“ Cæsars 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, 20
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. ”

“ 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.
Act. V sc. i Enter Cassius, Brutus, Titinnius, Cato Iunior,
with an army marching
Casi. ”

“ O dearest Cæsar, hast thou seene thy selfe,
(As troubled dreames to me did faine thee seene:)
Torne, Wounded, Maymed, Blod-slaughtered, Slaine,
O thou thy selfe, wouldst then haue dread thy selfe: 1600
And feard to thrust thy life to dangers mouth.
Cæs. There you bewray the folly of your dreame,
For I am well, aliue, vncaught, vntoucht.
Calphur. T’was in the Senate-house I sawe thee so,
And yet thou dreadles thither needes will go.
Cæs. The Senate is a place of peace, not death,
But these were but deluding visions. ”

“ O Cassius speake, O speake to me sweet friend,
Brutus doth liue; open thy dying eyes, 2480
And looke on him that hope and comfort rings.
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, 2490
Now in my death Ile make it to be knowne. ”

“ In discontented Brutus boyling brest,
Let Cæsar 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, 1160
By Cassius hand must wicked Cæsar die,
Now Rome cast of thy gaudy paintcd robes
And cloth thy selfe in sable colored weedes,
Change thy vaine triumphs into funerall pomps,
And Cæsar cast thy Laurell crowne apart,
And bind thy temples with sad Cypres tree. ”

“ Your contryes limits, and your owne renowne,
But cause in Sibilles ciuill writs we finde,
None but a King that conquest can atchiue, 1460
Both for to crowne your deedes with due reward,
And as auspicious signes of victorye.
Wee here present you with this Diadem,
Lord. And euen as kings were banish’d Romes high throne
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,
Cæsar. Why thinke you Lords that tis ambitions spur. ”

“ The bride-grooms scull shal make the bridal bondes: 1340
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 Ægle 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: 1350
In Idle sport shall end with bloud and shame. Exit. ”

“ Your Countries loue incites you to the deed,
Vertue her selfe makes warrant of the deed,
Then Noble Romains as you haue begun:
Neuer desist vntill this deede be done.
Casi. To thee Reueng doth Cassius kneele him downe.
Thou that brings quiet to perplexed soules,
And borne in Hel, yet harborest heauens ioyes,
Whose fauor slaughter is, and dandling death,
Bloud-thirsty pleasures and mis boding blisse:
Brought forth of Fury, nurse of cankered Hate, 1540
To drowne in woe the pleasures of the world. ”

“ 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.
Anto. What meanes great Cæsar, droopes our generall,
Or melts in womanish compassion:
To see Pharsalias fieldes to change their hewe 270
And siluer streames be turn’d to lakes of blood? ”

“ 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.
Gho. 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 flowry fields at rest: 2560
To which nor fayre Adonis bower so rare,
Nor old Alcinous gardens may compare. ”

“ With last departed care of life it selfe:
Anger did sparkell from our beautious eyes,
Our trembling feare did make our helmes to shake, 2360
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. ”

“ 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.
Achil. Compassion would that greedinesse restraine.
Sem. I that’s my fault, I am to compassionate,
Why man, art thou a souldier and dost talke 680
Of womanish pity and compassion?
Mens eyes must mil-stones drop, when fooles shed teares,
But soft heeres Pompey, Ile about my worke. ”

“ Nets weaud to cach our frayle and wandring thoughts:
Thy beauty shining like proud Phœbus 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: 570
That with the change of thy imperious lookes,
Dost make my doubtfull ioyes to eb and flowe. ”

“ I sawe those villaines that but now were heere:
Bucher my loue and then with violence,
To drawe his deare beloued Body hence;
What dost thou stand to play the Oratrix,
And tell a tale of thy deere husbands death? 780
Doth Pompey, doth thy loue moue thee no more?
Go cursed Cornelia rent thy wretched haire,
Drowne blobred cheekes in seas of saltest teares. ”

“ With which the wanton wind was wont to play,
To drowne with Billows of orewhelming woes.
Enter Brutus 50
Bru. 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. 60
Enter Pompey
Pom. ”

“ Dreames ar diuine, men say they come from Ioue,
Beware betimes, and bee not wise to late: 1610
Mens good indeuours change the wills of Fate.
Cæs. Weepe not faire loue, let not thy wofull teares
Bode mee, I knowe what thou wouldest not haue to hap
It will distaine mine honor wonne in fight
To say a womans dreame could me affright.
Cal. O Cæsar no dishonour canst thou get,
In seeking to preuent vnlucky chance:
Foole-hardy men do runne vpon their death,
Bec thou in this perswaded by thy wife:
No vallour bids thee cast away thy life. ”

“ Nor lift thy eyes vnto the rising sunne,
That nere shall liue for to behould it set, 2300
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. ”

“ The wrathful 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, 2250
My selfe like valiant Peleus worthy Sonne,
The Noblest wight that eur 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?
Bru. No outward shewes of puissance or of strength,
Can helpe a minde dismayed inwardly,
Leaue me sweete Lordes a while vnto my selfe. ”

“ If that I dye, yet 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 rosiate lips, and Currall cheekes,
Then Ayre be turnde, to poyson to infect me, 450
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. Exit. ”

“ And thou Immortall Ioue that Idle holdest
Deluding Thunder in thy faynting hand,
Why stay’st thy dreadfull doome, and dost with-hold, 1710
Thy three-fork’d engine to reuenge my death:
But if my plaintes the Heauens cannot mooue,
Then blackest hell and Pluto bee thou iudge:
You greesly daughters of the cheereles night,
Whose hearts, nor praier nor pitty, ere could lend,
Leaue the black dungeon of your Chaos deepe:
Come and with flaming brandes into the world,
Reuenge, and death, bringe seated in yout eyes:
And plauge these villaynes for their trecheries.
Enter Brutus. 1720
Bru. ”

“ 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 sliemy ground
Or else that Thessaly bee a common Tombe:
To bury those that fight to infranchize Rome.
Titin. Brauely resolu’d, I see yong Brutus minde, 1940
Strengthned with force of vertues sacred rule:
Contemneth death, and holdes proud chance in scorne. ”

“ Which all the world can neuer stay nor change:
Cæsar 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,
Vsed on it selfe this cruell violence, 1140
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. Exit. ”

“ Heauen couers him whome Earth denyes a graue:
Thinke you a heape of stones could him inclose,
Whoe in the Oceans circuite buried is,
And euery place where Roman names are heard, 1010
The world is his graue, where liuing fame doth blaze,
His funerall praise through his immortall trump,
And ore his tombe vertue and honor sits,
With rented heare and eyes bespent with teares,
And waile and weepe their deere sonne Pompeys death,
Bru. ”

“ 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.
Bru. Stay Cæsar stay, protract my greife no longer,
Rip vp my bowells glut thy thirsting throte,
With pleasing blood of Cæsars guilty heart:
But see hee’s gon, and yonder Murther stands:
See how he poynts his knife vnto my hart. 2320
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. ”

“ 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 Cæsars life. 1410
Bru. 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 branch is borne,
For to distaine the honor of thy house. ”

“ Horror and vgly Murther (nights blacke child,)
Let sterne Mægera on her thundering drumme, 2070
Play gastly musicke to comsort 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,
Anth. ”