University of Virginia Library

SCE. 1.

Enter Cæsars Ghost.
Gho.
Out of the horror of those shady vaultes,
Where Centaurs, Harpies, paynes and furies fell:
And Gods and Ghosts and vgly Gorgons dwell,
My restles soule comes heere to tell his wronges.
Hayle to thy walles, thou pride of all the world,
Thou art the place where whilome in my life.
My seat of mounting honour was erected,
And my proud throane that seem'd to check the heauens.
But now my pompe and I are layd more lowe,
With these asosiates of my ouerthrow,
Here ancient Assur and proud Belus lyes,
Ninus the first that sought a Monarches name.
Atrides fierce with the Æacides,
The Greeke Heros, and the Troian flower,
Blood-thirsting Cyrus and the conquering youth:
That sought to fetch his pedegree from Heauen,
Sterne Romulus and proud Tarquinius,
The mighty Sirians and the Ponticke Kings,
Alcides and the stout, Carthagian Lord,
The fatall enemie to the Roman name.
Ambitious Sylla and fierce Marius,
And both the Pompeyes by me don to death,
I am the last not least of the same crue,
Looke on my deeds and say what Cæsar was,
Thessalia, Ægipt, Pontus, Africa,
Spayne Brittaine, Almany and France,
Saw many a bloody tryall of my worth.
But why doe I my glory thus restraine,
When all the world was but a Charyot,
Wherein I rode Triumphing in my pride?
But what auayles this tale of what I was?
Since in my chefest hight Brutus base hand.
With three and twenty wounds my heart did goare,
Giue me my sword and shild Ile be Reueng'd,
My mortall wounding speare and goulden Crest.
I will dishorse my foemen in the field,
Alasse poore Cæsar thou a shadow art,
An ayery substance wanting force and might,
Then will I goe and crie vpon the world,
Exclame on Anthony and Octauian,
Which seeke through discord and discentions broyles,
T'imbrue their weapons in each others blood,
And leaue to execute my iust reuenge,
I heare the drummes and bloody Trumpets sound,
O how this sight my greeued soule doth wound,

Enter Anthony, at on dore, Octauian at another with Souldiers.
Anth.
Now martiall friends competitors in armes,
You that will follow Anthony to fight,
Whome stately Rome hath oft her Consull seene,
Grac'd with eternall trophes of renowne,
With Libian triumphes and Iiberian spoyles,
Who scorns to haue his honour now distaind,
Or credit blemisht by a Boyes disgrace,
Prepare your dauntles stomakes to the fight,
Where without striking you shall ouer come.

Octa.
Fellowes in war-faire which haue often serued,
Vnder great Cæsar my disceased sier,
And haue return'd the conquerors of the world,
Clad in the Spoyles of all the Orient:
That will not brooke that any Roman Lord,
Should iniure mighty Iulius Cæsars sonne,
Recall your wonted vallour and these hearts,
That neuer entertaynd Ignoble thoughts
And make my first warre-faire and fortunate:

Ant.
Stike vp drums, and let your banners flie,
Thus will we set vpon the enemy.

Gho.
Cease Drums to strike, and fould your banners vp,
Wake not Bellona with your trumpets Clange,
Nor call vnwilling Mars vnto the field:
See Romaines, see my wounds not yet clos'd vp,
The bleeding monuments of Cæsars wronges.
Haue you so soone for got my life and death?
My life wherein I reard your fortunes vp.
My death wherein my reared fortune fell,
My life admir'd and wondred at of men?
My death which seem'd vnworthy to the Gods,
My life which heap'd on you rewards and gifts,
My death now begges one gift; a iust reueng.

Ant.
A Chilly cowld possesseth all my Ioyntes,
And pale wan feare doth cease my fainting heart,

Octa.
O see how terrible my Fathers lookes?
My haire stands stiffe to see his greisly hue:
Alasse I deare not looke him in the face,
And words do cleaue to my benummed Iawes.

Gho.
For shame weake Anthony throw thy weapons downe
Sonne sheath thy sword, not now for to be drawne,
Brutus must feele the heauy stroke thereof:
But if that needes you will into the field,
And that warrs enuie pricks your forward hate.
To slacke your fury with each others blood,
Then forward on to your prepared deaths
Let sad Alecto sound her fearefull trump.
Reueng a rise in lothsome sable weedes,
Light-shining Treasons and vnquenced Hates,
Horror and vgly Murther (nights blacke child,)
Let sterne Mægera on her thundering drumme,
Play gastly musicke to comfort your deathes.
Banner to banner, foote gainst foote opos'd,
Sword against sword, shild gainst shild, and life to life,
Let death goe raginge through your armed rankes,
And load himselfe with heapes of murthered men,
And let Heauens iustice send you all to Hell,

Anth.
Shamst thou not Anthony to draw thy sword,
On Cæsars Sonne, for rude rash youth full brawles,
And dost let passe their treason vnrevenged,
That Cæsars life and glory both did end,

Octa.
Shame of my selfe, and this intended fight,
Doth make me feare t' approach his dreadfull sight:
Forgiue my slacknes to reuenge thy wronges,
Pardon my youth that rashly was mislead,
Through vaine ambition for to doe this deed,

Gho.
Then ioyne your hands and heare let battle cease,
Chang feare to Ioy, and warre to smooth-fac't Peace.

Oct.
Then Father heere in sight of Heauen and thee,
I giue my hand and heart to Anthony,

Ant.
Take likewise mine, the hand that once was vowd',
To bee imbrued in thy luke-warme bloud,
VVhich now shall strike in yong Octauians rights.

Gho.
Now sweare by all the Dieties of Heauen,
All Gods and powers you do adore and serue:
For to returne my murther on their cruell head,
Whose trayterous hands my guiltles bloud haue shed.

Anth.
Then by the Gods that through the raging waues,
Brought thee braue Troian to old Latium,
And great Quirinus placed now in Heauen:
By the Gradinus that with shield of Brasse,
Defendest Rome, by the ouerburning flames
Of Uesta and Carpeian Towers of Ioue.
Vowes Anthony to quite thy worthy death,
Or in performance loose his vitall breath.

Octa.
The like Octauian vowes to Heauen and thee.

Gho.
Then go braue warriors with succesfull hap,
Fortune shall waite vpon your rightfull armes,
And courage sparkell, from your Princely eyes,
Dartes of reuenge to daunt your enemies.

Antho.
Now with our armies both conioyned in one,
Weele meete the enemy in Macedon:
Æmathian fieldes shall change her flowry greene,
And die proud Flora in a sadder hew:
Siluer Stremonia, whose faire Christall waues,
Once sounded great Alcides echoing fame:
When as he slew that fruitefull headed snake,
Which Lerna long-time fostered in her wombe:
Shall in more tragick accentes and sad tunes,
Eccho the terror of thy dismall sight,
Hemus shall fat his barren fieldes with bloud:
And yellow Ceres spring from woundes of men,
The toyling husband-men in time to come,
Shall with his harrow strike on rusty helmes,
And finde, and wonder, at our swordes and speares,
And with his plowe dig vp braue Romans graues: