THE tragedy OF Caesar and Pompey OR Caesar's Revenge.  
privately acted by the Students of Trinity College in Oxford.  
AT LONDON Imprinted for Nathaniel Fosbrooke and john Wright and are to be sold in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Helmet. 1607.   

The names of the Actors.  

Discord.  
Titinnius.  
Brutus.  
Pompey.  
Caesar.  
Anthony.  
Dolabella.  
Cornelia.  
Cleopatra.  
Achillas.  
Sempronius.  
Cassius.  
Cato Sen.  
Casca.  
Roman 1.  
Roman 2.  
Bonus Genius.  
Calphurnia.  
Augur.  
Preceptor.  
Senators.  
Bucolian.  
Octavian.  
Caesar's Ghost.  
Cicero.  
Cato Iun.  
Camber.    

The Tragedy of Caesar and Pompey.  
Sound alarum then flames of fire. Enter Discord. 
Hark how the Roman drums sound blood & death,  
And Mars high mounted on his Thracian Steed:  
Runs madding through Pharsalia's purple fields.  
The earth that's wont to be a Tomb for Men  
It's now entombed with Carcases of Men.  
The Heaven appalled to see such hideous sights,  
For fear puts out her ever burning lights.  
The Gods amazed (as once in Titan's war,)  
Do doubt and fear, which bodes this deadly jar.  
The stars do tremble, and forsake their course,  
The Bear doth hide her in forbidden Sea,  
Fear makes Bootes swiften her slow pace,  
Pale is Orion, Atlas 'gins to quake,  
And his unwieldy burden to forsake.  
Caesar's keen Falchion, through the Adverse ranks,  
For his stern Master hews a passage out,  
Through troops & trunks, & steel, & standing blood:  
He whose proud Trophies whilom Asia field,  
And conquered Pontus, sing his lasting praise.  
Great Pompey; Great, while Fortune did him raise,  
Now veils the glory of his vaunting plumes  
And to the ground casts of his high hanged looks.  
You gentle Heavens. O execute your wrath  
On vile mortality, that hath scorned your powers.  
You night borne Sisters to whose hairs are tied  
In Adamantine Chains both Gods and Men  
Wind on your web of mischief and of plagues,  
And if, O stars you have an influence:  
That may confound this high erected heap  
Down power it; Vomit out your worst of ills  
Let Rome, grown proud, with her unconquered strength,  
Perish and conquered BE with her own strength:  
And win all powers to disjoin and break,  
Consume, confound, dissolve, and dissipate  
What Laws, Arms and Pride hath raised up.  Enter Titinius Tit. 
The day is lost our hope and honours lost,  
The glory of the Roman name is lost,  
The liberty and common weal is lost,  
The Gods that whileom heard the Roman state,  
And Quirinus, whose strong puissant arm,  
Did shield the tops and turrets of proud Rome,  
Do now conspire to wrack the gallant Ship,  
Even in the harbour of her wished greatness.  
And her gay streamers, and fair wavering sails,  
With which the wanton wind was wont to play,  
To drown with Billows of o'erwhelming woes.  Enter Brutus. Bru. 
The Foe prevails, Brutus, thou strivest in vain.  
Many a soul today is sent to Hell,  
And many a gallant have I done to death,  
In Pharsalia's bleeding Earth: the world can tell,  
How little Brutus praised this puff of breath,  
If loss of that my country's weal might gain,  
But Heavens and the immortal Gods decreed:  
That Rome in highest of her fortunes pitch,  
In top of sovereignty and imperial sway.  
By her own height should work her own decay.  Enter Pompey Pom. 
Where may I fly into some desert place,  
Some uncouth, unfrequented craggy rock,  
Where as my name and state was never heard.  
I fly the battle because here I see,  
My friends lie bleeding in Pharsalia's earth.  
Which do remember me what erst I was,  
Who brought such troops of soldiers to the field,  
And of so many thousand had command:  
My flight a heavy memory doth renew,  
Which tells me I was wont to stay and win.  
But now a soldier of my scattered train:  
Offered me service and did call me Lord,  
O then I thought whom rising Sun saw high,  
Descending he beheld my misery:  
Fly to the hollow root of some steep rock,  
And in that flinty habitation hide,  
Thy woeful face: from face and view of men.  
Yet that will tell me this, if nought beside:  
Pompey was never wont his head to hide.  
Fly where thou wilt, thou bearest about thee smart,  
Shame at thy heels and grief lies at thy heart.  Tit. 
But see Titinius where two warriors stand,  
Casting their eyes down to the cheerless earth:  
Alas to soon I know them for to be  
Pompey and Brutus, who like Ajax stand,  
whenas forsook of Fortune 'mongst his foes,  
grief stopped his breath nor could he speak his woes,  Pom. 
Accursed Pompey, lo thou art descried.  
But stay; they are thy friends that thou beholdest,  
O rather had I now have met my foes:  
Whose daggers points might straight have pierced my woes  
Then thus to have my friends behold my shame.  
Reproach is death to him that lived in Fame,  Bru. 
Brutus Cast up thy discontented look:  
And see two Princes thy two noble friends,  
Who though it grieves me that I thus them see,  
Yet joy I to be seen they hung be.  He speaks unto them. 
Let not the change of this successes fight,  
(O noble Lords,) dismay these dauntless minds,  
Which the fair virtue not blind chance doth rule,  
Caesar not us subdued hath, but Rome,  
And in that fight 'twas best be overthrown.  
Think that the Conqueror hath won but small,  
Whose victory is but his Countries fall,  Pom. 
O Noble Brutus, can I live and see,  
My Soldiers dead, my friends lie slain in field,  
My hopes cast down, mine Honours overthrown,  
My Country subject to a tyrants rule,  
My foe triumphing and myself forlorn.  
Oh had I perished in that prosperous war  
Even in mine honours height, that happy day,  
When Mithridates fall did raise my fame:  
Then had I gone with Honour to my grave.  
But Pompey was by envious heavens reserved,  
Captive to follow Caesar's Chariot wheels  
Riding in triumph to the Capitol:  
And Rome oft graced with Trophies of my fame,  
Shall now resound the blemish of my name.  Bru. 
Oh what disgrace can taunt this worthiness,  
Of which remain such living monuments  
Engraven in the eyes and hearts of men.  
Although the oppression of distressed Rome  
And our own overthrow, might well draw forth,  
Distilling tears from fainting cowards eyes,  
Yet should no weak effeminate passion seize  
Upon that man, the greatness of whose mind  
And not his Fortune made him termed the Great.  Pom. 
Oh I did never taste mine honour's sweet  
Nor now can judge of this my sharpest sour.  
Fifty eight years in Fortune's sweet soft lap  
Have I been lulled asleep with pleasant joys,  
Me hath she dandled in her folding Arms,  
And fed my hopes with prosperous events:  
She Crowned my Cradle with success and Honour,  
And shall disgrace a wait my hapless Hearse?  
Was I a youth with Palm and Laurel girt,  
And now an old man shall I wait my fall?  
Oh when I think but on my triumphs past,  
The Consulships and Honours I have borne;  
The fame and fear where in great Pompey lived,  
Then doth my grieved Soul inform me this,  
My fall augmented by my former bliss.  Bru. 
Why do we use of virtues strength to vaunt,  
If every cross a Noble mind can daunt,  
we talk of courage, then, is courage known,  
When with mishap our state is overthrown:  
Never let him a soldiers Title bear.  
Which in the chiefest brunt doth shrink and fear,  
Thy former haps did Men thy virtue show,  
But now that fails them which thy virtue knew,  
Nor think this conquest shallbe Pompey's fall:  
Or that Pharsalia shall thine honour bury,  
Egypt shallbe unpeopled for thine aid.  
And coal-black Libyans, shall manure the ground  
In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men.  Pom. 
O second hope of sad oppressed Rome,  
In whom the ancient Brutus' virtue shines,  
That purchased first the Roman liberty,  
Let me embrace thee: live victorious youth,  
When death and angry fates shall call me hence,  
To free thy country from a tyrant's yoke.  
My harder fortune, and more cruel stars.  
Envied to me so great a happiness.  
Do not prolong my life with vain false hopes,  
To deep despair and sorrow I am vowed:  
Do not remove me from that settled thought,  
With hope of friends or aid of Ptolomey,  
Egypt and Libya at choice I have.  
But only which of them I'll make my grave.  Tit. 
'tis but discomfort which misgrieves thee this,  
Grief by despair seems greater than it is.  Bru. 
'tis womanish to wail and moan our grief.  
By Industry do wise men seek relief,  
If that our casting do fall out a miss,  
Our cunning play must then correct the dice.  Pom. 
Well if it needs must be then let me go,  
Flying for aid unto my foreign friends,  
And sue and bow, where erst I did command.  
He that goeth seeking of a Tyrant aid,  
Though free he went, a servant then is made.  
Take we our last farewell, then though with pain,  
Here three do part that ne'er shall meet again.  Exit Pompey at on door, Titinius at another. Brutus alone. 

ACTVS 1. SCENA 2.  Enter Caesar Caes. 
Follow your chase, and let your lightfoot steeds  
Flying as swift as did that winged horse  
That with strong feathered Pinions clove the Air,  
Overtake the coward flight of your base foe.  Bru. 
Do not withdraw thy mortal wounding blade,  
But sheath it Caesar in my wounded heart:  
Let not that heart that did thy Country wound  
Fear to lay Brutus bleeding on the ground.  
Thy fatal stroke of death shall more me glad,  
Than all thy proud and Pompous victories;  
My funeral Cypress, than thy Laurel Crown,  
My mournful Beer shall win more Praise and Fame  
Then thy triumphing Sun-bright Chariot.  
Here in these fatal fields let Brutus die,  
And bear so many Romans company.  Caesa. 
'twas not 'gainst thee this fatal blade was drawn  
Which can no more pierce Brutus' tender sides  
Then mine own heart, or ought then heart more dear,  
For all the wrongs thou didst, or strokes thou gav'st  
Caesar on thee will take no worse revenge,  
Then bid thee still command him and his state:  
True settled love can near be turned to hate.  Brut. 
To what a pitch would this man's virtues sore,  
Did not ambition clog his mounting fame,  
Caesar thy sword hath all bliss from me ta'en  
And givest me life where best were to be slain.  
O thou hast robbed me of my chiefest joy,  
And seek'st to please me with a babish toy.  Exit Brutus. Caes. 
Caesar Pharsalia doth thy conquest sound  
jove's welcome messenger fair Victory,  
Hath Crowned thy temples with victorious bay.  
And Io joyful, Io doth she sing  
And through the world thy lasting praises ring.  
But yet amidst thy grateful melody  
I hear a hoarse, and heavy doleful voice,  
Of my dear Country crying, that today  
My Glorious triumphs work her own decay.  
In which how many fatal strokes I gave,  
So many wounds her tender breast received.  
Here lieth one that's butchered by his Sire  
And here the Son was his old Father's death,  
Both slew unknowing, both unknown are slain,  
O that ambition should such mischief work  
Or mean Men die for great men's proud desire.   

ACTVS 1. SCENA 3.  Enter Anthony, Dolobella, Lord and others. An. 
From sad Pharsalia blushing all with blood,  
From deaths pale triumphs, Pompey overthrown,  
Romans in foreign soils, breathing their last,  
Revenge, strange wars and dreadful stratagems,  
we come to set the Laurel on thy head  
And fill thy ears with triumphs and with joys.  Dolo. 
As when that Hector from the Grecian camp  
With spoils of slaughtered Argians returned,  
The Trojan youths with crowns of conquering palm:  
The Phrygian Virgins with fair flowery wreaths  
Welcomed the hope, and pride of Ilium,  
So for thy victory and conquering acts  
we bring fair wreaths of Honour & renown,  
Which shall eternally thy head adorn.  Lord. 
Now hath thy sword made passage for thyself,  
To wade in blood of them that sought thy death,  
The ambitious rival of thine Honours high,  
Whose mightiness erst made him to be feared  
Now flies and is enforced to give thee place.  
Whilst thou remainst the conquering Hercules  
Triumphing in thy spoils and victories.  Caes. 
When Phoebus left fair Thetis watery couch,  
And peeping forth from out the golden gate  
Of his bright palace saw our battle ranked:  
Oft did he seek to turn his fiery steeds,  
Oft hid his face, and shunned such tragic sights.  
What stranger passest ever by this cost  
Thee this accursed soil distained with blood  
Not crystal rivers, are to quench thy thirst.  
For goring streams, their rivers clearness stains:  
Here are no hills wherewith to feed thine eyes,  
But heaped hills of mangled Carcases,  
Here are no birds to please thee with their notes:  
But ravenous Vultures, and night ravens horse.  Anto. 
What means great Caesar, droops our general,  
Or melts in womanish compassion:  
To see Pharsalia's fields to change their hew  
And silver streams be turned to lakes of blood?  
Why Caesar oft hath sacrificed in France,  
Millions of Souls, to Pluto's grisly dames:  
And made the changed coloured Rhine to blush,  
To bear his bloody burden to the sea.  
And whenas thou in maiden Albion shore  
The Roman, Aegle bravely didst advance,  
No hand paid greater tribute unto death,  
No heart with more courageous Noble fire  
And hope, did burn with glorious great intent.  
And now shall passion base that Noble mind,  
And weak events that courage overcome?  
Let Pompey proud, and Pompey's Complices  
Die on our swords, that did envy our lives,  
Let pale Tisiphone be cloyed with blood:  
And snaky furies quench their longing thirst,  
And Caesar live to glory in their end.  Caes. 
They say whenas the younger African,  
Beheld the mighty Carthage woeful fall:  
And saw her stately Towers to smoke from far,  
He wept, and princely tears ran down his cheeks.  
Let pity then and true compassion,  
Move us to rue no traitorous Carthage fall,  
No barbarous perjured enemies decay,  
But Rome our native Country, hapless Rome,  
Whose bow's to ungently we have pierced,  
Fair pride of Europe, Mistress of the world,  
Cradle of virtues, nurse of true renown,  
Whom jove hath placed in top of seven hills:  
That thou the lower worlds seven climes mightst rule.  
Thee the proud Parthian and the coal-black moor,  
The stern Tartarian, borne to manage arms,  
Doth fear and tremble at thy Majesty.  
And yet I bred and fostered in thy lap,  
Durst strive to overthrow thy Capitol:  
And thy high Turrets lay as low as hell.  Dolo. 
O Rome, and have the powers of Heaven decreed,  
whenas thy fame did reach unto the Sky,  
And the wide Ocean was thy empire's bounds,  
And thou enriched with spoils of all the world,  
Was waxen proud with peace and sovereign reign:  
That Civil wars should lose what Foreign won,  
And peace his joys, be turned to luckless broils.  Lord. 
O Pompey, cursed cause of civil war,  
Which of those hellborn stern Eumenides:  
Inflamed thy mind with such ambitious fire,  
As nought could quench it but thy country's blood.  Dolo. 
But this no while thy valour doth distain,  
Which found'st unsought for cause of civil broils,  
And fatal fuel which this fire inflamed.  Anto. 
Let then his death set period to this strife,  
Which was begun by his ambitious life.  Caes. 
The flying Pompey to Larissa hastes,  
And by Thessalian Temple shapes his course:  
Where fair Peneus tumbles up his waves,  
Him we'll pursue as fast as he us flies,  
Nor he though guarded with Numidian horse,  
Nor aided with the unresisted power:  
The Meroe, or seven mouthed Nile can yield:  
No not all Afrique armed in his defence  
Shall serve to shroud him from my fatal sword.  Exit.  

