THE TRAGEDIE OF Caesar and Pompey OR CAESARS Reuenge.

Priuately acted by the Students of Trinity Colledge in Oxforde.

AT LONDON Imprinted for Nathaniel Fosbrooke and Iohn Wright and are to be sold in Paules Church-yarde at the signe of the Helmet. 1607.

The names of the Actors.

  • Titinnius.
  • Brutus.
  • Pompey.
  • Caesar.
  • Anthony.
  • Dolobella.
  • Cornelia.
  • Cleopatra.
  • Achillas.
  • Sempronius.
  • Cassius.
  • Cato Sen.
  • Casca.
  • Roman 1.
  • Roman 2.
  • Bonus Genius.
  • Calphurnia.
  • Augur.
  • Praecentor.
  • Senators.
  • Bucolian.
  • Octauian.
  • Caesars Ghost.
  • Cicero.
  • Cato Iun.
  • Camber.

The Tragedie of Caesar and Pompey.

Sound alarum then flames of fire.
Enter Discord.
HEarke how the Romaine drums sound bloud & death,
And Mars high mounted on his Thracian Steede:
Runs madding through Pharsalias purple fieldes.
The earth that's wont to be a Tombe for Men
It's now entomb'd with Carkases of Men.
The Heauen appal'd to see such hideous sights,
For feare pu [...]s out her euer burning lights.
The Gods amaz'd (as once in Titans war,)
Do doubt and feare, which boades this deadly iar.
The starrs do tremble, and forsake their course,
The Beare doth hide her in forbidden Sea,
Feare makes Bootes swiften her slowe pace,
Pale is Orion, Atlas gins to quake,
And his vnwildy burthen to forsake.
Caesars keene Falchion, through the Aduerse rankes,
For his sterne Master hewes a passage out,
Through troupes & troonkes, & steele, & standing blood:
He whose proud Trophies whileom Asia field,
And conquered Pontus, singe his lasting praise.
Great Pompey; Great, while Fortune did him raise,
Nowe vailes the glory of his vanting plumes
And to the ground casts of his high hang'd lookes.
You gentle Heauens. O execute your wrath
On vile mortality, that hath scornd your powers.
You night borne Sisters to whose haires are ty'd
In Adamantine Chaines both Gods and Men
Winde on your webbe of mischiefe and of plagues,
And if, O starres you haue an influence:
That may confounde this high erected heape
[Page] Downe powre it; Vomit out your worst of ills
Let Rome, growne proud, with her vnconquered strength,
Perish and conquered BE with her owne strength:
And win all powers to disioyne and breake,
Consume, confound, dissolue, and discipate
What Lawes, Armes and Pride hath raised vp.
Enter Titinius
The day is lost our hope and honours lost,
The glory of the Romaine name is lost,
The liberty and common weale is lost,
The Gods that whileom heard the Romaine state,
And Quirinus, whose strong puissant arme,
Did shild the tops and turrets of proud Rome,
Do now conspire to wracke the gallant Ship,
Euen in the harbor of her wished greatnesse.
And her gay streamers, and faire wauering sayles,
With which the wanton wind was wont to play,
To drowne with Billows of orewhelming woes.
Enter Brutus.
The Foe preuayles, Brutus, thou striuest in vaine.
Many a soule to day is sent to Hell,
And many a galant haue I don to death,
In Pharsalias bleeding Earth: the world can tell,
How litle Brutus praizd this puffe of breath,
If losse of that my countries weale might gaine,
But Heauens and the immortall Gods decreed:
That Rome in highest of her fortunes pich,
In top of souerainty and imperiall swaye.
By her owne height should worke her owne decay.
Enter Pompey
Where may I fly into some desert place,
Some vncouth, vnfrequented craggy rocke,
Where as my name and state was neuer heard.
I flie the Batle because here I see,
My friends lye bleeding in Pharsalias earth.
Which do remember me what earst I was,
Who brought such troopes of soldiars to the fielde,
And of so many thousand had command:
[Page] My flight a heauy memory doth renew,
Which tels me I was wont to stay and winne.
But now a souldier of my scatred traine:
Offered me seruice and did call me Lord,
O then I thought whome rising Sunne saw high,
Descending he beheld my misery:
Flie to the holow roote of some steepe rocke,
And in that flinty habitation hide,
Thy wofull face: from face and view of men.
Yet that will tell me this, if naught beside:
Pompey was neuer wont his head to hide.
Flie where thou wilt, thou bearst about thee smart,
Shame at thy heeles and greefe lies at thy heart.
But see Titinius where two warriers stand,
Casting their eyes downe to the cheareles earthe:
Alasse to soone I know them for to bee
Pompey and Brutus, who like Aiax stand,
When as forsooke of Fortune mong'st his foes,
Greise stopt his breath nor could he speake his woes,
Accursed Pompey, loe thou art descried.
But stay; they are thy friends that thou behouldest,
O rather had I now haue met my foes:
Whose daggers poynts might straight haue piercd my woes
Then thus to haue my friends behold my shame.
Reproch is death to him that liu'd in Fame▪
Brutus Cast vp thy discontented looke:
And see two Princes thy two noble friends,
Who though it greeues me that I thus them see,
Yet ioy I to bee seene they hung be.
He speakes vnto them.
Let not the change of this successes fight,
(O noble Lords,) dismay these daunteles mindes,
Which the faire vertue not blind chance doth rule,
Caesar not vs subdued hath, but Rome,
And in that fight twas best be ouerthrowne.
Thinke that the Conqueror hath won but smale,
Whose victory is but his Countries fal,
O Noble Brutus, can I liue and see,
My Souldiars dead, my friends lie slaine in field,
[Page] My hopes cast downe, mine Honors ouerthrowne,
My Country subiect to a Tirants rule,
My foe triumphing and my selfe forlorne.
Oh had I perished in that prosperous warre
Euen in mine Honors height, that happy day,
When Mithridates fall did rayse my fame:
Then had I gonne with Honor to my graue.
But Pompey was by envious heauens reseru'd,
Captiue to followe Caesars Chariot wheeles
Riding in triumph to the Capitol:
And Rome oft grac'd with Trophies of my fame,
Shall now resound the blemish of my name.
Oh what disgrace can taunt this worthinesse,
Of which remaine such liuing monuments
Ingrauen in the eyes and hearts of men.
Although the oppression of distressed Rome
And our owne ouerthrow, might well drawe forth,
Distilling teares from faynting cowards eyes,
Yet should no weake effeminate passion sease
Vpon that man, the greatnesse of whose minde
And not his Fortune made him term'd the Great.
Oh I did neuer tast mine Honours sweete
Nor now can iudge of this my sharpest sowre.
Fifty eight yeares in Fortunes sweete soft lap
Haue I beene luld a sleepe with pleasant ioyes,
Me hath she dandled in her foulding Armes,
And fed my hopes with prosperous euentes:
Shee Crownd my Cradle with successe and Honour,
And shall disgrace a waite my haples Hearse?
Was I a youth with Palme and Lawrell girt,
And now an ould man shall I waite my fall?
Oh when I thinke but on my triumphs past,
The Consul-ships and Honours I haue borne;
The fame and feare where in great Pompey liu'd,
Then doth my grieued Soule informe me this,
My fall augmented by my former bisse.
Why do we vse of vertues strength to vant,
[Page] If euery crosse a Noble mind can daunt,
Wee talke of courage, then, is courage knowne,
When with mishap our state is ouerthrowne:
Neuer let him a Souldiers Title beare.
Wihch in the cheefest brunt doth shrinke and feare,
Thy former haps did Men thy vertue shew,
But now that fayles them which thy vertue knew,
Nor thinke this conquest shalbe Pompeys fall:
Or that Pharsalia shall thine honour bury,
Egipt shalbe vnpeopled for thine ayde.
And Cole-black Libians, shall manure the grounde
In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men.
O second hope of sad oppressed Rome,
In whome the ancient Brutus vertue shines,
That purchast first the Romaine liberty,
Let me imbrace thee: liue victorious youth,
When death and angry fates shall call me hence,
To free thy country from a Tyrants yoke.
My harder fortune, and more cruell starrs.
Enuied to me so great a happines.
Do not prolong my life with vaine false hopes,
To deepe dispaire and sorrow I am vow'd:
Do not remououe me from that setled thought,
With hope of friends or ayde of Ptolomey,
Egipt and Libia at choyse I haue.
But onely which of them Ile make my graue.
Tis but discomfort which misgreeues thee this,
Greefe by dispaire seemes greater then it is.
Tis womannisn to wayle and mone our greefe.
By Industrie do wise men seeke releefe,
If that our casting do fall out a misse,
Our cunning play must then correct the dice.
Well if it needs must bee then let me goe,
Flying for ayde vnto my forrayne friends,
And sue and bow, where earst I did command.
He that goeth seeking of a Tirant aide,
Though free he went, a seruant then is made.
Take we our last farwell, then though with paine,
[Page] Heere three do part that ne're shall meet againe.
Exit Pompey at on dore, Titinius at another. Brutus alone.


Enter Caesar
Follow your chase, and let your light-foote steedes
Flying as swift as did that winged horse
That with strong fethered Pinions cloue the Ayre,
Or'take the coward flight of your base foe.
Do not with-drawe thy mortall woundring blade,
But sheath it Caesar in my wounded heart:
Let not that heart that did thy Country wound
Feare to lay Brutus bleeding on the ground.
Thy fatall stroke of death shall more mee glad,
Then all thy proud and Pompous victories;
My funerall Cypresse, then thy Lawrell Crowne,
My mournefull Beere shall winne more Praise and Fame
Then thy triumphing Sun-bright Chariot.
Heere in these fatall fieldes let Brutus die,
And beare so many Romaines company.
T'was not 'gainst thee this fatall blade was drawne
Which can no more pierce Brutus tender sides
Then mine owne heart, or ought then heart more deere,
For all the wronges thou didst, or strokes thou gau'st
Caesar on thee will take no worse reuenge,
Then bid thee still commande him and his state:
True setled loue can neere bee turn'd to hate.
To what a pitch would this mans vertues sore,
Did not ambition clog his mounting fame,
Caesar thy sword hath all blisse from me taine
And giuest me life where best were to be slaine.
O thou hast robd me of my chiefest ioy,
And seek'st to please me with a babish toye.
Exit Brutus.
Caesar Pharsalia doth thy conquest sound
Ioues welcom messenger faire Victory,
[Page] Hath Crown'd thy temples with victorious bay.
And Io ioyfull, Io doth she sing
And through the world thy lasting prayses ring.
But yet amidst thy gratefull melody
I heare a hoarse, and heauy dolfull voyce,
Of my deare Country crying, that to day
My Glorious triumphs worke her owne decay.
In which how many fatall strokes I gaue,
So many woundes her tender brest receiu'd.
Heere lyeth one that's boucher'd by his Sire
And heere the Sonne was his old Fathers death,
Both slew vnknowing, both vnknowne are slaine,
O that ambition should such mischiefe worke
Or meane Men die for great mens proud desire.


