The tragedy of that famous Roman oratour Marcus Tullius Cicero

Author: Greville, Fulke, Baron Brooke, 1554-1628.1651

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THE TRAGEDY OF THAT FAMOUS ROMAN ORATOVR Marcus Tullius CICERO

LONDON, Printed by Richard Cotes, for John Sweeting at the Angell in Popes-head Alley, 1651.

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The Scene ROME.

The persons of the PLAY.

The Ghost of Iulius Caesar.
Marcus Tullius Cicero.
Quintus Cicero: his Brother.
Marcus Antonius: formerly Consull, now at enmity with the Senate.
Octavius Caesar, Lepidus: Generalls for the Senate.
Publ. Servilius, Piso, Calenus: Senators.
Salvius, Carnutius, Publius Apuleius: Tribunes of the people.
Minutius: Praetor.
Popilius Lanas: Collonell.
Cornelius: a Centurion.
Quintus Iunior: Quintus Cicero's son.
Philologus: a Scholar, Quintus Cicero's man.
Clodius, Laenas: Commanders in Lepidus's Army, friends to M. Antonius.
Laureas a Poet,Tyro — a great pretender to history,: Marcus Cicero's men.
The Senate.
Chorus.
[...]: wife to Quintus Cicero.
Fulvia: Marcus Antonius wife.
Centurions.
Lictors.
Souldiers.
Messengers.

[Page]

I Purae Cicero pater loquelae,
I Jurista Quiritium supreme,
Post passas Latii furentis iras
I pernix, fuge, & Alitis Sabaei
Surgentis tepido ex rogo renatis
Vestitus calamis, petas Asylum
Magni pectoris, aurei, sereni,
In quo Mercurius, Themista, uter (que)
Divini soboles Jovis triumphat,
Hermes eloquii fluentis autor,
AEqui diva parens Themista Juris.

[Page]

THE TRAGEDY OF M. TVLLIVS CICERO

Actus Primus.
Julius Caesars Ghost.WHat not one prodigie to  [...] thee, Rome,
And give loud warning that great  [...] come?
What not one peale of thunder to  [...],
And echo from thy seven proud hills the fame
Of my arrivall? is my weight so light
It cannot force one dismall  [...] affright
And wake thy Genius? is the ground thus  [...]
And Julius like an exhalation sent
From the black womb of hell, yet cannot  [...]
An Earthquake in thy brest? I like, I like
Such dire forerunners. What? before my fall,
In  [...] great Forum, upon every  [...],
A bird of Night was percht in midst of day,
And when black Night her mantle did display
(As if the Stygian people had forsooke
Their pitchy harbours, and possession tooke
Of th' upper world) the Aire was sill'd with  [...]
Of rowling fires, and the presaging dreams
Of Citizens were broke by dismall frights
Caus'd by the confus'd noise of walking sprights:
And is my rise so full of silence?
Thunder.
So,
Now stubborne Rome I'l thunder forth thy  [...].
Caesar must be reveng'd, and to thy cost.
Alas thou canst not bribe my wronged Ghost,
With the vaine fiction of thy  [...] starre;
VVere I but stellified indeed I'd  [...]
Thy pride with such an influence should convay
Submission through thy blond, and cast a ray
Should  [...] a Sun to  [...] the Roman world
Without a Colleague: yet this sate is hurl'd
Through thy own blindnesse on thy cursed head,
 [...] with such plagues to  [...], as thy  [...]
Thy butcher'd Julius from his soul abhor'd;
My glory was, that Fortune did afford
That royall power to doe thee good I would,
And Nature heart to will the good I could.
But I was too too mild; a heavier hand
Shall make thee stoop to Soveraign command,
And  [...] the yoak, though sullied first and died
In thine own gore; a sourge shall check thy pride;
The dayes of Sylla shall return, and bloud
Swim down thy streets in as profuse a  [...],
As ere his black  [...] made, the sword
Shall be as free as then, the Slave his Lord,
The Wife her Husband shall betray, the  [...]
Thinking the vitall thread of's Father spun
To a too tedious length, and that his feet
Travel too slowly to the grave, shall greet
His age with death; The Senators shall drink
Of the same cup of slaughter too, and think
The hurden easy, for, A sudden death
Is sweet to them that scorn a slavish  [...].
Each Proscripts head shall  [...] a weighty rate,
And Piety be treason to the State.
Thus, Rome, shalt thou be plagued, and among
Thy other evills lose thy sacred Tongue,
The great Patritian of the speaking Art,
Then shal thy griefs lie fettered in thy heart,
And speak no other language but of tears;
Words shall be strangled by thy stupid fears.
Exit.
Enter Marcus Cicero.
Now ought we to give thanks unto the Gods
That now at length the Fathers of the Publick
With free unforced judgments dare lay open
The sick distempers, which  [...] and  [...]
[Page] The body  [...]? me thinks in this
I see some gleame of liberty break forth
And promise to the State a milder  [...],
Then, since our late unbridled  [...]
Usurpt the  [...] heav'n, we have been blest with.
As sor my self, though now grown old and feeble
 [...] my lov'd Countreys service, I have yet
As good a heart as ever to defend her.
What though my voice did seem  [...] while supprest?
My heart did nourish  [...] untainted love
Of the Republick, which in zealous flames
Has now discharg'd it self in th' face of Antony
That Traitor to the freedome of his Countrey;
I did defen I while but a Youth, the State,
I will not now I am grown old for sake it;
I have  [...] the swords of  [...];
I will not now fear his.
Some twenty yeers agoe I well remember
I said  [...] could not to a Consular
Be  [...]; how much more truly now
May I pronounce unto an aged man?
Now may I wish for Death, yet from my heart
Two things I doe dosire, and pray for; one,
That I may leave the Roman people free,
 [...] immortall Gods cannot bestow upon mee
A greater blessednesse: the other's this;
That all may meet with a  [...] fate,
As their deserts have been unto the State.
Enter Laureas.
Laur.
Your Brother Quintus Sir.
Marc.
Intreat him hither.
Enter Qu.  [...], and Philologus.
Brother you'r welcome: How does thy Pomponia,
And my young Cozen?
Quint.
Both my Wife and Sonne
Are (heaven be  [...]) as well as my best wishes
Can fancy they would have them; and my Wife
Presents her love, my Son his duty to you.
Marc.
They cannot by a better messenger,
For you are Monarch of Pomponia's love,
And  [...] of his duty; these are titles
Good in Occonomy, but once thrust out
Make heavy hearts in State when they return;
You have not heard of Antony's proceedings
Since he departed to Brundusium?
Quint.
Not one word.
Marc.
I collect the Consuls drift;
But why doe I the State that injury
To style him Consul that so governs it,
That  [...] his life so, and was so  [...]?
His aim I know's at those four Legions
Transported from the  [...] Province
At his appointment thither by his brother;
Twere dangerous he should win them; but I have
A surer confidence in the Martiall Legion,
For it has ever been extoll'd as much
For its  [...] toth' State as  [...];
The fourth is under conduct of the  [...]
Egnatuleius, a brave Citizen
And valiant man, so that I cannot doubt
But hee'l be partly frustrate.
Then Caesars posting to Campania
Puts  [...] in hope, 'tis to procure the Colonies
There resident, to side with him, against
Antonius; for you know the Noble youth
Will not bee cheekt by him. But Brother Quintus
I have some private matters: which require
A more retired conference; take a seat.
Laureas.
How does my fellow Academick? canst
Digest my Lords discourse of Summum bonum?
Philol.
'Tis somewhat tough, methinks; but Laureas
Which hadft thou rather be? An Epicure?
A Stoick? or Peripatetick? tell mee.
Laur.
Why faith before I was infranchiz'd boy,
The Stoick would have furnisht mee compleatly,
I should have laugh'd a cudgell in the face,
And swore a bed of straw had been as soft
As wool, or doune of Ermins. I should then
Have stood as stout as Atlas with a burden
Weighty as his upon my brawny shoulders;
But since I did with thee shake off the Name
And Nature of a slave, and serve my Lord
More for affection then  [...], I could
Sometimes methinks shake hands with  [...].
Marc.
It must be so. But brother since your hast
Hinders your longer stay, let me entreat you
Philologus a while may bear me company.
Quint.
With all my heart.
Marc.
My love unto  [...].
Quint.
I will; Farewell.
Marc.
Farewell good brother Quintus.
Exit. Qu.
Philologue and Laureas come let's hear
How you have relisht your Philosophy.
Phil.
My Lord, your Laureas relishes  [...],
For he is almost turn'd an Epicure.
Cicero.
An Epicure!
Laur.
Not I my Lord, I told him
Virtue which in a proud conceit neglected
The due preservatives of the weaker nature,
And was estranged from that first-born  [...]
Of making natures union, if'twere possible,
Immortall, by a competent cherishing
Of either part, and in an  [...]
Like an Intelligence, all Soul and Reason,
Was wholly taken up with mentall beauties;
Was like a table furnisht with rare viands,
But not a dish prepar'd with Condimentall
Provocatives to make the relish kind;
For Virtue is, we know, a fruitlesse,  [...],
Impolisht treasure, without use and action,
Which give it taste and life, now to the use
Health, wealth and liberty are requisite,
[Page] Though not essentiall unto Virtues self,
That root of goodnesse. Thus you may see my Lord,
Laureas is neither Epicure nor Stoick;
'Twas only the comparison which made
Your shallow-brain'd Scholastick think I was
One of the Kitchen; but were I a hog
Of Epicures fraternity, yet his brain
Should not be th' Atalanta to unhead me.
Cicer.
Why here's no sign of Epicure in this,
'Tis currant and Authentick.
Phil.
True, but Sir,
He harpt upon another string even now.
Yet, since he is so cunning, pray my Lord
Let me be Stoicall a while, and try
Whether he be sound as he pretends.
Laur.
Pish, there's a face to act a Stoick with!
Make me beleeve the Goddesse Vinus thought
She was embrac't by Mars, when 'twas young Adon
With whom she dallyed. Give me one shall look
With as severe a countenance as Cato
When he unshackled his Heroick soule.
Cicer.
No more of him, I pray, unlesse yu would
Make fountains of my eyes; but Laureas
You have the fittest visage for a Stoick,
It shall be your part.
Laur.
Then my Noble Lord,
Suppose I had ingrost the Stoick wisdome
Within my bosome, and were now brought forth
To some unheard of torture: thus I'd stand,
And thus I'd dare the utmost of their furies.
Vain Mortalls, doe you think my fearlesse soule
Is capable of pains? why, tear this flesh
From off my bones; you touch not mee: for know
This is not Laureas but his robe. Extract
The very quintessence of the strongest poison,
I'l quaffe it as I would divinest Nectar,
And think it but a draught of Immortality:
Cast me alive into a den of Lions,
I will embrace my destiny, and deem
The loudest accent of their spatious throats
But as a trumpet to proclaime my triumphs.
I would not bellow in Perillus engine,
But like the Swan in Tybers silver streams
Sing my own dirge with an unwrinckled note.
Nay, more then this, the disunited Heavens
Tumbling upon my head should not affright me,
Yea the confused ratling of their ruines
Should be as ravishing harmony to my ears,
As now they make in their coelestiall sphears.
Now, Sir, suppose the anger of some tyrant
Had thrust me from the bosome of my Countrey,
From the embraces of a faithfull spouse,
And the sweet pledges of our mutuall loves,
And I were wandring in some wildernesse,
Within whose gloomy shades was never heard
The Daulian minstrell, but the boding tones
Of Owles, and Night-ravens, and in every bush
Lay coucht a Lion, Tiger, or a Wolfe:
Would I sit musing in a dumpish passion?
And cry, O Times! O Manners! no my Lord,
A wise man does not tie his house, or home
To the tuition of one private  [...],
Nor does he bound what men their Countrey call
To the straight limits of one State or Kingdome;
Though Thule were the place of my Nativity,
Yet should the Gades be my countrey too.
I have a little world within my selfe,
And shall one narrow Landskip claim me hers?
Now for those petty dangers I defie them,
A wise man  [...] in his sacred front
The character of Majesty, which brutes
Though ne'r so wild and savage must adore.
As for my Wife and Children they were given mee
Not for aeternity, and as good be sever'd
By exile as by death: had I still liv'd
Dividing my indulgent soule among them,
I might perhaps have seen my loving Wife
Ravisht before my face, I might have seen
My Childrens brains knockt out against the stones,
And dasht in my own wounded eyes, but now
I shall not view those clouds. Thus had I been
Vnhappy, had I not unhappy been.
And now my honor'd Lord, with wonder hear,
How in a yet unparallel'd Affliction
Your Stoick Laureas would demean himselfe.
Suppose my Lo. — O how my heart-strings ake
To utter't! yea it makes me clean forget
The Stoick whom I personate: I say
Suppose — O hold me good Philologus.
The very thought will strike me dead — suppose
My bosome Friend, my faithfull Pylades,
My second selfe, even my Philologus,
Were whipt clean through the streets of Rome & cudgel'd
Till his bones crackt again, d' yee think I'd weep?
Lift up my eyes, and cry, O cursed Heavens
Which suffer innocence thus to be afflicted!
Now, my Lord, I'd doe an Act of wonder
Which after Ages should admire; I'd down
And in the Cellar all my sorrows drown.
Cicer.
I'st come to this? you are a wanton Laureas.
Laur.
'Tis Stoicall my Lord.
Cicer.
Well let it be so.
But since you think you could so sweetly sing
In th' engine of Perillus; let me hear you
Out of't. for I'm perswaded you might frame
Your voice a great deal better to a song
In a far colder place.
Laur.
'Tis true my Lord;
But I spoke like a Stoick.
Cicer.
Be not modest.
Begin: but let your song be sage, and grave,
Such as a Vestall need not blush to hear.
Rip up the Vices of the State, that while
You sing, my wounded heart may bleed for sorrow.
[Page]
Song.How happy was the Roman State?
When her chiefest Magistrate was rais'd to the fasces from the plow?
when such as Cincinnatus sway'd
The helme of th' Common-wealth, and made
Her proudest Adversaries humbly how
To th' self  [...] yoak wherewith they us'd to check
The  [...] of th' toiling  [...] neck?
How sacred was the Roman Name?
How  [...] was our virgin same?
When in their  [...] our bravest men
Had nothing glorious but themselves?
When he who now in quarries  [...],
 [...] golden  [...] as low as Pluto's den,
Was deem'd a Paricide, and had the doome
Of one who rent his Mothers sacred  [...]?
How happy were we then, how  [...],
When the  [...] was possest
Of  [...] ancient Palinures?
When Curius and Fabricius led
How Armies, which for  [...] sed
On  [...]? then the easie  [...]
Of her more temp'rate body soon were wrought,
 [...] health with little losse of bloud was bought.
But since the Asian luxurie
Has  [...] into our  [...], and we
No  [...] for same in dishes  [...]
Then if we had the conquest  [...]
Of the  [...] Hamilears sonne,
Or brought  [...] Syphax home alive
To  [...] Triumphs: now a thousand paines
 [...] brooding in the States corrupted veins.
The Common-wealth is ful of  [...],
And each day  [...]
Threaten the downsall of this srame;
 [...] constitution is too week
To  [...] such  [...], and not break,
 [...] quench the  [...].
 [...] thou  [...] AEsculapius mighty  [...],
And send some  [...] influence from above.
Philologus and Laureas together.
 [...] our AEsculapius mighty, Jove,
And send some  [...] influence from above.
 [...].
So here's a Song has  [...], Poetrie;
O 'tis the language of the Gods when Virtue
 [...] made  [...] theam; they prostitute the Muses,
And turn  [...] to  [...] a stews, that cloath
 [...] fancies in these  [...] weeds.
Enter Quintus Cicero.
Marc.
Brother so soon? your countenance me thinks
Tells me your bosome travails with some newes,
And fain would be deliver'd.
Quint.
Sir, Octavius
Is with an Army at the gates.
Mar.
Octavius?
Why, that's not Hannibal.
Quint.
But the Citizens
Suspect a more then Panick treachery;
For those that saw the Consul and Octavius
So lately reconcil'd in the Capitoll,
Will not beleeve these forces are contracted
To oppose  [...]; but that covertly
Both have complotted one to aid the other
In the promotion of their aimes; that Antony
May gain the Soveraignty, and Octavius
Revenge on those which slew his unkle Julius.
Enter Tyro.
Tyr.
Carnutius, Sir, the Tribune of the people
Desires some conference with your Lordship.
Mar.
Quintus,
He's a profest  [...] to Antonius,
And friend to Caesar. Bring the Tribune in.
Enter Carnutius.
Car.
Octavius is return'd.
Mar.
I, so I hear,
Car.
And brought along with him ten thousand soul­diers.
I have explor'd his aimes, and they are whole
For opposition of the Consul Antony
Whom he has much endamag'd.
Mar.
How Carnutius?
Car.
By spies, which he has closely had about him
Still crossing and opposing his proceedings,
And with such good successe, as now the Legions
Are even upon desertion of his party
Especially the Fourth and Martiall.
Mar.
Tribune,
Informe the people how the youth's affected,
And  [...] procure he shall be straight brought in;
For I'm perswaded, since he is return'd
Antonius enemy, the provident Senate
Will not be so injurious to the State
And their own  [...], as deny him entrance,
Yea, I presume they will with glad  [...]
Meet the first motion of his entertainment.
Car.
They wil no  [...]; Come let's dispatch my Lo.
Exeunt.
Enter Piso and Salvius.
Salv.
Me thinks th' admittance of Octavius,
Will much endamage Antony.
Piso.
[Page]I fear it,
And doubt not but he will be shortly here:
But what dost think of this young  [...],  [...]?
It cannot enter Piso's head, that  [...].
To the Republick do's incite him to it.
Salv.
'Faith Piso my opinion's this; I doubt
The boy will prove at length another  [...].
Piso.
And so think I.
Salv.
Was't ever known a youth
Of his  [...] spirit, was so much devoted
Unto his Countrey cause without some plot
To strengthen his ambitious aims? well Piso.
I am perswaded Caesars heart and countenance
Are not Correlatives.
Pis.
And I fear our Orator,
Although he think himself a profound Statist,
Is but as 'twere a visor, which Octavius
Covers the face of his close projects with:
Well, mark the end, these now are but surmises,
But they may prove oraculous. Let this passe.
I think if Antony come he will not stay,
You know he has determin'd to be Master
Of the  [...] Province.
Salv.
True, he has.
Pis.
Now when he's gone to Gaul, if Cicero
Advice the Senate any thing against him,
It must be our parts to oppose their counsells.
Salv.
It must. I'l second you, you know  [...]
Doe much by virtue of the Tribuneship.
Pis.
'Tis true, you may doe much indeed.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
The Consul
Antonius is arriv'd; and,  [...] Piso,
Desires your presence; to you,  [...],
He sends his love, and prays you to repaire
Unto the Senate, which is newly convocated.
Salv.
Piso return my love, Ile  [...] straight.
Ex.
Enter Quintus Cicero. Pomponia.
Pomp.
How do's my Brother Marcus Cicero?
Quint.
Well my Pomponia, but would be far better
Could he once see the Common-wealth in health.
Pomp.
Why, husband; what have States  [...] too?
Quint.
They have my Sweet, and as old fathers die
To make roome for pesterity, so Chance
Quits ancient States, that from their  [...]
New ones arise. States have their severall  [...]
Which carry some analogie with  [...]:
Their small beginnings are their infancies.
Their bold exploits to propagate their glories,
Are like the slashes of ambitious Youth;
When they are mounted to the highest pitch
Decreed them in the  [...],
They are arriv'd to a state much like
That which in us doth bear the name of Manhood.
They stand not long on this high  [...] of Glory,
But stealingly, as wee, doe  [...]
Their sprightly vigour like a full-blown Rose
Droops and decays, they suddenly contract
 [...]; grow diseas'd, and finally
Sink down into the grave of their own ruines
The  [...] and the  [...] Monarchies
Di'd of a  [...]; then the  [...]
Of a seditious quarrell in the Humours
Striving to be predominant;
Greece of a  [...];  [...] first was caught
With an  [...] Feaver, which at last
Degenerated to an Ague, and
Was quickly seconded by Death. But Rome
(Only she never felt an Ague yet,
Unlesse when Hannibal was at her gates)
Is whole infected with a various mixture
Of all together; she's ev'n grown a Spittle,
An Hospitall of diseases which will sink
Her glories to the first and ancient Nothing:
But may that day be leaden heel'd, nor fall
Within the  [...] of this Age.
Pomp.
 [...] Husband,
This passion is not Roman. We may raise
Our spirits with hopes of better times;
Caesar affords us comfort.
Quint.
True Pomponia,
But Rome has had a long succession
Of State- [...], when this  [...]  [...]
Is cut away, another may bud forth;
Pray heaven we have no cause with that old  [...]
Of Syracusa, in our fruitlesse wishes
To dig our Ancient tyrants up again.
Enter Marcus  [...].
Welcome from the Senate Brother, pray what news?
How were things carryed?
Mar.
Nothing done at all.
The Consul Antony came without all doubt
To censure Caesars doings, but his mind
It seem's was chang'd; for having said a little
Touching the Provinces and  [...],
But not a word of Caesar, he departed.
Quint.
And what will follow think you?
Mar.
Sure he will not
Stay long in Rome, for, as I hear, 'has sent
His Army to Ariminum, no doubt
With an intent to follow, then besides
I think he dares not stay for fear of Caesar;
For he return'd though proudly, yet but weakly
With only one  [...] cohort with him.
But 'tis grown something late, I must intreat you
To let my Cousen Quintus guide me homeward.
Quint.
He will be proud to doe you such a service.
Exeunt.
Enter Antonius.
Ant.
What evill Genius  [...] me? the Fourth
[Page] And  [...] Legions sided with  [...]?
For so I have receiv'd  [...];
Well  [...] Alba,  [...], as I  [...],
The  [...] all Legion have  [...] themselves.
Enter  [...].
I will not thus be  [...] by a boy,
A mungrell;  [...] shall a  [...] or  [...]
Stop the  [...] Eagle in his  [...],
And heaven be scaled by a band of Pygmies.
Let Cicero call him Romes  [...] boy,
And truly golden off-spring of his Mother,
Let the whole Senate hug him, as they doe;
Yet will I  [...] and ruine all their hopes,
I'l send him naked home to his first Nothing,
And make him answer to  [...]; what?
Is not the Family of  [...]'  [...]
Deriv'd from Anton son to Hercules?
And shall  [...] sons of Earth confront mee thus?
The stellisi'd Alcides shall not lose
The cheerfull lustre of his rays, to  [...]
His bloud run muddy in his issues veins.
Fulv.
I like this spirit,  [...], me thinks I see
The world already prostrate at thy feet,
Cherish this fire: ô wer't thou all  [...]
Of these Heroick slames,  [...] would be
To such a Jove another Semele.
Anton.
Spoke like thy glorious self: yet, Fulvia,
Passion or indiscretion may  [...] him,
But when I weigh his Actions in the ballance
Of  [...] and more accurate Construction,
I  [...] he has no base or common soul,
And does as well inherit Caesars he  [...],
And  [...], as his name: beside  [...] has
The counsells of experienc'd heads to steer
His Actio is by; so that he's now above
The pitch of my disdain: with strong-nerv'd eys,
Like a young Eagle, he confronts our Sun.
 [...].
What  [...] so soon?  [...] an Eagle?
A Scarab rather. He an Eagle Antony?
He's but  [...] Ganymed  [...] an Eagles  [...]:
The Octavian' family  [...] yet was nest
To such a kingly bird. But who I pray
Are those experienc'd heads you talk of? what?
Is that Tongue-valiant Cicero worth the fear
Of  [...] Antony?
No doubt but he who has of late divorc't
His Wife Terentia, and in her place
Made a young  [...] his  [...], may as soon
Supplant Antonius, and set up that boy:
O'twas great policy to exercise
Himselfe  [...] the weaker sex at first;
Your turne is next: the Hawk thus tries his talons
Upon some meaner pray, before he ventures
To  [...] with the Eagle or the  [...].
Anton.
I think Minerva's self  [...] in thee Fulvia,
Such words as these might fire the coldest bosome,
And by strong  [...] a heart
Of  [...] temper, to a golden Purity.
Were young Octavius  [...] an Eagle,
And nested in the bosome of Great Jove,
I'd pluck him thence: As for that Cicero,
My feare, if I had any, should not be
Pitcht on so base an object: I will make
That Inmate know what 'tis to write my life,
H'ad been as good have  [...] to the world
The mystick name of Rome. But let that  [...]
Proceed to belch his poisonous vomit forth
At view of light; yet shall his unwasht mouth
One day repent that biting impudence.
Fulv.
And there may come a time when Fulvia
Shall be revenged on his wormwood jeers.
O how my entralls boil! my heart's on  [...]:
Had I his damned tongue within my clutches,
This bodkin should in bloody characters
Write my revenge.
Ant.
Come Fulvia, be content,
Let him triumph, and in his proud conceit
Frame to himself a conquest great as Joves
Over those sons of  [...], and parallel
His verball thunder with the voice of Heaven,
Yet may I one day be that stronger Typhon
Shall cut the sinews of his insolence,
And place thee  [...] in this Romes Olympus.
Come kisse me Sweeting, though the drousie  [...]
Have not  [...] left the bosome of his Thetis,
Yet here's no nightly shade, for from  [...] eyes'
Breakes a more glorious day. I could, my beauty,
For ever dwell in thy divine embraces,
But I must leave thee, yea and that before
Aurora's first blush gilds the East; thou knowst
My Armie is sent before unto Ariminum,
And I must follow; I will have the Province
Of Decimus  [...]; I, I will, that's certain,
By fair or foul means; Julius my Colleague
Return'd from Gaul so happily establisht,
Great Pompey's  [...] was  [...] by his Eagles.
I know an Army will be soon sent after,
And war proclaim'd against me as an enemy
To th' State, if once I offer violence
To Decimus, but I'm resolv'd, and should
The whole world rise against me, what I've said
I'l prosecute to ruine or fruition.
Only my Fulvia doe but thou  [...]
My foes at home by opposite authority.
There's Lucius Piso, Lucius  [...],
 [...] Calenus, Salvius, Lucius Caesar,
 [...] Sulpitius too, and many others
My speciall friends: thou maist solicit them,
They'l not be backward in my glorious cause.
Come I'l goe kisse the pledges of our bed,
And then for Mutine; there my hopes are fed.
Exeunt.
[Page]
Chorus.IS there such sweetnesse in  [...]?
Or is it only fond opinion?
Is there such pleasure in the height
Of greatnesse? or is't meer  [...]?
Sure if the glories of a throne
Were in their proper colours shown,
It would appear the highest place
Is pleasant only in the face;
A King is but a Royall slave,
And Rule a Vassallage more  [...];
A Scepter's but a glorious name,
A Crown the burden of the  [...]
Proud front which it  [...]; but Peace
And  [...] joy with full increase
Salute the cottage of  [...] Swaine;
There Quiet  [...], where  [...]
Doth six a scornfull brow, but where
The eye of Envy's  [...], there
A thousand discontents doe dwell,
O 'tis a second second  [...].
Why then, O why,  [...] Rome,
Doe thy Vipers  [...] thy  [...],
To be possessors of a light
So prejudiciall to the sight?
Vnhappy Rome, did Julius  [...]
For  [...] Tyranny?
And must  [...]  [...]
The aimes of his Ambitious spirit?
Yet in this  [...] happy State,
That thou hast an Advocate
Dares plead thy Griefs, and to his face
Tell thy proud  [...] is base.
Base in his life, and  [...] to  [...],
An hater of thy liberty.
O  [...] a Statists worth,
Let thy Matrons Caroll forth
His praise, and crown his aged  [...]:
Not with Laurell wreaths, but prayers.
Long maist thou live brave man, & have
When dead a  [...] and peacefull  [...]

