University of Virginia Library

ACT. V.

SENE I.

A Court before the Capitol.
CASSIUS, CIMBER, CINNA, CASCA.
CIMBER.
Sure! Never Day ran back, like this, before!
So sweet a Dawn, so chang'd, at once to Tempest:

CASSIUS.
Chang'd, like the Fate of Rome! Above, tis Sunshine
Beneath, tis, all, due Darkness!—Senate's Power
Shall brighten, and plebeian Clouds ride low.
What hasty Footstep that?

CIMBER.
—'Tis Decimus!

(Enter Decimus.)
CASSIUS.
Alone! Why comes not Brutus?

DECIMUS.
—Near thy House
I met him hast'ning to suppend our Meeting:
And urg'd the general Cause, that claim'd his Presence.

CASSIUS.
He shou'd not, yet, have heard of Portia's Danger,
Nor Cæsar's Warrant, found.—

DECIMUS.
I told no more
Than that Torbilius, trusted with our Names,
Lodg'd 'em, in Cæsar's Hand.—So, what, before,
Was common Glory, common Safety, now,
Demanded instant:—therefore, here we met,
No more to part, till Rome, or Cæsar fall.

CASSIUS.
Heard he that, firmly?

DECIMUS.
He's at Hand, to join us.

CASSIUS.
Then Fate is Ours: And this proud Climber's Height
Sinks to the Level, where his Name shall rot:
Mark, with what Ease a Tyrant's Empire falls!
But yesterday, this Man's exalted Praise
Trod on the Stars: and Cæsar was a God!
To Day, the insulting Foot of Rome shall spurn him,
And mix his powerless Ashes with the Dust.

CIMBER.
Hark! Was not that a Scream?

CASSIUS.
Some Prophet Raven,
That, conscious, on the Dame's high mould'ring roof,
Feels, and foretells, that Cæsar's Ghost is rising.

(A Noise hear'd, without, like the Fall of a Building)
CIMBER.
Some horrid Ruin that!

CASSIUS.
Look out, good Decimus.

DECIMUS.
(Looking out)
Amazement! The long, venerable, Line
Of Statues,—All Rome's old, and aweful Chiefs
Lie fallen! And shapeless Fragments load the Floor!

(Long, and loud Thunder.)
CIMBER.
Shoud not a Change, like this, that mixes Palaces
With the up heaving Center, at the Moment,
When our bold Purpose moves, alarm our Caution?

CASSIUS.
Blow, till ye burst, ye big-mouth'd Menacers!
'Tis but a Breeze, to Hearts, inflam'd for Glory.

CIMBER.
Breeze!—In such Breezes, Furies imp their Wings
Death! The Storm howls, as if the Winds felt Envy;
And woudd out-mouth the Thunder!—Call ye This
A Breeze?—my Feet want Steadiness!—The Pavement,
Heav'd, in disjointed Surge, rolls loose beneath me.

CASSIUS.
By Heaven, tis Glorious Ruin!—Round our Heads
Fall Rome's imperial Turrets:—Earthquake, and Tempest
Plow the mix'd Elements: Noises, far heard,
Live, in the Winds, and Voice the frantic Air.
Day darkens: and the Eye of Heaven seems quench'd.
Nature's wide-loos'ning Fabrick shakes, about us!
While we, with Nerves of Steel, press on to Vengeance.
Oh! my brave Friends! What future Fame is Ours!
What Cato cou'd not—what nor Asia's Aid,
Nor Pompey's failing Fleets—nor tawny Afric,
With all her Sun-defying Swarms of War!
We few-we, Roman Few—have done—this Day.

CIMBER.
One Way, or other, we shall serve the Senate:
Living, we set it free.—And, if we die,
We teach it to vote safe;—and rail, in private.

DECIMUS.
See! What a pensive Visage Brutus brings!

CASSIUS.
Save us! He looks, as if the tumbling Statues
Had crush'd him into Cowardice!

SCENE II.

CASSIUS, CIMBER, DECIMUS, CINNNA, CASCA, BRUTUS.
BRUTUS.
Rome's lost.

CIMBER.
Then, Cæsar timely warn'd, has shun'd his Danger.

