 | Pompey the Great |  |
Scene the Fourth.
Enter Cornelia with a Guard.Septim.
My Lord—
Cæsar.
Septimius to your Master go,
No Traitors shall abide with Cæsar, no
Degenerate wretch, that Roman Swords could bring
From Pompeys Camp or mine to serve a King.
Cornel.
Cæsar, for Envious Fates that I out-brave
Can make me but your Prisoner, not your Slave,
Expect not that their Rage should make me Bow
To call you Lord, That Homage is below
Young Crassus, Pompey's Widdow, Scipio's Blood,
And what's yet more a Roman Born, how shou'd
I stoop to that who am so much above
The power of Fortune in my Birth and Love?
For Life, 'tis that I Blush to own, that I
Could stay behind when I saw Pompey Dye;
Though Pity with rude Force impos'd restraint
From Steel, or Waves, It is my shame to want
Those borrowed helps, for loss of such a Friend,
Excess of Grief should Lingring Torments end;
Death were my Glory, that your Captive I
Live, is the last Degree of Misery.
Cæsar.
The Nature of your Grief so Violent,
Does to your Thoughts through a Dark Veil present
All black like Ægypts Monsters, this belief
Of them were Just, not where a Roman's chief.
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O Heav'n! upon my Birth what Planets shin'd,
That I must praise their Clemency to find
My greatest Foe Rule here, rather than one
My Husbands hand Restor'd to his lost Throne?
Cæsar, upon your Triumphs set less rate,
Effects produc'd by my Disastrous fate,
Ruine my Portion to both Husbands paid,
Theirs, and the whole Worlds Fortune has out-weigh'd;
'Tis I, that with my Nuptial Knot ill ty'd,
Twice made the Gods forsake the Juster side.
O that on Cæsar I had been bestow'd,
That Rome to my Misfortune might have ow'd
Her freedome, and thy Family the bane
Of blasting Stars led thither as my Train;
Think not to change my Hate, a Heart like mine
Though force may Captivate, can ne're incline
Basely to sue, what e're your Order Threats,
Cornelia neither Trembles, nor Intreats.
Cæsar.
O worthy half of an Illustrious mate,
Your Courage we admire, and mourn your Fate,
From whence you Sprung, this great Heart amply proves,
And your Just Title to such Worthy Loves;
Young Crassus, Pompey's Virtues, whose reward
Fate could not pay, Scipio's great Soul, the Guard
Of our Distress'd and Threatned Deities
Speak with your Voice, and Sparkle in your Eyes;
No Dame so highly Married, and so Born,
Does Rome the Mistress of the World Adorn;
Would Jove and all the Gods your Scipio sav'd
From Punick Rage, had heard but what I crav'd,
That in your Hero's Brest no mis-conceit
Of my Design had made him thus retreat
To Barbarous Courts, on us he had rely'd,
And stop't his Flight to hear me Justified,
Then had I Triumph'd with a happier Doom
Over Mistakes and Strife, not Him, and Rome,
And he his Losses recompenc'd might prove
In the full Treasure of his Rivals Love:
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Of my Contention was the only End,
His Mind once setled in a quiet state,
His Pardon I had got for partial Fate;
And with it gain'd Romes Alienated heart,
When she had known I had in his a part.
Cornel.
Cæsar, great Promises are safely made,
Where the performance is but to a Shade,
The way's too Common, and we easily find
Men to the Ashes of their Rivals kind;
Be still your self, for we receive your Hate
With better Welcome, than a Love so Late.
Cæsar.
Yet, Madam, since with him these Hopes must Dye,
And Envious Fates so great a Joy deny,
To what is left of him, that is, to You,
Cæsar shall render what to Both is due.
Be Mistriss of your Self, I only pray
The favour from you of a Two Days stay,
To be a Witness after all your Hate,
How I Resent his Loss, Revenge his Fate,
That so the World for all the late Spilt flood,
May know the Price I set on Roman Blood.
Madam, I leave you for a Moment, see
Good Lepidus, that her Attendance be
As Roman Ladies ought, That is, above
Whats paid to greatest Queens, let all things move
At her Command.
Cornel.
O Cruelty of Fate!
That I such Virtue should be forc't to Hate.
Exeunt.
| Pompey the Great | |