Actus secundus.

Cicero.

SO now me thinks I see our  [...]
Already  [...] with ruine; he shall know
Ambition is a precipice, and the sky.
At which he aimes his  [...] to be too high.
Were it the cause though 'twere ground enough
To build a setled confidence upon.
An honest cause in mouth of ruine sings,
'Tis the good genius of a State, and brings
Down Jove himselfe to side with her: but more
'Tis Brutus whom Antonius copes with, Brutus
The Omen of whose very name, and bloud
Fatall to State-usurpers were sufficient
To  [...] our drooping souls, and raise  [...]
From thought of  [...]. But then besides;
Three Armies have we sent to succour him;
Two under Aulus Hirtius, and Pansa,
Our late elected Consulls. Young Octavius
Have we made Generall of the third; A youth
Ordain'd by Heaven to doe his Countrey  [...].
And yet before this war was brought about,
What oppositions did I meet withall.
Piso withstands it, Salvius seconds him,
The Consular Calenus makes a third.
The matter is adjourn'd. Till at the last
 [...] must be sent to Antony
To treat of Peace; A thing, in my conceit,
Of little credit to the Senatours;
For what could bee more base, more full of  [...]
Then to send messengers of Peace to him
Whom, but a little before they had condemn'd
As enemy to's Countrey, and Republick,
By severall decrees, as  [...] Honors,
The great Rewards of th' Legions that forsook him,
Th' Assignment of the Consuls to the wars?
As also their most ample commendations
Of Brutus and his Army, which the Province
Of Gaul did plainly intimate: moreover
There was great danger in't; for could the City
Be safe, when it should Antony immure,
Or rather Antonies within her bosome,
Which like a nest of Serpents would torment her,
And never cease to  [...] with  [...] stings
Till they had wrought a passage to the heart?
Lastly, it was not possible  [...] should
Be peace confirm'd with him, for not the Senate
Nor Citizens could affect him, nor he them,
Both had condemn'd him, he injur'd both.
Well, Legates are dispatcht; yet nothing done;
Antony is still as insolent as ever:
Then must a second Embassie be enter'd;
And I am one elected for that service.
O Heavens! with what distempered wounded eyes
Should I have lookt that Monster in the face?
Who in a publick Concion had decreed
My goods unto Petissius of Vrhin,
One who but newly from the utter shipwrack
[Page] Of a no mean but rich inheritance
Was crept  [...] those Antonian rocks for  [...]
My tender eye-balls never could have bom
The hated sight of Saxo,  [...],  [...],
Hostilius and Vesenius. O  [...] should
Have seen the very visage and aspect
Of Civill war it selfe. But this Legation
Was found at length a  [...] device and  [...]
To hinder with delays the  [...]
In preparation for the war. Yet see
A new  [...] obtruded M.  [...]
Our Generall beyond the Alps,  [...]
The  [...] by  [...] to  [...] peace;
Hereat the former Advocates take heart,
And plead  [...] authority of Lepidur,
As if that plea could quench the zealous flames
Which were then kindled in the Senates brests.
But all in  [...]. Our armies are launcht forth
'Gainst  [...] Arch-pirate of the State Antonius.
And now we daily with our prayers solicite
The ears of heaven to  [...] the Common-wealth
Of such a dangerous and  [...] plague,
Which like a gangrene would run  [...] and spread
To the  [...] of the body Politick:
But to  [...] down such monsters Jove has thunder,
And wee have armes to presse this viper under.

Exit

Enter [...].

Pomp.

Phillis come [...].

Phil.

[...].

Pomp.

Are the Roomes

Perfum'd as I commanded?

Phil.

Yes.

Pomp.

And all things

Done as I gave directions?

Phil.

All things Madam.

Pomp.

Well.

Exit Phil.

But I need not be so punctuall,
My Brother Marcus, as he is no stranger,
So not so curious, as our other Romans.
As for my selfe, I'm none of those which waste
Whole Mornings in the fruitlesse contemplation
Of their supposed beauties in a glasse;
I have not learn'd to paint and  [...] my face
With borrow'd colours, mine's a native grace,
And, if it please my Quintus, 'tis enough.
Nor am I in the list of those which spend
Their husbands faculties on loose  [...],
On rings, and bracelets, or a  [...]
To dangle in my  [...], my Ornaments
And Jewells are the Vertues of my Quintus.

Enter Philologus.

Phil.

Madam, my Lord your Brother's newly enter'd.

Exit Pomponia, [...] Phil.

Enter Laureas and Tyro.

Laur.

Here's a triplicity of [...]

How does my little [...]

Phil.

O Sir the better

To see your Stoickship in health: but, [...],

What is [...] [...] doing?

Laur.

[...] let's see.

Why, poring on a fragment of [...]

The Grandfire (as he calls him) of Historiaus

A kind of vermine he's enamour'd with:

And he himself has got an [...] humour

To be of that fraternity.

Phil.

I' faith!

