And looks all pale, with lofs of guiltless Blood! Whose honeft Life the War has facrific'd Nay, are not you dead too? fince in his Power Was Mafter of the World, and fhar'd the Power; The Greatness, nay the Goodness of this CÆSAR, What must we be, to be forgiv'n by him? And do you think, because he gives you Pleasures, And then fubject them? make them mild, and tame, Those lofty Thoughts, which like true mettled Hawks For For fhame, repent of such a childish Folly; CASCA. And POMPEY too, methinks, fhould be remember'd, TREBONIUS. See if they are not mov'd; the Roman Soul Kill him with staring. I CITIZEN. Farewel worthy Lords! You love your Country, and we love you for it. TREBONIUS. Shall we not be accus'd for this? CASCA. No matter; We break no Laws either of Gods or Men : So, if we fall, it is with Reputation; A Fate which Cowards fhun, and brave Men feek. If CAESAR punish Men for speaking Truth, My My honeft Tongue shall dare his utmost Doom. But here he comes, with all that Pomp and Pride In which young Power so childishly delights. SCENE III. Enter CASAR attended by ANTONY, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and many other Senators: Sits down in a magnificent Seat, to behold feveral Divertisements after the Roman manner. When the Sports are ended, ANTONY prefents him a Crown. ANTONIUS. Hail, mighty Man! thou Godlike CÆSAR, hail! CÆSAR. I am not call'd your King, but your Dictator; [CÆSAR defcends from his Seat to the middle of the Stage. A Name, I hope, that bears as great a Sound; If If not, 'tis no vain Titles that can help it: [He puts back the Crown with his Hand, Than to advance your Good, and my own Honour. ANTONIUS. Take then this Crown, which seems so much for both; [Offering the Crown once more. For Pow'r well plac'd, can never be too great. CÆSAR. Again! this needs not; 'tis unfeemly Joy; [CÆSAR refufes it, and they fhout It looks as if you doubted me before, ANTONIUS. Tis. I, Sir, am furpriz'd; but 'tis with Grief, [He offers the Crown the third time. To fee you fhun a Pow'r, you ought to feek; Again! CESAR. [He refuses it again, and they Peace, you unmannerly, unthinking Crowd! But this, to be as popular as POMPEY? How have I us'd my Pow'r, that you should fear it? Let out that Blood, you think boils with Ambition, my Fame; Nor wou'd accept of Pow'r, unless to please. I feel their Pulfes, and I find them beat [To ANTONY afide. Fev'rifh, and high, unfit for my Designs: Strive for a fatal Freedom to be ruin'd. A N |