FINIS. Act. 3.

Cæs. Why thinkes my loue to fright me with her dreames? 1591
Shall bug-beares feare Cæsars vndaunted heart,
Whome Pompeys Fortune neuer could amaze,
Nor the French horse, nor Mauritanian boe,
And now shall vaine illusions mee affright:
Or shadowes daunt, whom substance could not quell?
Calphur. O dearest Cæsar, hast thou seene thy selfe,
(As troubled dreames to me did faine thee seene:)
Torne, Wounded, Maymed, Blod-slaughtered, Slaine,
O thou thy selfe, wouldst then haue dread thy selfe: 1600
And feard to thrust thy life to dangers mouth.
Cæs. There you bewray the folly of your dreame,
For I am well, aliue, vncaught, vntoucht.
Calphur. T’was in the Senate-house I sawe thee so,
And yet thou dreadles thither needes will go.
Cæs. The Senate is a place of peace, not death,
But these were but deluding visions.
Calphur. O do not set so little by the heauens,
Dreames ar diuine, men say they come from Ioue,
Beware betimes, and bee not wise to late: 1610
Mens good indeuours change the wills of Fate.
Cæs. Weepe not faire loue, let not thy wofull teares
Bode mee, I knowe what thou wouldest not haue to hap
It will distaine mine honor wonne in fight
To say a womans dreame could me affright.
Cal. O Cæsar no dishonour canst thou get,
In seeking to preuent vnlucky chance:
Foole-hardy men do runne vpon their death,
Bec thou in this perswaded by thy wife:
No vallour bids thee cast away thy life. 1620
Cæs. Tis dastard cowardize and childish feare,
To dread those dangers that do not appeare:
Cal. Thou must sad chance by fore-cast, wise resist,
Or being done say boote-les had I wist.
Cæs. But for to feare wher’s no suspition,
Will to my greatnesse be derision.
Cal. There lurkes an adder in the greenest grasse,
Daungers of purpose alwayes hide their face:
Cæs. Perswade no more Cæsar’s resolu’d to go.
Cal. The Heauens resolue that hee may safe returne, 1630
For if ought happen to my loue but well:
His danger shalbe doubled with my death. Exit.

Augur. I, come they are, but yet they are not gon.
Cæs. What hast thou sacrifiz’d, as custome is,
Before wee enter in the Senat-house.
Augur. O stay those steeps that leade thee to thy death,
The angry heauens with threeatning dire aspect,
Boding mischance, and balfull massacers,
Menace the ouerthrowe of Cæsars powre: 1640
Saturne sits frowning on the God of Warre,
VVho in their sad coniunction do conspire,
Vniting both their bale full influences,
To heape mischance, and danger to thy life:
The Sacrificing beast is heart-les found:
Sad ghastly sightes, and raysed Ghostes appeare,
Which fill the silent woods, with groning cries:
The hoarse Night-rauen tunes the chearles voyce,
And calls the bale-full Owle, and howling Doge,
To make a consort. In whose sad song is this, 1650
Neere is the ouerthrow of Cæsars blisse. Exit.
Cæsar. The world is set to fray mee from my wits,
Heers harteles Sacrifice and visions,
Howlinge and cryes, and gastly grones of Ghosts,
Soft Cæsar do not make a mockery,
Of these Prodigious signes sent from the Heauens,
Calphurnias Dre ame Iumping which Augurs words,
Shew (if thou markest it Cæsar) cause to feare:
This day the Senate there shalbe dissolued,
And Ile returne to my Calphurnia home, One giues him a paper. 1660
What hast thou heare that thou presents vs with,
Pre. A thing my Lord that doth concerne your life.
Which loue to you and hate of such a deed,
Makes me reueale vnto your excellence. Cæsar laughs.
Smilest thou, or think’st thou it some ilde toy,
Thout frowne a non to read so many names.
That haue conspird and sworne thy bloody death, Exit.

