 | The Tragedie of Caesar and Pompey or Caesars Reuenge |  |
ACT. 5.
SCE. 1.
Enter Discord.Dis.
The balefull haruest of my ioy, thy woe
Gins ripen Brutus, Heauens commande it so.
Pale sad Auernus opes his yawning Iawes,
Seeking to swallow vp thy murtherous soule,
The furies haue proclaym'd a festiuall:
And meane to day to banquet with thy bloud,
Now Heauens array you in your clowdy weedes:
Wrap vp the beauty of your glorious lamp,
And dreadfull Chaos, of sad drery night,
Thou Sunne that climest vp to the easterne hill:
And in thy Chariot rides with swift steedes drawne,
In thy proud Iollity and radiant glory:
Go back againe and hide thee in the sea,
Darkenesse to day shall couer all the world:
Let no light shine, but what your swords can strike,
From out their steely helmes, and fiery shildes:
Furies, and Ghosts, with your blue-burning lampes,
In mazing terror ride through Roman rankes:
With dread affrighting those stout Champions hearts,
All stygian fiendes now leaue whereas you dwell:
And come into the world and make it hell.
Enter Cassius, Brutus, Titinnius, Cato Iunior, with an army marching
Casi.
Thus far wee march with vnresisted armes,
Subduing all that did our powres with-stand:
Laodicia whose high reared walles,
Faire Lyeas washeth with her siluer waue:
And that braue monument of Perseus fame,
With Tursos vaild to vs her vanting pride,
Faire Rhodes, I weepe to thinke vpon thy fall.
Inviolate of Cassius hurtles hand,
That was my nurse, where in my youth I drew
The flowing milke of Greekish eloquence:
Proud Capadocia sawe her King captiu'd,
(And Dolabella vanting in the spoyles.
Of slayne Trebonius) fall as springing tree,
Seated in louely Tempes pleasant shades:
Whom beuteous spring with blossoms braue hath deckt,
And sweete Fauonia manteled all in greene,
By winters rage doth loose his flowry pride,
And hath each twigg bar'd by northerne winds.
Thus from the conquest of proud Palestine,
Hether in triumph haue we march'd along,
Making our force-commaunding rule to stretch,
From faire Euphrates christall flowing waues
Vnto the Sea which yet weepes Io's death,
Slayne by great Hercules repenting hand.
Bru.
Of all the places by my sword subdued,
Pitty of thee poore Zanthus moues me most;
Thrise hast thou ben beseeged by thy foe,
And thrise to saue thy liberty hast felt
The fatall flames of thine owne cruell hand.
First being beseeg'd by Harpalus the Mede,
The sterne performer of proud Cyrus wrath:
Next when the Macedonian Phillips sonne,
Did rayse his engines gainst thy battered walls,
Proud Zanthus that did scorne to beare the yoake,
That all the world was forced to sustaine,
Last when that I my selfe did guirt thy walls,
With troopes of high resolued Roman hearts,
Rather then thou wouldest yeeld to Brutus sword,
Or stayne the mayden honour of thy Towne,
Did'st sadly fall as proud Numantia
Scorning to yeeld to conquering Scipios power.
Cas.
And now to thee Phillipi, are wee come,
Whose fields must twise feele Roman cruelty,
And flowing blood like to Dærcean playnes,
Rides in his fury through the Argean troopes,
Now making great Ærastus giue him way,
Now beating back Tidæus puissant might:
The ground not dry'd from sad Pharsalian blood,
Will now bee turned to a purple lake:
And bleeding heapes and mangled bodyes slayne,
Shall make such hills as shall surpasse in height
The Snowy Alpes and aery Appenines,
Titi.
A Scout brought word but now that he descryd,
Warlike Anthonius and young Cæsars troopes,
Marching in fury ouer Thessalian playnes.
As great Gradinus when in angry moode,
He driues his chariot downe from heauens top,
And in his wheels whirleth reueng and death:
Heere by Phillippi they will pich their tents,
And in these fieldes (fatall to Roman liues.)
