Enter Emperour, Licinius, Chilax, and Balbus.
Emper. Dead?
Chil. So 'tis thought, Sir.
Emper. How?
Lici. Grief, and disgrace,
As people say.
Empe. No more, I have too much on't,
Too much by you, you whetters of my follies,
Ye Angel formers of my sins, but Devils;
Where is your cunning now? you would work wonders,
There was no chastity above your practice,
You would undertake to make her love her wrongs,
And doate upon her rape: mark what I tell ye,
If she be dead—
Chil. Alas Sir.
Empe. Hang ye Rascals,
Ye blasters of my youth, if she be gone,
'Twere better ye had been your Fathers Camels,
Groan'd under daily weights of wood and water:
Am I not Cæsar?
Lici. Mighty and our Maker.
Empe. Than thus have given my pleasures to destruction.
Look she be living, slaves.
Lici. We are no Gods Sir,
If she be dead, to make her new again.
Empe. She cannot dye, she must not dye; are those
I plant my love upon but common livers?
Their hours as others, told 'em? can they be ashes?
Why do ye flatter a belief into me
That I am all that is, the world's my creature,
The Trees bring forth their fruits when I say Summer,
The Wind that knows no limit but his wildness,
At my command moves not a leaf; the Sea
With his proud mountain waters envying Heaven,
When I say still, run into Crystal mirrors,
Can I do this and she dye? Why ye bubbles
That with my least breath break, no more remembred;
Ye moths that fly about my flame and perish,
Ye golden canker-worms, that eat my honours,
Living no longer than my spring of favour:
Why do ye make me God that can do nothing?
Is she not dead?
Chil. All Women are not with her.
Empe. A common Whore serves you, and far above ye,
The pleasures of a body lam'd with lewdness;
A meer perpetual motion makes ye happy;
Am I a man to traffick with Diseases?
Can any but a chastity serve Cæsar?
And such a one that Gods would kneel to purchase?
You think because you have bred me up to pleasures,
And almost run me over all the rare ones,
Your Wives will serve the turn: I care not for 'em,
Your Wives are Fencers Whores, and shall be Footmens,
Though sometimes my nice will, or rather anger
Have made ye Cuckolds for variety;
I would not have ye hope, nor dream ye poor ones
Alwaies so great a blessing from me; go
Get your own infamy hereafter Rascals,
I have done too nobly for ye, ye enjoy
Each one an heir, the Royal seed of Cæsar,
And I may curse ye for't; your wanton Gennets
That are so proud, the wind get's 'em with fillies,
Taught me this foul intemperance: Thou Licinius
Hast such a Messalina, such a Lais,
The backs of Bulls cannot content, nor Stallions,
The sweat of fifty men a night do's nothing.
Lici. Your Grace but jests I hope.
Empe. 'Tis Oracle.
The sins of other Women put by hers
Shew off like sanctities: Thine's a fool, Chilax,
Yet she can tell to twenty, and all lovers,
And all lien with her too, and all as she is,
Rotten, and ready for an Hospital.
Yours is an holy Whore, friend Balbus.
Bal. Well Sir.
Empe. One that can pray away the sins she suffers,
But not the punishments: she has had ten Bastards,
Five of 'em now are Lictors, yet she prayes;
She has been the Song of Rome, and common Pasquil;
Since I durst see a Wench, she was Camp Mistris,
And muster'd all the cohorts, paid 'em too,
They have it yet to shew, and yet she prayes;
She is now to enter old men that are Children,
And have forgot their rudiments: am I
Left for these withered vices? and but one,
But one of all the world that could content me,
And snatch'd away in shewing? If your Wives
Be not yet Witches, or your selves now be so
And save your lives, raise me this noble beauty
As when I forc'd her, full of constancy,
Or by the Gods—
Lid. Most sacred Cæsar.
Empe. Slaves.
Enter Proculus.
Lici. Good Proculus.
Pro. You shall not see it,
It may concern the Empire.
Emp. Ha: what said'st thou?
Is she not dead?
Pro. Not any one I know, Sir;
I come to bring your Grace a Letter, here
Scatter'd belike i'th' Court: 'tis sent to Maximus
And bearing danger in it.
Emp. Danger? where?
Double our Guard.
Pro. Nay no where, but i'th' Letter.
Emp. What an afflicted Conscience do I live with,
And what a beast I am grown! I had forgotten
To ask Heaven mercy for my fault, and was now
Even ravishing again her memory,
I find there must be danger in this deed:
Why do I stand disputing then and whining?