Cassius. Now must I come, and with close subtile girdes,
Deceaue the prey that Ile deuoure anon, 1670
My Lord the Sacred Senate doth expect,
Your royall presence in Pompeius court:
Cæsar. Cassius they tell me that some daungers nigh.
And death pretended in the Senate house.
Cassi. What danger or what wrong can be,
Where harmeles grauitie and vertue sits,
Tis past all daunger present death it is,
Nor is it wrong to render due desert.
To feare the Senators without a cause,
Will bee a cause why theile be to be feared, 1680
Cæsa. The Senate stayes for me in Pompeys court.
And Cæsars heere, and dares not goe to them,
Packe hence all dread of danger and of death,
What must be must be; Cæsars prest for all,
Cassi. Now haue I sent him headlong to his ende,
Vengance and death awayting at his heeles,
Cæsar thy life now hangeth on a twine,
Which by my Poniard must bee cut in twaine,
Thy chaire of state now turn’d is to thy Beere,
Thy Princely robes to make thy winding sheete: 1690
The Senators the Mourners ore the Hearse,
And Pompeys Court, thy dreadfull graue shalbe.

Omnes. Hold downe the Tyrant stab him to the death:
Casi. Now doth the musick play and this the song
That Cassius heart hath thirsted for so long:
And now my Poniard in this mazing sound,
Must strike that touch that must his life confound.
Stab on, stab on, thus should your Poniards play,
Aloud deepe note vpon this trembling Kay. stab him. 1700
Buco. Bucolian sends thee this. stab him.
Cum. And Cumber this. stab him.
Cas. Take this frõ Casca for to quite Romes wronges.
Cæs. Why murtherous villaines know you whõ you strike,
Tis Cæsar, Cæsar, whom your Poniards pierce:
Cæsar whose name might well afright such slaues:
O Heauens that see and hate this haynous guilt,
And thou Immortall Ioue that Idle holdest
Deluding Thunder in thy faynting hand,
Why stay’st thy dreadfull doome, and dost with-hold, 1710
Thy three-fork’d engine to reuenge my death:
But if my plaintes the Heauens cannot mooue,
Then blackest hell and Pluto bee thou iudge:
You greesly daughters of the cheereles night,
Whose hearts, nor praier nor pitty, ere could lend,
Leaue the black dungeon of your Chaos deepe:
Come and with flaming brandes into the world,
Reuenge, and death, bringe seated in yout eyes:
And plauge these villaynes for their trecheries.

Bru. I haue held Anthony with a vaine discourse,
The whilst the deed’s in execution,
But liues hee still, yet doth the Tyrant breath?
Chalinging Heauens with his blasphemies,
Heere Brutus maketh a passage for thy Soule,
To plead thy cause for them whose ayde thou crauest,
Cæs. What Brutus to? nay nay, then let me die,
Nothing wounds deeper then ingratitude,
Bru. I bloody Cæsar, Cæsar, Brutus too,
Doth geeue thee this, and this to quite Romes wrongs, 1730
Cassius. O had the Tyrant had as many liues.
As that fell Hydra borne in Lerna lake,
That heare I still might stab and stabing kill,
Till that more liues might bee extinquished,
Then his ambition, Romanes Slaughtered.
Tre. How heauens haue iustly on the authors head,
Returnd the guiltles blood which he hath shed,
And Pompey he who caused thy Tragedy,
Here breathles lies before thy Noble Statue,

Anth. What cryes of death resound within my eares,
Whome I doe see great Cæsar buchered thus?
What said I great? I Cæsar thou wast great,
But O that greatnes was that brought thy death:
O vniust Heauens, (if Heauens at all there be,)
Since vertues wronges makes question of your powers,
How could your starry eyes this shame behold,
How could the sunne see this and not eclipze?
Fayre bud of fame ill cropt before thy time:
What Hyrcan tygar, or wild sauage bore, 1750
(For he more heard then Bore or Tyger was,)
Durst do so vile and execrate a deede,
Could not those eyes so full of maiesty,
Nor priesthood (o not thus to bee prophand)
Nor yet the reuerence to this sacred place,
Nor flowing eloquence of thy goulden tounge,
Nor name made famous through immortall merit,
Deter those murtherors from so vild a deed?
Sweete friend accept these obsequies of mine,
Which heare with teares I doe vnto thy hearse, 1760
And thou being placed a mong the shining starrs.
Shalt downe from Heauen behold what deepe reueng,
I will inflict vpon the murtherers, Exit with Cæsar, in his armes.