ACT. 1. SC. 4.  Enter Cato. Ca. 
O where is banished liberty exiled,  
To Afrique deserts or to Scythia rocks,  
Or whereas silver streaming Tanais is?  
Happy is India and Arabia blessed,  
And all the bordering regions upon Nile  
That never knew the name of Liberty,  
But we that boast of Brutes and Colatins,  
And glory we expelled proud Tarquin's name,  
Do grieve to lose, that we so long have held.  
Why reckon we our years by Consuls names:  
And so long ruled in freedom, now to serve?  
They lie that say in Heaven there is a power  
That for to wrack the sins of guilty men,  
Holds in his hand a fierce three-forked dart.  
Why would he throw them down on Oéta mount  
Or wound thee under ringing Rhodope,  
And not rain showers of his dead-doing darts,  
Furor in flame, and Sulphur's smothering heat  
Upon the wicked and accursed arms  
That cruel Romans 'gainst their Country bear.  
Rome ware thy fall: those prodigies foretold,  
When angry heavens did power down showers of blood  
And fatal Comets in the heavens did blaze,  
And all the Statues in the Temple blast,  
Did weep the loss of Roman liberty.  
Then if the Gods have destined thine end,  
Yet as a Mother having lost her Son,  
Cato shall wait upon thy tragic hearse,  
And never leave thy cold and bloodless corpse.  
I'll tune a sad and doleful funeral song,  
Still crying on lost liberties sweet name,  
Thy sacred ashes will I wash with tears,  
And thus lament my country's obsequies.   

ACT. 1. SC. 5.  Enter Pompey and Cornelia. Cor. 
O cruel Pompey whether wilt thou fly,  
And leave thy poor Cornelia thus forlorn,  
Is't our bad fortune or thy cruel will  
That still it severs in extremity.  
O let me go with thee, and die with thee,  
Nothing shall thy Cornelia grievous think  
That she endures for her sweet Pompey's sake.  Pom. 
'tis for thy weal and safety of thy life,  
Whose safety I prefer before the world,  
Because I love thee more than all the world,  
That thou (sweet love) shouldst here remain behind  
Till proof assureth Ptolemy's doubted faith.  Cor. 
O dearest, what shall I my safety call,  
That which is thrust in dangers harmful mouth?  
Looks not the thing so bad with such a name,  
Call it my death, my base, my woe my hell,  
That which endangers my sweet Pompey's life.  Pom. 
It is no danger (gentle love) at all,  
'tis but thy fear that doth it so miscall.  Cor. 
If't be no danger let me go with thee,  
And of thy safety a partaker be,  
Alas why wouldst thou leave me thus alone:  
Thinkst thou I cannot follow thee by Land  
That thus have followed thee over raging Seas,  
Or do I vary in inconstant hopes:  
O but think you my pleasure suckles is  
And I have made them more unfortunate.  
'tis I, 'tis I, have caused this overthrow,  
'tis my accursed stars that bode this ill,  
And those misfortunes to my princely love,  
Revenge thee Pompey, on this wicked brat,  
And end my woes by ending of my life,  Pom. 
What means my love to aggravate my grief,  
And torture my enough tormented Soul,  
With greater grievance than Pharsalian loss?  
Thy rented hair doth rent my heart in twain.  
And these fair Seas, that rain down showers of tears,  
Do melt my soul in liquid streams of sorrow.  
If that in Egypt any danger be,  
Then let my death procure thy sweet lives safety,  Cor. 
Can I be safe and Pompey in distress,  
Or may Cornelia survive they death,  
What danger ever happens to my Soul.  
What danger eke shall happen to my life,  
Nor Libyans quicksands, nor the barking gulf,  
Or gaping Scylla shall this Union part,  
But still I'll chain thee in my twining arms,  
And if I cannot live I'll die with thee.  Pom. 
O how thy love doth ease my grieved mind,  
Which bears a but then heavier than the Heavens,  
Under the which steel-shouldered Atlas groans.  
But now thy love doth hurt thyself and me,  
And thy to ardent strong affection,  
Hinders my settled resolution.  
Then by this love, and by these crystal eyes,  
More bright than are the Lamps of jove's high house,  
Let me in this (I fear) my last request.  
Not to endanger thy beloved life,  
But in this ship remain, and here await,  
How Fortune dealeth with our doubtful State,  Cor. 
Not so persuaded as conjured sweet love,  
By thy commanding meek petition.  
I cannot say I yield, yet am constrained,  
This never meeting parting to permit,  
Then go dear love, yet stay a little while,  
Some what I am sure, 'tis more I have to say,  
Nay nothing now but Heavens guide thy steps.  
Yet let me speak, why should we part so soon,  
Why is my talk tedious? may be 'tis the last.  
Do women leave: their husbands in such haste,  Pom. 
More faithful, than that fair deflowered dame,  
That sacrificed herself to chastity,  
And far more loving than the Charian Queen,  
That drank her Husbands never sundered heart.  
If that I die, get will it glad my soul,  
Which then shall feed on those Elysian joys,  
That in the sacred Temple of thy breast.  
My living memory shall shrined be.  
But if that envious fates should call thee hence,  
And Death with pale and meager look usurp,  
Upon those roseate lips, and coral cheeks,  
Then Air be turned, to poison to infect me,  
Earth gape and swallow him that heavens hate,  
Consume me Fire with thy devouring flames,  
Or Water drown, who else would melt in tears.  
But live, live happy still in safety live,  
Who safety only to my life can give.  Exit. Cor. 
O he is gone, go hie thee after him,  
My vow forbids, yet still my care is with thee,  
My cries shall wake the silver Moon by night,  
And with my tears I will salute the Moon.  
No day shall pass without my daily plaints,  
No hour without my prayers for thy return.  
My mind misgives me Pompey is betrayed.  
O Egypt do not rob me of my love.  
Why beareth Ptolemy so stern a look?  
O do not stain thy childish years with blood:  
Whilst Pompey flourished in his Fortune's pride,  
Egypt and Ptolemy were feign to serve  
And sue for grace to my distressed Lord:  
But little boots it, to record he was,  
To be is only that which Men respect,  
Go poor Cornelia wander by the shore  
And see the waters raging Billows swell,  
And beat with fury 'gainst the craggy rocks,  
To that compare thy strong tempestuous grief.  
Which fiercely rageth in thy feeble heart,  
Sorrow shuts up the passage of thy breath:  
And dries the tears that pity fain would shed,  
This only therefore this will I still cry,  
Let Pompey live although Cornelia die.  Exit.  

ACTVS. 1. SCENA. 6.  Enter Caesar, Cleopatra, Dolobella, Lord and others Caes. 
Thy sad complaints fair Lady cannot choose,  
But move a heart though made of Adamant,  
And draw to yield unto thy powerful plaint,  
I will replant thee in the Egyptian Throne  
And all thy wrongs shall Caesar's valour right,  
I'll pull thy crown from the usurper head,  
And make the Conquered Ptolomey to stoop,  
And fear by force to wrong a maiden Queen.  Cleo. 
Look as the Earth at her great loves approach.  
When golden tressed fair Hyperion's Son  
With those life-lending beams salutes his Spouse,  
Doth then cast of her morning widows weeds,  
And calleth her handmaid, forth her flowery fair,  
To clothe her in the beauty of the spring,  
And of fair primroses, and sweet violets,  
To make gay Garlands for to crown her head.  
So hath your presence, welcome and fair sight,  
That glads the world, comforts poor Egypt's Queen,  
Who begs for succour of that conquering hand,  
That as jove's Sceptre this our world doth sway.  Dolo. 
Who would refuse to aid so fair a Queen.  Lord. 
Base be the mind, that for so sweet a fair,  
Would not adventure more than Perseus did,  
whenas he freed the fair Andromeda.  Caesar. 
O how those lovely tyrannizing eyes,  
The graces' beauteous habitation,  
Where sweet desire, darts wounding shafts of love:  
Consume my heart with inward burning heat,  
Not only Egypt but all Africa,  
Will I subject to Cleopatra's name.  
Thy rule shall stretch from unknown Zanziber,  
Unto those Sands where high erected posts.  
Of great Alcides, do up hold his name,  
The sun burnt Indians, from the cast shall bring:  
Their precious store of pure refined gold,  
The labouring worm shall weave the Afrique twist,  
And to exceed the pomp of Persian Queen,  
The Sea shall pay the tribute of his pearls,  
For to adorn thy golden yellow locks,  
Which in their curled knots, my thoughts do hold,  
Thoughts captived to thy beauty's conquering power.  Anto. 
I marvel not at that which fables tell,  
How ravished Helen moved the angry Greeks,  
To undertake eleven years tedious siege,  
To reobtain a beauty so divine,  
When I beheld thy sweet composed face.  
O only worthy for whose matchless sake,  
Another siege, and new wars should arise,  
Hector be dragged about the Grecian camp,  
And Troy again consumed with Grecian fire.  Cleo. 
Great Prince, what thanks can Cleopatra give,  
Nought have poor Virgins to requite such good:  
My simple self and service then vouchsafe,  
And let the heavens, and he that all things sees.  
With equal eyes such merits recompense,  
I do not seek ambitiously to rule,  
And in proud Africa to monarchize.  
I only crave that what my father gave,  
Who in his last behest did dying, will,  
That I should jointly with my brother reign:  But. 
How sweet those words drop from those honey lips  
Which whilst she speaks they still each other kiss.  Caesa, 
Reign, ay, still reign in Caesar's conquered thoughts,  
There build thy palace, and thy sun-bright throne:  
There sway thy Sceptre, and with it beat down,  
Those traitorous thoughts (if any dare arise:)  
That will not yield to thy perfection,  
To chase thee flying Pompey have I cut,  
The great Ionian, and Egean seas:  
And dreadless past the toiling Hellespont,  
Famous for amorous Leander's death:  
And now by gentle Fortunes so am blessed,  
As to behold what mazed thoughts admire:  
Heavens wonder, Natures and Earth's Ornament,  
And gaze upon these fiery sun-bright eyes:  
The Heavenly spheres which Love and Beauty move,  
These Cheeks where lilies and red-roses strive,  
For sovereignty, yet both do equal reign:  
The dangling tresses of thy curled hair,  
Nets woven to each our frail and wandering thoughts:  
Thy beauty shining like proud Phoebus' face,  
When Ganges glittereth with his radiant beams  
He on his golden trapped Palfreys rides,  
That from their nostrils do the morning blow,  
Through heavens great pathway paved with shining (stars)  
Thou art the sized pole of my Souls joy,  
'bout which my restless thoughts are over turned:  
My Cynthia, whose glory never wanes,  
Guiding the Tide of mine affections:  
That with the change of thy imperious looks,  
Dost make my doubtful joys to ebb and slow.  Cleo. 
Might all the deeds thy hands had ere achieved,  
That make thy far extolled name to sound:  
From sunburnt East unto the Western Isles,  
Which great Neptunus foldeth in his arms,  
It shall not be the least to seat a Maid,  
And inthronize her in her native right.  Lord. 
What need you stand disputing on your right,  
Or proving title to the Egyptian Crown:  
Born to be Queen and Empress of the world.  An. 
On thy perfection let me ever gaze,  
And eyes now learn to tread a lovers maze,  
Here may you surfeit with delicious store,  
The more you see, desire to look the more:  
Upon her face a garden of delight,  
Exceeding far Adonis feigned Bower,  
Here stained white lilies spread their branches fair,  
Here lips send forth sweet Gillyflowers smell.  
And Damask-rose in her fair cheeks do bud,  
While beds of Violets still come between  
With fresh variety to please the eye,  
Nor need these flowers the heat of Phoebus' beams,  
They cherished are by virtue of her eyes.  
O that I might but enter in this bower,  
Or once attain the cropping of the flower.  Caes. 
Now wend we Lords to Alexandria,  
Famous for those wide wondered Pyramids.  
Whose towering tops do seem to threat the sky,  
And make it proud by presence of my love:  
Then Paphian Temples and Cytherian hills,  
And sacred gnidas' bonnet vail to it,  
A fairer saint than Venus there shall dwell.  Antho. 
Led with the lodestar of her looks, I go  
As crazed Bark is tossed in troubled Seas,  
Uncertain to arrive in wished port.  
ACT. 1. FINIS.    
Enter Discord. Flashes of fire. Antho. 
Now Caesar hath thy flattering Fortune heaped  
Those golden gifts and promised victories,  
By fatal signs at Rubicon foretold:  
Then triumph in thy glorious greatest pride,  
And boast thou cast the lucky Die so well,  
Now let the Triton that did sound alarm,  
In his shrill trump resound the victory,  
That Heaven and Earth may Echo of thy fame:  
Yet think in this thy Fortune's jollity.  
Though Caesar be as great as great may be,  
Yet Pompey once was even as great as he,  
And how he rode clad in Setorius spoils:  
And the Sicilian pirates overthrow.  
Ruling like Neptuned in the midland Seas,  
Who basely now by Land and Sea doth fly,  
The heavenly Rectors prosecuting wrath,  
Yet Sea nor Land can shroud him from this jar,  
O how it joys my discord thirsting thoughts,  
To see them weight, that whilom flowed in bliss.  
To see like Banners, unlike quarrels have.  
And Roman weapons sheathed in Roman blood,  
For this I left the deep Infernal shades  
And past the sad avernus ugly jaws,  
And in the world came I, being Discord hight,  
Discord the daughter of the grisly night.  
To make the world a hell of plagues and woes,  
'twas I that did the fatal Apple fling,  
Betwixt the three Idean goddesses,  
That so much blood of Greeks and Trojans spilled,  
'twas I that caused the deadly Thebans war.  
And made the brothers swell with endless hate.  
And now O Rome, woe, woe, to thee I cry  
Which to the world do bring all misery.  