For what is not the gods to give, they cannot
Though they would link their powers in one, do mischief.
This Letter may betray me, get ye gone [Exeunt.
And wait me in the Garden, guard the house well,
And keep this from the Empress: the name Maximus
Runs through me like a feavour, this may be
Some private Letter upon private business,
Nothing concerning me: why should I open't?
I have done him wrong enough already; yet
It may concern me too, the time so tells me;
The wicked deed I have done, assures me 'tis so.
Be what it will, I'le see it, if that be not
Part of my fears, among my other sins,
I'le purge it out in prayers:
How? what's this?
Letter read] Lord Maximus, you love Æcius,
And are his noble friend too; bid him be less,
I mean less with the people, times are dangerou[s]:
The Army's his, the Emperour in doubts;
And as some will not stick to say, declining,
You stand a constant man in either fortune;
Perswade him, he is lost else: Though ambition
Be the last sin he touches at, or never;
Yet what the people mad with loving him,
And as they willingly desire another
May tempt him to, or rather force his goodness,
Is to be doubted mainly: he is all,
(As he stands now) but the meer name of Cæsar,
And should the Emperour inforce him lesser,
Not coming from himself, it were more dangerous:
He is honest, and will hear you: doubts are scatter'd,
And almost come to growth in every houshold:
Yet in my foolish judgment, were this master'd,
The people that are now but rage, and his,
Might be again obedience: you shall know me
When Rome is fair again; till when I love you.
No name! this may be cunning, yet it seems not;
For there is nothing in it but is certain,
Besides my safety.
Had not good Germanicus,
That was as loyal, and as straight as he is,
If not prevented by Tiberius,
Been by the Souldiers forc'd their Emperour?
He had, and 'tis my wisdom to remember it.
And was not Corbulo, even that Corbulo,
That ever fortunate and living Roman,
That broke the heart-strings of the Parthians,
And brought Arsaces line upon their knees,
Chain'd to the awe of Rome, because he was thought
(And but in wine once) fit to make a Cæsar,
Cut off by Nero? I must seek my safety:
For 'tis the same again, if not beyond it:
I know the Souldier loves him more than Heaven,
And will adventure all his gods to raise him;
Me he hates more than peace: what this may breed,
If dull security and confidence
Let him grow up, a fool may find and laught at.
But why Lord Maximus I injur'd so,
Should be the man to counsel him, I know not;
More than he has been friend, and lov'd allegeance:
What now he is I fear, for his abuses
Without the people dare draw blood; who waits there?
Enter a Servant.
Emp. Call Phidias and Aretus hither:
I'le find a day for him too; times are dangerous,
The Army his, the Emperour in doubts:
I find it is too true; did he not tell me
1. As if he had intent to make me odious,
2. And to my face; and by a way of terror,
What vices I was grounded in, and almost
Proclaim'd the Souldiers hate against me? is not
The sacred name and dignity of Cæsar
(Were this Æcius more than man) sufficient
To shake off all his honesty? He's dangerous
Though he be good, and though a friend, a fear'd one,
And such I must not sleep by: are they come yet?
I do believe this fellow, and I thank him;
'Twas time to look about, if I must perish,
Yet shall my fears go formost.
Enter Phidias, and Aretus.
Phi. Life to Cæsar.
Emp. Is Lord Æcius waiting?
Phi. Not this morning,
I rather think he's with the Army.
Emp. Army?
I do not like that Army: go unto him,
And bid him straight attend me, and do ye hear,
Come private without any; I have business
Only for him.
Phi. Your Graces pleasure— [Exit Phidias.
Emp. Go;
What Souldier is the same, I have seen him often,
That keeps you company, Aretus?
Are. Me Sir?
Emp. I you, Sir.
Are. One they call Pontius,
And't please your Grace.
Emp. A Captain?
Are. Yes, he was so;
But speaking something roughly in his want,
Especially of Wars, the Noble General
Out of strict allegiance cast his fortunes.
Emp. H'as been a valiant fellow.
Are. So he's still.
Emp. Alas, the General might have pardon'd follies,
Souldiers will talk sometimes.
Are. I am glad of this.
Emp. He wants preferment as I take it.
Are. Yes Sir;
And for that noble Grace his life shall serve.
Emp. I have a service for him:
I shame a Souldier should become a Begger:
I like the man Aretus.
Are. Gods protect ye.