Hazard the fortune of the doubtfull fight,
Cat.
O welcome thou this long expected day,
On which dependeth Romane liberty,
Now Rome thy freedom hangeth in suspence,
And this the day that must assure thy hopes.
Cassi.
Great Ioue, and thou Trytonyan warlike Queene:
Arm'd with thy amazing deadly Gorgons head.
Strenghen our armes that fight for Roman welth:
And thou sterne Mars, and Romulus thy Sonne,
Defend that Citty which your selfe begun.
All heauenly powers assist our rightfull armes,
And send downe siluer winged victory,
To crowne with Lawrells our triumphant Crests.
Bru.
My minde thats trobled in my vexed soule,
(Opprest with sorrow and with sad dismay,)
Misgiues me this wilbe a heauy day.
Cassi.
Why faynt not now in these our last extremes,
This time craues courage not dispayring feare,
Titin.
Fie, twill distayne thy former valiant acts.
To say thou faintest now in this last act.
Bru.
My mind is heauy, and I know not why,
Cato.
Sweet Brute, let not thy words be ominous signes,
Of so mis-fortunnate and sad euent,
Heauen and our Vallour shall vs conquerours make.
Cassi.
What Bastard feare hath taunted our dead hearts,
Or what vnglorious vnwounted thought,
Hath changed the vallour of our daunted mindes.
What are our armes growne weaker then they were?
Cannot this hand that was proud Cæsars death,
Send all Cæsarians headlong that same path?
Looke how our troups in Sun-bright armes do shine,
With vaunting plumes and dreadfull brauery.
The wrathfull steedes do check their iron bits,
And with a well grac'd terror strike the ground,
And keeping times in warres sad harmony.
And then hath Brutus any cause to feare,
My selfe like valiant Peleus worthy Sonne,
The Noblest wight that euer Troy beheld,
Shall of the aduerse troopes such hauock make,
As sad Phillipi shall in blood bewayle,
The cruell massacre of Cassius sword,
And then hath Brutus any cause to feare?
Bru.
No outward shewes of puissance or of strength,
Can helpe a minde dismayed inwardly,
Leaue me sweete Lordes a while vnto my selfe.
Cassi.
In the meane time take order for the fight,
Drums let your fearefull mazing thunder playe.
And with their sound peirce Heauens brazen Towers,
And all the earth fill with like fearefull noyse,
As when that Boreas from his Iron caue.
With boysterous furyes Striuing in the waues,
Comes swelling forth to meet his blustering foe,
They both doe runne with feerce tempestuous rage,
And heaues vp mountaynes of the watry waues.
The God Oceanus trembles at the stroke,
Bru.
What hatefull furyes vex my tortured mind?
What hideous sightes appalle my greeued soule,
As when Orestes after mother slaine.
Behould the greesly visages of fiends.
And gastly furies which did haunt his steps,
Cæsar vpbraues my sad ingratitude,
He saued my life in sad Pharsalian fieldes,
That I in Senate house might worke his death.
O this remembrance now doth wound my soule,
More then my poniard did his bleeding heart,
Enter Ghost.
Gho.
Brutus, ingratefull Brutus seest thou mee:
Anon In field againe thou shalt me see,
Bru.
Stay what so ere thou art, or fiend below,
Rays'd from the deepe by inchanters bloody call,
Or fury sent from Phlegitonticke flames,
Or from Cocytus for to end my life,
Be then Megera or Tysiphone,
Or of Eumenides ill boading crue.
Fly me not now, but end my wretched life,
Come greesly messenger of sad mishap,
Trample in blood of him that hates to liue,
And end my life and sorrow all at once.
Gho.
Accursed traytor damned Homicide,
Knowest thou not me, to whome for forty honors:
Thou three and twenty Gastly wounds didst giue?
