 | The Death of Caesar |  |
SCENE VIII.
ANTHONY, ROMANS, DOLABELLA.FIRST ROMAN.
But see, Mark Anthony!
SECOND ROMAN.
What, I admire,
Can he dare offer?
THIRD ROMAN.
How he weeps! His soul
Is much afflicted.—Hark! he groans.
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Most dearly
He loved the death-doom'd Cæsar.
ANTHONY,
from the rostrum.
I confess it.
My heart was link'd to his; with joy unfeign'd
To shield him from the stroke; I would have bared
This bosom to the fury of his foes.
Alas! the time hath been, when you too joined
Your love with mine, and when you shall reflect,
That casting from his brow the proffered crown,
In veneration of our sacred laws,
He yet this day hath fallen a bleeding victim,
Which of you can refuse to praise the hero?
Who would not even for his sake have died?
But ah! I mean not with my feeble voice
T'exalt his memory; that, throughout the world,
By glory borne, fills the loud trump of fame.
I only ask you, with an eye of pity,
To view my poignant anguish, or at least
To gain your pardon for the tears of friendship.
FIRST ROMAN.
Then should thy tears have flow'd, when Rome was forced
To crouch beneath a master. What avails it,
That we acknowledge Cæsar was an hero?
He was a traitor likewise to his country.
SECOND ROMAN.
He was a tyrant.—He possest of virtue!
Impossible.
THIRD ROMAN.
Impossible. We all approve the deed
Of Cassius, and of Brutus.
ANTHONY.
I am silent,—
Nor urge I aught against the men who slew him;
No doubt, their noble hearts aspired to serve
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Of your dictator; loaded with his kindness,
For this, their hands impurpled in his blood.—
To force the souls of Romans to an act
So horrid in its nature, Cæsar's crimes
Were surely equal to the vengeance taken,
Nor otherwise do I believe.—Yet tell me,
Tell me sincerely, did you ever feel,
My countrymen, the weight of Cæsar's power
Imposed upon you? Did he, for himself,
For his own use, hoard up the costly fruits
Of his extended conquests? For your brows,
The spoils of the wide world were hither brought,
A wreath (as 'twere) to crown them. All the wealth
Of all the nations which his power o'ercame,
By his toils purchased, by his many wounds,
On you, profusely generous he bestow'd.
Did he not watch from his exalted car
Your clouded aspects? Would he not descend?
Search out your hidden griefs, and wipe away
Each starting tear?—He brought the universe
Under subjection, but to you resign'd
The triumph; you enjoy'd it at your ease,
In the full pleasure of domestic quiet.
His courage made you great, his benefits
Render'd you happy; did he e'er neglect,
If but well-meant, to gratify a service?
Was there any injury he could not pardon?—
Immortal gods! bear witness! you whose image
He was on earth! bear witness mighty gods!
Who to his sway resign'd this nether sphere,
That the prime object of his soul was mercy.
ROMANS.
True, for his bounty, and his clemency,
Cæsar was always loved.
ANTHONY.
Alas! my friends!
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But an idea of revenge, his life
Had been secure, and by that sacred life,
Our wishes in their utmost latitude
Had been accomplish'd. He, instead, shower'd thick
Rewards and favours on his murtherers' heads.
Twice he preserved the life of Cassius.
Brutus,—but I am lost,—O gracious gods!
O unexampled crime! barbarity
Beyond expression, or conceit!—My soul,
O my dear countrymen, recoils,—I faint,—
A misty darkness shrouds my every sense.—
Brutus, that cruel monster,—was his son.
ROMANS.
Great gods!
ANTHONY.
I see, your generous virtue scarce
Supports the shock; your lofty spirits shrink
Back from the thought,—and now the softening tear,
Best proof of sweet humanity, descends.
Yes, Brutus was his son,—but unconfined
Was his affection,—You, who now are present,
Who hear me plead his cause, were all his sons,
Th'adopted of his heart.—Oh! did you know
His will! his final testament!
ROMANS.
Inform us,—
What of his will?—Speak,—say,—
ANTHONY.