Dis. Brutus thou hast what long desire hath sought,
Cæsar Lyes weltring in his purple Goare,
Thou art the author of Romes liberty,
Proud in thy murthering hand and bloody knife. 1770
Yet thinke Octauian and sterne Anthony.
Cannot let passe this murther vnreuenged,
Thessalia once againe must see your blood,
And Romane drommes must strike vp new a laromes,
Harke how Bellona shakes her angry lance:
And enuie clothed in her crimson weed,
Me thinkes I see the fiery shields to clash,
Eagle gainst Eagle, Rome gainst Rome to fight,
Phillipi, Cæsar quittance must thy wronges,
Whereas that hand shall stab that trayterous heart. 1780
That durst encourage it to worke thy death,
Thus from thine ashes Cæsar doth arise
As from Medeas haples scatered teeth:
New flames of wars, and new outraigous broyles,
Now smile Æmathia that euen in thy top,
Romes victory and pride shalbe entombd,
And those great conquerors of the vanquished earth,
Shall with their swords come there to dig their graues.

Octa. Mourne gentle Heauens for you haue lost your ioy. 1791
Mourne greeued earth thy ornament is gon,
Mourne Rome in great thy Father is deceased:
Mourne thou Octauian, thou it is must mourne,
Mourne for thy Vncle who is dead and gon.
Mourne for thy Father to vngently slaine,
Mourne for thy Friend whome thy mishap hath lost,
For Father, Vnkell, Friend, go make thy mone,
Who all did liue, who all did die in one.
But heere I vow these blacke and sable weeds, 1800
The outward signes of inward heauines,
Shall changed be ere long to crimsen hew,
And this soft raiment to a coate of steele,
Cæsar, no more I heare the mornefull songs.
The tragick pomp of his sad exequies,
And deadly burning torches are at hand,
I must accompany the mornefull troope:
And sacryfice my teares to the Gods below. Exit.

Calp. Set downe the hearse and let Calphurnia weepe,
Weepe for her Lord and bath his Wounds in teares: 1812
Feare of the world, and onely hope of Rome,
Thou whilest thou liuedst was Calphurnias ioye,
And being dead my ioyes are dead with thee:
Here doth my care and comfort resting lie:
Let them accompany thy mournefull hearse.
Cice. This is the hearse of vertue and renowne,
Here stroe red roses and sweete violets:
And lawrell garlands for to crowne his fame, 1820
The Princely weede of mighty conquerors:
These worthles obsequies poore Rome bestowes,
Vpon thy sacred ashes and deare hearse.
1. Rom. And as a token of thy liuing praise,
And fame immortall take this laurell wreath,
Which witnesseth thy name shall neuer die:
And with this take the Loue and teares of Rome,
For on thy tombe shall still engrauen be,
Thy losse, her griefe, thy deathes, her pittying thee,
Dolo. Vnwilling do I come to pay this debt, 1830
Though not vnwilling for to crowne desert,
O how much rather had I this bestowed,
On thee returning from foes ouerthrow,
When liuing vertue did require such meede,
Then for to crowne thy vertue being dead,
Lord. Those wreaths that in thy life our conquests crowned
And our fayre triumphes beauty glorified,
Now in thy death do serue thy hearse to adorne,
For Cæsars liuing vertues to bee crowned,
Not to be wept as buried vnder grownd, 1840
2. Ro. Thou whilest thou liuedst wast faire vertues flowre
Crowned with eternall honor and renowne,
To thee being dead, Flora both crownes and flowers,
(The cheefest vertues of our mother earth,)
Doth giue to gratulate thy noble hearse.
Let then they soule diuine vouchsafe to take,
These worthles obsequies our loue doth make.
Calp. All that I am is but despaire and greefe,
This all I giue to Celebrate thy death,
What funerall pomp of riches and of pelfe, 1850
Do you expect? Calphurnia giues her selfe.
Ant. You that to Cæsar iustly did decree
Honors diuine and sacred reuerence:
And oft him grac’d with titles well deserued,
Of Countries Father, stay of Commonwealth.
And that which neuer any bare before,
Inviolate, Holy, Consecrate, Vntucht.
Doe see this friend of Rome, this Contryes Father,
This Sonne of lasting fame and e ndles praise,
And in a mortall trunke, immortall vertue 1860
Slaughtered, profan’d, and bucherd like a beast,
By trayterous handes, and damned Paracides:
Recounte those deedes and see what he hath don,
Subdued those nations which three hundred yeares.
Remaynd vnconquered; still afflicting Rome,
And recompensed the firy Capitoll,
With many Citties vnto ashes burnt:
And this reward, these thankes you render him:
Here lyes he dead to whome you owe your liues:
By you this slaughtered body bleedes againe, 1870
Which oft for you hath bled in fearefull fight.
Sweete woundes in which I see distressed Rome,
From her pearc’d sides to powre forth streames of bloud,
Bee you a witnesse of my sad Soules griefe:
And of my teares which wounded heart doth bleede,
Not such as vse from womanish eyes proceede.
Octa. And were the deede most worthy and vnblamed,
Yet you vnworthely did do the same:
Who being partakers with his enemies,
By Cæsar all were saued from death and harme, 1880
And for the punnishment you should haue had,
You were prefer’d to Princely dignities:
Rulers and Lordes of Prouinces were you made,
Thus thanke-les men hee did preferre of nought,
That by their hands his murther might be wrought.

