 | The Tragedie of Caesar and Pompey or Caesars Reuenge |  |
ACTVS 2.
Enter Discord.Flashes of fire.
Antho.
Now Cæsar hath thy flattering Fortune heapt
Those golden gifts and promis'd victories,
By fatall signes at Rubicon foretould:
Then triumph in thy glorious greatest pride,
And boast thou cast the lucky Die so well,
Now let the Triton that did sound alarme,
In his shrill trump resound the victory,
That Heauen and Earth may Ecco of thy fame:
Yet thinke in this thy Fortunes Iollity.
Though Cæsar be as great as great may be,
Yet Pompey once was euen as great as he,
And how he rode clad in Setorius spoyles:
And the Sicilian Pirats ouerthrowe.
Who basely now by Land and Sea doth flie,
The heauenly Rectors prosecuting wrath,
Yet Sea nor Land can shroud him from this iar,
O how it ioyes my discord thirsting thoughts,
To see them waight, that whilom flow'd in blisse.
To see like Banners, vnlike quarrels haue.
And Roman weapons shethd in Roman blood,
For this I left the deepe Infernall shades
And past the sad Auernus vgly iawes,
And in the world came I, being Discord hight,
Discord the daughter of the greesly night.
To make the world a hell of plauges and woes,
Twas I that did the fatal Aple fling,
Betwixt the three Idean goddesses,
That so much blood of Greekes and Troians spilt,
Twas I that caused the deadly Thebans warre,
And made the brothers swell with endlesse hate.
And now O Rome, woe, woe, to thee I cry
Which to the world do bring al misery.
SCENA 4.
Enter Achillas, and Sempronius.Ach.
Here are we placed, by Ptolomies command,
To murther Pompey when he comes on shore,
Then braue Sempronius prepare they selfe.
To execute the charge thou hast in hand,
Sem.
I am a Romaine, and haue often serued,
Vnder his collours, when in former state,
Pompey hath bin the Generall of the field,
But cause I see that now the world is changd:
And like wise feele some of King Ptolomeis gould.
Ile kill him were he twenty Generalls,
And send him packing to his longest home
I maruell of what mettell was the French man made.
Who when he should haue stabbed Marius,
Marius, had I beene there, thou neere hadst liu'd,
To brag thee of thy seauen Consulships.
Achil.
Brauely resolu'd, Noble Sempronius,
The damnedst villaine that ere I heard speake:
But great men still must haue such instruments,
To bring about their purpose, which once donne,
The deede they loue, but do the doer hate:
Thou shalt no lesse (stout Romaine) be renown'd,
For being Pompeys Deaths-man, then was he,
That fir'd the faire Ægiptian Goddesse Church.
Sem.
Nay that's al one, report say what she list,
Tis for no shadowes I aduenture for:
Heere are the Crownes, heere are the wordly goods,
This betweene Princes doth contention bring:
Brothers this sets at ods, turnes loue to hate;
It makes the Sonne to wish his Father hang'd
That he thereby might reuell with his bagges:
And did I knowe that in my Mothers womb,
There lurk'd a hidden vaine of Sacred gould,
This hand, this sword, should rape and rip it out.
Achil.
Compassion would that greedinesse restraine.
Sem.
I that's my fault, I am to compassionate,
Why man, art thou a souldier and dost talke
Of womanish pity and compassion?
Mens eyes must mil-stones drop, when fooles shed teares,
But soft heeres Pompey, Ile about my worke
Enter Pompey.
Pom.
Trusting vpon King Ptolomeys promis'd faytn,
And hoping succor, I am come to shore:
In Egipt heere a while to make aboade.
Sem.
Fayth longer Pompey then thou dost expect.
Pom.
See now worlds Monarchs, whom your state makes proud
That thinke your Honors to be permanent,
Of Fortunes change see heere a president,
Who whilom did command, now must intreate
And sue for that which to accept of late,
Vnto the giuer was thought fortunate.
I pray thee Pompey do not spend thy breath,
In reckning vp these rusty titles now,
Which thy ambition grac'd thee with before,
I must confesse thou wert my Generall,
But that cannot a vaile to saue thy life.
Talke of thy Fortune while thou list,
There is thy fortune Pompey in my fist.
Pom.
O you that know what hight of honor meanes,
What tis for men that lulled in fortunes lap,
Haue climd the heighest top of soueraignety.
From all that pomp to be cast hed-long downe,
You may conceaue what Pompey doth sustayne,
I was not wont to walke thus all alone,
But to be met with troopes of Horse and Men.
With playes and pageants to be entertaynd,
A courtly trayne in royall rich aray,
With spangled plumes, that daunced in the ayre,
Mounted on steeds, with braue Caparisons deckt,
That in their gates did seeme to scorne the Earth.
Was wont my intertaynment beautiefie,
But now thy comming is in meaner sort,
They by thy fortune will thy welcom rate.
Sem.
What dost thou for such entertaynement looke,
Pompey how ere thy comming hether bee,
I haue prouided for thy going hence.
Achi.
I will draw neere, and with fayre pleasing shew,
Wellcome great Pompey as the Siren doth
The wandering shipman with her charming song.
Pom.
O how it greeues a noble hauty mind,
Framed vp in honors vncontrouled schoole,
To serue and sue, whoe erst did rule and sway
What shall I goe and stoope to Ptolomey,
Nought to a noble mind more greefe can bring
Then be a begger where thou wert a King,
Ach.
Wellcome a shore most great and gratious prince
Welcome to Ægipt and to Ptolomey.
The King my Maister is at hand my Lord,
To gratulate your safe ariuall heere.
This is the King, and here is the Gentleman,
Which must thy comming gratulate a non,
Pom.
Thanks worthy Lord vnto your King and you,
It ioyes me much that in extremity,
I sound so sure a friend as Ptolomey,
Sem.
Now is the date of thy proud life expird,
To which my poniard must a full poynt put,
Pompey from Ptolomey I come to thee,
From whome a presant and a guift I bring,
This is the gift and this my message is
Stab him
Pom.
O Villaine thou hast slayne thy Generall,
And with thy base hand gor'd my royall heart.
Well I haue liued till to that height I came,
That all the world did tremble at my name,
My greatnesse then by fortune being enuied,
Stabd by a murtherous villaynes hand I died.
Ach.
What is he dead, then straight cut of his head,
That whilom mounted with ambitions wings:
Cæsar no doubt with praise and noble thanks,
Regarding well this well deserued deede,
Whome weele present with this most pleasing gift,
Sem.
Loe you my maisters, hee that kills but one,
Is straight a Villaine and a murtherer cald,
But they that vse to kill men by the great,
And thousandes slay through their ambition,
They are braue champions, and stout warriors cald,
Tis like that he that steales a rotten sheepe
That in a dich would else haue cast his hide,
He for his labour hath the haltars hier.
But Kings and mighty Princes of the world,
By letter pattens rob both Sea and Land.
Do not then Pompey of thy murther plaine,
Since thy ambition halfe the world hath slayne.
SCENA. 2.
Enter Cornelia.Corne.
O traterous villaines, hold your murthering hands,
Imbrue them heere, heere in Cornelias brest.
Ay mee as I stood looking from the Ship
(Accursed shippe that did not sinke and drowne:
And so haue sau'd me from so loath'd a sight)
Thee to behold what did betide my Lord,
My Pompey deere (nor Pompey now nor Lord)
I sawe those villaines that but now were heere:
Bucher my loue and then with violence,
To drawe his deare beloued Body hence;
What dost thou stand to play the Oratrix,
And tell a tale of thy deere husbands death?
Doth Pompey, doth thy loue moue thee no more?
Go cursed Cornelia rent thy wretched haire,
Drowne blobred cheekes in seas of saltest teares.
And if, it be true that sorrowes feeling powre,
Could turne poore Niobe into a weeping stone
O let mee weepe a like, and like stone be,
And you poore lights, that sawe this tragick sight,
Be blind and punnish'd with eternall night.
Vnhappy long to speake, bee neare so bould
Since that thou this so heauy tale hast tould.
