 | Caesar In Aegypt |  |
60
Act V.
Quem non ille Ducem potuit terrere tumultus? Fata sed in præceps solitus dimittere Cæsar, Fortunamque suam per summa pericula gaudens, Exercere, venit: nec, dum desæviat ira, Expectat: medios properat tentare furores. Lucan. lib. 5.
SCENE The Palace-Court. DECIUS with several CENTURIONS and Inferior Officers of CÆSAR's, in Mutiny.1 Centurion.
Decius , away! in vain wou'd Words appease us!
Our Civil War, or Cæsar, is no more.
Dec.
Is Cæsar, in one Day, your Enemy?
2 Cen.
'Tis time, that Romans shou'd with Rome be Friends.
1 Cen.
Have we not spent our Lives, in Cæsar's Service?
Dec.
And wou'd you basely close 'em with his Ruin?
1 Cen.
We see no End of his insatiate Arms.
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With Roman Bones, now whitening to the Sun?
And what have the Survivors gain'd, but War?
More Blood and War is all the Hope that's left us.
We are determin'd! on, to Cæsar! forward!
Dec.
Yet stay your Madness! think of milder Measures!
Temper may bring him willing to your Wishes.
1 Cen.
Behold these hoary Heads, that bend beneath
Their Helmets, and are blanch'd in Cæsar's Wars!
These wither'd Hands, that feebly grasp their Javelins!
Harmless as rural Crooks, meer Staffs, for Age!
Is War supportable to Life, like this!
Is it not time, to let Diseases end us?
Have not our Toils, at least, deserv'd an Urn?
Or that our wailing Friends might close our Eyes?
Still shall we leave our mangled Carcasses
Unbury'd, to manure the Earth, for Cæsar?
Or knows he not the Strength, that yet is left us,
Might, by one Stroke, secure the Peace of Rome?
And, with his Head, repay the plunder'd World?
Dec.
So obstinate! be on your selves, your Fate!
He comes, the dauntless, and the dreadful Cæsar!
Enter Cæsar with a Javelin.
Cæs.
Who are these lordly Sires of Civil Power,
That summon Cæsar to their bold Tribunal?
That, tir'd with Toil, would talk Mankind to Rest,
Restrain the Valiant, and Command their Leader?
1 Cen.
Here, Cæsar, stands the Power, that made thee Great!
Determine, now, to give Mankind Repose.
Cæs.
Repose be thine! Command, and Toil be Cæsar's.
[Kills him.
Who next advances, to receive Dismission?
Ye noisy! turbulent! vain-glorious Rout!
Are you the Arbiters of Cæsar's Cause?
Like Fate, to limit, or withhold his Conquests?
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Wou'd leave his Standards naked in the Field?
If Pompey's routed Cause, o'er burning Sands,
Can draw such Numbers, to resume the War,
Can Cæsar's Eagles droop, in full Success?
Can the Victorious fail of worthier Hands,
To bear our Trophies, and divided Spoil,
To Rome? While you, inglorious in Repose,
Are deafned with the Clangors of our Triumphs?
Hence, from my Sight, ye murmuring heartless Herd!
Ye Undeservers of Pharsalian Honour!
Such dastard Spirits are unfit to follow,
Where Cæsar, and his Fortune, leads the Brave.
Hence, to your abject Homes! there pine in Corners!
There waste your winking Lamps of Life away,
And leave your General to be singly glorious!
Dec.
O mighty Cæsar! see, thy prostrate Bands
Confus'd, and suppliant at thy Feet for Pardon!
O calm thy dreadful Brow! thy Decius kneels!
They all throw themselves at Cæsar's Feet.
Convinc'd of what their Truth, by me pronounces!
Thy warlike Spirit has reviv'd their Flame!
While they behold their General's Breast thus fir'd,
Thus blazing onward, in the Course of Glory,
Their glowing Hearts imbibe the Martial Ardor,
Forgetful of their Toils, or Wounds unheal'd,
Pharsalian Vigour swells their Streams of Life,
And pants for Conquests, to retrieve their Cæsar.
Cæs.
Decius, to thee, Cæsar consigns their Fate:
Disperse them to their Posts: There, Man by Man,
Examine to the Source of this Disorder:
If Treason sprung it, or meer Martial Licence,
Those who are sound in Heart, retain and Pardon;
The Factious and the Stubborn bear to Justice.—
Yet stay—If I mistake not, in the Crowd,
I see a Face, that has a claim to pardon!
