 | Pompey the Great |  |
Scene the First.
Enter Ptolomey, Photinus, Achillas, Septimius.Ptolom.
The Fates disclose their Book, and now we Read,
What of the Father and the Son's decreed.
Th'amazed Gods awhile seem'd all divided,
What they demurr'd Pharsalia has decided,
Whose Rivers Dy'd with Blood and Rapid made
Swell with the fury of the Roman blade,
Arms, Eagles, Bodies, all Confus'dly spread,
Cover her Fields infected with the Dead,
Heaps of the Slain deny'd a Funeral,
Just Nature to their own Revenge does call
From putrid Corps exhaling Poysonous airs,
Enough to plague the guilty Conquerours;
This is the Title of great Cæsars cause,
At this dire Evidence by Mars his Laws,
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This pitty'd Leader of the Juster side,
By weary Fortune of success bereft,
Is made a great example, and has left
The world a pattern of her Rowling Wheel,
Whose dismal turn whole Nations with him feel;
He, whose Prosperity was wont to vye,
With his own Wish, from Thessaly does fly,
The Vanquish'd Pompey to our Ports, our Walls,
Our Court approaching for a Refuge calls,
From his own Father in Law, his proud defeat
Seeks where against the Tytans a retreat
The Gods once found, where in despight of all,
They that sav'd Heav'n he thinks may stop his fall,
And sharing the Despair on which he's hurl'd,
May give a prop unto the Tortering world;
For the World's fate on Pompey's fate depends;
And to our Ægypt in distress he sends,
For Aid or Ruine, a Recruit or Grave,
We must sink with him or his Fortunes save.
This tempest Friends your grave advice must calm,
He brings dread Thunder or the welcome Palm,
He Crown'd the Father, Threatens now the Son,
Memphis he gave, and hazards what h' has done;
His ruine I must share, or else comply
With Cæsar's wish and make my Suppliant dye:
The first Unsafe, the other Base and low,
I fear Injustice or an Overthrow,
Do what I can, to whatsoe're I fly,
'Tis full of Danger or of Infamy;
The choice is mine, and you are to consult
What to incline me to by your result;
Pompey's the Theam, and we must have the praise
To trouble Cæsar, or compleat his Bays,
You sit on both their fortunes, upon more
Than any Council ever sat before.
Photin.
Sir, When the Sword great Causes does decide,
Justice and Right good States-men lay aside,
3
Must ballance Strength and not examine Reason;
Weigh your own forces then and Pompey's might,
His Hopes are dash'd, his fruitless Valour light;
'Tis not from Cæsar only that he flies,
But from the dread reproach and wrathfull Eyes
Of Romes great Senate, whose best half invites
To a Rich Banquet the Pharsalian Kites;
He flies the City and the Sons of Rome,
Which his Defeat to Slavery does Doom;
He flies the Rage of Nations and of Crowns,
That would revenge on him their Ransack'd Towns,
Their weakn'd States of Men and Money drain'd,
Their Reputation by his Losses stain'd,
The cause of all their Woes, hated by all,
He flies the whole World shatter'd with his fall;
Will you against such Opposition stand,
And bear his Cause up with a single hand?
The hope he had was in himself alone,
What might be done, he did, he Overthrown
You must give way, will you sustain a weight
Which Rome bends under shrinking from her height?
Maintain a Quarrel that has Thunder strook
The reeling World, and the great Pompey broke?
They that the faults of Fortune would amend,
And be too Just, against themselves Offend,
Whilst indiscreetly kind with vain Effort
They perish with those Friends they would support;
Their faith has a brave Lustre, but they fall,
And honour lessens not the bruise at all.
Side with the Gods, declare your self for Fate,
Draw not on us their Thunder and their Hate,
Ask not how justly, wherefore they chastise,
But worship him whom they would have to Rise,
Approve of their Decrees, applaud their Will,
And whom they Frown on in Obedience Kill.
By divine Vengeance on all sides persu'd
Pompey involves your Ægypt in the fewd;
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Falling your Royal Company would have;
His present coming I Unfriendly deem,
Th'effect of Hatred rather than Esteem;
'Tis to Destroy you, hither now to fly,
And can you doubt if he deserve to Dye?