Nay then [...] furnish him, Most learned Tyro

Have you not heard the news?

Tyro.

Ha. News? What news?

Phil.

Why tis reported, and that credibly.

How Atlas being weary of his burden,

As sure he well may be, and if you ever

Beheld his picture with that mighty globe

Upon his back, hee looks but sowrely [...]:

Well, Atlas being weary as I told you,

To ease his shoulders, lifted up his arme,

Some say it was his right arm, some his left,

But that's not so materiall; you observe!

Lifting his arm above his head to keep

The Sphear a while from's back, he [...] to thrust

His thumb into a star, and [...] it off.

Laur.

Tyro. he's misinform'd; 'twas thus old boy.

About the time when the all-seeing Sun

Mounted the raging [...] back, this Atlas,

This living Columne of the arched [...],

Distilling from his hot and sweating brows

As much Salt waters as might turn a Sea

Fresh as our Tiber, to a brinish sowrnesse.

And truly, were that scorching season constant,

Well might the Nation of Philosophers

Cease their intestine broiles about the saltnesse

Of the vast Ocean, and determine safely

The sweat of Atlas were the genuine cause.

Well Atlas sweltring, as I said, and sending

Whole clouds of vapours from his hoiling entrails,

Erects his brawny arme, and so sustaines

That azure fabrick, while he stoopes to reach

A draught or two of Nilus in his palme;

But as he stoops, he thus behind him throws

His leg, and by ill fortune popt his foot

Into the hot Trinacrian hill; and so

(O sad dystaster!) burnt his little toe.

Ty.

I thought your Mount at length would be [...]

Of a ridiculous Mouse. But what's this all?

Phil.

I, there's enough at once, too much wil glut you

[...].

Glut me! by Castor I'm as lank and thin

As if Chamaeleon-like I had been fed

Of nought but Aire. This have I only chew'd on

Since (to usurp Laureas inspired Notion)

[Page] The Sun [...] up his [...] Teem from the

Blushing Ocean.

Laur.

How the Rogue hobbles! 'slight he makes the Muses

Halt, and their God Apollo [...] on crutches.

Phil.

No matter Laureas, you must attribute it

To th' faintnesse of his stomach, which I'l quicken

With some supply. Stay here, while I goe in,

And if I meet with an extravagant Capon,

Or some such Pilgrim, I'l direct him hither.

Laur.

Well said; but Sirrah, you know what I love,

A cup of rich Falern, you Rogue, or some

Extracted Nectar of the Formian grape.

Phil.

Ile furnish you immediately.

Exit.

Laur.

I wonder

What foolish humour Pindarus was in,

When he begun his Poems with the praise

Of that weak Element Water: 'slight blind Homer

Was an old Soker at it, and the Father

Of our brave Roman Laureats [...],

Before he dipt his sacred quill in bloud,

Would steep his braines in this Castalian liquor;

Drencht in this juice he could more proudly look

Bellona in the face, then ere [...]

Dipt by his Mother in the Stygian lake.

Enter Philologus.

Laur.

So soone Philologus?

Tyro.

What's here?

Phil.

Why, Tyro,

The [...] of a martyr'd quarter'd Goose.

Tyro.

I thought introth this would be one of your

[...] pilgrims; for it is reported,

That [...] have travail'd on their [...] to Rome

Ev'n from the Marishes of the [...].

What bird is this? 'tis a young Goose I [...].

Laur.

How, a young Goose?

Phil.

He's one that said so rather.

Tyro.

No Rogue, Ile leave that title to Philosophers,

With whom the [...] are so enamoured.

For I have read in story of one [...],

Of your bald tribe affected by a Goose,

With such [...] ardent zeal; that day and night

Abroad, at home, at board, and in his bed,

She would be with him: and I am perswaded

There are but few of that profession

Can leap a Span from Goose.

Laur.

The Rogue's Satyricall.

Tyro.

Nay there are Poets too of this [...].

Know you not Anser, he who sings the praise

Of Antony in verse?

Laur.

And witty too.

Phil.

But 'tis a Partridge Tyro.

Tyro.

Hal a Partridge.

Laur.

Come leave this prattle, he will tell you now

How Mulciber the Ferrian Prince was Hawking,

And a poor Partridge, such a one [...] this,

Mewted in's mouth, only for sincere dread

Of the pursuing Hawk: but you young Rascall

Here's that has life in't.

Phil.

Come.

Drinks to Philolog.

Phil.

Historicall Tyro.

Drinks to Tyro, Tyro takes it,

Tyro.

What's this?

Laur.

'Tis wine, pure wine.

Tyro.

But Romulus

The Father of this City knew not wine,

Milke was his drinke.

Laur.

That was in Romes infancy,

Come drink you Coxcombe.

Tyro.

Ha, methinks it smiles

Like an ungirdled Maiden.

Laur.

Are you there?

Phil.

I see these scribling. Fablers are sly [...]

Laur.

There's my Lords biting Mastix Salust, [...]

Was found at th' sport.

Phil.

I, and I think belabour'd

To th' purpose for his paines.

Tyr.

Tis something pleasant.

'Twere good this Vacuum were again replenisht.

Laur.

Come, come let's fall aboard.

They eat.

Tyro.

I see you Rascals, you are no Pythagoreans.

Phil.

Why Tyro? w'are as still as they.

Tyro.

'Tis true.

But they t' enure themselves to abstinence

Would cause a Table to be richly furuisht

With costly viands, and then sit them downe

To feast their eyes upon the severall dishes,

But not to [...] a bit, for when their mouths

Had watred long [...] the inticing dainties,

A waiter was commanded to remove,

And so with empty stomachs all departed.

Laur.

A fine device to make a living Ghost on.

But Tyro, Here boy.

Drinks.

[...], why 'tis the Soul

Of History; me thinks in this small glasse

I see a Volume of brave Heroes Acts

In Letters capitall: here I read the Trophies

Of Bacchus fetcht from the remotest India;

Here I peruse the battail of such same,

Between the Centdures and the Lapathites,

The sack of Troy, and many other things

As well recorded in this fluid Monument,

As in the strongest Adamantine tables.

Tyro.

I may in time make use of this sweet doctrine

Enter Marcus Cicero, Quintus Cicero, Quintus jun.

Laur.

My Lord by Phoebus.

[...].

So, so, I perceive

You have been at it, 'tis well done, but Tyro

[Page] What news from Mutine? you [...] ever wont

To be [...].

Tyr.

None but this my Lord:

'Tis for a truth given out, that [...]

From the [...] Town convey'd a Letter

To th' Army of the Consulls by a Kestrell.

Mar.

How weak alas, to what sinall purpose tend

The plots of State-usurpers in the end?

How are [...] projects crost? he thought

With [...] and trenches to cut off intelligence

Between the Consulls and the Town, and spread

[...] o'r the surface of the neighbouring river,

Lest the swift waves should carry Brutus counsels.

But all in vain, if through the yeelding Aire

A winged post his embassie may [...].

Enter Pomponia.

Pomp.

Alas, my Lord, the Town is full of uprores,

Some cry out Antony, some, Wee are undone;

Some, [...] Brutus must be called home.

Mar.

Tyro, Go see whence springs this sad confusion.

Exit. Tyro.

Pomp.

Some answer it is now too late, and others

Affirm it were best to [...] to him for succour.

There's not a throat but hoarse with cries; An eye

But drown'd in [...] of tears. The cause I know not.

But yet I [...].

Mar.

If Antony have won the day (which heaven

And heavens all-seeing Monarch Jove forbid)

Wee are undone, there is no hope of succour

Except in Brutus, which must be [...]

Not by his coming, but our slight to him,

Unlesse the common voice mistakes, and danger

Be [...] so nigh our [...], as it [...].

But yet [...] soule is quiet, which was ever

Wont to: [...] the common ills

In her [...].

Ent. Tyr.

Tyro.

My Lord,

There is a rumour [...] throughout the City

That [...] has overthrown tho Consulls,

And is now coming with his Troopes to Rome.

Quint.

Great Jove defend us.

Marc.

Heaven [...] this evill.

Tyr.

And the Antonians within the City

Are [...] together into [...] court.

Mar.

No doubt to broach some mischief 'gainst the State.

Tyro.

My Lord 'tis broacht already; for ther's rais'd

Another [...] without all doubt by those

[...] Citizens, only to divert

The concourse of the people from your Lordship,

That on the Ides of Aprill you've determin'd

T' [...] the Fasces.

Cic.

[...] thou art deceiv'd,

[...] meant some Ambitious thief, or sword-player,

Or some new minted Catiline.

Tyr.

No my Lord;

You are the man.

Mar.

O Heavens, that I who ruin'd

The Counsells of base Catiline, should now

Turne Catiline my selfe! is any man

So lost, so wicked to raise this of me?

So rash, so furious to beleeve it? Heavens!

Enter Publius Apuleius.

Alas good Tribune, how is Cicers wrong'd?

Apul.

I know you are, and therefore in a Concion

Before the poople have I urg'd your innocence,

And partly choakt the rumour. I propos'd

All your endeavours for the Publick State

Before their censures, and the whole Assembly

Pronounc't they never yet could find you guilty

So much as of a thought against the welfare

Of the Republick: but what noise is this?

Qu.

Hark, the late cries are turn'd to [...] me thinks.

Quin. jun.

I hear a cry of Victory in the streets.

Marc.

Tyro, Go see again, my heart presages

Some sudden good.

Ex. Tyr.

Pomp.

Hark, hark, the noise increases.

Quint.

I, and approaches [...] too me thinks.

Apul.

'Tis at the dores.

Enter Tyro and a Messenger. A shout.

Tyro.

Here's one my Lord can tell you.

[...].

The Consuls (worthy Sir) have won the day.

These will inform you better.

Letters. Cicero reads.

Marc.

Brother Quintus

A word or two in private. Antony

Is put to flight, but Hirtius [...], and Pansa

Dangerously wounded; for some private reasons

Best known unto my selfe, I will conceale

The Consulls death, which I may doe compleatly,

For here's a Letter sent from Hirtius

Unto the Senate of a former victory:

This will remove suspect.

Shout.

Tyro.

The Roman people

Wait at the dore to bring you to the Capitoll.

Mar.

Thanks to the Gods, this day wee'l dedicate

To Jove and Mars the savers of our State.

Exeunt.

Laur.

Nay Madam stay, I feel an extasie

Steal through my brest, and sire my plyant soul,

You shall not goe without a Hymn of Victory.

Pomp.

[...], Clarinda, Gallu, quickly come,

Laureas begin, and these shall sing the [...].

[Page]

The Song.

Have you not beard the Cities cry,
How the people vent their joyes
In the welcome welcome noyse
Of victory?
The Capitoll returnes their shout againe,
As if it selfe would  [...] their joyfull straine.

Chorus.Let Echo sing with long-spun  [...],
And Philmels  [...] from their lubrick throats;
Let Hills rebound,
And vallies sound
Io triumphe.

The streets are fill'd with cheerfull glee,
And the common mirth is showne
In the pleasant pleasant  [...]
Of Liberty;
For now our Consuls have delivered Rome,
And the disturber of her peace o'rcome.

Chorus.

Let Echo sing with, &c,

Great Jove we blesse thy Palronage;
By whose high auspice Rome is sav'd
The Roman State, and kept unslav'd
From inbred rage.
And Mars we praise thee, by whose aid have stood
The Roman walls so long, though built in blood.

Chorus.Let Echo sing with long-spun notes,
And Philmells caroll from their lubrick throats;
 [...] Hills rebound,
And vallies sound
Io triumphe.

Exeunt.

Enter Senate. A shout.

Cicer.

Honor'd and Conscript Fathers, if those days

Appear to us with far more welcome raies

Wherein we [...] preserv'd, then those wherein

To breath this common Aire we first begin,

Because our safeties have a sure fruition

Of gladnesse, but our births a frail condition,

And that we doe our safeties entertain

With pleasure, but Nativities with pain:

How ought we then t'embrace this happy light

Which has redeem'd us from that sad [...]

Rais'd by domestick furies? yet we will not

Return unto our civill robes, till tidings

Be brought of Brutus safety, for this warre

Was undertaken for his [...] and succour,

Against those enemies of the State, and is not

Compleat but with his freedome first recover'd.

Servilius.

Although I am not Cicero of your mind

Concerning the retaining of this robe

Of war, yet I determine publick prayer

Be made to all the Gods for twenty dayes

In the three Generalls names.

Cic.

Which twenty dayes

Publius Servilius I inhance to fifty,

Since they are granted not to one but Three,

Pise.

But, M. Tullius, my opinion is

This day to put our civill garments on,

And to resume the Sage again to morrow.

Calenus.

And 'tis my judgment too.

Cic.

Yes, 'twould be gratefull

To the immortall Deities to depart

To put the Sage on from their hallowed [...]

To which we came [...] in [...]

'Twere most enormous, and against Religion.

Calen.

Then [...] your terms are too too [...]

You brand them with the name of [...]

'Tis too severe a style. We will allow them

To be call'd wicked and audacious Citizens,

But not their Countreys foes; and for this cause

The Consulls Hirtius, Pansa, with [...]

Are not to be entituled Generalls.

Cic.

If the Antonians are not enemies,

Then 'twas a great [...] to [...] them;

And if it were impiety to slay them,

How can we hope our solemn supplication,

Decreed for their destruction, should be pleasing

To the immortall Delties? But Calenus

Know I am not contented with a word

Of such a slight conceit; if any man

Will furnish me with one of deeper [...],

I'l burn't into their names; for even by those

Which spilt their sacred blonds for us at Mutine

I know they doc deserv't. As for the Consulls

And young Octavius whom we made our Chiefs,

Their brave deserts have made them Generalls,

For now that Prince of out-laws is or thrown;

The very Sun was happy, which before

He hid his beams, beheld the breathlesse trunks

Of those dead Parricides, and Antony

For very feare with few Associates fly.

Therefore I thus [...], That in the names

Of the Three Generalls, fifty days together

Be supplications made, which I will frame

In the most ample words I can contrive.

Then for the Legions, we renew the promise

Of their rewards, which we decreed before,

Should be performed when the war was [...]:

But as for those which perisht in the battail,

We will the Pensions were decreed for them

[Page] Be (as 'tis just and requisite they should [...])

Paid to [...], Brothers, Wives and children.

Some of the [...] to our grief

But their own glory fell with Victory.

O happy death which being Natures due,

Was for their countreys welfare [...] you

[...] your glorious names from Mars, that hee

Who for the Nations good did Rome decree,

Might [...] to have ordained you for Romes.

Fame [...] erect you Mausolaean tombes:

Death caught in flight is backt with [...],

Tis glorious to die with Victory;

For in the fight Mars to oblige the rest,

Is wont for pledges to select the best.

Therefore those impious foes whom you have slain,

In hell now suffer their deserved pain;

But you who poured forth your latest spirit

In [...] Victory, shall now [...]

Those blessed fields where pious souls are sainted.

What though your lives were short? they were untainted.

And the [...] of your deaths shall climbe

Beyond the [...] of all [...]

Therefore most [...] while you liv'd, but now

Most holy Soldiers it goes well with you,

Your [...] Vertues shall not clauded lie

In the [...] dungeon of [...]

Not your surviving [...], but all Rome,

Senate and People shall erect your tombe;

There shall be built? [...]

With words ingraven, whose [...] shall present

Your deeds unto AEternity; that they

Which see that [...] and read your acts, may say

These [...] the men that lov'd their countreys good,

And bought her [...] with their dearest bloud;

And [...] for [...] of their [...]

Have [...] a crown of Immortality.

Exeunt omnes. A [...].

Chorus.How wildly Fortune sports with  [...]? now
She shews a face as black as Night,
 [...] her  [...] my brow,
And  [...] Apollo's light.

VVee float upon the surface of this Main,
Now sinking into Scylla's jaws,
Anon we check our fears again
With hope and comforts  [...] laws.

The worlds great  [...], the blind Queen of Chance,
A fairer pattern never drew
Of her own unconstant glance,
Then our Native Rome  [...].

Alas! how did we whilome fear the  [...]
Done in the poor Brundusium?
VVhen Caesar with maturer hast
Strikes all those bleeding sorrows dumb.

Then what a sad confus'd distraction late
VVith horror did surprize our ears?
How each heart did antedare
A tempest in their troubled fears?

VVhen on a sudden ( [...] Jove be prais'd)
The welcome news of Victory
Seren'd those storms, and shouts are rais'd
VVhich echo'd from th' harmonious sky.