That's he!—Soldier, come forth—thou seem'st disabled!
2 Cen.
Cæsar, I am: the Sinews of this Arm
Are useless.
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Thou wert Wounded at Pharsalia?
2 Cen.
Has Cæsar then forgot? when o'er the Head
Of Brutus there, this Arm was rais'd in Air,
Thy hasty Sword, to save him from the Blow,
Unstrung these Nerves, before his Fate cou'd reach him.
Cæs.
I remember—what mov'd thee to this Tumult?
2 Cen.
Resentment of thy broken Promises.
Cæs.
If in my Course of Cares, thy Merit scap'd me,
Why sought'st thou not occasion, to remind me?
2 Cen.
Because I found it easier to deserve,
Than ask Reward! which due from Cæsar too,
I thought secure; but felt my Arm forgotten,
And therefore rais'd this other to revenge it.
Cæs.
Thy Charge is Just, and turns thy Crime on Cæsar;
Thy Bluntness speaks it, but mistaken Virtue.
Give me thy Pardon, Soldier, for thy Wrong.
2 Cen.
Cæsar, I lov'd thee ever, but was griev'd,
To think the Wound, my General's Mercy gave,
Had only mark'd me, to reproach his Honour.
Cæs.
Decius, this Instant, let a Donative
Of ten great Attick Talents, be his Meed!
And to supply the Wreath he might have torn
From Brutus' Head, to the first vacant Cohort
Be his Command preferr'd.
2 Cen.
What Roman Heart
Beats not at Cæsar's Virtue?
Cæs.
If on search,
Thou find'st amongst these Numbers, Men whose Age
Has led them to the Verge of drooping Life,
Let Sums proportion'd to their Service be
Disburs'd, and Convoys order'd, to their Country.
Omnes.
None, Cæsar, none! our Swords, our Lives are Cæsar's.
Cæs.
Then Cæsar is again your Fellow-Soldier.
[They Shout.
For further Thanks, my Veterans, attend me.
Lead to the Palace.
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Corn.
Cæsar, guard thy Life!
Cæs.
Let Danger face me, and the Guard is present.
Corn.
Revenge, and Treason, in these Walls, determin'd,
Lye lurking for thy Blood—the moment that
Thou enter'st here, a thousand furious Daggers
Will clash their Points within thy Bosom! This
Contains the Plan, the Means, th'Accomplices!
[Gives a Schedule.
Cæs.
Gods! am I rivall'd by Cornelia's Virtue!
O Roman Spirit! let my Envy thank thee!
Corn.
Thanks I refuse; thy Envy were my Glory!
This just Discovery to my self was due.
Without Conditions, therefore have I made it.
Yet I must own, one Life even Honour stands
Engag'd to ask; be that in Cæsar's Breast.
Cæs.
Cornelia's Honour, here, gives Laws to Cæsar.
Corn.
Fulvius, a faithful Servant in my Train,
(Whose Zeal impatient in the Cause of Rome,
Had rashly join'd him in this Enterprize,)
Reflecting how the Deed abortive might
Involve Great Pompey's Relict in the Ruin,
In duteous Confidence reveal'd the Secret;
'Twas thus Cornelia's, and from her, 'tis Cæsar's!
Cæs.
O Pompey! Envy not Pharsalia's Field!
Tho' Cæsar conquer'd, thy Cornelia triumphs.
Corn.
Yet think not, Cæsar, that I've spar'd thy Life,
To form a Friendship, where my Hate is due;
No, I preserv'd thee, but to use thy Power,
In what, I know, thy Glory is concern'd,
To wreak thy Vengeance on my Pompey's Murderers!
That past; again, I give thee to the Sword,
A nobler Victim to the Laws of Rome.
Cæs.
Each Moment of that Life, thou hast giv'n to Cæsar,
Is lost, while Pompey's Vengeance is delay'd!
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Th'Assassins, and Advisers of his Fate.
Are they surrender'd?
Dec.
Cæsar, no!—the King
Illudes thy Power: Ere his unwilling Search
Pursu'd them, we have Cause to think, he sent
His private Notice to advise their Flight.
