Catiline His Conspiracy Act 3. Scene 1

Cicero, Cato, Catulus, Antonius, Crassus, Cæsar, Chorus,
Lictors.

Great Honours are great burdens: but, on whom
They'are cast with envy, he doth bear two loads.
His cares must still be double to his joys,
In any Dignity; where, if he err,
He finds no pardon: and for doing well
A most small praise, and that wrung out by force.
I speak this, Romans, knowing what the weight
Of the high charge, you' have trusted to me, is.
Not that thereby I would with art decline
The good, or greatness of your benefit;
For, I ascribe it to your singular grace,
And vow to owe it to no title else,
Except the Gods, that Cicero is your Consul.
I have no Urns; no dusty Monuments;
No broken Images of Ancestors,
Wanting an Ear, or Nose; no forged Tables
Of long descents, to boast false honours from:
Or be my undertakers to your trust.
But a new Man (as I am stil'd in Rome)
Whom you have dignified; and more, in whom
Yo' have cut a way, and left it ope for vertue
Hereafter, to that place: which our great Men
Held shut up, with all ramparts, for themselves.
Nor have but few of them, in time been made
Your Consuls, so; new Men, before me, none:
At my first suit; in my just year; prefer'd
To all competitors; and some the noblest —

Cra.
Now the vein swels.

Cæs.
Up glory.

Cic.
And to have Your loud consents, from your own utter'd Voices;
Not silent Books: nor from the meaner Tribes,
But first and last, the universal concourse!
This is my joy, my gladness. But my care,
My industry and vigilance now must work,
That still your Counsels of me be approv'd,
Both by your selves, and those to whom you have
With grudge prefer'd me: two things I must labour,
That neither they upbraid, nor you repent you.
For every lapse of mine will now be call'd
Your error, if I make such. But, my hope is,
So to bear through, and out, the Consulship,
As spight shall ne'er wound you, though it may me.
And for my self, I have prepar'd this strength,
To do so well; as, if there happen ill
Unto me, it shall make the Gods to blush:
And be their crime, not mine, that I am envi'd.

Cæs.
O confidence! more new than is the Man!

Cic.
I know well, in what terms I do receive
The Commonwealth, how vexed, how preplex'd:
In which there's not that mischief, or ill fate,

That

That good Men fear not, wicked Men expect not.
I know, beside some turbulent practises
Already on foot, and rumors of more dangers —

Cra.
Or you will make them, if there be none.

Cic.
Last, I know, 'twas this, which made the envy and pride
Of the great Roman Blood bate, and give way
To my Election.

Cat.
Marcus Tullius, true;
Our need made thee our Consul, and thy vertue.

Cæs.
Cato, you will undo him with your praise?

Cato.
Cæsar will hurt himself with his own envy.

Chor.
The Voice of Cato is the Voice of Rome.

Cato.
The Voice of Rome is the Consent of Heaven!
And that hath plac'd thee, Cicero, at the Helm,
Where thou must render now thy self a Man,
And Master of thy Art. Each petty hand
Can steer a Ship becalm'd; but he that will
Govern, and carry her to her ends, must know
His Tides, his Currents; how to shift his Sails;
What she will bear in foul, what in fair Weathers;
Where her Springs are, her Leaks; and how to stop 'em;
What Stands, what Shelves, what Rocks do threaten her;
The forces, and the natures of all Winds,
Gusts, Storms, and Tempests; when her Keel ploughs Hell,
And Deck knocks Heaven: then to manage her,
Becomes the name and office of a Pilot.

Cic.
Which I'll perform, with all the diligence
And fortitude I have; not for my year,
But for my life; except my life be less,
And that my year conclude it: if it must,
Your Will, lov'd Gods. This Heart shall yet employ
A day, an hour is left me, so for Rome,
As it shall spring a life out of my death,
To shine for ever glorious in my facts.
The vicious count their years, vertuous their acts.

Chor.
Most noble Consul! Let us wait him home.

Cæs.
Most popular Consul he is grown, methinks!

Cra.
How the rout cling to him!

Cæs.
And Cato leads 'em!

Cra.
You, his collegue Antonius, are not lookt on.

Ant.
Not I, nor do I care.

Cæs.
He enjoys rest,
And ease the while. Let th' others Spirit toil,
And wake it out, that was inspir'd for turmoil.

Catu.
If all reports be true, yet Caius Cæsar,
The time hath need of such a Watch and Spirit.

