Semp. Dead? treason, guard the Court, let no man pass,
Souldiers, your Cæsar's murdered.
Eud. Make no tumult,
Nor arm the Court, ye have his killer with ye;
And the just cause, if ye can stay the hearing:
I was his death; that wreath that made him Cæsar,
Has made him earth.
Sould. Cut her in thousand pieces.
Eud. Wise men would know the reason first: to die,
Is that I wish for, Romans, and your swords,
The heaviest way of death: yet Souldiers grant me
That was your Empress once, and honour'd by ye,
But so much time to tell ye why I kill'd him,
And weigh my reasons well, if man be in you;
Then if ye dare do cruelly, condemn me.
Afr. Hear her ye noble Romans, 'tis a Woman,
A subject not for swords, but pity: Heaven
(If she be guilty of malitious murder)
Has given us Laws to make example of her,
If only of revenge, and bloud hid from us,
Let us consider first, then execute.
Semp. Speak bloudy Woman.
Eud. Yes; This Maximus,
That was your Cæsar, Lords, and noble Souldiers,
(And if I wrong the dead, Heaven perish me;
Or speak to win your favours but the truth)
Was to his Country, to his friends, and Cæsar
A most malitious Traitor.
Semp. Take heed woman.
Eud. I speak not for compassion. Brave Æcius
(Whose blessed soul if I lye shall afflict me)
The man that all the world lov'd, you ador'd,
That was the master-piece of Arms, and bounty;
Mine own grief shall come last: this friend of his,
This Souldier, this your right Arm, noble Romans,
By a base letter to the Emperor;
Stufft full of fears, and poor suggestions,
And by himself, unto himself directed;
Was cut off basely, basely, cruelly;
Oh loss, O innocent, can ye now kill me?
And the poor stale my Noble Lord, that knew not
More of this villain, than his forc'd fears;
Like one foreseen to satisfie, dy'd for it:
There was a murder too, Rome would have blusht at;
Was this worth being Cæsar? or my patience? nay his Wife
By Heaven he told it me in wine, and joy;
And swore it deeply, he himself prepar'd
To be abus'd, how? let me grieve not tell ye;
And weep the sins that did it: and his end
Was only me, and Cæsar: But me he lyed in:
These are my reasons Romans, and my soul
Tells me sufficient; and my deed is justice:
Now as I have done well, or ill, look on me.
Afra. What less could nature do, what less had we done,
Had we known this before? Romans, she is righteous;
And such a piece of justice Heaven must smile on:
Bend all your swords on me, if this displease ye.
For I must kneel, and on this vertuous hand;
Seal my new joy and thanks, thou hast done truly.