirsts for freemen's blood.
For you they fell—but hark! they cry REVENGE.

Citizens.
Revenge—

Brutus.
True 'tis a mornful sight—to see a brother
Fall by a brothers hand—the desart savage,
Who kills his foe and feasts upon his flesh,
Yet spares his kindred—the forest monster,
Who stains the passage to his den with blood,
Abhors such deeds—but shocking as they are,
They teach a powerful lesson
This soon may be your fate, the furious soldier
Breaths nought but death—

Brutus.
These twinkling stars that glimmer in their orbs
And seem to weep—these pale and ghastly forms—
This scene of woe, and death's incumbent shade,
All join to rouze us—these embers here conceal'd,
If set on fire, would burst into a flame,
And burn up the globe—take hence these bodies,
And decently entomb them—
Croud round their bier, and weep upon their graves.

[Exeunt.
[With the bodies attended with a long train of mourners, The bells telling]
Enter Brutus.
Brutus.
Oh! what a scene of woe! you oft, my friends,
Have found me pleading in the cause of freedom,
And warding off the blows intended for her
I'm strugling now with a superior stream,
It baffles every effort—But the conflicts glorious
Should we succeed an happy tide of comfort,
Flows on the soul—new scenes of joy await us,
And gild the ev'ning of our days.
But if we chance to fall, we fall for virtue.
The cause disarms the tyrant of his sting
And wards off his shafts—while our memories
For ages live and blossom round the tomb.
Such thoughts as these now buoy up my spirits,
And brighten all the gloom;—what tho' misfortunes
And scenes of blood and carnage croud upon me;
E're long my soul shall leave
These dismal tracks of misery, and go
Where tides of joy in happier currents flow.
Where the proud wretch that laugh'd at every tie,
And from the breast of virtue forc'd a sigh;
No more invades—but endless pleasures roll,
And one eternal sun shine chears the soul.

[Exeunt.