Enter Anthony, Dolobella, Lord and others.
From sad Pharsalia blushing al with bloud,
From deaths pale triumphes, Pompey ouerthrowne,
Romains in forraine soyles, brething their last,
Reuenge, stange wars and dreadfull stratagems,
Wee come to set the Lawrell on thy head
And fill thy eares with triumphs and with ioyes.
As when that Hector from the Grecian campe
With spoiles of slaughtered Argians return'd,
The Troyan youths with crownes of conquering palme:
The Phrigian Virgins with faire flowry wrethes
Welcom'd the hope, and pride of Ilium,
So for thy victory and conquering actes
Wee bring faire wreths of Honor & renowne,
Which shall enternally thy head adorne.
Now hath thy sword made passage for thy selfe,
To wade in bloud of them that sought thy death,
The ambitious riuall of thine Honors high,
Whose mightinesse earst made him to be feard
Now flies and is enforc'd to giue thee place.
[Page] Whil'st thou [...] the conquering Hercules
Triumphing in thy spoyles and victories.
When Phaebus left faire Thetis watery couch,
And peeping forth from out the goulden gate
Of his bright pallace saw our battle rank'd:
Oft did hee seeke to turne his fiery steedes,
Oft hid his face, and shund such tragick sights.
What stranger passest euer by this cost
Thee this accursed soyle distainde with blood
Not Christall riuers, are to quench thy thirst.
For goaring streames, their riuers cleerenesse staines:
Heere are no hils wherewith to feede thine eyes,
But heaped hils of mangled Carkases,
Heere are no birdes to please thee with their notes:
But rauenous Vultures, and night Rauens horse.
What meanes great Caesar, droopes our generall,
Or melts in womanish compassion:
To see Pharsalias fieldes to change their hewe
And siluer streames be turn'd to lakes of blood?
Why Caesar oft hath sacrific'd in France,
Millions of Soules, to Plutoes grisly dames:
And made the changed coloured Rhene to blush,
To beare his bloody burthen to the sea.
And when as thou in mayden Albion shore
The Romaine, Aegle brauely didst aduance,
No hand payd greater tribute vnto death,
No heart with more couragious Noble fire
And hope, did burne with glorious great intent.
And now shall passion base that Noble minde,
And weake euents that courrage ouercome?
Let Pompey proud, and Pompeys Complices
Die on our swords, that did enuie our liues,
Let pale Tysiphone be cloyd with bloud:
And snaky furies quench their longing thirst,
And Caesar liue to glory in their end.
They say when as the younger Affrican,
Beheld the mighty Carthage wofull fall:
And sawe her stately Towers to smoke from farre,
[Page] He wept, and princely teares ran downe his cheekes.
Let pity then and true compassion,
Moue vs to rue no traterous Carthage fall,
No barbarous periurd enemies decay,
But Rome our natiue Country, haples Rome,
Whose bowe's to vngently we haue peerc'd,
Faire pride of Europe, Mistresse of the world,
Cradle of vertues, nurse of true renowne,
Whome Ioue hath plac'd in top of seauen hils:
That thou the lower worldes seauen climes mightst rule.
Thee the proud Parthian and the cole-black Moore,
The sterne Tartarian, borne to manage armes,
Doth feare and tremble at thy Maiesty.
And yet I bred and fostered in thy lappe,
Durst striue to ouerthrowe thy Capitol:
And thy high Turrets lay as low as hell.
O Rome, and haue the powers of Heauen decreed,
When as thy fame did reach vnto the Skie,
And the wide Ocean was thy Empires boundes,
And thou enricht with spoyles of all the world,
Was waxen proud with peace and soueraine raigne:
That Ciuill warres should loose what Forraine won,
And peace his ioyes, be turn'd to luckles broyles.
O Pompey, cursed cause of ciuill warre,
Which of those hel-borne sterne Eumenides:
Inflam'd thy minde with such ambitious fire,
As nought could quench it but thy Countries bloud.
But this no while thy valour doth destayne,
Which found'st vnsought for cause of ciuill broyles,
And fatall fuell which this fire enflamd.
Let then his death set period to this strife,
Which was begun by his ambitious life.
The flying Pompey to Larissa hastes,
And by Thessalian Temple shapes his course:
Where faire Peneus tumbles vp his waues,
Him weele pursue as fast as he vs flies,
Nor he though garded with Numidian horse,
Nor ayded with the vnresisted powre:
[Page] The Meroe, or seauen mouth'd Nile can yeeld:
No not all Affrick arm'd in his defence
Shall serue to shrowd him from my fatall sworde.

ACT. 1. SC. 4.

Enter Cato.
O where is banish'd liberty exil'd,
To Affrick deserts or to Scythia rockes,
Or whereas siluer streaming Tanais is?
Happy is India and Arabia blest,
And all the bordering regions vpon Nile
That neuer knew the name of Liberty,
But we that boast of Brutes and Colatins,
And glory we expeld proud Tarquins name,
Do greeue to loose, that we so long haue held.
Why reckon we our yeares by Consuls names:
And so long ruld in freedon, now to serue?
They lie that say in Heauen there is a powre
That for to wracke the sinnes of guilty men,
Holds in his hand a fierce three-forked dart.
Why would he throw them downe on Oéta mount▪
Or wound the vnder ringing Rhodope,
And not rayne showers of his dead-doing dartes,
Furor in slame, and Sulphures smothering heate
Vpon the wicked and accurs'd armes
That cruell Romains 'gainst their Country beare.
Rome ware thy fall: those prodigies foretould,
When angry heauens did powre downe showers of blood
And fatall Comets in the heauens did blase,
And all the Statues in the Temple blast,
Did weepe the losse of Romaine liberty.
Then if the Gods haue destined thine end,
Yet as a Mother hauing lost her Sonne,
Cato shall waite vpon thy tragick hearse,
And neuer leaue thy cold and bloodles corse.
Ile tune a sad and dol-full funerall song,
[Page] Still crying on lost liberties sweete name,
Thy sacred ashes will I wash with teares,
And thus lament my Countries obsequies.

ACT. 1. SC. 5.

Enter Pompey and Cornelia.
O cruel Pompey whether wilt thou flye,
And leaue thy poore Cornelia thus forlorne,
Is't our bad fortune or thy cruell will
That still it seuers in extremity.
O let me go with thee, and die with thee,
Nothing shall thy Cornelia [...] thinke▪
That shee endures for her sweete Pompeys sake.
Tis for thy weale and safty of thy life,
Whose safty I preferre before the world,
Because I loue thee more then all the world,
That thou (sweete loue) should'st heere remaine behinde
Till proofe assureth Ptolomyes doubted faith.
O deerest, what shall I my safty call,
That which is thrust in dangers harmefull mouth?
Lookes not the thing so bad with such a name,
Call it my death, my base, my wo my hell,
That which indangers my sweete Pompeys life.
It is no danger (gentle loue) at all,
Tis but thy feare that doth it so miscall.
Ift bee no danger let me go with thee,
And of thy safty a partaker bee,
Alas why would'st thou leaue mee thus alone:
Thinkst thou I cannot follow thee by Land
That thus haue followed thee ouer raging Seas,
Or do I varie in inconstant hopes:
O but thinke you my pleasure [...]uckles is
And I haue made the [...] more vnfortunate.
Tis I, tis I, haue caus'd this ouerthrow,
Tis my accursed starres that boade this ill,
And those mis-fortunes to my princely loue,
[Page] Reuenge thee Pompey, on this wicked brat,
And end my woes by ending of my life,
What meanes my loue to aggrauate my griefe,
And torture my enough tormented Soule,
With greater greuance then Pharsalian losse?
Thy rented hayre doth rent my heart in twayne.
And these fayr Seas, that raine downe showers of tears,
Do melt my soule in liqued streames of sorrow.
If that in Aegipt any daunger bee,
Then let my death procure thy sweet liues safety,
Can I bee safe and Pompey in distresse,
Or may Cornelia suruiue they death,
What daunger euer happens to my Soule▪
What daunger [...]ke shall happen to my life,
Nor Libians quick-sands, nor the barking gulfe,
Or gaping Scylla shall this Vnion part,
But still Ile chayne thee in my twining armes,
And if I cannot liue Ile die with thee.
O how thy loue doth ease my greeued minde,
Which beares a but then heauier then the Heauens,
Vnder the which steele-shouldred Atlas grones.
But now thy loue doth hurt thy selfe and me,
And thy to ardent strong affection,
Hinders my setled resolution.
Then by this loue, and by these christall eyes,
More bright then are the Lamps of Ioues high house,
Let me in this (I feare) my last request.
Not to indanger thy beloued [...],
But in this ship remayne, and here awaite,
How Fortune dealeth with our doubtfull State,
Not so perswaded as coniurd sweete loue,
By thy commanding meeke petition.
I cannot say I yeeld, yet am constraind,
This neuer meeting parting to permit,
Then go deere loue, yet stay a little while,
Some what I am shure, tis more I haue to say,
Nay nothing now but Heauens guide thy steps.
Yet let me speake, why should we part so soone,
[Page] Why is my talke tedious? may be [...] the last.
Do women leaue: their husbands in such hast,
More faithfull, then that [...]yre deflowred dame,
That sacrifizde her selfe to Chastety,
And far more louing then the Charian Queene,
That dranke her Husbands neuer sundred heart.
If that I dye, get will it glad my soule,
Which then shall feede on those Elisian ioyes,
That in the sacred Temple of thy breast.
My liuing memory shall shrined bee.
But if that enuious fates should call thee hence,
And Death with pale and meager looke vsurpe,
Vpon those resiate lips, and Currall cheekes,
Then Ayre be turnde, to poyson to infect me,
Earth gape and swallow him that Heauens hate,
Consume me Fire with thy deuouring flames▪
Or Water drowne, who else would melt in teares.
But liue, liue happy still in safety liue,
Who safety onely to my life can giue.
O he is gon, go hie thee after him,
My vow forbids, yet still my care is with thee,
My cryes shall wake the siluer Moone by night,
And with my teares I will salute the Mo [...]ne.
No day shall passe with out my dayly plaints,
No houre without my prayers for thy returne.
My minde misgiues mee Pompey is betrayd.
O Aegypt do not rob me of my loue.
Why beareth Ptolomy so sterne a looke?
O do not staine thy childish yeares with blood:
Whil'st Pompey florished in his Fortunes pride,
Aegypt and Ptolomy were faine to serue
And shue for grace to my distr [...]ssed Lord:
But little bootes it, to record he was,
To be is onely that which Men respect,
Go poore Cornelia wander by the shore
And see the waters raging Billowes swell,
And beate with fury gainst the craggy rockes,
To that compare thy strong tempestuous griefe.
[Page] Which fiercely rageth in thy feeble heart,
Sorrow shuts vp the passage of thy breath:
And dries the teares that pitty faine would shed,
This onely therefore this will I still crie,
Let Pompey liue although Cornelia die.


Enter Caesar, Cleopatra, Dolobella, Lord and others
Thy sad complaints fayre Lady cannot chuse▪
But mooue a heart though made of Adamant,
And draw to yeeld vnto thy powerfull plaint,
I will replant thee in the Aegiptian Throne
And all thy wrongs shall Caesars vallor right,
Ile pull thy crowne from the vsurpers head,
And make the Conquered Ptolomey to stoope,
And feare by force to wrong a mayden Queene.
Looke as the Earth at her great loues approch.
When goulden tressed fayre Hipperions Sonne
With those life-lending beames salutes his Spouse,
Doth then cast of her moorning widdowes weeds,
And calleth her handmayde, forth her flowery fayre,
To cloth her in the beauty of the spring,
And of fayre primroses, and sweet violets,
To make gay Garlonds for to crowne her head.
So hath your presence, welcome and fayre sight,
That glads the world, comforts poore Aegipts Queene,
Who begs for succor of that conquering hand,
That as Ioues Scepter this our world doth sway.
Who would refuse to ayde so fayre a Queene.
Base bee the mind, that for so sweet a fayre,
Would not aduenture more then Perseus did,
When as he freed the faire Andromeda.
O how those louely Tyranizing eyes,
The Graces beautious habitation,
Where sweet desire, dartes woundring shafts of loue:
Consume my heart with inward burning heate,
Not onely Aegipt but all Africa,
[Page] Will I subiect to Cleopatras name.
Thy rule shall stretch from vnknowne Zanziber,
Vnto those Sandes where high erected poastes.
Of great Alcides, do vp hold his name,
The sunne burnt Indians, from the cast shall bring:
Their pretious store of pure refined gould,
The laboring worme shall weaue the Africke twiste,
And to exceed the pompe of Persian Queene,
The Sea shall pay the tribute of his pearles,
For to adorne thy goulden yellow lockes,
Which in their curled knots, my thoughts do hold,
Thoughtes captiud to thy beauties conquering power.
I marueyle not at that which fables tell,
How rauisht Hellen moued the angry Greeks,
To vndertake eleuen yeares tedious seege,
To re-obtayne a beauty so diuine,
When I beheld thy sweete composed face.
O onely worthy for whose matchles sake,
Another seege, and new warres should arise,
Hector be dragde about the Grecian campe,
And Troy againe consumed with Grecian fire.
Great Prince, what thanks can Cleopatra giue,
Nought haue poore Virgins to requite such good:
My simple selfe and seruice then vouchsafe,
And let the heauens, and he that althings sees.
With equall eyes such merits recompence,
I doe not seeke ambitiously to rule,
And in proud Africa to monarchize.
I onely craue that what my father gaue,
Who in his last be-hest did dying, will,
That I should ioyntly with my brother raigne:
How sweet those words drop from those hunny lips
Which whilst she speakes they still each other kisse.
Raigne, I, stil raigne in Caesars conquered thoughts,
There build thy pallace, and thy sun-bright throne:
There sway thy Scepter, and with it beat downe,
Those traiterous thoughts (if any dare aryse:)
That will not yeeld to thy perfection,
[Page] To chase thee flying Pompey haue I cut,
The great Ionian, and Egean seas:
And dredeles past the toyling Hellespont,
Famous for amorous Leanders death:
And now by gentle Fortunes so am blest,
As to behold what mazed thoughtes admire:
Heauens wonder, Natures and Earths Ornament,
And gaze vpon these firy sun-bright eyes:
The Heauenly spheares which Loue and Beauty mooue,
These Cheekes where Lillyes and red-roses striue,
For soueraignty, yet both do equall raigne:
The dangling tresses of thy curled haire,
Nets weaud to cach our frayle and wandring thoughts:
Thy beauty shining like proud Phaebus face,
When Ganges glittereth with his radiant beames
He on his goulden trapped Palfreys rides,
That from their nostrels do the morning blow,
Through Heauens great path-way pau'd with shining (starres)
Thou art the fized pole of my Soules ioy,
Bout which my resteles thoughts are ouer turn'd:
My Cynthia, whose glory neuer waynes,
Guyding the Tide of mine affections:
That with the change of thy imperious lookes,
Dost make my doubtfull ioyes to eb and slowe.
Might all the deedes thy hands had ere achiu'd,
That make thy farre extolled name to sound:
From sun-burnt East vnto the VVestern Iles,
VVhich great Neptunus fouldeth in his armes,
It shall not be the least to seat a Maide,
And inthronize her in her natiue right.
VVhat neede you stand disputing on your right,
Or prouing title to the Aegiptian Crowne:
Borne to be Queene and Empresse of the world.
On thy perfection let me euer gaze,
And eyes now learne to treade a louers maze,
Heere may you surfet with delicious store,
The more you see, desire to looke the more:
Vpon her face a garden of delite,
[Page] Exceeding far Adonis fayned Bowre,
Heere staind white Lyllies spread their branches faire,
Heere lips send forth sweete Gilly-flowers smell.
And Damasck-rose in her faire cheekes do bud,
VVhile beds of Violets still come betweene
VVith fresh varyety to please the eye,
Nor neede these flowers the heate of Phaebus beames,
They cherisht are by vertue of her eyes.
O that I might but enter in this bowre,
Or once attaine the cropping of the flower.
Now wend we Lords to Alexandria,
Famous for those wide wondred Piramids.
Whose towring tops do seeme to threat the skie,
And make it proud by presence of my loue:
Then Paphian Temples and Cytherian hils,
And sacred Gnidas bonnet vaile to it,
A fayrer sain [...] then Ʋerus there shall dwell.
Led with the lode-starre of her lookes, I go
As crazed Ba [...]k is tosl'd in trobled Seas,
Vncertaine to ariue in wished port.
Enter Discord.
Flashes of fire.
Now Caesar hath thy flattering Fortune heapt
Those golden gifts and promis'd victories,
By fatall signes at Rubicon foretould:
Then triumph in thy glorious greatest pride,
And boast thou cast the lucky Die so well,
Now let the Triton that did sound alarme,
In his shrill trump resound the victory,
That Heauen and Earth may Ecco of thy fame:
Yet thinke in this thy Fortunes Iollity.
Though Caesar be as great as great may be,
Yet Pompey once was euen as great as he,
And how he rode clad in Setorius spoyles:
And the Sicilian Pirats ouerthrowe.
Ruling like Nepoune in the mid-land Seas,
Who basely now by Land and Sea doth flie,
The heauenly Rectors prosecuting wrath,
Yet Sea nor Land can shroud him from this iar,
O how it ioyes my discord thirsting thoughts,
To see them waight, that whilom flow'd in blisse.
To see like Banners, vnlike quarrels haue.
And Roman weapons shethd in Roman blood,
For this I left the deepe Infernall shades
And past the sad Auernus vgly iawes,
And in the world came I, being Discord hight,
Discord the daughter of the greesly night.
To make the world a hell of plauges and woes,
Twas I that did the fatal Aple fling,
Betwixt the three Idean goddesses,
That so much blood of Greekes and Troians spilt,
Twas I that caused the deadly Thebans warre.
And made the brothers swell with endlesse hate.
And now O Rome, woe, woe, to thee I cry
Which to the world do bring al misery.


Enter Achillas, and Sempronius.
Here are we placed, by Ptolomies command,
To murther Pompey when he comes on shore,
Then braue Sempronius prepare they selfe.
To execute the charge thou hast in hand,
I am a Romaine, and haue often serued,
Vnder his collours, when in former state▪
Pompey hath bin the Generall of the field,
But cause I see that now the world is changd:
And like wise feele some of King Ptolomies gould.
Ile kill him were he twenty Generalls,
And send him packing to his longest home
I maruell of what mettell was the French man made▪
Who when he should haue stabbed Marius,
[Page] They say he was astonished with his lookes.
Marius, had I beene there, thou neere hadst liu'd,
To brag thee of thy seauen Consulships.
Brauely resolu'd, Noble Sempronius,
The damnedst villaine that ere I heard speake:
But great men still must haue such instruments,
To bring about their purpose, which once donne,
The deede they loue, but do the doer hate:
Thou shalt no lesse (stout Romaine) be renown'd,
For being Pompeys Deaths-man, then was he,
That fir'd the faire Aegiptian Goddesse Church.
Nay that's al one, report say what she list,
Tis for no shadowes I aduenture for:
Heere are the Crownes, heere are the wordly goods,
This betweene Princes doth contention bring:
Brothers this sets at ods, turnes loue to hate;
It makes the Sonne to wish his Father hang'd
That he thereby might reuell with his bagges:
And did I knowe that in my Mothers womb,
There lurk'd a hidden vaine of Sacred gould,
This hand this sword, should rape and rip it out.
Compassion would that greedinesse restraine.
I that's my fault, I am to compassionate,
Why man, art thou a souldier and dost talke
Of womanish pity and compassion?
Mens eyes must mil-stones drop, when fooles shed teares,
But soft heeres Pompey, Ile about my worke
Enter Pompey.
Trusting vpon King Ptolomeys promis'd fay [...]n,
And hoping succor, I am come to shore:
In Egipt heere a while to make aboade.
Fayth longer Pompey then thou dost expect.
See now worlds Monarchs, whom your state makes (proud)
That thinke your Honors to be permanent,
Of Fortunes change see heere a president,
Who whilom did command, now must intreate
And sue for that which to accept of late,
Vnto the giuer was thought fortunate.
I pray thee Pompey do not spend thy breath,
In reckning vp these rusty titles now,
Which thy ambition grac'd thee with before,
I must confesse thou wert my Generall,
But that cannot a vaile to saue thy life.
Talke of thy Fortune while thou list,
There is thy fortune Pompey in my fist.
O you that know what hight of honor meanes,
What tis for men that lulled in fortunes lap,
Haue climd the heighest top of soueraignety.
From all that pomp to be cast hed-long downe,
You may conceaue what Pompey doth sustayne,
I was not wont to walke thus all alone,
But to be met with troopes of Horse and Men.
With playes and pageants to be entertaynd,
A courtly trayne in royall rich aray,
With spangled plumes, that daunced in the ayre,
Mounted on steeds, with braue Caparisons deckt,
That in their gates did seeme to scorne the Earth.
Was wont my intertaynment beautiefie,
But now thy comming is in meaner sort,
They by thy fortune will thy welcom rate.
What dost thou for such entertaynement looke,
Pompey how ere thy comming hether bee,
I haue prouided for thy going hence.
I will draw neere, and with fayre pleasing shew,
Wellcome great Pompey as the Siren doth
The wandering shipman with her charming song.
O how it greeues a noble hauty mind,
Framed vp in honors vncontrouled schoole,
To serue and sue, whoe erst did rule and sway▪
What shall I goe and stoope to Ptolomey,
Nought to a noble mind more greefe can bring
Then be a begger where thou wert a King,
Wellcome a shore most great and gratious prince
Welcome to Aegipt and to Ptolomey.
The King my Maister is at hand my Lord,
To gratulate your safe ariuall heere.
This is the King, and here is the Gentleman,
Which must thy comming gratulate a non,
Thanks worthy Lord vnto your King and you,
It ioyes me much that in extremity,
I found so sure a friend as Ptolomey,
Now is the date of thy proud life expird,
To which my poniard must a full poynt put,
Pompey from Ptolomey I come to thee,
From whome a presant and a guift I bring,
This is the gift and this my message is
Stab him
O Villaine thou hast slayne thy Generall,
And with thy base hand gor'd my royall heart.
Well I haue liued till to that height I came,
That all the world did tremble at my name,
My greatnesse then by fortune being enuied,
Stabd by a murtherous villaynes hand I died.
What is he dead, then straight cut of his head,
That whilom mounted with ambitions wings:
Caesar no doubt with praise and noble thanks,
Regarding well this well deserued deede,
Whome weele present with this most pleasing gift,
Loe you my maisters, hee that kills but one,
Is straight a Villaine and a murtherer cald,
But they that vse to kill men by the great,
And thousandes slay through their ambition,
They are braue champions, and stout warriors cald,
Tis like that he that steales a rotten sheepe
That in a dich would else haue cast his hide,
He for his labour hath the haltars hier.
But Kings and mighty Princes of the world,
By letter pattens rob both Sea and Land.
Do not then Pompey of thy murther plaine,
Since thy ambition halfe the world hath slayne.


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

ACT. 2. SCE. 3.

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

ACT. 2. SCE. 4.

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

ACT. 2. SCE. 5.

