University of Virginia Library

Actus Quintus.

Scæna prima.

Enter Phidias with his dagger in him, and Aretius poysond.
Are.
He h'as his last.

Phi.
Then come the worst of danger,
Aecius to thy soule we give a Cesar,
How long is't since ye gave it him?

Are.
An houre,
Mine owne two houres before him: how it boyles mee!

Phi.
It was not to be cur'd I hope.

Are.
No Phidias,
I delt above his Antidotes: Physicians
May finde the cause, but where the cure?

Phi.
Done bravely,
We are got before his Tyranny Aretus.

Are.
We had lost our worthiest end els Phidias:

Phi.
Canst thou hold out a while?

Are.
To torture him
Anger would give me leave, to live an age yet;
That man is poorely spirited, whose life
Runs in his bloud alone, and not in's wishes.
And yet I swell, and burne like flaming A'etna,
A thousand new found fires are kindled in me,
But yet I must not die this foure houres Phidias.

Phi.
Remember who dies with thee, and despise death.

Are.
I need no exhortation, the joy in me
Of what I have done, and why, makes poyson pleasure,
And my most killing torments mistresses.
For how can he have time to dye, or pleasure
That falls as fooles unsatisfied, and simple?

Phi.
This that consumes my life, yet keeps it in me,
Nor doe I feele the danger of a dying,
And if I but endure to heare the curses
Of this fell Tyrant dead, I have halfe my heaven.

Are.
Hold thy soule fast but foure houres Phidias,
And thou shalt see to wishes beyond ours,
Nay more beyond our meanings.

Phi.
Thou hast steeld me:
Farwell Aretus, and the soules of good men,
That as ours doe, have left their Roman bodies
In brave revenge for vertue, guide our shadowes.
I would not faint yet.

Are.
Farwell Phidias
And as we have done nobly, gods look on us.—

Exeunt severally.

Scæn. 2.

Enter Lycias, and Proculus.
Lycias.
Sicker, and sicker Proculus?

Pro.
Oh Lycias,
What shall become of us? would we had dide
With happy Chilax, or with Balbus, bedrid—
Enter Lycinius.
And made too lame for justice.

Lycinius.
The soft Musick;
And let one sing to fasten sleep upon him:
Oh friends, the Emperor.

Pro.
What say the Doctors?

Lycin.
For us a most sad saying, he is poysond,
Beyond all cure too.

Lyc.
Who?

Lycin.
The wretch Aretus,
That most unhappy villaine.

Lyc.
How doe you know it?

Lyci.
He gave him drink last: let's disperse and find him;
And since he has opend misery to all,
Let it begin with him first: Softly he slumbers.

—Enter Emperor sicke in a Chaire, with Eudoxia, the Empresse, and Physitians, and Attendants.
Emp.
Oh gods, gods: drink, drink, colder, colder
Then snow on Scythian Mountaines: ô my heart strings.

Eudox.
How do's your Grace.

Phis.
The Empresse speakes Sir;

Emp.
Dying,
Dying Eudoxa, dying.

Phys.
Good Sir patience;

Eudox.
What have ye given him?

Phys.
Pretious things deere Lady
We hope shall comfort him.

Emp.
O flattered foole,
See what thy god-heads come to: Oh Eudoxa.

Eudox.
O patience, patience Sir.

—Enter Proculus, Licinius with Aretus.
Emp.
Danubius,
Ile have brought through my body.

Eudox.
Gods give comfort.

Em.
And Volga, on whose face the North freezes,
I and an hundred hells, an hundred Piles
Already to my Funeralls are flaming,
Shall I not drink?

Phys.
You must not Sir.

Emp.
By heaven
Ile let my breath out that shall burne ye all
If ye deny me longer: tempests blow me,
And inundations that have drunk up kingdomes
Flow over me, and quench me: wher's the Villaine?
Am I immortall now ye slaves? by Numa
If he doe scape: Oh, oh,

Eudox.
Deere Sir;

Emp.
Like Nero,
But farre more terrible, and full of slaughter,
I'th midst of all my flames ile fire the Empire:
A thousand fans, a thousand fans to coole me:
Invite the gentle windes Eudoxa.

Eudox.
Sir;

Emp.
Oh doe not flatter me, I am but flesh,
A man, a mortall man: drink, drink, ye dunces;
What can your doses now doe, and your scrapings,
Your oyles, and Mithridates? if I doe die,
You only words of health, and names of sicknesse
Finding no true disease in man but mony,
That talke your selves into Revenues, oh
And ere ye kill your patients, begger 'em,
Ile have ye flead, and dride.

Pro:
The Villaine Sir;
The most accursed wretch.

Emp.
Be gon my Queene,
This is no sight for thee: goe to the Vestalls,
Cast holy incense in the fire, and offer
One powerfull sacrifice to free thy Cæsar.

Pro.
Goe Goe and be happy.

—Exit Eudoxa.
Aretus.
Goe, but give no ease,
The Gods have set thy last houre Valentinian,
Thou art but man, a bad man too, a beast,
And like a sensual bloudy thing thou diest.

Pro.
Oh—Traitor.

Are.
Curse your selves ye flatterers,
And howle your miseries to come ye wretches,
You taught him to be poysond,

Emp.
Yet no comfort?

Aret.
Be not abusd with Priests, nor Pothecaries,
They cannot help thee: Thou hast now to live
A short halfe houre, no more, and I ten minutes:
I gave thee poyson for Aecius sake,
Such a destroying poyson would kill nature;
And for thou shalt not die alone, I took it.
If mankind had bin in thee at this murder,
No more to people earth again, the wings
Of old time clipt for ever, reason lost,
In what I had attempted, yet ô Cæsar
To purchase faire revenge, I had poysond them too.

Emp.
Oh villaine: I grow hotter, hotter,

Are.
Yes;
But not neere my heate yet; what thou feel'st now,
Marke me with horror Cæsar, are but Embers
Of lust and leachery thou hast committed:
But there be flames of murder.

Emp.
Fetch out tortures.

Are.
Doe, and ile flatter thee, nay more ile love thee:
Thy tortures to what now I suffer Cæsar,
At which thou must arrive too, ere thou dy'est,
Are lighter, and more full of mirth then laughter.

Emp.
Let 'em alone: I must drink.

Are.
Now be mad.
But not neere me yet.

Emp.
Hold me, hold me, hold me,
Hold me; or I shall burst else.

Are.
See me Cesar,
And see to what thou must come for thy murder;
Millions of womens labours, all diseases.

Emp.
Oh my afflicted soule too,

Are.
Womens feares, horrors,
Despaires, and all the Plagues the hot Sunne breeds.—

Emp.
Æcius, ô Æcius: ô Lucyna,

Are.
Are but my torments shadowes.

Emp.
Hide me mountaines;
The gods have found my sinnes:
Now breake.

Are.
Not yet Sir;
Thou hast a pull beyond all these.

Emp.
Oh hell,
Oh villaine, cursed villaine:

Are.
O brave villaine,
My poyson dances in me at this deed:
Now Cesar, now behold me, this is torment,
And this is thine before thou diest, I am wildfire:
The brazen Bull of Phalaris was feignd,
The miseries of soules despising Heaven,
But Emblems of my torments.

Emp.
Oh quench me, quench me, quench me.