BRUTUS.
No.—The last Thing, Cæsar will shun, is Danger.
—Roman's! Attend; and weep your Country's Fate:
I swore the Death of Cæsar:—Curse me not,
Ye Parent Gods!—I thought it due, to Rome.
To Law—to Liberty—to Man's lost Rights;
To Power's Restraint, and a deliver'd World.
The Hour—the dreadful Hour, high Heaven! I nam'd!
Ev'n now, its, last dire Moment calls on Brutus:
And now, ev'n now, Brutus is Cæsar's—Son!

(Conspirator's, all start, and look down, in a speechless Astonishment.)
BRUTUS
(after a long Pause.)
Servilia was in secret wedlock join'd—
And gave Herself, and me—to Cæsar's Love.

(Conspirators still silent, fix'd, and amaz'd.)
BRUTUS.
(After another short Pause.)
Is there a Roman, so benumb'd of Soul,
So firm, so passionless, so steel'd a Stoick!
So nerv'd, beyond all vulgar Strength of Man!
That he dares urge what Brutus swore to do?
Cassius!—Thou tremblest.—

CASSIUS.
Thou shalt tremble, too,
At the last Counsel, I will live, to give thee.

BRUTUS.
Think, e're thou speak'st—for Nature is at Stake;
And, list'ning, dreads th' Advice, thou dar'st obtrude.

CASSIUS.
Mark then—were Brutus of Plebeian Mould,
Cassius wou'd say, serve on: The Tyrant Son
Shou'd aid th' Ambition of the Tyrant Father.
Rome had but mark'd two Cæsar's for one Fate.
But thou wer't born her Friend—thy Name is Brutus,
And every Brutus breath'd, to bless Mankind.
Thy changeless Heart, inflexible for Virtue,
Patriots a Tyrant Blood, tho' drawn from Cæsar.

BRUTUS.
Be dumb—be warn'd—'twere impious more to hear thee,

CASSIUS.
Nay mark—thou know'st what Cataline propos'd,
When, with a Rebel Hand, he shook his Country:

BRUTUS.
I know it, Cassius!

CASSIUS.
—On that lawless Day,
When, desp'rate, he presum'd an Act, like Cæsar's,
Suppose—all—wily, with a Tyrant's Craft,
This Catiline had claim'd thee, for his Son?

BRUTUS.
Roman thou wrong'st me.—

CASSIUS.
Call me, then no Roman:

BRUTUS.
Twas a disgraceful Question:—It imply'd,—
A Brutus might be brib'd, to wrong his Country.

CASSIUS.
Cæsar yet lives.—

BRUTUS.
—Cæsar—and Catiline!
Gods!—what Disparities thou yok'st together!
—That Cæsar's Policy not feigns me His,
Learn—I have Proof, too plain.—Servilia spoke
Spoke, from the Shades of Death, and own'd me Cæsar's.

CASSIUS.
Did her Ghost tell this Dream?

BRUTUS.
The Dream is Thine,
Light Cassius!—She confess'd it, in her Letter:

CASSIUS.
Cæsar has Arts, beyond thy honest reaching,—
But, let it pass—Cæsar is Cæsar, still;—
Be Brutus cheated, by his Tale, or no—
He no less guilty.—Thou no less a Roman.

BRUTUS.
If he's my Father.—

CASSIUS.
Rome was still his Mother:
Where lives a bolder Paricide, than Cæsar?

BRUTUS.
Away—my shrinking Soul abhors thy Purpose!
If I am Cæsar's Son, Cæsar, to me,
Is faultless:—Nature made me not his Judge.
And, till Rome's Gods redeem her, Brutus dares not.

CASSIUS.
If Duty binds—thy Soul was Son to Cato:
He form'd thy Truth, thy Firmness, and thy Virtue:
He taught thee to revere the Gods, thou swor'st by:
And feel the sacred Force, that firms an Oath.

BRUTUS.
Perish an Oath—against the Birth, I breathe by!

CASSIUS.
Thou but contribut'st Faith, to help Deceit!
Thou art not—can'st not be—the Son of Cæsar:
I know, thou art not.

BRUTUS.
Cassius!—If I am!
—What Clash of Contradictions rends my Soul!
Horror, and Piety, divide my Virtue,
Save Cæsar, all ye Gods!—But save Rome from him,

CASSIUS.
Cæsar must not be safe,—Or, Rome must fall.