He should have come with Bays upon his brows,
And with Success have seconded our Vows;
With Feasts and Triumphs then we had receiv'd him,
'Tis his own Fate, not we that have deceiv'd him,
Not him, but his ill Fortune we neglect,
For to his Person we would pay Respect;
Cæsar subdu'd, by the same Sword had Dy'd,
With which less willingly we peirce his side;
Under his Ruine you must shelter take,
And in this Storm his Death your Harbour make,
Which though the World should reckon as a Crime,
Is but a Just compliance with the time;
The strict regard of Justice does annoy
The power of Crowns, and policy Destroy;
'Tis the Prerogative of Kings to spare
Nothing when they their own Destruction fear;
He wants no Danger whom the care of Right
Keeps from Injustice when 'tis requisite;
Who to his Royal Power no bound, would have
To his own Conscience must not be a Slave;
And thus you have my Counsel mighty Sir,
Who Kills the Conquer'd, Gains the Conquerour.
Achil.
Photinus, Sir, speaks well, but though the Day
Pompey has lost, his Person yet I weigh,
I reverence that Blood the Gods did spare,
When his whole Army such a Fate did share;
Nor see I reason why it should be spilt,
Unless it prove a necessary Guilt:
What needs such Rigour? your Estate is sure,
Who takes no part, can make no Forfeiture;
You may stand Neuter, as you did before,
Though Cæsar's rising Fortune you adore,
5
You shall not make him such a Sacrifice,
For Mars it were too precious, and will give
Your name a Blot you never shall Out-live;
It is enough that Pompey hither came,
And found no Succour, to keep you from blame;
The Senate by his inclination led,
Set Ægypts Crown upon your Fathers head,
And yet I say not Kings should gratefull be,
Beyond the bounds and rule of Policy,
They of their people ought more care to shew
Than gratitude for all that they can owe,
A Crown bestow'd can lay no Obligation
On him that takes it to destroy his Nation.
Besides, if every circumstance be weigh'd,
What ventur'd Pompey in your Fathers aid?
He sought thereby to make his Credit known,
And glory got by rendring him his own,
He to the Senate an Oration made,
But Cæsar's thousand Talents did perswade,
Had not that Treasure made your Fathers way,
In vain had been whatever he could say;
He for you then, for him to Cæsar you
May plead, 'tis all with safety you can do,
And all you owe him, to receive him here,
Were to admit a Guest that you must fear.
A Conquer'd Consul is so great a thing,
That he will bear himself above a King;
Forbid him Landing then, and spare his Head;
But if your Majesty will have him Dead,
Command this Sword to execute your Will,
Great Pompey's blood I'le be the first shall spill.
Septim.
Dread Sir, I am a Roman, and do know
Both these Commanders and their Interest too,
To succour Pompey were a dangerous part,
To chace him hence would gain but half the heart
Of mighty Cæsar, and make him your foe,
Who yet perhaps may to such Greatness grow,
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That he at length with Cæsar may agree,
And both revenge themselves on such a friend,
Whose cold Neutrality did both offend;
In rendring him I no less danger find,
Cæsar to Pardon him must seem inclin'd,
And with false glory make glad Rome believe
Tis for her sake he lets his Rival live,
Whilst in the secret of his thoughts he knows
That his forc'd Clemency to you he owes;
Free Cæsar then from Danger and from Guilt,
And let his fortune on your shame be built,
Pompey destroy'd of Cæsar we are sure,
And from the Vengeance of the Dead secure;
This my advice is, what Achilas said,
Would give you cause to Live of both afraid.
Ptolom.
Then to Necessity let Justice vail,
And the Plurality of Votes prevail,
My inclination too favours that doom,
Which may abate this Arrogance of Rome;
Let her that does the prostrate World bestride,
Lose at one stroke both Liberty and Pride;
Let Pompey Dye in whom her Hopes do Live,
To the World's Tyrants let's a Tyrant give,
Let us contribute to the Fates decree,
To make them Subjects and us Monarchs free,
At least our Masters by this brave resolve
In the same Servitude we shall involve;
Go then Achillas, with Septimius go,
And make us famous by this noble blow;
Had Heav'n to Pompey been propitious,
It had not sent him to Endanger us.
Achil.
Sir, What a King commands is always just.
Ptolom.
Hast then, begon, and answer this great Trust,
Which well perform'd, our Throne secure you make;
Remember Rome and Ægypt are at Stake.
Exeunt.
| Pompey the Great | |