Are.
Fire a flattery;
And all the Poets tales of sad Avernus,
To my paines lesse then fictions: Yet to shew thee
What constant love I bore my murdred mastere;
Like a Southwind, I have sung through all these tempests
My heart, my witherd heart, feare, feare thou Monster,
Feare the just gods, I have my peace.—

He dies.
Emp.
More drinke,
A thousand Aprill showres fall in my bosom:
How dare ye let me be tormented thus?
Away with that prodigious body, gods,
Gods, let me aske ye what I am, ye lay
All your inflictions on me, heare me, heare me;
I doe confesse I am a ravisher,,
A murderer, a hated Cesar; oh,
Are there not vowes enough, and flaming Altars,
The fat of all the world for sacrifice,
And where that failes, the blood of thousand captives
To purge those sins? but I must make the incense:
I do despise ye all, ye have no mercy,
And wanting that, ye are no Gods, your paroale
Is only preach'd abroad to make Fooles fearfull,
And women made of awe, beleeve your heaven:
Oh torments, torments, torments, paines above paines,
If ye be any thing but dreames, and ghests,
and truly hold the guidance of things mortall;
Have in your selves times past, to come, and present,
Fashion the soules of men, and make flesh for 'em,
Waighing our fates, and fortunes beyond reason,
Be more then all the Gods, great in forgivenesse,
Breake not the goodly frame ye build in anger;
For you are things men teach us, without passions,
Give me an howre to know ye in: Oh save me
But so much perfect time ye make a soule in,
Take this destruction from me; no ye cannot,
The more I would beleeve ye, more I suffer,
My braines are ashes, now my heart, my eyes freinds;
I go, I goe, more aire, more aire; I am mortall.—

He dyes.
Pro.
Take in the body: oh Lycinius,
The misery that we are left to suffer;
No pitty shall find us,

Licini.
Our lives deserve none:
Would I were chain'd againe to slavery,
With any hope of life.

Pro.
A quiet grave,
Or a consumption now Lycinius,
That we might be too poore to kill, were something.

Lycini.
Let's make our best use, we have mony Proculus,
And if that cannot save us, we have swords.

Pro.
Yes, but we dare not dye.

Lyc.
I had forgot that:
There's other countries then.

Pro.
But the same hate still,
Of what we are.

Lyci.
Think any thing, Ile follow—

Enter a Messenger.
Pro.
How now what newes?

Mess.
Shift for your selves, ye are lost else:
The Souldier is in armes for great Æcius,
And their Lievtenant generall that stopt 'em,
Cut in a thousand peeces: they march hither:
Beside, the women of the Towne have murderd
Phorba, and loose Ardelia, Cæsars she-Bawdes.

Lyci.
Then here's no staying Proculus?

Pro.
O Cæsar,
That we had never known thy lusts: Lets fly,
And where we find no womans man lets dye.—

Exeunt

Scæn. 3.

Enter Maximus.
Max.
Gods, what a sluce of blood have I let open!
My happy ends are come to birth, he's dead,
And I reveng'd; the Empires all a fire,
And desolation everywhere inhabits:
And shall I live that am the author of it,
To know Rome from the awe o'th world, the pitty?
My freinds are gone before too of my sending,
And shall I stay? is ought else to be liv'd for?
Is there an other freind, an other wife,
Or any third holds halfe their worthynesse,
To linger here alive for? Is not vertue
In their two everlasting soules departed,
And in their bodies first flame fled to heaven?
Can any man discover this, and love me?
For though my justice were as white as truth,
My way was crooked to it, that condemnes me:
And now Æclus, and my honored Lady,
That were prepares to my rest and quiet,
The lines to lead me to Elizium:
You that but stept before me, on assurance
I would not leave your freindship unrewarded,
First smile upon the sacrifice I have sent ye,
Then see me commingly bodly: stay, I am foolish,
Somewhat too suddaine to mine own destruction,
This great end of my vengance may grow greater:
Why may not I be Cæsar? Yet no dying;
Why should not I catch at it? fooles and children
Have had that strength before me, and obtaind it,
And as the danger stands, my reason bids me,
I will, I dare; my deare friends pardon me,
I am not fit to dye yet if not Cæsar;
I am sure the Souldier loves me, and the people,
And I will forward, and as goodly Cedars
Rent from Oeta by a sweeping tempest
Winted againe and made tall masses, defie
Those angry winds that split 'em, so will I
new peece againe, above the fate of women,
And made more perfect far, then growing privat,
Stand and defie bad fortunes: If I rise,
My wife was ravish'd well; If then I fall,
My great attempt honors my Funerall.—

Exit.