Now dare no more for to behould the Heauens,
For they to Day haue destyned thine end:
Nor lift thy eyes vnto the rising sunne,
That nere shall liue for to behould it set,
Nor looke not downe vnto the Hellish shades,
There stand the furyes thursting for thy blood,
Flie to the field but if thou thither go'st,
There Anthonyes sword will peirce thy trayterous heart.
Brutus to daie my blood shalbe reuenged,
And for my wrong and vndeserued death,
Thy life to thee a torture shall become,
And thou shalt oft amongest the dying grones,
Of slaughtered men that bite the bleeding earth.
And seeke for death that flies so wretched wight,
Vntill to shunne the honour of the fight,
And dreadfull vengeance of supernall ire.
Thine owne right hand shall worke my wish'd reueng,
And so Fare ill, hated of Heauen and Men.
Bru.
Stay Cæsar stay, protract my greife no longer,
Rip vp my bowells glut thy thirsting throte,
With pleasing blood of Cæsars guilty heart:
But see hee's gon, and yonder Murther stands
See how he poynts his knife vnto my hart.
Althea raueth for her murthered Sonne,
And weepes the deed that she her-selfe hath done:
And Meleager would thou liuedst againe,
But death must expiate Altheas come.
I, death the guerdon that my deeds deserue:
The drums do thunder forth dismay and feare,
And dismall triumphes sound my fatall knell,
Furyes I come to meete you all in Hell,
Enter Cato wounded.
Cato.
Bloodles and faynt; Cato yeelde vp thy breath;
While strength and vigour in these armes remaynd,
And made me able for to wield my sword,
So long I fought; and sweet Rome for thy sake
Fear'd not effusion of my blood to make.
But now my strength and life doth fayle at once,
My vigor leaues my could and feeble Ioynts,
And I my sad soule, must power forth in blood.
O vertue whome Phylosophy extols.
Thou art no essence but a naked name,
Bond-slaue to Fortune, weake, and of no power.
To succor them which alwaies honourd thee:
Witnesse my Fathers and mine owne sad death,
Who for our country spent our latest breath:
But oh the chaines of death do hold my toung,
Mine eyes wax dim I faynt, I faynt, I die.
O Heauens help Rome in this extremity.
Where shall I goe to tell the saddest tale,
That ere the Romane toung was forc'd to speake,
Rome is ouerthrowne, and all that for her fought:
This Sunne that now hath seen so many deaths,
When from the Sea he heaued his cloudy head,
Then both the armes full of hope and feare,
Did waite the dreadfull trumpets fatall sound,
And straight Reuenge from Stygian bands let loose,
Possessed had all hearts and banished thence,
Feare of their children, wife and little home.
Countryes remembrance, and had quite expeld,
With last departed care of life it selfe:
Anger did sparkell from our beautious eyes,
Our trembling feare did make our helmes to shake,
The horse had now put on the riders wrath,
And with his hoofes did strike the trembling earth,
When Echalarian soundes then both gin meete:
Both like enraged, and now the dust gins rise,
And Earth doth emulate the Heauens cloudes,
Then yet beutyous was the face of cruell war:
And goodly terror it might seeme to be,
Faire shieldes, gay swords, and goulden crests did shine.
Their spangled plumes did dance for solity,
As nothing priuy to their Masters feare,
But quickly rage and cruell Mars had staynd,
This shining glory with a sadder hew,
A cloud of dartes that darkened Heauens light,
Horror insteed of beauty did suceede.
And her bright armes with dust and blood were foyld:
Now Lucius fals, heare Drusus takes his end,
Here lies Hortensius, weltring in his goare.
Here, there, and euery where men fall and die,
Yet Cassius shew not that thy heart doth faynt:
But to the last gasp for Romains freedom fight,
And when sad death shall be thy labors end,
Yet boast thy life thou didst for Country spend.
Enter Anthony.
Ant.
Queene of Reuenge imperious Nemesis,
Wrapst dreadfull vengance and pale fright-full death:
Raine downe the bloudy showers of thy reuenge,
And make our swordes the fatall instruments,
To execute thy furious bale full Ire,
Let grim death seate her on my Lances point,
Which percing the weake armour of my foes,
Shall lodge her there within there coward brestes,
Dread, horror, vengance, death, and bloudy hate:
In this sad fight my murthering sworde awaite.