Omnes. Reuenge, Reuenge vpon the murtherers.
Antho. Braue Lords this worthy resolution shewes,
Your deerest loue, and great affection
VVhich to this slaughtered Prince you alwaies bare, 1890
And may like bloudy chance befall my life:
If I be slack for to reuenge his death.
Octa. Now on my Lords, this body lets inter:
Amongest the monuments of Roman Kinges,
And build a Temple to his memory:
Honoring therein his sacred Deity. Exeunt omnes.

Cassi. Now Romains proud foe, worlds common enemy,
In his greatest hight and chiefest Iollitie, 1900
In the Sacred Senate-house is done to death:
Euen as the Consecrated Oxe which soundes,
At horny alters, in his dying pride:
VVith flowry leaues and gar-lands all bedight,
Stands proudly wayting for the hasted stroke:
Till hee amazed with the dismall sound,
Falls to the Earth and staines the holy ground,
The spoyles and riches of the conquered world,
Are now but idle Trophies of his tombe:
His laurell gar-landes do but Crowne his chaire, 1910
His sling, his shilde, and fatall bloudy speare,
VVhich hee in battell oft ’gainst Rome did beare,
Now serue for nought but rusty monuments.
Bru. So Romulus when proud ambition,
His former vertue and renowne had stayned:
Did by the Senators receiue his end,
But soft what boades Titinnius hasting speede.

Titin. The frantike people and impatient,
By Anthonyes exhorting to reuenge: 1920
Runne madding throw the bloudy streetes of Rome,
Crying Reuenge, and murthering they goe,
All those that caused Cæsars ouerthrowe.
Cassi. The wauering people pytiyng Cæsars death,
Do rage at vs, who fore to winne their weale:
Spare not the danger of our dearest liues,
But since no safety Rome for vs affordes:
Brutus weell hast vs to our Prouinces,
I into Syre, thou into Maccedon,
Where wee will muster vp such martiall bandes, 1930
As shall afright our following enemies.
Bru. In Thessaly weele meete the Enemy,
And in that ground distaynd with Pompeys bloud,
And fruitefull made with Romane massaker,
VVeele either sacrifice our guilty foe,
To appease the furies of these howling Ghostes,
That wander restles through the sliemy ground
Or else that Thessaly bee a common Tombe:
To bury those that fight to infranchize Rome.
Titin. Brauely resolu’d, I see yong Brutus minde, 1940
Strengthned with force of vertues sacred rule:
Contemneth death, and holdes proud chance in scorne.
Bru. I that before fear’d not to do the deede,
Shalt neuer now repent it being done,
No more I Fortun’d, like the Roman Lord,
Whose faith brought death yet with immortall fame,
I kisse thee hand for doing such a deede:
And thanke my heart for this so Noble thought,
And blesse the Heauens for fauoring my attempts:
For Noble Rome, and if thou beest not free, 1950
Yet I haue done what euer lay in mee:
And worthy friend as both our thoughts conspired,
And ioyned in vnion to performe this deede,
This acceptable deede to Heauens and Rome,
So lets continue in our high resolue:
And as wee haue with honor thus begunne,
So lets persist, vntill our liues bee done.
Cassi. Then let vs go and with our warlike troopes,
Collected from our seuerall Prouinces,
Make Asia subiect to our Conquering armes. 1960
Brutus thou hast commanded the Illirian bandes:
The feared Celts and Lusitanian horse,
Parthenians proud, and Thrasians borne in warre:
And Macedon yet proud with our old actes,
With all the flowre of Louely Thessaly,
Vnder my warlike collours there shall march:
New come from Syria and from Babilon,
The warlike Mede, and the Arabian Boe,
The Parthian fighting when hee seemes to flie:
Those conquering Gauls that built their seates in Greece, 1970
And all the Costers on the Mirapont.

