FOOTNOTES:
[353] [Old copies, tyrannous.]
[354] [Getullum, in Tripoli. See Hazlitt's "Classical Gazetteer," in v.]
[355] Similar to this expression is chap-fallen, still used by the vulgar. In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Mad Lover," act ii., Calis says his palate's down, which seems to have the same signification.
It will be seen by the following quotation from Webster's "Appius and Virginia," 4to, 1654, that brawn-fall'n is something different from what Reed has described it—
"Let
Th' enemies stript arm have his crimson'd brawns
Up to the elbowes in your traitorous blood."—Page 9.
[356] Dryden and Lee, in their tragedy of "Oedipus," act iv. sc. 1, have the following beautiful passage, which may be compared with the present—
"When the sun sets, shadows, that show'd at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible;
So when we think fate hovers o'er our heads.
Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds,
Owls, ravens, crickets seem the watch of death,
Nature's worst vermin scare her god-like sons.
Echoes, the very leavings of a voice,
Grow babling ghosts, and call us to our graves:
Each molehill thought swells to a huge Olympus,
While we fantastick dreamers heave and puff,
And sweat with an imagination's weight;
As if, like Atlas, with these mortal shoulders
We could sustain the burden of the world."
[357] i.e., Easy, easily. Eath is an old Saxon word, signifying ease. Hence uneath [or unneth] for uneasily, [or, rather, scarcely.] So, in the "Second Part of Henry VI.," act ii. sc. 4—
"Uneath may she endure the flinty streets."—S.
Again, in Spenser's "Fairy Queen," B. iv. c. 12. § 1—
"For much more eath to tell the starres on hy,
Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation."
[358] Probably booters.—S. P.
S. P. [Dr Pegge] would read booters; but he ought to have known that the Scythians were contemptuously styled porters, because they carried their huts and families about with them in wains; omnia sua secum portantes. So Lucan, lib. ii. v. 641—
"Pigra palus Scythici patiens Mæotica plaustri."
Again, Horace, "Carm.," lib. iii. Od. 24—
"Campestres melius Scythoe,
Quorum plaustra vagas rite trahunt domos."
After all, what could booters mean? Unless S. P. designed to characterise the Scythians, as Homer does his countrymen, ἐϋκνήμιδες Ἀχαιοὶ, the well-booted Greeks. [II. a. 17.] Free-booters, indeed, is used for plunderers; but I know not that booters is ever employed, unless in conjunction with some epithet that fixes its meaning.—S.
[359] Dishonoured. So in Spenser's "Fairy Queen," B. iii. sc. 1. § 12—
"Thus reconcilement was between them knitt,
Through goodly temp'rance and affection chaste;
And either vow'd with all their power and witt,
To let not other's honour be defaste,
Of friend or foe, who ever it embaste."
[360] Mr Steevens observes that this passage is very like the following in Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra," act iv. sc. 12—
"Would'st thou be windowed in great Rome, and see
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Cæsar drawn before him branded
His baseness that ensued?"
[361] To affront is to meet directly. As in "Fuimus Troes," act ii. sc. 1—
"Let's then dismiss the legate with a frown;
And draw our forces toward the sea, to join
With the four kings of Kent, and so affront
His first arrival."
And in "Hamlet," act iii. sc. 1—
"That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia."
See Mr Steevens's note on the last passage.
[362] Sedges.—S.
[363] See Suetonius, Jul. c. 75.—S. P.
[ACT IV.]
Cassius, Decimus Brutus.
Cassius. Accursed Rome, that arm'st against thyself
A tyrant's rage, and mak'st a wretch thy king.
For one man's pleasure (O injurious Rome!)
Thy children 'gainst thy children thou hast arm'd:
And think'st not of the rivers of their blood,
That erst were shed to save thy liberty,
Because thou ever hatedst monarchy.
Now o'er our bodies (tumbled up on heaps,
Like cocks of hay, when July shears the field),
Thou build'st thy kingdom, and thou seat'st thy king,
And to be servile (which torments me most)
Employest our lives, and lavishest our blood.
