University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Brutus and Cassius.
Brutus.
Ha! is it come to this?—and did you see it?

Cassius.
I saw it—and could paint a scene of woe,
Would make the sun collect his scatter'd rays
And shroud himself in night—While numbers crouded,
Thoughtless of harm to see the pageantry,
And sportive youths play'd gamesome in the street,
That wretch, that cursed E---r,
Whom long this country blush'd to own her son—
Urg'd on by hell and malice, unprovok'd—
Hurl'd thro' the croud promiscuous death and slaughter—
One youth, unhappy victim fell—he lies
Reeking in gore, and bites the hated ground.

Brutus.
Oh! this poor land—what scenes await it!
This is the dawn—if murders open here,
What will the day disclose! Oppression strews
Her earliest paths with blood—gods! are we men?
And stand we still and bear it? where's our sense?
Our ancient sense of freedom? even the boy,
Should we be tame, would feel his pulse beat high:
And nobly grasp the sword he scarce could wield.

Cassius.
It must be so—we'll right ourselves or die—
But what approaches here?

Enter Portius and a croud.
Portius.
who's there?

Brutus.
a friend.

Portius.
Ha! Brutus, take the sword and bravely plunge it!

Brutus.
In whom?

Portius.
a wretch.

Brutus.
a wretch?

Portius.
a murderer.
Let not one motive damp thy rising ardor—
The parent weeps his child, the staff of age,
Untimely slain. Pity, revenge—rage—fury—
Ten thousand boistrous passions glory within me
And call for blood. Not this poor wretch alone—
The grand prime spring shall fall a sacrifice.
Tho' all his legions fondly hover'd round him.
I'd cut my way thro' all—and this my sword
Drench in the tyrant's blood, then on the pile
Of bleeding freedom, pour the rich libation.

Brutus.
Stay, Portius, stay—let reason calm thy passions.
Let us not sully by unmeaning actions,
The cause of injur'd freedom; this demands
A cool, sedate and yet determin'd spirit.

Portius.
Brutus, thy mind compos'd can reason well,
But when I see even innocence itself
Can find no shelter—my pulse beat high!
I'm all on fire?—speak to the distant winds!
Command a storm! or lull an hurricane!—

Brutus.
But hear me, Portius, one word more I ask thee.
You know the foes of freedom, eagle-ey'd,
Watch every deed. They wish to see us act
Up to the character, they long have painted.
Headstrong—rebellious—factious—uncontroul'd,—
Rather to justice drag the murderer.

Portius.
Brutus you know, who fill that sacred bench.
Rapatio's tools, mere creatures of the tyrant.
Depend upon't they'll vilely wrest the law,
And save the villain—yes, depend upon't,
Should he be brought before that brib'd tribunal,
They'll plead his cause, and save the murderer's life.—

Brutus.
Well Portius, that's with them.
We've done as patriots ought—like men who scorn
The name of faction—men who nobly act
From sense of honor. If they save the villain
Theirs is the guilt of blood: and he who holds
Impartial justice, will demand an answer.

Portius.
'Tis well—you've charm'd my angry soul to rest.
I'll go and soothe the boistrous multitude,
Calm all their souls, and make them act like freemen.

[Exit.
Brutus.
Oh Cassius—Oh! my friend—my heart it bleeds,
It bleeds to near the groans of gasping freedom.
Could but my life atone and save my country,
Pleas'd cou'd I bare this breast, and die in transport.

Cassius.
No Brutus, live, and live to rescue virtue.
For this ten-thousand motives croud upon us.
Our fathers seem to murmer in their tombs,
And urge us on. Last night as I lay musing,
On evils past, and trembling at the future
A gleam of light broke in on my retirement.
My father's ghost burst on my startled fancy,
And froze the current of my blood—he star'd—
Horrid he star'd—then frown'd and spoke in thunder,
“Cassius attend. Where is that noble spirit,
“I once instill'd—behold this fair possession
“I struggled hard to purchase, fought and bled
“To leave it your's unsullied—Oh defend it,
“Nor lose it but in death.” He spake and vanish'd.
Yes, I reply'd, thou injur'd shade, I will defend;
And e'er I'll lose it meet ten thousand deaths.