Exit.
Enter Titinnius.
Titin.
Where may I flie from this accursed soyle,
Or shunne the horror of this dismall day:
The Heauens are colour'd in mourning sable weedes,
The Sunne doth hide his face, and feares to see,
This bloudy conflict; sad Catastrophe,
Nothing but grones of dying men are heard:
Nothing but bloud and slaughter may bee seene
And death, the same in sundry shapes araied.
Enter Cassius.
Casi.
In vaine, in vaine, O Cassius all in vaine,
Tis Heauen and destiny thou striuest against.
Titin.
VVhat better hope or more accepted tydinges,
Ist Noble Cassius from the Battell bringe?
Cassi.
This haples hope that fates decreed haue,
Philippi field must bee our haples graue.
Titin.
And then must this accurs'd and fatall day,
End both our liues and Romane liberty:
Must now the name of freedome bee forgot,
And all Romes glory in Thessalia end?
Casi.
As those that lost in boysterous troublous seas,
Beaten with rage of Billowes stormy strife:
And without starres do sayle 'gainst starres and winde.
In drery darkenesse and in chereles night,
Without or hope or comfort endles are:
So are my thoughts deiected with dismay,
Which can nought looke for but poore Romes decay.
But yet did Brutus liue, did hee but breath?
His welfare might infuse some hope, or life:
Or at the least bring death with more content:
Weried I am through labour of the fight:
Then sweete Titinnius, range thou through the fielde,
And either glad me with my friends successe,
Or quickly tell mee what my care doth feare:
How breathles hee vpon the ground doth lie,
That at thy words, I may fall downe and die.
Titin.
Cassius, I goe to seeke thy Noble friend,
Heauen grant my goings haue a prosperous end.
Cassi.
O go Titinnius, and till thy returne,
Heere will I sit disconsolate alone,
Romes sad mishap, and mine owne woes to moone:
O ten times treble fortunate were you,
VVhich in Pharsalias bloudy conflict dyed,
VVith those braue Lords, now layed in bed of fame:
VVhich neere protected their most blessed dayes,
To see the horror of this dismall fight,
VVhy died I not in those Æmathian playnes,
VVhere great Domitius fell by Cæsars hand?
And swift Eurypus downe his bloudy streame
Bare shieldes and helmes and traines of slaughter'd men,
But Heauens reserud mee to this luckles day,
To see my Countries fall and friends decay.
But why doth not Titinnius yet returne?
My trembling heart misgiues me what's befalne,
Brutus is dead: I: herke how willingly
The Ecco itterates those deadly words,
The whisling windes with their mourning sound,
Do fill mine eares with noyse of Brutus death,
The birdes now chanting a more cheerles lay,
In dolefull notes recorde my friends decay.
And Philomela now forgets old wronges,
And onely Brutus wayleth in her songes.
I heare some noyse, O tis Titinnius,
No tis not hee, for hee doth feare to wound,
My greeued eares with that hearts-thrilling sound.
Why dost thou then prolong my life in vayne?
Tell me my sentence and so end my payne:
He comes not yet, nor yet, nor will at all,
Linger not Cassius for to heare reply,
What if he come and tels me hee is slayne?
That only will increase my dying paine,
Brutus I come to company thy soule,
Which by Cocytus wandreth all alone.
Brutus I come prepare to meete thy friend
Thy brothers fall procures this balefull end.
Enter Titinius.
Titi.
Brutus doth liue and like a second Mars,
Rageth in heate of fury mongest his foes,
Then cheere thee Cassius, loe I bring releefe.
And news of power to ease thy stormy greefe,
But see where Cassius weltreth in his blood,
Doth beate the Earth, and yet not fully dead.