O Rome, accursed Rome, thou murd'rest us,
And massacrest thyself in yielding thus.
Yet are there gods, yet is there heaven and earth,
That seem to fear a certain Thunderer?
No, no, there are no gods; or, if there be,
They leave to see into the world's affairs:
They care not for us, nor account of men,
For what we see is done, is done by chance.
'Tis Fortune rules; for equity and right
Have neither help nor grace in Heaven's sight.
Scipio hath wrench'd a sword into his breast,
And launch'd his bleeding wound into the sea.
Undaunted Cato tore his entrails out.
Affranius and Faustus murder'd died.
Juba and Petreus, fiercely combating,
Have each done other equal violence.
Our army's broken, and the Libyan bears
Devour the bodies of our citizens.
The conquering tyrant, high in Fortune's grace,
Doth ride triumphing o'er our commonwealth;
And mournful we behold him bravely mounted
(With stern looks) in his chariot, where he leads
The conquer'd honour of the people yok'd.
So Rome to Cæsar yields both power and pelf,
And o'er Rome Cæsar reigns in Rome itself.
But, Brutus, shall we dissolutely sit,
And see the tyrant live to tyrannise?
Or shall their ghosts, that died to do us good,
'Plain in their tombs of our base cowardice?
Shall lamed soldiers and grave grey-hair'd men
Point at us in their bitter tears, and say:
See where they go that have their race forgot!
And rather choose (unarm'd) to serve with shame,
Than (arm'd) to save their freedom and their fame?
Brutus. I swear by heaven, the Immortals' highest throne,
Their temples, altars, and their images,
To see (for one) that Brutus suffer not
His ancient liberty to be repress'd.
I freely march'd with Cæsar in his wars,
Not to be subject, but to aid his right.
But if (envenom'd with ambitious thoughts)
He lift his hand imperiously o'er us;
If he determine but to reign in Rome,
Or follow'd Pompey but to this effect;
Or if (these civil discords now dissolv'd)
He render not the empire back to Rome;
Then shall he see, that Brutus this day bears
The selfsame arms to be aveng'd on him;
And that this hand (though Cæsar blood abhor)
Shall toil in his, which I am sorry for.
I love, I love him dearly. "But the love,
That men their country and their birthright bear,
Exceeds all loves; and dearer is by far
Our country's love, than friends or children are."
Cassius. If this brave care be nourish'd in your blood,
Or if so frank a will your soul possess,
Why haste we not, even while these words are utter'd,
To sheathe our new-ground swords in Cæsar's throat?
Why spend we daylight, and why dies he not,
That by his death we wretches may revive?
We stay too long: I burn, till I be there
To see this massacre, and send his ghost
To theirs, whom (subtly) he for monarchy
Made fight to death with show of liberty.
Brutus. Yet haply he (as Sylla whilom did)
When he hath rooted civil war from Rome,
Will therewithal discharge the power he hath.
Cassius. Cæsar and Sylla, Brutus, be not like.
Sylla (assaulted by the enemy)
Did arm himself (but in his own defence)
Against both Cinna's host and Marius;
Whom when he had discomfited and chas'd,
And of his safety throughly was assur'd,
He laid apart the power that he had got,
And gave up rule, for he desired it not.
Where Cæsar, that in silence might have slept,
Nor urg'd by aught but his ambition,
Did break into the heart of Italy;
And like rude Brennus brought his men to field:
Travers'd the seas, and shortly after (back'd
With winter'd soldiers us'd to conquering),
He aim'd at us, bent to exterminate
Whoever sought to intercept his state:
Now, having got what he hath gaped for,
(Dear Brutus) think you Cæsar such a child,
Slightly to part with so great signiory?
Believe it not, he bought it dear, you know,
And travelled too far to leave it so.
Brutus. But, Cassius, Cæsar is not yet a king.
Cassius. No, but dictator; in effect as much.
