 | Pompey the Great |  |
Scene the Fourth.
Cæsar, Cornelia, Cleopatra, Achoreus, &c.Cornel.
Cæsar my Voyage now no more Retard,
The Traitors have receiv'd their full Reward,
Their King against thy Will has suffer'd too,
And my Revenge has nothing here to do;
This barbarous Shore let me no longer View,
Where every Object does my Grief renew,
And with fresh Horrour to my Fancy shows,
The Tragick Scene of my unequall'd Woes;
The Rabble Court thee with their Servile noise,
And thy new Triumph all their Throats imploys,
But what I suffer worse than all the rest,
I am Oblig'd by him, I most Detest;
From this Affront 'tis time to set me free,
And let my Hatred act with Liberty,
Only one favour I may still receive,
And that is all which Honour gives me leave,
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To add to what Expects it in this Urn.
Cæsar.
'Tis fit I should the Head to you restore,
Since you may Claim it on so just a score;
But first let's all the Sacred Rites attend,
Which peacefull Ghosts unto Elizium send;
A stately Pile your Hand and mine shall Light,
Which may the Meanness of the first requite,
And in an Urn more fit for their repose,
The Ashes thus United wee'l inclose,
So shall his quiet Spirit rest in peace,
And by our Pious cares all Passion cease.
This Hand which once my Sword against him Drew,
Shall Build the Altars to his Virtue due,
On which as to the Gods wee'l Incense pay,
And Honours he deserves as well as they;
Let us both this from your Impatience gain,
And for those Duties one Day more obtain,
That done, y' are free, go when you please away,
And this your Treasure to great Rome Convey.
Cornel.
No Cæsar, though I know these Ashes be
As dear to Rome, as they are dear to me,
'Tis only thy Defeat can bring us home,
Without that Triumph we will ne're see Rome;
Over thy Grave our Passage thither lies,
We have no Country, untill Cæsar Dyes,
I am for Africk, where the Warr's begun,
By Cato, Scipio, and my Pompey's Son;
To these King Juba has his Forces sent,
And Fortune her Injustice may repent,
The Reliques of Pharsalia there you'l find,
Another World against your Arms combind;
My self will bring these Ashes to the Field,
And my just Tears shall their Assistance yield,
From Rank to Rank thus Arm'd about I'le go,
And every step shall haste thy Overthrow;
The Souldiers then may lay their Eagles by,
This Urn shall lead them on to Victory,
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And in their Souls a deep Impression make.
To give him his last Honours you pretend,
Honours indeed which on your Self descend,
I must Assist, the Victor I obey,
But never hope to move my Heart this way;
My Helpless loss admits of no relief,
My Hate must be as endless as my Grief,
That and my Life an Equal course shall run,
And end Persuing what I have Begun.
Cæsar.
Nature her Ignorance has here confest,
To place this Spirit in a Womans Breast.
Cornel.
Yet as a Roman I must needs confess,
My Hate prevails not to Esteem thee less,
At once I Praise thee and thy Life persue,
That to thy Virtue, this my Honour due;
Once set at Liberty, I'le use my Art,
T'engage both Men and Gods to take my part,
Those Gods who when our Cause was lately tryd,
So Partial seem'd against the Juster side;
Those Gods that let their Thunder idle lye,
When they saw Pompey for his Country Dye,
In time we hope their Errour they may see,
And to the VVorld repair that Injury;
But though they never mend the Fault they made,
I have a Zeal which does not want their Aid,
And to Destroy thee, if no means prevail,
Here's Cleopatra that can never fail.
I see your Flames, and know her Beauties force,
That you already think of a Divorce,
Your Country's Laws under your Feet you'l tread,
To make your way to an Ægyptians Bed,
Then the free Romans shall attempt your Life,
VVithout all Scruple, when a Queen's your VVise.
In your neglected Friends, you'l hope in vain,
VVho in your Blood will wash their Countrys stain.
Keeping your word, Farewell, for in my stay
Your Love and Ruine find the same Delay.
[Exit.
| Pompey the Great | |