BRUTUS.
Oh, Cassius! partial Hatred weighs unjustly:
Mercy so tempers his Pretence to Power,
That Tyranny grows safe—and looks, like Freedom.

CASSIUS.
There is an awful Equity, that towre's
Above Men's private Passions:—Tyrants die.—
And Sons of Tyrants want their Father's Virtues:
Then bleeds a groaning State! and Right, and Rapine
Descend from Heir to Heir, for ten red Ages,
E're comes Another Cæsar.—Hence, 'tis Mercy,
When One Man dies, to save the Blood of Nations.

BRUTUS.
Dies, Cassius!—by a Son!—Oh! righteous Heaven!
Avert the impending Horror!—Foe to Nature,
Hint it no more—Or, Brutus, turns the Sword,
Thou point'st at Cæsar's Life—against thy own.

CASSIUS,
I've heard I am too hasty!—Judge me Romans:—
You, who have seen the Proof, that Heaven has lent me;
Judge, to what daring Length, this rash, blind, Man
Provokes his Friend's Impatience:—Let that punish thee.
(Gives him Cæsar's Table-Book.)
Read there, what envied Rights thy Birth derives
From Cæsar's Blood—who, thus, cou'd sentence Thine.

BRUTUS.
(Reading.)
“Wrong'd Cæsar claims Redress from Curio's Sword,
“Be this his Warrant for dispatching—Brutus.
—If this was Cæsar's, he believ'd me not
His Son.—and I have treated Truth, unkindly,

CASSIUS.
Yes—thou hast thank'd us well!—these Friends!—this Cassius,
Who in the Grove, from Cæsar's Murderers, sav'd
Doom'd Portia, thy Belov'd! on Death's dire Verge.
And seizing Curio, found that Warrant with him.

BRUTUS.
(Reviewing the Warrant.)
By Heav'n! tis Cæsar's Hand.

CASSIUS.
—Tis Cæsar's Heart:
He judg'd the Virtue, like his own—Disguise:
So try'd Corruption's Power—and held out Hope
Of proud Succession: Thou, if Cæsar's Son.
Wert Heir to Cæsar's Empire.—Failing, there,
He found One surer Way:—Marius, his Uncle,
Had taught him, that dead Foes resist no longer.

BRUTUS.
Oh! it is all, too plain!—Come, Cassius! Cimber!
Decimus! Casca! Cinna!—Guardian Friends?
Dwell in my Bosom; share the Joy, you give:
Help me to thank the Gods, I'm once more Brutus?
Oh; I cou'd play the Wanton—let loose Pleasure;—
Laugh with the light: grow thoughtless, and forget
Rome's Danger, for a Day—to Cherish Rapture!
Now, where's the Tempest?—where's the Thunder, Now?
Loud let it rend, unfear'd, the Arch of Heaven:
Tis ominous, no longer:—let it roar
Delightful? Brutus is no Son of Cæsar!
That! let it swell that Sound?—let it to Earth,
Air—Heaven, and lowest Hell's lost Hope—proclaim,
That Roman Brutus is not Son to Cæsar.

CASSIUS.
Thank the kind Gods, who sav'd thee from such Horror.

BRUTUS.
Indulgent Heaven! were I like happier Roman's,
Nature had now set free my patriot Hand,
And Brutus were again, but Friend to Cæsar.

CASSIUS.
Time calls;—the Senate waits us.

BRUTUS.
Stay, stay Cassius!
I feel, I know not what, of Nameless Doubting,
Still, hov'ring dark, and slack'ning half my Heart:
Oh! I am, yet, his Son.—A Friends a Father:
And That kind Title has been, ever, Cæsar's.
(Trumpet heard at a distance.)
Help Heaven! that Trumphet calls him to his Fate!
Fly, Decimus? prevent him: court him hither:
For the last Time, I'll press my Power, to save him.

CASSIUS.
Think—how expos'd thou leav'st the Friends of Rome!

BRUTUS.
If I betray you, may the Gods, I swore by,
Revenge your Cause! and Rome renounce my Name!