Cæs.
Reports? Do you believe 'em Catulus?
Why he does make, and breed 'em for the People;
T' endear his service to 'em. Do you not taste
An Art that is so common? Popular Men,
They must create strange monsters, and then quell 'em,
To make their Arts seem something. Would you have
Such an Herculean actor in the Scene,
And not his Hydra? They must sweat no less
To fit their properties, than t'express their parts.

Cra.
Treasons, and guilty Men are made in States
Too oft, to dignifie the Magistrates.

Catu.
Those States be wretched that are forc'd to buy
Their Rulers fame with their own infamy.

Cra.
We therefore should provide that ours do not.

Cæs.
That will Antonius make his care.

Ant.
I shall.

Cæs.
And watch the watcher.

Catu.
Here comes Catiline.
How does he brook his late repulse?

Cæs.
I know not,
But hardly sure.

Cat.
Longinus too did stand?

Cæs.
At first: but he gave way unto his Friend.

Catu.
Who's that come? Lentulus?

Cæs.
Yes; he is again
Taken into the Senate.

Ant.
And made Prætor.

Catu.
I know't. He had my suffrage, next the Consuls.

Cæs.
True, you were there, Prince of the Senate, then.

[column break]

Catiline, Antonius, Catulus, Cæsar, Crassus, Longinus,
Lentulus.

Hail noblest Romans.
The most worthy Consul,
I gratulate your Honour.

Ant.
I could wish
It had been happier, by your fellowship,
Most noble Sergius, had it pleas'd the People.

Cati.
It did not please the Gods, who instruct the
People: And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd.
They know what's fitter for us than our selves;
And 'twere Impiety to think against them.

Catu.
You bear it rightly, Lucius; and it glads me,
To find your thoughts so even.

Cati.
I shall still
Study to make them such to Rome, and Heaven.
(I would withdraw with you a little, Julius.

Cæs.
I'll come home to you: Crassus would not ha' you
To speak to him, 'fore Quintus Catullus.

Cati.
I apprehend you.) No, when they shall judge
Honours convenient for me, I shall have 'em,
With a full hand: I know it. In mean time,
They are no less part of the Commonwealth,
That do obey, than those that do command.

Catu.
O let me kiss your Fore-head, Lucius.
How are you wrong'd!

Cati.
By whom?

Catu.
Publick report.
That gives you out, to stomach your repulse;
And brook it deadly.

Cati.
Sir, she brooks not me.
Believe me rather, and your self, now of me:
It is a kind of slander to trust rumour.

Catu.
I know it. And I could be angry with it.

Cati.
So may not I. Where it concerns himself,
Who's angry at a slander, makes it true.

Catu.
Most noble Sergius! This your temper melts me.

Cra.
Will you do office to the Consul, Quintus?

Cæs.
Which Cato, and the rout have done the other?

Catu.
I wait, when he will go. Be still your self.
He wants no state, or honours, that hath vertue.

Cati.
Did I appear so tame, as this Man thinks me?
Look'd I so poor? so dead? so like that nothing,
Which he calls vertuous? O my Breast, break quickly;
And shew my Friends my in-parts, lest they think
I have betraid 'em. (Lon. Where's Gabinius?

Len.
Gone.

Lon.
And Vargunteius?

Len.
Slipt away; all shrunk:
Now that he mist the Consulship.)

Cati.
I am
The scorn of Bond-men, who are next to Beasts.
What can I worse pronounce my self, that's fitter?
The Owle of Rome, whom Boys and Girls will hout!
That were I set up, for that woodden God,
That keeps our Gardens, could not fright the Crows,
Or the least Bird from muting on my Head.

(Lon.
'Tis strange how he should miss it.

Len.
Is't not stranger,
The up-start Cicero should carry it so,
By all consents, from Men so much his Masters?

Lon.
'Tis true.)

Cati.
To what a shadow am I melted!

(Lon.
Antonius wan it but by some few Voices.)

Cati.
Struck through, like Air, and feel it not. My wounds
Close faster, than they'r made.

(Len. The whole design,
And enterprise is lost by't. All Hands quit it,
Upon his fail.)

Cati.
I grow mad at my patience.
It is a Visor that hath poison'd me.
Would it had burnt me up, and I died inward:
My heart first turn'd to ashes.

(Lon.
Here's Cethegus yet.)

Catiline, Cethegus, Lentulus, Longinus, Cato.

Repulse upon repulse? An in-mate Consul?
That I could reach the Axel, where the Pins are,
Which bolt this Frame; that I might pull 'em out,
And pluck all into Chaos, with my self.

