 | The Roman Revenge |  |
SCENE II.
CÆSAR, CALPHURNIA, TORBILIUS.TORBILIUS.
Hail, Cæsar! more than Victor!—Common Conquerors
Vanquish but Power: Cæsar subdues the Will.
CÆSAR.
Why dost thou flatter!—Stranger to my Passions,
Whence wou'd thy Skill presume, to judge my Virtue?
Take heed, thou sell'st not Praise, to purchase Scorn!
Encomium is a bold, and dange'rous Province!
It calls for Reason:—Slander asks but Rage:
Who art Thou?—what is thy Pretence, in Rome?
TORBILIUS.
Touch'd by the Muse's Love, I, there, indulge
The tuneful Transports of Satiric Fire:
Rome is a fruitful Field, for Themes, like mine!
And Brutus, wit's kind Patron! loves my Verse.
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Where Wit wants Patronage—a State wants Wisdom.
Keen, tho' the Darts, by angry Genious thrown,
The Wise can Guide 'em, while the Base Restrain:
Satire, in honest Hands, is Murmuring Virtue:
And He, who fears its Hiss, deserves its Sting.
Yet, tis a dangerous, and malignant, Good!
Tho' Freedom's Property, 'tis Faction's Spoil.
Where justly bold, 'tis Reason's manliest Impulse:
Where blindly virulent, 'tis Wit's Disease.
Think, and distinguish:—Are thy Censures weigh'd?
Dost thou Proportion Anger, to its Cause?
TORBILIUS.
Had I done that, I had not wrong'd thy Name:
I was not just:—For, I was Cæsar's Foe.—
Can Cæsar have forgot Torbilius Asper?
CÆSAR.
Why wonder'st thou at that?—For my own Sake,
My Friend imprints Remembrance;—but my Foe,
For His, shou'd be Forgotten.
TORBILIUS.
Generous Cæsar,
Forgetting me, forgets the Guilt, he pardon'd,
And Claims not his own Virtues!
CÆSAR.
Roman! learn
To measure Truth, more justly:—Benefits,
From their Receiver only, claim Remembrance:
He, who bestows, and not forgets—resumes 'em.
TORBILIUS.
Perish the Mem'ory, and the Man, together,
When I forget such Greatness—
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Spare thy Words:—
And hasten to disclose thy Thanks, in Action.
CÆSAR.
What know'st Thou, that deserv'd Attention, here?
TORBILIUS.
Cassius, whose Love of Rome, is Hate of Cæsar,
Lists an implicit Clan of warm Resenters:
Men, who, with dim Discernment, tracing Liberty,
Plunge headlong in Sedition.—Among these,
He stoop'd his active Bribe'ry, ev'n to me:
Courting my humble Aid, to influence Brutus,
Whose Name, and Power, might Mask the Face of Murder.
CÆSAR.
Whom would they Murder?
TORBILIUS.
—Rome's last Hope, in Cæsar.
CALPHURNIA.
Now, Cæsar! now, am I an idle Dreamer?
CÆSAR.
Does Brutus know this Purpose?
TORBILIUS.
—Yet he does not:
And Cæsar, still, might guard the generous Heart
Of his belov'd: And save him, from the Vile.
All Flatter'y's full-try'd Power Unites, to shake him:
That done, the Tempter ply's his Master Engine;
Draws him, this Day, to meet the assassin Faction:
Then—but that Heaven defends Thee—join'd by Brutus,
Th' encourag'd Murde'rers strike:—not join'd forbear.
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If Cæsar's Death must wait, till Brutus strikes,
His Life wou'd prove immortal!—Men, of Heat,
Like Cassius, torture their distemper'd Reason,
To Act their Passion's Impulse:—Brutus weighs
Desire's warm Pleas, in the cool Scale of Justice:
Finds Force, in Other's Claims, against Himself,
And loves the Virtue, that condemns him.
CALPHURNIA.
Go on, Torbilius!—Set, in Cæsar's View,
What Cassius loves; and Point us out His Virtues.
CÆSAR.
It shall not need:—He stands condemn'd, already.
CALPHURNIA.
(Joyfully.)
To what condemn'd?
CÆSAR.
Condemn'd to live, Calphurnia.
CALPHURNIA.
What! and not tortur'd?
CÆSAR.
—Pride's severest Rack
Is that sharp Mercy, which descends from Scorn.
Think it a Fault, to fear these choleric Praters:
Their hot, slight, Threat'nings waste themselves, in Slander;
And rail away Revenge, to gradual Peace:
But, there's a cold, slow, silent, patient Malice,
That carries Mischief with it!—Such a Soul,
As Brutus Acts by—had it Will, for Murder:
Cool, in its govern'd Hate, might call for Cruelty.—
What read'st Thou?
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—Silent Summoners, to Murder:
These Cassius Causes to be dropt, with Art,
Where Brutus must be sure to find, and read 'em.
CALPHUREIA.
What wiles has Malice
CÆSAR.
Poor, and petty, Crafts!
They want but my Regard, to lend 'em Weight.
(Returning the Paper.)
Torbilius, meet 'em:—and, with strictest Note,
Mark, what Impression Cassius makes on Brutus.
All, Thou canst learn of That, be swift to bring me;
And trust the Claims of Gratitude, to Cæsar.
TORBILIUS.
The grateful make no Claims.—A mindful Debtor
Pays—not obliges:—Never met, in one,
The Poet, and the Miser:—The same Fire,
That sparkles, in his Fancy's native Blaze,
Glows, at his honest Heart; and burns out Baseness:
True Genious will not—cannot; stoop to Bribes:
And He, who sells his Passions, ne're had Wit,—
Or had it, for a Curse, unmix'd with Judgment.
CÆSAR.
'Tis nobly said;—and, with a warmth, that only
Suspected Virtue feels.—Henceforth, be mine:
On modest Merit, not to force Reward,
Were to degrade Supremacy.
CALPHURNIA.
Where meet They?
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In the cool Grot, behind the Platan Grove:
There Brutus, oft alone, and oft with Friends,
Steals an unbusied Hour, for reasoning deeply:
Or, in free Mirth, dilates the slack'ning Soul.
CALPHURNIA.
What was the appointed Time?
TORBILIUS.
The fatal Choice,
Yet doubtful, must depend alone on Brutus.
Some Three Hours, hence, I look to find 'em met.
CALPHURNIA.
Go, good Torbilius.—Wait within my Call:
For I shall Try thy Faith in Cæsar's Cause.
[Exit Torbilius
| The Roman Revenge | |