The Roman revenge: A tragedy. By Aaron Hill, Esq;.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Grand Apartment in the House of Brutus.

BRUTUS, ANTONY.

BRUTUS.

URGE it no more—I am fix'd.

ANTONY.

Think wiselier Brutus

BRUTUS.

Consul! when bold Oppression grapples Law, Men, who protect the Oppressor, stab the State.

ANTONY.

Men, who so roughly dare Mischarge their Lord, Pretending Liberty, pursue but Pride.

BRUTUS.

Caesar, however rais'd, is less than Lord.

ANTONY.

Caesar however wrong'd, is more than Friend: Even Gratitude has made Respect, a Duty: Present, or absent Thou—the Tribes will crown him.

BRUTUS.

Crown? whom?

ANTONY.

One, whom if Brutus knew but rightly,

BRUTUS.

I fear I do!

ANTONY.

No—if you did, you'd tremble.

BRUTUS.

I have already, trembled Antony! Trembled—to hear a Roman tempt a Roman, And dare corrupt a Patrsot, yet unsold!

ANTONY.

Corrupt, I wou'd not.—All I wou'd, I dare.

BRUTUS.

The basely bold shou'd learn, to dread the Just.

ANTONY.

When Brutus bids me dread—I hear and Smile.

BRUTUS.

Smile on your King: Flattery was made for Thrones. The rough, wrong'd Roman frowns, with honest scorn.

ANTONY.

Brutus, I rev'erence Firmness; but despise Th' Hypocrisy of Envy! I have a heart, That being human, feels for humankind. I tow're not to the Gods:—Virtue, once rais'd Above Compassion, ceases to be Virtue: Aiming at more than Man, thou sink'st to less.

BRUTUS.

I wou'd be less than King; and more than Slave.

ANTONY.

Farewell:—rash Zealots blindly grow unjust; And Pride inflexible,, and deaf, as Thine, Professing Virtue, make's ev'n Virtue hateful.

Exit.

SCENE II.

BRUTUS

alone.

Heaven! what a Change in Rome!—breathe these her Sou•• Oh! griev'd Quirinus! what Reproach wero Thine, Did not thy fellow Gods disdain to note us! Rome has no Remnant, now, of Roman Greatness: Sold, or seduced, we give up Claim by Claim, Till even our Virtues are engros'd by Caesar! O, Souls of long lost Glory! Fabii! Decii O, all ye Pompey's! Scipio's! Cato's! hear me! Re-kindle, in my Breast, your patriot Lights: And live, once more in Brutus!—fill this Heart, With Caesar's Fire—but, let it flame, for Rome.

SCENE III.

BRUTUS, TORBILIUS

BRUTUS.

Torbilius! Thou intrud'st on my Retirement: The Muse, and my sad Heart are, now, not social,

TORBILIUS.

Cassius approaches.—There's a Name, indeed, Unsocial!—Every Muse wou'd start, to hear it.

BRUTUS.

Thou wrong'st him.—Cassius is a noble Roman.

TORBILIUS.

There is a Jaundice, in thy Judgment, Brutus, That lends him Golden Colour, from thy own: I know him, to the Soul.—Have sounded all The Shallows of his Envy;—and I cou'd, But that an Oath, injoin'd, has bound my Tongue,

Convince thee, that he dares assault thy Honour; And plots, to blast thee to the World, for ever.

BRUTUS.

Who bound thee, by such Oath?

TORBILIUS.

Calphurnia's Piety.

BRUTUS.

What had Calphurnia's Piety to do With Plots? and Oaths? and Secrecy? and Brutus?

TORBILIUS.

Earnest, herself, to warn endanger'd Brutus With Consequence, she fear'd, my Words might lose, She claims your instant Ear:—Be swift—incline it. Shun the too near Approach of Cassius, hither: And, hast'ning to the House of Caesar, weigh, What her Wish forms, to guard thy Fame, and Virtue.

BRUTUS.

Thou art too bold, Torbilius:—Tell Calphurnia, I, best, myself, defend my Honour's Claims: And grasp, too hard, to need a Woman's Aiding. Torbilius!— Rome has lost thee.—Caesar's Bounties Have brib'd thy Gratitude, to slander Honesty.