CASSIUS.
On thy known Truth, deserted we depend:
Fix'd in Belief, as if those Gods, invok'd,
Stood Pledges for thy Purpose.—On to the Senate.

(Exeunt all, except Brutus.)
BRUTUS.
(alone.)
Immortal Taskers of this fatal Moment!
Free my entangled Thoughts from gathering Darkness,
And let Rome's safety flow from Cæsar's Will!
—He comes—Oh, Shade of Cato! guard my Virtue

SCENE III.

BRUTUS, CÆSAR. and LICTORS.
CÆSAR.
(To the Lictors.)
Retire, and wait within:—I wou'd be private.
(Exeunt Lictors.)
They tell me, thou ha'st Secrets to impart:
What are they?

BRUTUS.
—May the Soul of Rome inspire me!

CÆSAR.
Wilt thou be Son to Cæsar?

BRUTUS.
—Cæsar's Son,—
With Pride—if Cæsar will be Son of Rome.—

CÆSAR.
Again?—presumptous Weakness! know thy Duty:
Whether wou'd popular Pretension drive Thee?

BRUTUS.
To live for Liberty.—Or die for Glory:

CÆSAR.
Thou mean'st a Substance, but thou serv'st a Name.

BRUTUS.
Rome's Senate held her Freedom more than Name.

CÆSAR.
Her Senate, rich and proud, oppress'd her People:
Her People, poor and headstrong, spurn'd their Yoke:
Hence, rose the new Necessity, thou see'st not,
Of some unformal, Self-supporting Sword,
To cut Sedition boldly, to it's Root,
And rectify the crooked Growth of Empire.
This done—regenerate Rome grown fit for Liberty,
Make it thy future Gift:—and, therefore reign.
Now, 'tis Seditian's Cloak.—Her Trumpet's Call,
That State-disturbers arm by.

BRUTUS.
Teach the Senate
These found Defects; and shape their wish'd Redress,
Theirs is the Right to think, for councell'd Rome:
Cæsar a King—Were all his Virtues Stars,
Rome's Rights invading, makes his Virtues—Crimes.
Cæsar a Citizen, protecting Law,
Mix'd with the People, reigns the People's God.

CÆSAR.
What Law? what People?—Government grew Graft,
And Violation throve by Law's Protection:
Power's tott'ring Ballance shall be fix'd more justly.

BRUTUS.
What single Hand has Right to fix Rome's Scale?

CÆSAR.
All Men have Nature's Right, to bless their Country.

BRUTUS.
Blessings are Insults, if by Force, impos'd.

CÆSAR.
Then Heaven, that bless'd an unconcurring World,
Insulted Nature's Freedom.

BRUTUS.
Give up the Stubborn;
Trust Rome to Rome; and Freedom, to the Gods.

CÆSAR.
Errors that spring from Pity, call for Pity.

BRUTUS.
Pity thy Country's Tears: the Groans of Millions!

CÆSAR.
I did.—and, therefore, I assum'd Dominion.

BRUTUS.
Dominion adds no Fame to Worth like Cæsar's:
Nature proclaim'd Thee Noblest.—Deeds, like thine,
Raise their Performer's Rank, till King sounds poorly,
Times purple plunderers, All, shall steal thy Name,
And bid their proudest Title be but—Cæsar.

CÆSAR.
Surphace, without a Depth!—false Patriots, thus,
Busied in Forms, let slip the Soul of Purpose!
While with delusive Toil, thou plow'st for Freedom,
Cheated by factious Seed, thou sow'st but Slavery.
Against One fansied Tyrant, blindly warm'd,
Thou, for a Hundred, help'st to curse thy Country.

BRUTUS.
They curse their Country, who disturb her Peace;
And march their iron Legions, o'er her Bosom.

CÆSAR.
I shew'd thee, obstinate, persisting Rebel!
Peace had no Root, in Rome:—Her Rights were Forms:
Her Senate—a loud Hive of insect Kings;
That robb'd, and stung: and call'd Oppression—Priviledge.
Their lawful sovereign Lord, the People—Slaves:
Slaves! in the Mockery of imagin'd Freedom!
See thy Misguiders rightly.—Trust a Father:
Affection cannot injure:—Thou art pale!
Look on me Brutus!—What new Dream disturbs thee?

