I was the first, shall future annals say,
That broke the sacred bond of public trust
And mutual confidence; ambassadors,
In after times, mere instruments, perhaps,
Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name
To witness, that they want not an example,
And plead my guilt, to sanctify their own.
Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves
That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, To be the shameless herald of a lie?
Edw. And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on me? If I have broke my faith, and stained the name
Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels
That urged me to it, and extorted from me
A cold consent to what my heart abhorred.
War. I have been abused, insulted, aud betrayed;
My injured honour cries aloud for vengeance,
Her wounds will never close!
Edw. These gusts of passion
Will but inflame them: if I have been right
Informed, my lord, besides these dangerous scars
Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds
As deep, though not so fatal; such, perhaps,
As none but fair Elizabeth can cure.
War. Elizabeth!
Edw. Nay, start not; I have cause
To wonder most; I little thought, indeed,
When Warwick told me I might learn to love,
He was himself so able to instruct me:
But I've discovered all-
Too well I know thy breach of friendship here,
Thy fruitless base endeavours to supplant me.
Edw. I scorn it, sir.-Elizabeth hath charms,
And I have equal right with you to admire them;
Nor see I aught so god-like in the form,
So all-commanding, in the name of Warwick,
That he alone should revel in the charms
Of beauty, and monopolise perfection.
I knew not of your love.
War. By heaven, 'tis false !
You knew it all, and meanly took occasion,
Whilst I was busied in the noble office,
Your grace thought fit to honour me withal,
To tamper with a weak unguarded woman,
To bribe her passions high, and basely steal
A treasure which your kingdom could not purchase.
Edw. How knew you that? But be it as it may,
I had a right: nor will I tamely yield
My claim to happiness, the privilege
To choose the partner of my throne and bed;
It is a branch of my prerogative
War. Prerogative! what's that? the boast of tyrants; A borrowed jewel, glittering in the crown,
With specious lustre, lent but to betray:
You had it, sir, and hold it-from the people.-
Edw. And therefore do I prize it; I would guard
Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine ;
But when proud Faction, and her rebel crew,
Insult their sovereign, trample on his laws,
And bid defiance to his power, the people,
In justice to themselves, will then defend
His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave.
War. Go to your darling people then; for soon,
If I mistake not, 't will be needful; try
Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them
Will dare to lift up his arm in your cause,
If I forbid them.
Edw. Is it so, my lord?
Then mark my words: I've been your slave too long,
And you have ruled me with a rod of iron.
But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master,
And will be so; the king who delegates
His power to others' hands, but ill deserves
The crown he wears.
War. Look well then to your own;
It sits but loosely on your head; for know,
The man who injured Warwick, never passed
Unpunished yet.
Edw. Nor he who threatened Edward-
You may repent it, sir-my guards there-seize
This traitor, and convey him to the Tower;
There let him learn obedience.
Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! begone, and leave me. Jaff. Not hear me ! By my sufferings but you shall :
My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws
Me back so far, but I may boldly speak
In right, though proud oppression will not hear me !
Pri. Have you not wronged me?
Jaff. Could my nature e'er
Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrong,
I need not now thus low have bent myself
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.-
Pri. Yes, wronged me. In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you've done me wrong
When you first came home from travel,
With such hopes as made you looked on
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation,
Pleased with your seeming virtue I received you :
Courted and sought to raise you to your merits:
My house, my table, nay, my fortune, too,
My very self was yours: you might have used me
To your best service. Like an open friend
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine,
When in requital of my best endeavours,
You treacherously practised to undo me :
Seduced the weakness of my age's darling,
My only child, and stole her from my bosom.
Jaff. 'Tis to me you owe her:
Childless you had been else, and in the grave
Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of.
You may remember, scarce five years are past
Since in your brigantine you sailed to see
The Adriatic wedded by your duke :
And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot
Dashed us upon a rock; when to our boat
You made for safety; entered first yourself;
The affrighted Belvidera, following next,
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side,
Was by a wave washed off into the deep;
When instantly I plunged into the sea,
And buffeting the billows to her rescue,
Redeemed her life with half the loss of mine.
Like a rich conquest in one hand I bore her,
And with the other dashed the saucy waves,
That thronged and pressed to rob me of my prize.
I brought her gave her to your despairing arms :
Indeed, you thanked me! but a nobler gratitude
Rose in her soul; for from that hour she loved me,
Till for her life, she paid me with herself.
Pri. You stole her from me, like a thief you stole her At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose
To rifle me of all my heart held dear.
May all your joys in her prove false like mine!
A sterile fortune, and a barren bed,
Attend you both; continual discord, make
Your days and nights bitter and grievous still;
May the hard hand of a vexatious need
Oppress and grind you: till at last, you find
The curse of disobedience all your portion !
Jaff. Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain ;
Heaven hath already crowned our faithful loves
With a young boy sweet as his mother's beauty:
May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire,
And happier than his father!
Jaff. Yes, all; and then-adieu for ever!
There's not a wretch that lives on common charity,
But's happier than I: for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night
Hath slept with soft content about my head,
And never waked but to a joyful morning :
Yet now must fall: like a full ear of corn,
Whose blossom 'scaped, yet's withered in the ripening.
Cato, Sempronius, and Lucius.
Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council.
Cæsar's approach has summoned us together,
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves.
How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man?
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes.
Pharsalia gave him Rome: Egypt has since
Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands
Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree
What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts are they still fixed
To hold it out and fight it to the last?
Or are your hearts subdued at length, and wrought
By time and ill success to a submission?
Sempronius, speak.
Semp. My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?
No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens,
Or share their fate! the corpse of half her senate
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here deliberating in cold debates
If we should sacrifice our lives to honour,
Or wear them out in servitude and chains.
Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud-To battle!
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us!
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason:
True fortitude is seen in great exploits
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides :
All else is towering phrenzy and distraction.
Are not the lives of those who draw the sword
In Rome's defence intrusted to our care?
Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter,
Might not the impartial world with reason say,
We lavished at our deaths the blood of thousands,
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious?
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
Lucius. My thoughts, I must confess, are turned on peace.
Already have our quarrels filled the world
With widows and with orphans: Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions
Lie half-unpeopled by the feuds of Rome :
"Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind.
It is not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers,
The gods declare against us, and repel
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle
(Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair),
Were to refuse the awards of providence,
And not to rest in heaven's determination.
Already have we shown our love to Rome;
Now let us show submission to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth; when this end fails,
Arms have no further use our country's cause,
That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands,
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