University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

CÆSAR, ANTHONY.
ANTHONY.
Now, Cæsar, royalty is thine, at length
The glorious period is arrived, when Rome
Ever to thy deserts unjust, each thought
By thy transcendent virtue changed, shall own,
Beholding thee, her guardian, her avenger,
Her conqueror, and her king; within this breast,
Envy, thy soul can witness, is unknown.
Most true to Cæsar, I have prized his fame
Beyond himself. These hands have forged the chain
Which thou shalt brace upon the neck of Rome,
Well-pleased to be the second of mankind.
Prouder in fixing on thy head the crown,
Greater and more illustrious, serving thee,
Than to possess th'imperial rule, and call
These dignities my own.—Hah! answer'st thou,
But with that deep-drawn sigh? Dost thou repine,
Contemplating those honours, which I view
With exultation? Absolute o'er Rome,
Her King, and mighty master of the world,
Canst thou complain? Alas! Can Cæsar mourn?
Can Cæsar fear? What can inspire with terror
A soul like thine?

CÆSAR.
Affection, Anthony.
Yes, thou selected of my heart, attend,
Nought will I hide from thee. By fate decreed,
On Babylonia's hostile plains, thou know'st
I soon shall spread my banners; the disgrace
Of Crassus, and the lasting shame of Rome,
Prepared t'avenge upon the barbarous Parthian.
My war-desiring eagle check'd so long,
Now struggles to be free, and aims his flight
T'ward the hoarse Bosphorus. My veterans, tried
In many a field, wait but to view the crown
Circling my brow, the signal of their march.
Perhaps a country, which to Philip's son
Yielded so tamely, Cæsar may attempt,
Without imputed rashness, to subdue.
Haply th'intrepid Gauls, heroic Pompey,
And all his legions Roman-born, compared
With subjugated Persia, may be rated
High in account; at least my bosom dares
Cherish th'idea. Neither can thy friend
Banish the conscious thought, that he whose arms
Vanquish'd the Rhine, shall triumph o'er th'Euphrates.
But tho' his soul hope elevates, unveil'd
Is reason's eye.—Wisdom the most profound,
Is oft deceiv'd.—Fortune at length may cease
My footsteps to pursue, and wearied turn
Back from the course; she may abandon Cæsar,
As Pompey fell a victim to her snares.
For mid tumultuous factions, as in battle,
An almost imperceptive line is drawn
Between defeat and victory. Forty years
Are now elapsed, a space of time, in which
I rose thro' patient service, to command,
And the full blaze of military glory.
The subject world hath bent to my controul,
Its doom awaiting, and I still have mark'd
In each bold effort, that the fate of nations
Depended on an instant.—Accidents
No foresight can elude; but well I know,
Fear and this heart shall ever more be strangers;
That I will vanquish without arrogance,
Or die without a murmur.—But, by all
The laws of tender friendship, Oh! remain
United with my children! Fix the bond
Indissoluble! To thy sway, and theirs,
May Rome, by me defended and subdued,
May the whole earth, yield homage! And the name,
The glorious name of King, on me bestow'd,
To them, and thee descend! Oh, Anthony!
My heart's fond wish, my last request at parting,
Is, that my sons in thee may find a father;
Shall I insult thee by demanding oaths?
I ask them not, sureties of human faith,
Holy and vain. Thy promise is the best,
The firmest tie; that, I believe more pure,
Than altars consecrated to the gods,
Which throngs of perjured votaries surround.

ANTHONY.
Hard is the fate of Anthony, that thou
Must seek the paths of war and death without him;
That for thy service, he, in Italy
Must dwell immew'd, while glory guides thy steps
To Asia's confines. But thy noble heart
Thus doubting fortune, and presaging ills,
More sensibly affects me.—To thy kindness
Wounding each finer nerve, how can my tongue
Form a reply? Mysterious all it seems!
Didst thou not talk of sons? And bid me share
Empire with them? I know no son of thine,
Except Octavius, none but him adopted,
No other Cæsar to protect thy line.

