SCENA III.
Enter Souldiers.
1 Sold. Did ye see this Penitence?
2 Sold. Yes: I saw, and heard it.
3 Sold. And I too: look'd upon him, and observ'd it,
He's the strangest Septimus now—
1 Sold. I heard he was altered,
And had given away his Gold to honest uses:
Cry'd monstrously.
2 Sold. He cryes abundantly:
He is blind almost with weeping.
3 Sold. 'Tis most wonderfull
That a hard hearted man, and an old Souldier
Should have so much kind moisture: when his Mother dy'd
He laugh'd aloud, and made the wickedst Ballads—
1 Sold. 'Tis like enough: he never lov'd his parents;
Nor can I blame him, for they ne'r lov'd him.
His Mother dream'd before she was deliver'd
That she was brought abed with a Buzzard, and ever after
She whistl'd him up to th' world: his brave clothes too
He has flung away, and goes like one of us now:
Walks with his hands in's pockets, poor and sorrowfull,
And gives the best instructions.—
2 Sold. And tells stories
Of honest and good people that were honour'd
And how they were remembred: and runs mad
If he but hear of any ungratefull person,
A bloudy, or betraying man—
3 Sold. If it be possible
That an Arch-Villain may ever be recovered,
This penitent Rascal will put hard: 'twere worth our labour
To see him once again.
Enter Septimius.
1 Sold. He spares us that labour,
For here he comes.
Sep.—Bless ye my honest friends,
Bless ye from base unworthy men; come not near me,
For I am yet too taking for your company.
1 Sold. Did I not tell ye?
2 Sold. What book's that?
1 Sold. No doubt
Some excellent Salve for a sore heart: are you
Septimius, that base knave, that betray'd Pompey?
Sep. I was, and am; unless your honest thoughts
Will look upon my penitence, and save me,
I must be ever Villain: O good Souldiers
You that have Roman hearts, take heed of falsehood:
Take heed of blood; take heed of foul ingratitude.
The Gods have scarce a mercy for those mischiefs,
Take heed of pride, 'twas that that brought me to it.
2 Sol. This fellow would make a rare speech at the gallows.
[3] Sol. 'Tis very fit he were hang'd to edifie us:
Sep. Let all your thoughts be humble, and obedient,
Love your Commanders, honour them that feed ye:
Pray, that ye may be strong in honesty
As in the use of arms; Labour, and diligently
To keep your hearts from ease, and her base issues,
Pride, and ambitious wantonness, those spoil'd me.
Rather lose all your limbs, than the least honesty,
You are never lame indeed, till loss of credit
Benumb ye through: Scarrs, and those maims of honour
Are memorable crutches, that shall bear
When you are dead, your noble names to Eternity.
1 Sol. I cry.
2 Sol. And so do I.
3 Sol. An excellent villain.
1 Sol. A more sweet pious knave I never heard yet.
2 Sol. He was happie he was Rascal, to come to this.
Enter Achoreus.
Who's this? a Priest?
Sep. O stay, most holy Sir!
And by the Gods of Egypt, I conjure ye,
(Isis, and great Osiris) pity me,
Pity a loaden man, and tell me truly
With what most humble Sacrifice I may
Wash off my sin, and appease the powers that hate me?
Take from my heart those thousand thousand furies,
That restless gnaw upon my life, and save me.
Orestes bloody hands fell on his Mother,
Yet, at the holy altar he was pardon'd.
Ach. Orestes out of madness did his murther,
And therefore he found grace: thou (worst of all men)
Out of cold blood, and hope of gain, base lucre,
Slew'st thine own Feeder: come not near the altar,
Nor with thy reeking hands pollute the Sacrifice,
Thou art markt for shame eternal. [Exit.
Sep. Look all on me,
And let me be a story left to time
Of blood and Infamy, how base and ugly
Ingratitude appears, with all her profits,
How monstrous my hop'd grace, at Court! good souldiers
Let neither flattery, nor the witching sound
Of high and soft preferment, touch your goodness:
To be valiant, old, and honest, O what blessedness—
1 Sold. Dost thou want any thing?
Sep. Nothing but your prayers.
2 Sol. Be thus, and let the blind Priest do his worst,
We have gods as well as they, and they will hear us.
3 Sol. Come, cry no more: thou hast wep't out twenty Pompeys.
Enter Photinus, Achillas.
Pho. So penitent?
Achil. It seems so.
Pho. Yet for all this
We must employ him.
1 Sol. These are the arm'd Souldier leaders:
Away: and let's toth' Fort, we shall be snapt else. [Exeunt.
Pho. How now? why thus? what cause of this dejection?
Achil. Why dost thou weep?
Sep. Pray leave me, you have ruin'd me,
You have made me a famous Villain.
Pho. Does that touch thee?
Achil. He will be hard to win: he feels his lewdness.
Pho. He must be won, or we shall want our right hand.
This fellow dares, and knows, and must be heartned.
Art thou so poor to blench at what thou hast done?
Is Conscience a comrade for an old Soldier?
Achil. It is not that: it may be some disgrace
That he takes heavily; and would be cherish'd,
Septimius ever scorn'd to shew such weakness.
Sep. Let me alone; I am not for your purpose,
I am now a new man.
Pho. We have new affairs for thee,
Those that would raise thy head.
Sep. I would 'twere off,
And in your bellies for the love you bear me.
I'le be no more Knave: I have stings enough
Already in my breast.
Pho. Thou shalt be noble:
And who dares think then that thou art not honest?
Achil. Thou shalt command in Chief, all our strong Forces
And if thou serv'st an use, must not all justifie it?
S[e]p. I am Rogue enough.
