 | The Tragedy of Sertorius |  |
SCEN. I.
CassiusSolus.
I find my self o'r-pow'r'd, my Reason gon,
The Magic of the Soul has left its sound;
Bereav'd of all the noble Roman, now
I walk, and breath pollution to the Air;
Such as might well infect the Antidote:
But like that Roman, viewing round his Fate,
Suddenly down the dreadful Gemonies,
Preventing the defame of common hands,
Met boldly with his Fate, and brave in death;
Thou, Cassius, must at once, (hard Fortune thine!)
Be thy Accuser, Judg, and Murderer,
In death to wipe the scandal from thy Fame:
That, when thy Earthly part's sublim'd with Fire,
Thy Spirit rarify'd, may see thy Urn
Water'd with tears, and hear thy story told.
| The Tragedy of Sertorius | |