BRUTUS.
—Wake me some Roman God!

CÆSAR.
—Wake thee, to feel
Nature's lost Power.

BRUTUS.
—I feel it All, for Cæsar.

CÆSAR.
What woud'st thou teach my Doubts to apprehend?

BRUTUS.
Vengeance, and Death, from Romans.

CÆSAR.
Vengeance is Mine:
I won it in the Field,—to throw it back,—
And scorn'd the unmanly Trophy: Death is my Friend:
Come, when it will—tis but discharge from Care:
'Tis but to 'scape false Fears, and real Sorrows,
'Tis but to rest from Wrongs, and rise to Glory.

BRUTUS.
There's not an unbought Roman, in the Senate,
But meditates thy Murder.

CÆSAR.
Murderers, Brutus;
Kill their own Character:—He, whom they strike,
Dies, to his Memory's Profit.—All, they can dare,
When they attempt like Men,—like Man, Itll meet.

BRUTUS.
But shou'd they mean some dark, dishonest Blow?

CÆSAR.
Then Heav'n, that hates the base, will strike the Strikers.

BRUTUS.
If thou can'st fear, fear All.

CÆSAR.
To say, I cannot,
Were light:—I will not, Brutus.—Feeble Fear
Is a low, fruitless, Passion:—It unnerves
Resistance; and obscures Prevention's Eye:
Meets a short Blow, half-way;—and aids its Weakness
Life is not worth a Fear.

BRUTUS.
Fear for Mankind;
Fear, for the fate of Rome, that loses Cæsar.

CÆSAR.
No more. I know Rome's wants, and reign, to serve her
Menace to me, means Nothing: spare thy Terrors:
Not ev'n the Threats of Heaven alarm the Just:
Shou'd the contending Elements break loose,
And into formless Atoms, rend the World,
The Friend of Truth must fall—but falls unshaken.

BRUTUS.
Oh, Cæsar!—my full Heart!—farewell, forever.

(Turning away, Disordered.)
CÆSAR.
Brutus, in Tears!—so mourn we Griefs, we make?
Immortal Gods!—what Madness blinds Conceit!
He, who, unmov'd, resists the Voice of Nature,
Melts, in imagin'd Woes, and weeps for Rome.

BRUTUS.
No:—I but die for Rome.—I weep for Cæsar.

[Exit, in Confusion.

SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, TRINOVANTIUS.
CÆSAR.
What? my bold Briton—Welcome, Trinovantius,
I love thy Country's Virtues.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Cæsar, hail!
When thy Friends fear—and ev'en a Brutus weeps.
May thy Gods guard thee, as thy Soldier wou'd!

CÆSAR.
Long, has thy brave and faithful Cohort serv'd Me;
What are their Wants?—teach Cæsar how to please Thee.

TRINOVANTIUS.
No Briton wastes a Prayer upon Himself,
When his Friend's Life's in Danger.

CÆSAR.
What then woud'st thou?

TRINOVANTIUS.
The Senate, met, and full of seeming Faith,
Wait thy wish'd Presence;—Rome's rais'd Throne invitee, thee,
Thy plain, well-meaning Friends, the Populace,
Bear offer'd Incense, thro' the Streets of Rome;
And pay their willing Worship to thy Statues.
All the pleas'd City smiles.—Yet, cou'd I move thee;
Cou'd thy old Soldier's first-felt Fear perswade;—
Cæsar shou'd shun the sad-presaging Hour,
And bid this Diadem attend his Leisure.

CÆSAR.
I thought, the Sons of Thame's had felt no Fears.

TRINOVANTIUS.
No Fears they feel from Earth's uniting Anger:
But, when Heaven frowns, 'tis impious, not to tremble.
All Nature, thro' her Works, seems, now, convuls'd:
—I met the palid Vestals, wildly screaming:
Fled, from the extinguish'd Fire, robeless, and bare:
And blind amidst the Dust of crumbling Towers;
Shook from the dark'nd Summits!—Doors of Sepulchre's
Untouch'd, fly open: and from silent Urns,
Where slept in Monumental Rest, the Bones
Of Rome's first Founders, slow-ascending Shades
Catch form;—and hov'ring, in the quick'n'd Air,
View some sad Fate, they want the Power to tell:
And shrink, and start—and fly the sick'ning Sun.
—Such boding Signs fore-note impending Fate:
And Heaven, from whom Kings hold, postpones thy Claim.