Scæn. 4.

Enter 3 Senators, and Affranius.
1.
Guard all the posternes to the Camp Affranius,
And see 'em fast, we shall be rifled else,
Thou art an honest, and a worthy Captaine.

2.
Promise the Souldier any thing,

3.
Speake gently,
And tell 'em we are now in councell for 'em.
Labouring to choose a Cæsar fit for them,
A Souldier, and a giver.

1.
Tell 'em further,
Their free and liberall voices shall go with us.

2.
Nay more, a negative say we allow 'em.

3.
And if our choice displease 'em, they shall name him.

1.
Promise three donatives, and large, Affranius.

2.
And Cæsar once elected, present foes,
With distribution of all necessaries,
Corne, Wine, and Oyle.

3.
New garments, and new Armes,
And equall portions of the Provinces
To them, and to their families for ever.

1.
And see the City strengthned.

Affra.
I shall do it,
—Exit Affranius.

2.
Sempronius, these are wofull times.

3.
O Brutus,
We want thy honesty againe; these Cæsars,
What noble Consuls got with blood, in blood
Consume againe, and scatter.

1.
Which way shall we?

2.
Not any way of safety I can thinke on.

3.
Now go our Wives to ruin, and our daughters,
And wee beholders Fulvius.

1.
Everything
Is every mans that will.

2.
The vestalls now
Must only feed the Souldiers fire of lust,
And sensuall Gods be glutted with those Offerings,
Age like the hidden bowels of the earth
Open'd with swords for Treasure.
Gods defend us,
We are chaffe before their fury else.

2.
Away,
Let's to the Temples.

1.
To the Capitoll,
'Tis not a time to pray now, let's be strengthend—

Enter Affranius.
3.
How now Affranius: what good news,

Affr.
A Cesar:

1.
Oh who?

Affr.
Lord Maximus is with the Souldier,
And all the Camp rings, Cesar, Cesar, Cesar:
He forcd the Empresse with him for more honour.

2.
A happy choice: let's meet him.

3.
Blessed fortune;

1.
Away, away, make room there, room there, room.

—Exeunt Senators, Flourish.
Within.
Lord Maximus is Cesar, Cesar, Cesar;
Haile Cesar Maximus.

Affr.
Oh turning people!
Oh people excellent in war, and governd,
In peace more raging then the furious North,
When he ploughes up the Sea, and makes him brine:
Or the lowd falls of Nile; I must give way,
Although I neither love nor hope this.
Cesar flourish.
Or like a rotten bridge that dares a current,
When he is sweld and high crackt, and farwell.

Enter Maximus, Eudoxa, Senat. and Souldiers.
Sen.
Roome for the Emperor.

Sold.
Long life to Cesar:

Affr.
Haile Cesar Maximus.

Emp., Max.
Your hand Affranius.
Lead to the Pallace, there my thanks in generall,
Ile showre among ye all: gods give me life,
First to defend the Empire, then you Fathers,
And valiant friends, the heires of strength and vertue,
The rampires of old Rome, of us the refuge;
To you I open this day all I have,
Even all the hazard that my youth hath purchasd,
Ye are my children, family, and friends
And ever so respected shall be, forward.
Ther's a Prescription grave Sempronius,
Gainst all the flatterers, and lazie Bawdes
Led loose-liv'd Valentinian to his vices,
See it effected;

—Flourish.
Sen.
Honour wait on Cesar.

