Bru. I haue held Anthony with a vaine discourse,
The whilst the deed’s in execution,
But liues hee still, yet doth the Tyrant breath?
Chalinging Heauens with his blasphemies,
Heere Brutus maketh a passage for thy Soule,
To plead thy cause for them whose ayde thou crauest,
Cæs. What Brutus to? nay nay, then let me die,
Nothing wounds deeper then ingratitude,
Bru. I bloody Cæsar, Cæsar, Brutus too,
Doth geeue thee this, and this to quite Romes wrongs, 1730
Cassius. O had the Tyrant had as many liues.
As that fell Hydra borne in Lerna lake,
That heare I still might stab and stabing kill,
Till that more liues might bee extinquished,
Then his ambition, Romanes Slaughtered.
Tre. How heauens haue iustly on the authors head,
Returnd the guiltles blood which he hath shed,
And Pompey he who caused thy Tragedy,
Here breathles lies before thy Noble Statue,
Anth. What cryes of death resound within my eares,
Whome I doe see great Cæsar buchered thus?
What said I great? I Cæsar thou wast great,
But O that greatnes was that brought thy death:
O vniust Heauens, (if Heauens at all there be,)
Since vertues wronges makes question of your powers,
How could your starry eyes this shame behold,
How could the sunne see this and not eclipze?
Fayre bud of fame ill cropt before thy time:
What Hyrcan tygar, or wild sauage bore, 1750
(For he more heard then Bore or Tyger was,)
Durst do so vile and execrate a deede,
Could not those eyes so full of maiesty,
Nor priesthood (o not thus to bee prophand)
Nor yet the reuerence to this sacred place,
Nor flowing eloquence of thy goulden tounge,
Nor name made famous through immortall merit,
Deter those murtherors from so vild a deed?
Sweete friend accept these obsequies of mine,
Which heare with teares I doe vnto thy hearse, 1760
And thou being placed a mong the shining starrs.
Shalt downe from Heauen behold what deepe reueng,
I will inflict vpon the murtherers, Exit with Cæsar, in his armes.
FINIS. Act. 3.
Chor. IV Enter Discord.
Dis. Brutus thou hast what long desire hath sought,
Cæsar Lyes weltring in his purple Goare,
Thou art the author of Romes liberty,
Proud in thy murthering hand and bloody knife. 1770
Yet thinke Octauian and sterne Anthony.
Cannot let passe this murther vnreuenged,
Thessalia once againe must see your blood,
And Romane drommes must strike vp new a laromes,
Harke how Bellona shakes her angry lance:
And enuie clothed in her crimson weed,
Me thinkes I see the fiery shields to clash,
Eagle gainst Eagle, Rome gainst Rome to fight,
Phillipi, Cæsar quittance must thy wronges,
Whereas that hand shall stab that trayterous heart. 1780
That durst encourage it to worke thy death,
Thus from thine ashes Cæsar doth arise
As from Medeas haples scatered teeth:
New flames of wars, and new outraigous broyles,
Now smile Æmathia that euen in thy top,
Romes victory and pride shalbe entombd,
And those great conquerors of the vanquished earth,
Shall with their swords come there to dig their graues.
Act IV sc. i ACTVS. 4. SCENA. 1.
Enter Octauian.
Octa. Mourne gentle Heauens for you haue lost your ioy. 1791
Mourne greeued earth thy ornament is gon,
Mourne Rome in great thy Father is deceased:
Mourne thou Octauian, thou it is must mourne,
Mourne for thy Vncle who is dead and gon.
Mourne for thy Father to vngently slaine,
Mourne for thy Friend whome thy mishap hath lost,
For Father, Vnkell, Friend, go make thy mone,
Who all did liue, who all did die in one.
But heere I vow these blacke and sable weeds, 1800
The outward signes of inward heauines,
Shall changed be ere long to crimsen hew,
And this soft raiment to a coate of steele,
Cæsar, no more I heare the mornefull songs.
The tragick pomp of his sad exequies,
And deadly burning torches are at hand,
I must accompany the mornefull troope:
And sacryfice my teares to the Gods below. Exit.