 | The Death of Caesar |  |
SCENE IV.
BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CIMBER, DECIMUS.CASSIUS.
What means this tumult, Cimber?
Can'st thou inform us?
DECIMUS.
Who, our suffering country,
Wounds with fresh insults? What hast thou beheld?
341
Rome's everlasting shame. This idol proud,
This Cæsar, I beheld him in the temple
Seated aloft, as rivalling the god
Who lightens from the capitol. That place
He chose, t'unfold his arrogant design,
Of joining Persia to the Roman empire.
The people hail'd him with each glorious name,
War's thunder-bolt, avenger of his country,
And conqueror of the world. But loaded thus
With honours, his exorbitant ambition
Was not content, another title still
Remain'd behind. When Anthony was seen,
Amid these shouts, and loud acclaims of joy,
Advancing through the multitude, and soon
He gain'd the temple. Oh, disgrace! Oh, crime!
Sinking a Roman e'en beneath contempt!
He gain'd the temple, bearing in his hand
A crown and sceptre. All at once was hush'd,—
A sudden tremor thro' th'assembly ran;
While he, with insolence unparallel'd,
Unaw'd, and unabash'd, the diadem
Placed on the head of Cæsar, to the ground
Bent his submissive knees, and cried aloud,
Reign, Cæsar! o'er th'extensive earth bear sway!
And o'er a grateful people!—At these words,
You might have seen a deadly paleness spread
On each beholder's cheek; the vaulted roof
Rang with their lamentations; horror-struck
Some wildly fled; here others blushing stood
With honest shame; some pour'd forth tears of grief
Mingled with rage.—Cæsar, who plainly read
In every visage these expressive marks
Of indignation, his dissembled part,
Long conn'd within his mind, now acted, threw
Down at his feet the regal ornaments,
And trampled on them.—Then what pleasure reign'd!
The giddy multitude beheld at once
Their liberty confirm'd, wild transport rose,
And they were drunk with fond fantastic joy.
This Cæsar, I beheld him in the temple
Seated aloft, as rivalling the god
Who lightens from the capitol. That place
He chose, t'unfold his arrogant design,
Of joining Persia to the Roman empire.
The people hail'd him with each glorious name,
War's thunder-bolt, avenger of his country,
And conqueror of the world. But loaded thus
With honours, his exorbitant ambition
Was not content, another title still
Remain'd behind. When Anthony was seen,
Amid these shouts, and loud acclaims of joy,
Advancing through the multitude, and soon
He gain'd the temple. Oh, disgrace! Oh, crime!
Sinking a Roman e'en beneath contempt!
He gain'd the temple, bearing in his hand
A crown and sceptre. All at once was hush'd,—
A sudden tremor thro' th'assembly ran;
While he, with insolence unparallel'd,
Unaw'd, and unabash'd, the diadem
Placed on the head of Cæsar, to the ground
Bent his submissive knees, and cried aloud,
Reign, Cæsar! o'er th'extensive earth bear sway!
And o'er a grateful people!—At these words,
You might have seen a deadly paleness spread
On each beholder's cheek; the vaulted roof
Rang with their lamentations; horror-struck
Some wildly fled; here others blushing stood
With honest shame; some pour'd forth tears of grief
Mingled with rage.—Cæsar, who plainly read
In every visage these expressive marks
Of indignation, his dissembled part,
Long conn'd within his mind, now acted, threw
Down at his feet the regal ornaments,
342
The giddy multitude beheld at once
Their liberty confirm'd, wild transport rose,
And they were drunk with fond fantastic joy.
Anthony stood astonish'd.—Cæsar feign'd
A well-becoming modesty, and blush'd.
The more he labour'd to conceal from them
His real feelings, their exulting voice
Praised him the more.—His criminal intent
Was cover'd thus beneath the specious shew
Of moderation: his refusal seem'd
As sprung from genuine magnanimity;
Vile, painful affectation all!—In secret,
Spite of his efforts, deeply pierced the sting;
Deep, tho' not audibly, he groan'd, to hear
Those praises lavishly bestow'd on virtues
Which never graced his soul.—In short, unable
His struggling passions longer to restrain,
The capitol he left, while on his brow
Sat sullen discontent. Then gave his orders,
That in an hour the senate should attend him.