He doth what pleaseth him—a princely thing.
And wherein differ they, whose power is such?
Brutus. He is not bloody.
Cassius. But by bloody jars
He hath unpeopl'd most part of the earth.
Both Gaul and Afric perish'd by his wars;
Egypt, Emathia, Italy, and Spain,
Are full of dead men's bones by Cæsar slain.
Th' infectious plague and famine's bitterness,
Or th' ocean (whom no pity can assuage),
Though they contain dead bodies numberless,
Are yet inferior to Cæsar's rage;
Who (monster-like) with his ambition
Hath left more tombs than ground to lay them on.
Brutus. Soldiers with such reproach should not be blam'd.
Cassius. He with his soldiers hath himself defam'd.
Brutus. Why, then, you think there is no praise in war.
Cassius. Yes, where the causes reasonable are.
Brutus. He hath enrich'd the empire with new states.
Cassius. Which with ambition now he ruinates.
Brutus. He hath reveng'd the Gauls' old injury,
And made them subject to our Roman laws.
Cassius. The restful Almains with his cruelty
He rashly stirr'd against us without cause;
And hazarded our city and ourselves
Against a harmless nation, kindly given;
To whom we should do well (for some amends)
To render him, and reconcile old friends.
These nations did he purposely provoke,
To make an army for his after-aid
Against the Romans, whom in policy
He train'd in war to steal their signiory.
"Like them that (striving at th' Olympian sports,
To grace themselves with honour of the game)
Anoint their sinews fit for wrestling,
And (ere they enter) use some exercise."
The Gauls were but a fore-game fetch'd about
For civil discord, wrought by Cæsar's sleights;
Whom (to be king himself) he soon remov'd;
Teaching a people hating servitude
To fight for that, that did their deaths conclude.
Brutus. The wars once ended, we shall quickly know,
Whether he will restore the state or no.
Cassius. No, Brutus, never look to see that day,
For Cæsar holdeth signiory too dear.
But know, while Cassius hath one drop of blood
To feed this worthless body that you see,
What reck I death to do so many good?
In spite of Cæsar, Cassius will be free.
Brutus. A generous or true ennobled spirit
Detests to learn what tastes of servitude.
Cassius. Brutus, I cannot serve nor see Rome yok'd;
No, let me rather die a thousand deaths.
"The stiff-neck'd horses champ not on the bit,
Nor meekly bear the rider but by force:
The sturdy oxen toil not at the plough,
Nor yield unto the yoke, but by constraint."
Shall we then, that are men and Romans born,
Submit us to unurged slavery?
Shall Rome, that hath so many overthrown,
Now make herself a subject to her own?
O base indignity! A beardless youth,
Whom king Nicomedes could overreach,
Commands the world, and bridleth all the earth,
And like a prince controls the Romulists;
Brave Roman soldiers, stern-born sons of Mars,
And none, not one, that dares to undertake
The intercepting of his tyranny.
O Brutus, speak! O say, Servilius!
Why cry you aim![364] and see us used thus?
But Brutus lives, and sees, and knows, and feels,
That there is one that curbs their country's weal.
Yet (as he were the semblance, not the son,
Of noble Brutus, his great grandfather):
As if he wanted hands, sense, sight, or heart,
He doth, deviseth, sees, nor dareth ought,
That may extirp or raze these tyrannies.
Nor ought doth Brutus that to Brute belongs,
But still increaseth by his negligence
His own disgrace and Cæsar's violence.
The wrong is great, and overlong endur'd;
We should have practis'd, conspir'd, conjured
A thousand ways and weapons to repress,
Or kill outright, this cause of our distress.
Chorus. Who prodigally spends his blood
Bravely to do his country good,
And liveth to no other end,
But resolutely to attempt,
What may the innocent defend,
And bloody tyrants' rage prevent:
And he that, in his soul assur'd,
Hath water's force and fire endur'd,
And pass'd the pikes of thousand hosts,
To free the earth from tyranny,
And fearless scours on dang'rous coasts,
T' enlarge his country's liberty:
Were all the world his foes before,
Now shall they love him evermore;
His glory, spread abroad by Fame
On wings of his posterity,
From obscure death shall free his name,
To live in endless memory.