O may this fleeting fickle Goddesse here
Securely softly sit her down,
And sleep as long as Phoebe's Deare
On towring Latmus sacred crown.

O that the wakefull Genius of this place
VVould but present her with a  [...]
From Lethe fetcht, might make her  [...]
Forget its frown, and feet their motion.

Now Rome is Mars his darling Aphrodite;
O that some Deity would set
To take them in this happy plight
A lasting  [...] net!

Listen Great  [...] with what devotion sings
The Voice of new-born libertie;
O that some God would clip the wings
Of unconstant Victory!

[Page]

Actus tertius.

Enter Antony in a morning gown; the haire of his head and beard very long and unkembed. [...].

An.

COme fellow Sold. cheer your drooping spirits,

Behold the campe of Lepidus. This weed

Black as my Fortunes, these unkembed locks,

This rusty long-grown [...], this meager visage,

Emblems of my distresse, might make the bowells

Of ravenous Wolves and Tygers yern with pity,

But they are Romans, and have Roman hearts;

Come, come, the day may shine, when with [...]

We shall recount the sorrows of this [...];

When by our fires, in bosome of our wives,

Our children too, and faithfull friends about [...]

We shall discourse unto their greedy ears

Our travails through the Alps, and glory [...] them,

How every weary step presented us

With some new precipice; how we eas'd our limbes

Not on the soft repose of downy beds,

But on a frigid and congealed heap

Of snowy fleeces, with some [...]

To be our pillow. You shall [...] deride

The Roman pomp, and when you see an ear

Hung with a jewell, tell them 'twas not so

With you, when whilome on the Alpine [...]

Your hairs were linkt with chains of dangling [...];

What a brave glory will't be at a feast,

Amongst th' abundance of the Roman [...],

To tell them how your welcome drink was mee

Not the sweet Nectar of the [...] grape,

Or Formian wines presented in a cup

Of Gold ingrav'n with Anticks, or in crystall

Priz'd more for its fragility [...] worth?

But, that which once Darius so esteem'd,

The muddy water of a tainted puddle

[...] with a hollow [...] into your mouths;

And that your Viands were not [...] oysters,

The dainties of Cercei, or wild fowl

Procur'd as far as from the River Phasis,

But beasts whose stinking flesh would make [...] stomach

Of your luxurious citizen disgorge,

Roots, wild fruit, and the very barks of trees.

Thus faithfull Partners of my travails shall wee

Solace our selves, when these unwelcome clouds

Are blown away. I'm now to throw the Dice,

Pray heaven the chance [...] good; Retire you something.

[...] Soldiers.

Enter Soldiers as in Lepidus camp.

1 Sold.

What discontented [...] is this approaches

Our trenches in this mournfull garb and habit?

2 Sold.

By Mars he looks like a Memento mori.

3 Sold.

Sure I have seen thy face.

Ant.

You have no doubt.

And if my eyes deceive me not, I see

Clodius and Laelius there among you, Two

That would have known me once.

Clod.

It may bee so.

[...].

But if we cannot call you now to mind,

I hope you will impute it to your habit

And our forgetfulnesse, but not to pride,

Or scorn of misery.

Ant.

No I doe not Laelius.

For I may well seem strange to [...], who am

Grown almost out of knowledge with my selfe;

Yet have I not forgot my Name, which while

I was more happy was Antonius.

Clod.

Alas, I know you [...] to my grief.

Ant.

But now I will not [...] that name,

For being faln from what I was, I must not

Make my self what I [...] Alas I thought not,

Then when Antonius was Antonius,

Fortune would ere maligne me so as make me

An eye-sore to my selfe. Brave Romans, here

You see a wretch thrown from the height of greatnesse

To feed on carrion, and, in fellowship

Of Beasts, drink water out of tainted quagmires.

Some remnants of my Army are surviving

Which have with many a weary step past ore

The rugged Alps, and here attend the sentence

Of life or ruine from your [...].

Omnes.

Alas!

Enter Lepidus.

Lep.

How's this? Antonius in a mourning habit

Close at my Trenches, and with fawning words

At parly with my [...]? Sound the [...],

And drown this Syrens language, or w'are lost.

Ex.

Trumpets sound.

Anton.

I had but two poor Engines by whose help

I thought the fortresse of these Souldiers hearts

Might be subdued, my habit and my speech;

And one's already frustrate, tis no matter.

Though with this more then Corybantian noise

My words are swallow'd, yet my miseries

Shall speak as loud as thunder in the ears

Of these relenting Romans, for I see

Tokens of pity in their looks, well here

Like a decayed statue will I stand

And speak a mute Oration, that may chance

Advance my hopes to th' height of [...] fruition.

[Page] [...] Souldiers as in Lep. [...].

1 Sold.

See where he stands.

2 Sold.

Is that Antonius?

1 Sold.

The same, or rather not the same Antonius.

3 Sold.

'Fore Jove 'tis pity, he's a proper man.

4 Sold.

Me thinks he looks vile thin about the gills.

2 Sold.

He stands by Heaven like a Mercuriall Index.

4 Sold.

Ev'n such a meager face for all the world

Has Saturnes statue in the Capitoll.

Enter Clodius and Laelius in womens attire.

4 Sold.

But stay, what's here, a brace of Cockatrices?

Whither so fast, my pretty mincing Damsels?

Wee must not part thus, Come, come.

Clod.

Say you so?

VVith a box on the eare strikes him down

Soldiers.

Ha, ha, ha!

4 Sold.

What female devil tro was't? by Jove

My ear's as hot as limping Vulcans anvill.

Souldiers.

Ha, ha!

Exeunt.

Clod.

Now, Noble Antony, I see wee are

As much unknown to you in this disguise,

As you to us, when first you did appear

So far unlike our late renowned Consul;

But Sir to put you out of doubt I'm Clodius.

Lael.

And I am Laelius.

Clod.

Both come to recomfort

Your wretched fortunes.

Ant.

Friends I can but thanke you.

Lael.

'Tis more then wee deserve yet.

Ant.

'Tis as much

As my forlorn estate can now afford.

Lael.

Your state's forlorn no longer then you please,

Take heart, the camp is ready to receive you.

Clod.

I, and to kill the Generall Lepidus

If you'l but say the word.

Ant.

Again I thank you,

And will not die a debter; nay I must

Die both a debter, and ungratefull too.

The courtesie's so great, my best endeavours

Will bee too feeble ever to requite it.

Yet shall the Generall Lepidus live for mee,

I will not raise my fortunes by his fall.

Clod.

Then Sir to morrow morning shall our campe

Expect you with your Soldiers, and the Trench

Bee levell'd 'gainst your coming.

Ant.

Clodius,

And Laelius the restorers of my life,

I were a foe my own happinesse,

And which is more, respectlesse of your kindnesse,

If I should fa [...]l.

Clod.

Then Antony till then

Farewell.

Ant.

Farewell, farewell good Laelius.

Ex. Clod. & Lael.

Why now me thinks I'm Antony again;

I gratulate my Alpine travails now.

Who in a state so hopelesse as was mine

Would not for such an issue feed on dogs,

Or cats, or worse then both an age together?

Well I'l unto my fellow travailers,

This news will make them frolick. Thus the day

Usher'd with darknesse sends the sweeter ray.

Exit.

Enter Caesar.

Now Caesar summon thy whole self, thou art

But yet a stripling, and must arm thy self

With providence unknown in these few years.

The Senators, those Nestors of the State,

Disturb the fair praeludium of my Glories:

They have created Decimus their Generall

Against Antonius, robb'd me of my Triumph,

And jealous of my fortunes, closely practise

To win the Soldiers from me, but I am not

So weak a Politician, on such [...]

To part with these fair hopes: if this contempt

Be cast upon me, Antony yet living,

What would they doe if he were once extinguisht?

Well I'l no longer be deluded thus.

I'l doe what Pansae on his Death-bed wisht nie,

Even this, acquaint my self with Antony,

And Lepidus, to whom no doubt he is join'd.

Then will I send Centurions to the Senate,

To ask for me in name of the whole Army

The Consulship. If't be denyed, I am determin'd

To march my selfe to Rome, and gain by force

What fair means cannot win. They who intend

Betimes to compasse their wisht journeys end

Must take the day before'em; so must I,

Set forth at morning of my age, and ply

My youthfull sinews in this task of glory,

Crowning my spring with harvest, that the story

Of Caesars forward years, may be as bright

As others lives, and send as fair a light.

Exit.

Enter M. Cicero, and his brother Quint.

Mar.

Brother, I'm much perplext about this Caesar,

He has so fixt his hopes upon the Consulship

Ther's no removing him.

Quint.

I alwaies fear'd,

What the Immoderate Honors which the Senate

Confer'd upon him would at length produce.

For if Antonius from deceased Caesar,

Took his occasion to usurp the State;

What hope, may we suppose, will he put on

The Author of whose confidence is not

A murdred Tyrant, but the Senates self?

And truly brother you are to be blam'd

[Page] For the same flux of Honors with the rest.

Mar.

Why Quintus, he deserved them and more

While he stood constant to his countreys cause;

As for my self, the dignity which I

Decreed him, was but just and necessary;

For you well know the name of Generall,

Though it was somewhat too much for his age,

Is not convenient only, but essentiall

To the well governing of so great an Army.

Now since Octavius has abus'd both that

And other favours, 'tis his own ambition

And not my fault, unlesse I must be [...]

As guilty of another misdemeanours.

Quint.

You must, if you might have prevented it,

Which moderation would have done. But now

That Caesar who (as you were wont to say)

Flow'd from the fountain of your Counsells, sullies

All your intendments; for alas what good,

What profit gain we by the overthrow

Of Antony, since for reward Octavius

Requires succestion in his Tyranny?

Since he who vindicated one, begins

Himself another ill, as black as that,

And like to take a deeper root [...] footing?

Mar.

Nay, prethy Quintus, doe not aggravate.

The youth I hope is not so lost to goodnesse,

So desperately given, but I may win him

To have some pity on the State, to tender

The safeties of well-minded Citizens,

Especially of my beloved Brutus.

Quint.

What if he will not? shall we not [...] safe

But under his protection? Heaven defend us,

What would the noble Brutus say of this,

Should he but hear it, doe you think hee'd [...]

His Safety should be so demissely begg'd

Of him that's heir to Julius, whom he slew?

Why now you put the reins of Tyranny

Into his hand, and indiscreetly kindle

The fire already glowing in his brest.

Hee'l raise his thoughts to fancy certainties,

And hasten to maturity what yet

Is scarce [...] in th' womb of his [...];

When he perceives the authors of our liberty

Commended to his care, and that by you

Who have been hitherto the [...] prop

And pillar of it. Why consider Mark

The very name of Caesar [...] encite him

'Gainst those which [...] his Unkle.

Mar.

Cease Good Quintus,

You [...] me too severely.

Enter Tyro.

Tyro.

My Good Lord,

The Centiner Cornelius, from the Generall

Octavius Caesar waits to speak with you.

Mar.

He must be mildly handled.

Quint.

As you please.

[...].

Well, bring him in.

Exit Tyro.

Enter again Tyro with [...].

Corn.

The Generall Octavius

Salutes your Lordship not by me alone

But by these Letters.

Delivers and Cic. reads.

Sir I must intreat you

In name of the whole Army to repair

To th' Senate.

Cic.

Yes Cornelius I will,

And glad I am to hear the noble Caesar

Is in good health.

Corn.

Farewell my Lord.

Cic.

Farewell.

Exit Cornelius.

Marc.

Brother here's that I fear'd so much, there are

Four hundred Soldiers in the Armies name

Come to intreat for him the Consulship.

'Tis Caesars own device I fear, although

He makes it not his, but the Armies suit.

What's your advice?

Quint.

Why are you doubtfull brother?

Ne'r give your voice, lest what you have archiev'd

Against Antonius now degenerate

From the fair glory of a valiant mind,

To an opinion of slavish fear;

Nay worse, 'twill occasion to the world

To brand you with [...], and say

Your deeds have tended not to root out Tyranny,

But rather to obtain a milder Master.

You know the times; a Magistrate is made,

Doe what he can, the common mark of slander;

The best State-pilots oft are overwhelm'd

With the foul sea of an opprobrious mouth;

Their Vertues branded with the name of Vice,

Their diligence of deceit; but to consent

To this Ambitious suit for Caesar, were

[...] expose your self to a deserved censure

And such a one would taint your worthiest actions.

Exeunt.

[...] Tyro. Takes out a Table-book, and writes,

Cal.

Sex. An. ab urb. cond. D. CC. XX. Cornelius with other Centurions and Souldiers, to the number of 400 came in the behalf of the whole army to Rome, to ask of the Senate the Office of Consull for their Generall Octavius Caesar.

Now, as it is the custome of Histoxians,
Let me a little descant on this businesse.
There is a whispring rumour, that Octavius.
Slew Hirtius in the tumult of the battle,
And poyson'd Pansa at Bononia,
By his  [...]  [...]; now me thinks,
This sudden suit for th' Consulship confirms,
At least makes more suspitious that report.
Nay more, I hear he's reconcil'd to Antony
Upon a sudden; this is something too.
I know not what will follow; but 'tis doubtfull.
[Page] So, now I  [...] not, if I goe and read
Two or  [...] pages of that liquid  [...]
 [...] to me by my Cousen  [...].

Enter Senate, Cornelius and [...].

Cornel.

My Lords the Senators, we here are come,

[...] ask for [...] our victorious Generall,

In the behalfe and [...] of the [...] Army,

The Office of the Consul, and expect

Your present answers to our just request.

We hope [...] Age will be no greater barre

To him, [...] it has been before to others,

[...] [...] but yet a youth, and [...]

No more, when they were both created Consulls,

And yet the State [...] them of [...].

We might [...] the examples of great [...]

And Dolabella, but we hope 'tis needlesse.

Cent.

[...] speaks the language of us all.

Cor.

And the whole Army, Fathers, speaks in us.

[...].

[...] is your counsell [...]?

1 Sen.

Marcus Tullius

Our [...] at stake [...] my opinion.

And would be ruin'd should we grant the suit.

2 Sen.

[...] palpable.

3 Sen.

We must not give such [...]

To this [...] Youth.

4 Sen.

I know not one

[...] all our Order will [...] unto it.

5 Sen.

The Tribunes are against it.

Cic.

[...] too?

5 Sen.

I, he especially.

6 Sen.

And I.

All.

And All.

Cic.

[...] him good Minutius.

Min.

The Senators [...] all [...] the Army

To be a while contented with the honors

Already he [...] on your Generall,

The worth / Caesar, and the States [...].

When they shall judge it timely and convenient

He shall, I know't [...], have both [...],

And other dignities with a full hand.

While others rule, yet those that [...] obey

Are no [...] part o'th' Common-wealth then they.

Cor.

[...] you may keep your sentences,

[...] they nor your fair language shall perswade us

To leave the prosecution of our suit.

[...] seems the Conscript Fathers are against it;

[...] this shall doe it, if the Senate Will not.

[...] them the pommell of his sword.

Minut.

[...] traitrous [...] dost [...] threaten us?

Exeunt Cornel. & Cent.

1 Sen.

[...] this?

[...] Sen.

So boistrous? then I [...] a storm.

[...].

A [...].

Min.

[...] heavy [...]

Must we expect from Caesars Consulship

Whose [...] thus check this sacred Order?

Exeunt.

Enter Pomponia, Philologus.

Pomp.

What is the Senate yet broke up Philologus?

Phil.

Yes, newly Madam.

Pomp.

Where's my Husband Quintus?

Phil.

Gone but t' accompany my Lord your Brother

Home to his house, he will be with you straight,

For so he bad me tell you.

Pomp.

'Tis enough.

Exit [...]

Why what a peece of idle Vanity,

Is Woman to be so inquisitive?

My ear now itches, till I hear th' affairs

Debated in the Senate. — I have read

A very prety fiction now I think on't;

How the first mover, being, cause, or Nature,

Or Fate or Fortune, call him what you will,

When he first fram'd [...] fondling sexe of Women

In his Promethean shop, did form the Heart,

The Mind, the Soul, or whatsoere you call

That inner Pilot of this [...] Clay,

Of strange and various matters, whence they did

Derive their as strange qualities and conditions:

A slut was formed of as foul a sow;

A subtil Huswife of a crafty fox;

A gluttonous and lazy Crone of earth;

A woman turning like a weathercock,

With the fond wind of crosse and foolish [...],

Smiling and frowning oft-times in an houre,

As false as winter sun-shine or a showre

In summer, was composed of the Ocean.