Emp. Bid him repair to Proculus, and there
He shall receive the business, and reward for't:
I'le see him setled too, and as a Souldier,
We shall want such.
Are. The sweets of Heaven still crown ye.
Emp. I have a fearful darkness in my soul,
And till I be deliver'd, still am dying. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Maximus alone.
Max. My way has taken: all the Court's in guard,
And business every where, and every corner
Full of strange whispers: I am least in rumour,
Enter Æcius and Phidias.
And so I'le keep my self. Here comes Æcius,
I see the bait is swallow'd: If he be lost
He is my Martyr, and my way stands open,
And honour on thy head, his blood is reckon'd.
Æ[ci]. Why how now friend, what makes ye here unarm'd?
Are ye turn'd Merchant?
Max. By your fair perswasions,
And such a Merchant trafficks without danger;
I have forgotten all, Æcius,
And which is more, forgiven.
Æci. Now I love ye,
Truly I do, ye are a worthy Roman.
Max. The fair repentance of my Prince to me
Is more than sacrifice of bloud and vengeance,
No eyes shall weep her ruins, but mine own.
Aeci. Still ye take more love from me: vertuous friend
The gods make poor Aecius worthy of thee.
Max. Only in me y'are poor Sir: and I worthy
Only in being yours:
But why your arm thus,
Have ye been hurt Aecius?
Aeci. Bruis'd a little:
My horse fell with me friend: which till this morning
I never knew him do.
Max. Pray gods it boad well;
And now I think on't better, ye shall back,
Let my perswasions rule ye.
Aeci. Back, why Maximus?
The Emperour commands me come.
Max. I like not
At this time his command.
Aeci. I do at all times,
And all times will obey it, why not now then?
Max. I'le tell ye why, and as I have been govern'd,
Be you so, noble friend: The Court's in Guard,
Arm'd strongly, for what purpose, let me fear;
I do not like your going.
Aeci. Were it fire;
And that fire certain to consume this body,
If Cæsar sent, I would goe; never fear man,
If he take me, he takes his arms away,
I am too plain and true to be suspected.
Max. Then I have dealt unwisely.
Aeci. If the Emperour,
Because he meerely may, will have my life,
That's all he has to work on, and all shall have:
Let him, he loves me better: here I wither,
And happily may live, till ignorantly
I run into a fault worth death: nay more, dishonour.
Now all my sins, I dare say those of duty
Are printed here, and if I fall so happy,
I bless the grave I lye in, and the gods
Equal, as dying on the Enemy,
Must take me up a Sacrifice.
Max. Goe on then,
And I'le goe with ye.
Aeci. No, ye may not friend.
Max. He cannot be a friend, bars me Aecius,
Shall I forsake ye in my doubts?
Aeci. Ye must.
Max. I must not, nor I will not; have I liv'd
Only to be a Carpet friend for pleasure?
I can endure a death as well as Cato.
Aeci. There is no death nor danger in my going,
Nor none must goe along.
Max. I have a sword too,
And once I could have us'd it for my friend.
Aeci. I need no sword, nor friend in this, pray leave me;
And as ye love me, do not overlove me;
I am commanded none shall come: at supper
I'le meet ye, and weel drink a cup or two,
Ye need good Wine, ye have been sad: Farewel.
Max. Farewel my noble friend, let me embrace ye
E're ye depart; it may be one of us
Shall never do the like again.
Aeci. Yes often.
Max. Farewel good dear Aecius.
Aeci. Farewel Maximus
Till night: indeed you doubt too much.— [Exit.
Max. I do not:
Goe worthy innocent, and make the number
Of Cæsars sins so great, Heaven may want mercy:
I'le hover hereabout to know what passes:
And if he be so devilish to destroy thee,
In thy bloud shall begin his Tragedy.— [Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Proculus, and Pontius.
Pro. Besides this, if you do it, you enjoy
The noble name Patrician: more than that too,
The friend of Cæsar ye are stil'd: there's nothing
Within the hopes of Rome, or present being,
But you may safely say is yours.
Pon. Pray stay Sir;
What has Aecius done to be destroy'd?
At least I would have a colour.
Pro. Ye have more,
Nay all that may be given, he is a Traitor,
One, any man would strike that were a subject.
Pon. Is he so foul?
Pro. Yes, a most fearfull Traytor.
Pon. A fearfull plague upon thee, for thou lyest;
I ever thought the Souldier would undoe him
With his too much affection.