Cet.
What, are we wishing now?

Cati.
Yes, my Cethegus.
Who would not fall with all the World about him?

Cet.
Not I, that would stand on it, when it falls;
And force new nature out to make another.
These wishings taste of Woman, not of Roman.
Let us seek other Arms.

Cati.
What should we do?

Cet.
Do, and not wish; something that wishes take not:
So sudden, as the Gods should not prevent,
Nor scarce have time to fear.

Cati.
O noble Caius!

Cet.
It likes me better, that you are not Consul.
I would not go through open Doors, but break 'em;
Swim to my ends through Blood; or build a Bridge
Of Carcasses; make on, upon the heads
Of Men, struck down like Piles; to reach the lives
Of those remain and stand: Then is't a prey,
When danger stops, and ruine makes the way.

Cati.
How thou dost utter me, brave Soul, that may not
At all times shew such as I am, but bend
Upon occasion? Lentulus, this Man,
If all our fire were out, would fetch down new,
Out of the hand of Jove; and rivet him
To Caucasus, should he but frown: and let
His own gaunt Eagle fly at him, to tire.

Len.
Peace, here comes Cato.

Cati.
Let him come, and hear.
I will no more dissemble. Quit us all;
I, and my lov'd Cethegus here, alone
Will undertake this Giants War, and carry it.

Len.
What needs this, Lucius?

Lon.
Sergius, be more wary.

Cati.
Now, Marcus Cato, our new Consuls Spie,
What is your sowre austerity sent t' explore?

Cato.
Nothing in thee, licencious Catiline:
Halters and Racks cannot express from thee
More than thy deeds. 'Tis only judgment waits thee.

Cati.
Whose? Cato's? shall he judge me?

Cato.
No, the Gods;
Who ever follow those, they go not with:
And Senate, who with fire, must purge sick Rome
Of noisome Citizens, whereof thou 'art one.
Be gone, or else let me. 'Tis bane to draw
The same Air with thee.

Cet.
Strike him.

Len.
Hold, good Caius.

Cet.
Fear'st thou not, Cato?

Cato.
Rash Cethegus, no.
'Twere wrong with Rome, when Catiline and thou
Do threat, if Cato fear'd.

Cati.
The fire you speak of,
If any flames of it approach my Fortunes,
I'll quench it not with water, but with ruine.

Cato.
You hear this, Romans.

Cati.
Bear it to the Consul.

Cet.
I would have sent away his Soul before him.
You are too heavy, Lentulus, and remiss;
It is for you we labour, and the Kingdom
Promis'd you by the Sybil's.

Cati.
Which his Prætor-ship,
And some small flattery of the Senate more,
Will make him to forget.

Len.
You wrong me, Lucius.

Lon.
He will not need these Spurs.

Cet.
The action needs 'em.
These things, when they proceed not, they go backward.

Len.
Let us consult then.

Cet.
Let us first take Arms.
They that deny us just things now, will give
All that we ask, if once they see our Swords.

Cat.
Our objects must be sought with wounds, not words.

Cicero, Fulvia.

Is there a Heaven? and Gods? and can it be
They should so slowly hear, so slowly see!
Hath Jove no Thunder? or is Jove become
Stupid as thou art? O neer-wretched Rome,
When both thy Senate, and thy Gods do sleep,
And neither thine, nor their own States do keep!
What will awake thee, Heaven? what can excite
Thine anger, if this practice be too light?
His former drifts partake of former times,
But this last Plot was only Catilines.
O, that it were his last. But he, before
Hath safely done so much, he'll still dare more.
Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back;
And is a swelling, and the last affection
A high mind can put off: being both a rebel
Unto the Soul, and Reason, and enforceth
All Laws, all Conscience, treads upon Religion,
And offereth violence to Natures self.
But here is that transcends it! A black purpose
To confound Nature: and to ruine that,
Which never Age nor Mankind can repair!
Sit down, good Lady; Cicero is lost
In this your Fable: for, to think it true
Tempteth my Reason. It so far exceeds
All insolent Fictions of the Tragick Scene!
The Commonwealth yet panting underneath
The stripes and wounds of a late civil War,
Gasping for life, and scarce restor'd to hope;
To seek t'oppress her with new cruelty,
And utterly extinguish her long name,
With so prodigious and unheard-of fierceness!
What sink of monsters, wretches of lost minds,
Mad after change, and despeaate in their states,
Wearied, and gall'd with their necessities,
(For all this I allow them) durst have thought it?
Would not the barbarous deeds have been believ'd,
Of Marius, and Sylla, by our Children,
Without this fact had rise forth greater for them?
All that they did, was Piety, to this!
They yet but murdred Kinsfolk, Brothers, Parents,
Ravish'd the Virgins, and perhaps, some Matrons;
They left the City standing, and the Temples:
The Gods and Majesty of Rome were safe yet!
These purpose to fire it, to despoil them,
(Beyond the other evils) and lay waste
The far-triumphed World: for, unto whom
Rome is too little, what can be enough?

