[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.