The Tragedy Of Caesar's Revenge

by Unknown

Act III sc. iv ACT. 3. SC. 3.

Enter Brutus.

Bru. How long in base ignoble patience,
Shall I behold my Countries wofull fall,
O you braue Romains, and among’st the rest
Most Noble Brutus, faire befall your soules: 1370
Let Peace and Fame your Honored graues awaite,
Who through such perils, and such tedious warres,
Won your great labors prise sweete liberty,
But wee that with our life did freedoms take,
And did no sooner Men, then free-men, breath:
To loose it now continuing so long,
And with such lawes, such vowes, such othes confirm’d
Can nothing but disgrace and shame expect:
But soft what see I written on my seate,
O vtinam Brute viueres. 1380
What meaneth this, thy courage dead,
But stay, reade forward, Brute mortuus es.
I thou art dead indeed, thy courrage dead
Thy care and loue thy dearest Country dead,
Thy wonted spirit and Noble stomack dead.

Enter Cassius.

Cassi. The times drawe neere by gratious heauens assignd
When Philips Sonne must fall in Babilon,
In his triumphing proud persumption:
But see where melancholy Brutus walkes, 1390
Whose minde is hammering on no meane conceit:
Then sound him Cassius, see how hee is inclined,
How fares young Brutus in this tottering state.
Bru. Euen as an idle gazer, that beholdes,
His Countries wrackes and cannot succor bring.
Cassi. But wil Brute alwaies in this dreame remaine,
And not bee mooued with his Countries mone.
Bru. O that I might in Lethes endles sleepe,
And neere awaking pleasant rest of death
Close vp mine eyes, that I no more might see, 1400
Poore Romes distresse and Countries misery.
Casi. No Brutus liue, and wake thy sleepy minde,
Stirre vp those dying sparkes of honors fire,
VVhich in thy gentle breast weare wont to flame:
See how poore Rome opprest with Countries wronges,
Implores thine ayde, that bred thee to that end,
Thy kins-mans soule from heauen commandes thine aide:
That lastly must by thee receiue his end,
Then purchas honor by a glorious death,
Or liue renown’d by ending Cæsars life. 1410
Bru. I can no longer beare the Tirants pride,
I cannot heare my Country crie for ayde,
And not bee mooued with her pitious mone,
Brutus thy soule shall neuer more complaine:
That from thy linage and most vertuous stock,
A bastard weake degenerat branch is borne,
For to distaine the honor of thy house.
No more shall now the Romains call me dead,
Ile liue againe and rowze my sleepy thoughts:
And with the Tirants death begin this life. 1420
Rome now I come to reare thy states decayed,
VVhen or this hand shall cure thy fatall wound,
Or else this heart by bleeding on the ground.
Cas. Now heauen I see applaudes this enterprise,
And Rhadamanth into the fatall Vrne,
That lotheth death, hath thrust the Tirants name,
Cæsar the life that thou in bloud hast led:
Shall heape a bloudy vengance on thine head. Exeunt.

Act III sc. v ACT. 2. SCE. 4.

Enter Cæsar, Anthony Dolobella, Lords, and others.

Cæs. Now servile Pharthia proud in Romaine spoile, 1431
Shall pay her ransome vnto Cæsars Ghost:
Which vnreuenged roues by the Stygian strond,
Exclaming on our sluggish negligence.
Leaue to lament braue Romans, loe I come,
Like to the God of battell, mad with rage,
To die their riuers with vermilion red:
Ile fill Armenians playnes and Medians hils,
With carkases of bastard Scithian broode,
And there proud Princes will I bring to Rome, 1440
Chained in fetters to my charriot wheeles:
Desire of fame and hope of sweete reueng,
Which in my brest hath kindled such a flame,
As nor Euphrates, nor sweet Tybers streame,
Can quench or slack this feruent boyling heate:
These conquering souldiers that haue followed me,
From vanquisht France to sun-burnt Meroe,
Matching the best of Alexanders troopes.
Shall with their lookes put Parthian foes to flight,
And make them twise turne their deceitfull lookes, 1450
Ant. The restlesse mind that harbors sorrowing thoughts,
And is with child of noble enterprise,
Doth neuer cease from honors toilesome taske,
Till it bringes forth Eternall gloryes broode.
So you fayre braunch of vertues great discent,
Now hauing finish’d Ciuill warres sad broyles,
Intend by Parthian triumphes to enlarge,
Your contryes limits, and your owne renowne,
But cause in Sibilles ciuill writs we finde,
None but a King that conquest can atchiue, 1460
Both for to crowne your deedes with due reward,
And as auspicious signes of victorye.
Wee here present you with this Diadem,
Lord. And euen as kings were banish’d Romes high throne
Cause their base vice, her honour did destayne,
So to your rule doth shee submit her selfe,
That her renowne there by might brighter shine,
Cæsar. Why thinke you Lords that tis ambitions spur.
That pricketh Cæsar to these high attempts,
Or hope of Crownes, or thought of Diadems, 1470
That made me wade through honours perilous deepe,
Vertue vnto it selfe a shure reward,
My labours all shall haue a pleasing doome,
If you but Iudge I will deserue of Rome:
Did those old Romaines suffer so much ill?
Such tedious seeges, such enduring warrs?
Tarquinius hates, and great Porsennas threats,
To banish proude imperious tyrants rule?
And shall my euerdaring thoughts contend
To marre what they haue brought to happy end: 1480
Or thinke you cause my Fortune hath expeld,
My friends, come let vs march in iolity,
Ile triumph Monarke-like ore conquering Rome,
Or end my conquests with my countryes spoyles,
Dolo. O noble Princely resolution.
These or not victoryes that we so call,
That onely blood and murtherous spoyles can vaunt:
But this shalbe thy victory braue Prince,
That thou hast conquered thy owne climing thoughts,
And with thy vertue beat ambition downe, 1490
And this no lesse inblazon shall thy fame.
Then those great deeds and chiualrous attempts,
That made thee conqueror in Thessalia.
Ant. This noble mind and Pincely modesty,
Which in contempt of honours brightnes shines,
Makes vs to wish the more for such a Prince,
Whose vertue not ambition won that praise,
Nor shall we thinke it losse of liberty.
Or Romaine liberty any way impeached,
For to subiect vs to his Princely rule, 1500
Whose thoughts fayre vertue and true honor guides:
Vouchsafe then to accept this goulden crowne,
A gift not equall to thy dignity.
Cæs. Content you Lordes for I wilbe no King,
An odious name vnto the Romaine eare,
Cæsar I am, and wilbe Cæsar still,
No other title shall my Fortunes grace:
Which I will make a name of higher state
Then Monarch, King or worldes great Potentate.
Of Ioue in Heauen, shall ruled bee the skie, 1510
The Earth of Cæsar, with like Maiesty.
This is the Scepter that my crowne shall beare,
And this the golden diadem Ile weare,
A farre more rich and royall ornament,
Then all the Crownes that the proud Persian gaue:
Forward my Lordes let Trumpets sound our march,
And drums strike vp Reuenges sad alarms,
Parthia we come with like incensed heate,
As great Atrides with the angry Greekes,
Marching in fury to pale walls of Troy. 1520

Act III sc. vi ACT. 3. SC. 5.

Enter Cassius, Brutus, Trebonius, Cumber Casca.