The Tragedy Of Caesar's Revenge

by Unknown

Enter Cornelia.

Corne. O traterous villaines, hold your murthering hands,
Or if that needes they must be washt in blood,
Imbrue them heere, heere in Cornelias brest. 770
Ay mee as I stood looking from the Ship
(Accursed shippe that did not sinke and drowne:
And so haue sau’d me from so loath’d a sight)
Thee to behold what did betide my Lord,
My Pompey deere (nor Pompey now nor Lord)
I sawe those villaines that but now were heere:
Bucher my loue and then with violence,
To drawe his deare beloued Body hence;
What dost thou stand to play the Oratrix,
And tell a tale of thy deere husbands death? 780
Doth Pompey, doth thy loue moue thee no more?
Go cursed Cornelia rent thy wretched haire,
Drowne blobred cheekes in seas of saltest teares.
And if, it be true that sorrowes feeling powre,
Could turne poore Niobe into a weeping stone
O let mee weepe a like, and like stone be,
And you poore lights, that sawe this tragick sight,
Be blind and punnish’d with eternall night.
Vnhappy long to speake, bee neare so bould
Since that thou this so heauy tale hast tould. 790
These are but womanish exclamations
Light sorrowe makes such lamentations,
Pompey no words my true griefe can declare,
This for thy loue shalbe my best welfare. Stab her selfe.

Act II sc. iii ACT. 2. SCE. 3.