These are but womanish exclamations
Light sorrowe makes such lamentations,
Pompey no words my true griefe can declare,
This for thy loue shalbe my best welfare.
Stab herselfe.
SCE. 3.
Enter Cæsar, Cleopatra, Anthony, Dolobella, a Lord,Cæsar.
There sterne Achillas and Fortunius lie,
Traytorous Sempronius and proud Ptolomey,
Go plead your cause fore the angry Rhadamant,
And tel him why you basely Pompey slew.
And let your guilty blood appease his Ghost,
That now sits wandring by the Stygian bankes,
For Pompey though thou wert mine enemy,
And vayne ambition mou'd vs to this strife;
Yet now in death when strife and enuy cease.
Thy princely vertues and thy noble minde,
Moue me to rue thy vndeserued death,
That found a greater daunger then it fled;
Vnhapy man to scape so many wars,
And to protract thy glorious day so long,
Here for to perish in a barbarous soyle,
And end liues date stabd by a Bastards hand,
But yet with honour shalt thou be Intomb'd,
I will enbalme thy body with my teares,
And put thy ashes in an Vrne of gold,
And build with marble a deserued graue.
Whose worth indeede a Temple ought to haue.
Dolo.
See how compassion drawes foorth Princely teares
And Vertue weepes her enemies funerall,
So sorrowed the mighty Alexander,
When Bessus hand caus'd Darius to die.
Ant.
These greeued sorrowing Princes do with me,
Ioyntly agree in Contrariety,
Alacke we mourne, greeued is our mind alike,
Our gate is discontented, heauy our lookes,
Our sorrowes all a like, but dislike cause.
Their foe is their grifes causer which my friend,
It is the losse of one that makes them wayle,
But I, that one there is a cruell one,
Do wayle and greeue and vnregarded mone.
Fayre beames cast forth from these dismayfull eyes,
Chaine my poore heart, in loue and sorrowes giues,
Cleo.
Forget sweete Prince these sad perlexed thoughts,
Withdraw thy mind in clowdy discontent,
And with Ægiptian pleasures feed thine eyes,
Wilt thou be hould the Sepulchers of Kings,
And Monuments that speake the workemens prayse?
Ile bring thee to Great Alexanders Tombe,
Where he, whome all the world could not suffice,
And shew thee all the cost and curious art,
Which either Cleops or our Memphis boast:
Would you command a banquit in the Court,
Ile bring you to a Royall goulden bowre,
Fayrer then that wherein great Ioue doth sit,
And heaues vp boles of Nectar to his Queene,
A stately Pallace, whose fayre doble gates:
Are wrought with garnish'd Carued Iuory,
And stately pillars of pure bullion framd.
With Orient Pearles and Indian stones imbost,
With golden Roofes that glister like the Sunne,
Shalbe prepard to entertaine my Loue:
Or wilt thou see our Academick Schooles,
Or heare our Priests to reason of the starres,
Hence Plato fecht his deepe Philosophy:
And heere in Heauenly knowledg they excell.
Antho.
More then most faire, another Heauen to me,
The starres where on Ile gaze shalbe thy face,
Thy morall deedes my sweete Philosophy,
Uenus the muse whose ayde I must implore:
O let me profit in this study best,
For Beauties scholler I am now prefest.
Lord.
See how this faire Egiptian Sorceres,
Enchantes these Noble warriars man-like mindes,
And melts their hearts in loue and wantones.
Cæs.
Most glorious Queene, whose cheerefull smiling words
Expell these cloudes that ouer cast my minde.
Cæsar will ioy in Cleopatras ioy,
And thinke his fame no whit disparaged,
To change his armes, and deadly sounding droms,
For loues sweete Laies, and Lydian harmony,
And now hang vp these Idle instruments.
My warlike speare and vncontrouled crest:
My mortall wounding sword and siluer shield,
And vnder thy sweete banners beare the brunt,
Of peacefull warres and amarous Alarmes:
Why Mars himselfe his bloudy rage alayd,
And great Alcides, when he did returne:
From Iunos taskes, and Nemean victories,
From monsters fell, and Nemean toyles:
Reposed himselfe in Deianiras armes.