And so of all the rest, but she whose [...]

Tingle as mine with this inquisitive itch,

Had, as the Fable fancies, for her [...]

A dog; but yet me thinks I cannot find

My selfe in all this brood; for though I have

A fond desire to hear, yet say I little,

I bark not, mine's [...] harmlesse folly which

Is never like to change me to a bitch

As't did the Trojan [...].

Exit.

Enter [...] and Fulvia.

Pi.

Come, Fulvia, cease these sorrows, for thy husband

Has now shook off the chains that kept him down,

The frozen Alps have brought him to a Fortune

Which may weigh down the thought of past afflictions;

He's fellow Generall with Lepidus,

Nay, he alone rules all, and Lepidus

Has but the naked name and title only;

And now they have repast the Alps together,

With seventeen [...], as I am inform'd,

Besides ten thousand Hors-men; nay Octavius

[Page] And he are now for ever reconcil'd;

Here's that will adde Authority to my [...].

Delivers a Letter. She reads.

Fulv.

Octavius is our own; confirm'd, [...].

By a more naturall tie then Friendship.

Piso.

How!

Fulv.

He must now call me [...] for the daughter

Of Fulvia is decreed his Spouse.

Piso.

indeed!

Fulv.

I, and Octavius too has past the Rubicon,

And is now [...] hither with [...].

So Cicero I think has lost his [...].

Now shall my Husband Antony, and I

Be for his stabbing jeers at length reveng'd.

Piso I thank you, all my cares are vanisht.

Exit.

Piso.

This woman's now secure, but I [...] eyes

Which stay [...] at the Superficies,

But pierce to th' center and the [...] of things.

I am afraid this friendship is [...],

And but to compasse his own ends. He creeps

Into acquaintance with Autonius,

That by his aid I doubt himself may [...]

A good successe to his Ambitious [...];

As first to seat himself [...] th' Consulship,

Next to root out the [...] Chiefs

[...] [...] Cassius; but will this bee all?

Will he sit still and on this height [...]

To six the pillar of his hopes? No, no,

Ambition cannot brook Plurality.

Only one Neptune in the Sea doth [...],

One Jove in Heaven, and but one Dis in Hell:

Heaven, Hell, and raging Sea have each but one,

And He or Antony must rule alone.

Ex.

Enter Salvius, Cicero.

Salv.

[...] good Cicero, [...] not [...] to you

Nor love unto Antonius that I did it,

But pure devotion to my Countreys cause.

Cic.

But my [...] hate of Antony

(I now confesse it) blinded my discretion,

And carried me too [...]

Unto this dangerous planting of Octavius.

Salv.

'Twas that I fear'd, and therefore did withstand you.

You favour'd Caesar, and maintain'd his youth

In opposition of Antonius,

Lest Antony should get the upper hand;

I favour'd Antony, and oppos'd your counsells,

Lest Caesar should ascend too high a pitch;

Your aim was to beat down a reigning [...],

Mine to keep down springing Ambition;

Yours to oppresse Antonius culminant,

Mine to suppresse rising [...]; both

Good in th' intent, though in [...].

Cicer.

Sure some superiour power has order'd this,

And made us instruments of our own subversion;

But this afflicts me most, that these [...]

Should happen at a season so unfortunate,

When Brute and Cassius are so far remote,

Nor furnisht neither to oppose such [...].

Enter Apuleius.

You look, good Tribune, as if horrour dwelt

Upon your browes; what tydings Apuleius?

Apul.

My Lord Octavius is directly coming

To th' City with an Army of [...] Legions;

Antonius too and Lepidus are come

With mighty forces into Italy

Only with this intent, to second Caesar;

The streets are fill'd with tumult and [...]

[...] run about not knowing what to doe,

Others remove their [...] and [...]

Into out-villages, or stronger places

Within this City.

Salv.

Heaven defend us, Cicero,

Alas we are undone.

Apul.

The Senate, Sir,

Is now in consultation of some course

Whereon to pitch. Your presence is expected.

Cic.

No doubt it is; but [...] absent my selfe,

The Conscript Fathers may themselves [...]

What's best in this necessitating [...]

For their own safeties, I should say the States,

But there the choise is crost; as for my self

Nothing can come amisse. I'v liv'd too long

To see this day. The Fathers foro't to [...]

(As now they must) to th' ruine of their liberty:

O 'tis a corrosive to my soul to think on't.

Twere good you two would [...] and take your [...]

Both.

We will, and that with speed; Farewell.

Cic.

Farewell.

Enter Senate.

1 Sen.

Wee must bee speedy Fathers. What's counsells?

2 Sen.

Twere best in my opinion to dispatch

A message to him to present him with

The Consulship.

3 Sen.

I, that's the [...] way.

4 Sen.

But th' Armies fired for the late [...]

How shall we stay their [...]?

2 Sen.

Wee'l decree

To th' whole 8 [...] so much in

As wee have promis'd to the two.

1 Sen.

How say you?

Are you content?

Omnes.

Content! we must of force.

1 Sen.

See what the Tribunes say [...].

Sen.

They consent,

Forc't by the same [...] as wee.

1 Sen.

Come then, let's [...] the Legats.

Exeunt.

[Page] Enter Cicero.

[...].

How will this royall City now become

A [...] of [...]! and [...] Senatours

[...] a [...] prey to rav'nous talous!

Will Caesar think himself secure, while men

So [...] addicted to the State survive?

No; Tyranny's suspicious, [...] unhead them,

Lest happily they should be get young [...].

Enter [...].

[...] what news?

Salv.

What news! why Caesar's Consul.

[...] are sent unto him with the offer.

[...].

Heavenst what a tide of [...] must Rome expect,

[...] she must list the [...] to her own head?

[...] [...] were at home now! we would loose

[...] bloud, before our liberty.

[...] happy you, which in the Mutine sield

[...] up your lives! you breath not with the rest,

To taint your [...] glories with black [...]

To your own [...] freedome; in soft peace

Rest your [...] souls. But [...] we,

[...] for one [...], now are plagu'd with three.

Enter Qu. Cicero.

Quint.

[...], the Africk Legions [...] arriv'd.

[...].

[...] Quintus?

[...].

[...] 'tis most certaine.

[...].

Nay, then we will not on such feeble terms.

[...] with our Countreys freedome, Salvius come.

Exeunt.

Enter [...].

Senator.

What have we done my Lords? given up our [...],

[...] the shedding of one drop of bloud?

Twill grow [...] custome for Ambitious men

T' [...] the offices of State, if thus

The Consulship be made a prey to force;

Nay rather [...] oppose and bear th' assault,

[...] Decimus or Plancus come and [...] us.

[...] fight till our lifes [...] breath be spent,

[...] then [...] a gap for [...]

[...] before attempted with successe.

[...] was, [...] was that [...] once in Rome,

When her brave Worthies would not stand agast

At such a threatned storm as this, but [...]

The [...] hand of that [...] Jove

Durst [...] once to raise it. [...], what

Have we let [...] and rust [...] glorious edge

[...] that [...] or is't only

[...] prison'd [...] the sheath? let's draw [...] out:

Nor faile [...] Countrey, but uphold [...] cause,

While we have hearts, and hands, like true-born Romans.

Enter [...].

Cicer.

Fathers you were too forward [...] dispatch

Of your Legation to Octavius.

You will repent it.

1 Sen.

[...]. Tullius, why?

Cic.

The Africk Legions are arriv'd.

Sen.

Arriv'd!

Then [...] the Messengers be called back.

Ex.

Cic.

Fathers, I need not urge how bright and glorious

Is zeal unto the common cause. I know

You prize it as the jewell of your lives,

And you doe well; for 'tis a Musick which

Will, like the note of the Caystrian bird,

Stick by you till [...] latest gasp; and then

Be your good Genius mounting to the skies

Your winged souls, where being stellifi'd

You shall with shining Opticks see how weak

A nothing is, this molchill earth [...]

Poor Mortalls toil so; there you shall behold

How feeble, how ridiculous a madnesse

Is fond Ambition. But I lose my self

In this divine and pleasing contemplation,

Come let's dispose our selves for opposition.

Senators.

With all our Hearts. Heaven prosper the attempt.

Exeunt.

Enter Caesar, Captains, Soldiers.

Caes.

How's this? the Senate so [...]? well.

Cornelius take some certain Horsemen with you,

Post to the City, and assure the people,

I come not with intent to raise a tumult,

But on faire [...] of peace; make hast before,

And I will follow with all speed I can.

Exit.

Enter Pomponia and Young Quintus.

Pomp.

So studious Quintus in such times as these?

Quint.

Yes, Madam, therefore cause the times are such

Though Caesar be a youth as well as I,

Yet he is one of deeper undertakings

Then can be sounded by such heads as mine;

Pray heav'n they puzzle not the piercing judgments

Of our grave Senators.

Pomp.

And 'tis my prayer,

But what is't you are reading?

Quint.

'Tis a book

My Unkle Marcus [...] me to peruse.

Pom.

You cannot better spend your mornings [...]

Then after his praescriptions. Time's a [...].

`A day is like a costly ring of Gold,

[Page] `And morning is the Diamond of that ring

But tell me something which your book containes

Worthy our hearing.

Quint.

Madam, the whole volume

Is like a gallery hung about with pictures

Of filiall piety. Here on trembling shoulders

More fam'd then those of Hercules, which upheld

The heavenly orbes, one bears his aged father

Through midst of flames, and so conserves that being

Which was the Spring of his. Another bears

Her on his pious back who in her wombe

Bare him. Here one sustains her mothers [...]

With the same food wherewith her own first breath

Was by that mother cherisht; these were [...]

In Natures heaven, and have now an [...]

Not to inhabit only but to rule.

Yet that which makes me most admire, is this,

That the mute son of [...] should unlose

The fetters tyed by Nature to his tongue,

And cry, Kill not the King.

Pomp.

To save our Parents

Is the first law and dictate Nature writes

In our hearts [...] Tables, therefore did she

Articulate the [...]

Of his chain'd tongue, lest by her fault that [...]

Should want its force and vigour in the [...].

Quint.

Methinks I envy the example.

Pomp.

What?

Would you your father should be so [...]

That you might save him?

Quint.

No, not for a world.

But who knows what this age doth travail with?

Pomp.

True. But the [...] coheres [...] You,

The heavens be thank'd for't, were not [...] dumb.

Quint.

Tis a great benefit; but yet me thinks

I could incarcerate, as he freed his voice,

To save a father. I could [...] by bridling

As great a name, as he by giving reins

To stupid nature; such an act would come

Within the verge of praise, whereas his does not

Without th' internalls.

Pomp.

Goe, you make me sad.

Exit Quintus.

What Genius has inform'd my Quintus fancy,

That he still [...] on such examples?

Pray heaven my husband never prove an object

For him whereon to exercise this piety.

Exit.

Enter M. Cicero.

Still doe I strive against the stream, and like
A silly  [...] mount the inraged  [...],
Which i I doe not poise my actions well
Will carry me away. We thought the Gods
By their auspicious providence  [...] sent
The Africk Legions to our  [...]; but
They are revolted from us, and their Captains
Taken to favour. Only one  [...]
Scorning to beg life from this second Caesar
Haslike a second Cato slain himself.
And I would follow him, but that the good
And safety of my Countrey is my Remora.
I will for th' present  [...] Octavius favour,
It cannot be a stain to  [...]
Since all have don't already but my self.

Enter Senators.

Sen.

Have you made peace wth Caesar?

Cic.

I have sued it

By mediation of his friends, and now

Wait to accost him, sure he is at hand.

Sen.

He is indeed; Hark how the people shout.

Shout.

Enter Caesar and others.

Sen.

Health to the worthy and victorious [...].

Caesar.

Fathers I thank you.

Cicer.

Haile to Noble Caesar.

Caes.

My Honer'd Father [...]

Cic.

Tis too high a Title

For M. Tullius Cicero.

Caes.

Now you wrong me,

The Parent of my country must be mine.

But yet I must be bold to tell you Sir,

You have been something sparing of your [...];

You are the last of all my Noble friends

That come to wellcome my return from Gaule.

Exeunt. A [...].

Chorus.O what awounding shout was this!
Tis even as banefull as the Mandrakes note,
The shricks of damned souls, the hisse
Of Scorpions, Adders, or the Sirens throte.
Let it be strangled, 'tis a sound
Will wake pale death from his Cimmerian Cell,
Twill rend a passage through the ground,
And bring the Furies from their Court of Hell:
The barbarous Thracians though they sing
Their dead unto their graves, would howle to see
So black, so venemous a sting
Enter the body of their State, as we.
For these are but Sardonian soniles
Which dance upon  [...] browes; this fading mirth
Will prove an Embryon, and beguile's
When wee shall find it still-borne at the birth.
O what a golden age w' enjoy'd
Vnder the Reverend Saturnes of the State!
But now an upstart  [...] unboyd,
Vnto an age of iron gives new date.
What power this ruine on us slings?
Julius is turn'd his Genius, we fear,
And lent him Tityus Vultures wings
T' enhaunce the swistnesse of his proud careere
[Page] If such a little time as  [...]
Full  [...] Summers have a Consul bore
Of such a growth, so  [...];
 [...] we think alas of twenty more?
Others when  [...] this sacred way
Of  [...], they had travail'd but so far,
Would  [...] them down, and sagely say,
Death was  [...] unto a Consular.
But this young Minion of  [...] chance,
Like a skie-climbing Eagle still will tower
Vntill he shall himself advance
Vnto a Sov'raign Independent power.
Heavens! if it be your sacred pleasure
To put a period to our libertie,
O let the Scepter know some measure,
That being servile we may yet seem free.

Actus Quartus.

M. T. Cicero.

NOW we are past  [...], lost sor ever.
Our new-made Consul, made indeed, but not
Elected, for Election is an Act
Of Will net Voice, of an internall  [...],
Not outward sound; this Consul, whom our fears,
Not our Consents or Votes have  [...],
 [...] o're us like a full and pregnant  [...]
Ready to pour a tempest on our heads.
Our forced hands delivered him the Are
To punish State-maligners, but alas
He whets it for the necks of our preservers.
I, only I am blam'd:  [...] City;
They are not  [...] honors which afflict us,
But his new- [...] friendship with Antonius,
Which was the only rock my best endeavours
Were ever prest t' avoid, lest the Republike
Should suffer  [...] upon't. I thought the way
To keep him distant with Antonius,
Was to advance him to a requisite power
Of opposition: 'las we but conjecture
And guesse at the events of things; our knowledg
Cannot arrive to an infallible certainty
Of the successe of matters; 'tis a  [...]
Peculiar only to the Gods, and is
Deriv'd to us,  [...] mortalls, not by nature,
But extraordinary participation.
Since therefore 'tis th' unknown event alone,
 [...] the  [...] of my soul, which  [...]
The seeming good appearing in my counsells,
Why am I made the mark of accusation?
But  [...] the custome of the times, I will not
Deject my self for this; the innocence
Which I am arm'd with is enough to raise me
From such  [...], but yet I'm  [...]
For the  [...] of my countreys freedome,
For my Dear  [...], and the Noble  [...].
The other Consul Quintus Pedius
Has publisht a decree wherein they're  [...]
With interdiction of Fire and Water.
Of Fire and Water! can they then constrain
The fountains of our eyes to cease their course?
Brutus shall have these waters, till we have wept
Their currents dry; and then our hearts shall send
Whole clouds of vapouring sighs to feed new showrs.
But as for fire, they want it not; their  [...]
Cherish the flame of an unmoved real
Unto their countreys liberty, which cannot
Be quencht but with their blood; this Caesar knows,
And therefore that he may with doubled power
Oppresse the heroick bravery of their spirits,
Has reconcil'd Antonius and Lepidus,
Those two pernicious monsters with the Senate,
And now he is return'd again toward Mutine,
No doubt to  [...] with those two plagues, and there
Contrive the ruine of the Common-wealth.
For State-  [...] think of nought but blood,
when they consult tis to devour the good.

Enter Q. Cicero.

Quint.

Brother, How dost?

Mar.

Thinkst my beloved Quintus
I can be healthfull when the State's  [...]
Whereof I am a Member?

Quint.