ACTVS 2. SCENA 4.  Enter Achillas, and Sempronius. Ach. 
Here are we placed, by Ptolemy's command,  
To murder Pompey when he comes on shore,  
Then brave Sempronius prepare they self.  
To execute the charge thou hast in hand,  Sem. 
I am a Roman, and have often served,  
Under his colours, when in former state,  
Pompey hath been the General of the field,  
But cause I see that now the world is changed:  
And like wise feel some of King Ptolemy's gold.  
I'll kill him were he twenty Generals,  
And send him packing to his longest home  
I marvel of what metal was the French man made.  
Who when he should have stabbed Marius,  
They say he was astonished with his looks.  
Marius, had I been there, thou near hadst lived,  
To brag thee of thy seven Consulships.  Achil. 
Bravely resolved, Noble Sempronius,  
The damnedest villain that ere I heard speak:  
But great men still must have such instruments,  
To bring about their purpose, which once done,  
The deed they love, but do the doer hate:  
Thou shalt no less (stout Roman) be renowned,  
For being Pompey's Deathsman, then was he,  
That fired the fair Egyptian Goddess Church.  Sem. 
Nay that's all one, report say what she list,  
'tis for no shadows I adventure for:  
Here are the Crowns, here are the worldly goods,  
This between Princes doth contention bring:  
Brothers this sets at odds, turns love to hate;  
It makes the Son to wish his Father hanged  
That he thereby might revel with his bags:  
And did I know that in my Mother's womb,  
There lurked a hidden vain of Sacred gold,  
This hand this sword, should rape and rip it out.  Achil. 
Compassion would that greediness restrain.  Sem. 
I that's my fault, I am to compassionate,  
Why man, art thou a soldier and dost talk  
Of womanish pity and compassion?  
Men's eyes must millstones drop, when fools shed tears,  
But soft here's Pompey, I'll about my work  Enter Pompey. Pom. 
Trusting upon King Ptolemy's promised faith,  
And hoping succour, I am come to shore:  
In Egypt here a while to make abode.  Sem. 
Faith longer Pompey than thou dost expect.  Pom. 
See now world's Monarchs, whom your state makes (proud)  
That think your Honours to be permanent,  
Of Fortune's change see here a precedent,  
Who whilom did command, now must entreat  
And sue for that which to accept of late,  
Unto the giver was thought fortunate.  Sem. 
I pray thee Pompey do not spend thy breath,  
In reckoning up these rusty titles now,  
Which thy ambition graced thee with before,  
I must confess thou wert my General,  
But that cannot a vail to save thy life.  
Talk of thy Fortune while thou list,  
There is thy fortune Pompey in my fist.  Pom. 
O you that know what height of honour means,  
What 'tis for men that lulled in fortune's lap,  
Have climbed the highest top of sovereignty.  
From all that pomp to be cast headlong down,  
You may conceive what Pompey doth sustain,  
I was not wont to walk thus all alone,  
But to be met with troops of Horse and Men.  
With plays and pageants to be entertained,  
A courtly train in royal rich array,  
With spangled plumes, that danced in the air,  
Mounted on steeds, with brave Caparisons decked,  
That in their gates did seem to scorn the Earth.  
Was wont my entertainment beautify,  
But now thy coming is in meaner sort,  
They by thy fortune will thy welcome rate.  Sem. 
What dost thou for such entertainment look,  
Pompey howe'er thy coming hither be,  
I have provided for thy going hence.  Achi. 
I will draw near, and with fair pleasing show,  
Welcome great Pompey as the Siren doth  
The wandering shipman with her charming song.  Pom. 
O how it grieves a noble haughty mind,  
Framed up in honours uncontrolled school,  
To serve and sue, who erst did rule and sway!  
What shall I go and stoop to Ptolomey,  
Nought to a noble mind more grief can bring  
Then be a beggar where thou wert a King,  Ach. 
welcome ashore most great and gracious prince  
Welcome to Egypt and to Ptolomey.  
The King my Master is at hand my Lord,  
To gratulate your safe arrival here.  Sem. 
This is the King, and here is the Gentleman,  
Which must thy coming gratulate a non,  Pom. 
Thanks worthy Lord unto your King and you,  
It joys me much that in extremity,  
I found so sure a friend as Ptolomey,  Sem. 
Now is the date of thy proud life expired,  
To which my poniard must a full point put,  
Pompey from Ptolomey I come to thee,  
From whom a presant and a gift I bring,  
This is the gift and this my message is  Stab him Pom. 
O Villain thou hast slain thy General,  
And with thy base hand gored my royal heart.  
Well I have lived till to that height I came,  
That all the world did tremble at my name,  
My greatness then by fortune being envied,  
Stabbed by a murderous villains hand I died.  Ach. 
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 deserved deed,  
Whom we'll present with this most pleasing gift,  Sem. 
Lo you my masters, he that kills but one,  
Is straight a Villain and a murderer called,  
But they that use to kill men by the great,  
And thousands slay through their ambition,  
They are brave champions, and stout warriors called,  
'tis like that he that steals a rotten sheep  
That in a dich would else have cast his hide,  
He for his labour hath the halter's hire.  
But Kings and mighty Princes of the world,  
By letter pattens rob both Sea and Land.  
Do not then Pompey of thy murder plain,  
Since thy ambition half the world hath slain.   

ACTVS 2. SCENA. 2.  Enter Cornelia. Corne. 
O traitorous villains, hold your murdering hands,  
Or if that needs they must be washed in blood,  
Imbrue them here, here in Cornelia's breast.  
Ay me as I stood looking from the Ship  
(Accursed ship that did not sink and drown:  
And so have saved me from so loathed a sight)  
Thee to behold what did betide my Lord,  
My Pompey dear (nor Pompey now nor Lord)  
I saw those villains that but now were here:  
Bucher my love and then with violence,  
To draw his dear beloved Body hence;  
What dost thou stand to play the Oratrix,  
And tell a tale of thy dear husband's death?  
Doth Pompey, doth thy love move thee no more?  
Go cursed Cornelia rent thy wretched hair,  
Drown blubber cheeks in seas of saltest tears.  
And if, it be true that sorrows feeling power,  
Could turn poor Niobe into a weeping stone  
O let me weep a like, and like stone be,  
And you poor lights, that saw this tragic sight,  
Be blind and punished with eternal night,  
Unhappy long to speak, be near so bold  
Since that thou this so heavy tale hast told.  
These are but womanish exclamations  
Light sorrow makes such lamentations,  
Pompey no words my true grief can declare,  
This for thy love shallbe my best welfare.  Stab herself.  

ACT. 2. SCE. 3.  Enter Caesar, Cleopatra, Anthony, Dolobella, a Lord, Caesar. 
There stern Achilles and Fortunius lie,  
Traitorous Sempronius and proud Ptolomey,  
Go plead your cause fore the angry Rhadamant,  
And tell him why you basely Pompey slew.  
And let your guilty blood appease his Ghost,  
That now sits wandering by the Stygian banks.  
Unworthy sacrifice to quite his worth,  
For Pompey though thou wert mine enemy,  
And vain ambition moved us to this strife;  
Yet now in death when strife and envy cease.  
Thy princely virtues and thy noble mind,  
Move me to rue thy undeserved death,  
That found a greater danger than it fled;  
Unhappy man to scape so many wars,  
And to protract thy glorious day so long,  
Here for to perish in a barbarous soil,  
And end lives date stabbed by a Bastard's hand,  
But yet with honour shalt thou be Entombed,  
I will embalm thy body with my tears,  
And put thy ashes in an Urn of gold,  
And build with marble a deserved grave.  
Whose worth indeed a Temple ought to have.  Dolo. 
See how compassion draws forth Princely tears  
And Virtue weeps her enemy's funeral,  
So sorrowed the mighty Alexander,  
When Bessus' hand caused Darius to die.  Ant. 
These grieved sorrowing Princes do with me.  
jointly agree in Contrariety,  
Alack we mourn, grieved is our mind alike,  
Our gate is discontented, heavy our looks,  
Our sorrows all a like, but dislike cause.  
Their foe is their griefs causer which my friend,  
It is the loss of one that makes them wail,  
But I, that one there is a cruel one,  
Do wail and grieve and unregarded moan.  
Fair beams cast forth from these dismayful eyes,  
Chain my poor heart, in love and sorrows gives,  Cleo. 
Forget sweet Prince these sad perlexed thoughts,  
Withdraw thy mind in cloudy discontent,  
And with Egyptian pleasures feed thine eyes,  
Wilt thou behold sepulchres of Kings,  
And Monuments that speak the workmen's praise?  
I'll bring thee to Great Alexander's Tomb,  
Where he, whom all the world could not suffice,  
In bare six foot of Earth, entombed lies,  
And show thee all the cost and curious art,  
Which either Cleops or our Memphis boast:  
Would you command a banquet in the Court,  
I'll bring you to a Royal golden bower,  
Fairer than that wherein great jove doth sit,  
And heaves up boles of Nectar to his Queen,  
A stately Palace, whose fair double gates:  
Are wrought with garnished Carved ivory,  
And stately pillars of pure bullion framed.  
With Orient Pearls and Indian stones embossed,  
With golden Roofs that glister like the Sun,  
shallbe prepared to entertain my Love:  
Or wilt thou see our Academic Schools,  
Or hear our Priests to reason of the stars,  
Hence Plato fetched his deep Philosophy:  
And here in Heavenly knowledge they excel.  Antho. 
More than most fair, another Heaven to me,  
The stars where on I'll gaze shallbe thy face,  
Thy moral deeds my sweet Philosophy,  
Venus the muse whose aid I must implore:  
O let me profit in this study best,  
For Beauty's scholar I am now professed.  Lord. 
See how this fair Egyptian Sorceress,  
Enchants these Noble warriors manlike minds,  
And melts their hearts in love and wantonness.  Caes. 
Most glorious Queen, whose cheerful smiling (words)  
Expel these clouds that over cast my mind.  
Caesar will joy in Cleopatra's joy,  
And think his fame no whit disparaged,  
To change his arms, and deadly sounding drums,  
For loves sweet Lays, and Lydian harmony,  
And now hang up these Idle instruments.  
My warlike spear and uncontrolled crest:  
My mortal wounding sword and silver shield,  
And under thy sweet banners bear the brunt,  
Of peaceful wars and amorous Alarms:  
Why Mars himself his bloody rage allayed,  
Dallying in Venus' bed hath often played,  
And great Alcides, when he did return:  
From Juno's tasks, and Nemean victories,  
From monsters fell, and Nomean toils:  
Reposed himself in Deianira's arms.  
Here will I pitch the pillars of my fame,  
Here the non vltra of my labours write,  
And with these Cheeks of Roses, locks of Gold,  
End my lives date, and travails manifold.  Dolo. 
How many lets do hinder virtuous minds,  
From the pursuit of honours due reward,  
Besides Charybdis, and fell Scylla's spite:  
More dangerous Circe and Calipso's cup,  
Then pleasant gardens of Alcionus:  
And thousand lets voluptuousness doth offer.  Caes. 
I will regard no more these murderous spoils,  
And bloody triumphs that I liked of late:  
But in loves pleasures spend my wanton days,  
I'll make thee garlands of sweet smelling flowers,  
And with fair rosal Chaplets crown thy head,  
The purple Hyacinth of Phoebus' Land:  
Fresh Amarinthus that doth never die,  
And fair Narcissus dear resplendent shores,  
And Violets of Daffodils so sweet,  
Shall Beautify the Temples of my Love,  
Whilst I will still gaze on thy beauteous eyes,  
And with Ambrosean kisses bathe thy Cheeks.  Cleo. 
Come now fair Prince, and feast thee in our Courts  
Where liberal Caeres, and Liaeus fat,  
Shall power their plenty forth and fruitful store,  
The sparkling liquour shall o'erflow his banks:  
And Meroé learn to bring forth pleasant wine,  
Fruitful Arabia, and the furthest Ind,  
Shall spend their treasuries of Spicery,  
With Nardus Coranets we'll gird our heads:  
And all the while melodious warbling notes,  
Passing the sevenfold harmony of Heaven:  
Shall seem to ravish our enchanted thoughts,  
Thus is the fear of unkind Ptolomey,  
Changed by thee to feast in jollity:  Antho. 
O how mine ears suck up her heavenly words,  
The whilst mine eyes do prey upon her face:  Caes. 
Wind we then Anthony with this Royal Queen,  
This day we'll spend in mirth and banqueting.  Antho. 
Had I Queen, Juno's herdsman's hundred eyes,  
To gaze upon these two bright Suns of hers:  
Yet would they all be blinded instantly.  Caes. 
What hath some Melancholy discontent,  
o'ercome thy mind with troubled passions.  Ant. 
Yet being blinded with the Sunny beams,  
Her beauty's pleasing colours would restore,  
Decayed sight with fresh variety.  Lord. 
Lord Anthony what means this troubled mind,  
Caesar invites thee to the royal feast,  
That fair Queen Cleopatra hath prepared.  Antho. 
Pardon me worthy Caesar and you Lords,  
In not attending your most gracious speech  
Thoughts of my Country, and return to Rome,  
Somewhat distempered my busy head.  Caes. 
Let no such thoughts distemper now thy mind,  
This day to Bacchus will we consecrate,  
And in deep goblets of the purest wine,  
Drink healths unto our several friends at home.  Antho. 
It of my Country or of Rome I thought,  
'twas that I never meant for to come there,  
But spend my life in this sweet paradise.  Exeunt  

