University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

CÆSAR, BRUTUS.
CÆSAR.
What Brutus, is the purport of this meeting?
Is thy heart human? Art thou Cæsar's son?

BRUTUS.
I am, if Cæsar be the son of Rome.

CÆSAR.
Ungenerous and ill-taught republican,
What is thy aim? Was I desired to meet thee,
That thou might'st heap fresh insults on my head?
Say, cannot all my favours shower'd upon thee,
A subject world awaiting thy controul,
The glorious prospect of imperial sway,
My never wearied kindness, move thy heart?—
With what sensations dost thou view the crown?

BRUTUS.
With horror.

CÆSAR.
I lament, and can excuse
Thy prejudices, but art thou resolv'd
Ever to hate me?

BRUTUS.
No, I love thee Cæsar;
Thy noble deeds, long e'er thou had'st disclosed
The secret of my birth, inclined my soul
To reverence thee; I mourn'd, sincerely mourn'd
In secret to the gods, when I beheld
A man of such illustrious qualities,
At once the glory, and the scourge of Rome.
I cannot think of Cæsar as a king
Without abhorrence,—would he condescend
To be a citizen, I would adore him
As some divinity; my life, my fortunes,
And every earthly good would I devote
A grateful sacrifice.

CÆSAR.
On what in me is this abhorrence founded?

BRUTUS.
Upon thy tyranny. Oh! deign to hear
The sighs, the prayers, the counsels, of each true,
Each worthy Roman, with the senate's join'd,
Join'd with thy son's! Wouldst thou o'er all mankind
Possess the due priority of rank,
Enjoy th'undoubted honour, by a right
More sacred than the power of war can give;
Would'st be far superior to a king,
Superior e'en to Cæsar—

CÆSAR.
Whither tends?—

BRUTUS.
Thou seest the world in chains, enslaved, and bound
To thy triumphal car;—break all our fetters!
Restore us all to freedom!—be a Roman!
And cast away the diadem with scorn!

CÆSAR.
Ah! what hast thou advised?

BRUTUS.
To do no more
Than Sylla had the greatness to perform.
Long unopposed, he welter'd in our blood;
But when he granted Rome her liberty
All was forgotten; having laid aside
The power supreme, that action wash'd away
Each foul and sanguine stain: his barbarous rage
Soils not thy heart, dare to possess his virtues.
Thou canst humanely pardon an offender,
Oh Cæsar! let thy noble soul do more.
May not the kindness which thou shew'st, hereafter
Be from the treasures of remembrance taken,
And gratefully bestow'd again on thee?
Rome then intreats thee, the collected state
Implores thy clemency, their faults forgive,
And spare the worst of punishments, a king!
So, what we could not yield to rank or station,
Our hearts shall in submission bend before thee,
Then shalt thou truly reign, then shalt thou find
The zealous warmth of love, and all the duty
Of a fond son in Brutus.—Hah! that brow
In frowns contracted! And hast thou decreed
That I shall plead in vain?

CÆSAR.
Rome wants a master,
As one day, thou perhaps may'st dearly prove,
Our citizens are now more great than kings.
When manners change, a necessary change
Of laws ensues. The freedom which we claim,
Is but a dangerous right to hurt ourselves;
And all-destroying Rome is now mature
For self-destruction. Dreadful to the world,
The huge Colossus trampled on their realms;
By the too-wide, ambitious, ill-judg'd stretch,
Its giant frame is shaken to its base,
It nods, and 'gainst the desolating fall
Demands my succouring arm. In short, the time
Of Sylla was the period when we saw
Our antient virtues, all that boasted erst
The glorious, and peculiar term of Roman,
Our equal laws, the common-weal, destroy'd;
Since which they have been mere superfluous names.
In our corrupted Æra, when the state
Hath been so long the prey of civil wars,
Harrast and torn, thy language would persuade us
That now the Decii and Emilii flourish'd,
With justice, independence, honour, fame.
Oh, my lov'd son! thou ow'st these sentiments,
Generous indeed, but which mislead thy heart,
To Cato's erring notions; I foresee
Thy virtue, brooding o'er them, will subject
The state to ruin, while perhaps thyself
Shalt with it perish.—Give thy reason scope!
Oh, follow its free guidance! let it heed
If possible, in some degree, the words
Of him, who vanquished Cato, and debell'd
The arrogance of Pompey! heed a father,
Who loves thee, who with real grief beholds
The wand'rings of thy fancy! be indeed
My son! Oh Brutus, to my prayers afford
A portion of thy heart! let other thoughts
Find entrance there! I beg, nay I conjure thee,
By all the truest ardour of affection!
Lay not that task upon thy soul, that task
Most difficult to stifle, to subdue
Nature, and all its tender impulses!
Dost thou not answer me? Dost thou avert
From me thy eyes?

BRUTUS.
He tears me from myself,—
I am no longer Brutus;—strike ye gods!
Here aim your thunder!—Cæsar—

CÆSAR.
Speak at once,—
Say thou art touch'd, that thy breast feels within
The soft emotions rising into life.
Oh, tell me! speak my son.—

BRUTUS.
Dost thou behold
The toils of death encompass thee around?
That thou art doom'd its speedy prey? Behold'st thou
Each true-born Roman in the senate, glowing
With secret warmth, and ready in thy heart
To plunge the mortal steel? Oh! e'er that time
Arrives, obey the strongest arguments,
Rome's safety, and thy own, let them prevail!
By me, alarm'd, thy better genius speaks,
He urges, he impells me, sinks me thus
Upon my knees before thee.—Cæsar hear!
By our protecting and avenging gods,
Long disregarded! by thy many virtues!
By the once aweful dignity of Rome!
Nay, by thyself, and, if I may proceed,
By all the filial terrors which I now
With pangs sustain! By all the filial love
Awaken'd in a breast which thee prefers
To all mankind, and only Rome to thee!
Let me not suffer a repulse!

CÆSAR.
Oh! still
A slave to thy unhappy prejudice,
Leave me! to what a lowly ebb wouldst thou
Reduce the state of Cæsar?

BRUTUS.
Be persuaded,—
Why art thou thus obdurate?

CÆSAR.
Tho' the world,
And nature's self should change,—this fixed soul
Shall ne'er be moved.

BRUTUS.
Is this thy final answer?

CÆSAR.
It is, th'unalterable plan is form'd.
When Cæsar wills, Rome must, and ought t'obey.

BRUTUS.
Farewell then all my hopes!—Farewell to thee!

CÆSAR.
Hah! Say, what thoughts thus die thy cheeks with pale?
Stay, stay awhile my son!—Heaven, whence these tears!
Alas! can Brutus weep? Is it because
A king, and regal power will be establish'd?
Doth he lament the fate of Rome?

BRUTUS.
I weep
For thee alone,—once more farewell! farewell!

CÆSAR.
O, spirit worthy antient Rome! Oh virtue!
And fortitude heroic! why with him
Can I not mingle sentiments? And love,
With such enthusiastic warmth, my country?