Tre. Braue Lords whose forward resolution,
Shewes you descended from true Romaine line,
See how old Rome in winter of her age,
Reioyseth in such Princely budding hopes,
No lesse then once she in Decius vertue did,
Or great Camillus bringing back of spoyles.
On then braue Lords of this attempt begun,
The sacred Senate doth commend the deede: 1530
Your Countries loue incites you to the deed,
Vertue her selfe makes warrant of the deed,
Then Noble Romains as you haue begun:
Neuer desist vntill this deede be done.
Casi. To thee Reueng doth Cassius kneele him downe.
Thou that brings quiet to perplexed soules,
And borne in Hel, yet harborest heauens ioyes,
Whose fauor slaughter is, and dandling death,
Bloud-thirsty pleasures and mis boding blisse:
Brought forth of Fury, nurse of cankered Hate, 1540
To drowne in woe the pleasures of the world.
Thou shalt no more in duskish Erebus:
And dark-some hell obscure thy Deity,
Insteede of Ioue thou shalt my Godesse bee,
To thee faire Temples Cassius will erect:
And on thine alter built of Parian stone
Whole Hecatombs will I offer vp.
Laugh gentle Godesse on my bould attempt,
Yet in thy laughter let pale meager death:
Bee wrapt in wrinkels of thy murthering spoyles. 1550
Bru. An other Tarquin is to bee expeld,
An other Brutus liues to act the deede:
Tis not one nation that this Tarquin wronges,
All Rome is stayn’d with his vnrul’d desires,
Shee whose imperiall scepter was invr’d:
To conquer Kings and to controul the world,
Cannot abate the glory of her state,
To yeeld or bowe to one mans proud desires:
Sweete Country Rome here Brutus vowes to thee,
To loose his life or else to set thee free. 1560
Cas. Shame bee his share that doth his life so prize,
That to Romes weale it would not sacrifize,
My Poniardes point shall pearce his heart as deepe,
As earst his sworde Romes bleeding side did goare:
And change his garments to the purple die,
With which our bloud had staynd sad Thessaly.
Cam. Hee doth refuse the title of a King,
But wee do see hee doth vsurp the thing.
Tre. Our ancient freedome hee empeacheth more,
Then euer King or Tyrant did before. 1570
Cas. The Senators by him are quite disgrac’d,
Rome, Romans, Citty, Freedome, all defac’d.
Cassi. We come not Lords, as vnresolued men,
For to shewe causes of the deed decreed,
This shall dispute for mee and tell him why,
This heart, hand, minde, hath mark’d him out to die:
If it be true that furies quench-les thirst,
Is pleas’d with quaffing of ambitious bloud,
Then all you deuills whet my Poniards point,
And I wil broach you a bloud-sucking heart: 1580
Which full of bloud, must bloud store to you yeeld,
Were it a peerce to flint or marble stone:
Why so it is for Cæsars heart’s a stone,
Els would bee mooued with my Countries mone.
They say you furies instigate mens mindes,
And push their armes to finnish bloudy deedes:
Prick then mine Elbo: goade my bloudy hand,
That it may goare Cæsars ambitious heart. Exeunt.
Act III sc. vii ACTVS 3. SCENA 6.
Enter Cæsar, Calphurnia.
Cæs. Why thinkes my loue to fright me with her dreames? 1591
Shall bug-beares feare Cæsars vndaunted heart,
Whome Pompeys Fortune neuer could amaze,
Nor the French horse, nor Mauritanian boe,
And now shall vaine illusions mee affright:
Or shadowes daunt, whom substance could not quell?
Calphur. O dearest Cæsar, hast thou seene thy selfe,
(As troubled dreames to me did faine thee seene:)
Torne, Wounded, Maymed, Blod-slaughtered, Slaine,
O thou thy selfe, wouldst then haue dread thy selfe: 1600
And feard to thrust thy life to dangers mouth.
Cæs. There you bewray the folly of your dreame,
For I am well, aliue, vncaught, vntoucht.
Calphur. T’was in the Senate-house I sawe thee so,
And yet thou dreadles thither needes will go.
Cæs. The Senate is a place of peace, not death,
But these were but deluding visions.
Calphur. O do not set so little by the heauens,
Dreames ar diuine, men say they come from Ioue,
Beware betimes, and bee not wise to late: 1610
Mens good indeuours change the wills of Fate.
Cæs. Weepe not faire loue, let not thy wofull teares
Bode mee, I knowe what thou wouldest not haue to hap
It will distaine mine honor wonne in fight
To say a womans dreame could me affright.
Cal. O Cæsar no dishonour canst thou get,
In seeking to preuent vnlucky chance:
Foole-hardy men do runne vpon their death,
Bec thou in this perswaded by thy wife:
No vallour bids thee cast away thy life. 1620
Cæs. Tis dastard cowardize and childish feare,
To dread those dangers that do not appeare:
Cal. Thou must sad chance by fore-cast, wise resist,
Or being done say boote-les had I wist.