ACT. 2. SCE. 4.  Enter Cicero, Brutus, Casca, Camber, Trebonius. Cice. 
Most prudent heads, that with your counsels wise,  
The pillars of the mighty Rome sustain,  
You see how civil broils have torn our state:  
And private strife hath wrought a public woe,  
Thessalia boasts that she hath seen our fall,  
And Rome that whilom wont to tyrannize,  
And in the necks of all the world hath ranged,  
Losing her rule, to serve is now constrained,  
Pompey the hope and stay of Commonweal,  
Whose virtues promised Rome security  
Now flies distressed, disconsolate, forlorn,  
Reproach of Fortune, and the victor's scorn.  Caes. 
What now is left for wretched Rome to hope,  
But in laments and bitter future woe,  
To weigh the downfall of her former pride:  
Again Porsenna brings in Tarquin's names,  
And Rome again doth smoke with furious flames.  
In Pompey's fall we all are overthrown,  
And subject made to conqueror Tyranny.  Bru. 
Most Noble Cicero and you Roman Peers,  
Pardon the author of unhappy news,  
And then prepare to hear my tragic tale.  
With that same look, that great Atrides stood,  
At cruel altar stained with daughter's blood,  
When Pompey fled pursuing Caesar's sword,  
And thought to shun his following destiny.  
And then began to think on many a friend,  
And many a one recalled he to mind  
Who in his Fortune's pride did leave their lives,  
And vowed service at his princely feet,  
From out the rest, the young Egyptian King,  
Whose Father of an Exiled banished man  
He seated had in throne of Majesty,  
Him chose, to whom he did commit his life,  
(But O, who doth remember good-turn past)  
The Rising Sun, not Setting, doth men please,  
To ill committed was so great a trust,  
Unto so base a Fortune favouring mind.  
For he the conqueror's favour to obtain,  
By Treason caused great Pompey to be slain:  Casca. 
O damned deed.  Cam. 
O Traitorous Ptolomey.  Tre. 
O most unworthy and ungrateful fact.  Cum. 
What plagues may serve to expiate this act,  
The rolling stone or ever-turning wheel,  
The quenchless flames of fiery Phlegeton,  
Or endless thirst of which the Poets talk,  
Are all too gentle for so wild a deed.  Cas. 
Well did the Sybils unrespected verse.  
Bid thee beware of Crocodilish Nile,  Ter. 
And art thou in a barbarous soil betrayed,  
Defrauded Pompey of thy funeral rites,  
There none could weep upon thy funeral hearse,  
None could thy Consulships and triumphs tell,  
And in thy death set fourth thy living praise,  
None would erect to thee a sepulchre.  
Or put thine ashes in a precious urn,  Cice. 
Peace Lords lament not noble Pompey's death,  
Nor think him wretched, 'cause he wants a Tomb,  
Heaven covers him whom Earth denies a grave:  
Think you a heap of stones could him enclose,  
Who in the Ocean's circuit buried is,  
And every place where Roman names are heard,  
The world is his grave, where living fame doth blaze,  
His funeral praise through his immortal trump,  
And o'er his tomb virtue and honour sits,  
With rented hear and eyes besprent with tears,  
And wail and weep their dear son Pompey's death,  Bru. 
But now my Lords for to augment this grief,  
Caesar the senate's deadly enemy,  
Aims eke to us, and means to triumph here,  
Upon poor conquered Rome and common wealth,  Cas. 
This was the end at which he always aimed,  Tre. 
Then end all hope of Romans liberty,  
Rise noble Roman, rise from rotten Tombs,  
And with your sword recover that again:  
With your brave prows won, our baseness lost,  Cic. 
Renowned Lords content your troubled minds,  
Do not add Fuel to the conquerors fire.  
Which once inflamed will borne both Rome and us.  
Caesar although of high aspiring thoughts,  
And uncontrolled ambitious Majesty,  
Yet is of nature fair and courteous,  
You see he cometh conqueror of the East,  
Clad in the spoils of the Pharsalian fields,  
Than we unable to resist such power:  
By gentle peace and meek submission,  
Must seek to pacify the victor's wrath.  Exeunt.  

ACT. 2. SCE. 5.  Enter Cato Senior, and Cato junior. Cat. Sen. 
My Son thou seest how all are overthrown,  
That sought their country's freedom to maintain,  
Egypt forsakes us, Pompey found his grave,  
Where he most succour did expect to have:  
Scipio is overthrown and with his hapless fall,  
Afrique to us doth former aid denay,  
O who will help men in adversity:  
Yet let us show in our declining state,  
That strength of mind, that virtues constancy,  
That erst we did in our felicity,  
Though Fortune fails us let's not fail ourselves,  
Remember boy thou art a Roman borne,  
And Cato's Son, of me do virtue learn;  
Fortune of others, above allthings see  
Thou prize thy country's love and liberty,  
All blessings Fathers to their Sons can wish  
heavens power on thee, and now my son withdraw  
thyself a while and leave me to my book.  Cat. Iun. 
What means my Father by this solemn leave?  
First he remembered me of my Fortune's change,  
And then more earnestly did me exhort  
To Country's love, and constancy of mind,  
Than he was wont: somewhat's the cause,  
But what I know not, O I fear I fear,  
His to courageous heart that cannot bear  
The thrall of Rome and triumph of his foe,  
By his own hand threats danger to his life,  
howe'er it be at hand I will abide,  
Waiting the end of this that shall betide.  Exit. Cato Senior with a book in his hand. Cato Sen. 
Plato that promised immortality,  
Doth make my soul resolve itself to mount,  
Unto the bower of those Celestial joys,  
Where freed from loathed Prison of my soul,  
In heavenly notes to Phoebus which shall sing:  
And Pean Io, Pean loudly ring.  
Then fail not hand to execute this deed,  
Nor faint nor heart for to command my hand,  
Waver not mind to counsel this resolve,  
But with a courage and thy lives last act,  
Now do I give thee Rome my last farewell.  
Who cause thou fearest ill do therefore die,  
O talk not now of cannas' overthrow,  
And raze out of thy lasting Calendars,  
Those bloody songs of hilias' dismal sight:  
And note with black, that black and cursed day,  
When Caesar conquered in Pharsalia,  
Yet will not I his conquest glorify:  
My overthrow shall near his triumph grace,  
For by my death to the world I'll make that known,  
No hand could conquer Cato but his own.  stabs himself. Enter Cato junior running to him. Ca. Iun. 
O this it was my mind told me before,  
What means my Father, why with naked blade,  
Dost thou assault, that faithful princely hand:  
And mak'st the base Earth to drink thy Noble blood,  
be not more stern, and cruel 'gainst thyself,  
Than thy most hateful enemies would be,  
No Parthian, Gaul, moor, no not Caesar's self,  
Would with such cruelty thy worth repay,  
O stay thy hand, give me thy fatal blade:  
Which turns his edge and waxeth blunt to wound,  
A breast so fraught with virtue excellent.  Ca. Seni. 
Why dost thou let me of my firm resolve,  
Unkind boy hinderer of thy Father's joy,  
Why dost thou slay me, or wilt thou betray  
Thy Father's life unto his foe-men's hands,  
And yet I wrong thy faith, and love too much,  
In thy soul's kindness, 'tis thou art unkind.  Cat. Iun. 
If for yourself you do this life reject,  
Yet you your Sons and Countries: sake respect,  
Rob not my young years of so sweet a stay,  
Nor take from Rome the pillar of her strength.  Cat. Sene. 
Although I die, yet do I leave behind,  
My virtues favour to be thy youth's guide:  
But for my Country, could my life it profit,  
I'll not refuse to live that died for it,  
Now doth but one small snuff of breath remain:  
And that to keep, should I mine Honour stain?  Cat. Iuni. 
Where you do strive to show your virtue most,  
There more you do disgrace it Cowards use,  
To shun the woes and troubles of this life:  
Basely to fly to deaths safe sanctuary,  
When constant virtues doth the hottest brunts,  
Of griefs assaults unto the end endure.  Ca. Seni. 
Thy words prevail, come lift me up my Son,  
And call some help to bind my bleeding wounds.  Cat. Iuni. 
Father I go with a more willing mind,  
Then did Aeneas when from Trojan fire,  
He bore his Father, and did so restore:  
The greatest gift he had received before.  Exit. Cat. Seni. 
Now have I freed me of that hurtful Love,  
Which interrupted my resolved will,  
Which all the world can never stay nor change:  
Caesar whose rule commands both Sea and Land,  
Is not of power to hinder this weak hand,  
And time succeeding shall behold that I  
Although not live, yet died courageously,  stab himself. Enter Cato junior. Ca. Iuni. 
O haste thou thus to thine own harm deceived me  
Well I perceive thy Noble dauntless heart:  
Because it would not bear the conqueror's insolence,  
Used on itself this cruel violence,  
I know not whether I should more lament,  
That by thine own hand thou thus slaughtered art,  
Or joy that thou so nobly didst depart.  Exit. 
FINIS. ACTVS. 2.    
Enter Discord. Dis. 
Now Caesar rides triumphantly through Rome,  
And decks the Capitol with Pompey's spoil:  
Ambition now doth virtues seat usurp,  
Than thou Revengeful great Adastria Queen.  
Awake with horror of thy dubbing drum,  
And call the snaky furies from below,  
To dash the joy of their triumphing pride,  
Erinys kindle now thy Stygian brands,  
In discontented Brutus boiling breast,  
Let Caesar die a bleeding sacrifice,  
Unto the Soul of thy dead Country Rome.  
Why sleepest thou Cassius? wake thee from thy dream:  
And yet thou nought dost dream but blood and death.  
For dreadful visions do affright thy sleep.  
And howling Ghosts with ghastly horrors cry,  
By Cassius' hand must wicked Caesar die,  
Now Rome cast of thy gaudy painted robes  
And clothe thyself in sable coloured weeds,  
Change thy vain triumphs into funeral pomps,  
And Caesar cast thy Laurel crown apart,  
And bind thy temples with sad Cypress tree.  
Of wars thus peace ensues, of peace more harms,  
Then erst was wrought by tragic wars alarms,  Exit. 

ACT. 3. SCE. 1.  Enter Cassius. Cas. 
Hark how Caesarians with resounding shouts,  
Tell heavens of their pomps and victories,  
Caesar that long in pleasures idle lap,  
And dalliance vain of his Proud Courtesan,  
Had Lulled his stern and bloody thoughts asleep,  
Now in Rome streets o'er Romans come to triumph,  
And to the Romans shows those trophies sad,  
Which from the Romans he with blood did get:  
The Tyrant mounted in his golden chair,  
Rides drawn with milk white palfreys in like pride,  
As Phoebus from his Oriental gate,  
Mounted upon the fiery Phlegethon's backs.  
Comes prancing forth, shaking his dewy locks:  
Caesar thou art in glories chiefest pride,  
Thy son is mounted in the highest point:  
Thou placed art in top of fortune's wheel,  
Her wheel must turn, thy glory must eclipse,  
Thy Sun descend and lose his radiant light,  
And if none be, whose countries ardent love,  
And loss of Roman liberty can move,  
I'll be the man that shall this task perform.  
Cassius hath vowed it to dead Pompey's soul,  
Cassius hath vowed it to afflicted Rome,  
Cassius hath vowed it, witness Heaven and Earth,  Exit  