Fix'd, Brutus, is the time: one little hour,
The period limited, when Cæsar's will
Shall regulate the govenment, and all
Our valued rights destroy. The senate, once
So just, and sacred, is corrupted, bought
With Cæsar's gold; with that, the larger half
Have purchased Rome; and sold again to him
The bargain of their infamy. More base
Than are the lowest of the multitude,
Who, doom'd to poverty and woe, still hear
At least the name of king, with some degree
Of inward horror.—Cæsar, who already
Possesses all the substance, all the power
Of royalty, is anxious for a crown.
The people have refused him, but the senate
Will gratify his wishes.—What remains?
On what shall we determine? Say, my brave,
My noble countrymen?
A well-becoming modesty, and blush'd.
The more he labour'd to conceal from them
His real feelings, their exulting voice
Praised him the more.—His criminal intent
Was cover'd thus beneath the specious shew
Of moderation: his refusal seem'd
As sprung from genuine magnanimity;
Vile, painful affectation all!—In secret,
Spite of his efforts, deeply pierced the sting;
Deep, tho' not audibly, he groan'd, to hear
Those praises lavishly bestow'd on virtues
Which never graced his soul.—In short, unable
His struggling passions longer to restrain,
The capitol he left, while on his brow
Sat sullen discontent. Then gave his orders,
That in an hour the senate should attend him.
Fix'd, Brutus, is the time: one little hour,
The period limited, when Cæsar's will
Shall regulate the govenment, and all
Our valued rights destroy. The senate, once
So just, and sacred, is corrupted, bought
With Cæsar's gold; with that, the larger half
Have purchased Rome; and sold again to him
The bargain of their infamy. More base
Than are the lowest of the multitude,
Who, doom'd to poverty and woe, still hear
At least the name of king, with some degree
Of inward horror.—Cæsar, who already
Possesses all the substance, all the power
Of royalty, is anxious for a crown.
The people have refused him, but the senate
Will gratify his wishes.—What remains?
343
My noble countrymen?
CASSIUS.
On death—To finish
A life, the days of which are only number'd
By shame, succeeding shame. Its heavy chain
I have dragg'd on, while the least ray of hope
Beam'd on my country. Now eternal night
Closes around, and unavoidably
My being ends with hers. Let those who will,
Hang o'er her ashes their dejected heads,
And drop the loyal tear. I cannot raise
The arm of vengeance, but I can expire,
And mix with Rome in death.—I go where dwell
Our gods, and demi-gods—O Scipio! Pompey!
No more I hesitate your steps to tread;
And imitate the glorious deed of Cato.
BRUTUS.
No, Cassius—Let us generously scorn
Th'ignoble copyer's part. 'Tis ours to set
A bright example to succeeding times.
From us the world, suspended, even now
Expects its fate.—O valour's chosen band!
Friends of my soul! from us our country claims
Actions to justify her veneration,
And all that grateful love, with which (tho' ruin'd)
She will our memories cherish.—Had my words
Prevail'd with Cato, in his brave despair
More just, he would have seen the tyrant's blood
Commingled with his own. Against himself
He turn'd his blameless hand. No good from thence
Flow'd to mankind. Cato did all for glory;
For her he died, and not for Rome. There err'd,
And there alone, his high-aspiring soul.
CASSIUS.
In this dread hour what course shall we pursue?
And what is thy advice?
344
Behold! and read!
To me alone directed.—We from this
May all be taught our duty.
[Shews the paper.
CASSIUS.
To my hands
Reproaches similar have been convey'd.
BRUTUS.
And have we not deserved them?
CIMBER.
It draws near—
The fatal crisis. In an hour the tyrant
Gives the last blow to Roman liberty.
BRUTUS.
An hour, and Cæsar in his bosom feels
The dagger's point.
CASSIUS.
Hah! there the mighty soul
Of Brutus spake. The nobly-daring thought
Proclaims the words his own.
DECIMUS.
Intrepid foe
Of arbitrary power! On thy great race
Reflecting lustre! kindred sentiments
Invigorate this breast.
CASSIUS.
Again I breathe.
Again th'emancipated spirits rush
Thro' their known channels. What due thanks? What praise
Can Cassius render thee? But this I own,
My hate of tyranny, my indignation,
Expected, from that strong and manly virtue,
Unequall'd, and peculiar to thyself.
Surely Rome's aweful genius hath inspired
Th'exalted purpose. In the name of Brutus
Some mystic power resides, announcing stern
The death of tyrants. Let us purge, my friend,
345
Let us avenge the capitol, nor wait
Till bursts the lingering thunder! Cimber! Cinna!
Ye Romans of unconquerable mould!
Are ye divided in your wills from us?
