University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

BRUTUS, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, CASCA, CIMBER.
CASSIUS.
Tell us, what wou'd they?

CIMBER.
—Slavery, they wou'd

BRUTUS.
Have we a King, in Rome?

CIMBER.
Have we a Freeman?

CASSIUS.
What call you Cæsar?

BRUTUS.
Less, when he dares be more.

CIMBER.
Cæsar high-seated,—Sovereign of the Slaves!
Shone, from the Capitol, as who wou'd say,
Make me a God, and Rome shall shake with Thunder:
Up, from Ten Thousand bribe-attesting Throats,
Flew purchas'd Gratulation: “Hail, Great Cæsar!
“Rome's dread Avenger!—Fate of punish'd Parthia!
“Star of thy Country's Hope? And War's brave Guider!”
Timely, to cool this Madness, at its Height,
So Heaven decreed it!—In Stalks Antony;
Blast him, deaf Genius of devoted Rome!
A cushion'd Crown, and Scepter, sham'd his Hands:
Yet, was his venal Eye fix'd bold, on Cæsar.
Down sunk, at once, the Tempest of Applause;
Hush'd, as a Coward, in his Midnight Bush,
The sick'ning People flatter'd into Silence;
He, 'midst a horrid Glare of wide-stretch'd Eyes,
Unheeding, on his Master's Brow, set, soft,
The regal Gew-gaw:—Then, with abject Knee,
Bent, for instructive Homage,—be a King,
He cry'd—and reign o'er Rome, that rules the Worlds
Cæsar, mean while, who watch'd the public Eye,
And read Reluctance, Grief, and Terror, there;
Starting indignant with well-acted Scorn,
Hurl'd, from his Front, the uninclining Toy;
And cry'd—“I am not King, my Friend—but Cæsar.

BRUTUS.
O, Truth!—Beyond all Pride of kingly Greatness!

CIMBER.
Then, general Joy new-voic'd the gaping Press;
And shook the distant Roofs, with loud Concurrence;
Even Antony, then, blush'd.

CASSIUS.
—And did not Cæsar?

CIMBER.
Cæsar smil'd sweet Contempt:—And then, again,
Th' unfeeling Fools, more charm'd, renew'd their Shouting:
I laugh'd, aloud: to mark him thanking Rome,
For finding Virtues in him, which he had not!
At length, disdainful of the hard Constraint,
Parting, he frown'd Sincerity.—The Rest
You'l learn, when I do.

BRUTUS.
What means That?

CIMBER.
—Anon,
The Senate sits.

BRUTUS.
What then?

CIMBER.
Why then, Six Hours
May pass, betwixt his pushing back the Crown,
And our exacted Votes, to bid him take it.

BRUTUS.
Holds he that Hope?

DECIMUS.
Yes: And who helps us?

CASSIUS.
—Death.

BRUTUS.
Death is, indeed, the Slave's last Hope:—but, he,
Who dares embrace that Help, might find a better.

CASSIUS.
While my doom'd Country had a Gasp for Life,
I struggled on, to live:—Now, World, farewell!
No God sustain'd me, to support the State:
But, to die, with it, still, is left to Freedom.
To Heaven's imperial Rome, from ours, I go;
There, no bold Cæsar sways:—There Pompey serves!
No Roman, there, need blush to owne a Master:
Where even a Cato finds, and fears, a Lord!
These will I follow, thus.

(Drawing his Sword
BRUTUS.
(Disarming him.)
—Follow we none:
'Tis ours, to lend, not borrow, brave Example.
'Tis ours, to stem the Tide of a bad World,
And justify to Time the Roman Greatness.
Much is to Anger due—but more to Rome.
Cato had died, unblam'd—first, killing Cæsar;
But, turning on himself, his erring Sword,
He fell, unjustly:—For, he punish'd Innocence.

CASSIUS.
What can we, in a World, despairing, round us?

BRUTUS.
(Shewing a Billet.)
See! What the Friends of Liberty expect!
See! What they hope from Romans!

CASSIUS.
This Reproach
I, too, have met with:—And 'twas hard to bear!

BRUTUS.
Cassius!—'twas harder, far,—to have deserv'd it.

CIMBER.
Good Talkers might attract a Gown-man's Praise:
And had Time Ears—fine Words were Marks of Wisdom:
But lose this Day, no Orator, in Rome,
Must be admir'd, but Cæsar.

BRUTUS.
—E're this Day
Yet passes,—Twenty Tyrant's Fortunate,
As ours—but never Greatness equall'd Cæsar!
Might expiate, with their Lives, their bold Ambition.

CIMBER.
Ay! That's a Flower of Speech, my Rhetoric reaches!

CASSIUS.
Rome lives again! She breath'd, in that rais'd Voice!
And Brutus has receiv'd her.—

DECIMUS.
—Fatal Name
To Tyrants!—Brutus, to assert his Race,
Speaks the dire Duty, which We dar'd but think.

CASSIUS.
My Friend has reconcil'd me to myself;—
If there is future Glory due to Cassius,
Brutus bestows it, all—Brutus! and Rome!
Flow mix'd, ye reverend Names! down Time's dark Stream!
By Ages emulating Ages, bless'd!
Decimus! Cinna! Casca! Patriot's! Roman's!
Join your Sword's Aid: Obey this gener'ous Leader.
Live to approve, and to support his Vengeance;
And drive Dejection from the Heart of Virtue,

CIMBER.
All Rome will think, and Act, with Roman Brutus.

DECIMUS.
Born the Sustainers of patrician Honour,
Senates, despis'd, wou'd fall with double Shame,
Surviv'd, by their Despiser.—

CASSIUS.
—See a List,
Shinning with Names, of Rome's distinguish'd Sons!
Associates, All, to strike one Glorious Blow!

