And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so;
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunder bolts!
Dash him to pieces!
Cas. I did not-he was but a fool
That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities;
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not.-Still you practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.
Bru. I do not like your faults.
A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.
Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come!
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is a-weary of the world;
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O! I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast-within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus's mine, richer than gold!
If thou needest a Roman's, take it forth.
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Stike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
Bru. Sheathe your dagger;
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius! you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Devon. Thrice noble Alfred,
And England's only hope, whose virtues raise
Our frail mortality, our human dust,
Up to angelic splendor and perfection;
With you to bear the worst of ills, the spoil
Of wasteful war, the loss of life or freedom,
Is happiness, is glory.
Alfred. Ah, look round thee:
That mud-built cottage is thy sovereign's palace.
Yon hind, whose daily toil is all his wealth,
Are these times for flattery,
Or call it praise? Such gaudy attributes
Would misbecome our best and proudest fortunes.
But what are mine? what is this high praised Alfred?
Among ten thousand wretches most undone.
That prince who sees his country laid in ruins,
His subjects perishing beneath the sword
Of foreign rage, who sees, and cannot save them,
Is but supreme in misery.
Who has not known ill fortune, never knew
Himself or his own virtue. Be of comfort;
We can but die at last. Till that hour comes,
Let nobler anger keep our hopes alive.
A sudden thought, as if from heaven inspired,
Darts on my soul. Yon castle is still ours,
Though close begirt and shaken by the Danes.
In this disguise, my chance of passing on,
Of entering there unknown, is promising,
And wears a lucky face. 'Tis our last stake,
And I will play it like a man, whose life,
Whose honor hangs upon a single cast.
Meanwhile, my lord-
Alfred. Ha! Devon, thou hast roused
My slumbering virtue. I applaud thy thought,
The praise of this brave daring shall be thine;
The danger shall be common. We will both
Strait tempt the Danish camp, and gain this fort,
To animate our brothers of the war,
Those Englishmen who yet deserve that name.
And here, eternal justice! if my life
Can make atonement for them, King of kings!
Accept thy willing victim. On my head
Come on, my noble friend.
Devon. Ah, good my liege!
What fits a private valor, and might grace
The simple soldier's courage, would proclaim
His general's rashness. You are England's king:
Your infant children, and your much loved queen ;
Nay, more, the public weal, ten thousand souls,
Whose hope you are, whose all depends on you,
Forbid this enterprise. "Tis nobler virtue
To check this ardor, to reserve your sword
For some great day of known and high import;
That to your country, to the judging world,
Shall satisfy all hazards you may run.
This trial suits but me.
Alfred. Well, go, my friend;
If thou shalt prosper, thou wilt call me hence
To head my people, from their fears recovered.
May that good angel who inspired thy thought,
Throw round thy steps a veil of cloudy air,
That thou mayest walk invisible and safe. (Exit Devon.)
He is gone-and now, without a friend to aid me,
I stand alone, abandoned to the gloom
my sad thoughts.-Said I without a friend?
Oh blasphemous distrust! have I not thee,
All powerful Friend and Guardian of the righteous,
Have I not thee to aid me? Let that thought
Support my drooping soul.
Alfred. My friend returned !
O welcome, welcome! but what happy tidings
Smile in thy cheerful countenance?
Your troops have been successful.-But to heaven
Ascend the praise! For sure the event exceeds
The hand of man.
Alfred. How was it, noble Devon ?
Devon. You know my castle is not hence far distant. Thither I sped, and, in a Danish habit,
The trenches passing, by a secret way
Known to myself alone, emerged at once
Amid my joyful soldiers. There I found
A generous few, the veteran hardy gleanings
Of many a hapless fight. They with a fierce
Heroic fire inspirited each other;
Resolved on death, disdaining to survive
Their dearest country." If we fall," I cried,
"Let us not tamely fall like cowards!
No let us live-or let us die, like men!
Come on, my friends: to Alfred we will cut
Our glorious way; or, as we nobly perish,
Will offer to the genius of our country
Whole hecatombs of Danes."-As if one soul
Had moved them all, around their heads they flashed
Their flaming falchions." Lead us to those Danes!
Our country!-vengeance !"—was the general cry.
Straight on the careless drowsy camp we rushed,
And rapid, as the flame devours the stubble,
Bore down the heartless Danes. With this success
Our enterprise increased. Not now contented
To hew a passage through the flying herd,
We, unremitting, urged a total rout.
The valiant Hubba bites the bloody field,
With twice six hundred Danes around him strewed.
Alfred. My glorious friend! this action has restored
Our sinking country.
But where, my noble cousin, are the rest
Of our brave troops?
Devon. On the other side the stream,
That half encloses this retreat, I left them.
Roused from the fear, with which it was congealed
As in a frost, the country pours amain.
The spirit of our ancestors is up,
The spirit of the free! and with a voice
That breathes success, they all demand their king.
Alfred. Quick let us join them, and improve their ardor. We cannot be too hasty to secure
XXIV. FROM BRUTUS.-Payne.
BRUTUS-CENTURION-VALERIUS-TITUS-COLLATINUS-LIC
Scene 1.-A Street in Rome.
(Enter Brutus and Collatinus, as consuls, followed by lictors, guards, and people.)
Brutus. You judge me rightly, friends. The purpled robe, The curule chair, the lictor's keen-edged axe, Rejoice not Brutus ;-'tis his country's freedom: When once that freedom shall be firmly rooted, Then, with redoubled pleasure, will your consul Exchange the splendid miseries of power,
For the calm comforts of a happy home. (Enter Centurion.) Centurion. Health to Brutus !
Shame and confusion to the foes of Rome !
Bru. Now, without preface, soldier, to your business.
Cent. As I kept watch at the Quirinal gate,
Ere break of day, an armed company
Burst on a sudden through the barrier guard,
Pushing their course for Ardea. Straight alarmed,
I wheeled my cohort round, and charged them home :
Sharp was the conflict for a while, and doubtful,
Till, on the seizure of Tarquinia's person,
A young patrician
Bru. Hah! patrician?
His dress bespoke him, though to me unknown.
Bru. Proceed!--what more?
This youth, the life and leader of the band,
His sword high waving in the act to strike,
Dropt his uplifted weapon, and at once
Yielded himself my prisoner.--Oh, Valerius,
What have I said, that thus the consul changes?
Bru. Why do you pause? Go on.
Cent. Their leader seized,
The rest surrendered. Him, a settled gloom
Possesses wholly; nor, as I believe,
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