Enter Cæsar, Cleopatra, Anthony,
Dolobella, a Lord

Cæsar. There sterne Achillas and Fortunius lie,
Traytorous Sempronius and proud Ptolomey,
Go plead your cause fore the angry Rhadamant, 800
And tel him why you basely Pompey slew.
And let your guilty blood appease his Ghost,
That now sits wandring by the Stygian bankes,
Vnworthy sacrifice to quite his worth,
For Pompey though thou wert mine enemy,
And vayne ambition mou’d vs to this strife;
Yet now in death when strife and enuy cease.
Thy princely vertues and thy noble minde,
Moue me to rue thy vndeserued death,
That found a greater daunger then it fled; 810
Vnhapy man to scape so many wars,
And to protract thy glorious day so long,
Here for to perish in a barbarous soyle,
And end liues date stabd by a Bastards hand,
But yet with honour shalt thou be Intomb’d,
I will enbalme thy body with my teares,
And put thy ashes in an Vrne of gold,
And build with marble a deserued graue.
Whose worth indeede a Temple ought to haue.
Dolo. See how compassion drawes foorth Princely teares 820
And Vertue weepes her enemies funerall,
So sorrowed the mighty Alexander,
When Bessus hand caus’d Darius to die.
Ant. These greeued sorrowing Princes do with me,
Ioyntly agree in Contrariety,
Alacke we mourne, greeued is our mind alike,
Our gate is discontented, heauy our lookes,
Our sorrowes all a like, but dislike cause.
Their foe is their grifes causer which my friend,
It is the losse of one that makes them wayle, 830
But I, that one there is a cruell one,
Do wayle and greeue and vnregarded mone.
Fayre beames cast forth from these dismayfull eyes,
Chaine my poore heart, in loue and sorrowes giues,
Cleo. Forget sweete Prince these sad perlexed thoughts,
Withdraw thy mind in clowdy discontent,
And with Ægiptian pleasures feed thine eyes,
Wilt thou be hould the Sepulchers of Kings,
And Monuments that speake the workemens prayse?
Ile bring thee to Great Alexanders Tombe, 840
Where he, whome all the world could not suffice,
In bare six foote of Earth, intombed lies,
And shew thee all the cost and curious art,
Which either Cleops or our Memphis boast:
Would you command a banquit in the Court,
Ile bring you to a Royall goulden bowre,
Fayrer then that wherein great Ioue doth sit,
And heaues vp boles of Nectar to his Queene,
A stately Pallace, whose fayre doble gates:
Are wrought with garnish’d Carued Iuory, 850
And stately pillars of pure bullion framd.
With Orient Pearles and Indian stones imbost,
With golden Roofes that glister like the Sunne,
Shalbe prepard to entertaine my Loue:
Or wilt thou see our Academick Schooles,
Or heare our Priests to reason of the starres,
Hence Plato fecht his deepe Philosophy:
And heere in Heauenly knowledg they excell.
Antho. More then most faire, another Heauen to me,
The starres where on Ile gaze shalbe thy face, 860
Thy morall deedes my sweete Philosophy,
Venus the muse whose ayde I must implore:
O let me profit in this study best,
For Beauties scholler I am now prefest.
Lord. See how this faire Egiptian Sorceres,
Enchantes these Noble warriars man-like mindes,
And melts their hearts in loue and wantones.
Cæs. Most glorious Queene, whose cheerefull smiling words
Expell these cloudes that ouer cast my minde.
Cæsar will ioy in Cleopatras ioy, 870
And thinke his fame no whit disparaged,
To change his armes, and deadly sounding droms,
For loues sweete Laies, and Lydian harmony,
And now hang vp these Idle instruments.
My warlike speare and vncontrouled crest:
My mortall wounding sword and siluer shield,
And vnder thy sweete banners beare the brunt,
Of peacefull warres and amarous Alarmes:
Why Mars himselfe his bloudy rage alayd,
Dallying in Venus bed hath often playd, 880
And great Alcides, when he did returne:
From Iunos taskes, and Nemean victories,
From monsters fell, and Ncmean toyles:
Reposed himselfe in Deianiras armes.
Heere will I pitch the pillars os my fame,
Heere the non vltra of my labors write,
And with these Cheekes of Roses, lockes of Gold,
End my liues date, and trauayles manifould.
Dolo. How many lets do hinder vertuous mindes,
From the pursuit of honours due reward, 890
Be sides Caribdis, and fell Scyllas spight:
More dangerous Circe and Calipsoes cup,
Then pleasant gardens of Alcionus:
And thousand lets voluptiousnesse doth offer.
Cæs. I will regard no more these murtherous spoyles,
And bloudy triumphs that I lik’d of late:
But in loues pleasures spend my wanton dayes,
Ile make thee garlondes of sweete smelling flowers,
And with faire rosall Chaplets crowne thy head,
The purple Hyacinth of Phœbus Land: 900
Fresh Amarinthus that doth neuer die,
And faire Narcissus deere respendent shoars,
And Violets of Daffadilles so sweete,
Shall Beautify the Temples of my Loue,
Whil’st I will still gaze on thy beautious eyes,
And with Ambrosean kisses bath thy Cheekes.
Cleo. Come now faire Prince, and feast thee in our Courts
Where liberal Cæres, and Liæus fat,
Shall powre their plenty forth and fruitfull store,
The sparkling liquor shall ore-flow his bankes: 910
And Meroé learne to bring forth pleasant wine,
Fruitfull Arabia, and the furthest Ind,
Shall spend their treasuries of Spicery
VVith Nardus Coranets weele guird our heads:
And al the while melodious warbling notes,
Passing the seauen-fould harmony of Heauen:
Shall seeme to rauish our enchanted thoughts,
Thus is the feare of vnkinde Ptolomey,
Changed by thee to feast in Iolity:
Antho. O how mine stares suck vp her heauenly words, 920
The whilst mine eyes do prey vpon her face:
Cæs. Winde we then Anthony with this Royall Queene,
This day weele spend in mirth and banqueting.
Antho. Had I Queene, Iunoes heard-mans hundred eies,
To gaze vpon these two bright Sunnes ofhirs:
Yet would they all be blinded instantly.
Cæs. VVhat hath some Melancholy discontent,
Ore-come thy minde with trobled passions.
Ant. Yet being blinded with the Sunny beames,
Her beauties pleasing colours would restore, 930
Decayed sight with fresh variety.
Lord. Lord Anthony what meanes this trobled minde,
Cæsar inuites thee to the royall feast,
That faire Queene Cleopatra hath prepard.
Antho. Pardon me worthy Cæsar and you Lords,
In not attending your most gratious speech
Thoughts of my Country, and returne to Rome,
Som-what distempered my busy head.
Cæs. Let no such thoughts distemper now thy minde,
This day to Bacchus will wee consecrate, 940
And in deepe goblets of the purest wine,
Drinke healths vnto our seuerall friends at home.
Antho. If of my Country or of Rome I thought,
Twas that I neuer ment for to come there,
But spend my life in this sweete paradise. Exeunt.