Brutus.
Nor these alone—all those who fought for freedom,
Chide the unmanly sloth—mean while, my friend,
Let's see the mournful obsequies perform'd.
Give to the dust, the relics of a youth,
Untimely crop'd, and lost—like some gay flow'r
Which vernal zephyrs fan'd and gentle sun beams
Wak'd to life—awhile, it chear'd our sight,
And promis'd—pleasure when the rigorous north
Blasted its bloom, and froze up every sweet.
Let's pay this last sad tribute to the dead,
Together in the funeral pomp let's go
Share in there grief, and join the general woe.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Bagshot, and Rapatio.
Bagshot.
It must not—shall not be—the dirty scoundrels,
Foaming with passion animate each other—
Abuse my men and trample on my bands.

Rapatio.
Insulting dogs! and are they wrought to this?
'Tis well—a scene now opens to my mind.
And hark'ee Bagshot—should these high swoln wretches
Again insult, remember you are soldiers—

Bagshot.
Well then, since you approve,
I'll give those orders, which I dare not do
By my mere motion.
Repeated wrongs have blown up all their courage.
They stretch like steeds, and snuffs the distant battle;
And like the vulture, couch in dreadful ambush
And wait a day of carnage—sire, adieu—

[Exeunt.

SENE III.

Changes to a street in Servia
Enter Brutus, solus.
To be the sport of every flying moment—
The butt at which old time may throw his shafts,
And vex him oft—light tennis ball of fortune—
This is thy fate, O man. Weak helpless creature,
Design'd to crawl with other little reptiles
Round this dull globe of earth—to sport a while,
And wanton in the sun shine of an hour.
Frolic and gay he trifles on the stage,
Nor sees the various ills behind the scene.
These dart their baneful stings unnotic'd at him
And spoils his mirth—misfortune treads on joy,
And every hour comes loaded with new sorrows.
This I experience—each succeeding day
Affords fresh scenes of woe—not only one
Deaf to the call of nature pleading in him
Imbrues his hands in blood—ten thousand join him.
The soldier hea[illeg.] by the curs'd example,
His poinard whets,
And swear to fill these streets with blood and slaughter,

Enter Cassius in much agitation.
Cassius.
[a confus'd sound of voices, clashing of arms, with freequent oaths is heard.]

Enter Junius Portius and others, in much agitation.
Junius.
Th' inhuman soldiers stamp the hostile ground,
His garments stain'd with blood,
The streets of Servia sweat with human gore.
Oh! Brutus, I'm on fire—hand me my sword,
And give me to the foe—
And if we die—let's die like men
And bravely fall expiring on the foe.—
That man dies well who sheds his blood for freedom.

Portius.
Oh! had you seen promiscuous slaughter hurl'd—
Or had you heard the groans of innocence,
'Twould rouze you into action.
While I can boast one short reprieve from death,
I'll breathe revenge. This unstain'd guiltless dagger
Shall sweat with blood, and rust with humane gore.

Brutus.
'Tis well—there Portius spoke like himself,
Let's wake the latent seeds of honor into action.
What do I see?—or is it merely fancy?
Methinks yon rising ghost stares full in view,
Points to its wounds and cries aloud—REVENGE.—
My country groans—and can ye hear her sighs,
And hear them tamely?—Oh! my heart 'twill burst.

Junius.
Her sighs?—and hear them tamely? never-never-—
Who knows the secrets of my soul,
Knows 'tis on fire, and bursting for revenge.
What tho' I totter with a weight of years,
And palsied age relaxes every nerve,
Yet such foul deeds have rouz'd the genial current,
That long had lag'd—this life by nature's laws,
Like an old garment must have soon been drop'd:
And never could I had I liv'd to ages,
Have dy'd so well as now—to die at ease,
And drop into the grave, unheard, unknown
This is but common fate—
He, who bleeds in freedom's cause, expires illustrious,
He falls, but catches immortality.
While greatful millions croud around,
And with a generous tear bedew his urn.

[Exeunt.

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.