Pro. Ye have hit it,
They have brought him to ambition.
Pon. Then he is gone.
Pro. The Emperour out of a foolish pitie,
Would save him yet.
Pon. Is he so mad?
Pro. He's madder!
Would goe to'th' Army to him.
Pon. Would he so?
Pro. Yes Pontius; but we consider—
Pon. Wisely.
Pro. How else man, that the state lies in it.
Pon. And your lives too.
Pro. And every mans.
Pon. He did me
All the disgrace he could.
Pro. And scurvily.
Pon. Out of a mischief meerly: did you mark it?
Pro. Yes well enough.
Now ye have means to quit it,
The deed done, take his place.
Pon. Pray let me think on't,
'Tis ten to one I do it.
Pro. Do and be happy.— [Exit Pro.
Pon. This Emperour is made of nought but mischief,
Sure, Murther was his Mother: none to lop,
But the main link he had? upon my conscience
The man is truly honest, and that kills him;
For to live here, and study to be true,
Is all one to be Traitors: why should he die?
Have they not Slaves and Rascals for their Offrings
In full abundance; Bawds more than beasts for slaughter?
Have they not singing whores enough, and knaves too,
And millions of such Martyrs to sink Charon,
But the best sons of Rome must sail too? I will shew him
(since he must dye) a way to do it truly:
And though he bears me hard, yet shall he know,
I am born to make him bless me for a blow.— [Exit.
SCENE [IV].
Enter Phidias, Aretus, and Æcius.
Phi. Yet ye may 'scape to th' Camp, we'l hazard with ye.
Aret. Lose not your life so basely Sir: ye are arm'd,
And many when they see your sword out, and know why,
Must follow your adventure.
Aeci. Get ye from me:
Is not the doom of Cæsar on this body,
Do not I bear my last hour here, now sent me?
Am I not old Aecius, ever dying?
You think this tenderness and love you bring me,
'Tis treason, and the strength of disobedience,
And if ye tempt me further, ye shall feel it:
I seek the Camp for safety, when my death
Ten times more glorious than my life, and lasting
Bids me be happy? Let the fool fear dying,
Or he that weds a woman for his honour,
Dreaming no other life to come but kisses;
Aecius is not now to learn to suffer:
If ye dare shew a just affection, kill me,
I stay but those that must: why do ye weep?
Am I so wretched to deserve mens pities?
Goe give your tears to those that lose their worths,
Bewail their miseries, for me wear Garlands,
Drink wine, and much; sing Peans to my praise,
I am to triumph friends, and more than Cæsar,
For Cæsar fears to die, I love to die.
Phi. O my dear Lord!
Aeci. No more, goe, goe I say;
Shew me not signs of sorrow, I deserve none:
Dare any man lament, I should die nobly?
Am I grown old to have such enemies?
When I am dead, speak honourably of me,
That is, preserve my memory from dying;
There if you needs must weep your ruin'd Master,
A tear or two will seem well: this I charge ye,
(because ye say you yet love old Aecius)
See my poor body burnt, and some to sing
About my Pile, and what I have done and suffer'd,
If Cæsar kill not that too: at your banquets
When I am gone, if any chance to number
The times that have been sad and dangerous,
Say how I fell, and 'tis sufficient:
No more I say, he that laments my end
By all the gods dishonours me; be gone
And suddainly, and wisely from my dangers,
My death is catching else.
Phi. We fear not dying.
Aec. Yet fear a wilfull death, the just Gods hate it,
I need no company to that that Children
Dare do alone, and Slaves are proud to purchase;
Live till your honesties, as mine has done,
Make this corrupted age sick of your vertues,
Then dye a sacrifice, and then ye know
The noble use of dying well, and Roman.
Are. And must we leave ye Sir?
Aeci. We must all die,
All leave our selves, it matters not where, when,
Nor how, so we die well: and can that man that does so
Need lamentation for him? Children weep
Because they have offended, or for fear;
Women for want of will, and anger; is there
In noble man, that truly feels both poyses
Of life and death, so much of this wet weakness,
To drown a glorious death in child and woman?
I am asham'd to see ye; yet ye move me,
And were it not my manhood would accuse me,
For covetous to live, I should weep with ye.
Phi. O we shall never see you more.