CÆSAR.
Fie Trinovantius!—'Tis to bold for Man!
'Tis Insolence, to list the Eternal Gods:
Make Nature busy, and un-hinge a World.
To lengthen, or cut short, a Mortal's Moment?
Th' all-ruling Powers have fix'd our destin'd Space;
And we, too weak to shun, must wait their Will.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Tis whisper'd,—some great Names unite for Mischief.

CÆSAR.
Ambition, born for Contest, owes Contempt
To Threat'ners.—

TRINOVANTIUS.
Yes.—But, cautious Note of Treason,
Timely, and oft, averts the Traitor's Purpose.

CÆSAR.
To live in daily Dread, is daily dying:
'Tis worse than Death:—'Tis Sickness never cur'd!

TRINOVANTIUS.
Suffer my Briton's to surround the Temple,
And trust malicious Senates to their Eye.

CÆSAR.
Who awes his Enemy, submits to fear him.
—Stay, my good Friend, thou comst no farther on.

TRINOVANTIUS.
I leave thee, Cæsar! with a strange Regret!
For my fore-boding Heart is filled with Terror.

CÆSAR.
Be comforted.—Thou over-rat'st my Danger.
Three hundred new Patrician's swell the Senate:
All, mine, for their own Safety:—Half the old,—
Names, like the Julian, fam'd, e're Rome was Rome!
Converts to slow-found Truth, embrace her warmly,
These, nobly owning, teach the Rest to owne,
When Error is Disgrace, Retraction's Virtue.
What apprehend'st thou, then, from that small Remnant,
Whose Weakness is too wise, to dare their Wish.

TRINOVANTUS.
O, Pallas! Pallas!—Guide of Martial Cæsar!
How grew the Master-Soldier of the World
Unmindful, what Success, in Deeds of Blood,
Crowns unexpected Rashness!—If we but think
Th'Attempt impossible, we make it safe.
—Had (but that Heaven forbids) this unfear'd Few,
Weak as they seem, dar'd in full Senate, strike,
Firm, and combin'd, at Cæsar's sacred Life;
His Friends, th'astonish'd many—powerless unnerv'd,
In Gaze of helpless Horror, had sat passive;
Each doubting each—a Foe; till Fate had reach'd thee,
And, while Prevention paus'd, Presumption triumph'd.

CÆSAR.
Briton! Thy Heart is manly: and thy Mind
Adorn'd with every Gift of Faith, and Wisdom!
Act, as thy Doubts inspire thee.—Since thou fear'st,
'Tis strange, that I, too, cannot!—Yet, beware,
Thou call'st no Aid of Arms:—Civil to Civil,
And, but to martial military.—Hear'st thou
(Loud Cry of A Cæsar—A Cæsar!)
Yon shoutig Swarm, that shakes Rome's echoing Domes?
Lead those loud Voters, from the o'rcrowded Streets,
To where their Cry may reach the Senate's Ear:
'Twill caution Guilt, perhaps! And aid Resolves.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Thanks to the Gods, thy Friends! Who led thee, once,
To charm our fraudless Isle!—By them inspir'd,
One grateful Briton saves the Roman Soul!

(Cæsar, and Trinovantius, turn to go off, on opposite Sides.)

SCENE V.

TORBILIUS. (Ent'ring hastily.)
TRINOVANTIUS.
(meeting him.)
Bless thy quick Step! Com'st thou to hold back Cæsar?

TORBILIUS.
Brave Islander, I do:

TRINOVANTIUS.
Emperor! Dictator!

CÆSAR.
Hush thy too busy Terrors.

TRINOVANTIUS.
(Aside.
Hold him, sweet Roman!
Tun'd Eloquence is thine: Tell him some Tale,
No matter on what Subject, make it but long,

[Exit hastily.
CÆSAR.
(seeing Torbilius.)
Why art Thou, here!—Did Brutus vote for Murder?

TORBILIUS.
Shun the met Senate:—All mean Murder, there:

CÆSAR.
All cannot.—Thou defam'st too broadly:—Who?