Gho. Out of the horror of those shady vaultes,
Where Centaurs, Harpies, paynes and furies fell:
And Gods and Ghosts and vgly Gorgons dwell,
My restles soule comes heere to tell his wronges.
Hayle to thy walles, thou pride of all the world,
Thou art the place where whilome in my life.
My seat of mounting honour was erected, 1980
And my proud throane that seem’d to check the heauens:
But now my pompe and I are layd more lowe,
With these asosiates of my ouerthrow,
Here ancient Assur and proud Belus lyes,
Ninus the first that sought a Monarches name.
Atrides fierce with the Æacides,
The Greeke Heros, and the Troian flower,
Blood-thirsting Cyrus and the conquering youth:
That sought to fetch his pedegree from Heauen,
Sterne Romulus and proud Tarquinius, 1990
The mighty Sirians and the Ponticke Kings,
A lcides and the stout, Carthagian Lord,
The fatall enemie to the Roman name.
Ambitious Sylla and fierce Marius,
And both the Pompeyes by me don to death,
I am the last not least of the same crue,
Looke on my deeds and say what Cæsar was,
Thessalia, Ægipt, Pontus, Africa,
Spayne Brittaine, Almany and France,
So many a bloody tryall of my worth. 2000
But why doe I my glory thus restraine,
When all the world was but a Charyot,
Wherein I rode Triumphing in my pride?
But what auaylesthis tale of what I was?
Since in my chefest hight Brutus base hand.
With three and twenty wounds my heart did goare,
Giue me my sword and shild Ile be Reueng’d,
My mortall wounding speare and goulden Crest.
I will dishorse my foemen in the field,
Alasse poore Cæsar thou a shadow art, 2010
An ayery substance wanting force and might,
Then will I goe and crie vpon the world,
Exclame on Anthony and Octauian,
Which seeke through discord and discentions broyles,
T’imbrue their weapons in each others blood,
And leaue to execute my iust reuenge,
I heare the drummes and bloody Trumpets sound,
O how this sight my greeued soule doth wound,