Sold.
Make room for Cesar there—

Exeunt all but Affr.
Affr.
Thou hast my feares,
But Valentinian keeps my vowes: oh gods,
Why doe we like to feed the greedy Raven
Of these blowne men, that must before they stand,
And fixt in eminence, cast life on life,
And trench their safeties in with wounds, and bodies?
Wel froward Rome, thou wilt grow weak with changing
And die without an Heire, that lov'st to breed
Sonnes for the killing hate of sons: for me,
I only live to find an enemy.

—Exit.

Scæn. 5.

Enter Paulus (a Poet) and Lycippus, (a Gent.)
Pau.
When is the Inauguration?

Lyc.
Why to morrow.

Paul.
T'will be short time.

Lyc.
Any devise that's hansom,
A Cupid, or the God o'th place will doe it,
Where he must take the Fasces.

Pau.
Or a Grace.

Lyc.
A good Grace ha's no fellow.

Pau.
Let me see,
Wil not his name yeeld somthing? Maximus
By'th way of Anagram? I have found out Axis,
You know he beares the Empire.

Lyc.
Get him wheeles too,
T'will be a cruell carriage else.

Pau.
Some songs too.

Lyc.
By any meanes some songs: but very short ones,
And honest language Paulus, without bursting,
The ayre will fall the sweeter.

Pau.
A Grace must doe it.

Lyc.
Why let a Grace then.

Pau.
Yes it must be so;
And in a robe of blew too, as I take it.

Lyc.
This poet is a little kin to'th Painter
That could paint nothing but a ramping Lion,
So all his learned fancies are blew Graces,

Pau.
What think ye of a Sea-nymph, and a heaven?

Lyc.
Why what shold she do there man? ther's no water.

Pau.
By'th masse that's true, it must be a grace, and yet
Me thinkes a Rain-bow.

Luy.
And in blew,

Pau.
Oh yes;
Hanging in arch above him, and i'th midle

Lyc.
A showre of raine.

Pau.
No, no, it must bee a Grace,

Lyc.
Why prethee Grace him then.

Pau.
Or Orpheus,
Comming from hell.

Lyc.
In blew too.

Pau.
Tis the better;
And as he rises, full of fires.

Lyc.
Now blesse us.
Will not that spoile his Lute strings Paulus?

Pau.
Singing,
And crossing of his armes.

Lyc.
How can he play then?

Pau.
It shall be a Grace, ile doe it:

Lyc.
Prethee doe,
And with as good a grace as thou canst possible;
Good fury Paulus, be i'th morning with me,
And pray take measure of his mouth that speaks it.

Exeunt

Scæn. 6.

Enter Maximus and Eudoxa.
Max.
Come my best lov'd Eudoxa: Let the Souldier
Want neither Wine nor any thing he calls for,
And when the Senat's ready, give us notice;
In the meane time leave us,
Oh my deere sweet.

Eud.
Is't possible your Grace
Should undertake such dangers for my beauty,
If it were excellent?

Max.
By heaven tis all
The world has left to bragge of.

Eud.
Can a face
Long since bequeath'd to wrinkles with my sorrowes,
Long since razd out o'th book of youth and pleasure,
Have power to make the strongest man o'th Empire,
Nay the most staid, and knowing what is woman:
The greatest aym of perfectnesse men liv'd by,
The most true constant lover of his wedlock,
Such a still blowing beauty, earth was proud of,
Loose such a noble wise, and wilfully;
Himselfe prepare the way, nay make the rape.
Did ye not tell me so?

Max.
Tis true Eudoxa.

Eud.
Lay desolate his docrest peece of friendship,
Break his strong helme he steerd by, sinke that vertue;
That valour, that even all the gods can give us,
Without whom he was nothing, with whom worthiest,
Nay more arive at Cesar, and kill him too,
And for my sake? either ye love too deerly,
Or deeply ye dissemble Sir?

