Chorus. "These are vain thoughts or melancholy shows,[356]
That wont to haunt and trace by cloister'd tombs:
Which eaths[357] appear in sad and strange disguises
To pensive minds, deceived with their shadows;
They counterfeit the dead in voice and figure,
Divining of our future miseries.
For when our soul the body hath disgag'd,
It seeks the common passage of the dead,
Down by the fearful gates of Acheron;
Where, when it is by Æacus adjudg'd,
It either turneth to the Stygian lake,
Or stays for ever in th' Elysian fields,
And ne'er returneth to the corse interr'd,
To walk by night, or make the wise afraid.
None but inevitable conquering death
Descends to hell, with hope to rise again;
For ghosts of men are lock'd in fiery gates,
Fast-guarded by a fell remorseless monster,
And therefore think not it was Pompey's sprite,
But some false demon that beguil'd your sight."
[Exit.
Enter Cicero.
Cicero. Then, O world's queen! O town that did extend
Thy conquering arms beyond the ocean,
And throng'dst thy conquests from the Libyan shores,
Down to the Scythian swift-foot fearless porters,[358]
Thou art embas'd;[359] and at this instant yield'st
Thy proud neck to a miserable yoke.
Rome, thou art tam'd, and th' earth, dew'd with thy blood,
Doth laugh to see how thou art signioris'd.
The force of heaven exceeds thy former strength:
For thou, that wont'st to tame and conquer all,
Art conquer'd now with an eternal fall.
Now shalt thou march, thy hands fast-bound behind thee,[360]
Thy head hung down, thy cheeks with tears besprent,
Before the victor; while thy rebel son,
With crowned front triumphing follows thee.
Thy bravest captains, whose courageous hearts
(Joined with the right) did reinforce our hopes,
Now murder'd lie for fowl to feed upon.
Petreus, Cato, and Scipio, are slain,
And Juba, that amongst the Moors did reign.
Now you, whom both the gods and fortune's grace
Hath sav'd from danger in these furious broils,
Forbear to tempt the enemy again,
For fear you feel a third calamity.
Cæsar is like a brightly-flaming blaze,
That fiercely burns a house already fir'd;
And, ceaseless launching out on every side,
Consumes the more, the more you seek to quench it,
Still darting sparkles, till it find a train
To seize upon, and then it flames amain.
The men, the ships, wherewith poor Rome affronts[361] him,
All powerless give proud Cæsar's wrath free passage,
Nought can resist him; all the power we raise,
Turns but to our misfortune and his praise.
'Tis thou, O Rome, that nurs'd his insolence;
'Tis thou, O Rome, that gav'st him first the sword,
Which murd'rer-like against thyself he draws,
And violates both God and Nature's laws.
Like moral Æsop's misled country swain,
That found a serpent pining in the snow,
And full of foolish pity took it up,
And kindly laid it by his household fire,
Till (waxen warm) it nimbly 'gan to stir,
And stung to death the fool that foster'd her.
O gods! that once had care of these our walls,
And fearless kept us from th' assault of foes:
Great Jupiter, to whom our Capitol
So many oxen yearly sacrific'd;
Minerva, Stator, and stout Thracian Mars,
Father to good Quirinus our first founder;
To what intent have ye preserv'd our town,
This stately town, so often hazarded
Against the Samnites, Sabines, and fierce Latins?
Why, from once footing in our fortresses
Have ye repell'd the lusty warlike Gauls?
Why from Molossus and false Hannibal
Have ye reserv'd the noble Romulists?
Or why from Cat'line's lewd conspiracies
Preserv'd ye Rome by my prevention?
To cast so soon a state, so long defended,
Into the bondage where (enthrall'd) we pine?
To serve (no stranger, but amongst us) one
That with blind frenzy buildeth up his throne?
But if in us be any vigour resting,
If yet our hearts retain one drop of blood,
Cæsar, thou shalt not vaunt thy conquest long,
Nor longer hold us in this servitude.
Nor shalt thou bathe thee longer in our blood:
For I divine, that thou must vomit it,
Like to a cur that carrion hath devour'd,
And cannot rest, until his maw be scour'd.
Think'st thou to signiorise, or be the king
Of such a number nobler than thyself?
Or think'st thou Romans bear such bastard hearts.
To let thy tyranny be unreveng'd?
No; for methinks I see the shame, the grief,
The rage, the hatred that they have conceived,
And many a Roman sword already drawn,
T' enlarge the liberty that thou usurp'st,
And thy dismember'd body (stabb'd and torn),
Dragg'd through the streets, disdained to be borne.
[Exit.
Enter Cornelia [and to her Philip].
Philip. Amongst the rest of mine extreme mishaps,
I find my fortune not the least in this,
That I have kept my master company,
Both in his life and at his latest hour:
Pompey the great, whom I have honoured
With true devotion both alive and dead.
One selfsame ship contain'd us, when I saw
The murd'ring Egyptians bereave his life;
And when the man that had affright the earth,
Did homage to it with his dearest blood;
O'er whom I shed full many a bitter tear,
And did perform his exequies with sighs:
And on the strand upon the river-side
(Where to my sighs the water seem'd to turn),
I wove a coffin for his corse of segs,[362]
That with the wind did wave like bannerets,
And laid his body to be burn'd thereon;
Which, when it was consum'd, I kindly took,
And sadly clos'd within an earthen urn
The ashy relics of his hapless bones;
Which having 'scap'd the rage of wind and sea,
I bring to fair Cornelia to inter
Within his elders' tomb, that honour'd her.
Cornelia. Ah me! what see I?
Philip. Pompey's tender bones,
Which (in extremes) an earthen urn containeth.
Cornelia. O sweet, dear, deplorable cinders?
O miserable woman, living—dying!
O poor Cornelia! born to be distress'd,
Why liv'st thou toil'd, that (dead) might'st lie at rest?
O faithless hands, that under cloak of love
Did entertain him, to torment him so!
O barbarous, inhumane, hateful traitors!
This your disloyal dealing hath defam'd
Your king and his inhospitable seat
Of the extremest and most odious crime,
That 'gainst the heavens might be imagined.
For ye have basely broke the law of arms,
And outrag'd over an afflicted soul;
Murder'd a man that did submit himself,
And injur'd him that ever us'd you kindly.
For which misdeed be Egypt pestered
With battle, famine, and perpetual plagues!
Let aspics, serpents, snakes, and Libyan bears,
Tigers and lions, breed with you for ever!
And let fair Nilus (wont to nurse your corn)
Cover your land with toads and crocodiles,
That may infect, devour, and murder you!
Else earth make way, and hell receive them quick—
A hateful race, 'mongst whom there doth abide
All treason, luxury, and homicide.