ACTVS 3. SCENA 2.  Enter Caesar, Antony, Dolobella, Lords, two Romans, & others Caesar. 
Now have I shaked of these womanish links,  
In which my captived thoughts were chained afore,  
By that fair charming Circe's wounding look,  
And now like that same ten years traveller,  
Leaving behind me all my troubles past.  
I come awaited with attending fame,  
Who through her shrill trump doth my name resound,  
And makes proud Tiber and Lygurian Poe,  
(Yet a sad winter of the sun-gods loss,)  
Bear my name's glory to the Ocean main,  
Which to the world's end shall it bound it again,  
As from Phaegiean fields the King of Gods,  
With conquering spoils and Tropheus proud returned,  
When great Typheus fell by thundering darts,  
And rod away with their Celestial troops,  
In greatest pride through heavens smooth paved way,  
So shall the Pompous glory of my train,  
Daring to match old Saturn's kingly Son,  
Call down these golden lamps from the bright sky,  
And leave Heaven blind, my greatness to admire.  
This laurel garland in fair conquest made,  
Shall stain the pride of Ariadne's crown,  
Clad in the beauty of my glorious lamps,  
Cassiopea leave thy starry chair,  
And on my Sun-bright Chariot wheels attend,  
Which in triumphing pomp doth Caesar bear.  
To Earth's astonishment, and amaze of Heaven:  
Now look proud Rome from thy sevenfold seat,  
And see the world thy subject, at thy feet,  
And Caesar ruling over all the world.  Dolo. 
Now let us cease to boast of Romulus,  
First author of high Rome and Romans name.  
Nor talk of Scaurus, worthy Africans,  
The scourge of Libya, and of Carthage pride,  
Nor of unconquered Paulus dauntless mind,  
Since Caesar's glory them exceeds as far  
As shining Phebe doth the dimmest star.  Ant. 
Like as the Shipman that hath lost the star.  
By which his doubtful ship he did direct,  
Wanders in darkness, and in Cloudy night,  
So having lost my star, my Governess.  
Which did direct me, with her Sun-bright ray,  
In grief I wander and in sad dismay:  
And though of triumphs and of victories,  
I do the outward signs and Trophies bear,  
Yet see mine inward mind under that face,  
Whose colours to these Triumphs is disgrace.  Lord. 
As when from vanquished Macedonia,  
Triumphing over King Persius' overthrow,  
Conquering Aemelius, in great glory came.  
Showing the world's spoils which he had bereft,  
From the successors of great Alexander,  
With such high pomp, yea greater victories,  
Caesar triumphing comes into fair Rome,  1. Rom. 
In this one Champion all is comprehended,  
Which ancient times in several men commended,  
Alcides' strength, Achilles' dauntless heart,  
Great Phillip's Son by magnanimity.  
Stern Pyrrhus' valour, and great Hector's might,  
And all the prows, that either Greece or Troy,  
Brought forth in that same ten years Trojans war.  2. Rom. 
Fair Rome great monument of Romulus.  
Thou mighty seat of consuls and of Kings:  
Over-victorious now Earth's Conqueror,  
Welcome thy valiant son that to thee brings,  
Spoils of the world, and exequies of Kings.  Caesar. 
The conquering Issue of immortal jove.  
Which in the Persian spoils first fetch his fame.  
Then through Hydaspes, and the Caspian waves,  
Unto the sea unknown his praise did propagate,  
Must to my glory veil his conquering crest:  
The Lybick Sands, and Afrique Sirts he passed.  
Bactrians and Zogdians, known but by their names,  
Whereby his arms resistless, powers subdued,  
And Ganges streams congealed with Indian blood,  
Could not transport his burden to the sea.  
But these near learned at Mars his games to play,  
Nor tossed these bloody balls, of dread and death:  
Arar and proud Saramna speaks my praise,  
Rohdan's shrill Tritons through their brazen trumps,  
Echo my fame against the Gallian Towers,  
And Isis wept to see her daughter Thames.  
Change her clear crystal, to vermilion sad,  
The big bond German, and Helvetian stout,  
Which well have learned to toss a tusked spear,  
And well can curb a noble stomached horse,  
Can Caesar's valour witness to their grief  
juba the mighty Afrique Potentate,  
That with his coal-black Negroes to the field,  
Backed with Numidian and Getulian horse,  
Hath felt the puissance of a Roman sword.  
I entered Asia with my banners spread,  
Displayed the eagle on the Euxin sea:  
By jason first, and venturous Argo cut,  
And in the rough Cimmerian Bosphorus:  
A heavy witness of Pharnaces flight,  
And now am come to triumph here in Rome,  
With greater glory than ere Roman did.  Exeunt. Sound drums and Trumpets amain. Enter Anthony. Antho. 
Alas these triumphs move not me at all,  
But only do renew remembrance sad,  
Of her triumphing and imperious looks,  
Which is the Saint and Idol of my thoughts:  
First was I wounded by her piercing eye:  
Next prisoner ta'en by her captiving speech,  
And now she triumphs o'er my conquered heart,  
In Cupid's Chariot riding in her pride,  
And leads me captive bound in Beauty's bonds:  
Caesar's lip-love, that never touched his heart,  
By present triumph and the absent fire,  
Is now waxed could; but mine that was more deep,  
Engraven in the marble of my breast,  
Nor time nor Fortune ere can raze it out.  Enter Anthony's bonus genius. Gen. 
Anthony, base female Anthony,  
Thou woman's soldier, fit for night's assaults,  
Hast thou so soon forgot the discipline,  
And wilsome tasks thy youth was trained to,  
Thy soft down Pillow, was a helm of steel:  
The could damp earth, a bed to ease thy toil,  
affrighted slumbers were thy golden sleeps:  
Hunger and thirst thy sweetest delicates,  
Stern horror, ghastly wounds, pale grisly death:  
Thy wind depressing pleasures and delights,  
And now so soon hath on enchanted face,  
These manly labours lulled in drowsy sleep:  
The Gods (whose messenger I here do stand)  
Will not then drown thy fame in Idleness:  
Yet must Philippi see thy high exploits,  
And all the world ring of thy Victories.  Antho. 
Say what thou art, that in this dreadful sort  
Forbid'st me of my Cleopatra's love.  Gen. 
I am thy bonus Genius, Anthony,  
Which to thy dull ears this do prophesy:  
That fatal face which now doth so bewitch thee,  
Like to that vain unconstant Greekish dame,  
Which made the stately Ilian towers to smoke,  
Shall thousand bleeding Romans lay one ground:  
Hymen in sable not in saffron robes,  
Instead of rounds shall doleful dirges sing.  
For nuptial tapers, shall the furies bear,  
Blue-burnng torches to increase your fear:  
The bridegrooms skull shall make the bridal bonds:  
And hellborn hags shall dance an Antic round,  
While Hecate Hymen (heu, heu) Hymen cries,  
And now methinks I see the seas blue face:  
Hidden with ships, and now the trumpets sound,  
And weak Canopus with the eagle strives,  
Neptune amazed at this dreadful sight:  
Calls blue sea Gods for to behold the fight,  
Glaucus and Panopea, Proteus old,  
Who now for fear changeth his wonted shape,  
Thus your vain love which with delight begun:  
In Idle sport shall end with blood and shame.  Exit. Antho. 
What waste my Genius that me threatened thus?  
They say that from our birth he doth preserve:  
And on me will he power these miseries?  
What burning torches, what alarms of war,  
What shames did he to my loves prophesy?  
O no he comes as winged mercury,  
From his great Father jove, t' Anchises son  
To warn him leave the wanton dalliance,  
And charming pleasures of the Tyrian Court,  
Then wake the Anthony from this idle dream,  
Cast of these base effeminate passions:  
Which melt the courage of thy manlike mind,  
And with thy sword receive thy sleeping praise.  Exit.  

ACT. 3. SC. 3.  Enter Brutus. Bru. 
How long in base ignoble patience,  
Shall I behold my country's woeful fall,  
O you brave Romans, and amongst the rest  
Most Noble Brutus, fair befall your souls:  
Let Peace and Fame your Honoured graves await,  
Who through such perils, and such tedious wars,  
Won your great labours prize sweet liberty,  
But we that with our life did freedoms take,  
And did no sooner Men, than freemen, breath:  
To lose it now continuing so long,  
And with such laws, such vows, such oaths confirmed  
Can nothing but disgrace and shame expect:  
But soft what see I written on my seat,  
O utinam Brute viveres.  
What meaneth this, thy courage dead,  
But stay, read forward, Brute mortuus es.  
I thou art dead indeed, thy courage dead  
Thy care and love thy dearest Country dead,  
Thy wonted spirit and Noble stomach dead.  Enter Cassius. Cassi. 
The times draw near by gracious heavens assigned  
When Philip's Son must fall in Babylon,  
In his triumphing proud presumption:  
But see where melancholy Brutus walks,  
Whose mind is hammering on no mean conceit:  
Then sound him Cassius, see how he is inclined,  
How fares young Brutus in this tottering state.  Bru. 
even as an idle gazer, that beholds,  
His country's wracks and cannot succour bring.  Cassi. 
But will Brute always in this dream remain,  
And not be moved with his country's moan.  Bru. 
O that I might in Lethe's endless sleep,  
And near awaking pleasant rest of death  
Close up mine eyes, that I no more might see,  
Poor Rome's distress and country's misery.  Casi. 
No Brutus live, and wake thy sleepy mind,  
Stir up those dying sparks of honours fire,  
Which in thy gentle breast wear wont to flame:  
See how poor Rome oppressed with country's wrongs,  
Implores thine aid, that bred thee to that end,  
Thy kinsman's soul from heaven commands thine aid:  
That lastly must by thee receive his end,  
Then purchase honour by a glorious death,  
Or live renowned by ending Caesar's life.  Bru. 
I can no longer bear the tyrants pride.  
I cannot hear my Country cry for aid,  
And not be moved with her piteous moan,  
Brutus thy soul shall never more complain:  
That from thy lineage and most virtuous stock,  
A bastard weak degenerate branch is borne,  
For to distain the honour of thy house.  
No more shall now the Romans call me dead,  
I'll live again and rouse my sleepy thoughts:  
And with the tyrants death begin this life.  
Rome now I come to rear thy states decayed,  
When or this hand shall cure thy fatal wound,  
Or else this heart by bleeding on the ground.  Cas. 
Now heaven I see applauds this enterprise,  
And Rhadamanth into the fatal Urn,  
That loatheth death, hath thrust the tyrants name,  
Caesar the life that thou in blood hast led:  
Shall heap a bloody vengeance on thine head.  Exeum.  

ACT. 2. SCE. 4.  Enter Caesar, Anthony Dolobella, Lords, and others. Caes. 
Now servile Pharthia proud in Roman spoil,  
Shall pay her ransom unto Caesar's Ghost:  
Which unrevenged roves by the Stygian strand,  
Exclaiming on our sluggish negligence.  
Leave to lament brave Romans, lo I come,  
Like to the God of battle, mad with rage,  
To die their rivers with vermilion red:  
I'll fill Armenians' plains and Medians hills,  
With carcases of bastard Scythian brood,  
And there proud Princes will I bring to Rome,  
Chained in fetters to my chariot wheels:  
Desire of fame and hope of sweet revenge,  
Which in my breast hath kindled such a flame,  
As nor Euphrates, nor sweet Tiber's stream,  
Can quench or stack this fervent boiling heat:  
These conquering soldiers that have followed me,  
From vanquished France to sunburnt Meroe,  
Matching the best of Alexander's troops.  
Shall with their looks put Parthian foes to flight,  
And make them twice turn their deceitful looks,  Ant. 
The restless mind that harbours sorrowing thoughts,  
And is with child of noble enterprise,  
Doth never cease from honours toilsome task,  
Till it brings forth Eternal glories brood.  
So you fair branch of virtues great descent,  
Now having finished Civil wars sad broils,  
Intend by Parthian triumphs to enlarge,  
Your countries limits, and your own renown,  
But cause in sibyl's civil writs we find,  
None but a King that conquest can achieve,  
Both for to crown your deeds with due reward,  
And as auspicious signs of victory.  
we here present you with this Diadem,  Lord. 
And even as kings were banished Rome's high throne  
Cause their base vice, her honour did distain,  
So to your rule doth she submit herself,  
That her renown there by might brighter shine,  Caesar. 
Why think you Lords that 'tis ambition's spur.  
That pricketh Caesar to these high attempts,  
Or hope of Crowns, or thought of Diadems,  
That made me wade through honours perilous deep,  
Virtue unto itself a sure reward,  
My labours all shall have a pleasing doom,  
If you but judge I will deserve of Rome:  
Did those old Romans suffer so much ill?  
Such tedious sieges, such enduring wars?  
Tarquinius hates, and great Porsenna's threats,  
To banish proud imperious tyrant's rule?  
And shall my everdaring thoughts contend  
To mar what they have brought to happy end:  
Or think you cause my Fortune hath expelled,  
My friends, come let us march in jollity,  
I'll triumph Monarch-like o'er conquering Rome,  
Or end my conquests with my countries spoils,  Dolo. 
O noble Princely resolution.  
These or not victories that we so call,  
That only blood and murderous spoils can vaunt:  
But this shallbe thy victory brave Prince,  
That thou hast conquered thy own climbing thoughts,  
And with thy virtue beat ambition down,  
And this no less emblazon shall thy fame.  
Then those great deeds and chivalrous attempts,  
That made thee conqueror in Thessalia.  Ant. 
This noble mind and Princely modesty,  
Which in contempt of honour's brightness shines,  
Makes us to wish the more for such a Prince,  
Whose virtue not ambition won that praise,  
Nor shall we think it loss of liberty.  
Or Roman liberty any way impeached,  
For to subject us to his Princely rule,  
Whose thoughts fair virtue and true honour guides:  
Vouchsafe then to accept this golden crown,  
A gift not equal to thy dignity.  Caes. 
Content you Lords for I willbe no King,  
An odious name unto the Roman care,  
Caesar I am, and willbe Caesar still,  
No other title shall my Fortune's grace:  
Which I will make a name of higher state  
Than Monarch, King or worlds great Potentate.  
Of jove in Heaven, shall ruled be the sky,  
The Earth of Caesar, with like Majesty.  
This is the Sceptre that my crown shall bear,  
And this the golden diadem I'll wear,  
A far more rich and royal ornament,  
Than all the Crowns that the proud Persian gave:  
Forward my Lords let Trumpets sound our march,  
And drums strike up Revenges sad alarms,  
Parthia we come with like incensed heat,  
As great Atrides with the angry Greeks,  
Marching in fury to pale walls of Troy.   

ACT. 3. SC. 5.  Enter Cassius, Brutus, Trebonius, Cumber Casca. Tre. 
Brave Lords whose forward resolution,  
Shows you descended from true Roman line,  
See how old Rome in winter of her age,  
Rejoiceth in such Princely budding hopes,  
No less than once she in Decius' virtue did,  
Or great Camillus bringing back of spoils.  
On then brave Lords of this attempt begun,  
The sacred Senate doth commend the deed:  
Your country's love incites you to the deed,  
Virtue herself makes warrant of the deed,  
Then Noble Romans as you have begun:  
Never desist until this deed be done.  Casi. 
To thee Revenge doth Cassius kneel him down.  
Thou that brings quiet to perplexed souls,  
And borne in Hell, yet harbourest heavens joys,  
Whose favour slaughter is, and dandling death,  
Bloodthirsty pleasures and misboding bliss:  
Brought forth of Fury, nurse of cankered Hate,  
To drown in woe the pleasures of the world.  
Thou shalt no more in duskish Erebus:  
And darksome hell obscure thy Deity,  
Instead of jove thou shalt my Goddess be,  
To thee fair Temples Cassius will erect:  
And on thine altar built of Parian stone  
Whole Hecatombs will I offer up.  
Laugh gentle Goddess on my bold attempt,  
Yet in thy laughter let pale meager death:  
be wrapped in wrinkles of thy murdering spoils.  Bru. 
another Tarquin is to be expelled,  
another Brutus lives to act the deed:  
'tis not one nation that this Tarquin wrongs,  
All Rome is stained with his unruled desires,  
She whose imperial sceptre was enured:  
To conquer Kings and to control the world,  
Cannot abate the glory of her state,  
To yield or bow to one man's proud desires:  
Sweet Country Rome here Brutus vows to thee,  
To lose his life or else to set thee free.  Cas. 
Shame be his share that doth his life so prize,  
That to Rome's weal it would not sacrifice,  
My poniards point shall pierce his heart as deep,  
As erst his sword Rome's bleeding side did gore:  
And change his garments to the purple die,  
With which our blood had stained sad Thessaly.  Cam. 
He doth refuse the title of a King,  
But we do see he doth usurp the thing.  Tre. 
Our ancient freedom he impeacheth more,  
Than ever King or Tyrant did before.  Cas. 
The Senators by him are quite disgraced,  
Rome, Romans, City, Freedom, all defaced.  Cassi. 
We come not Lords, as unresolved men,  
For to show causes of the deed decreed,  
This shall dispute for me and tell him why,  
This heart, hand, mind, hath marked him out to die:  
If it be true that furies quenchless thirst,  
Is pleased with quaffing of ambitious blood,  
Than all you devils whet my Poniards point,  
And I will broach you a bloodsucking heart:  
Which full of blood, must blood store to you yield,  
Were it a pierce to flint or marble stone:  
Why so it is for Caesar's heart's a stone,  
Else would be moved with my country's moan.  
They say you furies instigate men's minds,  
And push their arms to finish bloody deeds:  
Prick then mine Elbo: goad my bloody hand,  
That it may gore Caesar's ambitious heart.  Exeunt.  