All after-ages shall adore,
And honour him with hymns therefore.
Yearly the youth for joy shall bring
The fairest flowers that grow in Rome;
And yearly in the summer sing,
O'er his heroic kingly tomb.
For so the two Athenians,
That from their fellow-citizens
Did freely chase vile servitude,
Shall live for valiant prowess blest;
No sepulchre shall e'er exclude
Their glory, equal with the best.
But when the vulgar, mad and rude,
Repay good with ingratitude,
Hardly then they them reward,
That to free them from the hands
Of a tyrant, ne'er regard
In what plight their person stands.
For high Jove, that guideth all,
When he lets his just wrath fall,
To revenge proud diadems,
With huge cares did cross kings' lives,
Raising treasons in their realms
By their children, friends, or wives.
Therefore he, whom all men fear,
Feareth all men everywhere.
Fear, that doth engender hate
(Hate enforcing them thereto),
Maketh many undertake
Many things they would not do.
O, how many mighty kings
Live in fear of petty things!
For when kings have sought by wars
Stranger towns to have o'erthrown,
They have caught deserved scars,
Seeking that was not their own.
For no tyrant commonly,
Living ill, can kindly die;
But either traitorously surpris'd
Doth coward poison quail[365] their breath,
Or their people have devis'd,
On their guard, to seek their death.
He only lives most happily
That, free and far from majesty,
Can live content, although unknown;
He fearing none, none fearing him:
Meddling with nothing but his own,
While gazing eyes at crowns grow dim.
[Exit.
Enter Cæsar and Mark Antony.
Cæsar. O Rome, that with thy pride dost overpeer
The worthiest cities of the conquer'd world;
Whose honour, got by famous victories,
Hath filled heaven's fiery vaults with frightful horror!
O lofty towers! O stately battlements!
O glorious temples! O proud palaces!
And you brave walls, bright heaven's masonry,
Grac'd with a thousand kingly diadems!
Are ye not stirred with a strange delight,
To see your Cæsar's matchless victories?
And how your empire and your praise begins
Through fame, which he of stranger nations wins?
O beauteous Tiber, with thine easy streams,
That glide as smoothly as a Parthian shaft!
Turn not thy crispy[366] tides like silver curl,
Back to thy grass-green banks to welcome us;
And with a gentle murmur haste to tell
The foaming seas the honour of our fight?
Trudge not thy streams to Triton's mariners,
To bruit the praises of our conquest past?
And make their vaunts to old Oceanus,
That henceforth Tiber shall salute the seas,
More fam'd than Tiger or fair Euphrates?
Now all the world (well-nigh) doth stoop to Rome:
The sea, the earth, and all is almost ours.
Be't, where the bright sun with his neighbour beams
Doth early light the pearled Indians,
Or where his chariot stays to stop the day,
Till heaven unlock the darkness of the night.
Be't, where the sea is wrapt in crystal ice,
Or where the summer doth but warm the earth.
Or here, or there, where is not Rome renown'd?
There lives no king (how great soe'er he be)
But trembleth if he once but hear of me.
Cæsar is now earth's fame and Fortune's terror,
And Cæsar's worth hath stain'd old soldiers' praises.
Rome, speak no more of either Scipio,
Nor of the Fabii, or Fabricians;
Here let the Decii and their glory die.
Cæsar hath tam'd more nations, ta'en more towns,
And fought more battles than the best of them.
Cæsar doth triumph over all the world,
And all they scarcely conquered a nook.
The Gauls, that came to Tiber to carouse,
Did live to see my soldiers drink at Loire;
And those brave Germans, true-born martialists,
Beheld the swift Rhine under-run mine ensigns.
