University of Virginia Library

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.