Enter Cato Senior, and Cato Iunior.
Cat. Sen.
My Sonne thou seest howe all are ouerthrowne,
That sought their Countries free-dome to maintaine,
Egipt forsakes vs, Pompey found his graue,
VVhere hee most succor did expect to haue:
Scipio is ouerthrowne and with his haples fall,
Affrick to vs doth former ayde denay,
O who will helpe men in aduersity:
Yet let vs shewe in our declining state,
That strength of minde, that vertues constancy,
That erst we did in our felicity,
Though Fortune fayles vs lets not fayle our selues,
Remember boy thou art a Romaine borne,
And Catoes Sonne, of me do vertue learne;
Fortune of others, aboue althings see
Thou prize thy Countries loue and liberty,
All blessings Fathers to their Sonnes can wish
Heauens powre on thee, and now my sonne with-drawe
Thy selfe a while and leaue me to my booke.
Cat. Iun.
What meanes my Father by this solemne leaue?
First he remembred me of my Fortunes change,
And then more earnestly did me exhort
To Counrries loue, and constancy of minde,
Then he was wont: som-whats the cause,
But what I knowe not, O I feare I feare,
His to couragious heart that cannot beare
The thrall of Rome and triumph of his foe,
[Page] By his owne hand threats danger to his life,
How ere it be at hand I will abide,
VVayting the end of this that shal betide.
Cato Senior with a booke in his hand.
Cato Sen.
Plato that promised immortality,
Doth make my soule resolue it selfe to mount,
Vnto the bowre of those Celestiall ioyes,
VVhere freed from lothed Prison of my soule,
In heauenly notes to Phoebus which shall sing:
And Pean Io, Pean loudely ring.
Then fayle not hand to execute this deede,
Nor faint nor heart for to command my hand,
VVauer not minde to counsell this resolue,
But with a courage and thy liues last act,
Now do I giue thee Rome my last farewell.
Who cause thou fearest ill do therefore die,
O talke not now of Cannas ouerthrowe,
And raze out of thy lasting Kalenders,
Those bloudy songes of Hilias dismall sight:
And note with black, that black and cursed day,
When Caesar conquered in Pharsalia,
Yet will not I his conquest glorifie:
My ouerthrow shall neere his triumph grace,
For by my death to the world Ile make that knowne,
No hand could conquer Cato but his owne.
stabs himself.
Enter Cato Iunior running to him.
Ca. Iun.
O this it was my minde told me before,
VVhat meanes my Father, why with naked blade,
Dost thou assault, that faithfull princely hand:
And mak'st the base Earth to drinke thy Noble bloud,
Bee not more sterne, and cruell 'gainst thy selfe,
Then thy most hateful enemies would be,
No Parthian, Gaule, Moore, no not Caesars selfe,
VVould with such cruelty thy worth repay,
O stay thy hand, giue me thy fatall blade:
VVhich turnes his edge and waxeth blunt to wound▪
A brest so fraught with vertue excellent.
Ca. Seni.
VVhy dost thou let me of my firme resolue,
[Page] Vnkinde boy hinderer of thy Fathers ioy,
Why dost thou slay me, or wilt thou betray
Thy Fathers life vnto his foe-mens hands,
And yet I wrong thy faith, and loue too much,
In thy soules kindenesse, tis thou art vnkinde.
Cat. Iun.
If for your selfe you do this life reiect,
Yet you your Sonnes and Countries: sake respect,
Rob not my yong yeares of so sweete a stay,
Nor take from Rome the Pillor of her strength.
Cat. Sene.
Although I die, yet do I leaue behinde,
My vertues fauor to bee thy youths guide:
But for my Country, could my life it profit,
Ile not refuse to liue that died for it,
Now doth but one smal snuffe of breath remaine:
And that to keepe, should I mine Honor staine?
Cat. Iuni.
Where you do striue to shew your vertue most,
There more you do disgrace it Cowards vse,
To shun the woes and trobles of this life:
Basely to flie to deaths safe sanctuary,
When constant vertues doth the hottest brunt's,
Of griefes assaultes vnto the end endure.
Ca. Seni.
Thy words preuaile, come lift me vp my Son,
And call some help to binde my bleeding wounds.
Cat. Iuni.
Father I go with a more willing minde,
Then did Aeneas when from Troyan fire,
He bare his Father, and did so restore:
The greatest gift hee had receiued before.
Cat. Seni.
Now haue I freed mee of that hurtfull Loue,
Which interrupted my resolued will,
Which all the world can neuer stay nor change:
Caesar whose rule commands both Sea and Land,
Is not of powre to hinder this weake hand,
And time succeeding shall behold that I
Although not liue, yet died courragiously,
stab himselfe.
Enter Cato Iunior.
Ca. Iuni.
O hast thou thus to thine owne harme deceiu'd me
Well I perceiue thy Noble dauntles heart:
Because it would not beare the Conquerors insolence,
[Page] Vsed on it selfe this cruell violence,
I know not whether I should more lament,
That by thine owne hand thou thus slaughtred art,
Or Ioy that thou so nobly didst depart.
Enter Discord.
Now Caesar rides triumphantly through Rome,
And deckes the Capitoll with Pompeys spoyle:
Ambition now doth vertues seat vsurp,
Then thou Reuengfull great Adastria Queene.
Awake with horror of thy dubbing Drumm,
And call the snaky furies from below,
To dash the Ioy of their triumphing pride,
Erinnis kindle now thy Stigian brands,
In discontented Brutus boyling brest,
Let Caesar die a bleeding sacrifice,
Vnto the Soule of thy dead Country Rome.
Why sleepest thou Cassius? wake thee from thy dreame▪
And yet thou naught dost dreame but blood and death.
For dreadfull visions do afright thy sleepe.
And howling Ghosts with gastly horrors cry,
By Cassius hand must wicked Caesar die,
Now Rome cast of thy gaudy painted robes
And cloth thy selfe in sable colored weedes,
Change thy vaine triumphs into funerall pomps,
And Caesar cast thy Laurell crowne apart,
And bind thy temples with sad Cypres tree.
Of warrs thus peace insues, of peace more harmes,
Then erst was wrought by tragick wars alarmes,

ACT. 3. SCE. 1.

Enter Cassius.
Harke how Caesarians with resounding shoutes,
Tell heauens of their pompes and victories,
[Page] Caesar that long in pleasures idle lap,
And daliance vayne of his Proud Curtezan,
Had Iuld his sterne and bloody thoughts a sleepe,
Now in Rome streets ore Romaines come to triumph,
And to the Romains shews those Tropheyes sad,
Which from the Romaines he with blood did get:
The Tyrant mounted in his goulden chayre,
Rides drawne with milke white palferies in like pride,
As Phaebus from his Orientall gate,
Mounted vpon the firy Phlegetons backes.
Comes prauncing forth, shaking his dewie locks:
Caesar thou art in gloryes cheefest pride,
Thy sonne is mounted in the highest poynt:
Thou placed art in top of fortunes wheele,
Her wheele must turne, thy glory must eclipse,
Thy Sunne descend and loose his radiant light,
And if none be, whose countryes ardent loue,
And losse of Roman liberty can moue,
Ile be the man that shall this taske performe.
Cassius hath vowed it to dead Pompeys soule,
Cassius hath vowed it to afflicted Rome,
Cassius hath vowed it, witnes Heauen and Earth,


Enter Caesar, Antony, Dolobella, Lords, two Romaines, & others
Now haue I shaked of these womanish linkes,
In which my captiud thoughts were chayned a fore,
By that fayre charming Circes wounding look,
And now like that same ten yeares trauayler,
Leauing be-hind me all my trobles past.
I come awayted with attending fame,
Who through her shrill triump doth my name resound,
And makes proud Tiber and Lygurian Poe,
(Yet a sad witner of the Sunne-Gods losse,)
Beare my names glory to the Ocean mayne,
Which to the worlds end shall it bound it again [...],
[Page] As from Phaegiean fields the King of Gods,
With conquering spoyles and Tropheus proud returnd,
When great Typheus fell by thundering darts,
And rod away with their Caelestiall troops,
In greatest pride through Heauens smooth paued way,
So shall the Pompeous glory of my traine,
D [...]ring to match ould Saturns kingly Sonne,
Call downe these goulden lampes from the bright skie,
And leaue Heauen blind, my greatnes to admire.
This laurell garland in fayre conquest made,
Shall stayne the pride of Ariadnes crowne,
Clad in the beauty of my glorious lampes,
Cassiopea leaue thy starry chayre,
And on my Sun-bright Chariot wheels attend,
Which in triumphing pompe doth Caesar beare.
To Earths astonishment, and amaze of Heauen▪
Now looke proude Rome from thy seuen-fould seate,
And see the world thy subiect, at thy feete,
And Caesar ruling ouer all the world.
Now let vs cease to boast of Romulus,
First author of high Rome and Romaines name.
Nor talke of Scaurus, worthy Africans,
The scurge of Libia, and of Carthage pride,
Nor of vnconquered Paulus dauntles minde,
Since Caesars glory them exceedes as farre
As shining Phebe doth the dimmest starre.
Like as the Ship-man that hath lost the starre.
By which his doubtfull ship he did direct,
Wanders in darkenes, and in Cloudy night,
So hauing lost my starr, my Gouernesse.
Which did direct me, with her Sonne-bright ray,
In greefe I wander and in sad dismay:
And though of triumphes and of victoryes,
I do the out-ward signes and Trophies beare,
Yet see mine inward mind vnder that face,
Whose collours to these Triumphes is disgrace.
As when from vanquished Macedonia,
Triumphing ore King Persius ouerthrow,
[Page] Conquering Aemelius, in great glory came.
Shewing the worlds spoyles which he had bereft,
From the successors of great Alexander,
With such high pomp, yea greater victories,
Caesar triumphing coms into fayre Rome,
1. Rom.
In this one Champion all is comprehended,
Which ancient times in seuerall men commended,
Alcides strength, Achilles dauntles heart,
Great Phillips Sonne by magnanimity.
Sterne Pyrhus vallour, and great Hectors might,
And all the prowes, that ether Greece or Troy,
Brought forth in that same ten years Troians warre.
2. Rom.
Faire Rome great monument of Romulus.
Thou mighty seate of consuls and of Kings:
Ouer-victorious now Earths Conquerer,
Welcome thy valiant sonne that to thee brings,
Spoyles of the world, and exquies of Kings.
The conquering Issue of immortall Ioue.
Which in the Persian spoyles first fetch his fame.
Then through Hydasspis, and the Caspian waues,
Vnto the sea vnknowne his praise did propagate,
Must to my glory vayle his conquering crest:
The Lybick Sands, and Africk Sirts hee past.
Bactrians and Zogdians, knowne but by their names,
Whereby his armes resistles, powers subdued,
And Ganges streames congeald with Indian blood,
Could not transeport his burthen to the sea.
But these nere lerned at Mars his games to play,
Nor tost these bloody bals, of dread and death:
Arar and proud Saramna speaks my praise,
Rohdans shrill Tritons through their brasen trumpes,
Ecco my fame against the Gallian Towers,
And Isis wept to see her daughter Thames.
Chainge her cleere cristall, to vermilian sad,
The big bond German, and Heluetian stout,
Which well haue learned to tosse a tusked speare,
And well can curbe a noble stomackt horse,
Can Caesars vallour witnes to their greefe
[Page] Iuba the mighty Affrick Potentate,
That with his cole-black Negroes to the field,
Backt with Numidian and Getulian horse,
Hath felt the puissance of a Roman sword.
I entred Asia with my banners spred,
Displayed the Aegle on the Euxin sea:
By Iason first, and ventrous Argo cut,
And in the rough Cimerian Bosphorus▪
A heauy witnesse of Pharnaces flight,
And now am come to triumph heere in Rome,
VVith greater glory then ere Romaine did.
Sound drums and Trumpets amaine.
Enter Anthony.
Alas these triumphes mooue not me at all,
But only do renew remembrance sad,
Of her triumphing and imperious lookes,
VVhich is the Saint and Idoll of my thoughtes:
First was I wounded by her percing eye:
Next prisoner tane by her captiuing speech,
And now shee triumphes ore my conquered heart,
In Cupids Chariot ryding in her pride,
And leades me captiue bounde in Beauties bondes:
Caesars lip-loue, that neuer touch'd his heart,
By present triumph and the absent fire,
Is now waxt could; but mine that was more deep [...],
Ingrauen in the marble of my brest,
Nor time nor Fortune ere can raze it out.
Enter Anthonies bonus genius.
Anthony, base femall Anthony,
Thou womans souldiar, fit for nights assaults,
Hast thou so soone forgot the discipline,
And wilsome taskes thy youth was trayned to,
Thy soft downe Pillow, was a helme of steele:
The could damp earth, a bed to ease thy toyle,
Afrigted slumbers were thy golden sleepes:
Hunger and thirst thy sweetest delicates,
Sterne horror, gastly woundes, pale greesly death:
Thy winde depressing pleasures and delights,
[Page] And now so soone hath on enchanted face,
These manly labours luld in drowsy sleepe:
The Gods (whose messenger I heere do stand)
Will not then drowne thy fame in Idlenesse:
Yet must Philippi see thy high exploytes,
And all the world ring of thy Victories.
Say what thou art, that in this dreadful sort
Forbidd'st me of my Cleopatra [...]s loue.
I am thy bonus Genius, Anthony,
VVhich to thy dul eares this do prophecy:
That fatall face which now doth so bewitch thee,
Like to that vaine vnconstant Greekish dame,
VVhich made the stately Ilian towres to smoke,
Shall thousand bleeding Romains lay one ground:
Hymen in sable not in saferon robes,
Instead of roundes shall dolefull dirges singe.
For nuptiall tapers, shall the furies beare,
Blew-burning torches to increase your feare:
The bride-grooms scull shal make the bridal bondes▪
And hel-borne hags shall dance an Antick round,
VVhile Hecate Hymen (heu, heu) Hymen cries,
And now methinkes I see the seas blew face:
Hidden with shippes, and now the trumpets sound,
And weake Canopus with the Aegle striues,
Neptune amazed at this dreadfull sight:
Cals blew sea Gods for to behold the fight,
Glaucus and Panopea, Proteus ould,
VVho now for feare changeth his wonted shape,
Thus your vaine loue which with delight begunne:
In Idle sport shall end with bloud and shame.
VVhat wast my Genius that mee threatned thus?
They say that from our birth he doth preserue:
And on mee will he powre these miseries?
VVhat burning torches, what alarums of warre,
VVhat shames did he to my loues prophesie?
O no hee comes as winged Mercurie,
From his great Father Ioue, t' Anchises sonne
To warne him leaue the wanton dalliance,
And charming pleasures of the Tyrian Court,
Then wake the Anthony from this idle dreame,
Cast of these base effeminate passions:
Which melt the courrage of thy manlike minde,
And with thy sword receiue thy sleeping praise.

