Emp. Oh quench me, quench me, quench me.
Are. Fire, a flattery;
And all the Poets tales of sad Avernus,
To my pains less than fictions: Yet to shew thee
What constant love I bore my murdred master;
Like a Southwind, I have sung through all these tempests
My heart, my wither'd heart, fear, fear thou Monster,
Fear the just gods, I have my peace.— [He dies.
Emp. More drink,
A thousand April showres fall in my bosom:
How dare ye let me be tormented thus?
Away with that prodigious body, gods,
Gods, let me ask ye what I am, ye lay
All your inflictions on me, hear me, hear me;
I do confess I am a ravisher,
A murderer, a hated Cæsar; oh,
Are there not vows enough, and flaming altars,
The fat of all the world for sacrifice,
And where that fails, the blood of thousand captives
To purge those sins? but I must make the incense?
I do despise ye all, ye have no mercy,
And wanting that, ye are no Gods, your paroll
Is only preach'd abroad to make Fools fearfull,
And women made of awe, believe your heaven:
Oh torments, torments, torments, pains above pains,
If ye be any thing but dreams, and ghosts,
And truly hold the guidance of things mortal;
Have in your selves times past, to come, and present,
Fashion the souls of men, and make flesh for 'em,
Weighing our fates, and fortunes beyond reason,
Be more than all the Gods, great in forgiveness,
Break not the goodly frame ye build in anger;
For you are things men teach us, without passions,
Give me an hour to know ye in: Oh save me
But so much perfect time ye make a soul in,
Take this destruction from me; no, ye cannot,
The more I would believe ye, more I suffer,
My brains are ashes, now my heart, my eyes friends;
I goe, I goe, more air, more air; I am mortal.— [He dyes.
Pro. Take in the body: oh Licinius,
The misery that we are left to suffer;
No pity shall find us.
Lici. Our lives deserve none:
Would I were chain'd again to slavery,
With any hope of life.
Pro. A quiet grave,
Or a consumption now Licinius,
That we might be too poor to kill, were something.
Lici. Let's make our best use, we have mony Proculus,
And if that cannot save us, we have swords.
Pro. Yes, but we dare not dye.
Lici. I had forgot that:
There's other countries then.
Pro. But the same hate still,
Of what we are.