TORBILIUS.
The Patriot Faction.

CÆSAR.
Thou has't yoak'd Ideas,
Which Reason must divide.—Patriot, and Faction,
Like Oil on Waters, mix, when strongly shaken:
But never can unite.—disjoin'd, by Nature!

TORBILIUS.
Patriot's can envy.—And who envies—hates.

CÆSAR.
Let 'em hate on.—In Men, who love their Country,
Envy but quickens Virtue.

TORBILIUS.
This black List
Contains O, Cæsar! thirty Traitor's Names:
Traitors, by great Calphurnia's Care detected:
Traitors, who under Friendship's fair Disguise,
Have with confederate Malice, sworn thy Murder.

CÆSAR.
(Taking the Roll.)
Did my Calphurnia send thee?

TORBILIUS.
Cæsar, she did:

CÆSAR.
My Friend's Names, say'st thou, in this Roll of Traitors?

TORBILIUS.
All thy most trusted, most distinguished Friends?

CÆSAR.
(After a Pause, returning the Roll, unopened.)
Take back thy bloody List. and hide Man's baseness:
Where Trust is tainted by such dire Deceit,
Life is not worth preserving.

TORBILIUS.
Lov'd Calphurnia.
Demands it:—for her sake, repress thy Scorn.—
Stay but to go well-guarded.

CÆSAR.
Against Enemies,
Cæsar suffices for the Guard of Cæsar:—
But, against Friends, Distrust were Violation.

TORBILIUS.
(Holding his Robe.)
Stay, but to be convinced—ill-fated Cæsar!

CÆSAR.
I will not be convinced, that Faith is Weakness,
Who wou'd take Pains to lose that Peace, he feels,
From generous Confidence in human Virtues?
If there are Wretches, who, oblig'd, betray,
'Tis Comfort, not to know 'em.

[Exit Cæsar

SCENE VI.

To TORBILIUS enter TRINOVANTIUS and two Roman Officers.
TORBILIUS.
Oh! farewell,
Rome's Fame!—Her Evil Genius has prevail'd:
And Cæsar's Death shall doom declining Empire.

[Exit.
TRINOVANTIUS.
(Repelling a crowd of Plebeians?
Stand back, keep distance; reverence the sitting Senate:
Whom will you crown your King?

PLEBEIANS.
A Cæsar.! A Cæsar!

TRINOVANTIUS.
Bless your concurring Joy! ye grateful People!
Cæsar is yours—and you are justly Cæsar's!
Crown him with Rapture.—For were Cæsar King,
Rome had no Tyrants: All your lordly Patrons,
Stripp'd of oppressive Power, shall call you Brothers.
Office, with equal Eye, shall search for Skill,
And Liberty become the poor Man's Claim.
There are, who justly dread in Cæsar's Crown;
His Love of the Unhappy:—dread his Pity.
He will not see the groaning Debtor sold,
To feed the rich Man's Luxury.—No Tears
Of starving Want;—no iron Hand of Law;
No Slaves to fellow-subjects, shall make sad
The Streets of happy Rome—if Cæsar reigns.
A cry from within—Liberty! Liberty: Liberty!
Hark! in that Cry, arose no voice of Joy!
By Heaven; they Murder Cæsar! guard this Door,
Good Romans! Fulvius! Ætius! your try'd Swords,
And mine, dare enter.—Follow Me, and save him.

(As they are going off, with their Swords drawn; they are stopt by Antony, who enters disordered.)
ANTONY.
Spare your meant Aid:—alas! it comes to late:
Murder, with all Briareus's hundred Hands,
Pierc'd the World's Soul—and Conquest is no more.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Curses consume their Names; what villain Hand!—

ANTONY.
Casca struck first.—Cæsar, up-starting seiz'd
The assassin Steel—back plung'd it home,—and cry'd,
No—villain Casca! No—thus, thy own Poiniard
Corrects thy feeble Purpose:—die—die—Traitor!
Down to the expecting Shades—say Cæsar sent thee.
There, press'd beneath a storm of Wounds, at once,
He stood, and frown'd, and bled, on every Side:
Moving at last, Majestic—the red Hand
Of miscreant Brutus met his radiant Eye.
Then thus.—All, cruel Murderers? what! All?
And Thou! My Son! My Brutus! Nay then, to conquer,
Were to perpetuate Pain:—and Death grows Joy.
Speaking, he sunk:—Soft, o'er his manly form,
Smooth'd his disorder'd Robe—and, sighless, died.