The Britons (lock'd within a wat'ry realm,
And wall'd by Neptune) stoop'd to me at last.
The faithless Moor, the fierce Numidian,
Th' earth that the Euxine sea makes sometimes marsh,
The stony-hearted people that inhabit,
Where sevenfold Nilus doth disgorge itself,
Have all been urg'd to yield to my command;
Yea, even this city, that hath almost made
An universal conquest of the world;
And that brave warrior, my brother-in-law,
That (ill-advis'd) repined at my glory:
Pompey, that second Mars, whose haught'[367] renown
And noble deeds were greater than his fortunes,
Prov'd to his loss, but even in one assault
My hand, my hap, my heart exceeded his,
When the Thessalian fields were purpled o'er
With either army's murder'd soldiers' gore;
When he, to conquering accustomed,
Did conquered fly, his troops discomfited.
Now Scipio, that long'd to show himself
Descent of African (so fam'd for arms),
He durst affront me and my warlike bands
Upon the coasts of Libya, till he lost
His scatter'd army, and to shun the scorn
Of being taken captive, kill'd himself.
Now therefore let us triumph, Antony;
And, rend'ring thanks to Heaven as we go,
For bridling those that did malign our glory,
Let's to the Capitol.
Antony. Come on, brave Cæsar,
And crown thy head and mount thy chariot.
Th' impatient people run along the streets,
And in a rout against thy gates they rush,
To see their Cæsar after danger's past,
Made conqueror and emperor at last.
Cæsar. I call to witness heaven's great Thunderer,
That 'gainst my will I have maintain'd this war.
Nor thirsted I for conquests bought with blood.
I joy not in the death of citizens;
But, through my self-will'd enemies' despite
And Romans' wrong, was I constrain'd to fight.
Antony. They sought t' eclipse thy fame; but destiny
Revers'd th' effect of their ambition;
And Cæsar's praise increas'd by their disgrace,
That reck'd not of his virtuous deeds. But thus
We see it fareth with the envious.
Cæsar. I never had the thought to injure them.
Howbeit I never meant my greatness should
By any other's greatness be o'errul'd.
For as I am inferior to none,
So can I suffer no superiors.
Antony. Well, Cæsar, now they are discomfited,
And crows are feasted with their carcases;
And yet I fear you have too kindly sav'd
Those, that your kindness hardly will requite.
Cæsar. Why, Antony, what would you wish me do?
Now shall you see that they will pack to Spain,
And, joined with the exiles there encamp'd,
Until th' ill spirit, that doth them defend,
Do bring their treasons to a bloody end.
Antony. I fear not those that to their weapons fly,
And keep their state in Spain, in Spain to die.
Cæsar. Whom fear'st thou then, Mark Antony?
Antony. The hateful crew
That, wanting power in field to conquer you,
Have in their coward souls devised snares
To murder thee, and take thee at unwares.
Cæsar. Will those conspire my death that live by me?
Antony. In conquer'd foes what credit can there be?
Cæsar. Besides their lives, I did their goods restore.
Antony. O, but their country's good concerns them more.
Cæsar. What, think they me to be their country's foe?
Antony. No, but that thou usurp'st the right they owe.[368]
Cæsar. To Rome have I submitted mighty things.
Antony. Yet Rome endures not the command of kings.
Cæsar. Who dares to contradict our empery?[369]
Antony. Those whom thy rule hath robb'd of liberty.
Cæsar. I fear them not, whose death is but deferr'd.
Antony. I fear my foe, until he be interr'd.
Cæsar. A man may make his foe his friend, you know.
Antony. A man may easier make his friend his foe.
Cæsar. Good deeds the cruel'st heart to kindness bring.
Antony. But resolution is a deadly thing.
Cæsar. If citizens my kindness have forgot,
Whom shall I then not fear?
Antony. Those that are not.
Cæsar. What, shall I slay then all that I suspect?
Antony. Else cannot Cæsar empery endure.
Cæsar. Rather I will my life and all neglect.
