Lici. Think any thing, I'le follow—
Enter a Messenger.
Pro. How now, what news?
Mess. Shift for your selves, ye are lost else:
The Souldier is in arms for great Aecius,
And their Lieutenant general that stopt 'em,
Cut in a thousand pieces: they march hither:
Beside, the women of the Town have murder'd
Phorba, and loose Ardelia, Cæsar's she-Bawds.
Lici. Then here's no staying Proculus?
Pro. O Cæsar,
That we had never known thy lusts: Let's fly,
And where we find no womans man let's dye.—
SCENE III.
Enter Maximus.
Max. Gods, what a sluce of blood have I let open!
My happy ends are come to birth, he's dead,
And I reveng'd; the Empire's all a fire,
And desolation every where inhabits:
And shall I live that am the author of it,
To know Rome from the awe o'th' world, the pity?
My friends are gone before too of my sending,
And shall I stay? is ought else to be liv'd for?
Is there an other friend, another wife,
Or any third holds half their worthiness,
To linger here alive for? Is not vertue
In their two everlasting souls departed,
And in their bodies first flame fled to heaven?
Can any man discover this, and love me?
For though my justice were as white as truth,
My way was crooked to it, that condemns me:
And now Aecius, and my honored Lady,
That were preparers to my rest and quiet,
The lines to lead me to Elyzium:
You that but stept before me, on assurance
I would not leave your friendship unrewarded,
First smile upon the sacrifice I have sent ye,
Then see me coming boldly: stay, I am foolish,
Somewhat too suddain to mine own destruction,
This great end of my veng[e]ance may grow greater:
Why may not I be Cæsar? Yet no dying;
Why should not I catch at it? fools and children
Have had that strength before me, and obtain'd it,
And as the danger stands, my reason bids me,
I will, I dare; my dear friends pardon me,
I am not fit to dye yet, if not Cæsar;
I am sure the Souldier loves me, and the people,
And I will forward, and as goodly Cedars
Rent from Oeta by a sweeping tempest
Jointed again and made tall masts, defie
Those angry winds that split 'em, so will I
New piece again, above the fate of women,
And made more perfect far, than growing private,
Stand and defie bad fortunes: If I rise,
My wife was ravish'd well; If then I fall,
My great attempt honours my Funeral.— [Exit.