TORBILIUS.

Ill am I known, where, most, my Heart lies open, If, after all my rash Contempts of Power, Brutus can doubt me Venal:—Yet, doubt on: No undeserv'd Reproach adheres to Virtue. No Matter what bold Slander wounds Torbilius, Where he, who Wrongs him, has the Rights of Friend|ship.

BRUTUS.

I will not see Calphurnia.

TORBILIUS.

Oh! revoke those fatal Words, lest

BRUTUS.

By the Gods! I will not; till Cassius, and his Friends have, first, been heard.

TORBILIUS.

Cassius is Caesar's Enemy.

BRUTUS.

But I am Brutus;- and thou know'st me Caesar's Friend. Let that Truth, known, content thee.

TORBILIUS.

—No.—It cannot: Brutus not fearing, I must fear for Brutus. Greatness of Soul, confiding in itself, Exposes an unguarded Side, to Baseness.

BRUTUS.

What woud'st thou lead me to?

TORBILIUS.

To one kind Promise: I urge it but to save thee.—I conjure thee; By every Claim of long, untir'd Adherence! By every Recompence, thou ow'st my Dangers! By every grateful Sense of every Duty! Love, Friendship, Reverence, Faith, Advice, and Ser|vice! Promise, whatever dire Result the Gods Permit,—for Cassius comes on no light Errand! Previous to any Deed, thy will may purpose, To hear my Thoughts:—Intrust me with thy own: And teach my willing Hand, and Heart, to aid thee.

BRUTUS.

I see the strangely mov'd:—I will, by Heaven! Intrust thee, unreserv'd, and seek thy Counsel.

TORBILIUS.

Bark on, ye Dogs of envy! Bark, in vain: Brutus is Safe, and Spotless

Exit Torbilius.

BRUTUS.

Alone.

—Caesar's Graces. Win every Heart! and no Corruption's Power Out-bribes the native Sweetness of his Pity.

SCENE IV.

BRUTUS, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, CASCA.

CASSIUS.

Hail! death-devoted Brutus! Romes last Friend!

DECIMUS.

Guardian, in vain, of our expiring Liberty!

CASSIUS.

Caesar, To-morrow, marches hence, a King.

BRUTUS.

What are Rome's Prospects, then?

CASSIUS.

Taxes, and Chains. Brutus, farewell, for ever

Embracing.

—Life grows Shameful, Where Freedom is resign'd, and Man's a Slave.

BRUTUS.

Can Cassius feel Despair?

CASSIUS.

When Rome Despairs.

DECIMUS.

When even her Soul—her Brutus!—Breaths for Caesar▪

CASSIUS.

No Force on Earth, but our unshaken Hearts Held back this bold Invader.

DECIMUS.

Caesar's too Wise, To spare our Lives, who live,—to shake his Throne.

CASSIUS.

Escaping us, he meets but Men:—Not Romans.

BRUTUS.

Oh! Honour, Virtue, and the Rights of Law!

CASSIUS.

Tis past:—The Laws have been.—Honour, and Virtue Are, now, the public Jest of penfion'd Parasites: Who sell Submission, and receive back—Scorn.

DECIMUS.

Rome, and the World are fall'n!—'tis Caesar, All!

CASSIUS.

All, that Six Hundred bleeding Years have gain'd, Thrown, at one Cast, to Caesar!—Why had Times, Like these, a Brutus?—Grac'd with fruitless Virtues?

BRUTUS.

If I have Virtues—Why shou'd They be Fruitless?

CASSIUS

Join every Power, above?—To bless that Question!

DECIMUS.

Hear yon licentios Noise!

Shouts at a Distance

BRUTUS.

—Curse the vile Sound! 'Tis Breath of Adulation! Rome's lost Gods Expell'd!—And Insense paid to human Pride!

Shouts again.

CASSIUS.

Again!—Those Shouts are Insult.

DECIMUS.

—Cimber comes,

And, if I read him Rightly, in his Look, Caesar's Attempts succeeds; for, see! he's Angry.