Beat not your bosoms with the same desires?
CIMBER.
True are our hearts, and own the mutual flame;
Communicated ardour. We despise
A life of baseness. We contemplate Cæsar
With fix'd abhorrence; for we love our country.
We will not halt, with prompt alacrity
Ready to join in vengeance. Is there aught
Of Roman virtue extant, it must hear
Brutus, and Cassius, from its slumbers rise,
And shine, with vital energy relumed.
DECIMUS.
Born to decide on all that may affect
The public weal; all criminals to judge,
And punish guilt; too long have we beheld
Oppression's hand stretch'd forth. While every breath
The tyrant draws, each intervening moment
Hind'ring the stroke of justice, is in us
A crime, for which we merit punishment.
CIMBER.
Shall we invite any to share with us
In this great enterprize?
BRUTUS.
And need we more
T'avenge our country than this chosen number?
Emilius, Dolabella, Lepidus,
And Bibulus, are either overcome
With fear, and tremble under Cæsar's power,
Or stoop before him, voluntary slaves,
Bought with his gold. For Cicero, tho' (most true)
He by his prudent care traced out the scheme
Of the most daring traitor to his country,
346
Cannot expect from him a strong support.
His flowing eloquence it may command;
Bold in the senate, in the desperate hour
Of peril, feeble; born with art, with grace,
T'harangue, but not avenge deep-injured Rome.
Leave to the orator, who charms his country,
The task of praising us, when we have done her
Essential service. No, I covet not
A soul but you, with whom I would partake
This honour more than mortal, this extreme
Of dangerous resolution. In an hour
The tyrant enters in the senate house,
There will I punish, there surprise him, there
Plunge in his guilty breast this hallow'd steel;
Revenging Cato's death, illustrious Pompey,
And every Roman citizen. Say that peril
Most imminent, awaits th'attempt! that placed
In every corner of the capitol
His watchful guards cast round their prying eyes!
The people yielding to each new impression,
Fluttering, and bending, osier-like, in doubt
Whether they ought to love, admire, or hate
Their plausible enslaver? O my friends!
We seem to rush on certain death. But, heaven!
How glorious, how supremely to be wish'd
That death! to fall, endeavouring to fulfil
A purpose so sublime! to see our blood
Mingled, and streaming with the blood of tyrants!
Yes, brave associates, we devote ourselves
To death, but with us Cæsar likewise dies.
While freedom by th'oppression of his crimes
Long smother'd, from its ashes shall again
Rise undecay'd, and shine thro' endless years.
CASSIUS.
Away then with debate! Let us at once
Ascend the capitol; in all his pride
347
And immolate the victim. On the people
Waste not a thought; if dubious now they seem,
Let them behold their idol on the ground,
And hear what execrations they will pour
On the once-worship'd form!
BRUTUS.
Swear then with me!
Swear on this sword! By Cato's spotless blood!
By mighty Pompey's! by the sacred manes
Of those true sons of Rome, who lifeless fell
On Afric's torrid plains! By all the gods
Avengers of our country! Swear that Cæsar
Shall stoop, and under your uplifted hands
Sink breathless in the dust.
CASSIUS.
Let us, my friends,
Beyond the tenor of this oath proceed;
And swear, with ardent zeal t'exterminate
All who hereafter o'er their kind shall dare
To claim dominion; be they e'en the sons
Born of our loins, our brothers, or our father,
If tyrants, Brutus, let them in the list
Be mark'd our bitterest foes! No son, no father
The true republican acknowledges,
But virtue, but the gods, the righteous laws,
And his dear native country.
BRUTUS.
Truth inspires
Thy tongue; henceforth for ever I unite
My blood with yours; this instant let us join
In blest relationship, adoption pure
Either of other! Our firm kindred tie,
The safety of the state, itself our true
Undoubted parent, our oppressor's blood,
Shall be the seal of these our heart-form'd bonds.
[He advances towards the statue of Pompey.
348
We vow! (whose statues in this aweful moment,
This crisis of our duty, animate
Our breasts with vigour) at thy sacred feet
We vow, O Pompey! that each act of ours
Is Rome's alone; the promptings of self-love
Forever banisht from our thoughts! To stand
Connected for the public weal, which seems
In us already to be form'd again,
And reassemble! All our vows we join,
To live, to draw the keen-edged sword, or die
In undissever'd union!—Haste! Prepare!
Already have we been too prodigal
Of irrecoverable time.
| The Death of Caesar | |