ACT. 3. SC. 3.

Enter Brutus.
How long in base ignoble patience,
Shall I behold my Countries wofull fall,
O you braue Romains, and among'st the rest
Most Noble Brutus, faire befall your soules:
Let Peace and Fame your Honored graues awaite,
Who through such perils, and such tedious warres,
Won your great labors prise sweete liberty,
But wee that with our life did freedoms take,
And did no sooner Men, then free-men, breath:
To loose it now continuing so long,
And with such lawes, such vowes, such othes confirm'd
Can nothing but disgrace and shame expect:
But soft what see I written on my seate,
O vtinam Brute viueres.
What meaneth this, thy courage dead,
But stay, reade forward, Brute mortuus es.
I thou art dead indeed, thy courrage dead
Thy care and loue thy dearest Country dead,
Thy wonted spirit and Noble stomack dead.
Enter Cassius.
The times drawe neere by gratious heauens assignd
When Philips Sonne must fall in Babilon,
In his triumphing proud persumption:
But see where melancholy Brutus walkes,
Whose minde is hammering on no meane conceit:
Then sound him Cassius, see how hee is inclined,
How fares young Brutus in this tottering state▪
Euen as an idle gazer, that beholdes,
[Page] His Countries wrackes and cannot succor bring.
But wil Brute alwaies in this dreame remaine,
And not bee mooued with his Countries mone.
O that I might in Lethes endles sleepe,
And neere awaking pleasant rest of death
Close vp mine eyes, that I no more might see,
Poore Romes distresse and Countries misery.
No Brutus liue, and wake thy sleepy minde,
Stirre vp those dying sparkes of honors fire,
VVhich in thy gentle breast weare wont to flame:
See how poore Rome opprest with Countries wronges,
Implores thine ayde, that bred thee to that end,
Thy kins-mans soule from heauen commandes thine aide:
That lastly must by thee receiue his end,
Then purchas honor by a glorious death,
Or liue renown'd by ending Caesars life.
I can no longer beare the Tirants pride.
I cannot heare my Country crie for ayde,
And not bee mooued with her pitious mone,
Brutus thy soule shall neuer more complaine:
That from thy linage and most vertuous stock,
A bastard weake degenerat brahch is borne,
For to distaine the honor of thy house.
No more shall now the Romains call me dead,
Ile liue againe and rowze my sleepy thoughts:
And with the Tirants death begin this life.
Rome now I come to reare thy states decayed,
VVhen or this hand shall cure thy fatall wound,
Or else this heart by bleeding on the ground.
Now heauen I see applaudes this enterprise,
And Rhadamanth into the fatall Vrne,
That lotheth death, hath thrust the Tirants name,
Caesar the life that thou in bloud hast led:
Shall heape a bloudy vengance on thine head.

ACT. 2. SCE. 4.

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

ACT. 3. SC. 5.

Enter Cassius, Brutus, Trebonius, Cumber Casca.
Braue Lords whose forward resolution,
Shewes you descended from true Romaine line,
See how old Rome in winter of her age,
Reioyseth in such Princely budding hopes,
No lesse then once she in Decius vertue did,
Or great Camillus bringing back of spoyles.
On then braue Lords of this attempt begun,
The sacred Senate doth commend the deede:
Your Countries loue incites you to the deed,
Vertue her selfe makes warrant of the deed,
Then Noble Romains as you haue begun:
Neuer desist vntill this deede be done.
To thee Reueng doth Cassius kneele him downe.
Thou that brings quiet to perplexed soules,
And borne in Hel, yet harborest heauens ioyes,
[Page] Whose fauor slaughter is, and dandling death,
Bloud-thirsty pleasures and mis boding blisse:
Brought forth of Fury, nurse of cankered Hate,
To drowne in woe the pleasures of the world.
Thou shalt no more in duskish Erebus:
And dark-some hell obscure thy Deity,
Insteede of Ioue thou shalt my Godesse bee,
To thee faire Temples Cassius will erect:
And on thine alter built of Parian stone
Whole Hecatombs will I offer vp.
Laugh gentle Godesse on my bould attempt,
Yet in thy laughter let pale meager death:
Bee wrapt in wrinkels of thy murthering spoyles.
An other Tarquin is to bee expeld,
An other Brutus liues to act the deede:
Tis not one nation that this Tarquin wronges,
All Rome is stayn'd with his vnrul'd desires,
Shee whose imperiall scepter was invr'd:
To conquer Kings and to controul the world,
Cannot abate the glory of her state,
To yeeld or bowe to one mans proud desires:
Sweete Country Rome here Brutus vowes to thee,
To loose his life or else to set thee free.
Shame bee his share that doth his life so prize,
That to Romes weale it would not sacrifize,
My Poniardes point shall pearce his heart as deepe,
As earst his sworde Romes bleeding side did goare:
And change his garments to the purple die,
With which our bloud had staynd sad Thessaly.
Hee doth refuse the title of a King,
But wee do see hee doth vsurp the thing.
Our ancient freedome hee empeacheth more,
Then euer King or Tyrant did before.
The Senators by him are quite disgrac'd,
Rome, Romans, Citty, Freedome, all defac'd.
We come not Lords, as vnresolued men,
For to shewe causes of the deed decreed,
This shall dispute for mee and tell him why,
[Page] This heart, hand, minde, hath mark'd him out to die:
If it be true that furies quench-les thirst,
Is pleas'd with quaffing of ambitious bloud,
Then all you deuills whet my Poniards point,
And I wil broach you a bloud-sucking heart:
Which full of bloud, must bloud store to you yeeld,
Were it a peerce to flint or marble stone:
Why so it is for Caesars heart's a stone,
Els would bee mooued with my Countries mone.
They say you furies instigate mens mindes,
And push their armes to finnish bloudy deedes:
Prick then mine Elbo: goade my bloudy hand,
That it may▪ goare Caesars ambitious heart.


Enter Caesar, Calphurnia.
Why thinkes my loue to fright me with her dreames?
Shall bug-beares feare Caesars vndaunted heart,
Whome Pompeys Fortune neuer could amaze,
Nor the French horse, nor Mauritanian boe,
And now shall vaine illusions mee affright:
Or shadowes daunt, whom substance could not quell?
O dearest Caesar, hast thou seene thy selfe,
(As troubled dreames to me did faine thee seene:)
Torne, Wounded, Maymed, Blod-slaughtered, Slaine,
O thou thy selfe, wouldst then haue dread thy selfe:
And feard to thrust thy life to dangers mouth.
There you bewray the folly of your dreame,
For I am well, aliue, vncaught, vntoucht.
T'was in the Senate-house I sawe thee so,
And yet thou dreadles thither needes will go.
The Senate is a place of peace, not death,
But these were but deluding visions.
O do not set so little by the heauens,
Dreames at diuine, men say they come from Ioue,
Beware betimes, and bee not wise to late:
[Page] Mens good indeuours change the wills of Fate.
Weepe not faire loue, let not thy wofull teares
Bode mee, I knowe what thou wouldest not haue to hap
It will distaine mine honor wonne in fight
To say a womans dreame could me affright.
O Caesar no dishonour canst thou get,
In seeking to preuent vnlucky chance:
Foole-hardy men do runne vpon their death,
Bee thou in this perswaded by thy wife:
No vallour bids thee cast away thy life.
Tis dastard cowardize and childish feare,
To dread those dangers that do not appeare:
Thou must sad chance by fore-cast, wise resist,
Or being done say boote-les had I wist.
But for to feare wher's no suspition,
Will to my greatnesse be derision.
There lurkes an adder in the greenest grasse,
Daungers of purpose alwayes hide their face:
Perswade no more Caesar's resolu'd to go.
The Heauens resolue that hee may safe returne,
For if ought happen to my loue but well:
His danger shalbe doubled with my death.
Enter Augur.
I come they are, but yet they are not gon.
What hast thou sacrifiz'd, as custome is,
Before wee enter in the Senat-house.
O stay those steeps that leade thee to thy death,
The angry heauens with threeatning dire aspect,
Boding mischance, and balfull massacers,
Menace the ouerthrowe of Caesars powre [...]
Saturne sits frowning on the God of Warre,
VVho in their sad coniunction do conspire,
Vniting both their bale full influences,
To heape mischance, and danger to thy life:
The Sacrificing beast is heart-les found:
Sad ghastly sightes, and raysed Ghostes appeare,
Which fill the silent woods, with groning cries:
The hoarse Night-rauen tunes the chearles voyce,
And calls the bale-full Owle, and howling Doge,
[Page] To make a consort. In whose sad song is this,
Neere is the ouerthrow of Caesars blisse.
The world is set to fray mee from my wits,
Heers harteles Sacrifice and visions,
Howlinge and cryes, and gastly grones of Ghosts,
Soft Caesar do not make a mockery,
Of these Prodigious signes sent from the Heauens,
Calphurnias Dreame lumping which Augurs words,
Shew (if thou markest it Caesar) cause to feare:
This day the Senate there shalbe dissolued,
And Ile returne to my Calphurnia home,
One giues him a paper.
What hast thou heare that thou presents vs with,
A thing my Lord that doth concerne your life.
Which loue to you and hate of such a deed,
Makes me reueale vnto your excellence.
Caesar laughs.
Smilest thou, or think'st thou it some ilde toy,
Thout frowne a non to read so many names.
That haue conspird and sworne thy bloody death,
Enter Cassius.
Now must I come, and with close subtile girdes,
Deceaue the prey that Ile deuoure anon,
My Lord the Sacred Senate doth expect,
Your royall presence in Pompeius court:
Cassius they tell me that some daungers nigh.
And death pretended in the Senate house.
What danger or what wrong can be,
Where harmeles grauitie and vertue sits,
Tis past all daunger present death it is,
Nor is it wrong to render due desert.
To feare the Senators without a cause,
Will bee a cause why theile be to be feared,
The Senate stayes for me in Pompeye court.
And Caesars heere, and dares not goe to them,
Packe hence all dread of danger and of death,
What must be must be; Caesars prest for all,
Now haue I sent him headlong to his ende,
Vengance and death awayting at his heeles,
Caesar thy life now hangeth on a twine,
[Page] Which by my Poniard must bee cut in twaine,
Thy chaire of state now turn'd is to thy Beere,
Thy Princely robes to make thy winding sheete:
The Senators the Mourners ore the Hearse,
And Pompeys Court, thy dreadfull graue shalbe.
Senators crie all at once.
Hold downe the Tyrant stab him to the death▪
Now doth the musick play and this the song
That Cassius heart hath thirsted for so long:
And now my Poniard in this mazing sound,
Must strike that touch that must his life confound.
Stab on, stab on, thus should your Poniards play,
Aloud deepe note vpon this trembling Kay.
stab him.
Bucolian sends thee this.
stab him.
And Cumber this.
stab him.
Take this frō Casca for to quite Romes wronges.
C [...]s.
Why murtherous villaines know you whō you strike,
Tis Caesar, Caesar, whom your Poniards pierce:
Caesar whose name might well afright such slaues:
O Heauens that see and hate this haynous guilt,
And thou Immortall Ioue that Idle holdest
Deluding Thunder in thy faynting hand,
Why stay'st thy dreadfull doome, and dost with-hold,
Thy three-fork'd engine to reuenge my death:
But if my plaintes the Heauens cannot mooue,
Then blackest hell and Pluto bee thou iudge:
You greesly daughters of the cheereles night.
Whose hearts, nor praier nor pitty, ere could lend,
Leaue the black dungeon of your Chaos deepe:
Come and with flaming brandes into the world,
Reuenge, and death, bringe seated in yout eyes:
And plauge these villaynes for their trecheries.
Enter Brutus.
I haue held Anthony with a vaine discourse,
The whilst the deed's in execution,
But liues hee still, yet doth the Tyrant breath?
Chalinging Heauens with his blasphemies,
Heere Brutus maketh a passage for thy Soule,
[Page] To plead thy cause for them whose ayde thou crauest,
What Brutus to? nay nay, then let me die,
Nothing wounds deeper then ingratitude,
I bloody Caesar, Caesar, Brutus too,
Doth geeue thee this, and this to quite Romes wrongs,
O had the Tyrant had as many liues.
As that fell Hydra borne in Lerna lake,
That heare I still might stab and stabing kill,
Till that more liues might bee extinquished,
Then his ambition, Romanes Slaughtered.
How heauens haue iustly on the authors head,
Returnd the guiltles blood which he hath shed,
And Pompey, he who caused thy Tragedy,
Here breathles lies before thy Noble Statue,
Enter Anthony.
What cryes of death resound within my eates,
Whome I doe see great Caesar buchered thus?
What said I great? I Caesar thou wast great,
But O that greatnes was that brought thy death:
O vniust Heauens, (if Heauens at all there be,)
Since vertues wronges makes question of your powers,
How could your starry eyes this shame behold,
How could the sunne see this and not eclipze?
Fayre bud of fame ill cropt before thy time:
What Hyrcan tygar, or wild sauage bore,
(For he more heard then Bore or Tyger was,)
Durst do so vile and execrate a deede,
Could not those eyes so full of maiesty,
Nor priesthood (o not thus to bee prophand)
Nor yet the reuerence to this sacred place,
Nor flowing eloquence of thy goulden tounge,
Nor name made famous through immortall merit,
Deter those murtherors from so vild a deed?
Sweete friend accept these obsequies of mine,
Which heare with teares I doe vnto thy hearse,
And thou being placed among the shining starrs.
Shalt downe from Heauen behold what deepe reueng,
[Page] I will inflict vpon the murtherers,
Exit with Caesar, in his armes.
FINIS. Act. 3.
Enter Discord.
Brutus thou hast what long desire hath sought,
Caesar Lyes weltring in his purple Goare,
Thou art the author of Romes liberty,
Proud in thy murthering hand and bloody knife.
Yet thinke Octauian and sterne Anthony.
Cannot let passe this murther vnreuenged,
Thessalia once againe must see your blood,
And Romane drommes must strike vp new alaromes▪
Harke how Bellona shakes her angry lance:
And enuie clothed in her crimson weed,
Me thinkes I see the fiery shields to clash,
Eagle gainst Eagle, Rome gainst Rome to fight,
Phillipi, Caesar, quittance must thy wronges,
Whereas that hand shall stab that trayterous heart.
That durst encourage it to worke thy death,
Thus from thine ashes Caesar doth arise
As from Medeas haples scatered teeth:
New flames of wars, and new outragious broyles,
Now smile Aemathia that euen in thy top,
Romes victory and pride shalbe entombd,
And those great conquerors of the vanquished earth,
Shall with their swords come there to dig their graues.