'Las tis true,
Too true; the Common-wealth's diseas'd indeed,
Sick  [...] the heart, faints, can no longer stand,
Lies bedrid, and like sierce Procrustes guests
Must be distended or abbreviated
To th' pleasure of her Lord the worst of theeves;
For Caesar, Antony, and  [...],
Are met together not far off from Mutine,
And in an  [...] round environed
With a smal river, without any company,
Are as I hear consulting,

Marc.

What a Hell
[Page] Will this poor City he, when such a  [...],
Like Minos, AEacus, and  [...],
Sit on the life and death of her best States-men?

Quint.

Tis to be fear'd indeed they will play Sylla's.
But who can help it? if the Gods will  [...]
Destruction on us, we must not complain,
For they're above us, and it were but vain,
For who can alter the decrees of fate?
Alas we are but mortall, and the State
Of this lifes pilgrimage is full of woe,
Better die once delivered with one blow,
And in ones countreys cause, then living  [...]
Wounded with sight of bloody Tyranny.

Marc.

Now Quintus speakes like his own virtueus self,
This language melts me into fire and aire;
I am sublim'd, and ready to take flight
In extasie from this unwieldy lump;
Come, let's retire into my garden; there
Proceed in this divine discourse, 'twill make
My soul disdaine with Earthly mould  [...]
And raise her thoughts to immortality.

Exeunt.

Enter Casar Solus.

How full of fare and horrour is this morning?
She comes not tripping on the mountains  [...],
But moves with drooping pace, and leaden heels,
Her eye-lids are not rosy, nor her brow
Gilded with that sweet beauty it was wont;
What has she changed colours with her  [...]?
Or is she sick, and so has bound her head,
In this black vail of clouds? Alas, alas,
Tis lest her eyes behold our blacker deeds.
My self, Antonius, and Lepidus
Have, like the three Saturnian brothers once,
Amongst us shar'd the Roman would, as if
It were our own inheritance, and now
We must complot a Tragedy; the  [...]
Must be culled out; shall  [...] then dy?
Alas, how piety struggles in my brest.
This mouth, this tongue which now must speak his death;
Was wont to call him Father; shall I  [...]
Become a Paricide? Suppose I doe;
He that aspires to govern without check,
Must set his foot upon his fathers neck.
It is a maxime long since practised
By Jove himself upon his father  [...].
But words oblige not to a naturall  [...].
I did but call him Father; and if now
I yeeld consent unto his death, I doe it
As he is Marcus Cicero, a stranger
To Casars blood. But Cato thought him  [...]
The honor'd title of his Countreys  [...].
And shall  [...] ruine so great worth?
Be still my melting  [...]: He must die,
And therefore 'cause he is his Countreys parent,
He that is Caesars friend must be a  [...]
Unto his countreys freedome, which he prizes
Above his life, and for this cause must lose it.
Shall he then die? Ambition sayes he must.
But piety forbids; but Piety
Must not be sided with Ambition.
It must be so. Antonius shall have Cicero,
Antonius then shall give me Lucius Caesar,
And Lepidus shall yeeld his brother Paulus.
Ambition thus must thought of pity smother
Even toward a Father, Vnkle, or a Brother. Exit.
Enter Laureas.
 Heavens! What a dismall time is this? the dogs
As if they were transformed into wolves,
Gather together, and doe nought but howle;
And wolves as if they were changed into dogs,
Have left the woods and traverse through the streets.
A Bull was heard send forth a humane voice,
An infant newly born to speak; A showre
Of stones descended from the troubled skies;
And in the aire was heard the cries of men,
Clashing of armour, and a noise of Horses,
Shrill trumpets sounds; the statues of the Gods
Swet drops of bloud, and some were toucht from heaven,
Many of th' Temples too are Thunder struck.

Enter Tyro.

Tyro were ever known such Tragedies?

Tyro.

Never was imminent calamity
Threatened to Rome, but 'twas thus ushered, Laureas.
I might alledge the wretched fall of Crassus,
When such a purple floud of Roman gore
Discoloured Lucans field.
But the not yet cur'd dire Pharsalian blow
Shall speak for all. Rome scarce ere knew a prodigie
Which was not praevious to that bloudy day,
The Sun and Moon eclipst,  [...] flames
Obliquely darted on th' Italian shore,
The Vestall fire extinct, the Native gods
Weeping; State-changing comets, monstrous births,
The grones of Ghosts from out their troubled Vrnes,
With many more.

Laur.

But the Hetruscian Soothsayers

Will descant better on these things then we.

Tyro.

'Slight thou saist true, and now I think on't  [...].
Wee'l try if we can search what they determine,
Sure they have done by this their immolations.

[...]

Enter Senate and [...].

Cicero.

You the most Reverend of Hetruscian Vates,

To whom is known the births and deaths of States,

You who by art unlock the Pole, to whom

Is made apparent fates [...] doom

[Page] By [...] deep [...], or by thunder,

A hairy star or some such boding wonder,

Inform us what the angry [...],

Threaten in these [...] prodigies,

But be not [...], nor shroud

Your Speeches in [...] dark mysterious cloud,

[...] did the Sibylls and the [...], hick Nun,

[...] your inspired Numbers evenly run

With obvious and unfolded sense, that so

We [...] conceive the essence of our [...].

The Ancientest of the [...].

Then fathers, [...] your dismall fate,

Your freedome shall be lost, your state

Converted to a Monarchy,

And all be slaves but only I

Sen.

What means the Aged Prophet?

Stops his breath, and [...] down [...] d.

Cicer.

Fallen down?

[...] it some [...] extasie or death?

Second Soothsayer. [...] brother from his clay is slowne,
And  [...] your destiny with his own.
 [...] happy he,  [...] now is blest
With a true  [...] rest,
And shall not see the tide of  [...]
Which on Survivers heads will  [...].

The third.Like our brothers Vitall  [...]
Who now lies before us dead,
Your twine of  [...] is broke,
And  [...]  [...] expect the yoke.

The fourth.What the  [...] have made
A firm decree, and he hath said,
No humane power can disanull,
Tis signed in your speaking bull.

The fift.When Romulus first founded Rome,
He  [...] his Crowne by Remus doome,
And built his Monarchy in bloud;
Now shall return that antique power
Not  [...] with a shower
Of that salt  [...], but a sloud.

[...].

Well, what the fates have [...], humane power

[...] of [...] to cancell; if I dye,

(As sure my [...] must help to make the [...])

I will dye willingly; [...] a noble death

Not to survive ones countreys liberty:

If Gods might [...] of death, then would they die.

The Soothsayers over the dead corpes sing this Song.

1 Brother, 2 Brother, 3 Brother, 4 Brother.

Art thou dead?

Art thou fled?

Art thou gone,

All alone?

To the shades below,

To the desert cells,

Where glooing darknesse [...],

And cloudy woe;

Where ne'r was knowne;

A cheerfull tone,

Where wretched Souls

Like Stygian owles,

Together.

Have no joy of one another?

1 Brother, 2 Brother, 3 Brother, 4 Brother.

Thou art dead;

Thou art fled,

Thou art gone

All alone,

To the groves below,

Where sacred Quires

Inspir'd with holy fires

In triumph goe,

Where songs of mirth

Are caroll'd forth,

Where blessed Souls,

In Nectar bowles,

Together.

Drink and solace one another.

Exeunt with the [...].

Enter Cicero reading.

O Vitam vere vitalem! sed beatam etiam mortem [...] be atissimam vitam aditum [...]

Most true, for did we like savage beasts
Returning to a former  [...] being,
No one part of us free from dissolution,
Death were a plague, and did not harbour in it
The sweetnesse which they talk of; for I think
To be, is better, though in restlesse troubles,
Then not to be at all; twere senselesse, impious
[Page] To say the power that's  [...] of Nature,
Infus'd into us such a love of Union
In this compounded frame; without some blessing
In the continuance; but a  [...] cessation,
A sinking into nothing, though it pains  [...],
Yet 'tis no blessing, nor can properly
Be said to take our cares and sorrows from us,
Or us from them, but rather and more truly
Us from our selves. I cannot think the Gods
Were so unkind, so sparing of their blessings,
Or feebly stor'd, as to bestow a Nothing
On the two pious sons of Argia,
On Agamedes and Trophonius;
For, pray, what goodnesse can be coucht in that
Which cancells being, that is one with goodnesse?
But doe we live then? can I think the soul
Survives, when in an urnes forgetfull chest
The mournfull treasure of our Ashes  [...]?
See how my panting struggling soul contends
To harbour the belief! Alas, me thinks
Tis no small argument to ground our hopes on,
To see how sweetly good men entertain
The weakest motion for a future life;
To see them, how even shaking hands with death,
They are more sprightly and repleat with vigour,
Yea oftentimes oraculous, as if
Something lay cag'd within that was not mortall,
But were new rapt with joy of better state,
And even then seizing on Divinitie,
When wicked men are full of  [...]
Tortur'd with furies, which their consciences
Present them in the ugliest shapes: is't fancy?
Or is't a feare their sullyed names will stink
In th' nostrills of posterity? 'tis neither.
For if the first; why then are not the good
Subject to th' same commotions, whose diseases
And bodily distempers are the same?
But if the second; then might they be free
To whose enormous actions darknesse  [...]
And secret Angels have been conscious;
Therefore by this it seems that  [...]  [...],
Ixions wheel, and the Tantalian fruits
Are not meer bug-bears; but some mystick Em­blemes
Of the succeeding pains of guilty souls.
Thus have I argued, yea and  [...] satisfied
My own weak reason. Yet our great Philosophers
In the discussing of this weighty matter,
Fare much like naked men in stony fields,
They can with ease beat down anothers reasons,
But cannot save their own, alas, from falling;
They can offend a wise  [...]
Weaken his grounds, but not defend themselves.
Whither, alas, shall our endeavours  [...],
When we are  [...] in knowledg of our end?

Enter Laureas.

Laur.

My Lord, there's one without would speak with you

From the Triumvirs.

Cic.

The Triumvirs [...]?

Laur.

Yes, so he sayes.

Cic.

O from Antonius,

Caesar and [...]. Send for Quint. to me,

For Salvius, Otho, Publius [...],

And other of my friends, you know.

Lau.

I fly.

Cic.

But charge none enter till they heat from me.

From the Triumvirs? have they then [...]

Ex. [...].

A new-coyn'd office? what will now become

Of those that have the old ones? what I why have

Their Reverend heads struck off like Tarquins poppie.

Enter Quintur Cicero.

[...]

Brother, how is it you are here so soon,

Since 'tis but now I sent to intreat your company?

Quint.

A Brother should not stay till he be sent for,

When he suspects his presence will be usefull;

I had some doubtfull notice of this messenger

Which now within waits for admittance.

Mar.

Quintus,

How I am blest in such a carefull brother!

Thus when the Argive King was vext with doubts,

And call'd a councell of the Graecian Peers,

Only his brother [...] came

Of his own free accord.

Quint.

It should be so,

Why had we else one father, why one mother,

If not to live like brothers?

Mar.

True, good Quintus,

I could even weep to see this piety

Flow so divinely from thee, now if ever

Our states require our mutuall aids and counsells.

But what dost think this messenger may bring?

Quint.

No good I warrant you, perhaps our deaths

Can we expect from those three Roman [...]

A milder sentence?

Mar.

Why, I will embrace it.

Father and Ruler of the lofty sky,

What way thou pleasest lead, and grant that I

May follow with no sad or grieved blood,

Nor like an ill man bear what fits a good.

Enter Salvius, Apuleius, and other friends of Cicero.

Mar.

Friends, you are welcome. You shall hear anon

Why you were sent for. Now call in the Messenger.

[Page] Enter Messenger.

Mess.

I [...]:, Sir, say Health unto your Lordship,

Untill your self confirm it, which you may

As will appear by this,

(Delivers a Letter.)

Nay good my Lord,

Give these the hearing of it, for the affair

May crave their judgments.

Mar.

Then you know it.

Mess.

Partly.

Mar.

Read you it [...].

[...].

No, my mouth shall never

Speak my own Brothers sentence,

Marc.

This is fond,

Quint.

Pray heaven it prove so.

Marc.

Will you read it Salvius?

Salv.

You must excuse me Cicero.

Cic.

Say you so?

Then Apuleius you must be the Man.

Apul.

Sir, by no means, if your own brother dare not;

Pray pardon me.

Cic.

Indeed! then read it you.

1 Friend.

No: I my Lord, 2 Nor I, 3 Nor I, 4 Nor I.

Marc.

Then Marcus Tullius sit thee down and read,

No doubt, thine own proscription.

Omnes.

Heavens defend!

(Cic. Reads.)

M. Antonius Imperater, Augur, Triumvir, to M. Tullius Cicero, Consular, Greeting.

[...] the Triumviri M. Antonius, M. Lepidus, andOctavius [...] (Ventidiusbeing chosen Consul in his roome

Mar.

Ventidius Consul in Octavius room,

And he Triumvir? this afflicts my soul.

(Reads.)

are for the space of five whole yeers appointed with full and absolute authoriy for the re-establishment of the Commonwealth; and you Cicero are now in my hands; yet have I so mitigated my just conceived indignation toward you, that if you will but [...] your Orations which you call your Philippicks, compiled only out of malice and rancour against me, you shall liue; otherwise —

Yours, if perversnesse make you not your own foe.

Mar.

You shall be soon informed which way I am resolv'd to take.

Mess.

Ile waite your Lordships pleasure.

Exit.

Mar.

Friends, here you see the slender twine whereon

My aged life depends.

Salv.

Too true my Lord.

Marc.

Your counsell brother.

Quint.

Mine is resolute.

Marc.

The better, let me hear it.

Quin.

This it is; —

Defie him.

Salv.

Hold, I hope you will not, Quint.

Be your own brothers heads-man, that but now

Could not be won so much as read the Letter,

Lest you should speak his sentence.

Apul.

Good my Lord,

Preserve your self for better times; the State

Will lose its soule, when tis depriv'd of you.

Salv.

Twill be a breathlesse trunk, a livelesse carkasse,

When you are gone; which were the only blood

And Sinews of her liberty.

1 Friend.

Alas!

We shall be prey'd upon by ravenous Vultures,

And those insulting Eagles of Ambition.

2 Friend.

Think but of this when [...] arise,

Where shall we find new Cicero's to oppose them?

3 Friend.

Where shall opprest and wronged Citizens

Find upright Patrons, that will stick to justice,

Not fearing to incur a great ones frown?

They may as soon climb up to heaven, and bring

Astraea down again; unhappy Rome!

Quint.

I do confesse good friends the common-wealth

Will misse a Cicero; and that my brother,

If we respect the wishes of the people,

And wan [...]t of the Republick, has not yet

Liv'd half of half his time; but if we cast

A backward eye upon his glorious actions,

Has liv'd a goodly age, and cannot now

Die immaturely. Look upon the state

Of present things, the downfall of our liberty,

(And heaven knows what calamities will follow)

I think you cannot be so much his foe,

As not to say, he has now liv'd too long.

Apul.

Ah! but the publick good's to be preferr'd

Before respects of private consequence.

Quint.

But Publius, the State is now so wounded

That there's no hope of cure, and therefore may

Our old Physitians safely give it o're;

Were he an AEsculapius that could put

New life into a State, as once that son

Of Paean did to Virbius; I should then

Blaspheme Great Jove himself, should he but aim

His triforke flames against him; but for one

Now sinking of himself into his grave,

And such a one as Cicero, in these times,

When such mens ages are but vain, what sepulcher

Can be more fit, more glorious then the same

Wherein his countreys freedome lies enclos'd?

If he now die, hee shall be buried

With the renowned Pompeys, son and father;

With Catulus, Petreius, and Afranius,

Yea with Antonius that brave man, unworthy

His noble stock should bear so foul a branch.

But if he live, with whom I pray wilt be

But Capho's, Saxa's, and Ventidii?

Therefore good brother, (I confesse my eyes

Doe swim with tears, yet shall my words proceed

From a couragious mind) be still thy selfe;

To the huge volume of Antonius faults

Adde one crime more, even Cicero's death; 'twill stick

[Page] Upon his name with a more lasting blot

Then the most hainous of his other [...].

For should his future deeds pronounce him [...]

To the great Alexander or [...] son,

From whom he [...] his vain pedigree;

Should after ages wonder at his Acts,

And say, why this, and this, and this he did,

Built such a City, conquer'd such a Countrey,

Thus and thus many times [...], with Kings

And Queens to follow his victorious chariot;

Yet, for a period to each glorious sentence,

Some honest stander by will sighing say

But he kill'd Cicero; [...] shall still

Much like [...] Vulture rend and [...]