Ev'n in th'Ægyptian Camp, they're now protected;
Where fierce in Menaces, they brave thy Vengeance.
Cæs.
Brav'd by Ægyptians! let our Troops be form'd!
Pursue them, by a Trumpet! if refus'd,
Say, Cæsar, by his Legions, will demand them.
Call from the Fleet our Germans, to inforce us!
This Scheme describes an Aqueduct, a Vault
Thro' which this Earthborn Treason is to speed.
Draw out five Cohorts, to secure the Streets,
And guard our Pioneers, while they dig through,
And with a Barrier Wall cut short their March;
Then, from the Sluices, drown them in the Cavern.
Cornelia! when this Treason is supprest,
Cæsar will give due Order for thy Freedom,
With Convoys, to whatever Port, thy Friends,
Thy Hopes, or Fortune of thy Cause, shall call thee.
Corn.
Cæsar, in vain I leave this fatal Shore,
Unless Indulgent to my Woes, thou grant
One farther Boon.
Cæs.
Cornelia might Command it.—
Corn.
Of all the Trophies thy Pharsalia boasts,
Yield to my suppliant Sorrows, Pompey's Ashes.
Cæs.
Philip, his faithful manumitted Slave,
Having preserv'd them, in too mean an Urn,
I therefore charg'd Achoreus to provide—
Corn.
'Tis not the Casket gives the Treasure Value,
The meanest Urn is dignify'd by Tears!
The Bones of Pompey will adorn his Tomb.
Cæs.
Archoreus with the mournful Object shall
Attend thee.—Antony!
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Ant.
Cæsar, to Arms!
From the Ægyptian Camp, our Spies inform us,
That for some sudden, hostile Enterprize,
Their March is speeding onward to the City!
That fierce Photinus, and Achillas' Rage,
To save themselves, or to redeem their King
From Roman Power, have blown this Tempest up,
Determin'd on their own, or Cæsar's Fate,
To stake the Chains, or Liberty of Ægypt.
Cæs.
Thy News has but confirm'd our earlier Notice.
Ant.
O! I foresaw this Beauty wou'd be fatal!
Cæs.
Let Marcus then be warn'd by Cæsar's Error!
[Apart.
The time yet serves to mend it—now my Veterans!
2 Cen.
Now, Cæsar, we'll redeem our blasted Honour,
And guard thy Glories, from the Fate of Pompey.
Cæs.
Since to prevent, our Arms arriv'd too late,
Like Romans follow, and revenge his Fate.
[Exit, cum suis.
Corn.
No, Cæsar, to destroy thee, tho' 'twere Just,
Revenge is mean, when stain'd by Treachery!
Pharsalia, Rome, and Pompey's Blood, demand
An equal Desolation of thy Fame!
Ev'n at thy Legions Head, in open Field,
Where Conquest gave thee Usurpation! there!
There, to deplume thee of thy crested Glories!
When my Victorious Father, and the Sons
Of Pompey, may like ecchoing Hunters chace thee,
With all thy branching Honours on thy Head,
And circling round thy Fall, enjoy thy Ruin!
Then, then were Rome—and Pompey's Fame reveng'd!
But from this Blow, the Gods and Honour guard thee!
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And howsoe'er thy Cause reviles thy Arms,
Yet Roman Justice scorns the Sword of Treason!
Enter Achoreus with Pompey's Urn.
But see! the Holy Priest obeys! and from
The Gates of Plenty comes, to feed my Woes
With Cæsar's charitable Dole of Death:
The dear, the mournful, last Remains of Pompey.
Acho.
From mighty Cæsar, to distrest Cornelia,
These honour'd, sacred Relicts, I present;
But that thy Piety o'ersways his Will,
A nobler Urn had grac'd thy Heroe's Ashes.
“Go thou, Achoreus, (said the generous Victor)
“Compose her Sorrows! mitigate her Wailings!
“Tell her, her Virtue has secur'd her Vengeance,
“Binding the Life of Cæsar, to pursue it.
“But 'till more glorious Monuments can rise,
“Entreat her to accept his previous Victims.
Then bending to the great Remains, he sigh'd,
Embrac'd them—paus'd—let fall a Tear,
And with an awful Kiss, gave back the Charge.
Corn.