Aeci. 'Tis true;
Nor I the miseries that Rome shall suffer,
Which is a benefit life cannot reckon:
But what I have been, which is just, and faithfull;
One that grew old for Rome, when Rome forgot him,
And for he was an honest man durst die,
Ye shall have daily with ye: could that dye too,
And I return no traffick of my travels,
No pay to have been Souldier, but this Silver,
No Annals of Æcius, but he liv'd,
My friends, ye had cause to weep, and bitterly;
The common overflows of tender women,
And children new born crying, were too little
To shew me then most wretched: if tears must be,
I should in justice weep 'em, and for you,
You are to live, and yet behold those slaughters
The drie, and wither'd bones of death would bleed at:
But sooner, than I have time to think what must be,
I fear you'l find what shall be;
If ye love me,
Let that word serve for all, be gone and leave me;
I have some little practice with my soul,
And then the sharpest sword is welcom'st; goe,
Pray be gone, ye have obey'd me living,
Be not for shame now stubborn; so I thank ye,
And fare ye well, a better fortune guide ye—
[Exeunt Phi. and Aretus.
I am a little thirstie, not for fear,
And yet it is a kind of fear, I say so;
Is it to be a just man now again,
And leave my flesh unthought of? 'tis departed:
I hear 'em come, who strikes first?
I stay for ye:
Enter Balbus, Chilax, Licinius.
Yet I will dye a Souldier, my sword drawn,
But against none:
Why do ye fear? come forward.
Bal. You were a Souldier Chilax.
Chil. Yes, I muster'd
But never saw the Enemy.
Lici. He's drawn,
By heaven I dare not do it.
Aeci. Why do ye tremble?
I am to die, come ye not now from Cæsar
To that end, speak?
Bal. We do, and we must kill ye,
'Tis Cæsars will.
Chil. I charge you put your sword up,
That we may do it handsomly.
Aeci. Ha, ha, ha,
My sword up, handsomly? where were ye bred?
Ye are the merriest murderers my masters
I ever met withal; Come forward fools,
Why do ye stare? upon mine honour Bawds,
I will not strike ye.
Lici. I'le not be first.
Bal. Nor I.
Chil. You had best die quietly: the Emperour
Sees how you bear your self.
Aeci. I would die Rascals,
If you would kill me quietly.
Bal. —— of Proculus,
He promis'd us to bring a Captain hither,
That has been used to kill.
Aeci. I'le call the Guard,
Unless you will kill me quickly, and proclaim
What beastly, base, and cowardly companions
The Emperour has trusted with his safetie:
Nay I'le give out, ye fell of my side, villains,
Strike home ye bawdy slaves.
Chil. He will kill us,
I mark'd his hand, he waits but time to reach us,
Now do you offer.
Aeci. If ye do mangle me,
And kill me not at two blows, or at three,
Or not so stagger me, my senses fail me,
Look to your selves.
Chil. I told ye.
Aeci. Strike me manly,
And take a thousand strokes.—
Enter Pontius.
Bal. Here's Pontius.
Pon. Not kill'd him yet?
Is this the love ye bear the Emperour?
Nay then I see ye are Traitors all, have at ye.— [Lici. runs away.
Chi. Oh I am hurt.
Bal. And I am kill'd— [Exeunt Chil. and Bal.
Pon. Dye Bawds;
As ye have liv'd and flourish'd.
Aeci. Wretched fellow,
What hast thou done?
Pon. Kill'd them that durst not kill,
And you are next.
Aeci. Art thou not Pontius?
Pon. I am the same you cast Æcius,
And in the face of all the Camp disgrac'd.
Aec. Then so much nobler, as thou wert a Souldier,
Shall my death be: is it revenge provok'd thee,
Or art thou hir'd to kill me?
Pon. Both.
Aeci. Then do it.
Pon. Is that all?
Aeci. Yes.
Pon. Would you not live?
Aeci. Why should I,
To thank thee for my life?
Pon. Yes, if I spare it.
Aeci. Be not deceiv'd, I was not made to thank
For any courtesie, but killing me,
A fellow of thy fortune; do thy duty.
Pon. Do not you fear me?
Aeci. No.
Pon. Nor love me for it?
Aeci. That's as thou dost thy business.
Pon. When you are dead,
Your place is mine Æcius.
Aeci. Now I fear thee,
And not alone thee Pontius, but the Empire.
Pon. Why, I can govern Sir.