Act II sc. iv ACT. 2. SCE. 4.

Enter Cicero, Brutus, Casca, Camber, Trebonius.

Cice. Most prudent heads, that with your councels wise,
The pillars of the mighty Rome sustaine,
You see how ciuill broyles haue torne our state: 950
And priuate strife hath wrought a publique wo,
Thessalia boasts that she hath seene our fall,
And Rome that whilom wont to Tiranize,
And in the necks of all the world hath rang’d,
Loosing her rule, to serue is now constraynd,
Pompey the hope and stay of Common-weale,
VVhose vertues promis’d Rome security
Now flies distrest, disconsolate, forlorne,
Reproch of Fortune, and the victors scorne.
Cæs. VVhat now is left for wretched Rome to hope, 960
But in laments and bitter future woe,
To wey the downefall of her former pride:
Againe Porsenna brings in Tarquins names,
And Rome againe doth smoke with furious flames.
In Pompeys fall wee all are ouerthrowne,
And subiect made to conqueror Tirany.
Bru. Most Noble Cicero and you Romaine Peeres,
Pardon the author of vnhappy newes,
And then prepare to heare my tragick tale.
VVith that same looke, that great Atrides stood, 970
At cruell alter staind with Daughters blood,
When Pompey fled pursuing Cæsars sword,
And thought to shun his following desteny.
And then began to thinke on many a friend,
And many a one recalled hee to minde:
Who in his Fortunes pride did leaue their liues,
And vowed seruice at his princely feete,
From out the rest, the yong Egiptian King,
VVhose Father of an Exild banish’d man
Hee seated had in throne of Maiesty, 980
Him chose, to whome he did commit his life,
(But O, who doth remember good-turnes past)
The Rising Sunne, not Setting, doth men please,
To ill committed was so great a trust,
Vnto so base a Fortune fauoring minde.
For he the Conquerors fauor to obtaine,
By Treason caus’d great Pompey to be slaine:
Casca. O damned deede.
Cam. O Trayterous Ptolomey.
Tre. O most vnworthy and vngratefull fact. 990
Cum. What plages may serue to expiate this act,
The rouling stone or euerturning wheele,
The quenchles flames of firy Phlegeton,
Or endles thirst of which the Poets talke,
Are all to gentle for so vilde a deede.
Cas. Well did the Cibills vnrespected verse.
Bid thee beware of Crocadilish Nile,
Ter. And art thou in a barbarous soyle betrayd,
Defrawded Pompey of thy funerall rites,
There none could weepe vpon thy funerall hearse, 1000
None could thy Consulshipes and triumphs tell,
And in thy death set fourth thy liuing praise,
None would erect to thee a sepulcher.
Or put thine ashes in a pretious vrne,
Cice. Peace Lords lament not noble Pompeys death,
Nor thinke him wreched, cause he wants a Tombe,
Heauen couers him whome Earth denyes a graue:
Thinke you a heape of stones could him inclose,
Whoe in the Oceans circuite buried is,
And euery place where Roman names are heard, 1010
The world is his graue, where liuing fame doth blaze,
His funerall praise through his immortall trump,
And ore his tombe vertue and honor sits,
With rented heare and eyes bespent with teares,
And waile and weepe their deere sonne Pompeys death,
Bru. But now my Lords for to augment this griefe,
Cæsar the Senates deadly enimie,
Aimes eke to vs, and meanes to tryumph heere,
Vpon poore conquered Rome and common wealth,
Cas. This was the end at which he alwayes aymd, 1020
Tre. Then end all hope of Romaines liberty,
Rise noble Romaine, rise from rotten Tombes,
And with your swordes recouer that againe:
With your braue prowes won, our basenes lost,
Gic. Renowned Lords content your trobled minds.
Do not ad Fuell to the conquerors fier.
Which once inflamed will borne both Rome and vs.
Cæsar although of high aspiring thoughtes,
And vncontrould ambitious Maiesty,
Yet is of nature faire and courteous, 1030
You see hee commeth conqueror of the East:
Clad in the spoyles of the Pharsalian fieldes,
Then wee vnable to resist such powre:
By gentle peace and meeke submission,
Must seeke to pacify the victors wrath. Exeunt.

Act II sc. v ACT. 2. SCE. 5.

Enter Cato Senior, and Cato Iunior.