University of Virginia Library

Sound alarum then flames of fire.
Enter Discord.
Hearke how the Romaine drums sound bloud & death,
And Mars high mounted on his Thracian Steede:
Runs madding through Pharsalias purple fieldes.
The earth that's wont to be a Tombe for Men
It's now entomb'd with Carkases of Men.
The Heauen appal'd to see such hideous sights,
For feare puts out her euer burning lights.
The Gods amaz'd (as once in Titans war,)
Do doubt and feare, which boades this deadly iar.
The starrs do tremble, and forsake their course,
The Beare doth hide her in forbidden Sea,
Feare makes Bootes swiften her slowe pace,
Pale is Orion, Atlas gins to quake,
And his vnwildy burthen to forsake.
Cæsars keene Falchion, through the Aduerse rankes,
For his sterne Master hewes a passage out,
Through troupes & troonkes, & steele, & standing blood:
He whose proud Trophies whileom Asia field,
And conquered Pontus, singe his lasting praise.
Great Pompey; Great, while Fortune did him raise,
Nowe vailes the glory of his vanting plumes
And to the ground casts of his high hang'd lookes.
You gentle Heauens. O execute your wrath
On vile mortality, that hath scornd your powers.
You night borne Sisters to whose haires are ty'd
In Adamantine Chaines both Gods and Men
Winde on your webbe of mischiefe and of plagues,
And if, O starres you haue an influence:
That may confounde this high erected heape
Downe powre it; Vomit out your worst of ills
Let Rome, growne proud, with her vnconquered strength,
Perish and conquered Be with her owne strength:
And win all powers to disioyne and breake,
Consume, confound, dissolue, and discipate
What Lawes, Armes and Pride hath raised vp.

Enter Titinius
Tit.
The day is lost our hope and honours lost,
The glory of the Romaine name is lost,
The liberty and common weale is lost,
The Gods that whileom heard the Romaine state,
And Quirinus, whose strong puissant arme,
Did shild the tops and turrets of proud Rome,
Do now conspire to wracke the gallant Ship,
Euen in the harbor of her wished greatnesse.
And her gay streamers and faire wauering sayles,
With which the wanton wind was wont to play,
To drowne with Billows of orewhelming woes.

Enter Brutus.
Bru.
The Foe preuayles, Brutus, thou striuest in vaine.
Many a soule to day is sent to Hell,
And many a galant haue I don to death,
In Pharsalias bleeding Earth: the world can tell,
How litle Brutus praizd this puffe of breath,
If losse of that my countries weale might gaine,
But Heauens and the immortall Gods decreed:
That Rome in highest of her fortunes pich,
In top of souerainty and imperiall swaye.
By her owne height should worke her owne decay.

Enter Pompey
Pom.
Where may I fly into some desert place,
Some vncouth, vnfrequented craggy rocke,
Where as my name and state was neuer heard.
I slie the Batle because here I see,
My friends lye bleeding in Pharsalias earth.
Which do remember me what earst I was,
Who brought such troopes of soldiars to the fielde,
And of so many thousand had command:
My flight a heauy memory doth renew,
Which tels me I was wont to stay and winne.
But now a souldier of my scatred traine:
Offered me seruice and did call me Lord,
O then I thought whome rising Sunne saw high,
Descending he beheld my misery:
Flie to the holow roote of some steepe rocke,
And in that flinty habitation hide,
Thy wofull face: from face and view of men.
Yet that will tell me this, if naught beside:
Pompey was neuer wont his head to hide.
Flie where thou wilt, thou bearst about thee smart,
Shame at thy heeles and greefe lies at thy heart.