SCENE V.

BRUTUS, CASSIUS, DECIMUS, CINNA, CASCA, CIMBER.

CASSIUS.

Tell us, what wou'd they?

CIMBER.

—Slavery, they wou'd

BRUTUS.

Have we a King, in Rome?

CIMBER.

Have we a Freeman?

CASSIUS.

What call you Caesar?

BRUTUS.

Less, when he dares be more.

CIMBER.

Caesar high-seated,—Sovereign of the Slaves! Shone, from the Capitol, as who wou'd say, Make me a God, and Rome shall shake with Thunder: Up, from Ten Thousand bribe-attesting Throats, Flew purchas'd Gratulation: "Hail, Great Caesar! "Rome's dread Avenger!—Fate of punish'd Parthia! "Star of thy Country's Hope? And War's brave Gui|der!". Timely, to cool this Madness, at its Height, So Heaven decreed it!—In Stalks Antony; Blast him, deaf Genius of devoted Rome! A cushion'd Crown, and Scepter, sham'd his Hands:

Yet, was his venal Eye fix'd bold, on Caesar. Down sunk, at once, the Tempest of Applause; Hush'd, as a Coward, in his Midnight Bush, The sick'ning People flatter'd into Silence; He, 'midst a horrid Glare of wide-stretch'd Eyes, Unheeding, on his Master's Brow, set, soft, The regal Gew-gaw:—Then, with abject Knee, Bent, for inflructive Homage,—be a KING, He cry'd—and reign o'er Rome, that rules the World, Caesar, mean while, who watch'd the public Eye, And read Reluctance, Grief, and Terror, there; Starting indignant with well-acted Scorn, Hurl'd, from his Front, the uninclining Toy; And cry'd—"I am not King, my Friend—but Caesar.

BRUTUS.

O, Truth!—Beyond all Pride of kingly Greatness!

CIMBER.

Then, general Joy new-voic'd the gaping Press; And shook the distant Roofs, with loud Concurrence; Even Antony, then, blush'd.

CASSIUS.

—And did not Caesar?

CIMBER.

Caesar smil'd sweet Contempt:—And then, again, Th' unfeeling Fools, more charm'd, renew'd their Shouting: I laugh'd, aloud: to mark him thanking Rome, For finding Virtues in him, which he had not! At length, disdainful of the hard Constraint, Parting, he frown'd Sincerity.—The Rest You'l learn, when I do.

BRUTUS.

What means That?

CIMBER.

—Anon, The Senate sits.

BRUTUS.

What then?

CIMBER.

Why then, Six Hours May pass, betwixt his pushing back the Crown, And our exacted Votes, to bid him take it.

BRUTUS.

Holds he that Hope?

DECIMUS.

Yes: And who helps us?

CASSIUS.

—Death.

BRUTUS.

Death is, indeed, the Slave's last Hope:—but, he, Who dares embrace that Help, might find a better.

CASSIUS.

While my doom'd Country had a Gasp for Life, I struggled on, to live:—Now, World, farewell! No God sustain'd me, to support the State: But, to die, with it, still, is left to Freedom. To Heaven's imperial Rome, from ours, I go; There, no bold Caesar sways:—There Pompey serves! No Roman, there, need blush to owne a Master: Where even a Cato finds, and fears, a Lord! These will I follow, thus.

Drawing his Sword.

BRUTUS.

Disarming him.

—Follow we none: 'Tis ours, to lend, not borrow, brave Example.

'Tis ours, to stem the Tide of a bad World, And justify to Time the Roman Greatness. Much is to Anger due—but more to Rome. Cato had died, unblam'd—first, killing Caesar; But, turning on himself, his erring Sword, He fell, unjustly:—For, he punish'd Innocence.

CASSIUS.

What can we, in a World, despairing, round us?

BRUTUS.

Shewing a Billet.

See! What the Friends of Liberty expect! See! What they hope from Romans!

CASSIUS.

This Reproach I, too, have met with:—And 'twas hard to bear!

BRUTUS.

Cassius!—'twas harder, far,—to have deserv'd it.

CIMBER.

