University of Virginia Library

SCENE 4.

To them. Cæsar, Antonius, Lepidus.
Cornel.
Cæsar be just, and me my Gallies yield,
Achillas and Photinus both are kill'd;
Nor could thy softned heart their Master save,
And Pompey, here, no more revenge can have.
This fatal shoar nothing does me present,
But th'Image of their horrible Attempt,
And thy new Conquest, with the giddy noise
Of People who in change of Kings rejoyce:
But what afflicts me most, is, still to see
Such an obliging Enemy in Thee.
Release me then from this inglorious pain,
And set my Hate at liberty again.
But yet before I go I must request
The Head of Pompey with his Bones may rest.
Give it me then, as that alone, which yet
I can with Honour at thy hands intreat.

Cæsar.
You may so justly that Remainder claim,
That to deny it would be Cæsar's shame:
But it is fit, after so many Woes,
That we should give his wandring Shade repose,
And that a Pile which You and I enflame,
From the first mean one rescue Pompey's name.
That he should be appeas'd our Grief to view;
And that an Urn more worthy him and you
May (the Pomp done, and fire extinct again)
His reunited Ashes entertain.
This Arm, which did so long with him debate,
Shall Altars to his Vertue dedicate,
Offer him Vows, Incense and Victims too,
And yet shall give him nothing but his Due.
I but to morrow for these Rites require,
Refuse me not the Favour I desire;
But stay till these solemnities be past,
And then you may resume your eager haste.
Bring to our Rome a Treasury so great,
That Relique bear—

Cornel.
Not thither Cæsar yet,
Till first thy ruine granted me by Fate,
To these lov'd Ashes shall unlock the Gate;
And thither (though as Dear to Rome as me)
They come not till triumphant over thee.
To Affrick I must this rich burthen bear,
Where Pompey's sons, Cato and Scipio, are.
Who'll finde I hope, (with a brave King ally'd)
Fortune as well as justice on their side:
And thou shalt see there, with new fury hurl'd,
Pharsalia's Ruines arm another World.
From Rank to Rank these Ashes I'll expose
Mixt with my Tears, t'exasperate thy Foes.
My Hate shall guide them too, and they shall fight
With Urns, instead of Eagles in their sight;
That such sad Objects may make them intent
On his Revenge, and on thy Punishment.
Thou to this Hero now devout art grown,
But, raising his Name, do'st exalt thy own.
I must be Witness too! and I submit;
But thou canst never move my Heart with it.
My Loss can never be repair'd by Fate,
Nor is it possible t'exhaust my Hate.
This Hate shall be my Pompey now, and I
In his Revenge will live, and with it die.
But as a Roman, though my Hate be such,
I must confess, I thee esteem as much.
Both these extreams justice can well allow:
This does my Virtue, that my Duty show.
My sense of Honour does the first command,
Concern, the last, and they are both constrain'd.
And as thy Virtue, whom none can betray,
Where I should hate, makes me such value pay:
My Duty so my Anger does create,
And Pompey's Widow makes Cornelia hate.
And I from hence shall hasten, and know then,
I'll raise against thee Gods, as well as Men.
Those Gods that flatter'd thee and me abus'd,
And in Pharsalia Pompey's Cause refus'd;
Who at his Death could Thunderbolts refrain,
To expiate that, will his Revenge maintain:
If not his Soul will give my Zeal such heat,
As I without their help shall thee defeat.
But should all my Endeavours prosper ill,
What I can not do, Cleopatra will.
I know thy flame, and that t'obey its force
Thou from Calphurnia study'st a Divorce:
Now blinded thou wouldst this Alliance make,
And there's no Law of Rome thou dar'st not break.
But know, the Roman Youth think it no sin
To fight against the Husband of a Queen.
And thy offended Friends will at the Price
Of thy best Blood revenge their scorn'd Advice.
I check thy Ruine if I check thy Love;
Adieu; to morrow will thy Honour prove.