O sacred Virtue! teach me, to receive,
With Thanks, these Obligations of my Foe;
Nor let ungrateful Envy lead my Soul,
To wrong the generous, by mean Suspicion!
What tho' he rises by the Fall of Pompey!
What tho' his Arms opposing Ptolomey,
May fix ambitious Cleopatra's Crown?
Shall I upbraid the Vengeance, whose Effect
Disperses Benefit to more than me?
Cornelia, no! 'twere Impious to revile
The Sun, for that his Beams are general!
Judge Cæsar then in this, to think like thee;
Believe the nobler Motive rules his Heart,
And own the Debt of his Revenge, and Tears.
Acho.
Thus Virtue never is defac'd! unchang'd
By strokes of Fate, she triumphs o'er Distress,
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[Trumpets and Shouts at a distance.
But hark! th'Alarm is giv'n! and Cæsar now
Again is dealing the Decrees of Fate!
In time retire! the Ruin here may reach you.
Corn.
What Ruin can come nearer to my Heart?
[Folding the Urn in her Arms.
O grudge me not this dear Repast of Grief!
Grief is the only Food my Sense can bear!
Love has resign'd its Fondness to Affliction,
Which with the same Impatience seeks its Object,
And thus wou'd feed its Woes with full Despair.
[Shout. Charge.
[She opens the Urn gently, and gazes into it kneeling, while Achoreus speaks.
Acho.
Again! the Storm of War approaches! Gods!
She hears it not! Immers'd in deeper Woes!
Did ever Grief thus dignify the Heart?
See how her agonizing Frame endures!
While Tears run back in wonder of her Woe.
[Trumpets.
With Care observe the Sallies of her Soul,
[To her Attendants.
While I explore th'impending Danger: Guard
Her Griefs from Violence, 'till my Return
May judge, if Courts, or Temples may protect her.
[Exit.
Corn.
'Tis done! the Debt of Nature is discharg'd!
Great, injur'd, peaceful, dear Remains farewel!
Grief has enjoy'd its Ecstacy of Pain!
[Closes the Urn.
And now a nobler Duty claims my Soul,
Revenge and Rome demand me back to Life,
To animate our Cause, 'till Liberty
Regain'd, may raise its Altars to thy Name,
O Pompey! that last Hope alone prevails;
For that blest Hour, I patient breathe, beneath
These Loads of dire Calamity. Nor dare,
'Till that's accomplish'd, lay the Burden down!
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Rush foremost, with the Tidings to thy Shade.
[Alarm.
Enter Achoreus.
Acho.
Away, Cornelia! fly! thy Foes have conquer'd!
Cæsar is lost! and Ægypt triumphs o'er
The Fate of Pompey.
Corn.
Gods! it cannot be!
Say how! the Terrors of the Day deceive thee!
Acho.
O no! the King, who warily, at first,
Seem'd neutral in the Fray; on his Success,
Exulting now, avows the Enterprize,
Applauds his Vengeance, and absolves the Crime.
Corn.
Still am I lost in Wonder! Was not Cæsar
By me appriz'd, forewarn'd of this Design?
Acho.
Too short the Warning, when so near the Blow!
For tho' his Care no Moment lost, to stop
His latent Danger, from the Aqueduct;
Yet, ere his Cohorts from their Ships cou'd land,
Or those within the Town be drawn to Order,
Our speedier Troops, impetuous as the Tides
Of Nile, came pouring thro' our Gates! while Cæsar,
Now, like a Vessel from its Anchor blown,
Adrift, and useless, down the Stream is born,
Lost, and unaided, by the Wrecks around him!
Corn.
Yet hold! nor let me hear of Cæsar's Fate!
Lest Rome, dishonour'd by the Means, shou'd owe
Her Liberty to vile Ægyptian Falshood!
Lest the perfidious Ptolomey shou'd buy,
With Cæsar's Head, his Pardon, from the Senate,
And ward the Vengeance of the Gods, for Pompey!
Acho.
Who next must bleed, the Gods can tell, but now
In dread Confusion, fly the Roman Eagles,
Prest, and retreating to the Pharian Isle;
There only have the Valiant Choice, to fall
On pointed Spears, or perish in the Seas
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Impatient to resume the Reins of Empire,
Flew, on the News, to make the Queen his Captive;
Pretending, now, she is the Kingdom's Foe,
Confederate with Cæsar, to its Ruin!