Ful.
'Tis true, my Lord, I had the same discourse.

Cic.
And then, to take a horrid Sacrament
In human Blood, for execution
Of this their dire design; which might be call'd
The heighth of wickedness: but that, that was higher,
For which they did it!

Ful.
I assure your Lordship,
The extreme horrour of it almost turn'd me
To Air, when first I heard it; I was all
A Vapour when 'twas told me: and I long'd
To vent it any where. 'Twas such a secret,
I thought it would have burnt me up.

Cic.
Good Fulvia,
Fear not your act; and less repent you of it.

Ful.
I do not, my good Lord. I know to whom
I have utter'd it.

Cic.
You have discharg'd it, safely.
Should Rome, for whom you have done the happy service,
Turn most ingrate; yet were your vertue paid
In conscience of the fact: so much good deeds
Reward themselves.

Ful.
My Lord, I did it not
To any other aim, but for it self.
To no ambition.

Cic.
You have learn'd the difference
Of doing office to the publique Weal,
And private friendship: and have shewn it, Lady.
Be still your self. I have sent for Quintus Curius,

And (for your vertuous sake) if I can win him
Yet to the Common-wealth, he shall be safe too.

Ful.
I'll undertake, my Lord, he shall be won.

Cic.
Pray you join with me then, and help to work him.

Cicero, Lictor, Fulvia, Curius.

How now? Is he come?

Lic.
He' is here, my Lord.

Cic.
Go presently,
Pray my Colleague Antonius I may speak with him,
About some present Business of the State;
And (as you go) call on my Brother Quintus,
And pray him, with the Tribunes, to come to me.
Bid Curius enter. Fulvia, you will aid me?

Ful.
It is my Duty.

Cic.
O, my noble Lord!
I have to chide you, i' faith. Give me your Hand.
Nay, be not troubled; 't shall be gently, Curius.
You look upon this Lady? What! do you guess
My Business yet? Come, if you frown, I thunder:
Therefore put on your better Looks and Thoughts.
There's nought but fair and good intended to you;
And I would make those your Complexion.
Would you, of whom the Senate had that hope,
As, on my knowledge, it was in their purpose
Next Sitting to restore you, as they done
The stupid and ungratful Lentulus,
(Excuse me, that I name you thus together,
For yet you are not such.) Would you, I say,
A Person both of Blood and Honour, stockt
In a long Race of vertuous Ancestors,
Embark your self for such a hellish Action,
With Parricides and Traitors, Men turn'd Furies,
Out of the Waste and Ruine of their Fortunes!
(For 'tis Despair that is the Mother of Madness.)
Such as want (that which all Conspirators
But they have first) meer Colour for their Mischief?
O, I must blush with you. Come, you shall not labour
T' extenuate your Guilt, but quit it clean:
Bad Men excuse their Faults, good Men will leave 'em.
He acts the third Crime, that defends the first.
Here is a Lady that hath got the start
In Piety of us all, and for whose Vertue
I could almost turn Lover again, but that
Terentia would be jealous. What an Honour
Hath she atchieved to her self! What Voices,
Titles, and loud Applauses will pursue her
Through every Street! What Windows will be fill'd,
To shoot Eyes at her! What Envy and Grief in Matrons,
They are not she! When this her Act shall seem
Worthier a Chariot, than if Pompey came
With Asia chain'd! All this is, while she lives;
But dead, her very Name will be a Statue!
Not wrought for Time, but rooted in the Minds
Of all Posterity; when Brass and Marble,
I, and the Capitol it self is Dust!

Ful.
Your Honour thinks too highly of me.

