And bade him follow; fo indeed he did:
The Torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it,
With lufty Sinews throwing it aside,
But yet, e'er we could reach the Point propos'd,
CASAR, cry'd, help me, CASSIUS, or I fink!
Juft as ENEAS, our great Ancestor,
Did from the Flames of Troy bear on his Shoulders
The old ANCHISES, I, from Tiber's Waves
Bore the tir' CASAR: Yet this feeble Man
Is now become a God; and CASSIUS is
A wretched Creature, and must bend his Body,
If CÆSAR give him but a careless Nod.
A ftrange Difcafe poffeffes him fometimes,
This day I faw him fall into his Fit;
(That which delay'd the Sports till Afternoon.)
This God has fall'n to ground, and foam'd at mouth,
His Limbs have trembled, and his Eyes have roll'd,
Yet now his Look muft awe the trembling World.
Nay, I have heard him groan, like a fick Girl;
And that fimoothTongue which us'd to move fo much,
And make the Romans fct down all it said,
Would faulter then, and ftammer out ftrange things.
Gods! why fhould one of fuch a feeble Temper
Be fet upon the Top of all this World,
To look down on Mankind?
Another Shout! fure Rome is turn'd a Revel!
I fear at least they crown him with Applaufe.
Why, Man, he now beftrides the narrow World,
Like a Coloffus; and we petty Mcn
Walk under his huge Legs, and peep about,
To find our felves difhonourable Graves.
Men, at fome times, are Mafters of their Fates;
The Fault, dear BRUTUS, is not in our Stars,
But in our felves, that we are Underlings.
BRUTUS, and CESAR! where's the difference?
Why should that Name be founded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a Name;
Shout BRUTUS, and the Echo is as loud:
BRUTUS and CÆSAR! conjure with thofe Names,
BRUTUS will start a Spirit, as soon as CÆSAR.
Now in the Name of all the Gods at once,
On what high Fame does this our CÆSAR feed,
That he is grown fo great? Age, thou art fham'd!
Rome, thou haft loft thy Breed of noble Blood!
When did there pafs an Age, fince Time first was,
That the whole World refounded but one Man?
When could they fay, till now, who talk'd of Rome,
That her wide Walls contain'd one fingle Hero?
O, you and I have heard our Fathers fay,
There was a BRUTUS once, who kill'd his Sons, And would have flain his dearest Friend, nay Father, Rather than fuffer Rome to be enflav'd.
That CASSIUS loves me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some Aim,
How I have thought of this, and of these Times,
I fhall recount hereafter; for this prefent,
I would not (if with Love I might intreat it)
Be any farther mov'd. What you have faid,
I will confider; what you have to say,
I will with patience bear, and find a time
Both fit to hear, and anfwer fuch high things,
Till then, my noble Friend, remember this;
BRUTUS had rather be a Villager,
A worthless Stranger, than a Son of Rome,
Under fuch hard Conditions as this Time
Is like to lay upon us.
That my weak Words have drawn thus much from
A fudden Storm! I'll leave you, noble CASSIUS; [Exceffive Thunder and Lightning on a fudden.
We are obferv'd. At Midnight, if you please, We'll meet again, and talk of this more largely.
I will not fail to wait on worthy Brutus.
Your Ear is good. The Air is ftrangely chang'd!
Who ever knew the Earth fo full of Faults?
For my part, I'll walk ftill about the Streets,
Submitting to the Dangers of the Storm;
Unbutton'd thus, and careless, as you fee,
Will bare my Bofom to the Thunderbolt,
Juft as the fiery Flash begins to dart.
But wherefore would you fo much tempt the Gods Sure, 'tis our part rather to fear, and tremble, When they, for Causes to poor Men unknown, Send dreadful Heralds to denounce a War.
You are dull, CASCA, and thofe Sparks of Fire
That should enflame a Roman Breaft, you want,
Or elfe diffemble: You look pale, and gaze,
And put on Fear, and lofe your felf in Wonder,
To fee this strange Disorder in the Heavens :
Think on the Earth, good CASCA; think on Rome ;
If fiery Meteors, and Fool-frighting Ghosts,
If monftrous Births, and ftrange portentous things,
As you believe, break Nature's fettled Courfe ;
'Tis to accompany this monftrous State.
I could now, CASCA, name to thee a Man
Moft like this dreadful Night, which thunders,
lightens,
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