BRUTUS.
(Taking the Paper)
Soft, Cassius!—have a Care! nor arm Revenge
Too Strongly:—lest it look, perhaps, like Baseness.
One were enough, to bid a Tyrant die,
Who dar'd Himself, die with him.

CASSIUS.
Roman's numberless
Stand, now prepar'd for Summons.

BRUTUS.
Summon none:
Shou'd they be sold to Cæsar, they're untrusty:—
And, if they fear him, heartless.—

CASSIUS.
Such a Tongue,
As Cicero's.

CIMBER.
No.—let us list no Praters;
These Speechmen of the Senate range but Periods:
Tropes are their Javelins:—Climax forms their Ranks:
And, when they charge, 'tis with some smart Harangue.
Twill be Renown enough, for these Tongue—Cohorts,
To praise our Bravery, when it meets Success:
Or, if it fails, teach pliant Law to teize us.

CASSIUS.
Enough!—then, Cæsar finds us, in the Senate.—

BRUTUS.
There, be it lawful, O, immortal Guiders!
To consecrate this Sword, that, once, was Cato's,
To Cato's Death, reveng'd! and murder'd Pompey's.

(Draws.)
(All the Conspirators draw their Swords.)
CASSIUS.
Now, I will live.—Life, now, becomes a Roman.

BRUTUS.
No.—Let no vain false Hope of Life deceive ye:
Know—yet despise, your Danger.—Cæsar's Friends
Crowd his tame Senate:—Ardent, All! and try'd,
In Service of their Master, while the People,
The suffe'ring People! pleas'd at once, and wretched!
Doat on the Tyrant's Heart, whose Hand they fear!
Think, too, tis Cæsar, we presume to wound:
Cæsar! who aw'd an Army, with his Frown!
Our Death, in the Attempt, is fix'd as Fate:
But, what a Death!—How to be wish'd, and envied!
Dying, that unborn Rome may live, in Liberty!

CASSIUS.
How will our Deaths endear yon aweful Capitol!
That Seat of our Oppression, doom'd by Heaven,
The Scene of our Revenge!

DECIMUS.
—But, shou'd the People—

CIMBER.
Why let the People prate:—So People will—
Bless the Light Murmurings of their hungry Love!
Poor Gnats! They know, tis Summer, now, with Cæsar:
Cloud but his Sunshine—all their Buzzing ceases.

BRUTUS.
(They kneel, Brutus continues standing.)
Kneel, gener'ous Friends: Raise your Right Hands, to Heaven;
Swear—by the all-dreaded Powers, to wait my Call:
Nor, till I sound him, touch the Life of Cæsar.—

All the Conspirators.
We swear.—

BRUTUS.
—But shou'd he—(some kind God restrain him!)
Force my afflicted Hand, to point the Way.—
Then,—by that thin, pale, Flight of Roman Ghosts,
Whose hov'ring Forms skim o'er th' unburied Bones,
Which the wan Moon sees whit'ning twelve lost Fields!
Their Murd'rer, if he Reigns, in Rome. (All)
shall die!

CASSIUS.
Brutus, kneel with us.—Rome exempts no Knee:

BRUTUS.
(Kneels.)
Blast, Heaven! The Man, who spares a Tyrant's Life!
Be he Son, Patron, Brother, Friend, or—Father!

BRUTUS.
Or Father?—Cassius!

CASSIUS.
Son, Friend, Father, Brother:
Tyrants can Claim no Kindred: They renounce
All social Ties:—And hate a hating World.
The expanding Soul, that swells a Roman Breast.
Stretch'd beyond Rights of Blood, attones 'em, All,
By Virtue, Glory, Liberty, and Law.

BRUTUS.
Be it, then, Sworn.— (All)
—By Earth, and Heaven, we swear.

BRUTUS.
Soul-shaking Oath!—tis past, and, from this Moment,
(Rise and put up their Swords.)
No Man has Parent, Child, or Friend—but Rome,
If there, among us, shrinks one recreant Slave,
Curse him, ye Gods! For every Guilt of Cæsar!
And never let his Race know Comfort, more.
(loud Thunder.)
Hark! the confirming Powers approve my Curse—
Or, testify Dislike, in Peals of Thunder!

CASSIUS.
Let 'em call on: The Brave, they know, are ready,

BRUTUS.
We meet, then, at the Capitol.

CASSIUS.
—Haste, Decimus—
With heedful Caution, Summon each great Name,
That gilds our Glorious List:—previous, we meet,
(Immortal Brutus!) in thy aweful Grot.
There, shalt thou fan their Fire; confirm their Hearts:
Unite their Purpose, and instruct their Hands:
That one concurring Spirit may direct,
And no Confusion Rise, to blast our Vengeance.

BRUTUS.
'Tis dreadful!—But, 'tis necessary:—Mark!
When yon pale Sun, that, with receding Ray,
Starts from our notic'd Purpose!—When that Sun,
Slow-measuring, sheds an Hour—This private Key
Admits you, thro' the Grove:—Be punctual All.
(Gives Cassius a Key, then, advances to a Statue of Cato.)
Cato! Lost Soul of Freedom! Witness for me!
Here, I divest my Heart of Love, Grief, Pity,
Of every tender call of pleading Nature,
That moves too soft a Pang.
(The Thunder repeated.)
—Again!—'Tis Strange!
Why hangs this infelt Weight, upon my Purpose?
Can it be terrible.—To die for Rome!
What has he left to fear, who saves his Country!

(Enter Marcellus, hastily.)
MARCELLUS.
Break off—or, be prevented:—Cæsar comes.

CASSIUS.
Now, let him die.

BRUTUS.
—Avoid him, thro' that Gallery.

[Exeunt Conspirators.