Cæs. But for to feare wher’s no suspition,
Will to my greatnesse be derision.
Cal. There lurkes an adder in the greenest grasse,
Daungers of purpose alwayes hide their face:
Cæs. Perswade no more Cæsar’s resolu’d to go.
Cal. The Heauens resolue that hee may safe returne, 1630
For if ought happen to my loue but well:
His danger shalbe doubled with my death. Exit.
Enter Augur.
Augur. I, come they are, but yet they are not gon.
Cæs. What hast thou sacrifiz’d, as custome is,
Before wee enter in the Senat-house.
Augur. O stay those steeps that leade thee to thy death,
The angry heauens with threeatning dire aspect,
Boding mischance, and balfull massacers,
Menace the ouerthrowe of Cæsars powre: 1640
Saturne sits frowning on the God of Warre,
VVho in their sad coniunction do conspire,
Vniting both their bale full influences,
To heape mischance, and danger to thy life:
The Sacrificing beast is heart-les found:
Sad ghastly sightes, and raysed Ghostes appeare,
Which fill the silent woods, with groning cries:
The hoarse Night-rauen tunes the chearles voyce,
And calls the bale-full Owle, and howling Doge,
To make a consort. In whose sad song is this, 1650
Neere is the ouerthrow of Cæsars blisse. Exit.
Cæsar. The world is set to fray mee from my wits,
Heers harteles Sacrifice and visions,
Howlinge and cryes, and gastly grones of Ghosts,
Soft Cæsar do not make a mockery,
Of these Prodigious signes sent from the Heauens,
Calphurnias Dre ame Iumping which Augurs words,
Shew (if thou markest it Cæsar) cause to feare:
This day the Senate there shalbe dissolued,
And Ile returne to my Calphurnia home, One giues him a paper. 1660
What hast thou heare that thou presents vs with,
Pre. A thing my Lord that doth concerne your life.
Which loue to you and hate of such a deed,
Makes me reueale vnto your excellence. Cæsar laughs.
Smilest thou, or think’st thou it some ilde toy,
Thout frowne a non to read so many names.
That haue conspird and sworne thy bloody death, Exit.
Enter Cassius.
Cassius. Now must I come, and with close subtile girdes,
Deceaue the prey that Ile deuoure anon, 1670
My Lord the Sacred Senate doth expect,
Your royall presence in Pompeius court:
Cæsar. Cassius they tell me that some daungers nigh.
And death pretended in the Senate house.
Cassi. What danger or what wrong can be,
Where harmeles grauitie and vertue sits,
Tis past all daunger present death it is,
Nor is it wrong to render due desert.
To feare the Senators without a cause,
Will bee a cause why theile be to be feared, 1680
Cæsa. The Senate stayes for me in Pompeys court.
And Cæsars heere, and dares not goe to them,
Packe hence all dread of danger and of death,
What must be must be; Cæsars prest for all,
Cassi. Now haue I sent him headlong to his ende,
Vengance and death awayting at his heeles,
Cæsar thy life now hangeth on a twine,
Which by my Poniard must bee cut in twaine,
Thy chaire of state now turn’d is to thy Beere,
Thy Princely robes to make thy winding sheete: 1690
The Senators the Mourners ore the Hearse,
And Pompeys Court, thy dreadfull graue shalbe.
Act III sc. viii Senators crie all at once.
Omnes. Hold downe the Tyrant stab him to the death:
Casi. Now doth the musick play and this the song
That Cassius heart hath thirsted for so long:
And now my Poniard in this mazing sound,
Must strike that touch that must his life confound.
Stab on, stab on, thus should your Poniards play,
Aloud deepe note vpon this trembling Kay. stab him. 1700
Buco. Bucolian sends thee this. stab him.
Cum. And Cumber this. stab him.
Cas. Take this frõ Casca for to quite Romes wronges.
Cæs. Why murtherous villaines know you whõ you strike,
Tis Cæsar, Cæsar, whom your Poniards pierce:
Cæsar whose name might well afright such slaues:
O Heauens that see and hate this haynous guilt,
And thou Immortall Ioue that Idle holdest
Deluding Thunder in thy faynting hand,
Why stay’st thy dreadfull doome, and dost with-hold, 1710
Thy three-fork’d engine to reuenge my death:
But if my plaintes the Heauens cannot mooue,
Then blackest hell and Pluto bee thou iudge:
You greesly daughters of the cheereles night,
Whose hearts, nor praier nor pitty, ere could lend,
Leaue the black dungeon of your Chaos deepe:
Come and with flaming brandes into the world,
Reuenge, and death, bringe seated in yout eyes:
And plauge these villaynes for their trecheries.