At Sardis we fhall meet by break of day.
I'll take an hour's repose, and then for Sardis.
Reft to your noble thoughts.
BRUTUS remains, laid on his couch.
'Tis but in vain, fleep is not to be courted.
Sing, Boy, the fong that PORTIA likes fo well,
And footh my thoughts with fome melodious founds.
[Soft mufick and fong.
Man is himself an instrument of mufick;
But yet
fome string is always out of tune,
And ev'ry found we make fhews our confufion.
Why should this death of CAESAR trouble me?
I did it not for anger, or ambition;
But for mere honefty, and publick good;
Nay, good to him; for in my own opinion,
'Tis better much to die, than live unjustly.
My fellow-citizens, my kindred, friends,
All funk at once beneath his rifing fortune.
And should I tamely fuffer an ufurper
T'enflave mankind, because he fmiles on me ?
Friendship indeed is the most tempting bribe;
But justice should be blind to all its beauty.
And yet a reftleffness attends fuch deeds,
Tho' ne'er fo juft; fomething that feels unwieldy,
That fits uneafy on a gentle nature:
I cannot fleep, unless I shake it off.
Enter a Spirit in the Shape of CAESAR, full of dounds.
Sure I fleep now, or elfe my eyes delude me:
I know 'tis fancy all; and yet I stagger.
Ha! it comes on! What art thou? When alive, Tho' arm'd with pow'r, adorn'd with fame and greatnefs,
I fear'd thee not, because thou wert unjust;
But more than human now, thou feem'st above me! Speak, unknown being! I conjure thee, speak.
I am thy Evil Genius, MARCUS BRUTUS,
And have affum'd this fhape, to give thee terror.
Terror! How cam'ft thou to know me no better?
Sure thou art ignorant, as well
When done not for ourselves, but for our country,
Not for yourself indeed; you ftabb'd your friend,
Friend! Oh thou toucheft now my tender part! Oh name that word no more!
But what's a friend, compar'd with publick good?
Convince me, if thou canft: oh, teach me truth!
And shew me but one glimpse of future being,
Of which we talk fo much, yet know fo little!
Difpel these mists that muffle poor mankind,
And open to me all that glorious scene!
Shew me where virtue fmiles and fits enthron'd,
And where morality finds just reward;
'Tis fure, above: for ill men profper here.
I'll meet thee there. I'll meet thee any-where.
Now I am refolute, the shadow flies,
And vanishes together with my fear.
Nothing at all, my lord.
BRUTUS.
Let ev'ry thing be ready for our march;
And call me up, be sure, by break of day.
Till then I'll fleep within.
Difdom itfelf a guide will need:
ARK is the maze poor mortals tread;
We little thought, when CAESAR bled,
That a worse CAESAR would fucceed.
And are we under such a curse,
We cannot change, but for the worse ?
With fair pretence of foreign force,
By which Rome must herself enthrall;
Thefe, without blushes or remorse,
Profcribe the beft, impov'rifh all.
The Gauls themselves, our greatest foes,
Could act no mischiefs worse than those.
That JULIUS, with ambitious thoughts,
Had virtues too, his foes could find;
Thefe equal him in all his faults,
But never in his noble mind.
That free-born fpirits should obey
Wretches, who know not to sway!
Late we repent our hafty choice,
In vain bemoan fo quick a turn.
Hark all to Rome's united voice!
Better that we a while had borne
Ev'n all thofe ills which most displease,
Than fought a cure far worse than the disease.
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