Cic.
No;
I cannot think enough; and I would have
Him emulate you. 'Tis no shame to follow
The better Precedent. She shews you, Curius,
What Claim your Country lays to you, and what Duty
You owe to it: Be not afraid to break
With Murderers, and Traitors, for the saving
A Life so near and necessary to you,
As is your Countries. Think but on her Right.
No Child can be too natural to his Parent.
She is our Common Mother, and doth challenge
The prime part of us; do not stop, but give it.
He that is void of Fear, may soon be just:
And no Religion binds Men to be Traitors.

Ful.
My Lord, he understands it, and will follow
Your saving Counsel; but his Shame yet stays him.
I know that he is coming.

Cur.
Do you know it?

Ful.
Yes, let me speak with you.

Cur.
O, you are —

Ful.
What am I?

Cur.
Speak not so loud.

Ful.
I am what you should be.
Come, do you think I'ld walk in any Plot
Where Madam Sempronia should take place of me,
And Fulvia come i' the Rere, or o' the by?
That I would be her Second, in a Business,
Though it might vantage me all the Sun sees?
It was a silly phant'sie of yours. Apply
Your self to me, and the Consul, and be wise;
Follow the Fortune I ha' put you into:
You may be something this way, and with safety.

Cic.
Nay, I must tolerate no Whisperings, Lady.

Ful.
Sir, you may hear. I tell him, in the way
Wherein he was, how hazardous his Course was.

Cic.
How hazardous? How certain to all ruin.
Did he, or do yet any of them imagine
The Gods would sleep, to such a Stygian Practice,
Against that Commonwealth which they have founded
With so much Labour, and like Care have kept,
Now neer seven hundred Years? It is a Madness,
Wherewith Heaven blinds 'em, when it would confound 'em,
That they should think it. Come, my Curius,
I see your Nature's right; you shall no more
Be mention'd with them: I will call you mine,
And trouble this good Shame no farther. Stand
Firm for your Country, and become a Man
Honour'd and lov'd. It were a noble Life,
To be found dead, embracing her. Know you
What Thanks, what Titles, what Rewards the Senate
Will heap upon you, certain, for your Service?
Let not a desperate Action more engage you,
Than Safety should; and wicked Friendship force,
What Honesty and Vertue cannot work.

Ful.
He tells you right, sweet Friend; 'tis saving Counsel.

Cur.
Most noble Consul, I am yours, and hers;
I mean, my Countries: you have form'd me new,
Inspiring me with what I should be truly.
And I entreat, my Faith may not seem cheaper
For springing out of Penitence.

Cic.
Good Curius,
It shall be dearer rather; and because
I'ld make it such, hear how I trust you more.
Keep still you former Face, and mix again
With these lost Spirits; run all their Mazes with 'em;
For such are Treasons: Find their Windings out,
And subtle Turnings, watch their Snakie Ways,
Through Brakes and Hedges, into Woods of Darkness,
Where they are fain to creep upon their Breasts
In Paths ne'er trod by Men, but Wolves and Panthers.
Learn, beside Catiline, Lentulus, and those
Whose Names I have; what new ones they draw in;
Who else are likely; what those Great ones are
They do not name; what ways they mean to take;
And whither their Hopes point, to War, or Ruine
By some Surprise. Explore all their Intents;
And what you find my profit the Republick,
Acquaint me with it, either by your self,
Or this your vertuous Friend, on whom I lay
The Care of urging you. I'll see that Rome
Shall prove a thankful and a bounteous Mother.
Be secret as the Night.

Cur.
And constant, Sir.

Cic.
I do not doubt it; though the time cut off
All Vows. The Dignity of Truth is lost
With much protesting. Who is there! This way,
Lest you be seen and met. And when you come,
Be this your Token to this Fellow. Light 'em.

[He whispers with him.

O Rome, in what a Sickness art thou fall'n!
How dangerous and deadly! when thy Head
Is drown'd in Sleep, and all thy Body Fev'ry!
No Noise, no Pulling, no Vexation wakes thee,
Thy Lethargy is such: or if, by chance,
Thou heav'st thy Eye lids up, thou dost forget
Sooner than thou wert told, thy proper Danger.
I did unreverently, to blame the Gods,

Who wake for thee, though thou snore for thy self.
Is it not strange, thou should'st be so diseas'd,
And so secure? But more, that the first Symptoms
Of such a Malady should not rise out
From any worthy Member, but a base
And common Strumpet, worthless to be nam'd
A Hair, or part of thee? Think, think, hereafter,
What thy needs were, when thou must use such Means:
And lay it to thy Breast, how much the Gods
Upbraid thy foul neglect of them, by making
So vile a thing the Author of thy Safety.
They could have wrought by nobler ways, have struck
Thy Foes with forked Lightning, or ramm'd Thunder;
Thrown Hills upon 'em, in the Act; have sent
Death, like a Damp, to all their Families;
Or caus'd their Consciences to burst 'em. But
When they will shew thee what thou art, and make
A scornful difference 'twixt their Power and thee,
They help thee by such Aids as Geese and Harlots.
How now? What answer? Is he come?