Max.
I doe so;
And till I am more strengthend, so I must doe;
Yet would my joy, and wine had fashiond out
Some safer lye: Can these things be Eudoxa,
And I dissemble? Can there be but goodnesse
And onely thine deer Lady, any end,
Any imagination but a lost one,
Why I should run this hazard? O thou vertue!
Were it to doe againe, and Valentinian
Once more to hold thee sinfull Valentinian,
In whom thou wert set, as pearles are in salt Oysters,
As Roses are in ranck weeds, I would find,
Yet to thy sacred selfe a deerer danger,
The God's know how I honour thee.

Eud.
What love Sir?
Can I returne for this, but my obedience;
My life, if so you please, and tis too little.

Max.
Tis too much to redeem the world.

Eud.
From this houre,
The sorrowes for my dead Lord, faryewell,
My living Lord has dride ye; And in token,
As Emperor this day I honor ye,
And the great caster new of all my wishes,
The wreath of living Lawrell, that must compasse
That sacred head, Eudoxa makes for Cesar:
I am me thinkes too much in love with fortune;
But with you ever Royall Sir my maker,
The once more Summer of me, meere in love,
Is poore expression of my doting.

Max.
Sweetest,

Eud.
Now of my troth ye have bought me deere Sir;

Max.
No,
Had I at losse of mankinde

—Enter a Messenger.
Eud.
Now ye flatter.

Mess.
The Senat waites your Grace,

Max.
Let'em come on,
And in a full forme bring the ceremony:
This day I am your servant (deere) and proudly,
Ile weare your honoured favour.

Eud.
May it prove so.

—Exeunt.

Scæn. 7.

Enter Paulus, and Lycippus.
Lyc.
Is your Grace done?

Pau.
Tis done.

Lyc.
Who speakes?

Pau.
A Boy:

Lyc.
A dainty blew Boy Paulus?

Pau.
Yes;

Lyc.
Have ye viewed
The worke above?

Pau.
Yes, and all up, and ready:

Lyc.
The Empresse does you simple honour Paulus,
The wreath your blew Grace must present, she made.
But harke ye, for the Souldiers?

Pau.
That's done too:
Ile bring'em in I warrant ye.

Lyc.
A Grace too?

Pau.
The same Grace serves for both.

Lyc.
About it then:
I must to'th Cupbord; and bee sure good Paulus
Your Grace be fasting, that he may hang cleanly:
If there should need an other voice, what then?

Paul.
Ile hang an other Grace in,

Lyc.
Grace be with ye.—

Exeunt.

Scæn. 2.

Enter in state Maximus, Eudoxa, with Souldiers and Gentlemen of Rome, the Senators, and Rods and Axes borne before them.
A Synnet with Trumpets.
With a Banket prepard, with Hoboies, Musicke, Song, wreath.
Sen., Semp. 3.
Haile to thy imperiall honour sacred Cesar,
And from the old Rome take these wishes;
You holy gods, that hitherto have held
As justice holds her Ballance equall poysd,
This glory of our Nation, this full Roman,
And made him fit for what he is, confirme him:
Looke on this Son ô Iupiter our helper,
And Romulus, thou Father of our honour,
Preserve him like thy selfe, just, valiant, noble,
A lover, and increaser of his people,
Let him begin with Numa, stand with Cato,
The first five yeares of Nero be his wishes,
Give him the age and fortune of Emelius,
And his whole raigne, renew a great Augustus.

SONG.

Honour that is ever living,
Honour that is ever giving,
Honour that sees all and knowes,
Both the ebbs of man and flowes,
Honour that rewards the best,
Sends thee thy rich labours rest;
Thou hast studied still to please her,
Therefore now she calls thee Cesar:

Chorus.
Hayle, hayle, Cæsar, hayle and stand,
And thy name out live the Land,
Noble fathers to his browes,
Bind this wreath with thousand vows.

All.
Stand to eternity:

Max.
I thank ye fathers,
And as I rule, may it stil grow or wither:
Now to the bancker, ye are all my guests,
This day be liberall friends, to wine we give it;
And smiling pleasures: Sit my Queen of beauty;
Fathers your places: These are faire Wars Souldiers,
And thus I give the first charge to ye all;
You are my second (sweet) to every cup,
I adde unto the Senat, a new honour,
And to the sonnes of Mars a donative.