O Cassius speake, O speake to me sweet friend,
Brutus doth liue; open thy dying eyes,
And looke on him that hope and comfort
O noe, hee will not looke on mee but cryes,
That by my long delayes he haples dies:
Accursed villaine murtherer of thy friend,
Why hath thy lingering thus wrought Cassius end,
How cold thy care was to preuent this deed,
How slow thy loue that made no greater speed,
Care winged is, and burning loue can flye,
My care was feareles, loue but flattery,
But sithence in my life my loue was neuer shewne,
Now in my death Ile make it to be knowne.
Accursed weapon that such blood could spil,
Nay cursed then the author of this deed,
Yet both offended, both shall punished be,
Ile take reueng of the knife, the knife of me,
It shall make a passage for my life to passe,
Cause through my life his master murthered was.
And I on it againe will venged bee.
Then this reueng shalbe to end my life.
Mine to distayne with baser blood the knife.
Enter Brutus the Ghost following him.
Bru.
What doest thou still persue me vgly fend,
Is this it that thou thirsted for so much?
Come with thy tearing clawes and rend it out,
Would thy appeaseles rage be slacked with blood,
This sword to day hath crimsen channels made,
But heare's the blood that thou woulds drinke so fayne,
Then take this percer, broch this trayterous heart.
Or if thou thinkest death to small a payne,
Drag downe this body to proud Erebus,
Through black Cocytus and infernall Styx,
Lethean waues, and fiers of Phlegeton,
Boyle me or burne, teare my hatefull flesh,
Deuoure, consume, pull, pinch, plague, paine this hart,
Hell craues her right, and heere the furyes stand,
And all the hell-hounds compasse me a round
Each seeking for a parte of this same prey,
Alasse this body is leane, thin, pale and wan,
Nor can it all your hungery mouthes suffice,
O tis the soule that they stand gaping for,
And endlesse matter for to prey vpon.
Renewed still as Titius pricked heart.
Then clap your hands, let Hell with Ioy resound?
Here it comes flying through this aery round.
Gho.
Hell take their hearts, that this ill deed haue done
And vengeance follow till they be ouercome:
Nor liue t' applaud the iustice of this deed.
Murther by her owne guilty hand doth bleed.
Enter Discord
Dis.
I, now my longing hopes haue their desire,
The world is nothing but a massie heape:
Of bodys slayne. The Sea a lake of blood,
The Furies that for slaughter only thirst,
Are with these Massakers and slaughters cloyde,
Tysiphones pale, and Megeras thin face,
Caron that vsed but an old rotten boate
Must nowe a nauie rigg for to transport,
The howling soules, vnto the Stigian stronde.
Hell and Elisium must be digd in one,
And both will be to litle to contayne,
Numberles numbers of afflicted ghostes,
That I my selfe haue tumbling thither sent.
Gho.
Now nights pale daughter since thy bloody ioyes,
And my reuengfull thirst fulfilled are,
Doe thou applaud what iustly heauens haue wrought,
While murther on the murtherers head is brought.
Dis.
Cæsar I pitied not thy Tragick end:
Nor tyrants daggers sticking in thy heart,
Nor doe I that thy deaths with like repayd,
But that thy death so many deaths hath made:
Now cloyde with blood, Ile hye me downe below,
And laugh to thinke I caused such endlesse woe.
Gho.
Sith my reueng is full accomplished,
And my deaths causers by them selues are slaine,
I will descend to mine eternall home,
Where euerlastingly my quiet soule,
The sweete Elysium pleasure shall inioy,
And walke those fragrant flowry fields at rest:
To which nor fayre Adonis bower so rare,
Nor old Alcinous gardens may compare.
There that same gentle father of the spring,
Mild Zephirus doth Odours breath diuine:
Clothing the earth in painted brauery,
The which nor winters rage, nor Scorching heate,
Or Summers sunne can make it fall or fade,
There with the mighty champions of old time,
And great Heroes of the Goulden age,
My dateles houres Ile spend in lasting ioy.
FINIS.
| The Tragedie of Caesar and Pompey or Caesars Reuenge | |