Heere will I pitch the pillars of my fame,
Heere the non vltra of my labors write,
And with these Cheekes of Roses, lockes of Gold,
End my liues date, and trauayles manifould.
Dolo.
How many lets do hinder vertuous mindes,
From the pursuit of honours due reward,
Be sides Caribdis, and fell Scyllas spight:
More dangerous Circe and Calipsoes cup,
Then pleasant gardens of Alcionus:
And thousand lets voluptiousnesse doth offer.
Cæs.
I will regard no more these murtherous spoyles,
And bloudy triumphs that I lik'd of late:
But in loues pleasures spend my wanton dayes,
Ile make thee garlondes of sweete smelling flowers,
And with faire rosall Chaplets crowne thy head,
The purple Hyacinth of Phæbus Land:
Fresh Amarinthus that doth neuer die,
And faire Narcissus deere respendent shoars,
And Violets of Daffadilles so sweete,
Shall Beautify the Temples of my Loue,
Whil'st I will still gaze on thy beautious eyes,
And with Ambrosean kisses bath thy Cheekes.
Cleo.
Come now faire Prince, and feast thee in our Courts
Where liberall Cæres, and Liæus fat,
Shall powre their plenty forth and fruitfull store,
The sparkling liquor shall ore-flow his bankes:
And Meroe learne to bring forth pleasant wine,
Fruitfull Arabia, and the furthest Ind,
Shall spend their treasuries of Spicery,
VVith Nardus Coranets weele guird our heads;
And al the while melodious warbling notes,
Passing the seauen-fould harmony of Heauen:
Shall seeme to rauish our enchanted thoughts,
Changed by thee to feast in Iolity:
Antho.
O how mine eares suck vp her heauenly words,
The whil'st mine eyes do prey vpon her face:
Cæs.
Winde we then Anthony with this Royall Queene,
This day weele spend in mirth and banqueting.
Antho.
Had I Queene, Iunoes heard-mans hundred eies,
To gaze vpon these two bright Sunnes of hirs:
Yet would they all be blinded instantly.
Cæs.
VVhat hath some Melancholy discontent,
Ore-come thy minde with trobled passions.
Ant.
Yet being blinded with the Sunny beames,
Her beauties pleasing colours would restore,
Decayed sight with fresh variety.
Lord.
Lord Anthony what meanes this trobled minde,
Cæsar inuites thee to the royall feast,
That faire Queene Cleopatra hath prepard.
Antho.
Pardon me worthy Cæsar and you Lords,
In not attending your most gratious speech
Thoughts of my Country, and returne to Rome,
Som-what distempered my busy head.
Cæs.
Let no such thoughts distemper now thy minde,
This day to Bacchus will wee consecrate,
And in deepe goblets of the purest wine,
Drinke healths vnto our seuerall friends at home.
Antho.
If of my Country or of Rome I thought,
Twas that I neuer ment for to come there,
But spend my life in this sweete paradise.
Exeunt.
SCE. 4.
Enter Cicero, Brutus, Casca, Camber, Trebonius.Cice.
Most prudent heads, that with your councels wise,
The pillars of the mighty Rome sustaine,
You see how ciuill broyles haue torne our state:
And priuate strife hath wrought a publique wo,
Thessalia boasts that she hath seene our fall,
And in the necks of all the world hath rang'd,
Loosing her rule, to serue is now constraynd,
Pompey the hope and stay of Common-weale,
VVhose vertues promis'd Rome security
Now flies distrest, disconsolate, forlorne,
Reproch of Fortune, and the victors scorne.
Cæs.
VVhat now is left for wretched Rome to hope,
But in laments and bitter future woe,
To wey the downefall of her former pride:
Againe Porsenna brings in Tarquins names,
And Rome againe doth smoke with furious flames.
In Pompeys fall wee all are ouerthrowne,
And subiect made to conqueror Tirany.
Bru.
Most Noble Cicero and you Romaine Peeres,
Pardon the author of vnhappy newes,
And then prepare to heare my tragick tale.
