 | The Roman Revenge |  |
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:
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.)
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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.
| The Roman Revenge | |