Enter Octauian.
Mourne gentle Heauens for you haue lost your ioy.
Mourne greeued earth thy ornament is gon,
Mourne Rome in great thy Father is deceased:
Mourne thou Octauian, thou it is must mourne,
Mourne for thy Vncle who is dead and gon.
[Page] Mourne for thy Father to vngently slaine,
Mourne for thy Friend whome thy mishap hath lost,
For Father, Vnkell, Friend, go make thy mone,
Who all did liue, who all did die in one.
But heere I vow these blacke and sable weeds,
The outward signes of inward heauines,
Shall changed be ere long to crimsen hew,
And this soft raiment to a coate of steele,
Caesar, no more I heare the mornefull songs.
The tragick pomp of his sad exequies,
And deadly burning torches are at hand,
I must accompany the mornefull troope:
And sacryfice my teares to the Gods below.
Enter Caesars Hearse Calphurnia Octauian, Anthony, Cicero, Dolobella, two Romaynes, mourners.
Set downe the hearse and let Calphurnia weepe,
Weepe for her Lord and bath his Wounds in teares:
Feare of the world, and onely hope of Rome,
Thou whilest thou liuedst was Calphurnias ioye,
And being dead my ioyes are dead with thee:
Here doth my care and comfort resting lie:
Let them accompany thy mournefull hearse.
This is the hearse of vertue and renowne,
Here stroe red roses and sweete violets:
And lawrell garlands for to crowne his fame,
The Princely weede of mighty conquerors:
These worthles obsequies poore Rome bestowes,
Vpon thy sacred ashes and deare hearse.
1. Rom.
And as a token of thy liuing praise,
And fame immortall take this laurell wreath,
Which witnesseth thy name shall neuer die:
And with this take the Loue and teares of Rome,
For on thy tombe shall still engrauen be,
Thy losse, her griefe, thy deathes, her pittying thee,
Vnwilling do I come to pay this debt,
Though not vnwilling for to crowne desert,
O how much rather had I this bestowed,
On thee returning from foes ouerthrow,
[Page] When liuing vertue did require such meede,
Then for to crowne thy vertue being dead,
Lord. Those wreaths that in thy life our conquests crowned
And our fayre triumphes beauty glorified,
Now in thy death do serue thy hearse to adorne,
For Caesars liuing vertues to bee crowned,
Not to be wept as buried vnder grownd,
2. Ro.
Thou whilest thou liuedst wast faire vertues flowre
Crowned with eternall honor and renowne,
To thee being dead, Flora both crownes and flowers,
(The cheefest vertues of our mother earth,)
Doth giue to gratulate thy noble hearse.
Let then they soule diuine vouchsafe to take,
These worthles obsequies our loue doth make.
All that I am is but despaire and greefe,
This all I giue to Celebrate thy death,
What funerall pomp of riches and of pelfe,
Do you expect? Calphurnia giues her selfe.
You that to Caesar iustly did decree
Honors diuine and sacred reuerence:
And oft him grac'd with titles well deserued,
Of Countries Father, stay of Commonwealth.
And that which neuer any bare before,
Inviolate, Holy, Consecrate, Vntucht.
Doe see this friend of Rome, this Contryes Father,
This Sonne of lasting fame and endles praise,
And in a mortall trunke, immortall vertue
Slaughtered, profan'd, and bucherd like a beast,
By trayterous handes, and damned Paracides:
Recounte those deedes and see what he hath don,
Subdued those nations which three hundred yeares.
Remaynd vnconquered; still afflicting Rome,
And recompensed the firy Capitoll,
With many Citties vnto ashes burnt:
And this reward, these thankes you render him:
Here lyes he dead to whome you owe your liues:
By you this slaughtered body bleedes againe,
Which oft for you hath bled in fearefull fight.
[Page] Sweete woundes in which I see distressed Rome,
From her pearc'd sides to powre forth streames of bloud,
Bee you a witnesse of my sad Soules griefe:
And of my teares which wounded heart doth bleede,
Not such as vse from womanish eyes proceede.
And were the deede most worthy and vnblamed.
Yet you vnworthely did do the same:
Who being partakers with his enemies,
By Caesar all were saued from death and harme,
And for the punnishment you should haue had,
You were prefer'd to Princely dignities:
Rulers and Lordes of Prouinces were you made,
Thus thanke-les men hee did preferre of nought,
That by their hands his murther might be wrought.
All at once except Anthony and Octauian.
Reuenge, Reuenge vpon the murtherers.
Braue Lords this worthy resolution shewes,
Your deerest loue, and great affection
VVhich to this slaughtered Prince you alwaies bare,
And may like bloudy chance befall my life:
If I be slack for to reuenge his death.
Now on my Lords, this body lets inter:
Amongest the monuments of Roman Kinges,
And build a Temple to his memory:
Honoring therein his sacred Deity.
Exeunt omnes.

ACT. 4. SC. 2.

Enter Cassius, and Brutus with an army.
Now Romains proud foe, worlds common enemy,
In his greatest hight and chiefest Iollitie,
In the Sacred Senate-house is done to death:
Euen as the Consecrated Oxe which soundes,
At horny alters in his dying pride:
VVith flowry leaues and gar-lands all bedight,
Stands proudly wayting for the hasted stroke:
Till hee amazed with the dismall sound,
[Page] Falls to the Earth and staines the holy ground,
The spoyles and riches of the conquered world,
Are now but idle Trophies of his tombe:
His laurell gar-landes do but Crowne his chaire,
His sling, his shilde, and fatall bloudy speare,
VVhich hee in battell oft 'gainst Rome did beare,
Now serue for nought but rusty monuments.
So Romulus when proud ambition,
His former vertue and renowne had stayned:
Did by the Senators receiue his end,
But soft what boades Titinnius hasting speede.
Enter Titinnius.
The frantike people and impatient,
By Anthonyes exhorting to reuenge:
Runne madding throw the bloudy streetes of Rome,
Crying Reuenge, and murthering they goe,
All those that caused Caesars ouerthrowe.
The wauering people pytiyng Caesars death,
Do rage at vs, who fore to winne their weale:
Spare not the danger of our dearest liues,
But since no safety Rome for vs affordes:
Brutus weell hast vs to our Prouinces,
I into Syre, thou into Maccedon,
Where wee will muster vp such martiall bandes,
As shall afright our following enemies.
In Thessaly weele meete the Enemy,
And in that ground distaynd with Pompeys bloud,
And fruitefull made with Romane massaker,
VVeele either sacrifice our guilty foe,
To appease the furies of these howling Ghostes,
That wander restles through the shemy ground
Or else that Thessaly bee a common Tombe:
To bury those that fight to infranchize Rome.
Brauely resolu'd, I see yong Brutus minde,
Strengthned with force of vertues sacred rule:
Contemneth death, and holdes proud chance in scorne.
I that before fear'd not to do the deede,
Shall neuer now repent it being done,
[Page] No more I Fortun'd, like the Roman Lord,
Whose faith brought death yet with immortall fame,
I kisse thee hand for doing such a deede:
And thanke my heart for this so Noble thought,
And blesse the Heauens for fauoring my attempts:
For Noble Rome, and if thou beest not free,
Yet I haue done what euer lay in mee:
And worthy friend as both our thoughts conspired,
And ioyned in vnion to performe this deede,
This acceptable deede to Heauens and Rome,
So lets continue in our high resolue:
And as wee haue with honor thus begunne,
So lets persist, vntill our liues bee done.
Then let vs go and with our warlike troopes,
Collected from our seuerall Prouinces,
Make Asia subiect to our Conquering armes,
Brutus thou hast commanded the Illirian bandes:
The feared Celts and Lusitanian horse,
Parthenians proud, and Thrasians borne in warre:
And Macedon yet proud with our old actes,
With all the flowre of Louely Thessaly,
Vnder my warlike collours there shall march:
New come from Syria and from Babilon,
The warlike Mede, and the Arabian Boe,
The Parthian fighting when hee seemes to flie:
Those conquering Gauls that built their seates in Greece,
And all the Costers on the Mirapont.

ACT. 3. SCE. 1.

