70 80 до 100 such expressions? Does not old Syphax follow you to war? What are his aims?-What is it he aspires to? Why does he load with darts His trembling hand, and crush beneath a casque Is it not this? To shed the slow remains, Syph. Not hear me talk? What! when my faith to Juba, My royal master's son, is called in question? My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb: His life, nay more, his honour, in your service? Juba. Syphax, I know thou lov'st me: but indeed Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far. And imitates her actions, where she is not; Syphax, thy hand: we'll mutually forget Cato discovered, in a thoughtful posture. In his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul: a drawn sword on the table by him. Cato. It must be so; Plato, thou reasonest well; Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? "Tis the Divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! Thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me, But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold: If there's a Power above us, And that which He delights in, must be happy. The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds. Cato. Would'st thou betray me? would'st thou give me up, A slave, a captive, into Cæsar's hands? Por. Look not thus sternly on me: (Lays down the sword.) You know I'd rather die than disobey you. Cato. 'Tis well: again I'm master of myself. Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates, And bar each avenue; thy gathering fleets O'erspread the sea, and stop up every port; Cato shall open to himself a passage, And mock thy hopes. Por. (Kneels.) O, sir, forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on him! O my father! How am I sure it is not the last time Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart. Cato. Porcius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct: Cato will never act what misbecomes him. But go, my son; take care that nought be wanting Among thy father's friends; see them embarked; And tell me if the winds and seas befriend 'em. My soul is quite weighed down with care, and asks The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. 50 60 70 [Exit CATO. Por. My thoughts are more at ease; my 80 heart revives. FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1586-1616) AND JOHN 20 30 40 And are not all these Roman? Ten struck battles I sucked these honoured scars from, and all Roman : Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches (When many a frozen storm sung through my cuirass, And made it doubtful whether that or I Were the more stubborn metal,) have I wrought through, And all to try these Romans. Ten times a night I have swum the rivers, when the stars of Rome Shot at me as I floated, and the billows Tumbled my watery ruins on my shoulders, Charging my battered sides with troops of agues, And still to try these Romans; whom I found As ready, and as full of that I brought, I buckled him-behind him, my sure shield; And then I followed. If I say I fought My helm still on my head, my sword; my prow Turned to my foe, my face, he cried out nobly, 'Go, Briton, bear thy lion's whelp off safely; Thy manly sword has ransomed thee: grow strong, And let me meet thee once again in arms; Then if thou stand'st, thou art mine.' I took his offer, And here I am to honour him. ACT II.-Scene 1. THE FALSE ONE PHOTINUS, CÆSAR, SCEVA, ANTONY. [Ptolemy, king of Egypt, having secured the head of Pompey, comes with his friends Achoreus and Photinus to present it to Casar, as a means of gaining his favour.] Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar. Thou dreamedst of being worthy, and of war, And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers: Here they take life; here they inherit honour, • Grow fixed, and shoot up everlasting triumphs. Take it, and look upon thy humble servant, With noble eyes look on the princely Ptolemy, That offers with this head, most mighty Cæsar, What thou wouldst once have given for't, all Egypt. Casar. O Sceva, Sceva, see that head! see, captains, The head of godlike Pompey! Sce. He was basely ruined; But let the gods be grieved that suffered it ; Casar. O thou conqueror, Thou glory of the world once, now the pity; Thou awe of nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus? What poor fate followed thee, and plucked thee on To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian? The life and light of Rome to a blind stranger, That honourable war ne'er taught a nobleness, Nor worthy circumstance showed what a man was? Hear me, great Pompey! If thy great spirit can hear, I must task thee! Thou'st most unnobly robbed me of my victory, My love and mercy. Ant. O, how brave these tears show! How excellent is sorrow in an enemy! Sce. Glory appears not greater than this goodness. Casar. Egyptians, dare ye think your high pyramides, Built to outdure the sun, as you suppose, Where your unworthy kings lie raked in ashes, Are monuments fit for him? No, brood of Nilus, Nothing can cover his high fame, but heaven; Whose braveries all the world's earth cannot balance. Sce. (Aside.) If thou be'st thus loving, I shall honour thee: But great men may dissemble, 'tis held possible, And be right glad of what they seem to weep for; There 're such kind of philosophers. do I wonder Now How he would look if Pompey were alive again; But how he'd set his face. king, And you that have been agents in this glory, For our especial favour? Plol. We desire it. Cæsar. And doubtless you expect rewards? Peace !—I forgive you all; that's recompense. You're young and ignorant; that pleads your pardon; And fear, it may be, more than hate provoked you. 40 50 |