The very heart and liver of his name,

Let Antony proscribe thee, let him Marcus,

Why, he can do't but once, and that's some comfort;

But thou shalt proscribe him unto eternity;

It is not thy proscription he [...]

But closely [...] a pardon for his own.

Beleeve me [...], 'tis the [...] part

Which can be given, or taken from thee; that,

That's the true Cicero which Antonius knows

Cannot be proscrib'd [...] by Cicero.

If Antony deceive, and break his faith,

(As faith is [...] me found in such as hee)

Then thou must die. Suppose he [...] perform [...]

Then must you live a vassall to his [...];

Now which is to be [...], death or fervitude,

I leave it to your self, and your own judgment.

Yet my beloved Brother, by our Loves,

By thy now well-spent three and sixty years,

By thy renowned [...], the sacred

And (if thou [...]) the everlasting memory

Of thy admired Eloquence, by these

And all that's dear unto thee, I adjure thee

Die not confessing that thou wouldst not die.

Mar.

Friends, I am bound unto your [...], & thank you

That not affection only, which were fond,

But the Republicks good, has been the [...]

Of your perswasions. Well; I promise you

I will doe nothing unbeseeming Cicero.

Frame your hopes complement by this. I shall

Dispatch the messenger my self.

Salv.

Good Cicero

Remember us and Rome.

Apul.

We were not born

(Tis your own saying) for our selves alone,

Our Countrey claims a [...].

Cic.

Farewell, farewell,

Farewell my Friends; but [...], let me have

Your company.

Quint.

You shal.

Apul.

Nay then I fear.

Exeunt

Mar.

Come Brother Quintus, [...] hast bravely argu'd;

Why weep'st [...]

Quint.

Doe you then approve my [...]

I will unsay it.

Mar.

Nay, thou shalt not, canst not.

Come, come, let's in, thy self shall only hear

How I will send defiance to [...].

Exeunt.

Enter Laurcas and [...].

Laur.

What [...] thou Tyro that my Lord admits

None but his brother Quintus to th' delivery

Of his reply?

Tyr.

I cannot guesse the reason.

Laur.

Me thinks he should not bar their longing ears

The hearing, if he does intend acceptance

Of the Triumvirs proffer. But I fear

He does not prize his life at such a [...].

[...].

[...], life is precious.

Laur.

But honor more;

`And what is life?

Tyro.

Tis Natures gift. [...]. A poore

`And worthlesse jewell fastned by a hair

`To th' ear of vanity.

Tyro.

It is the fair

`And sprightly shine of this compendious world.

`Laur.

And from what [...] is that lustre hurld.

`Tyro.

The soul. La. A short liv'd day, a twi-light sun,

`Whose fading beauties cease when scarce begun.

`But honor is a day, that knows no night,

`And ever triumphs in immortall light.

I think Antonius might have done more wisely,

And might have sooner compast his [...],

If he had only sent him life, without

The intimation of those harsh conditions;

For so he could not in my slender judgment,

[...] such applausive terms have contradicted

The proffer'd benefit of his life, and then

I am perswaded fully that my Lord

Would ne'r have let posterity have known

His hate to Antony, from whom he should

Have daign'd th' acceptance of a slavish breath.

Tyro.

Come, prethy leave, I shall despair [...],

Exeunt.

Enter M. Cicero solus.

Now I have seal'd my fate, I must expect
The second message for my head. I must?
What, may not man unlock this Cabinet,
And free the heavenly jewell of his soul?
A wise man stays not Natures period, but
If things occurre, which trouble his  [...],
Emits himself, departing out of life
As from a stage or Theatre, nor passes
Whether he take or make his dissolution;
Whether he doe't in sicknesse or in health.
Tis base to live, but brave to die by stealth,
This is the daring Stoicks glorious language
I was  [...] self too of the opinion once;
But now I find it impious and unmanly.
For as some pictures drawn with slender lines,
Deceiving almost our  [...] eyes,
Affect us much, and with their subtilties
Wooe us to gaze upon them, but are found
By skilfull and judicious eyes to  [...]
In symmetry of parts, and due proportion;
[Page] Even so the Stoicks  [...] are carved
With seeming curiousnesse, almost forcing judgment,
And carry with them an applausive shew
Of undenial  [...] verity,  [...] well scann'd
They are more like the dreams of idle braines,
Then the grave dictates of Philosophers:
The wise  [...] was opinion'd  [...],
For most divinely he forbids us leave
The corps due guard without our Captains license.
And to speak true, we are but Vsufructuaries,
The God that governs in us is  [...].
A Prisoner breaking from his  [...] or hold;
If he be  [...],  [...] his  [...];
If innocent,  [...] even that innocence
Which might perhaps have brought him cleerly  [...].
Tis so with us; our Magistrate, I mean
The power that's soveraign of this naturall frame,
Has sent us (Plato saies from heavenly mansions)
Into this  [...] prison; here we live,
And must not free our  [...], but patiently
Expect our summons from that sacred power
By his  [...] Death. For otherwise
We become guilty of a greater sin
Then Parricide it self, no bond of Nature
Being so  [...], as of one to himself.
The Graecians knew this, when they judg'd the body
Of Ajax who had slain himself, unworthy
The common rites of buriall. Carefull Nature
 [...] fenc'd our hearts about with certain bones;
 [...] like swords; and shall we break the guard?
 [...], rather  [...] us wait the will of th' heavens,
And, when we hence are warned by their Ordinance,
 [...] us  [...] with glad and joyfull hearts,
And think  [...] selves delivered from a gaol,
Eased of gives and fetters, that we may
Remove unto our own  [...] dwelling;
For, without doubt, that power that gave us being,
Did not  [...] and foster us for this,
That having suffer'd on this stage of life
Thousand  [...],  [...] calamities,
Quotidian  [...], and all in Virtues cause,
We should for guerdon fall into the gulph
Of an  [...] death, and non-subsistence.
 [...], rather let us cherish this belief
That there's another haven provided for us,
 [...] blessed  [...] for our longing souls.
Arm'd with a  [...] of this,
Like  [...] I will  [...] my death,
And with the  [...] spirit resign my breath.

Enter Quintus.

Marc.

[...] now? [...]. O [...], there's no remedy

[...] die we must, or save our selves by slight.

[...].

Why, if the [...] have so determin'd,

Welcome the easer of [...] woes, [...] Death.

[...] what's the matter Quintus?

[...]

The [...]

[...] posting with a threatning speed to Rome;

They come like thunder, and are bringing with them

A bloudy tempest.

Marc.

Who can help it brother?

Yet wee'l incline the times malignity;

The heavens must not be tempted; we are to keep

This [...] of our lives safe from invasion;

Why did they else intrust us with it? now

That cannot be without the use of means;

We must not look to escape the jaws of Scylla,

When by our own improvident carelesnesse,

We are [...] already. He that thinks

Surrounded with his enemies to scape

(As Homer fables in the Trojan war)

Inveloped with a cloud, may be deceiv'd.

No Quintus, we will fly, or, if that word

Be, as the Stoicks prattle, not beseeming

A prudent man, we will give way to th' times,

We will depart.

Qu.

But whither?

Marc.

Whither, Quintus,

But into Macedon to my dearest Brutus?

Prethy see all things suddenly prepared;

Wee'l first unto my house at Tusculum;

Thence to Astyra, so to Macedon.

Exit. Qu.

Marc.

I have a heart dares meet a thousand deaths,

But yet my soul is griev'd to see these days.

Are all my labors come to this? my watchings?

My cares and services for the publick good?

The dangers which I daily have incurr'd

By opposition of new-springing Tyranny?

Are [...], all my endeavours come to this,

That they now seem to have precipitated

This ruin on us, rather then withstood [...]

Unhappy Rome! the Deities decreed

This downfall of thy liberty; for never

Could all our labours have been so pernicious,

Unlesse there had a greater power dispos'd them

To this sad end; which was the sole [...],

Whence we directed thy now shipwrackt [...].

This sinks me in a [...] of grief, thy Senators

Shall die like Victimes, Russians be the Priests;

And thou the Altar, in their wretched entrails

A dismall horrid augury shall be written,

Even thy eternall bondage to oppression.

Enter Quint. Pomponia. Quint. jun. muta persona.

Marc.

Are all things ready?

Quint.

Yes, or will be straight,

But the Triumvirs are not with such hast

Posting to th' City, as I was inform'd,

Yet there are certain [...] they say

Coming as Harbingers.

Marc.

Beleeve me Quintus,

We have the greater reason to be packing;

These are the lightning previous to that thunder,

Whereof you spake before. And lightning strikes not

The humble cottage, but the [...] edifice.

I see the loved objects which imprint

[Page] Those characters of sadnesse in thy visage.

Grieve not Pomponia, Thou [...] happy, Sister,

Thou maist remain in thine own native [...]

No Antony thirsts for thy blood, thou maist

In peace adore the deities of thy countrey,

Yea and the Lares of thy private house;

When such as we, must leave our ancient [...],

Yea and our Country to a heavier woe.

Pomp.

And that 'tis grieves me brother; what [...],

What pleasure can I take in any thing,

When my beloved Quintus is departed?

My life will not be vitall. O my Quintus.

Soul of my soul.

Quin.

Pomponia, doe not weep,

Tears are an ill presage to such a journey.

Enter Laureas, Tyro, Philologus.

Marc.

What [...] the Litters ready?

Laur.

[...] my Lord.

Quint.

My life Pomponia, now farewell.

Pomp.

Nay husband,

I'l see your setting forth, I will enjoy

As long as possibly I may thy sight,

Heaven knows if ever I shall see you more.

Marc.

Nay Sister, now your grief is too [...].

Pomp.

It cannot brother.

Marc.

Yes, for though you [...],

Thy loving spouse shall leave behind his [...]

Exeunt omnes.

Chorus.WHere is that ancient beauty, Rome,
Was  [...] to shine
About thy head?  [...] are become
Those rayes divine?
Survey thy Fortunes, stupid City,
Look, look and know
Thyselfe turn'd monument of  [...],
A map of woe.
 [...] thou art deaf; well vaunting  [...]
And tell't about,
It was thy once renowned hand
Thrust Tarquin out;
Proclaim it, Citizens, that you
Did Melius quell
That Cassius and Manlius too,
Your Victimes fell.
Boast this, and more, doe, but withall
With horrour say,
You did it only to install
Worse plagues then they,
That you one viper of the State
Have chang'd for  [...];
And for a worse Triumvirate
A Monarchy.
Alas, Alas, where shall we shroud
Our wretched heads?
For this threatning pendulous cloud
Wide ruine spreads.
Our ship upon a rock is cast,
Our saile yards  [...],
The Northwind has  [...] down our Mast,
Our sheets are torn;
Our  [...] too (alas!) are lost,
Oares have we none,
And that which grieves and cuts  [...] most,
Our Pilot's gone.
What helps, weak Vessell, on this shelfe
Thy birth divine?
In vain, in vain, thou  [...] thyselfe,
A Pontick Pine;
In vain thou invocat'st thy two
Tyndarian Gods,
They aret' anticipate such  [...]
Too weak by ods.
Then since poor  [...],  [...] we must
Our selves compose
To bear each rigid storm, each gust,
Each wave that flowes;
O let us pray, this dangerous  [...]
Doe not become
A dead sea, or a sea of bloud,
And its own Tombe.

[Page]

Actus Quintus.

Enter Salvius and others.

Salv.

Friends, you are welcome, why so sad, I pray?

Those looks be fit not feasts; invest your [...]

In the glad livery of smiles; be merry;

[...] is the only essence of a feast.

But ah, how ill do's this dissembled [...]

Suit with my [...], or the times? I have

Invited you this night unto a supper,

The last, for ought I know, that I shall [...]

In your [...] companies. Tis true;

The Tribuneship was ever till this day

[...] holy and of [...] power;

But from those men which [...] new [...],

What must the old expect but foul misprision?

[...] Jove [...] come down from his Olympus,

[...] shadowing his [...] with a vaile,

But in's most God-like majesty, I think

For one Lycaon, he might now find three,

And such that would with more unheard of savagenesse

[...] his [...]; not with some poor infant,

But even their Mothers flesh, I mean [...] countreys,

And stead of [...] give him bloud to drink;

You know how fraught [...] zeal unto the cause

Of the Republick, I have now [...]

And quit that [...] of villainous Rebellion

Ant [...] party, and have [...] to Cicero,

The [...] [...] [...] was ever blest with;

And can I hope to meet with [...]

Then those who's only [...] apparition

Has made him timely seek another [...]?

Which from my soul I wish he may obtain;

Nay rather if that good [...] a shower,

I must expect a tempest; for our nature

[...] more in placably a declined friend

Then [...] foe. Since therefore Antony

And his two [...] plagues are now approaching,

[...] there are Centiners arriv'd already,

Their fatall [...], perhaps, t' extinguish

Those carefull eyes, whose restlesse vigilance

Has been imploy'd in service of the State,

(As sure they come to some such bloody end)

Let me enjoy you with the same solemnity

As parting friends take leave of one another.

Yet [...] so nething of the [...] mirth

[...] your [...]; let's laugh away our sorrow,

We may [...] with [...] sup to morrow.

Exeunt.

Enter Centurion, Soldiers.

Centurion.

Come Soldiers, Salvius Otho, as I hear,

Is frolick with his neighbors at a feast,

Wee'l spoil their second course. You know the price

Whereat the heads are rated by the Triumvirs.

Come follow me.

Exeunt.

A Table discovered. Salvius and his friends. To them the Centurion.

Centur.

Nay stir not, [...], be still, and keep your places,

Lest your own folly make your selves copartners

In this mans fall, which must be sudden. — Tribune.

Pulls. Salvius [...] the Table by the hairs of the [...].

A Curtain drawn.

Enter Centurion with Salvius head.

Cent.

Now for Minutius.

Exeunt.

Enter Minutius disguis'd.

Minut.

Nay leave me [...], I am still Minutius

Although disguis'd, and if you longer stay

Those very ensignes of my Praetorship

Will soon betray me, and perhaps the Axe

Which you there carry may strike off my head.

Exit.

Lictores.

Alas, alas, but lest our too much [...]

Prove our own Lords destruction, let's be gone.

Exeunt.

Enten Centurion, Soldiers.

Cent.

He cannot be escaped far, that's certain.

What should the Lictors else doe here? goe search.

Yet M. Tullius, with whose execution

Exeunt milites.

We were most strictly charged, is [...],

With Quintus [...]. But the Colonell

Popilius [...], and Herennius

I hope will overtake them.

Sold.

Here's the head

Of that tall Poppy.

Enter Soldiers with Minutius head.

Centu.

Why, 'tis bravely done.

Come, there are more such Cedars to be [...].

Exeunt.

[Page] Enter Quintus Cicero.

Quint.

They say the golden and the silver age

Was then, when frugall mankind was content

With those displayed riches, which the earth

Invests her self with, and her conceal'd entrails

Were not rent up in quarries deep as hell,

For those pernicious world-disturbing metals;

But sure this is the age of gold and silver,

When those two precious perils, are the poles

And hinges of the world, whereon it moves;

I might perhaps with my beloved [...]

Have been secure and safe, whereas being forc'd

For lack of [...] to return, each step

I take, is ready to surrender me

Into the hands of death.

Enter Quintus [...].

Quint. jun.

O Father, Father,

Your treacherous Servants have betray'd you, come

For heavens sake, come, death, death is at your heels.

Exeunt.

Enter Centurion, Soldiere.

Cent.

Bring his son hither, though you sind not him.

[...] Sold.

[...] return'd! I wonder where's his brother.

Enter Soldiers with Quintus jun.

Sold.

Himself we cannot find, but here's young Quin.

Cent.

Come yongster, where's your father quickly tel me.

Quint. jun.

O that I knew, my ever honor'd Sire,

The place of thy abode, alas; or whether

Thou art yet living, or hast now breath'd forth

Thy sacred spirit! for a thousand pains,

My breast all gor'd with [...], hands cut with chains,

Famin, or sword, or all should never move

Me make a rupture in my [...] love.

Cent.

Cease this dissembling language, and reveal him.

Or by the Heavens thou diest.

Quint. jun.

No, villainous centurion [...] life,

If I knew where my reverend father were,

That would [...] it soonest. Tis my wish

I may soon quit this life.