Enter Caesars Ghost.
Out of the horror of those shady vaultes,
Where Centaurs, Harpies, paynes and furies fell:
And Gods and Ghosts and vgly Gorgons dwell,
My restles soule comes heere to tell his wronges.
Hayle to thy walles, thou pride of all the world,
Thou art the place where whilome in my life.
[Page] My seat of mounting honour was erected,
And my proud throane that seem'd to check the heauens.
But now my pompe and I are layd more lowe,
With these asosiates of my ouerthrow,
Here ancient Assur and proud Belus lyes,
Ninus the first that sought a Monarches name.
Atrides fierce with the Aeacides,
The Greeke Heros, and the Troian flower,
Blood-thirsting Cyrus and the conquering youth:
That sought to fetch his pedegree from Heauen,
Sterne Romulus and proud Tarquinius,
The mighty Sirians and the Ponticke Kings,
Alcides and the stout, Carthagian Lord,
The fatall enemie to the Roman name.
Ambitious Sylla and fierce Marius,
And both the Pompeyes by me don to death,
I am the last not least of the same crue,
Looke on my deeds and say what Caesar was,
Thessalia, Aegipt, Pontus, Africa,
Spayne Brittaine, Almany and France,
Saw many a bloody tryall of my worth.
But why doe I my glory thus restraine,
When all the world was but a Charyot,
Wherein I rode Triumphing in my pride?
But what auayles this tale of what I was?
Since in my chefest hight Brutus base hand.
With three and twenty wounds my heart did goare,
Giue me my sword and shild Ile be Reueng'd,
My mortall wounding speare and goulden Crest.
I will dishorse my foemen in the field,
Alasse poore Caesar thou a shadow art,
An ayery substance wanting force and might,
Then will I goe and crie vpon the world,
Exclame on Anthony and Octauian,
Which seeke through discord and discentions broyles,
Timbrue their weapons in each others blood,
And leaue to execute my iust reuenge,
[Page] I heare the drummes and bloody Trumpets sound,
O how this sight my greeued soule doth wound,
Enter Anthony, at on dore, Octauian at another with Souldiers.
Now martiall friends competitors in armes,
You that will follow Anthony to fight,
Whome stately Rome hath oft her Consull seene,
Grac'd with eternall trophes of renowne,
With Libian triumphes and liberian spoyles,
Who scorns to haue his honour now distaind,
Or credit blemisht by a Boyes disgrace,
Prepare your dauntles stomakes to the fight,
Where without striking you shall ouer come.
Fellowes in war-faire which haue often serued,
Vnder great Caesar my disceased sier,
And haue return'd the conquerors of the world,
Clad in the Spoyles of all the Orient:
That will not brooke that any Roman Lord,
Should iniure mighty Iulius Caesars sonne,
Recall your wonted vallour and these hearts,
That neuer entertaynd Ignoble thoughts
And make my first warre-faire and fortunate:
Stike vp drums, and let your banners flie,
Thus will we set vpon the enemy.
Cease Drums to strike, and fould your banners vp,
Wake not Bellona with your trumpets Clange,
Nor call vnwilling Mars vnto the field:
See Romaines, see my wounds not yet clos'd vp,
The bleeding monuments of Caesars wronges.
Haue you so soone for got my life and death?
My life wherein I reard your fortunes vp.
My death wherein my reared fortune fell,
My life admir'd and wondred at of men?
My death which seem'd vnworthy to the Gods,
My life which heap'd on you rewards and gifts,
My death now begges one gift; a iust reueng.
A Chilly cowld possesseth all my Ioyntes,
[Page] And pale wan feare doth cease my fainting heart,
O see how terrible my Fathers lookes?
My haire stands stiffe to see his greisly hue:
Alasse I deare not looke him in the face,
And words do cleaue to my benummed Iawes.
For shame weake Anthony throw thy weapons downe
Sonne sheath thy sword, not now for to be drawne,
Brutus must feele the heauy stroke thereof:
But if that needes you will into the field,
And that warrs enuie pricks your forward hate.
To slacke your fury with each others blood,
Then forward on to your prepared deaths
Let sad Alecto sound her fearefull trump.
Reueng a rise in lothsome fable weedes,
Light-shining Treasons and vnquenced Hates,
Horror and vgly Murther (nights blacke child,)
Let sterne Maegera on her thundering drumme,
Play gastly musicke to comfort your deathes.
Banner to banner, foote gainst foote opos'd,
Sword against sword, shild gainst shild, and life to life,
Let death goe raginge through your armed rankes,
And load himselfe with heapes of murthered men,
And let Heauens iustice send you all to Hell,
Shamst thou not Anthony to draw thy sword,
On Caesars Sonne, for rude rash youth full brawles,
And dost let passe their treason vnrevenged,
That Caesars life and glory both did end,
Shame of my selfe, and this intended fight,
Doth make me feare t' approach his dreadfull sight:
Forgiue my slacknes to reuenge thy wronges,
Pardon my youth that rashly was mislead,
Through vaine ambition for to doe this deed,
Then ioyne your hands and heare let battle cease,
Chang feare to Ioy, and warre to smooth-fac't Peace.
Then Father heere in sight of Heauen and thee,
I giue my hand and heart to Anthony,
Take likewise mine, the hand that once was vowd',
To bee imbrued in thy luke-warme bloud,
VVhich now shall strike in yong Octauians rights.
Now sweare by all the Dieties of Heauen,
All Gods and powers you do adore and serue:
For to returne my murther on their cruell head,
Whose trayterous hands my guiltles bloud haue shed.
Then by the Gods that through the raging waues,
Brought thee braue Troian to old Latium,
And great Quirinus placed now in Heauen:
By the Gradinus that with shield of Brasse,
Defendest Rome, by the ouerburning flames
Of Ʋesta and Carpeian Towers of Ioue.
Vowes Anthony to quite thy worthy death,
Or in performance loose his vitall breath.
The like Octauian vowes to Heauen and thee.
Then go braue warriors with succesfull hap,
Fortune shall waite vpon your rightfull armes,
And courage sparkell, from your Princely eyes,
Dartes of reuenge to daunt your enemies.
Now with our armies both conioyned in one,
Weele meete the enemy in Macedon:
Aemathian fieldes shall change her flowry greene,
And die proud Flora in a sadder hew:
Siluer Stremonia, whose faire Christall waues,
Once sounded great Alcides echoing fame:
When as he slew that fruitefull headed snake,
Which Lerna long-time fostered in her wombe:
Shall in more tragick accentes and sad tunes,
Eccho the terror of thy dismall fight,
Hemus shall fat his barren fieldes with bloud:
And yellow Ceres spring from woundes of men,
The toyling husband-men in time to come,
Shall with his harrow strike on rusty helmes,
And finde, and wonder, at our swordes and speares,
And with his plowe dig vp braue Romans graues:
Finis. Act.

ACT. 5. SCE. 1.