(Cry again, from within, Liberty! Liberty!)
TRINOVANTIUS.
Edge this true Sword, kind Heaven! they dare descend.

(Advancing to meet the Conspirators, he is held back by Marc Antony.)

SCENE VII.

TRINOVANTIUS, ANTONY, and Officers, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, MARCELLUS, with bloody Daggers.

'Tis past—Ambition bleeds; and Rome is free:
Hail! Lords of Rome reviv'd! Nation of Princes.
Now once more, Masters of a World, you won!
Dare vindicate the Hands, that broke your Chain.

TRINOVANTIUS.
(struggling against Antony.)
Cowards! cold-hearted Cowards!—You, who thus
Fear to Revenge—'tis you, have murder'd Cæsar.

ANTONY.
No, Trinovantius.—Trust the Gods, and Rome.
With Cæsar's Vengeance!—carefull, thro' the Crowd,
I seek, but find not Brutus.

CIMBER.
(Enters wounded)
—Who nam'd Brutus?

CASSIUS.
'Twas Antony—come forward, valiant Cimber!
Where ha'st thou left our Chief?

CIMBER.
[Unhappy Brutus!
Struck, by the Words, and Look, of dying Cæsar,
He bow'd to weep upon the Wound, he made:
When, from a Gallery, bursting in, above,
Held twixt the frantic Vestals, there appear'd
Cato's yet living Sister—lost, Servilia!
See! cry'd the breathless Trembler,-Traitor! Paricide!
Call'd by thy Crimes, in vain, from a Retreat,
Where hid, (not dead) I shun'd a hated World,
Thy Mother's blasted Eye,—fell Monster! Murderer!
Finds thee, too late: And every God shall Curse thee,
She scream'd, and sunk, amid the vestal Train.
Brutus! all Wild, as with a Fury's Horror,
Gaz'd, up, down, round—wrung his clos'd Hands—ran—stopt,
Return'd—then, with a bursting sigh, resum'd
Composure: kneel'd, and kiss'd the Robe of Cæsar?
But snatching a fall'n Dagger, rose, distracted,
And cry'd—take, take me Vengeance! Rome is free:
“But Brutus, in her Cause, has stabb'd a Father!
Near, as he aim'd the meditated Blow,
I broke its erring Force—and on this Arm,
Receiv'd the pointed Mischief.—So, prevented,
I left him, 'midst a Guard of weeping Romans.

ANTONY.
Well may he weep!—but when he reads a Charge,
The murder'd Father left the murdering Son;
What will he then endure?—what Cave has Earth,
So deep, so dark, to hide him from Himself!
When he shall see, that, to his bloody Hand;
Cæsar consign'd the Power to fix Rom's Liberty.

CASSIUS.
Thou speak'st in Mystery, Marc Antony!

ANTONY.
Move to the Forum.—In the Face of Rome,
I shall unfold the Will of Rome's lost Guardian.

CASSIUS.
Cou'd artful Antony, prove Cæsar wrong'd;
Cassius wou'd then confess, he was too hasty.

ANTONY.
Traitor! thy willing Envy lov'd the Error:
And thou shalt expiate—far, as lowest Vice.
Too weakly can attone for murdered Virtue,
This Hour's detested Guilt, by Death and Infamy.

TRINOVANTIUS.
Summon the People:—I'll revenge this Murder;
Then, mourn lost Rome—and guard Britannia's Liberty,

(Exeunt Roman Officers, and Plebeians.
ANTONY.
(coming forward.)
Had but Ambition Eyes, to look thro' Time,
Twoud see its fruitless Toil, and shun to climb:
Fondness of Noise, and Crowds of Court would cease,
And Man's whole Happiness be plac'd in Peace.
Safe Liberty would guard each Patriot Throne,
And Tyrant be, henceforth, a Name unknown:
All Fruit of Power is Pain: and what is Fame?
When ev'n a Cæsar's Glory stains his Name.