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ACT. III.
SCENE 1. The Palace Garden.
Caesario, Araspes, Leander.
Caes.
BY all the Trophies of the Conquer'd Field,
By ev'ry vanquish'd Sword, and batter'd Shield,
He dyes, though the Auxiliar Fates shou'd stand
To fence the lifted forces of my hand;
Though bulwark'd with Rome's Hills in Tow'rs of Brass,
Yet like Laocoon's Launce my Sword shall pass
Through all: — By Heav'n to Hell he shall be thrown,
His Universal mightiness shall down.
Aras.
Your ruine must inevitable be.
Caes.
It matters not what shall become of me.
Though all the Winds from their black corners rush,
Though Seas dash Clouds, old Rocks young Thunder crush••
Exempt from fear th' event we will attend,
And with big rays in Ports of Glory end.
If I must fall, I'le tumble with a Crown,
And grasp this Giant with me when I drown.
Lea.
But, Royal Sir, can you your Friend forget?
Can an abuse so vast, a wrong so great
Be offer'd, that your Vows you shou'd recall?
Caes.
Smoak, vanish air! — be they forgotten all.
No, dear Marcellus, you must pardon me;
A stroak! a stab! 'tis such an injury,
Were Iove in flesh and thunder'd with a blow,
I wou'd retort it like a God below.
Aras.
E're ruine swallows you take one look more,
While yet you stand upon the beaten shore.
Lea.
Yet e're you launch behold the rolling deep,
Where danger groans, and death it self does weep.