Lic.
Your Brother
Will streight be here; and your Colleague Antonius
Said, coldly, he would follow me.

Cic.
I, that
Troubles me somewhat, and is worth my fear.
He is a Man 'gainst whom I must provide,
That (as he'll do no good) he do no harm.
He, though he be not of the Plot, will like it,
And wish it should proceed: for, unto Men
Prest with their Wants, all Change is ever welcom.
I must with Offices and Patience win him,
Make him by Art, that which he is not born,
A Friend unto the Publick, and bestow
The Province on him, which is by the Senate
Decreed to me; that Benefit will bind him.
'Tis well, if some Men will do well for Price:
So few are vertuous when the Reward's away.
Nor must I be unmindful of my Private,
For which I have call'd my Brother, and the Tribunes,
My Kinsfolk, and my Clients, to be near me.
He that stands up 'gainst Traitors, and their Ends,
Shall need a double Guard, of Law, and Friends:
Especially in such an envious State,
That sooner will accuse the Magistrate,
Than the Delinquent; and will rather grieve
The Treason is not acted, than believe.

Cæsar, Catiline.

The Night grows on, and you are for your Meeting:
I'll therefore end in few. Be resolute,
And put your Enterprise in act. The more
Actions of depth and danger are consider'd,
The less assuredly they are perform'd.
And thence it hapneth, that the bravest Plots
(Not executed streight) have been discover'd.
Say, you are constant, or another, a third,
Or more; there may be yet one wretched Spirit,
With whom the fear of Punishment shall work
'Bove all the thoughts of Honour and Revenge.
You are not now to think what's best to do,
As in Beginnings; but what must be done,
Being thus entred; and slip no advantage
That may secure you. Let 'em call it Mischief:
When it is past, and prosper'd, 'twill be Vertue.
Th'are petty Crimes are punish'd, great rewarded.
Nor must you think of Peril, since Attempts
Begun with Danger, still do end with Glory;
And, when Need spurs, Despair will be call'd Wisdom.
Less ought the care of Men or Fame to fright you;
For they that win, do seldom receive shame
Of Victory, how e'er it be atehiev'd;
And Vengeance, least. For who, besieg'd with Wants,
Would stop at Death, or any thing beyond it?
Come, there was never any great thing yet
Aspired, but by Violence or Fraud:

And he that sticks (for folly of a Conscience)
To reach it —

Cat.
Is a good Religious Fool.

Cæs.
A superstitious Slave, and will die Beast.
Good night. You know what Crassus thinks, and I,
By this. Prepare you Wings as large as Sails,
To cut through Air, and leave no Print behind you.
A Serpent, e'er he comes to be a Dragon,
Does eat a Bat; and so must you a Consul,
That watches. What you do, do quickly, Sergius.
You shall not stir for me.

Cat.
Excuse me. Lights there.

Cæs.
By no means.

Cat.
Stay then. All good thoughts to Cæsar.
And like to Crassus.

Cæs.
Mind but your Friends Counsels.

Catiline, Aurelia, Lecca.

Or I will bear no Mind. How now, Aurelia?
Are your Confederates come? the Ladies?

Aur.
Yes.

Cat.
And is Sempronia there?

Aur.
She is.

Cat.
That's well.
She has a sulphrous Spirit, and will take
Light at a Spark. Break with them, gentle Love,
About the drawing as many of their Husbands
Into the Plot, as can; if not, to rid 'em.
That'll be the easier practice unto some,
Who have been tir'd with 'em long. Sollicit
Their Aids for Money, and their Servants help,
In firing of the City at the time
Shall be design'd. Promise 'em States, and Empires,
And Men, for Lovers, made of better Clay
Than ever the old Porter Titan knew.
Who's that? O, Porcius Lecca! are they met?

Lec.
They are all here.

Cat.
Love, you have your Instructions:
I'll trust you with the Stuff you have to work on.
You'll form it? Porcius, fetch the Silver Eagle
I ga' you in charge; and pray 'em they will enter.