Fly then, Cornelia, from this rolling Danger!
Outrage and Slaughter fill the Streets, and sweep,
Without Distinction, Innocence along!
To Isis' Temple haste! thy Virtue there
Secure may wait the Will of Heav'n.
Corn.
Just Gods!
Had I but Life to lose, the Tumult here
Might end my Woes; but lesser Cares must wait:
To guard these dear Remains, I wave my Fate.
[Exe.
The SCENE opening to the Palace, discovers Cleopatra guarded.
Guard.
Here our Commission ends. Th'Occasion, Madam,
Of your Confinement now, the King himself
Will answer—he approaches.
[Ex. Guards.
Enter Ptolomey.
Ptol.
Gods! I thank you!
This Hour has well repaid the Wrongs of Empire.
Thou fatal Stain, to the Lagæan Race!
Inglorious Helen, to the Peace of Ægypt!
Where is your Paris now? your Reveller!
Your Champion Cæsar, who dissolv'd in Pleasures,
Contemn'd the Royal Vengeance, that surrounds him?
What, are thy boasted Charms abandon'd, lost!
Has then this glorious Robber left thee hopeless!
From thy unguarded Honour stoln the Gem,
And thrown thee, like a useless Casket, by,
To make his Flight more speedy? now recall him.
Cleo.
Cæsar best knows his Time—you say he's fled:
The Flying live! the Living may return!
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So desperate! canst thou then form a Hope,
On Cæsar's Life? are Malefactors said
To live, when o'er their destin'd Heads, the Sword
Of Justice rais'd in Air, is falling to the Blow?
Such is the State of Cæsar, coop'd in Pharos!
Cleo.
On Cæsar's Fate, I know my own depends:
Nor will precarious Life, when he's no more,
Be worth my Care: yet in his vanquish'd Heart
I reign'd one Day, the World's Imperial Mistress!
All Empires have their Period: mine, tho' short
On Earth, shall perching on the Wings of Cæsar,
Be born through Ages to a deathless Fame!
What Beauties yet unborn, reading my Story,
Shall find their Virtue stagger, at my Conquest,
And sigh for Cæsars, that, like mine, might love!
Ptol.
Confusion! dar'st thou vaunt thy Infamy?
Is kindling Shame a Stranger to thy Cheek?
That nor thy Race dishonour'd, nor the Breach
Of sacred Laws, can give thy Crimes a Terror?
Cleo.
Talk'st thou of violated Laws! whose Heart,
On cool Deliberation, cou'd renounce them?
Who deaf to Obligations, to thy Crown restor'd,
To Honour, Gratitude, or Faith of Nations,
Cou'dst basely pierce thy Benefactor's Bosom,
And stain thy Soul, with bounteous Pompey's Blood?
While I, at Hazard of my Throne and Life,
Strove by his Safety to prevent thy Crime.
If, with Resentment fir'd, I since have leagu'd
With Cæsar, to retrieve my Crown; accuse
Thy own injurious Arms, that first usurp'd it!
Did I not warn thee too of Cæsar's Love?
Didst thou not know my Soul was form'd for Empire?
And cou'dst thou hope, that maiden Modesty,
A peevish Coyness, wou'd restrain Ambition?
What are the Laws that ever yet confin'd it?
Tho' Love to Cæsar's Merit might be venial!
But Nature's whole Consent abhors th'Assassin.
Ptol.
'Tis well! this Spirit shall have further Tryal!
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Enter Guard hastily.
What means thy breathless Terror?
Guard.
Look forth, and see Sir—Pharos is in Flames.
Ptol.
Confusion to my Eyes!
[Going to the Window.
Cleo.
It must be so!
The Brand of Vengeance is in Cæsar's Hand.
[Apart.
Enter Photinus from the other Side.
Phot.
O Horror! Horror! Ruin, Rage, and Slaughter,
With Cæsar's Fortune, follow at our Heels!
O Sir! with Shame and Terror, I pronounce it,
Fly, fly, while yet Occasion serves, to save you.
Ptol.
Gods! let me know the Danger, that compels me.
Phot.
