No oath the cause already is so facred,
There is no need of oaths to make it more:
If fenfe of flavery, and noble shame,
If thirst of honest fame in after-ages,
If glorious justice cannot move our souls,
They are too weak for fuch a deed as this;
Break off betimes, and ev'ry Roman here
Retire with blushes to his idle bed;
And then let tyranny for ever range,
Till each man falls unpity'd: but if these
(As who dares make a doubt?) are noble Romans;
What needs a tye among us, but our words?
Plain honesty to honesty engag'd,
That CAESAR fhall not live to laugh at cowards.
Let priests, and women swear, and feeble minds,
Which, wav'ring ftill, need fuch a childish check:
We are above fuch helps, and steady bear
Our even fouls, without one doubtful start.
What Roman dares be base in such a business?
Reckon his guilt, and shame, he ventures more
Than if he did attempt ten thousand tyrants.
CASSIUS.
But what of CICERO? Shall we found him!
His gravity will countenance our heat.
No need of that, now BRUTUS is engag'd.
I know him well, believe him juft and wife;
Yet vanity a little clouds his virtue:
Nor is he bold enough for such a business.
The horse that starts, however good befides,
In war is troublesome, nay, dangerous.
DECIUS BRUTUS.
But ANTONY, fo well belov'd by CAESAR,
That inftrument of all his tyranny,
If he furvive, will be another CAESAR.
TREBONIUS.
DECIUS, well urg'd; ANTONIUS must die.
BRUTUS.
Oh! by no means; our courfe will feem too bloody,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs:
"Twill look like anger, nay, like envy too;
For ANTONY is great by CAESAR's favour.
Let us be facrificers, but not butchers.
We only draw our fwords against ambition;
Not against CAESAR's perfon, but his power:
Oh! that we, then, could come at CAESAR's spirit,
Abate his pride, and yet not spill his blood! [Sighs.
It cannot be; CAESAR, alas! must bleed.
Yet, gentle friends!
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's ferve him up, a dish fit for the Gods;
Not mangled, as a feast to beasts of prey.
Our hearts fhould melt, like thofe of tender parents,
Who oft in fharp, but neceffary rage,
Correct offending children with remorse,
Feeling more pain than what they make them suffer.
This mercy too looks better to the world,
Which shall not call us murderers, but heroes.
As for ANTONIUS therefore, think not of him;
For he can do no more than CAESAR's arm,
When CAESAR's head is off.
TREBONIUS.
But yet I fear him:
For he loves CAESAR, and is most audacious.
I hope that loving CAESAR is no fault;
Elfe I confefs that I am guilty too:
If he loves CAESAR, all that he can do
Is to be griev'd, and pine away for CAESAR:
And it were strange he should; for he is giv'n
Too much to wildness, company, and pleasures.
CASSIUS.
There is no fear of him; let him not die;
For he will live and laugh at this hereafter.
DECIUS BRUTUS.
But hold, how late's the night?
O how I long to welcome the eighth hour,
The wifh'd alarm to our great purposes!
DECIUS BRUTUS.
'Tis time to part, left at our several homes
We should be mifs'd too long.
Should forbear coming to the Capitol?
The unaccustom'd terror of this night
May move the augurs to forbid his going:
And, tho' himself's above such idle fears,
Yet the most wife and brave must yield to custom.
DECIUS BRUTUS.
Never doubt that; and tho' he were refolv'd,
I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear me.
Prudence, tho' much fuperior, often yields
To fubtle mirtli, and fly infinuation.
If CAESAR ftay at home, because it thunders,
I can in jeft reproach him with his fear;
He'll laugh, yet fear he shall be thought afraid.
Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
But fee, 'tis almoft day; fome light appears.
Then let us be difpers'd, like foggy clouds,
To meet again in thunder.
Only remember that we all are Romans; That thought will keep up our exalted spirits. [Exeunt Confpirators; manet BRUTUS.
Enter PORTIA undress'd, as new risen from bed.
BRUTUS! my lord, where are you?
Why do you thus expofe your tender health?
Can I confider health, without your love?
You have unkindly stol'n from me to-night,
And by your absence robb'd me of my rest:
How could my BRUTUS thus ungently leave
One fo unwilling to be left by you?
Chide not too much, my POR TIA; and yet
There is fome pleasure to be chid fo kindly.
Our fex has tenderness equal to yours;
Yet we, incumbred with vexatious cares,
No fooner bend our fofter thoughts to love,
But business, like a master too severe,
Stands hov'ring over us amidst our pleasure,
And drags us to our tiresome task again.
But life is fhort; oh! why should we mif-spend it? A wretch condemn'd to die within few hours, Would think them ill employ'd in compliments: The folemn trifles of a busy world
Are oft but compliment, compar'd with love,
Whose short and precious hours you throw away.
BRUTUS.
Dear PORTIA, now you but disturb my thoughts.
PORTIA.
Can mine be easy then? 'Tis no fmall thing
Can vex your even mind, and make you froward,
Froward with me, which you was ne'er till now:
This night I folded you within these arms,
And ask'd you if you flept, if you were well?
You faid, you cou'd not sleep, and yet turn'd from me.
Turning from thee is reftleffness indeed;
Thou only comfort to my troubled mind!
May joys and full content remain in yours.
Oh! preach content to one upon a rack,
And he will hear as foon.
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