Aeci. I would thou couldst,
And first thy self: Thou canst fight well, and bravely,
Thou canst endure all dangers, heats, colds, hungers;
Heavens angry flashes are not suddainer,
Than I have seen thee execute; nor more mortal;
The winged feet of flying enemies
I have stood and view'd thee mow away like rushes,
And still kill the killer: were thy minde,
But half so sweet in peace, as rough in dangers,
I died to leave a happy heir behind me;
Come strike, and be a General.
Pon. Prepare then:
And, for I see your honour cannot lessen,
And 'twere a shame for me to strike a dead man,
Fight your short span out.
Aeci. No thou knowst I must not,
I dare not give thee so much vantage of me,
As disobedience.
Pon. Dare ye not defend ye
Against your enemy?
Aeci. Not sent from Cæsar,
I have no power to make such enemies;
For as I am condemn'd, my naked sword
Stands but a hatchment by me; only held
To shew I was a Souldier; had not Cæsar
Chain'd all defence in this doom, let him die,
Old as I am, and quench'd with scarrs, and sorrows,
Yet would I make this wither'd Arm do wonders,
And open in an enemy such wounds
Mercy would weep to look on.
Pon. Then have at ye,
And look upon me, and be sure ye fear not:
Remember who you are, and why you live,
And what I have been to you: cry not hold,
Nor think it base injustice I should kill ye.
Aeci. I am prepar'd for all.
Pon. For now Æcius,
Thou shalt behold and find I was no traitor,
And as I do it, bless me; die as I do.— [Pontius kills himself.
Aeci. Thou hast deceiv'd me Pontius, and I thank thee;
By all my hopes in Heaven, thou art a Roman.
Pon. To shew you what you ought to do, this is not;
For slanders self would shame to find you coward,
Or willing to out-live your honestie:
But noble Sir, ye have been jealous of me,
And held me in the rank of dangerous persons,
And I must dying say it was but justice,
Ye cast me from my credit; yet believe me,
For there is nothing now but truth to save me,
And your forgiveness, though ye held me hainous,
And of a troubled spirit, that like fire
Turns all to flames it meets with, ye mistook me;
If I were foe to any thing, 'twas ease,
Want of the Souldiers due, the Enemy
The nakedness we found at home, and scorn,
Children of peace, and pleasures, no regard
Nor comfort for our scars, but how we got 'em,
To rusty time, that eat our bodies up,
And even began to prey upon our honours,
To wants at home, and more than wants, abuses,
To them, that when the Enemy invaded
Made us their Saints, but now the sores of Rome;
To silken flattery, and pride plain'd over,
Forgetting with what wind their feathers sail,
And under whose protection their soft pleasures
Grow full and numberless: to this I am foe,
Not to the state, or any point of duty:
And let me speak but what a Souldier may,
Truly I ought to be so; yet I err'd,
Because a far more noble sufferer
Shew'd me the way to patience, and I lost it:
This is the end I die Sir; to live basely,
And not the follower of him that bred me,
In full account and vertue, Pontius dare not,
Much less to out-live what is good, and flatter.
Aeci. I want a name to give thy vertue Souldier,
For only good is far below thee Pontius,
The gods shall find thee one; thou hast fashion'd death
In such an excellent, and beauteous manner,
I wonder men can live: Canst thou speak once more,
For thy words are such harmony, a soul
Would choose to flye to Heaven in.
Pon. A farewel:
Good noble General your hand, forgive me,
And think what ever was displeasing you,
Was none of mine: ye cannot live.
Aeci. I will not:
Yet one word more.
Pon. Dye nobly: Rome farewel:
And Valentinian fall, thou hast broke thy Basis.
In joy ye have given me a quiet death,
I would strike more wounds, if I had more breath— [He dyes.
Aeci. Is there an hour of goodness beyond this?
Or any man would out-live such a dying?
Would Cæsar double all my honours on me,
And stick me o're with favours, like a Mistris;
Yet would I grow to this man: I have loved,
But never doated on a face till now:
O death thou art more than beautie, and thy pleasure
Beyond posterity: Come friends and kill me;
Cæsar be kind, and send a thousand swords,
The more, the greater is my fall: why stay ye?
Come, and I'le kiss your weapons: fear me not,
By all the gods I'le honour ye for killing:
Appear, or through the Court, and world, I'le search ye:
My sword is gone; ye are Traitors if ye spare me,
And Cæsar must consume ye: all base cowards?
I'le follow ye, and e're I dye proclaim ye
The weeds of Italy; the dross of nature—
Where are ye, villains, traytors, slaves.— [Exit.
Enter Proculus, and 3 others running over the Stage.