Or bridle up the headstrong ocean,

That cannot rule the wits and tongues of men,
And keep them in? It were impossible

To give light to the world with all his art
And skill, that cannot well illuminate

One darken'd understanding.

558. I. As doth the flower revolve to meet the sun,
Once more my spirit to sweet comfort turns,
Struck by thy words' invigorating ray.
How dear the counsel of a present friend,
Lacking whose god-like power, the lonely one
In silence droops: for lock'd within the breast
Slowly are ripen'd purpose and resolve,

Which friendship's genial warmth had soon matured.
P. Farewell! I haste to re-assure our friends,
Who anxiously await us; then with speed
I will return, and, hid within the brake,
Attend thy signal. Wherefore, all at once,
Doth anxious thought o'ercloud thy brow serene?
I. Forgive me! As light clouds athwart the sun,
So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul.
P. O banish fear; with danger it hath form'd
A close alliance only to betray.

I. It is an honest scruple, which forbids
That I should cunningly deceive the king,
And plunder him who was my second sire.
P. Him dost thou fly, who would have slain thy
brother.

I. To me, at least, he hath been ever kind.
P. What fate commands is not ingratitude.

I. Necessity alone can justify it.

P. Thee before gods and men it justifies.
I. But my own heart is still unsatisfied.
P. Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.
I. I cannot argue, I can only feel.

P. Conscious of right, thou should'st respect thyself.

559. A. O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.-
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
If I myself, there is no hour so fit

As Cæsar's death-hour, nor no instrument

Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.

I do beseech ye, if ye bear me hard,

Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myself so apt to die:

No place will please me so, no mean of death,
As here by Cæsar, and by you cut off,
The choice and master spirits of this age.
B. O Antony! beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands and this our present act,
You see we do, yet see you but our hands,
And this the bleeding business they have done :
Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome
(As fire drives out fire, so pity pity)

Hath done this deed on Cæsar. For your part,
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts,
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in

With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.
560. Who could write ever what a deadly cheer
Hath Thisbe now, and how her hair she rent,
And how herself began she to torment,
And how she lies and swoons upon the ground,
And how with tears she filled full his wound.
How clipped she the blood-red corse, alas,
How doth the woful Thisbe in this case,

How wipeth she his frosty mouth so cold:

"Who hath done this? O who hath been so bold To slay my love? O speak, my Pyramus; I am thy Thisbe that thee calleth thus: " And therewithal she lifted up his head. This woful man, who was not wholly dead, Hearing that one the name of Thisbe cries, On her cast up his heavy, deadly eyes, Then down again, and yielded up the ghost. Thisbe rose up withouten noise or boast, And saw her wimple and his empty sheath, And eke his sword that him hath done to death. Then spake she thus: "My woful hand," quoth she "Is strong enough in such a work for me; For love will give me strength and hardiness, To make my wound full large enough, I guess. I will thee follow dead, and I will be Partaker of the death I caused," quoth she "And although nothing but thy death could ever Have force enough thyself and me to sever, Thou shalt no more be parted now from me Than from thy death; for I will follow thee." 561. O. Now what Olybius' love prepares for thee, Fairest, behold: this high irradiate roof

;

Fretted with lamps, these gorgeous chambers, each
As it recedes of costlier splendour, strew'd
With all the barbarous Indian's loom hath wrought,
Or all the enslaved ocean wafts to Tyre.
Arabia's weeping groves are odourless,
Her balmy wealth exhausted o'er our couches
Of banquet, where the revelling Syria spreads
Her fruits and wines in vases cool with snow
From Libanus. Around are summer gardens
Of sunny lawn and sweet secluded shade,
Which waft into the gilded casement airs
Loaded with dewy fragrance, and send up

The coolness of their silver-dashing fountains,
As Nature's self strove, in fond rivalry
With Art, to pamper every sense. Behold

Yon throne, whereon the Asiarch holds his state,
Circled with kings and more than kingly Romans;
There by his side shall Margarita sit,

Olybius' bride, with all the adoring city,
And every province of the sumptuous East,
Casting its lavish homage at her feet;

Her life one luxury of love, her state

One sense of peerless pomp and pride, her will
The law of spacious kingdoms, and her lord
More glorious for the beauty of his bride

Than for these triumphs. Now, my soul's beloved,
Make thou thy choice. M. 'Tis made-the funeral
pyre.

562. B. Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy;

And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.
K. Would not my lords return to me again
After they heard young Arthur was alive?
B. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,
An empty casket, where the jewel of life
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.
K. That villain Hubert told me he did live.
B. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust,
Govern the motion of a kingly eye;
Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire,
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror, so shall inferior eyes,

Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.

Away, and glister like the god of war,
When he intendeth to become the field:
Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What! shall they seek the lion in his den,

And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said! - Forage, and run

To meet displeasure further from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.

563. I. Yes, thou shalt know me. Now conclude the tale, Of which thy brother only told me half.

Relate their end who, coming home from Troy,
On their own threshold met a doom severe
And most unlook'd for. I, though but a child
When first conducted hither, well recall
The timid glance of wonder which I cast
On their heroic forms. When they went forth,
It seem'd as though Olympus from her womb
Had cast the heroes of a bygone world
To frighten Ilion; and, above them all,
Great Agamemnon tower'd pre-eminent.
Oh tell me, fell the hero in his home,

Through Clytemnestra's and Ægisthus' wiles?
O. He did. I. Unblest Mycene! Thus the sons
Of Tantalus, with barbarous hands, have sown
Curse upon curse; and, as the shaken weed
Scatters around a thousand poison-seeds,
So they assassins ceaseless generate,
Their children's children ruthless to destroy.
Now tell the remnant of thy brother's tale,
Which horror darkly hid from me before.
How did the last descendant of the race-
The gentle child, to whom the gods assigned
The office of avenger, how did he
Escape that day of blood? Did equal fate