Good Talkers might attract a Gown-man's Praise: And had Time Ears—fine Words were Marks of Wisdom: But lose this Day, no Orator, in Rome, Must be admir'd, but Caesar.

BRUTUS.

—E're this Day Yet passes,—Twenty Tyrant's Fortunate, As ours—but never Greatness equall'd Caesar! Might expiate, with their Lives, their bold Ambition.

CIMBER.

Ay! That's a Flower of Speech, my Rhetoric reaches!

CASSIUS.

Rome lives again! She breath'd, in that rais'd Voice!

And Brutus has receiv'd her.—

DECIMUS.

—Fatal Name To Tyrants!—Brutus, to assert his Race, Speaks the dire Duty, which We dar'd but think.

CASSIUS.

My Friend has reconcil'd me to myself;— If there is future Glory due to Cassius, Brutus bestows it, all—BRUTUS! and ROME! Flow mix'd, ye reverend Names! down Time's dark Stream! By Ages emulating Ages, bless'd! Decimus! Cinna! Casca! Patriot's! Roman's! Join your Sword's Aid: Obey this gener'ous Leader. Live to approve, and to support his Vengeance; And drive Dejection from the Heart of Virtue,

CIMBER.

All Rome will think, and Act, with Roman Brutus.

DECIMUS.

Born the Sustainers of patrician Honour, Senates, despis'd, wou'd fall with double Shame, Surviv'd, by their Despiser.—

CASSIUS.

—See a List, Shinning with Names, of Rome's distinguish'd Sons! Associates, All, to strike one Glorious Blow!

BRUTUS.

Taking the Paper

Soft, Cassius!—have a Care! nor arm Revenge Too Strongly:—lest it look, perhaps, like Baseness. One were enough, to bid a Tyrant die, Who dar'd Himself, die with him.

CASSIUS.

Roman's numberless Stand, now prepar'd for Summons.

BRUTUS.

Summon none: Shou'd they be sold to Caesar, they're untrusty:— And, if they fear him, heartless.—

CASSIUS.

Such a Tongue, As Cicero's.

CIMBER.

No.—let us list no Praters; These Speechmen of the Senate range but Periods: Tropes are their Javelins:—Climax forms their Ranks: And, when they charge, 'tis with some smart Harangue. Twill be Renown enough, for these Tongue—Cohorts, To praise our Bravery, when it meets Success: Or, if it fails, teach pliant Law to teize us.

CASSIUS.

Enough!- then, Caesar finds us, in the Senate.—

BRUTUS.

There, be it lawful, O, immortal Guiders! To consecrate this Sword, that, once, was Cato's, To Cato's Death, reveng'd! and murder'd Pompey's.

Draws.

All the Conspitators draw their Swords.

CASSIUS.

Now, I will ••ive.—Li••••, now, becomes a Roman.

BRUTUS.

No.—Let no vain false Hope of Life deceive ye: Know—yet despise, your Danger.—Caesar's Friends

Crowd his tame Senate:—Ardent, All! and try'd, In Service of their Master, while the People, The suffe'ring People! pleas'd at once, and wretched! Doat on the Tyrant's Heart, whose Hand they fear! Think, too, tis CAESAR, we presume to wound: Caesar! who aw'd an Army, with his Frown! Our Death, in the Attempt, is fix'd as Fate: But, what a Death!—How to be wish'd, and envied! Dying, that unborn Rome may live, in Liberty!

CASSIUS.

How will our Deaths endear yon aweful Capitol! That Seat of our Oppression, doom'd by Heaven, The Scene of our Revenge!

DECIMUS.

—But, shou'd the People—

CIMBER.

Why let the People prate:—So People will— Bless the Light Murmurings of their hungry Love! Poor Gnats! They know, tis Summer, now, with Caesar: Cloud but his Sunshine—all their Buzzing ceases.

BRUTUS.

Kneel, gener'ous Friends:

They kneel, Brutus continues standing.

Raise your Right Hands, to Heaven; Swear—by the all-dreaded Powers, to wait my Call: Nor, till I sound him, touch the Life of Caesar.—All the Conspirators. We swear.—

BRUTUS.