Pho. Thou wilt be more, and baser:
A poor Rogue is all Rogues: open to all shames:
Nothing to shadow him: dost thou think crying
Can keep thee from the censure of the Multitude?
Or to be kneeling at the altar save thee?
'Tis poor and servile:
Wert thou thine own Sacrifice
'Twould seem so low, people would spit the fire out.
Achil. Keep thy self glorious still, though ne're so stain'd,
And that will lessen it, if not work it out.
To goe complaining thus, and thus repenting
Like a poor Girl that had betrai'd her maiden-head—
Sep. I'le stop mine ears.
Achil. Will shew so in a Souldier,
So simply, and so ridiculously, so tamely—
Pho. If people would believe thee, 'twere some honesty,
And for thy penitence would not laugh at thee
(As sure they will) and beat thee for thy poverty:
If they would allow thy foolery, there were some hope.
Sep. My foolery?
Pho. Nay, more than that, thy misery,
Thy monstrous misery.
A[c]hil. He begins to hearken:
Thy misery so great, men will not bury thee.
Sep. That this were true!
Pho. Why does this conquering Cæsar
Labour through the worlds deep Seas of toyls and troubles,
Dangers, and desperate hopes? to repent afterwards?
Why does he slaughter thousands in a Battel,
And whip his Country with the sword? to cry for't?
Thou killd'st great Pompey; he'l kill all his kindred,
And justifie it: nay raise up Trophies to it.
When thou hear'st him repent, (he's held most holy too)
And cry for doing daily bloody murthers,
Take thou example, and go ask forgiveness,
Call up the thing thou nam'st thy conscience,
And let it work: then 'twill seem well Septimius.
Sep. He does all this.
Achil. Yes: and is honour'd for it;
Nay call'd the honour'd Cæsar, so maist thou be:
Thou wert born as near a Crown as he.
Sep. He was poor.
Pho. And desperate bloody tricks got him this credit.
Sep. I am afraid you will once more—
Pho. Help to raise thee:
Off with thy pining black, it dulls a Souldier,
And put on resolution like a man,
A noble Fate waits on thee.
Sep. I now feel
My self returning Rascal speedily.
O that I had the power—
Achil. Thou shalt have all:
And do all through thy power, men shall admire thee,
And the vices of Septimius shall turn vertues.
Sep. Off: off: thou must off: off my cowardize,
Puling repentance off.
Pho. Now thou speakst nobly.
Sep. Off my dejected looks: and welcom impudence:
My daring shall be Deity, to save me:
Give me instructions, and put action on me:
A glorious cause upon my swords point, Gentlemen,
And let my wit, and valour work: you will raise me,
And make me out-dare all my miseries?
Pho. All this, and all thy wishes.
Sep. Use me then,
Womanish fear farewell: I'le never melt more,
Lead on, to some great thing, to wake my spirit:
I cut the Cedar Pompey, and I'le fell
This huge Oak Cæsar too.
Pho. Now thou singst sweetly:
And Ptolomy shall crown thee for thy service.
Achil. He's well wrought: put him on apace for cooling.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella.
Ant. The tumult still encreases.
Cæsar. O my fortune!
My lustfull folly rather! but 'tis well,
And worthily I am made a bondsmans prey,
That after all my glorious victories,
In which I pass'd so many Seas of dangers,
When all the Elements conspir'd against me,
Would yield up the dominion of this head
To any mortal power: so blind and stupid,
To trust these base Egyptians, that proclaim'd
Their perjuries, in noble Pompeys death,
And yet that could not warn me.
Dol. Be still Cæsar,
Who ever lov'd to exercise his fate,
Where danger look't most dreadful.
Ant. If you fall,
Fall not alone: let the King and his Sister
Be buried in your ruines: on my life
They both are guilty: reason may assure you
Photinus nor Achillas durst attempt you,
Or shake one Dart, or sword, aim'd at your safety,
Without their warrant.
Cæsar. For the young King I know not
How he may be misled; but for his Sister
(Unequall'd Cleopatra) 'twere a kind
Of blasphemy to doubt her: ugly treason
Durst never dwell in such a glorious building,
Nor can so clear and great a spirit, as hers is,
Admit of falsehood.
Ant. Let us seize on him then:
And leave her to her fortune.
Dol. If he have power
Use it to your security, and let
His honesty acquit him: if he be false
It is too great an honour he should dye
By your victorious hand.
Cæsar. He comes: and I
Shall do as I find cause.
Enter Ptolomy, Achoreus, Apollodorus.
Ptol. Let not great Cæsar
Impute the breach of hospitality,
To you (my guest) to me; I am contemn'd,
And my rebellious subjects lift their hands
Against my head: and would they aim'd no farther,
Provided that I fell a sacrifice
To gain you safety: that this is not feign'd,
The boldness of my innocence may confirm you:
Had I been privy to their bloody plot,
I now had led them on, and given fair gloss
To their bad cause, by being present with them:
But I that yet taste of the punishment,
In being false to Pompey, will not make
A second fault to Cæsar uncompel'd
With such as have not yet shook off obedience,
I yield my self to you, and will take part
In all your dangers.
Cæsar. This pleads your excuse,
And I receive it.
Ach. If they have any touch
Of justice, or religion, I will use
The authority of our Gods, to call them back
From their bad purpose.
Apo. This part of the palace
Is yet defensible: we may make it good,
Till your powers rescue us.
Cæsar. Cæsar besieg'd?
O stain to my great actions: 'twas my custom,
An Army routed, as my feet had wings
To be first in the chase: nor walls, nor Bulworks
Could guard those that escap'd the Battels fury
From this strong Arm; and I to be enclos'd?
My heart! my heart! but 'tis necessity,
To which the Gods must yield, and I obey,
'Till I redeem it by some glorious way. [Exeunt.