CÆSAR.
The time, my friend, no longer will permit me
To hide from thee the bitterness of grief
Preying in secret on a father's heart.
Octavius, by the laws, not otherwise,
Is now my son, he bears the name of Cæsar,
And was the object of my choice. But fate
(Shall I pronounce it cruel, or benign?)
Hath made me father to a real son;
One whom I dearly love, but who (so great
Is my misfortune) all my tenderness
Beholds with fix'd aversion.

ANTHONY.
Who is he?
This son? With such ingratitude possess'd!
So little worthy of the blood, from which
High Heaven decreed his birth!

CÆSAR.
Attend! Thou know'st
Th'unhappy Brutus, train'd to savage virtue
By the stern lore of Cato. The severe
Unyielding champion of our ancient laws.
The rigid foe of arbitrary power,
Ever to me adverse; he drew the sword,
And where my various enemies arose,
Was always the most active in their service.
My captive in the fields of Thessaly,
Whose life, against his will, I twice preserved;
Born at a distance from me, and among
My most inveterate adversaries bred.

ANTHONY.
Brutus! Can he—

CÆSAR.
Trust not my words alone.
Read this.

ANTHONY.
Ye powers above! Servilia!
Cato's aspiring sister!

CÆSAR.
We in private,
By marriage were united. When our first
Of feuds began, relentless in his wrath,
Cato, not even waiting for my absence,
Forced her to wed another. But the day
Which saw these rites, saw her new spouse expire.
Under the name of Brutus, this my son,
His uncle educated.—Gracious Heaven!
Was he reserved to persecute me still
With hate unceasing!—But that letter read,
And see the whole disclosed.

ANTHONY
[Reads.]
“Cæsar, I feel approaching death.—The gods
“Will, in their anger, soon dissolve at once
“My life and love. Yet recollect, that Brutus,
“From thee derives his being.—Oh, farewel!
“And may that true affection, which the mother
“In her last moments for his father feels,
“Ever inspire the bosom of the son!
Servilia.”
And art thou by the stern decree of fate,
Cursed with a son so much unlike thyself?

CÆSAR.

ANTHONY.
I doubt it. Well I know his savage firmness.
His sect admits not of th'impassion'd heart,
Nor suffers it to feel; intractable,
Making its boast to harden the stern soul
Against the soft impressions of humanity;
To overcome and trample under foot
Indignant nature; to this sect alone
Brutus attends, and only heeds its dictates.
Opinions, which to reason's eye appear
Shocking and monstrous, but by them stiled duty,
With absolute dominion tyrannize
Over their iron bosoms.—Cato's self,
That hapless stoic, that romantic hero,
Who fell a sacrifice at Utica,
Rather than condescend to be forgiven,
Preferring death before thy tender friendship;
E'en Cato was less haughty, less severe,
And threaten'd less of danger, than the man
Whom thy exalted generosity
Would fain compel to gratitude and love.

CÆSAR.
What say'st thou? Dost thou know, my friend, what pangs
Thy words impart?

ANTHONY.
Affection prompts my tongue
I cannot flatter thee.

CÆSAR.
Yet all things own
Time's mollifying power.

ANTHONY.
My mind despairs
Of its success.

CÆSAR.
What! will his hate—

ANTHONY.
Believe me—

CÆSAR.
Enough of this!—I am his father still.
Have I not sav'd my most inveterate foes?
Nay strain'd them to my breast? And must I not
Covet with warmest wish t'acquire the love
Of Rome, and of my son? Oh, rapturous thought!
Having subdued each inimical heart,
(Triumph sublime of mercy!) to behold
Willing adorers of my sovereign power
The world, and Brutus!—Thine it is, to aid me
In this great purpose; thou hast lent thy arm,
Copartner in my victories o'er mankind,
Now gain a victory over Brutus; bend,
Soften his fierce reluctant soul; prepare
By slow degrees his wild unpolisht virtue
For that important secret, which must soon
Be to his ears disclosed, but which my mind
Labouring with anxious doubt hath never yet
Dared to reveal.

ANTHONY.
What would I not attempt
At thy request? but here I can perceive
No ground of hope, the trial will be vain.