Nor labour I my vain life to assure;
But so to die, as dying I may live,
And, leaving off this earthly tomb of mine,
Ascend to heaven upon my winged deeds.
And shall I not have lived long enough,
That in so short a time am so much fam'd?
Can I too soon go taste Cocytus' flood?
No, Antony, death cannot injure us,
"For he lives long that dies victorious."
Antony. Thy praises show thy life is long enough,
But for thy friends and country all too short.
Should Cæsar live as long as Nestor did,
Yet Rome may wish his life eternised.
Cæsar. Heaven sets our time; with heaven may nought dispense.
Antony. But we may shorten time with negligence.
Cæsar. But Fortune and the heavens have care of us.
Antony. Fortune is fickle, heaven imperious.
Cæsar. What shall I then do?
Antony. As befits your state;
Maintain a watchful guard about your gate.
Cæsar. What more assurance may our state defend,
Than love of those that do on us attend?
Antony. There is no hatred more, if it be mov'd,
Than theirs whom we offend, and once belov'd.
Cæsar. Better it is to die than be suspicious.
Antony. 'Tis wisdom yet not to be credulous.
Cæsar. The quiet life, that carelessly is led,
Is not alonely happy in this world;
But death itself doth sometime pleasure us.
That death, that comes unsent for or unseen,
And suddenly doth take us at unware,
Methinks is sweetest; and, if heaven were pleas'd,
I could desire that I might die so well.
The fear of evil doth afflict us more
Than th' evil itself, though it be ne'er so sore.
[Exeunt.
A Chorus of Cæsar's Friends.
O fair sun, that gently smiles
From the orient-pearled isles,
Gilding these our gladsome days
With the beauty of thy rays:
Free fro' rage of civil strife,
Long preserve our Cæsar's life,
That from sable Afric brings
Conquests, whereof Europe rings.
And fair Venus, thou of whom
The Æneades are come,
Henceforth vary not thy grace
From Iulus' happy race.
Rather cause thy dearest son,
By his triumphs new-begun,
To expel fro' forth the land
Fierce war's quenchless firebrand.
That of care acquitting us
(Who at last adore him thus),
He a peaceful star appear,
From our walls all foes to clear.
And so let his warlike brows
Still be deck'd with laurel-boughs,
And his statues newly set
With many a fresh-flower'd coronet.
So in every place let be
Feasts and masques, and mirthful glee,
Strewing roses in the street,
When their emperor they meet.
He his foes hath conquered,
Never leaving till they fled,
And (abhorring blood) at last
Pardon'd all offences past.
"For high Jove the heavens among
(Their support that suffer wrong)
Doth oppose himself again'
Bloody-minded, cruel men.
"For he shorteneth their days,
Or prolongs them with dispraise:
Or (his greater wrath to show)
Gives them over to their foe."
Cæsar, a citizen so wrong'd
Of the honour him belong'd,
To defend himself from harms
Was enforc'd to take up arms.
For he saw that envy's dart
(Pricking still their poisoned heart.
For his sudden glory got),
Made his envious foe so hot.
Wicked envy, feeding still
Foolish those that do thy will;
For thy poisons in them pour
Sundry passions every hour.
And to choler doth convert
Purest blood about the heart.
Which (o'erflowing of their breast)
Suff'reth nothing to digest.
"Other men's prosperity
Is their infelicity;
And their choler then is rais'd,
When they hear another prais'd..
"Neither Phoebus' fairest eye,
Feasts nor friendly company:
Mirth, or whatsoe'er it be,
With their humour can agree.
"Day or night they never rest,
Spiteful hate so pecks their breast.
Pinching their perplexed lungs
With her fiery poison'd tongues.
"Firebrands in their breasts they bear,
As if Tisiphon were there.
And their souls are pierc'd as sore
As Prometheus' ghost, and more.
"Wretches, they are woe-begone,[370]
For their wound is always one.
Nor hath Charon power or skill
To recure them of their ill." [Exit.