Catiline, Cethegus, Curius, Lentulus, Vargunteius, Longinus,
Gabinius, Ceparius, Autronius, &c.

O Friends, your Faces glad me. This will be
Our last, I hope, of Consultation.

Cet.
So it had need.

Cur.
We lose Occasion daily.

Cat.
I, and our Means; whereof one wounds me most
That was the fairest: Piso is dead in Spain.

Cet.
As we are here.

Lon.
And, as 'tis thought, by env
Of Pompey's Followers.

Len.
He too's coming back
Now out of Asia.

Cat.
Therefore, what we intend,
We must be swift in. Take your Seats, and hear.
I have already sent Septimius
Into the Picene Territory, and Julius,
To raise Force for us in Apulia;
Manlius at Fesulæ is (by this time) up,
With the old needy Troops that follow'd Sylla:
And all do but expect when we we will give
The Blow at home. Behold this Silver Eagle,
'Twas Marius Standard in the Cimbrian War,
Fatal to Rome; and, as our Augures tell me,
Shall still be so: for which one ominous Cause,
I have kept it safe, and done it sacred Rites,
As to a Godhead, in a Chappel built
Of purpose to it. Pledge then all your Hands,
To follow it, with Vows of Death and Ruine,
Struck silently, and home. So Waters speak
When they run deepest. Now's the time, this year,
The twentieth from the firing of the Capitol,
As fatal too to Rome, by all Predictions;
And in which honour'd Lentulus must rise
A King, if he pursue it.

Cur.
If he do not,
He is not worthy the great Destiny.

Len.
It is too great for me; but what the Gods
And their great Loves decree me, I must not

Seem careless of.

Cat.
No, nor we envious.
We have enough beside; all Gallia, Belgia,
Greece, Spain, and Africk.

Cur.
I, and Asia too,
Now Pompey is returning.

Cat.
Noblest Romans,
Me thinks our Looks are not so quick and high
As they were wont.

Cur.
No? whose is not?

Cat.
We have No Anger in our Eyes, no Storm, no Lightning:
Our Hate is spent, and fum'd away in Vapour,
Before our Hands be at work. I can accuse
Not any one, but all, of slackness.

Cet.
Yes,
And be your self such, while you do it.

Cat.
Ha?
'Tis sharply answer'd, Caius.

Cet.
Truly, truly.

Len.
Come, let us each one know his part to do,
And then be accus'd. Leave these untimely Quarrels.

Cur.
I would there were more Romes than one to ruin.

Cet.
More Romes? More Worlds.

Cur.
Nay then, more Gods, and Natures,
If they took part.

Len.
When shall the time be, first?

Cat.
I think, the Saturnals.

Cet.
'Twill be too long.

Cat.
They are not now far off, 'tis not a Month.

Cet.
A Week, a Day, an Hour is too far off:
Now were the fittest time.

Cat.
We ha' not laid
All things so safe and ready.

Cet.
While we are laying,
We shall all lie, and grow to Earth. Would I
Were nothing in it, if not now. These things
They should be done, e'er thought.

Cat.
Nay, now your Reason
Forsakes you, Caius. Think but what commodity
That time will minister; the Cities Custom
Of being then in Mirth and Feast —

Len.
Loos'd whole
In Pleasure and Security —

Aut.
Each House
Resolv'd in Freedom —

Cur.
Every Slave a Master —

Lon.
And they too no mean Aids —

Cur.
Made from their hope
Of Liberty —

Len.
Or hate unto their Lords.

Var.
'Tis sure, there cannot be a time found out
More apt and natural.

Len.
Nay, good Cethegus,
VVhy do your Passions now disturb our Hopes?

Cet.
VVhy do your Hopes delude our Certainties?

Cat.
You must lend him his way. Think, for the Order,
And Process of it.

Lon.
Yes.

Len.
I like not Fire;
'Twill too much waste my City.

Cat.
VVere it Embers,
There will be VVealth enough, rak't out of them,
To spring anew. It must be Fire, or nothing.

Lon.
VVhat else should fright or terrifie 'em?

Var.
True.
In that Confusion, must be the chief Slaughter.

Cur.
Then we shall kill 'em bravest.

Cep.
And in heaps.

Aut.
Strew Sacrifices.

Cur.
Make the Earth an Altar.

Lon.
And Rome the Fire.

Lec.
'Twill be a noble Night.

Var.
And worth all Sylla's Days.