While Cæsar in the Pharian Isle was hemm'd,
And to all Eyes, that saw him, deem'd our Prey,
Death every Moment feeding on his Front;
And on his Rear, no Hope, but Seas to sink him;
Yet Fortune, in his last Despair, redeem'd him.
While on the narrow Mole, fierce Decius joyn'd
With Antony, a while sustain'd the Day;
Himself perplex'd, and raging at his Fate,
As if, he dying, had resolv'd to light
His Funeral Pile, with dread Phalaric Darts,
That kindle as they fly, he fires the City;
Nor spares our Altars from the blazing Ruin!
And now far casting o'er the Main his Eye,
With trembling Indignation he beheld
His distant Fleet inactive to his Aid.
Then heav'd his Breast, and springing with the Thought,
He headlong plung'd him in the Waves—
Cleo.
My Cæsar!
Phot.
In one rais'd Hand aloft above the Tide,
Some Scrolls of high Importance he preserv'd.
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As oft, athwart the rapid Floods of Nile,
Some monstrous Crocodile, in quest of Prey,
Rolls his huge Length, thro' Showers of Darts along;
So, fearless of the hissing Shafts around him,
Swam the fell Cæsar foaming to his Fleet.
His Troops, that from their Ships beheld his Danger,
With Shouts, that eccho to the Heav'ns, receive him,
Nor lose a Moment to regain the Day!
Now loaded Galleys ply their stroking Oars,
And in an Instant pour them on the Strand.
They form! they march! thus Cæsar re-inforc'd,
Furious as Libyan Whirlwinds blows his Foes
Before him.
Ptol.
Gods! as Fortune were his Slave!
Cleo.
Form'd to subdue the World, and charm the Fair!
[Exulting.
Ptol.
What Hope can save us?
Phot.
On this Side the Pharos,
Where yet our fainting Troops dispute his Passage,
A light-sail'd Vessel hulls about the Shore.
Thence only can your Fortune save you.
Cleo.
Hold!
Yet ere you perish, hear a Sister's Counsel.
Spite of my Injuries, a Brother's Blood
Sets Nature in too horrible Alarm!
And not preventing, is to urge thy Ruin!
From Cæsar's Arms, what Earth or Seas can save thee?
If then thy Fear suggests, thou hast deserv'd
His dread Resentment, trust with me thy Fate:
Ne'er shall these Knees unbend from Cæsar's Sight,
'Till Cleopatra's Prayers have seal'd thy Pardon!
Ptol.
Audacious Insult! Pardon! Shall my Crown,
Dependent on a Wanton's Smile, compound
Thy Crimes? the Pandar of my own Dishonour?
Cleo.
Thy Fate be on thy Head!
Ptol.
The Fate of Cæsar,
Alike with Ptolomey's, is fix'd and certain:
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At least, this Hour shall Honour lost attone;
My Rage shall on his Heart revenge our Fame,
Or scorn the Life, that dares survive the Shame.
[Ex. Ptol. and Pho.
Cleo.
Ungrateful Boy! thy parting Arrogance
Betrays the rooted Rancour in thy Soul:
Had Cæsar not espous'd my injur'd Right,
Or had my Eyes engag'd his Arms, for thee;
Then, what thou term'st my Shame, were courtly Glory.
I thought thy Youth misguided by thy Creatures,
That they alone had wrought thee, to the Tyrant;
But find thy Nature, to their Hands, had form'd thee.
My Woman's Heart, forgetful of my Wrongs,
Wou'd have commended thee to Cæsar's Mercy;
But now, while thus thy Hate disdains my Care,
If his just Vengeance, for the Blood of Pompey,
Shou'd overtake thy Guilt; reproach thy Rashness.
My Fame's acquitted of thy wilful Fate,
And Grief, in rising Empire, shall forget thee.
[A Flourish.
Hark! hark! the Roman Trumpets, like the Voice
Of Fate, pronounce to Cæsar's Arms the Day!
My Hero! see where joyous Antony
Flies with a Lover's Haste, to bear the News.
Enter Antony.
Ant.
Hail! bright Imperial Monarch of the Nile!
For such have Cæsar's Fortune, and the Fate
Of Ptolomey, ordain'd thee.
Cleo.
Ptolomey!
What dreadful Ruin cou'd so soon o'ertake him?
Ant.