Cent.

With stipes, with wounds,

With torments worse then death; impetuous pains

Shall rend thy secrets from thy stubborn brest.

Qu. jun.

[...] these are nothing, threat more & [...],

Expose me to the ravenous Lyons paw;

[...] me into some common [...], or Dungeon,

Wind off my flesh with [...], doe and [...]

Young Vultures with the hits before my [...];

Yet had I hid my father, as you deem,

I never would [...] so dear, so sacred,

So glorious a treasure.

Cent.

Take him thenee,

And torture this fond elfe till he confesse.

Quint. sen.

Above.

Exeunt Soldiers with Quintus jun.

Quint. sen.

O what a virtuous son have I, was ever

Such piety in so few years? he dares

Th' extreamest of their tortures, with a spirit

Constant as Virtue's self. See how they wrack him!

My melting bowells yern within me; oh!

Each stripe they give him cuts my very soul.

See, see, they are even weary of tormenting,

And yet the youth stil firm. O Piety!

Enter Soldiers with young Qu. as from [...].

Cent.

What? where's his father? has he yet confest?

Quint. jun.

Confest Centurion! no I will not, cannot,

I am not Juno's Iris, that my eyes

Should reach from hence to Macedon.

Cent.

To Macedon?

Why his own servants say he is return'd.

Q. [...].

Such slaves as they that would betray their master,

If he were in their clutches; may not they

Cheat thee as well?

Cent.

Tis folly to [...],

What force shall soon unbosome: speak,

Where is he?

Qu. ju.

What's that to thee? I dare the worst, Centurion,

Thy malice can inflict.

Cen.

Nay then I see

I must my self chastise you; come ye weesell.

Enter Quint. sen.

Qu. sen.

Nay hold Centurion, here I am before you,

[...] the father whom you seek for.

Qui. ju.

Ah,

What mean you father, that you thrust your self

Into the jaws of certain fate? I could

Have spit desiance in the face of cruelty.

Though she had harbour'd in her friendlike looks

A thousand deaths.

Quint. sen.

Indeed I doe beleeve it,

And let me kisse thee for thy piety;

But old unfruitfull stocks must be cut down,

When their decaying, and now saplesse heads

Keep off the quickning sun-beans from the young

And hopefull tenderlings which they overtop.

Suppose, my son, I had still liv'd, and thou

Been made a prey to their relentlesse rage,

I should have died too: for my [...] loins

Are dry and barren; but in thee my son

I shall survive my self.

Cent.

Ha, ha, ha!

Qu. sen.

I hope you doe not mock at my calamity.

Cent.

Survive in him? I, so you shall, and both

Be ferryed o're the Stygian lake together.

Qu. sen.

What! must my son then die? what has he done, Alas?

Cent.

[...] crime enough to have a life.

Qu. sen.

Then kill me first, for sure I shall anticipate

Your bloody hands, if I but see him slain.

Q. jun.

Nay on my knees with suppliant [...] I beg

I may die first, it is a boone I shal

[Page] Prize even above my life.

Cent.

Wee'l soon decide you controversie, you shall die together.

(Both slain.)

[...].

Take [...] the bodies and unhead them quickly.

Exeunt.

Enter Popilius Lenas with Marcus Tullius Cicero's head and hands.

A princely gift, by Jove; Popilius Laenas,
Thou hast now play'd the royal butcher, on;
And let Antonius blesse his longing eyes
With sight of such a welcome present. Ha!
Is this that Cicero's head that thunder'd so
In our Tribunalls? Ha! is this that mouth
Was wont to spit such lightning? or are those,
Those hands which whilome thumpt our Rostra so?
I, even the self same head, and mouth, and hands.
Then Antony triumph, thy foe is dead,
The trophies of his fall, these hands, this head.

Exit.

Enter Pomponia, Laureas, Tyro.

Laur.

Dire, horrid, bitter fates! did Rome ere see

A cruelty of such a high degree?

Whose griefs shal I first publish? thine,

Unhappy Widow? or the states? or mine?

Thine that hast lost so excellent a brother?

The States, that cannot now produce another,

So reverend a Patriot? or mine own,

That have now lost so good a Lord? I grone

Under the burden of my losse, nor can

Summon the [...] character of Man

Into my wounded brest.

Pomp.

Come, Laureas, come,

Expoand the series of his death; my heart

Is turned adamant, I cannot weep,

Stupidity has seiz'd me, and me thinks

I feel a kind of pleasure in the story

Of woes compleat and perfect, I am even

Transformed to a statue: Smal griefs mourn,

But great ones, such as mine, much like the head

Of the deformed Gorgon, turn to stone,

And make us our own sepulchres.

[...].

Good Tyro,

Tell thou the Tragick story, for my voice

Is strangled by a throng of strugling sighs,

Crouding from out my wounded brest.

Tyro.

Then thus.

Departing hence we went to Tusculum,

Where hearing of these Outlawries and proscriptions,

They suddenly determin'd for Astyra.

So we convey'd them both into two Litters

Weak as they were alas; but on the way

Your husband calling to his sad remembrance

That at his fatall setting forth he took

But little money with him, and his brother

My Lord had scarce sufficient for himself;

He thought it best in such an urgent straight,

His brother should hold on, while he himself

Returned home to furnish him with necessaries,

And so to hast and overtake him; this

They both agreed upon, and so embracing

Tears trickling down their cheeks, they took their leaves

Of one another.

Laur.

Thus departing soules

Doe bid adue unto their fading mansions,

For never nature strove so much, as when

This honor'd pair sigh't forth their last farewells.

Twas a sad Omen that they ne'r should meet.

Tyro.

My Lord being come at length unto Astyra,

Found a ship ready and imbarqu'd immediatly,

And with a fair and prosp'rous gale of wind

Sailed along the coast unto Mount Circe,

And there he landed; but on other thoughts

He went aboard again, for 'twas his mind

To be convey'd by sea unto his farm

Which is by Capua; but before we landed,

Bowing securely by the pleasant shore,

Our linnens swelling with th' Etesian gales,

Which in the Summer season fan that tract,

A shole of Crowes came waving through the aire,

As we conjectur'd from a little Temple

Standing upon the shore, and dedicated

To God Apollo; these most strangely crying

Lighted upon our Saleyards, with their bills

Pulling the cords, which made our heavy hearts

Presage some sinister and dismall luck

Then imminent, yet being come a land,

We brought him to his house, where he repos'd

Himself a while, to see if he could sleep.

Laur.

Unhappy sleep! for straight this drouzy brother,

Was seconded by his pale sister Death.

Tyro.

But loe, the former shole with louder cryes

Came hither also, beating 'gainst the windows,

Till some of them got in, and never ceas'd.

Till with their bills they had pluckt off at length

The cloathes wherewith his face was covered.

We, seeing this, were angry with our selves

As too too negligent of our Masters safety,

Saying we were more vile then savage creatures,

Should we still tarry in that fatall place,

And see perhaps our Lord, before our eyes

Cruelly butcher'd, wherefore with all speed

Partly by force, and partly by intreaty,

We cary him again unto his Litter

And so in hast departed toward the sea;

But being come into a shady wood

Which the Sun never pierces with his beams

To glad the widowed earth.

Laur.

A place decreed

By fate, I think, for such a villany;

For should the Sun have seen so foul an act,

[Page] [...] would have turned retrograde, and hid

His visage from such cruelty.

Tyro.

Well here,

In this same gloomy canopy of horror,

Popilius Lanas overtook the Litter.

Pomp.

Who, he whose cause my brother Marcus one e

Pleaded before the Judges, when he was

Accused for his fathers death?

Tyro.

The same.

We stood prepar'd to spend our dearest bloud,

Before we would have seen our Master [...];

But ah! my Lord commands us not to stir,

And to speak truth, it was in vain, fot [...]

Had armed Soldiers with him, and was followed

By other Centiners. Then, O then my Lord

Thrust out his aged head from forth the Litter,

And taking, as his manner was, his beard

In his left hand, and looking manfully

His Headsman in the face, he stoutly faid,

Come Soldier, come, strike off this head of mine.

Laur.

We stood like statues with our trembling hands

Before our wretched eyes, for 'twould have struck

A Tyger with remorse to have beheld him.

Tyro.

Then [...] with a thrice repeated stroke

Hackt off his head; there was scarce bloud enough

Fell from those aged veins to stain the sword,

And prove it conscious of so foul a murder.

Laur.

Thus was divided from his breathlesse trunk

That sacrary of Learning, where the Graces,

Graces that never had a Cytherea

To be their Mistresse, mov'd in their right sphears.

Where Hermes was inthron'd, that winged Patron

Of heaven-born elocution, but without

His silching Art; for that State-piracy

The bribing Science was as far from him

As Themis self; where Pallas too was lodg'd,

Not she that strove with Venus for an apple

On the [...] hill, but such a one

That deem'd externalls but as chaffe and dust,

In [...] of inward beauties, which in form

The Intelligences of our souls, and make them

Comply with Heaven and Immortality.

Lastly, where all the Deities invested

In their divinest purities, did dwell.

As 'twere in a compendious Capitoll.

Tyro.

But Cicero's reverend head was not enough;

The hands that wrote those glorious Philippicks

Must be cut off too.

Laur.

Those illustrious hands

Which once held up this tottering Common-wealth,

And see her on her feet, when she was falling

From her proud orbe into a gulph of Fire.

Tyro.

That head, those hands, are both divorc't, & sever'd

From his now moldred [...], and no doubt

Are by this time Antonius game and sport;

For Laenas posted with them to the City.

Pomp.

Why, here's a story at whose sad [...],

Democritus might change his laughing humour

And side with [...]. As for me

I cannot weep; but Laureas, prethy tell me

How came Popilius to find you out?

Me thinks he could not, without information,

So shrewdly light upon the self same way

Which you had took before him; was it fate?

Laur.

Twas fate, that's certain Madam, 'twas, but [...]

There was an engine which the Destinies

Did make their agent.

Pomp.

Whom?

Tyro.

Philologus.

Pomp.

Philologus?

Laur.

I, he betray'd your brother.

The Oracle from which he learn'd the mysteries

Of pure Philosophy. He, he it was

Who, being left behind us at the house,

Reveal'd the way we took unto the Colonell.

Pomp.

And where's the villain?

Laur.

Brought by Laenas hither

To be rewarded of Antonius

As for a service of egregious merit.

Pomp.

I, so he shall, I'l see his wages paid.

Exit Pomp.

Laur.

Come Tyro, since our day is set for ever,

Wee'l live like owles, those Citizens of Night.

Like Owles indeed, but like Athenian owles;

Thou shalt sublime thy pen, and write the life

Of our deceased Lord, that spotlesse life,

Which Vertue's self might mahe her meditation.

Tyro thou shalt, and I poor Laureas, I

Will sit and sigh forth mourning [...]

Upon his death, he while he liv'd good man,

Delighted in my Muse, and now my quill

Shall consecrate his name toth' Muses hill.

Exeunt.

Enter Antonius, Fulvia. Popilius Laenas crowned, Cicero's head in one hand, and his hands in the other.

Ant.

[...], 'twas nobly done, and thou hast well

Deserv'd that crown which circles in thy Temples.

The head of Marcus Tullius Cicero [...]

Takes it of Popilius.

Why 'tis a Kingly present, Ha, ha, [...]

Derides and misuses it.

Fulv.

To mee.

Ant.

Rub and a good cast. Ha, ha, [...]

Fulv.

Bravely bowl'd, [...] faith.

Come up here.

Takes it up, and sitting down places it upon her knees.

Now I'l be revenged

For your tart nipping jeers — yes Reverend Sir,

Fulvia's indebted to the State: — too long.

Ex. 2.

[...].

The no whit covetous wife of Antony,

Whom you describe without all contumely,

Owes the third pension to the Roman people.

Indeed! but does shee? yes, nor will I wrong

The people of their due, the debt's thy tongue.

Cuts out his tongue.

[Page] [...]. I warr [...] him for barking now.

I will make better foot-ball then a bowle.

[...] away.

Ant.

Have at [...], (Coytes the hands to the head.)

Take them good Popilius,

And place them on the Rostra, where he vomited

His Philippisks against me. Let his head

Be set betwixt his hands, 'twill be a brave

And goodly spectacle.

[...].

I will my Lord.

Exit.

Ant.

Doe [...] stab it; give't as many wounds

As Julius Caesar had, whose [...] murder,

[...] worme extoll'd as an heroick deed.

Well I must leave you for a while to meet

My Colleagues, [...] and Octavius Caesur.

Exit.

[...].

That such a paultry thing as this should make

So great a bustling in a Commonwealth?

I heard my husband once compare his lungs

To Vulcans bellows, and his head to AEtna,

His words to [...], and this his tongue to fire.

But now I think 'tis quencht, [...] burns not now;

Nay, 'tis as cold as stone, no thunder in't,

No lightning flies from't. Sure this is not that

Herculean tongue that lately was so weighty.

That [...] could [...] such Gyants of the State

As it hath done to Nothing. Yes the same.

Then Fulvia march along, and [...] fear,

Thou [...] that [...] upon thy silver spear.

Exit.

Enter Pomponia.

Pomp.

Anger will give me strength, Bloudy Antonius

Thou shalt not thus evade; as once the stout

And stern [...] foil'd the [...] [...],

Or as th' enraged Maenas arm'd with [...],

With [...] directed by inspired force,

[...] the woods, and quite distract makes gush,

The bloud which she perceives not; wil I rush

Upon these [...] Canniballs; if I die

I shall enjoy my Quintus company.

Alas, alas! what foolish rage is this?

We must appeal [...] heaven when we are wrong'd,

And not be our own carvers, Such State- [...]

Must have a [...] to curb them. Yet [...],

That traitrous [...], that ungratefull [...],

[...] not my husbands [...],

[...] the divinest precepts of my brother,

Could keep within the bounds of faith and piety,

He, he shall [...] if I live, [...]!

Florish.

Enter Antonius, Lepidus, Octavius, Piso, and others.

Pomponia.

Cruell [...], though thou hast unliv'd

My honour'd husband, my beloved son,

Though thou hast slain my brother, and with him

Rent up the very groundwork of our Capitoll.

And shown more cruelty to those sacred [...]

Of his dissolved corps, then Victory

Did perpetrate on the AEmathian Perseus

On the triumphed Jugurth, and King Syphax,

Or Hannibal himself, not one of whom

Was sent defective to the lower shades

With members violated, yet I come not,

Like the poor widow'd Hecuba, to [...]

And tell thee to what depth thou hast [...]

The laws of goodnesse, and religious Nature,

Making thy self the hate of men and Gods,

Nor doe I come to beg thy infamous sword

To rip that wombe whose fruit thou hast destroy'd,

Though I would [...] my destiny. No Antony,

But only to put up a fair Petition,

Whose grant will somewhat wipe away the rust

Which sullies thy bad name, and make [...]

Say thou [...] something worthy of a Roman,

And thy renowned stock; and this it is,

By all that's [...] unto thee, I beseech [...]

Shelter not treason, but deliver me

The villain that betray'd my brother [...].

Ant.

Philologus?

Pomp.

I, [...] Sir.

Ant.

Bring him forth.

Though such a treason was expedient,

Yet such a Traitor must not live.

Caes.

My Lord,

You are most just [...].

Lep.

So says Lepidus.

Piso.

Tis god-like equity.

Enter with Phil.

Ant.

Pomponia take him, he's at your disposing.

Pomp.

You heard that, Varlet, now you're mine again;

I'le make you [...] to a more hellish vulture

Then that of Tityus, thou thy self shalt slice

Thy own foul flesh by morsells off, and make

Thy own gaunt entrailes thy own sepulcher;

Nay 'tis in [...].

Phil.

For heavens sake, good my Lord.

She drags him out.

Enter Popilius [...].

Popil.

My Lord, the Tribune Publius Apuleius

Is with his wife escap'd away by flight.

Ant.

No matter, my long wisht for aim is wonne,

And Cicero slain, the whole prescription's done.

FINIS.

[Page]

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The tragedy of that famous Roman oratour Marcus Tullius Cicero

Author: Greville, Fulke, Baron Brooke, 1554-1628.1651

Actus Primus.Julius Caesars Ghost.

Song.

Actus secundus.

The Song.

Actus tertius.

Actus Quartus.

Actus Quintus.

Actus Primus.
Julius Caesars Ghost.