VVith that same looke, that great Atrides stood,
At cruell alter staind with Daughters blood,
VVhen Pompey fled pursuing Cæsars sword,
And thought to shun his following desteny.
And then began to thinke on many a friend,
And many a one recalled hee to minde,
Who in his Fortunes pride did leaue their liues,
And vowed seruice at his princely feere,
From out the rest, the yong Egiptian King,
VVhose Father of an Exild banish'd man
Hee seated had in throne of Maiesty,
Him chose, to whome he did commit his life,
(But O, who doth remember good-turnes past)
The Rising Sunne, not Setting, doth men please,
To ill committed was so great a trust,
Vnto so base a Fortune fauoring minde.
For he the Conquerors fauor to obtaine,
By Treason caus'd great Pompey to be slaine:
Casca.
O damned deede.
Cam.
O Trayterous Ptolomey.
Tre.
O most vnworthy and vngratefull fact.
What plages may serue to expiate this act,
The rouling stone or euerturning wheele,
The quenchles flames of firy Phlegeton,
Or endles thirst of which the Poets talke,
Are all to gentle for so vilde a deede.
Cas.
Well did the Cibills vnrespected verse.
Bid thee beware of Crocadilish Nile,
Ter.
And art thou in a barbarous soyle betrayd,
Defrawded Pompey of thy funerall rites,
There none could weepe vpon thy funerall hearse,
None could thy Consulshipes and triumphs tell,
And in thy death set fourth thy liuing praise,
None would erect to thee a sepulcher.
Or put thine ashes in a pretious vrne,
Cice.
Peace Lords lament not noble Pompeys death,
Nor thinke him wreched, cause he wants a Tombe,
Heauen couers him whome Earth denyes a graue:
Thinke you a heape of stones could him inclose,
Whoe in the Oceans circuite buried is,
And euery place where Roman names are heard,
The world is his graue, where liuing fame doth blaze,
His funerall praise through his immortall trump,
And ore his tombe vertue and honor sits,
With rented heare and eyes bespent with teares,
And waile and weepe their deere sonne Pompeys death,
Bru.
But now my Lords for to augment this griefe,
Cæsar the Senates deadly enimie,
Aimes eke to vs, and meanes to tryumph heere,
Vpon poore conquered Rome and common wealth,
Cas.
This was the end at which he alwayes aymd,
Tre.
Then end all hope of Romaines liberty,
Rise noble Romaine, rise from rotten Tombes,
And with your swordes recouer that againe:
With your braue prowes won, our basenes lost.
Gic.
Renowned Lords content your trobled minds,
Do not ad Fuell to the conquerors fier.
Which once inflamed will borne both Rome and vs.
Cæsar although of high aspiring thoughtes,
Yet is of nature faire and courteous,
You see hee commeth conqueror of the East,
Clad in the spoyles of the Pharsalian fieldes,
Then wee vnable to resist such powre:
By gentle peace and meeke submission,
Must seeke to pacify the victors wrath.
Exeunt.
SCE. 5.
Enter Cato Senior, and Cato Iunior.Cat. Sen.
My Sonne thou seest howe all are ouerthrowne,
That sought their Countries free-dome to maintaine,
Egipt forsakes vs, Pompey found his graue,
VVhere hee most succor did expect to haue:
Scipio is ouerthrowne and with his haples fall,
Affrick to vs doth former ayde denay,
O who will helpe men in aduersity:
Yet let vs shewe in our declining state,
That strength of minde, that vertues constancy,
That erst we did in our felicity,
Though Fortune fayles vs lets not fayle our selues,
Remember boy thou art a Romaine borne,
And Catoes Sonne, of me do vertue learne;
Fortune of others, aboue althings see
Thou prize thy Countries loue and liberty,
All blessiings Fathers to their Sonnes can wish
Heauens powre on thee, and now my sonne with-drawe
Thy selfe a while and leaue me to my booke.
Cat. Iun.
What meanes my Father by this solemne leaue?