Anth. Now martiall friends competitors in armes,
You that will follow Anthony to fight,
Whome stately Rome hath oft her Consull seene,
Grac’d with eternall trophes of renowne,
With Libian triumphes and Iiberian spoyles,
Who scorns to haue his honour now distaind,
Or credit blemisht by a Boyes disgrace,
Prepare your dauntles stomakes to the fight,
Where without striking you shall ouer come.
Octa. Fellowes in war-faire which haue often serued, 2030
Vnder great Cæsar my disceased sier,
And haue return’d the conquerors of the world,
Clad in the Spoyles of all the Orient:
That will not brooke that any Roman Lord,
Should iniure mighty Iulius Cæsars sonne,
Recall your wonted vallour and these hearts,
That neuer entertaynd Ignoble thoughts
And make my first warre-faire and fortunate:
Ant. Stike vp drums, and let your banners flie,
Thus will we set vpon the enemy. 2040
Gho. Cease Drums to strike, and fould your banners vp,
Wake not Bellona with your trumpets Clange,
Nor call vnwilling Mars vnto the field:
See Romaines, see my wounds not yet clos’d vp,
The bleeding monuments of Cæsars wronges.
Haue you so soone for got my life and death?
My life wherein I reard your fortunes vp.
My death wherein my reared fortune fell,
My life admir’d and wondred at of men?
My death which seem’d vnworthy to the Gods, 2050
My life which heap’d on you rewards and gifts,
My death now begges one gift; a iust reueng.
Ant. A Chilly cowld possesseth all my Ioyntes,
And pale wan feare doth cease my fainting heart,
Octa. O see how terrible my Fathers lookes?
My haire stands stiffe to see his greisly hue:
Alasse I deare not looke him in the face,
And words do cleaue to my benummed Iawes.
Gho. For shame weake Anthony throw thy weapons downe
Sonne sheath thy sword, not now for to be drawne, 2060
Brutus must feele the heauy stroke thereof:
But if that needes you will into the field,
And that warrs enuie pricks your forward hate.
To slacke your fury with each others blood,
Then forward on to your prepared deaths
Let sad Alecto sound her fearefull trump,
Reueng a rise in lothsome sable weedes,
Light-shining Treasons and vnquenced Hates,
Horror and vgly Murther (nights blacke child,)
Let sterne Mægera on her thundering drumme, 2070
Play gastly musicke to comsort your deathes.
Banner to banner, foote gainst foote opos’d,
Sword against sword, shild gainst shild, and life to life,
Let death goe raginge through your armed rankes,
And load himselfe with heapes of murthered men,
And let Heauens iustice send you all to Hell,
Anth. Shamst thou not Anthony to draw thy sword,
On Cæsars Sonne, for rude rash youth full brawles,
And dost let passe their treason vnrevenged,
That Cæsars life and glory both did end, 2080
Octa. Shame of my selfe, and this intended fight,
Doth make me feare t’ approach his dreadfull sight:
Forgiue my slacknes to reuenge thy wronges,
Pardon my youth that rashly was mislead,
Through vaine ambition for to doe this deed,
Gho. Then ioyne your hands and heare let battle cease,
Chang feare to Ioy, and warre to smooth-fac’t Peace.
Oct. Then Father heere in sight of Heauen and thee,
I giue my hand and heart to Anthony,
Ant. Take likewise mine, the hand that once was vowd’, 2090
To bee imbrued in thy luke-warme bloud,
VVhich now shall strike in yong Octauians rights.
Gho. Now sweare by all the Dieties of Heauen,
All Gods and powers you do adore and serue:
For to returne my murther on their cruell head,
Whose trayterous hands my guiltles bloud haue shed.
Anth. Then by the Gods that through the raging waues,
Brought thee braue Troian to old Latium,
And great Quirinus placed now in Heauen:
By the Gradinus that with shield of Brasse, 2100
Defendest Rome, by the ouerburning flames
Of Vesta and Carpeian Towers of Ioue.
Vowes Anthony to quite thy worthy death,
Or in performance loose his vitall breath.
Octa. The like Octauian vowes to Heauen and thee.
Gho. Then go braue warriors with succesfull hap,
Fortune shall waite vpon your rightfull armes,
And courage sparkell, from your Princely eyes,
Dartes of reuenge to daunt your enemies.
Antho. Now with our armies both conioyned in one, 2110
Weele meete the enemy in Macedon:
Æmathian fieldes shall change her flowry greene,
And die proud Flora in a sadder hew:
Siluer Stremonia, whose faire Christall waues,
Once founded great Alcides echoing fame:
When as he slew that fruitefull headed snake,
Which Lerna long-time fostered in her wombe:
Shall in more tragick accentes and sad tunes,
Eccho the terror of thy dismall sight,
Hemus shall fat his barren fieldes with bloud: 2120
And yellow Ceres spring from woundes of men,
The toyling husband-men in time to come,
Shall with his harrow strike on rusty helmes,
And finde, and wonder, at our swordes and speares,
And with his plowe dig vp braue Romans graues:

FINIS. Act. 3.

Act IV sc. i ACTVS. 4. SCENA. 1.

Act IV sc. iii ACT. 4. SC. 2.

Act IV sc. iv ACT. 3. SCE. I.

Chor. V ACT. 5. SCE 1.