—But shou'd he—(some kind God restrain him!) Force my afflicted Hand, to point the Way.—

Then,—by that thin, pale, Flight of Roman Ghosts, Whose hov'ring Forms skim o'er th' unburied Bones, Which the wan Moon sees whit'ning twelve lost Fields! Their Murd'rer, if he Reigns, in Rome.

All

shall die!

CASSIUS.

Brutus, kneel with us.—Rome exempts no Knee:

BRUTUS.

Kneels.

Blast, Heaven! The Man, who spares a Tyrant's Life! Be he Son, Patron, Brother, Friend, or—Father!

BRUTUS.

Or Father?—Cassius!

CASSIUS.

Son, Friend, Father, Brother: Tyrants can Claim no Kindred: They renounce All social Ties:—And hate a hating World. The expanding Soul, that swells a Roman Breast. Stretch'd beyond Rights of Blood, attones 'em, All, By Virtue, Glory, Liberty, and Law.

BRUTUS.

Be it, then, SWORN.—

All

—By Earth, and Heaven, we swear.

BRUTUS.

Soul-shaking Oath!—tis past, and, from this Moment,

Rise and put up their Swords.

No Man has Parent, Child, or Friend—but Rome, If there, among us, shrinks one recreant Slave, Curse him, ye Gods! For every Guilt of Caesar! And never let his Race know Comfort, more.

loud Thunder.

Hark! the confirming Powers approve my Curse— Or, testify Dislike, in Peals of Thunder!

CASSIUS.

Let 'em call on: The Brave, they know, are ready,

BRUTUS.

We meet, then, at the Capitol.

CASSIUS.

—Haste, Decimus— With heedful Caution, Summon each great Name, That gilds our Glorious List:—previous, we meet, (Immortal Brutus!) in thy aweful Grot. There, shalt thou fan their Fire; confirm their Hearts: Unite their Purpose, and instruct their Hands: That one concurring Spirit may direct, And no Confusion Rise, to blast our Vengeance.

BRUTUS.

'Tis dreadful!—But, 'tis necessary:—Mark! When you pale Sun, that, with receding Ray, Starts from our notic'd Purpose!—When that Sun, Slow-measuring, sheds an Hour—This private Key Admits you, thro' the Grove:—Be punctual All.

Gives Cassius a Key, then, advances to a Statue of Cato.

Cato! Lost Soul of Freedom! Witness forme! Here, I divest my Heart of Love, Grief, Pity, Of every tender call of pleading Nature, That moves too soft a Pang.

The Thunder repeated.

—Again!—'Tis Strange! Why hangs this infelt Weight, upon my Purpose? Can it be terrible.—To die for Rome! What has he left to fear, who saves his Country!

Enter Marcellus, hastily

MARCELLUS.

Break off—or, be prevented:—Caesar comes.

CASSIUS.

Now, let him die.

BRUTUS.

—Avoid him, thro' that Gallery.

Exeunt Conspirators.

SCENE VI.

BRUTUS, CAESAR.

CAESAR.

With whom dost thou retire?

BRUTUS.

—With banish'd Liberty.

CAESAR.

Vain, honest Purposer! Made weak by Virtue! Thou wrong'st the Friend of every Wish, thou form'st! Cited by Antony, why cam'st thou not? Or why, not coming, was Reproach thought needful? With insolent Contempt of Power above thee? Find'st thou Delight, in living to offend? There's not a Name, in all thy private Friendships, That is not mark'd, in public, as my Foe.

BRUTUS.

When Foes to Caesar are the Friends of Rome, May Heaven inspire his Will, to love their Counsel!

CAESAR.

Speak out:—The just Enjoy the Slanderer's Malice, And weigh their Virtue's Force, by bad Men's Censure.

BRUTUS.

All Men confess the Force of Caesar's Virtues: Resistless Virtues!—They endear the Chains Of a submitting World, that smiles, and suffers!

CAESAR.