First he remembred me of my Fortunes change,
And then more earnestly did me exhort
To Counrries loue, and constancy of minde,
Then he was wont: som-whats the cause,
But what I knowe not, O I feare I feare,
His to couragious heart that cannot beare
The thrall of Rome and triumph of his foe,
How ere it be at hand I will abide,
VVayting the end of this that shal betide.
Exit.
Cato Senior with a booke in his hand.
Cato Sen.
Plato that promised immortality,
Doth make my soule resolue it selfe to mount,
Vnto the bowre of those Celestiall ioyes,
VVhere freed from lothed Prison of my soule,
In heauenly notes to Phœbus which shall sing:
And Pean Io, Pean loudely ring.
Then fayle not hand to execute this deede,
Nor faint nor heart for to command my hand,
VVauer not minde to counsell this resolue,
But with a courage and thy liues last act,
Now do I giue thee Rome my last farewell.
Who cause thou fearest ill do therefore die,
O talke not now of Cannas ouerthrowe,
And raze out of thy lasting Kalenders,
Those bloudy songes of Hilias dismall sight:
And note with black, that black and cursed day,
When Cæsar conquered in Pharsalia,
Yet will not I his conquest glorifie:
My ouerthrow shall neere his triumph grace,
For by my death to the world Ile make that knowne,
No hand could conquer Cato but his owne.
stabs himself.
Enter Cato Iunior running to him.
Ca. Iun.
O this it was my minde told me before,
VVhat meanes my Father, why with naked blade,
Dost thou assault, that faithfull princely hand:
And mak'st the base Earth to drinke thy Noble bloud,
Bee not more sterne, and cruell 'gainst thy selfe,
Then thy most hateful enemies would be,
No Parthian, Gaule, Moore, no not Cæsars selfe,
VVould with such cruelty thy worth repay,
O stay thy hand, giue me thy fatall blade:
VVhich turnes his edge and waxeth blunt to wound,
A brest so fraught with vertue excellent.
Ca. Seni.
VVhy dost thou let me of my firme resolue,
Why dost thou slay me, or wilt thou betray
Thy Fathers life vnto his foe-mens hands,
And yet I wrong thy faith, and loue too much,
In thy soules kindenesse, tis thou art vnkinde.
Cat. Iun.
If for your selfe you do this life reiect,
Yet you your Sonnes and Countries: sake respect,
Rob not my yong yeares of so sweete a stay,
Nor take from Rome the Pillor of her strength.
Cat. Sene.
Although I die, yet do I leaue behinde,
My vertues fauor to bee thy youths guide:
But for my Country, could my life it profit,
Ile not refuse to liue that died for it,
Now doth but one smal snuffe of breath remaine:
And that to keepe, should I mine Honor staine?
Cat. Iuni.
Where you do striue to shew your vertue most,
There more you do disgrace it Cowards vse,
To shun the woes and trobles of this life:
Basely to flie to deaths safe sanctuary,
When constant vertues doth the hottest brunt's,
Of griefes assaultes vnto the end endure.
Ca. Seni.
Thy words preuaile, come lift me vp my Son,
And call some help to binde my bleeding wounds.
Cat. Iuni.
Father I go with a more willing minde,
Then did Æneas when from Troyan fire,
He bare his Father, and did so restore:
The greatest gift hee had receiued before.
Exit.
Cat. Seni.
Now haue I freed mee of that hurtfull Loue,
Which interrupted my resolued will,
Which all the world can neuer stay nor change:
Cæsar whose rule commands both Sea and Land,
Is not of powre to hinder this weake hand,
And time succeeding shall behold that I
Although not liue, yet died courragiously,
stab himselfe.
Enter Cato Iunior.
Ca. Iuni.
O hast thou thus to thine owne harme deceiu'd me
Well I perceiue thy Noble dauntles heart:
Because it would not beare the Conquerors insolence,
I know not whether I should more lament,
That by thine owne hand thou thus slaughtred art,
Or Ioy that thou so nobly didst depart.
Exit.
FINIS. ACTVS. 2.
| The Tragedie of Caesar and Pompey or Caesars Reuenge | |