Boy.
Bellonia's seed, the glory of old Rome,
Envie of conquerd Nations, nobly come
And to the fulnesse of your warlike noyce,
Let your feete move, make up this houre of joyes;
Come, come I say, range your faire Troop, at large,
And your hy measure turne into a charge.

Semp.
The Emperor's growne heavie with his wine,

Affr.
The Senat staies Sir for your thanks,

Semp.
Great Cesar.

Eud.
I have my wish:

Affr.
Wilt please your Grace speake to him.

Eud.
Yes, but he will not heare Lords.

Semp.
Stir him Lucius; the Senat must have thankes.

2. Sen., Luc.
Your Grace, Sir Cesar;

Eud.
Did I not tell you he was well: he's dead,

Semp.
Dead? treason, guard the Court, let no man passe,
Souldiers, your Cesars murdred.

Eud.
Make no tumult,
Nor arme the Court, ye have his killer with ye;
And the just cause, if ye can stay the hearing:
I was his death; That wreath that made him Cesar,
Has made him earth.

Sold.
Cut her in thousand peeces.

Eud.
Wise men would know the reason first: to die,
Is that I wish for Romans, and your swords,
The heaviest way of death: yet Souldiers grant me
That was your Empresse once, and honour by ye;
But so much time to tell ye why I killd him,
And waigh my reasons well, if man be in you;
Then if ye dare doe cruelly condemne me.

Affr.
Heare her ye noble Romans, Tis a woman,
A subject not for swords, but pitty: Heaven
If she be guilty of malitious murder,
H'as given us lawes to make example of her,
If only of revenge, and bloud hid from us,
Let us consider first, then execute.

Semp.
Speake bloudy woman.

Eud.
Yes; This Maximus,
That was your Cesar, Lords, and noble Souldiers;
(And if I wrong the dead, heaven perish me;
Or speake to wyn your favours but the truth)
Was to his Country, to his friends, and Cesar
A most malitious Traytor.

Semp.
Take heed woman.

Eud.
I speake not for compassion. Brave Æcius
(Whose blessed soule if I lye shall afflict me,)
The man that all the world lov'd, you adoard,
That was the master peece of Armes, and bounty;
Mine own griefe shal come last: this friend of his,
This Souldier, this your right Arme noble Romans:
By a base letter to the Emperor;
Stufft full of feares, and poore suggestions,
And by himselfe, unto himselfe directed;
Was cut off basely, basely, cruelly;
Oh losse, ô innocent, can ye now kill me?
And the poore stale my Noble Lord, that knew not
More of this villaine, then his forcd feares;
Like one foreseene to satisfie, dy'd for it:
There was a murder too, Rome would have blush at;
Was this worth being Cesar? or my patience? nay his wife
By heaven he told it me in wine, and joy;
And swore it deeply, he himselfe prepard
To be abusd, how? let me grieve not tell ye;
And weep the sins that did yet: and his end
Was only me, and Cesar: But me he lyd in;
These are my reasons Romans, and my soule
Tells me sufficient; and my deed is justice:
Now as I have done well, or ill, look on me.

Affr.
What lesse could nature doe, what lesse had we done,
Had we knowne this before? Romans, she is righteous;
And such a peece of justice, heaven must smile on:
Bend all your swords on me, if this displease ye,
For I must kneele, and on this vertuous hand;
Seale my new joy and thankes, thou hast done truly.

Semp.
Vp with your arms, ye strike a Saint els Romans,
May'st thou live ever spoken our protector:
Rome yet has many noble heires: Let's in
And pray before we choose, then plant a Cesar
Above the reach of envie, blood, and murder.

Affr.
Take up the body, nobly to his urne,
And may our sinnes, and his together burne.—

Exeunt.
A dead March.