Tit.
But see Titinius where two warriers stand,
Casting their eyes downe to the cheareles earthe:
Alasse to soone I know them for to bee
Pompey and Brutus, who like Aiax stand,
When as forsooke of Fortune mong'st his foes,
Greife stopt his breath nor could he speake his woes,

Pom.
Accursed Pompey, loe thou art descried.
But stay; they are thy friends that thou behouldest,
O rather had I now haue met my foes:
Whose daggers poynts might straight haue piercd my woes
Then thus to haue my friends behold my shame.
Reproch is death to him that liu'd in Fame,

Bru.
Brutus Cast vp thy discontented looke:
And see two Princes thy two noble friends,
Who though it greeues me that I thus them see,
Yet ioy I to bee seene they liung be.
He speakes vnto them.
Let not the change of this successes fight,
(O noble Lords,) dismay these daunteles mindes,
Which the faire vertue not blind chance doth rule,
Cæsar not vs subdued hath, but Rome,
And in that fight twas best be ouerthrowne.
Thinke that the Conqueror hath won but smale,
Whose victory is but his Countries fal,

Pom.
O Noble Brutus, can I liue and see,
My Souldiars dead, my friends lie slaine in field,
My hopes cast downe, mine Honors ouerthrowne,
My Country subiect to a Tirants rule,
My foe triumphing and my selfe forlorne.
Oh had I perished in that prosperous warre
Euen in mine Honors height, that happy day,
When Mithridates fall did rayse my fame:
Then had I gonne with Honor to my graue.
But Pompey was by envious heauens reseru'd,
Captiue to followe Cæsars Chariot wheeles
Riding in triumph to the Capitol:
And Rome oft grac'd with Trophies of my fame,
Shall now resound the blemish of my name.

Bru.
Oh what disgrace can taunt this worthinesse,
Of which remaine such liuing monuments
Ingrauen in the eyes and hearts of men.
Although the oppression of distressed Rome
And our owne ouerthrow, might well drawe forth,
Distilling teares from faynting cowards eyes,
Yet should no weake effeminate passion sease
Vpon that man, the greatnesse of whose minde
And not his Fortune made him term'd the Great.

Pom.
Oh I did neuer tast mine Honours sweete
Nor now can iudge of this my sharpest sowre.
Fifty eight yeares in Fortunes sweete soft lap
Haue I beene luld a sleepe with pleasant ioyes,
Me hath she dandled in her foulding Armes,
And fed my hopes with prosperous euentes:
Shee Crownd my Cradle with successe and Honour,
And shall disgrace a waite my haples Hearse?
Was I a youth with Palme and Lawrell girt,
And now an ould man shall I waite my fall?
Oh when I thinke but on my triumphs past,
The Consul-ships and Honours I haue borne;
The fame and feare where in great Pompey liu'd,
Then doth my grieued Soule informe me this,
My fall augmented by my former bisse.

Bru.
Why do we vse of vertues strength to vant,
If euery crosse a Noble mind can daunt,
Wee talke of courage, then, is courage knowne,
When with mishap our state is ouerthrowne:
Neuer let him a Souldiers Title beare.
Wihch in the cheefest brunt doth shrinke and feare,
Thy former haps did Men thy vertue shew,
But now that fayles them which thy vertue knew,
Nor thinke this conquest shalbe Pompeys fall:
Or that Pharsalia shall thine honour bury,
Egipt shalbe vnpeopled for thine ayde.
And Cole-black Libians, shall manure the grounde
In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men.

Pom.
O second hope of sad oppressed Rome,
In whome the ancient Brutus vertue shines,
That purchast first the Romaine liberty,
Let me imbrace thee: liue victorious youth,
When death and angry fates shall call me hence,
To free thy country from a Tyrants yoke.
My harder fortune, and more cruell starrs.
Enuied to me so great a happines.
Do not prolong my life with vaine false hopes,
To deepe dispaire and sorrow I am vow'd:
Do not remououe me from that setled thought,
With hope of friends or ayde of Ptolomey,
Egipt and Libia at choyse I haue.
But onely which of them Ile make my graue.

Tit.
Tis but discomfort which misgreeues thee this,
Greefe by dispaire seemes greater then it is.

Bru.
Tis womannish to wayle and mone our greefe.
By Industrie do wise men seeke releefe,
If that our casting do fall out a misse,
Our cunning play must then correct the dice.

Pom.
Well if it needs must bee then let me goe,
Flying for ayde vnto my forrayne friends,
And sue and bow, where earst I did command.
He that goeth seeking of a Tirant aide,
Though free he went, a seruant then is made.
Take we our last farwell, then though with paine,
Heere three do part that ne're shall meet againe.

Exit Pompey at on dore, Titinius at another. Brutus alone.