Thou art, thyself, in Chains, and see'st it not; Thou art that poorest of blind Slaves—a Tool! Whose Bluntness works for Wills, that scorn thy Promptness. So work'd they, once, on Pompey.—Weak well-meaner. Driven, yet, too proud to follow!—Had he conquer'd, His flexile Yoke had gall'd, both Men, and Laws: Then, what had Brutus been?

BRUTUS.

—Lord of one Dagger.

CAESAR.

Fell mind!—And can there none be found, for Caesar?

BRUTUS.

Strike, first—and blast the distant Possibility!

CAESAR.

No.—Brutus!—There's a Power forbids that Blow: Read this, blind Wanderer!—Know thyself, and me.

Gives him Servilia's Letter.

BRUTUS.

Caesar, I die:—Punish'd by Heaven's just Hand, At once, my Life forsakes me, and my Love. Pity, when I am gone, and think of—Brutus: The Life, you gave him [Starts] will deserve your Care. Farewell!—And, for the Father, may the Gods, To the Son's Heart, transfer the Mother's Love! Servilia!—Heaven, Servilia!—wrote she this? She did—and, if I wake, Rome sleeps forever.

CAESAR.

I had not thought, till my return from Parthia, To trust thee with this Secret, of thy Birth:

But to protect Thee, from the Willes of Cassius, I claim Thee, and Precipitate my Purpose.

Offers to embrace him, who starts back

BRUTUS.

Rome! Virtue! Nature!

CAESAR.

Nature! young Man, call it By its sincerer Titles? call it Pride, Self-soothing.—Hurl your Bolts, ye Gods! at Faction! Faction!—that finds a Power to blot out Nature!

BRUTUS.

Spare an astonished Wretch, who lives too long.

CAESAR.

Is there, who fears to be the Son of Caesar? Wretch, say'st thou?—to be born the World's next Heir, And reap the Laurels of a Hundred Victories?

BRUTUS.

Oh, Caesar!—

CAESAR.

Lab'ring with a Will to speak, Some infelt Horror checks thy rising Accents.

BRUTUS.

Caesar!

CAESAR.

Speak like my Son.

BRUTUS.

Wou'd I were dead.

CAESAR.

Sounds Death more soft than Son?

BRUTUS.

Such if I am,

Brutus, unbow'd to Kings, may kneel to Caesar.

Kneels.

CAESAR.

On.—

BRUTUS.

Offering his Sword

—Kill me;—or, forbear to be a King.

CAESAR.

Thy very Soul's a Rebel:—not alone To Power, but ev'en to Blood:—unatural Traitor! Rise, and repent:—and, when thou think'st, like Man, Be own'd Rome's Son, and mine:—till then, be Brutus,

Turning to go.

BRUTUS.

Holding his Robe.

Oh! stay.—I never can quit Claim to Caesar: Hear, if a Father, with a father's Ear; Or, judge with a Friend's Heart, and ease my Horror.

CAESAR.

Leave me.—My Heart is Adamant:—Away;— My Blood grows warm against thee: Dread thy danger. Be gone—or, I shall catch Disdain, from Thine, Till, conqu'ring Pity, to repel Presumption, To punish Insolence, I push back Nature. Caesar, at least, was born, to govern Brutus.

BRUTUS.

He was—he was—but not to govern Rome.

CAESAR.

Headstrong Enthusiast! Stubborness, like Thine, Embroils Republicks; and makes Tyrants needful: Go: join thy savage Friends: chase Fear from Faction: Bid Guilt sleep safe, in my Contempt of Treachery: Their Conqueror stands subdued, by his own Mercy: —Yet bid their Blindness learn, when Claims contend,

And Rights invaded rouse resenting Realms, 'Tis Fierceness, in the Free, most, hazards Freedom. And Liberty is lost to punish Pride.

Exit Caesar.

BRUTUS.

Rising

Let me not leave him, tho' Despair has caught me: But, following, sigh for Rome—and live for Caesar. Why was I born to think, and be unbless'd, To licence Reason, is to forfeit Rest: He, who assumes Distinction, calls for Woe; Peace is a Cottage Claim, and loves the Low. Nor Shame, nor Trust, nor Envy, finds us, there! Hearts, fill'd with Quiet, leave no Void, for Care.

End of the Third Act.