As Cæsar round the blazing Pharos
Led his well-order'd Troops, to quench the Flames;
Forth from the Palace, in disorder'd Haste,
He saw the King, Photinus, and the Guards,
Rush thro' a Band of Romans to the Bay;
Where Ptolomey's young Arm so bravely fought,
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Spare! spare the King! He, scornful of his Mercy,
With double Fury now renew'd the Fray!
But oh! in vain! breathless, at last, he saw
Photinus, and Achillas, by his Side
Expire! a Death, for their vile Crimes, too glorious!
At length, his Fortune desperate, he broke,
With Fury, thro' the Tumult, to the Mole,
From whence, into a floating Bark he launch'd,
His last Retreat and Hope: but here, his Friends,
Too zealous for his Safety, urg'd his Fate;
Such Crowds of Followers his Flight attended,
That ev'n in Cæsar's View, th'o'er-freighted Boat
Sunk foundring down, and perish'd in the Deep.
Cleo.
Such is the Vengeance of the Gods for Pompey!
Ant.
Well has his Death atton'd his Errors past,
Since injur'd Cleopatra, by his Fall,
Enjoys, at last, her undisputed Empire.
Ev'n Cæsar fought not for himself, but you:
This Moment to your People he proclaims
You Queen, and to conciliate to your Crown
Their Hearts, and render Ptolomey forgotten,
Confirms the Laws and native Rights of Ægypt.
Cleo.
Can Cæsar have a Foe, that is not such
To Virtue?
[Flourish.
Hark, he comes! my Conqueror!
My Wishes Lord, and Glory of my Heart.
Enter Cæsar. She runs to embrace him.
Cæs.
O my forsaken Fair! my Toils, at length,
In Peace and Transport yield me to thy Arms!
In all the Conflicts I've, this Day, sustain'd,
My Fears for thee sunk deepest in my Heart;
And while the Soldier fought, the Lover trembled.
But here my Heart, collected to its Joy,
Pours out my Cares, forgotten on thy Bosom.
Cleo.
Now ye chaste Matrons, that reproach my Love,
76
O let the Dangers of this Day but speak him!
Let impious Treason, thro' the Earth, assail him!
Or, in the Pharos, dreadful Flames surround him,
Thence hurl him headlong to devouring Seas!
While, like the Ocean's God, he rides the Billows,
Behold him, thro' this War of Elements
Victorious! then! then bid these Arms refuse him!
[Shout.
Enter Decius
Dec.
Cæsar, the publick Joy, in Crowds impatient,
Swarms round the Palace, to behold their Queen.
Cæs.
A Moment, and the Queen shall greet them.—
Cornelia!
Enter Cornelia on the other Side.
Corn.
Cæsar, with a divided Heart, I come
At once to gratulate, and mourn thy Arms:
Since Pompey, here, no more Revenge can hope,
This fatal Shore is hateful to my Eyes;
I therefore now remind thee of thy Word,
Thy promis'd Convoys, for my free Departure.
Hence let me wing my Flight! with Pompey's Urn,
To rouze the drooping Life of Liberty,
And arm another World, to blast thy Lawrels!
O Cæsar! tremble! for my Soul presages!
Howe'er thy lawless Arms may swell thy Power,
Think not that Rome, tho' conquer'd, will endure thee!
Her Genius, like a Lion tam'd, one Day
May turn, when least suspected, on his Keeper,
And stalk, in Triumph, o'er the Limbs that aw'd him!
Such may be Cæsar's Fate! the Gods have warn'd thee!
Wou'dst thou be truly glorious, yield us Peace!
To Scipio, Pompey's Sons, and Cato, now
I bend my Course; if thou hast ought to offer,
That may concern the harrass'd World's Repose,
Cornelia shall report it.
77
Tell them, this!
The Laws they fight for, Cæsar will maintain;
Nor are they safer, in their Hands, than his!
When I look round the World, and see
What Miseries attend Abuse of Power,
I judge my Conquests by the Gods assign'd,
To give their Laws new Force, and mend Mankind!
If then Ambition prompts me to excell
The greatest Patriot fam'd for ruling well,
Let foul-tongu'd Envy burst her swelling Heart,
My conscious Virtue shall perform its Part.
Cæsar his Period to the Gods shall trust,
Nor can, 'till Gods forsake him, think his Arms unjust.
| Caesar In Aegypt | |