Enter Discord.
The balefull haruest of my ioy, thy woe
Gins ripen Brutus, Heauens commande it so.
Pale sad Auernus opes his yawning Iawes,
Seeking to swallow vp thy murtherous soule,
The furies haue proclaym'd a festiuall:
And meane to day to banquet with thy bloud,
Now Heauens array you in your clowdy weedes:
Wrap vp the beauty of your glorious lamp,
And dreadfull Chaos, of sad drery night,
Thou Sunne that climest vp to the easterne hill:
And in thy Chariot rides with swift steedes drawne,
In thy proud Iollity and radiant glory:
Go back againe and hide thee in the sea,
Darkenesse to day shall couer all the world:
Let no light shine, but what your swords can strike,
From out their steely helmes, and fiery shildes:
Furies, and Ghosts, with your blue-burning lampes,
In mazing terror ride through Roman rankes:
With dread affrighting those stout Champions hearts,
All stygian fiendes now leaue whereas you dwell:
And come into the world and make it hell.
Enter Cassius, Brutus, Titinnius, Cato Iunior, with an army marching
Thus far wee march with vnresisted armes,
Subduing all that did our powres with-stand:
Laodicia whose high reared walles,
Faire Lyeas washeth with her siluer waue:
And that braue monument of Perseus fame,
With Tursos vaild to vs her vanting pride,
Faire Rhodes, I weepe to thinke vpon thy fall:
[Page] Thou wert to stubberne, else thou still hadst stood,
Inviolate of Cassius hurtles hand,
That was my nurse, where in my youth I drew
The flowing milke of Greekish eloquence:
Proud Capadocia sawe her King captiu'd,
(And Dolabella vanting in the spoyles.
Of slayne Trebonius) fall as springing tree,
Seated in louely Tempes pleasant shades:
Whom beuteous spring with blossoms braue hath deckt,
And sweete Fauonia manteled all in greene,
By winters rage doth loose his flowry pride,
And hath each twigg bar'd by northerne winds.
Thus from the conquest of proud Palestine,
Hether in triumph haue we march'd along,
Making our force-commaunding rule to stretch,
From faire Euphrates christall flowing waues
Vnto the Sea which yet weepes Io's death,
Slayne by great Hercules repenting hand,
Of all the places by my sword subdued,
Pitty of thee poore Zanthus moues me most;
Thrise hast thou ben beseeged by thy foe,
And thrise to saue thy liberty hast felt
The fatall flames of thine owne cruell hand.
First being beseeg'd by Harpalus the Mede,
The sterne performer of proud Cyrus wrath:
Next when the Macedonian Phillips sonne,
Did rayse his engines gainst thy battered walls,
Proud Zanthus that did scorne to beare the yoake,
That all the world was forced to sustaine,
Last when that I my selfe did guirt thy walls,
With troopes of high resolued Roman hearts,
Rather then thou wouldest yeeld to Brutus sword,
Or stayne the mayden honour of thy Towne,
Did'st sadly fall as proud Numantia.
Scorning to yeeld to conquering Scipios power.
And now to thee Phillipi, are wee come,
Whose fields must twise feele Roman cruelty,
And flowing blood like to Darcean playnes,
[Page] When proud Eteocles on his foaming steede,
Rides in his fury through the Argean troopes,
Now making great Aerastus giue him way,
Now beating back Tidaeus puissant might:
The ground not dry'd from sad Pharsalian blood,
Will now bee turned to a purple lake:
And bleeding heapes and mangled bodyes slayne,
Shall make such hills as shall surpasse in height
The Snowy Alpes and aery Appenines,
A Scout brought word but now that he descryd,
Warlike Anthonius and young Caesars troopes,
Marching in fury ouer Thessalian playnes.
As great Gradinus when in angry moode,
He driues his chariot downe from heauens top,
And in his wheels whirleth reueng and death:
Heere by Phillippi they will pich their tents,
And in these fieldes (fatall to Roman liues)
Hazard the fortune of the doubtfull fight,
O welcome thou this long expected day,
On which dependeth Romane liberty,
Now Rome thy freedom hangeth in suspence,
And this the day that must assure thy hopes.
Great Ioue, and thou Try [...]onyan warlike Queene:
Arm'd with thy amazing deadly Gorgons head.
Strengthen our armes that fight for Roman welth:
And thou sterne Mars, and Romulus thy Sonne,
Defend that Citty which your selfe begun.
All heauenly powers assist our rightfull armes,
And send downe siluer winged victory,
To crowne with Lawrells our triumphant Crests.
My minde thats trobled in my vexed soule,
(Opprest with sorrow and with sad dismay,)
Misgiues me this wilbe a heauy day.
Why faynt not now in these our last extremes,
This time craues courage not dispayring feare,
Fie, twill distayne thy former valiant acts.
To say thou faintest now in this last act,
My mind is heauy, and I know not why.
[Page] But cruell fate doth sommon me to die,
Sweet Brute, let not thy words be ominous signes,
Of so mis-fortunate and sad euent,
Heauen and our Vallour shall vs conquerours make.
What Bastard feare hath taunted our dead hearts,
Or what vnglorious vnwounted thought,
Hath changed the vallour of our daunted mindes.
What are our armes growne weaker then they were?
Cannot this hand that was proud Caesars death,
Send all Caesarians headlong that same path?
Looke how our troups in Sun-bright armes do shine,
With vaunting plumes and dreadfull brauery.
The wrathfull steedes do check their iron bits,
And with a well grac'd terror strike the ground,
And keeping times in warres sad harmony.
And then hath Brutus any cause to feare,
My selfe like valiant Peleus worthy Sonne,
The Noblest wight that euer Troy beheld,
Shall of the aduerse troopes such hauock make,
As sad Phillipi shall in blood bewayle,
The cruell massacre of Cassius sword,
And then hath Brutus any cause to feare?
No outward shewes of puissance or of strength,
Can helpe a minde dismayed inwardly,
Leaue me sweete Lordes a while vnto my selfe.
In the meane time take order for the fight,
Drums let your fearefull mazing thunder playe.
And with their sound peirce Heauens brazen Towers,
And all the earth fill with like fearefull noyse,
As when that Boreas from his Iron caue.
With boysterous furyes Striuing in the waues,
Comes swelling forth to meet his blustering foe,
They both doe runne with feerce tempestuous rage,
And heaues vp mountaynes of the watry waues.
The God Oceanus trembles at the stroke,
What hatefull furyes vex my tortured mind?
What hideous sightes appalle my greeued soule,
As when Orestes after mother slaine.
[Page] Not being yet at Scithians Alters purged,
Behould the greesly visages of fiends.
And gastly furies which did haunt his steps,
Caesar vpbraues my sad ingratitude,
He saued my life in sad Pharsalian fieldes,
That I in Senate house might worke his death.
O this remembrance now doth wound my soule,
More then my poniard did his bleeding heart,
Enter Ghost.
Brutus, ingratefull Brutus seest thou mee:
Anon In field againe thou shalt me see,
Stay what so ere thou art, or fiend below,
Rays'd from the deepe by inchanters bloody call,
Or fury sent from Phlegitonticke flames,
Or from Cocytus for to end my life,
Be then Megera or Tysiphone,
Or of Eumenides ill boading crue.
Fly me not now, but end my wretched life,
Come greesly messenger of sad mishap,
Trample in blood of him that hates to liue,
And end my life and sorrow all at once.
Accursed traytor damned Homicide,
Knowest thou not me, to whome for forty honors:
Thou three and twenty Gastly wounds didst giue?
Now dare no more for to behould the Heauens,
For they to Day haue destyned thine end:
Nor lift thy eyes vnto the rising sunne,
That nere shall liue for to behould it set,
Nor looke not downe vnto the Hellish shades,
There stand the furyes thursting for thy blood,
Flie to the field but if thou thither go'st,
There Anthonyes sword will peirce thy trayterous heart.
Brutus to daie my blood shalbe reuenged,
And for my wrong and vndeserued death,
Thy life to thee a torture shall become,
And thou shalt oft amongest the dying grones,
Of slaughtered men that bite the bleeding earth.
[Page] With that like balefull cheere might thee befall,
And seeke for death that flies so wretched wight,
Vntill to [...] unne the honour of the fight,
And dreadfull vengeance of supernall ire.
Thine owne right hand shall worke my wish'd reueng,
And so Fare ill, hated of Heauen and Men.
Stay Caesar stay, protract my greife no longer,
Rip vp my bowells glut thy thirsting throte,
With pleasing blood of Caesars guilty heart:
But see hee's gon, and yonder Murther stands.
See how he poynts his knife vnto my hart.
Althea raueth for her murthered Sonne,
And weepes the deed that she her-selfe hath done:
And Meleager would thou liuedst againe,
But death must expiate. Altheas come.
I, death the guerdon that my deeds deserue:
The drums do thunder forth dismay and feare,
And dismall triumphes sound my fatall knell,
Furyes I come to meete you all in Hell,
Enter Cato wounded.
Bloodles and faynt; Cato yeelde vp thy breath;
While strength and vigour in these armes remaynd,
And made me able for to wield my sword,
So long I fought; and sweet Rome for thy sake
Fear'd not effusion of my blood to make.
But now my strength and life doth fayle at once,
My vigor leaues my could and feeble Ioynts,
And I my sad soule, must power forth in blood.
O vertue whome Phylosophy extols.
Thou art no essence but a naked name,
Bond-slaue to Fortune, weake, and of no power.
To succor them which alwaies honourd thee:
Witnesse my Fathers and mine owne sad death,
Who for our country spent our latest breath:
But oh the chaines of death do hold my toung,
Mine eyes wax dim I faynt, I faynt, I die.
O Heauens help Rome in this extremity.
Where shall I goe to tell the saddest tale,
That ere the Romane toung was forc'd to speake,
Rome is ouerthrowne, and all that for her fought:
This Sunne that now hath seen so many deaths,
When from the Sea he heaued his cloudy head,
Then both the armes full of hope and feare,
Did waite the dreadfull trumpets fatall sound,
And straight Reuenge from Stygian bands let loose,
Possessed had all hearts and banished thence,
Feare of their children, wife and little home.
Countryes remembrance, and had quite expeld,
With last departed care of life it selfe:
Anger did sparkell from our beautious eyes,
Our trembling feare did make our helmes to shake,
The horse had now put on the riders wrath,
And with his hoofes did strike the trembling earth,
When Echalarian soundes then both gin meete:
Both like enraged, and now the dust gins rise,
And Earth doth emulate the Heauens cloudes,
Then yet beutyous was the face of cruell war:
And goodly terror it might seeme to be,
Faire shieldes, gay swords, and goulden crests did shine.
Their spangled plumes did dance for solity,
As nothing priuy to their Masters feare,
But quickly rage and cruell Mars had staynd,
This shining glory with a sadder hew,
A cloud of dartes that darkened Heauens light,
Horror insteed of beauty did suceede.
And her bright armes with dust and blood were foyld:
Now Lucius fals, heare Drusus takes his end,
Here lies Hortensius, weltring in his goare.
Here, there, and euery where men fall and die,
Yet Cassius shew not that thy heart doth faynt:
But to the last gasp for Romains freedom fight,
And when sad death shall be thy labors end,
Yet boast thy life thou didst for Country spend.
Enter Anthony.
Queene of Reuenge imperious Nemesis▪
[Page] That in the wrinkels of thine angry browes,
Wrapst dreadfull vengance and pale fright-full death:
Raine downe the bloudy showers of thy reuenge,
And make our swordes the fatall instruments,
To execute thy furious bale-full Ire,
Let grim death seate her on my Lances point,
Which percing the weake armour of my foes,
Shall lodge her there within there coward brestes,
Dread, horror, vengance, death, and bloudy hate:
In this sad fight my murthering sworde awaite.
Enter Titinnius.
Where may I flie from this accursed soyle,
Or shunne the horror of this dismall day:
The Heauens are colour'd in mourning sable weedes,
The Sunne doth hide his face, and feares to see,
This bloudy conflict; sad Catastrophe,
Nothing but grones of dying men are heard:
Nothing but bloud and slaughter may bee seene
And death, the same in sundry shapes araied.
Enter Cassius.
In vaine, in vaine, O Cassius all in vaine,
Tis Heauen and destiny thou striuest against.
VVhat better hope or more accepted tydinges,
Ist Noble Cassius from the Battell bringe?
This haples hope that fates decreed haue,
Philippi field must bee our haples graue.
And then must this accursd and fatall day,
End both our liues and Romane liberty:
Must now the name of freedome bee forgot,
And all Romes glory in Thessalia end?
As those that lost in boysterous troublous seas,
Beaten with rage of Billowes stormy strife:
And without starres do sayle 'gainst starres and winde.
In drery darkenesse and in chereles night,
Without or hope or comfort endles are:
So are my thoughts deiected with dismay,
Which can nought looke for but poore Romes decay.
But yet did Brutus liue, did hee but breath?
[Page] Or lay not slumbering in eternall night,
His welfare might infuse some hope, or life:
Or at the least bring death with more content:
Weried I am through labour of the fight:
Then sweete Titinnius, range thou through the fielde,
And either glad me with my friends successe,
Or quickly tell mee what my care doth feare:
How breathles hee vpon the ground doth lie,
That at thy words, I may fall downe and die.
Cassius, I goe to seeke thy Noble friend,
Heauen grant my goings haue a prosperous end.
O go Titinnius, and till thy returne,
Heere will I sit disconsolate alone,
Romes sad mishap, and mine owne woes to moone:
O ten times treble fortunate were you,
VVhich in Pharsalias bloudy conflict dyed,
VVith those braue Lords, now layed in bed of fame:
VVhich neere protected their most blessed dayes,
To see the horror of this dismall fight,
VVhy died I not in those Aemathian playnes,
VVhere great Domitius fell by Caesars hand?
And swift Eurypus downe his bloudy streame
Bare shieldes and helmes and traines of slaughter'd men,
But Heauens reserud mee to this luckles day,
To see my Countries fall and friends decay.
But why doth not Titinnius yet returne?
My trembling heart misgiues me what's befalne,
Brutus is dead: I: herke how willingly
The Ecco itterates those deadly words,
The whisling windes with their mourning sound,
Do fill mine eares with noyse of Brutus death,
The birdes now chanting a more cheerles lay,
In dolefull notes recorde my friends decay.
And Philomela now forgets old wronges,
And onely Brutus wayleth in her songes.
I heare some noyse, O tis Titinnius,
No tis not hee, for hee doth feare to wound,
My greeued eares with that hearts-thrilling sound.
[Page] Why dost thou feed my thoughts with lingering hope?
Why dost thou then prolong my life in vayne?
Tell me my sentence and so end my payne:
He comes not yet, nor yet, nor will at all,
Linger not Cassius for to heare reply,
What if he come and tels me hee is slayne?
That only will increase my dying paine,
Brutus I come to company thy soule,
Which by Cocytus wandreth all alone.
Brutus I come prepare to meere thy friend
Thy brothers fall procures this balefull end.
Enter Titinius.
Brutus doth liue and like a second Mars,
Rageth in heate of fury mongest his foes,
Then cheere thee Cassius, loe I bring releefe▪
And news of power to ease thy stormy greefe,
But see where Cassius weltreth in his blood,
Doth beate the Earth, and yet not fully dead.
O Cassius speake, O speake to me sweet friend,
Brutus doth liue; open thy dying eyes,
And looke on him that hope and comfort [...]gs.
O noe, hee will not looke on mee but cryes,
That by my long delayes he haples dies:
Accursed villaine murtherer of thy friend,
Why hath thy lingering thus wrought Cassius end,
How cold thy care was to preuent this deed,
How slow thy loue that made no greater speed,
Care winged is, and burning loue can flye,
My care was feareles, loue but flattery,
But sithence in my life my loue was neuer shewne,
Now in my death Ile make it to be knowne.
Accursed weapon that such blood could spil,
Nay cursed then the author of this deed,
Yet both offended, both shall punished be,
Ile take reueng of the knife, the knife of me,
It shall make a passage for my life to passe,
Cause through my life his master murthered was.
And I on it againe will venged bee.
[Page] Cause it did worke my Cassius tragedy.
Then this reueng shalbe to end my life.
Mine to distayne with baser blood the knife.
Enter Brutus the Ghost following him.
What doest thou still persue me vgly fend,
Is this it that thou thirsted for so much?
Come with thy tearing clawes and rend it out,
Would thy appeaseles rage be slacked with blood,
This sword to day hath crimsen channels made,
But heare's the blood that thou woulds drinke so fayne,
Then take this percer, broch this trayterous heart.
Or if thou thinkest death to small a payne,
Drag downe this body to proud Erebus,
Through black Cocytus and infernall Styx,
Lethean waues, and fiers of Phlegeton,
Boyle me or burne, teare my hatefull flesh,
Deuoure, consume, pull, pinch, plague, paine this hart,
Hell craues her right, and heere the furyes stand,
And all the hell-hounds compasse me a round
Each seeking for a parte of this same prey,
Alasse this body is leane, thin, pale and wan,
Nor can it all your hungery mouthes suffice,
O tis the soule that they stand gaping for,
And endlesse matter for to prey vpon.
Renewed still as Titius pricked heart.
Then clap your hands, let Hell with Ioy resound?
Here it comes flying through this aery round.
Hell take their hearts, that this ill deed haue done
And vengeance follow till they be ouercome:
Nor liue t' applaud the iustice of this deed.
Murther by her owne guilty hand doth bleed.
Enter Discord
I, now my longing hopes haue their desire,
The world is nothing but a massie heape:
Of bodys slayne, The Sea a lake of blood,
The Furies that for slaughter only thirst,
Are with these Massakers and slaughters cloyde,
Tysiphones pale, and Megeras thin face,
[Page] Is now puft vp, and swolne with quaffing blood,
Caron that vsed but an old rotten boate
Must nowe a nauie rigg for to transport,
The howling soules, vnto the Stigian stronde.
Hell and Elisium must be digd in one,
And both will be to litle to contayne,
Numberles numbers of afflicted ghostes,
That I my selfe haue tumbling thither sent.
Now nights pale daughter since thy bloody ioyes,
And my reuengfull thirst fulfilled are,
Doe thou applaud what iustly heauens haue wrought,
While murther on the murtherers head is brought.
Caesar I pitied not thy Tragick end:
Nor tyrants daggers sticking in thy heart,
Nor doe I that thy deaths with like repayd,
But that thy death so many deaths hath made:
Now cloyde with blood, Ile hye me downe below,
And laugh to thinke I caused such endlesse woe.
Sith my reueng is full accomplished,
And my deaths causers by them selues are slaine,
I will descend to mine eternall home,
Where euerlastingly my quiet soule,
The sweete Elysium pleasure shall inioy,
And walke those fragrant slowry fields at rest:
To which nor fayre adonis bower so rare,
Nor old Alcinous gardens may compare.
There that same gentle father of the spring,
Mild Zephirus doth Odours breath diuine:
Clothing the earth in painted brauery,
The which nor winters rage, nor Scorching heate,
Or Summers sunne can make it fall or fade,
There with the mighty champions of old time,
And great Heroes of the Goulden age,
My dateles houres Ile spend in lasting ioy.

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