ACTVS 3. SCENA 6.  Enter Caesar, Calphurnia. Caes. 
Why thinks my love to fright me with her dreams?  
Shall bugbeares fear Caesar's undaunted heart,  
Whom Pompey's Fortune never could amaze,  
Nor the French horse, nor Mauritanian boe,  
And now shall vain illusions me affright:  
Or shadows daunt, whom substance could not quell?  Calphur. 
O dearest Caesar, hast thou seen thyself,  
(As troubled dreams to me did feign thee seen:)  
Torn, Wounded, Maimed, blood-slaughtered, Slain,  
O thou thyself, wouldst then have dread thyself:  
And feared to thrust thy life to danger's mouth.  Caes. 
There you bewray the folly of your dream,  
For I am well, alive, uncaught, untouched.  Calphur, 
'twas in the Senate-house I saw thee so,  
And yet thou dreadless thither needs will go.  Caes. 
The Senate is a place of peace, not death,  
But these were but deluding visions.  Calphur. 
O do not set so little by the heavens,  
Dreams at divine, men say they come from jove,  
Beware betimes, and be not wise too late:  
Men's good endeavours change the wills of Fate.  Caes. 
Weep not fair love, let not thy woeful tears  
Bode me, I know what thou wouldest not have to hap  
It will distain mine honour won in fight  
To say a woman's dream could me affright.  Cal. 
O Caesar no dishonour canst thou get,  
In seeking to prevent unlucky chance:  
Foolhardy men do run upon their death,  
be thou in this persuaded by thy wife:  
No valour bids thee cast away thy life.  Caes. 
'tis dastard cowardice and childish fear,  
To dread those dangers that do not appear:  Cal. 
Thou must sad chance by forecast, wise resist,  
Or being done say bootless had I wist.  Caes. 
But for to fear where's no suspicion,  
Will to my greatness be derision.  Cal. 
There lurks an adder in the greenest grass,  
Dangers of purpose always hide their face:  Caes. 
Persuade no more Caesar's resolved to go.  Cal. 
The Heavens resolve that he may safe return,  
For if ought happen to my love but well:  
His danger shallbe doubled with my death.  Exit. Enter Augur. Augur. 
I come they are, but yet they are not gone.  Caes. 
What hast thou sacrificed, as custom is,  
Before we enter in the Senate-house.  Augur. 
O stay those steeps that lead thee to thy death,  
The angry heavens with threatening dire aspect,  
Boding mischance, and baleful massacres,  
Menace the overthrow of Caesar's powers  
Saturn sits frowning on the God of War,  
Who in their sad conjunction do conspire,  
Uniting both their bale full influences,  
To heap mischance, and danger to thy life:  
The Sacrificing beast is heartless found:  
Sad ghastly sights, and raised Ghosts appear,  
Which fill the silent woods, with groaning cries:  
The hoarse Night-raven tunes the cheerless voice,  
And calls the baleful Owl, and howling Doge,  
To make a consort. In whose sad song is this,  
Near is the overthrow of Caesar's bliss.  Exit. Caesar. 
The world is set to fray me from my wits,  
here's heartless Sacrifice and visions,  
Howling and cries, and ghastly groans of Ghosts,  
Soft Caesar do not make a mockery,  
Of these Prodigious signs sent from the Heavens,  
Calphurnias Dream lumping which Augurs words,  
Show (if thou markest it Caesar) cause to fear:  
This day the Senate there shallbe dissolved,  
And I'll return to my Calphurnia home,  One gives him a paper. 
What hast thou hear that thou presents us with,  Pre. 
A thing my Lord that doth concern your life.  
Which love to you and hate of such a deed,  
Makes me reveal unto your excellence.  Caesar laughs. 
Smilest thou, or think'st thou it some idle toy,  
Thou'lt frown a non to read so many names.  
That have conspired and sworn thy bloody death,  Exit. Enter Cassius. Cassius. 
Now must I come, and with close subtle girds,  
Deceive the prey that I'll devour anon,  
My Lord the Sacred Senate doth expect,  
Your royal presence in Pompeius' court:  Caesar. 
Cassius they tell me that some dangers nigh.  
And death pretended in the Senate house.  Cassi. 
What danger or what wrong can be,  
Where harmless gravity and virtue sits,  
'tis past all danger present death it is,  
Nor is it wrong to render due desert.  
To fear the Senators without a cause,  
Will be a cause why they'll be to be feared,  Caesa. 
The Senate stays for me in Pompey court.  
And Caesar's here, and dares not go to them,  
Pack hence all dread of danger and of death,  
What must be must be; Caesar's priest for all,  Cassi. 
Now have I sent him headlong to his end,  
Vengeance and death awaiting at his heels,  
Caesar thy life now hangeth on a twine,  
Which by my Poniard must be cut in twain,  
Thy chair of state now turned is to thy Beer,  
Thy Princely robes to make thy winding sheet:  
The Senators the Mourners o'er the Hearse,  
And Pompey's Court, thy dreadful grave shallbe.  Senators cry all at once. Omnes. 
Hold down the Tyrant stab him to the death:  Casi. 
Now doth the music 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 deep note upon this trembling key.  stab him. Buco. 
Bucolian sends thee this.  stab him. Cum. 
And Cumber this.  stab him. Cas. 
Take this from Casca for to quite Rome's wrongs.  Caes. 
Why murderous villains know you whom you strike,  
'tis Caesar, Caesar, whom your Poniards pierce:  
Caesar whose name might well affright such slaves:  
O Heavens that see and hate this heinous guilt,  
And thou Immortal jove that Idle holdest  
Deluding Thunder in thy fainting hand,  
Why stayest thy dreadful doom, and dost withhold,  
Thy three-forked engine to revenge my death:  
But if my plaints the Heavens cannot move,  
Than blackest hell and Pluto be thou judge:  
You grisly daughters of the cheerless night.  
Whose hearts, nor prayer nor pity, ere could lend,  
Leave the black dungeon of your Chaos deep:  
Come and with flaming brands into the world,  
Revenge, and death, bring seated in your eyes:  
And plague these villains for their treacheries.  Enter Brutus. Bru. 
I have held Anthony with a vain discourse,  
The whilst the deed's in execution,  
But lives he still, yet doth the Tyrant breath?  
challenging Heavens with his blasphemies,  
Here Brutus maketh a passage for thy Soul,  
To plead thy cause for them whose aid thou cravest,  Caes. 
What Brutus to? nay nay, then let me die,  
Nothing wounds deeper than ingratitude,  Bru. 
I bloody Caesar, Caesar, Brutus too,  
Doth give thee this, and this to quite Rome's wrongs,  Cassius. 
O had the Tyrant had as many lives.  
As that fell Hydra borne in Lerna lake,  
That hear I still might stab and stabbing kill,  
Till that more lives might be extinguished,  
Than his ambition, Romans Slaughtered.  Tre. 
How heavens have justly on the author's head,  
Returned the guiltless blood which he hath shed,  
And Pompey, he who caused thy Tragedy,  
Here breathless lies before thy Noble Statue,  Enter Anthony. Anth. 
What cries of death resound within my eats,  
Whom I do see great Caesar butchered thus?  
What said I great? I Caesar thou wast great,  
But O that greatness was that brought thy death:  
O unjust Heavens, (if Heavens at all there be,)  
Since virtues wrongs makes question of your powers,  
How could your starry eyes this shame behold,  
How could the sun see this and not eclipse?  
Fair bud of fame ill cropped before thy time:  
What Hyrcan tiger, or wild savage boar,  
(For he more heard than Boar or Tiger was,)  
Durst do so vile and execrate a deed,  
Could not those eyes so full of majesty,  
Nor priesthood (o not thus to be profaned)  
Nor yet the reverence to this sacred place,  
Nor flowing eloquence of thy golden tongue,  
Nor name made famous through immortal merit,  
Deter those murderers from so vild a deed?  
Sweet friend accept these obsequies of mine,  
Which hear with tears I do unto thy hearse,  
And thou being placed among the shining stars.  
Shalt down from Heaven behold what deep revenge,  
I will inflict upon the murderers,  Exit with Caesar, in his arms. 
FINIS. Act. 3.    
Enter Discord. Dis. 
Brutus thou hast what long desire hath sought,  
Caesar Lies weltering in his purple Gore,  
Thou art the author of Rome's liberty,  
Proud in thy murdering hand and bloody knife.  
Yet think Octavian and stern Anthony.  
Cannot let pass this murder unrevenged,  
Thessalia once again must see your blood,  
And Roman drums must strike up new alarms;  
Hark how Bellona shakes her angry lance:  
And envy clothed in her crimson weed,  
methinks I see the fiery shields to clash,  
Eagle 'gainst Eagle, Rome 'gainst Rome to fight,  
Phillipi, Caesar, quittance must thy wrongs,  
Whereas that hand shall stab that traitorous heart.  
That durst encourage it to work thy death,  
Thus from thine ashes Caesar doth arise  
As from Medea's hapless scattered teeth:  
New flames of wars, and new outrageous broils,  
Now smile Aemathia that even in thy top,  
Rome's victory and pride shallbe entombed,  
And those great conquerors of the vanquished earth,  
Shall with their swords come there to dig their graves.  

ACTVS. 4. SCENA. 1.  Enter Octavian. Octa. 
Mourn gentle Heavens for you have lost your joy.  
Mourn grieved earth thy ornament is gone,  
Mourn Rome in great thy Father is deceased:  
Mourn thou Octavian, thou it is must mourn,  
Mourn for thy Uncle who is dead and gone.  
Mourn for thy Father to ungently slain,  
Mourn for thy Friend whom thy mishap hath lost,  
For Father, uncle, Friend, go make thy moan,  
Who all did live, who all did die in one.  
But here I vow these black and sable weeds,  
The outward signs of inward heaviness,  
Shall changed be ere long to crimson hue,  
And this soft raiment to a coat of steel,  
Caesar, no more I hear the mournful songs.  
The tragic pomp of his sad exequies,  
And deadly burning torches are at hand,  
I must accompany the mournful troup:  
And sacrifice my tears to the Gods below.  Exit. Enter Caesar's Hearse Calphurnia Octavian, Anthony, Cicero, Dolobella, two Romans, mourners. Calp. 
Set down the hearse and let Calphurnia weep,  
Weep for her Lord and bathe his Wounds in tears:  
Fear of the world, and only hope of Rome,  
Thou whilst thou livedst was calphurnia's joy,  
And being dead my joys are dead with thee:  
Here doth my care and comfort resting lie:  
Let them accompany thy mournful hearse.  Cice. 
This is the hearse of virtue and renown,  
Here strew red roses and sweet violets:  
And laurel garlands for to crown his fame,  
The Princely weed of mighty conquerors:  
These worthless obsequies poor Rome bestows,  
Upon thy sacred ashes and dear hearse.  1. Rom. 
And as a token of thy living praise,  
And fame immortal take this laurel wreath,  
Which witnesseth thy name shall never die:  
And with this take the Love and tears of Rome,  
For on thy tomb shall still engraven be,  
Thy loss, her grief, thy deaths, her pitying thee,  Dolo. 
Unwilling do I come to pay this debt,  
Though not unwilling for to crown desert,  
O how much rather had I this bestowed,  
On thee returning from foe's overthrow,  
When living virtue did require such meed,  
Then for to crown thy virtue being dead,  
Lord. Those wreaths that in thy life our conquests crowned  
And our fair triumphs beauty glorified,  
Now in thy death do serve thy hearse to adorn,  
For Caesar's living virtues to be crowned,  
Not to be wept as buried under ground,  2. Ro. 
Thou whilst thou livedst wast fair virtues flower  
Crowned with eternal honour and renown,  
To thee being dead, Flora both crowns and flowers,  
(The chiefest virtues of our mother earth,)  
Doth give to gratulate thy noble hearse.  
Let then they soul divine vouchsafe to take,  
These worthless obsequies our love doth make.  Calp. 
All that I am is but despair and grief,  
This all I give to Celebrate thy death,  
What funeral pomp of riches and of pelf,  
Do you expect? Calphurnia gives herself.  Ant. 
You that to Caesar justly did decree  
Honours divine and sacred reverence:  
And oft him graced with titles well deserved,  
Of country's Father, stay of Commonwealth.  
And that which never any bore before,  
Inviolate, Holy, Consecrate, untouched.  
Do see this friend of Rome, this country's Father,  
This Son of lasting fame and endless praise,  
And in a mortal trunk, immortal virtue  
Slaughtered, profaned, and butchered like a beast,  
By traitorous hands, and damned Parricides:  
Recount those deeds and see what he hath done,  
Subdued those nations which three hundred years.  
Remained unconquered; still afflicting Rome,  
And recompensed the fiery Capitol,  
With many Cities unto ashes burnt:  
And this reward, these thanks you render him:  
Here lies he dead to whom you owe your lives:  
By you this slaughtered body bleeds again,  
Which oft for you hath bled in fearful fight.  
Sweet wounds in which I see distressed Rome,  
From her pierced sides to power forth streams of blood,  
be you a witness of my sad Souls grief:  
And of my tears which wounded heart doth bleed,  
Not such as use from womanish eyes proceed.  Octa. 
And were the deed most worthy and unblamed.  
Yet you unworthily did do the same:  
Who being partakers with his enemies,  
By Caesar all were saved from death and harm,  
And for the punishment you should have had,  
You were preferred to Princely dignities:  
Rulers and Lords of Provinces were you made,  
Thus thankless men he did prefer of nought,  
That by their hands his murder might be wrought.  All at once except Anthony and Octavian. Omnes. 
Revenge, Revenge upon the murderers.  Antho. 
Brave Lords this worthy resolution shows,  
Your dearest love, and great affection  
Which to this slaughtered Prince you always bare,  
And may like bloody chance befall my life:  
If I be slack for to revenge his death.  Octa. 
Now on my Lords, this body let's inter:  
Amongst the monuments of Roman Kings,  
And build a Temple to his memory:  
Honouring therein his sacred Deity.  Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. 4. SC. 2.  Enter Cassius, and Brutus with an army. Cassi. 
Now Romans proud foe, world's common enemy,  
In his greatest height and chiefest jollity,  
In the Sacred Senate-house is done to death:  
Even as the Consecrated Ox which sounds,  
At horny altars in his dying pride:  
With flowery leaves and garlands all bedight,  
Stands proudly waiting for the hasted stroke:  
Till he amazed with the dismal sound,  
Falls to the Earth and stains the holy ground,  
The spoils and riches of the conquered world,  
Are now but idle Trophies of his tomb:  
His laurel garlands do but Crown his chair,  
His sling, his shield, and fatal bloody spear,  
Which he in battle oft 'gainst Rome did bear,  
Now serve for nought but rusty monuments.  Bru. 
So Romulus when proud ambition,  
His former virtue and renown had stained:  
Did by the Senators receive his end,  
But soft what bodes Titinnius hasting speed.  Enter Titinnius. Titin. 
The frantic people and impatient,  
By Anthony's exhorting to revenge:  
Run madding throw the bloody streets of Rome,  
Crying Revenge, and murdering they go,  
All those that caused Caesar's overthrow.  Cassi. 
The wavering people pitying Caesar's death,  
Do rage at us, who fore to win their weal:  
Spare not the danger of our dearest lives,  
But since no safety Rome for us affords:  
Brutus we'll haste us to our Provinces,  
I into Sire, thou into Macedon,  
Where we will muster up such martial bands,  
As shall affright our following enemies.  Bru. 
In Thessaly we'll meet the Enemy,  
And in that ground distained with Pompey's blood,  
And fruitful made with Roman massacre,  
we'll either sacrifice our guilty foe,  
To appease the furies of these howling Ghosts,  
That wander restless through the shemy ground  
Or else that Thessaly be a common Tomb:  
To bury those that fight to enfranchize Rome.  Titin. 
Bravely resolved, I see young Brutus' mind,  
Strengthened with force of virtues sacred rule:  
Contemneth death, and holds proud chance in scorn.  Bru. 
I that before feared not to do the deed,  
Shall never now repent it being done,  
No more I Fortuned, like the Roman Lord,  
Whose faith brought death yet with immortal fame,  
I kiss thee hand for doing such a deed:  
And thank my heart for this so Noble thought,  
And bless the Heavens for favouring my attempts:  
For Noble Rome, and if thou be'st not free,  
Yet I have done whatever lay in me:  
And worthy friend as both our thoughts conspired,  
And joined in union to perform this deed,  
This acceptable deed to Heavens and Rome,  
So let's continue in our high resolve:  
And as we have with honour thus begun,  
So let's persist, until our lives be done.  Cassi. 
Then let us go and with our warlike troops,  
Collected from our several Provinces,  
Make Asia subject to our Conquering arms,  
Brutus thou hast commanded the Illirian bands:  
The feared Celts and Lusitanian horse,  
Parthenians proud, and Thracians borne in war:  
And Macedon yet proud with our old acts,  
With all the flower of Lovely Thessaly,  
Under my warlike colours there shall march:  
New come from Syria and from Babylon,  
The warlike Mede, and the Arabian Boe,  
The Parthian fighting when he seems to fly:  
Those conquering Gauls that built their seats in Greece,  
And all the Costers on the Mirapont.   

