University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Scene opens and discovers Cinna and Maximus at the Head of the Conspirators.
Cin.
My Friends, and Fellow-Citizens of Rome,
The Time so long impatiently desir'd,
To ease our Griefs, to end our Doubts, and crown
Our glorious Hopes, is now at hand; to Morrow
Heav'n in our Hands will put the Fate of Rome,
Then, on the Ruin of one single Man,
Will all that's dear to us, to Rome depend;
But can we call him Man who is Inhuman,
Whose Thirst for Roman Blood's insatiable?
How many wily Snares has Cæsar laid,
To make his Fellow-Citizens his Prey?
How many times deserted Sides and Parties?
With Antony this Traitor first combin'd,
Then hunted him with spightful War to Death,
And cruel still, and insolent. I tremble,
When I wou'd call to mind the Miseries
Our Parents suffer'd in our tender Years;
Those barbarous, invet'rate, civil Battels,
In which Rome tore in pieces her own Bowels,
When Eagles bore down Eagles, and each Province
Sent forth her Legions against Liberty,
When the best Soldiers, and the greatest Chiefs
Did vilely glory in becoming Slaves;
And then, to keep in Countenance the Shame
Their Fetters brought, they put the World in Chains,
Contending next, who that accursed Honour
Should first obtain, of giving it a Lord,
Gilding with Sov'reign Pow'r the Name of Traitor;
Romans with Romans, Kindred fought with Kindred,
For the sole Privilege of naming Tyrants.

Maxim.
What Roman Heart, what Memory, can lose
The sad Impression of the impious Concord
Of the Triumvirs, terrible and fatal
To all good Men, the rich, and to the Senate,
And then to the Triumvirate it self?
Who can express the Grief, the Terror, Woe,
That rent a virtuous and a free-born Soul,
When it beheld in Lepidus, a Wretch;
In Antony, a Libertine; in Cæsar,
An artful timorous Ulysses triumph,
And tyrannize o'er Romans?

Cin.
And combine
To deluge Rome in her own Childrens Blood,
Seeming to vie who should exceed the other
In execrable Crimes, and vast Destruction.
My sad reluctant Memory denies
To aid my Soul, attempting to describe
Woes that still dwell so heavy in our Hearts.

Marcel.
Amaz'd, and terrify'd, as heretofore;
Methinks I see the tragick Scenes perform'd,
Some in the publick Places massacred;
Some in the Bosoms of their Houshold Gods;
The Guilty in their Crimes indulg'd, incourag'd;
The Husband murther'd by the Wife in Bed;
The Son, all hideous with the Father's Blood,
Presents his Head, demanding his Reward.

Maxim.
And yet these horrid, these licentious Ills,
Which, from their Hostile Hands, we long indur'd;
Are but faint Scetches of those Cruelties
Our Country suffer'd from their bloody Peace.

Glabr.
'Tis needless to recite the glorious Names
Of those Illustrious Men by them proscrib'd;
Or paint the Deaths of all those Demi-Gods,
Those stedfast Patriots, the remoseless Tyrants
Before our Sacred Altars sacrific'd.

Cin.
Those Cruelties, the loss of our Estates,
Our Liberties, the ravaging our Country,
The pillaging our Cities, the Proscriptions,
Our Civil Wars, are but the bloody Steps
On which Augustus chose to mount his Throne,
And dictate to us his perpetual Laws.

Len.
Yet we may change this wretched Destiny,
Since, of three Tyrants, only one remains.
Our other Triumvirs he justly punish'd,
When, big with hopes of Pow'r, in Lepidus
And Antony he fell'd his own Support.

Maxim.
This once he did, but 'twas to reign alone;
Destroy two Men as wicked as himself.

Rutil.
When dead he'll be disabled of Revenge,
And we no more shall dread the Name of Master,
The Senate shall decree us Annual Triumphs
For Liberty restor'd, and Tyranny destroy'd.

Cin.
Let us not lose this Opportunity,
That smiles propitious on our Enterprize,
To Morrow Cæsar, in the Capitol,
Will offer Sacrifice, and may he be
Himself the Victim; let us in this Place,
This awful Place, do Justice to the World,
Ev'n in the Face of our assembled Gods;
But few attend him there beside our selves,
Then Maximus, with half our Band, may guard
The Portal, with the rest I'll compass Cæsar;
He, from my Hand receives the hallow'd Cup;
Then, as a Signal, may this glorious Arm
Direct my Ponyard deep into his Bosom:
Thus with a mortal Blow the Tyrant struck;
Will show that Cinna is of Pompey's Blood;
And you, by seconding my Stroak, confirm
You still remember your Illustrious Fathers;
If any of our Members disapprove
The Conduct, or Occasion, let him him speak.
Freely object, or swear by Liberty
Stedfastly to adhere to this Proposal.

Max.
Liberty—

Omnes.
Liberty, Revenge, Revenge and Liberty.