The Roman people
Are his appointed heirs; to you belong
His riches, soon to be surrendered up
To your possession. Not the tomb itself
Bounded your Cæsar's love; you see his mind,
For your advantage, busied still beyond it.
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For you, o'er Asia's hostile fields he plann'd
His destined march; for you, resolved to risque
His life, his fortune, prodigal of both.
O Romans! (I have often heard him thus
Exclaim in secret) truly royal race!
Whom I delight to serve.—Cæsar may rule
The vanquish'd earth, but you shall govern Cæsar.
Would Brutus, or would Cassius thus have acted?
Or heeded more the interest of their country?
ROMANS.
We hate them, we detest them,—we resent
The very question.
FIRST ROMAN.
Cæsar was alone
The father of the state.
ANTHONY.
Th'indulgent father.
But never shall our eyes behold again
His gracious form.—Confederates vile in ill,
Base, infamous assassins, have cut short
The measure of his days; by violence
Have ravish'd from us, this transcendent man,
In every excellence of soul transcendent,
The boast, the matchless ornament of nature,
The wonder of the world, the pride of Rome.
And shall we to our father, to our best
Of guardians and protectors, who deserved
All our affection, shall we fear to grant him
An honourable burial? shall we fail
To raise, my gentle friends, his funeral pyre?
But lo, they bring him hither!—see before us
His breathless corse!
The further Part of the Stage opens. The Lictors bearing the Body of Cæsar covered with a bloody Robe. Anthony descends from the Rostrum, and casts himself on his Knees by the Body.
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O melancholy sight!
ANTHONY.
All that remains behold, of him who stood,
But now, unequall'd 'mid the sons of Rome,
The greatest of mankind! Behold the god
Of your idolatry! your strong avenger!
Whom e'en his murtherers often have adored
With bended knees! In peace your guardian friend!
Your tutelary power in dangerous war!
Who soon victorious would have brought in chains
Persia's dread monarch fasten'd to his car!
Thus changed, thus prostrate, say, my friends, is this
Your ever-conquering chief? your darling Cæsar?
See, gentle Romans! see his numerous wounds!
Touch them with reverence! View his hallow'd blood,
From its warm veins by perjured ruffians sluiced!
There Cimber struck; there in th'heroic man,
Cassius and Decimus plunged deep their steel,
Here the abandon'd Brutus, Brutus lost
To every sense of feeling and of shame,
To all that's human, in paternal blood
Imbrued his most unnatural hand; while Cæsar,
Looking upon him with a tranquil eye,
Yet glistening with the beams of mild affection,
Forgave him as he fell beneath his sword.
He call'd him son; that dear and tender name
Was all which Cæsar utter'd at his death:
My son! said he, and with that word expired.
FIRST ROMAN.
Infamous monster! Oh that angry Heaven
Had torn him from the earth, his crimes pollute,
Before this execrable deed was done!
OTHER ROMANS.
Gods! how his blood still flows!
ANTHONY.
It calls aloud
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And executive hands. Regard its voice!
Rouse all your feelings! from this trance of grief
Awake! Prepare for action! Follow me
Against his murtherers! E'er we punish them,
How vain all other honours we can pay
To Cæsar's manes! With the flaming brands
Snatch'd from his pile, let us reduce to ashes
The dwellings of these proud conspirators!
And in their bosoms plunge the sharpen'd steel
Of madd'ning indignation!—Haste,—display
Your native worth,—haste, to the just revenge
Of crimes most horrible, and sacrifice
These victims to his country's guardian god!
ROMANS.
We all are ready; they shall die.—Away!
We follow thee;—we swear by this his blood,
Most amply to revenge his timeless death!
Away! haste! fly!
ANTHONY,
to DOLABELLA.
Let us not suffer them
To spend their rage in useless deeds, but seize
Th'occasion, give no time, and hurry on
Their vague and ductile passions;—stir them up
To mutiny and war; and thus without
Long schemes of art, with zeal and active heat
Revenging Cæsar's death, at once succeed him.
| The Death of Caesar | |