ACT. 3. SCE. 1.  Enter Caesar's Ghost. Gho. 
Out of the horror of those shady vaults,  
Where Centaurs, Harpies, pains and furies fell:  
And Gods and Ghosts and ugly Gorgon's dwell,  
My restless soul comes here to tell his wrongs.  
Hail to thy walls, thou pride of all the world,  
Thou art the place where whilom in my life.  
My seat of mounting honour was erected,  
And my proud throne that seemed to check the heavens.  
But now my pomp and I are laid more low,  
With these associates of my overthrow,  
Here ancient Assur and proud Belus lies,  
Ninus the first that sought a monarchs name.  
Atrides fierce with the Aeacides,  
The Greek Heros, and the Trojan flower,  
Blood-thirsting Cyrus and the conquering youth:  
That sought to fetch his pedigree from Heaven,  
Stern Romulus and proud Tarquinius,  
The mighty Syrians and the Pontic Kings,  
Alcides and the stout, Carthagian Lord,  
The fatal enemy to the Roman name.  
Ambitious Sulla and fierce Marius,  
And both the Pompeyes by me done to death,  
I am the last not least of the same crew,  
Look on my deeds and say what Caesar was,  
Thessalia, Egypt, Pontus, Africa,  
Spain Britain, Almany and France,  
Saw many a bloody trial of my worth.  
But why do I my glory thus restrain,  
When all the world was but a chariot,  
Wherein I rode Triumphing in my pride?  
But what avails this tale of what I was?  
Since in my chiefest height Brutus base hand.  
With three and twenty wounds my heart did gore,  
Give me my sword and shield I'll be Revenged,  
My mortal wounding spear and golden Crest.  
I will dishorse my foemen in the field,  
Alas poor Caesar thou a shadow art,  
An airy substance wanting force and might,  
Then will I go and cry upon the world,  
Exclaim on Anthony and Octavian,  
Which seek through discord and dissensions broils,  
t''imbrew their weapons in each others blood,  
And leave to execute my just revenge,  
I hear the drums and bloody Trumpets sound,  
O how this sight my grieved soul doth wound,  Enter Anthony, at on door, Octavian at another with Soldiers. Anth. 
Now martial friends competitors in arms,  
You that will follow Anthony to fight,  
Whom stately Rome hath oft her Consul seen,  
Graced with eternal trophies of renown,  
With Libyan triumphs and liberian spoils,  
Who scorns to have his honour now distained,  
Or credit blemished by a boy's disgrace,  
Prepare your dauntless stomachs to the fight,  
Where without striking you shall over come.  Octa. 
Fellows in warfare which have often served,  
Under great Caesar my diseased sire,  
And have returned the conquerors of the world,  
Clad in the Spoils of all the Orient:  
That will not brook that any Roman Lord,  
Should injure mighty julius Caesar's son,  
Recall your wonted valour and these hearts,  
That never entertained Ignoble thoughts  
And make my first warfare and fortunate:  Ant. 
Strike up drums, and let your banners fly,  
Thus will we set upon the enemy.  Gho. 
Cease Drums to strike, and fold your banners up,  
Wake not Bellona with your trumpets clang,  
Nor call unwilling Mars unto the field:  
See Romans, see my wounds not yet closed up,  
The bleeding monuments of Caesar's wrongs.  
Have you so soon for got my life and death?  
My life wherein I reared your fortunes up.  
My death wherein my reared fortune fell,  
My life admired and wondered at of men?  
My death which seemed unworthy to the Gods,  
My life which heaped on you rewards and gifts,  
My death now begs one gift; a just revenge.  Ant. 
A Chilly cold possesseth all my joints,  
And pale wan fear doth cease my fainting heart,  Octa. 
O see how terrible my Father's looks?  
My hair stands stiff to see his grisly hue:  
Alas I dear not look him in the face,  
And words do cleave to my benumbed jaws.  Gho. 
For shame weak Anthony throw thy weapons down  
Son sheath thy sword, not now for to be drawn,  
Brutus must feel the heavy stroke thereof:  
But if that needs you will into the field,  
And that wars envy pricks your forward hate.  
To slack your fury with each other's blood,  
Then forward on to your prepared deaths  
Let sad Allecto sound her fearful trump.  
Revenge a rise in loathsome fable weeds,  
Light-shining Treasons and unquenched Hates,  
Horror and ugly Murder (night's black child,)  
Let stern Maegera on her thundering drum,  
Play ghastly music to comfort your deaths.  
Banner to banner, foot 'gainst foot opposed,  
Sword against sword, shield 'gainst shield, and life to life,  
Let death go raging through your armed ranks,  
And load himself with heaps of murdered men,  
And let heavens justice send you all to Hell,  Anth. 
sham'st thou not Anthony to draw thy sword,  
On Caesar's Son, for rude rash youth full brawls,  
And dost let pass their treason unrevenged,  
That Caesar's life and glory both did end,  Octa. 
Shame of myself, and this intended fight,  
Doth make me fear t' approach his dreadful sight:  
Forgive my slackness to revenge thy wrongs,  
Pardon my youth that rashly was mislead,  
Through vain ambition for to do this deed,  Gho. 
Then join your hands and hear let battle cease,  
Change fear to joy, and war to smooth-faced Peace.  Oct. 
Then Father here in sight of Heaven and thee,  
I give my hand and heart to Anthony,  Ant. 
Take likewise mine, the hand that once was vowed',  
To be imbrued in thy lukewarm blood,  
Which now shall strike in young Octavian's rights.  Gho. 
Now swear by all the deities of Heaven,  
All Gods and powers you do adore and serve:  
For to return my murder on their cruel head,  
Whose traitorous hands my guiltless blood have shed.  Anth. 
Then by the Gods that through the raging waves,  
Brought thee brave Trojan to old Latium,  
And great Quirinus placed now in Heaven:  
By the Gradinus that with shield of Brass,  
Defendest Rome, by the overburning flames  
Of Vesta and Carpeian Towers of jove.  
Vows Anthony to quite thy worthy death,  
Or in performance lose his vital breath.  Octa. 
The like Octavian vows to Heaven and thee.  Gho. 
Then go brave warriors with successful hap,  
Fortune shall wait upon your rightful arms,  
And courage sparkle, from your Princely eyes,  
Darts of revenge to daunt your enemies.  Antho. 
Now with our armies both conjoined in one,  
we'll meet the enemy in Macedon:  
Aemathian fields shall change her flowery green,  
And die proud Flora in a sadder hue:  
Silver Stremonia, whose fair Crystal waves,  
Once sounded great Alcides echoing fame:  
whenas he slew that fruitful headed snake,  
Which Lerna long-time fostered in her womb:  
Shall in more tragic accents and sad tunes,  
Echo the terror of thy dismal fight,  
Hemus shall fat his barren fields with blood:  
And yellow Ceres spring from wounds of men,  
The toiling husbandmen in time to come,  
Shall with his harrow strike on rusty helms,  
And find, and wonder, at our sword and spears,  
And with his plough dig up brave Romans graves:  Finis. Act.   


ACT. 5. SCE. 1.  Enter Discord. Dis. 
The baleful harvest of my joy, thy woe  
'gins ripen Brutus, heavens command it so.  
Pale sad Avernus opes his yawning jaws,  
Seeking to swallow up thy murderous soul,  
The furies have proclaimed a festival:  
And mean today to banquet with thy blood,  
Now heavens array you in your cloudy weeds:  
Wrap up the beauty of your glorious lamp,  
And dreadful Chaos, of sad dreary night,  
Thou Sun that climbest up to the eastern hill:  
And in thy Chariot rides with swift steeds drawn,  
In thy proud jollity and radiant glory:  
Go back again and hide thee in the sea,  
Darkness today shall cover all the world:  
Let no light shine, but what your swords can strike,  
From out their steely helms, and fiery shields:  
Furies, and Ghosts, with your blue-burning lamps,  
In mazing terror ride through Roman ranks:  
With dread affrighting those stout champion's hearts,  
All stygian fiends now leave whereas you dwell:  
And come into the world and make it hell.  Enter Cassius, Brutus, Titinnius, Cato junior, with an army marching Casi. 
Thus far we march with unresisted arms,  
Subduing all that did our powers withstand:  
Laodicia whose high reared walls,  
Fair Lyeas washeth with her silver wave:  
And that brave monument of Perseus' fame,  
With Tursos veiled to us her vaunting pride,  
Fair Rhodes, I weep to think upon thy fall:  
Thou wert too stubborn, else thou still hadst stood,  
Inviolate of Cassius hurtles hand,  
That was my nurse, where in my youth I drew  
The flowing milk of Greekish eloquence:  
Proud Capadocia saw her King captived,  
(And Dolabella vaunting in the spoils.  
Of slain Trebonius) fall as springing tree,  
Seated in lovely Tempe's pleasant shades:  
Whom beauteous spring with blossoms brave hath decked,  
And sweet Favonia mantled all in green,  
By winter's rage doth lose his flowery pride,  
And hath each twig barred by northern winds.  
Thus from the conquest of proud Palestine,  
Hither in triumph have we marched along,  
Making our force-commanding rule to stretch,  
From fair Euphrates crystal flowing waves  
Unto the Sea which yet weeps Io's death,  
Slain by great Hercules repenting hand,  Bru. 
Of all the places by my sword subdued,  
Pity of thee poor Zanthus moves me most;  
Thrice hast thou been besieged by thy foe,  
And thrice to save thy liberty hast felt  
The fatal flames of thine own cruel hand.  
First being besieged by Harpalus the Mede,  
The stern performer of proud Cyrus' wrath:  
Next when the Macedonian Phillip's son,  
Did raise his engines 'gainst thy battered walls,  
Proud Zanthus that did scorn to bear the yoke,  
That all the world was forced to sustain,  
Last when that I myself did girt thy walls,  
With troops of high resolved Roman hearts,  
Rather than thou wouldest yield to Brutus' sword,  
Or stain the maiden honour of thy Town,  
Didst sadly fall as proud Numantia.  
Scorning to yield to conquering Scipio's power.  Cas. 
And now to thee Phillipi, are we come,  
Whose fields must twice feel Roman cruelty,  
And flowing blood like to Darcean plains,  
When proud Eteocles on his foaming steed,  
Rides in his fury through the Argean troops,  
Now making great Aerastus give him way,  
Now beating back tidaeus' puissant might:  
The ground not dried from sad Pharsalian blood,  
Will now be turned to a purple lake:  
And bleeding heaps and mangled bodies slain,  
Shall make such hills as shall surpass in height  
The Snowy Alps and airy Apennines,  Titi. 
A Scout brought word but now that he descried,  
Warlike Anthonius and young Caesar's troops,  
Marching in fury over Thessalian plains.  
As great Gradinus when in angry mood,  
He drives his chariot down from heavens top,  
And in his wheels whirleth revenge and death:  
Here by Phillippi they will pitch their tents,  
And in these fields (fatal to Roman lives)  
Hazard the fortune of the doubtful fight,  Cat. 
O welcome thou this long expected day,  
On which dependeth Roman liberty,  
Now Rome thy freedom hangeth in suspense,  
And this the day that must assure thy hopes.  Cassi. 
Great jove, and thou Tritonian warlike Queen:  
Armed with thy amazing deadly Gorgon's head.  
Strengthen our arms that fight for Roman wealth:  
And thou stern Mars, and Romulus' thy Son,  
Defend that City which yourself begun.  
All heavenly powers assist our rightful arms,  
And send down silver winged victory,  
To crown with Laurels our triumphant Crests.  Bru. 
My mind that's troubled in my vexed soul,  
(Oppressed with sorrow and with sad dismay,)  
Misgives me this willbe a heavy day.  Cassi. 
Why faint not now in these our last extremes,  
This time craves courage not despairing fear,  Titin. 
Fie, 'twill distain thy former valiant acts.  
To say thou faintest now in this last act,  Bru. 
My mind is heavy, and I know not why.  
But cruel fate doth summon me to die,  Cato. 
Sweet Brute, let not thy words be ominous signs,  
Of so misfortunate and sad event,  
Heaven and our Valour shall us conquerors make.  Cassi. 
What Bastard fear hath taunted our dead hearts,  
Or what unglorious unwonted thought,  
Hath changed the valour of our daunted minds.  
What are our arms grown weaker than they were?  
Cannot this hand that was proud Caesar's death,  
Send all Caesarians headlong that same path?  
Look how our troops in Sun-bright arms do shine,  
With vaunting plumes and dreadful bravery.  
The wrathful steeds do check their iron bits,  
And with a well graced terror strike the ground,  
And keeping times in wars sad harmony.  
And then hath Brutus any cause to fear,  
myself like valiant Peleus worthy Son,  
The Noblest wight that ever Troy beheld,  
Shall of the adverse troops such havoc make,  
As sad Phillipi shall in blood bewail,  
The cruel massacre of Cassius' sword,  
And then hath Brutus any cause to fear?  Bru. 
No outward shows of puissance or of strength,  
Can help a mind dismayed inwardly,  
Leave me sweet Lords a while unto myself.  Cassi. 
In the mean time take order for the fight,  
Drums let your fearful mazing thunder play.  
And with their sound pierce Heavens brazen Towers,  
And all the earth fill with like fearful noise,  
As when that Boreas from his Iron cave.  
With boisterous furies Striving in the waves,  
Comes swelling forth to meet his blustering foe,  
They both do run with fierce tempestuous rage,  
And heaves up mountains of the watery waves.  
The God Oceanus trembles at the stroke,  Bru. 
What hateful furies vex my tortured mind?  
What hideous sights appal my grieved soul,  
As when Orestes after mother slain.  
Not being yet at Scythians Altars purged,  
Behold the grisly visages of fiends.  
And ghastly furies which did haunt his steps,  
Caesar upbraids my sad ingratitude,  
He saved my life in sad Pharsalian fields,  
That I in Senate house might work his death.  
O this remembrance now doth wound my soul,  
More than my poniard did his bleeding heart,  Enter Ghost. Gho. 
Brutus, ingrateful Brutus seest thou me:  
Anon In field again thou shalt me see,  Bru. 
Stay whatsoe'er thou art, or fiend below,  
Raised from the deep by enchanters bloody call,  
Or fury sent from Phlegethontic flames,  
Or from Cocytus for to end my life,  
Be then Megaera or Tisiphone,  
Or of Eumenides ill boding crew.  
Fly me not now, but end my wretched life,  
Come grisly messenger of sad mishap,  
Trample in blood of him that hates to live,  
And end my life and sorrow all at once.  Gho. 
Accursed traitor damned Homicide,  
Knowest thou not me, to whom for forty honours:  
Thou three and twenty Ghastly wounds didst give?  
Now dare no more for to behold the Heavens,  
For they toDay have destined thine end:  
Nor lift thy eyes unto the rising sun,  
That near shall live for to behold it set,  
Nor look not down unto the Hellish shades,  
There stand the furies thirsting for thy blood,  
Fly to the field but if thou thither go'st,  
There Anthony's sword will pierce thy traitorous heart.  
Brutus to day my blood shallbe revenged,  
And for my wrong and undeserved death,  
Thy life to thee a torture shall become,  
And thou shalt oft amongst the dying groans,  
Of slaughtered men that bite the bleeding earth.  
With that like baleful cheer might thee befall,  
And seek for death that flies so wretched wight,  
Until to shun the honour of the fight,  
And dreadful vengeance of supernal ire.  
Thine own right hand shall work my wished revenge,  
And so Fare ill, hated of Heaven and Men.  Bru. 
Stay Caesar stay, protract my grief no longer,  
Rip up my bowels glut thy thirsting throat,  
With pleasing blood of Caesar's guilty heart:  
But see he's gone, and yonder Murder stands.  
See how he points his knife unto my heart.  
Althaea raveth for her murdered Son,  
And weeps the deed that she herself hath done:  
And Meleager would thou livedst again,  
But death must expiate. Althaea's come.  
ay, death the guerdon that my deeds deserve:  
The drums do thunder forth dismay and fear,  
And dismal triumphs sound my fatal knell,  
Furies I come to meet you all in Hell,  Enter Cato wounded. Cato. 
Bloodless and faint; Cato yield up thy breath;  
While strength and vigour in these arms remained,  
And made me able for to wield my sword,  
So long I fought; and sweet Rome for thy sake  
Feared not effusion of my blood to make.  
But now my strength and life doth fail at once,  
My vigour leaves my could and feeble joints,  
And I my sad soul, must power forth in blood.  
O virtue whom Philosophy extols.  
Thou art no essence but a naked name,  
Bondslave to Fortune, weak, and of no power.  
To succour them which always honoured thee:  
Witness my Fathers and mine own sad death,  
Who for our country spent our latest breath:  
But oh the chains of death do hold my tongue,  
Mine eyes wax dim I faint, I faint, I die.  
O Heavens help Rome in this extremity.  Cass. 
Where shall I go to tell the saddest tale,  
That ere the Roman tongue was forced to speak,  
Rome is overthrown, and all that for her fought:  
This Sun that now hath seen so many deaths,  
When from the Sea he heaved his cloudy head,  
Than both the arms full of hope and fear,  
Did wait the dreadful trumpet's fatal sound,  
And straight Revenge from Stygian bands let loose,  
Possessed had all hearts and banished thence,  
Fear of their children, wife and little home.  
countries remembrance, and had quite expelled,  
With last departed care of life itself:  
Anger did sparkle from our beauteous eyes,  
Our trembling fear did make our helms to shake,  
The horse had now put on the rider's wrath,  
And with his hooves did strike the trembling earth,  
When Echalarian sounds then both 'gin meet:  
Both like enraged, and now the dust 'gins rise,  
And Earth doth emulate the heavens clouds,  
Then yet beauteous was the face of cruel war:  
And goodly terror it might seem to be,  
Fair shields, gay swords, and golden crests did shine.  
Their spangled plumes did dance for solity,  
As nothing privy to their Masters fear,  
But quickly rage and cruel Mars had stained,  
This shining glory with a sadder hue,  
A cloud of darts that darkened heavens light,  
Horror instead of beauty did succeed.  
And her bright arms with dust and blood were foiled:  
Now Lucius falls, hear Drusus takes his end,  
Here lies Hortensius, weltering in his gore.  
Here, there, and everywhere men fall and die,  
Yet Cassius show not that thy heart doth faint:  
But to the last gasp for Romans freedom fight,  
And when sad death shall be thy labours end,  
Yet boast thy life thou didst for Country spend.  Enter Anthony. Ant. 
Queen of Revenge imperious Nemesis,  
That in the wrinkles of thine angry brows,  
Wrapst dreadful vengeance and pale frightful death:  
Rain down the bloody showers of thy revenge,  
And make our sword the fatal instruments,  
To execute thy furious baleful Ire,  
Let grim death seat her on my Lances point,  
Which piercing the weak armour of my foes,  
Shall lodge her there within there coward breasts,  
Dread, horror, vengeance, death, and bloody hate:  
In this sad fight my murdering sword await.  Exit Enter Titinnius. Titin. 
Where may I fly from this accursed soil,  
Or shun the horror of this dismal day:  
The Heavens are coloured in mourning sable weeds,  
The Sun doth hide his face, and fears to see,  
This bloody conflict; sad Catastrophe,  
Nothing but groans of dying men are heard:  
Nothing but blood and slaughter may be seen  
And death, the same in sundry shapes arrayed.  Enter Cassius. Casi. 
In vain, in vain, O Cassius all in vain,  
'tis Heaven and destiny thou strivest against.  Titin. 
What better hope or more accepted tidings,  
be't Noble Cassius from the Battle bring?  Cassi. 
This hapless hope that fates decreed have,  
Philippi field must be our hapless grave.  Titin. 
And then must this accursed and fatal day,  
End both our lives and Roman liberty:  
Must now the name of freedom be forgot,  
And all Rome's glory in Thessalia end?  Casi. 
As those that lost in boisterous troublous seas,  
Beaten with rage of Billows stormy strife:  
And without stars do sail 'gainst stars and wind.  
In dreary darkness and in cheerless night,  
Without or hope or comfort endless are:  
So are my thoughts dejected with dismay,  
Which can nought look for but poor Rome's decay.  
But yet did Brutus live, did he but breath?  
Or lay not slumbering in eternal night,  
His welfare might infuse some hope, or life:  
Or at the least bring death with more content:  
Wearied I am through labour of the fight:  
Then sweet Titinnius, range thou through the field,  
And either glad me with my friend's success,  
Or quickly tell me what my care doth fear:  
How breathless he upon the ground doth lie,  
That at thy words, I may fall down and die.  Titin. 
Cassius, I go to seek thy Noble friend,  
Heaven grant my goings have a prosperous end.  Cassi. 
O go Titinnius, and till thy return,  
Here will I sit disconsolate alone,  
Rome's sad mishap, and mine own woes to moon:  
O ten times treble fortunate were you,  
Which in Pharsalia's bloody conflict died,  
With those brave Lords, now laid in bed of fame:  
Which near protected their most blessed days,  
To see the horror of this dismal fight,  
Why died I not in those Aemathian plains,  
Where great Domitius fell by Caesar's hand?  
And swift Eurypus down his bloody stream  
Bare shields and helms and trains of slaughtered men,  
But Heavens reserved me to this luckless day,  
To see my country's fall and friends decay.  
But why doth not Titinnius yet return?  
My trembling heart misgives me what's befallen,  
Brutus is dead: I: hark how willingly  
The Echo iterates those deadly words,  
The whistling winds with their mourning sound,  
Do fill mine ears with noise of Brutus' death,  
The birds now chanting a more cheerless lay,  
In doleful notes record my friend's decay.  
And Philomela now forgets old wrongs,  
And only Brutus waileth in her songs.  
I hear some noise, O 'tis Titinnius,  
No 'tis not he, for he doth fear to wound,  
My grieved ears with that hearts-thrilling sound.  
Why dost thou feed my thoughts with lingering hope?  
Why dost thou then prolong my life in vain?  
Tell me my sentence and so end my pain:  
He comes not yet, nor yet, nor will at all,  
Linger not Cassius for to hear reply,  
What if he come and tells me he is slain?  
That only will increase my dying pain,  
Brutus I come to company thy soul,  
Which by Cocytus wandereth all alone.  
Brutus I come prepare to mere thy friend  
Thy brother's fall procures this baleful end.  Enter Titinius. Titi. 
Brutus doth live and like a second Mars,  
Rageth in heat of fury 'mongst his foes,  
Then cheer thee Cassius, lo I bring relief.  
And news of power to ease thy stormy grief,  
But see where Cassius weltreth in his blood,  
Doth beat the Earth, and yet not fully dead.  
O Cassius speak, O speak to me sweet friend,  
Brutus doth live; open thy dying eyes,  
And look on him that hope and comfort brings.  
O Noah, he will not look on me but cries,  
That by my long delays he hapless dies:  
Accursed villain murderer of thy friend,  
Why hath thy lingering thus wrought Cassius' end,  
How cold thy care was to prevent this deed,  
How slow thy love that made no greater speed,  
Care winged is, and burning love can fly,  
My care was fearless, love but flattery,  
But sithence in my life my love was never shown,  
Now in my death I'll make it to be known.  
Accursed weapon that such blood could spill,  
Nay cursed then the author of this deed,  
Yet both offended, both shall punished be,  
I'll take revenge of the knife, the knife of me,  
It shall make a passage for my life to pass,  
Cause through my life his master murdered was.  
And I on it again will venged be.  
'cause it did work my Cassius' tragedy.  
Then this revenge shallbe to end my life.  
Mine to distain with baser blood the knife.  Enter Brutus the Ghost following him. Bru. 
What dost thou still pursue me ugly fend,  
Is this it that thou thirsted for so much?  
Come with thy tearing claws and rend it out,  
Would thy appeaseless rage be slacked with blood,  
This sword today hath crimson channels made,  
But hear's the blood that thou woulds drink so fain,  
Then take this piercer, broach this traitorous heart.  
Or if thou thinkest death to small a pain,  
Drag down this body to proud Erebus,  
Through black Cocytus and infernal Styx,  
Lethean waves, and fierce of Phlegeton,  
Boil me or burn, tear my hateful flesh,  
Devour, consume, pull, pinch, plague, pain this heart,  
Hell craves her right, and here the furies stand,  
And all the hellhounds compass me a round  
Each seeking for a part of this same prey,  
Alas this body is lean, thin, pale and wan,  
Nor can it all your hungry mouths suffice,  
O 'tis the soul that they stand gaping for,  
And endless matter for to prey upon.  
Renewed still as Titius pricked heart.  
Then clap your hands, let Hell with joy resound?  
Here it comes flying through this airy round.  Gho. 
Hell take their hearts, that this ill deed have done  
And vengeance follow till they be overcome:  
Nor live t' applaud the justice of this deed.  
Murder by her own guilty hand doth bleed.  Enter Discord Dis. 
ay, now my longing hopes have their desire,  
The world is nothing but a massy heap:  
Of bodies slain, The Sea a lake of blood,  
The Furies that for slaughter only thirst,  
Are with these Massacres and slaughters cloyed,  
Tisiphone's pale, and Megaera's thin face,  
Is now puffed up, and swollen with quaffing blood,  
Charon that used but an old rotten boat  
Must now a navy rig for to transport,  
The howling souls, unto the Stygian strand.  
Hell and Elysium must be digged in one,  
And both will be too little to contain,  
Numberless numbers of afflicted ghosts,  
That I myself have tumbling thither sent.  Gho. 
Now nights pale daughter since thy bloody joys,  
And my revengeful thirst fulfilled are,  
Do thou applaud what justly heavens have wrought,  
While murder on the murderers head is brought.  Dis. 
Caesar I pitied not thy Tragic end:  
Nor tyrant's daggers sticking in thy heart,  
Nor do I that thy deaths with like repaid,  
But that thy death so many deaths hath made:  
Now cloyed with blood, I'll high me down below,  
And laugh to think I caused such endless woe.  Gho. 
Sith my revenge is full accomplished,  
And my death's causers by themselves are slain,  
I will descend to mine eternal home,  
Where everlastingly my quiet soul,  
The sweet Elysium pleasure shall enjoy,  
And walk those fragrant flowery fields at rest:  
To which nor fair adonis bower so rare,  
Nor old Alcinous gardens may compare.  
There that same gentle father of the spring,  
Mild Zephirus doth Odours breathe divine:  
Clothing the earth in painted bravery,  
The which nor winter's rage, nor Scorching heat,  
Or Summer's sun can make it fall or fade,  
There with the mighty champions of old time,  
And great Heroes of the Golden age,  
My dateless hours I'll spend in lasting joy.  
FINIS.