Cur.
VVhen Husbands, VVives,
Grandsires, and Nephews, Servants, and their Lords,
Virgins, and Priests, the Infant, and the Nurse,
Go all to Hell together in a Fleet.

Cat.
I would have you, Longinus, and Statilius,
To take the Charge o' the Firing, which must be
At a Sign given with a Trumpet, done
In twelve chief Places of the City at once.
The Flax and Sulphur are already laid
In at Cethegus House; so are the VVeapons.
Gabinius, you, with other Force, shall stop
The Pipes and Conduits, and kill those that come
For VVater.

Cur.
VVhat shall I do?

Cat.
All will have
Employment, fear not: Ply the Execution.

Cur.
For that, trust me, and Cethegus.

Cat.
I will be
At hand, with the Army, to meet those that scape:
And Lentulus, begirt you Pompey's House,
To seise his sons alive; for they are they
Must make our peace with him. All else cut off,
As Tarquin did the Poppy-heads, or Mowers
A Field of Thistles, or else, up, as Plows
Do barren Lands, and strike together Flints
And Clods, th' ungrateful Senate and the People;

Till no Rage gone before, or coming after,
May weigh with yours, though Horrour leapt her self
Into the Scale; but, in your violent Acts,
The fall of Torrents, and the noise of Tempests,
The boyling of Carybdis, the Seas wildness,
The eating force of Flames, and wings of VVinds,
Be all out-wrought by your transcendent Furies.
It had been done e'er this, had I been Consul;
We had had no stop, no let.

Len.
How find you Antonius?

Cat.
Th' other has won him, lost: that Cicero
VVas born to be my opposition,
And stands in all our ways.

Cur.
Remove him first.

Cet.
May that yet be done sooner?

Cat.
VVould it were done.

Cur. Var.
I'll do't.

Cet.
It is my Province; none usurp it.

Len.
What are your Means?

Cet.
Enquire not. He shall die.
Shall, was too slowly said. He's dying. That
Is yet too slow. He's dead.

Cat.
Brave, only Roman,
Whose Soul might be the Worlds Soul, were that dying;
Refuse not yet the Aids of these your Friends.

Len.
Here's Vargunteius holds good quarter with him.

Cat.
And under the pretext of Clientele,
And Visitation, with the morning Hail,
Will be admitted.

Cet.
What is that to me?

Var.
Yes, we may kill him in his Bed, and safely.

Cet.
Safe is your way then, take it. Mine's mine own.

Cat.
Follow him, Vargunteius, and persuade,
The Morning is the fittest time.

Lon.
The Night
Will turn all into Tumult.

Len.
And perhaps
Miss of him too.

Cat.
Entreat and conjure him
In all our Names —

Len.
By all our Vows and Friendships.

[To them.

Sempronia, Aurelia, Fulvia.

What! is our Council broke up first?

Aur.
You say,
Women are greatest Talkers.

Sem.
We ha' done,
And are now fit for action.

Lon.
VVhich is Passion.
There's your best activity, Lady.

Sem.
How
Knows your wise Fatness that?

Lon.
Your Mothers Daughter
Did teach me, Madam.

Cet.
Come Sempronia, leave him;
He is a Giber; and our present Business
Is of more serious consequence. Aurelia
Tells me, you' have done most masculinely within,
And play the Orator.

Sem.
But we must hasten
To our Design as well, and execute;
Not hang still in the Fever of an Accident.

Cat.
You say well, Lady.

Sem.
I do like our Plot
Exceeding well; 'tis sure, and we shall leave
Little to Fortune in it.

Cat.
Your Banquet stays.

Aurelia,
take her in. VVhere's Fulvia?

Sem.
O, the two Lovers are coupling.

Cur.
In good faith,
She's very ill with sitting up.

Sem.
You'ld have her
Laugh, and lie down?

Ful.
No, faith, Sempronia,
I am not well: I'll take my leave, it draws
Toward the Morning. Curius shall stay with you.
Madam, I pray you pardon me: my Health
I must respect.

Aur.
Farewel, good Fulvia.

[Curius whispers this to Fulvia.

Cur.
Make haste, and bid him get his Guards about him.
For Vargunteius and Cornelius
Have undertane it, should Cethegus miss:
Their Reason, that they think his open Rashness
VVill suffer easier discovery
Than their Attempt, so vailed under Friendship.
I'll bring you to your Coach. Tell him, beside,
Of Cæsar's coming forth here.

Cat.
My sweet Madam,
VVill you be gone?

Ful.
I am, my Lord, in truth,
In some Indisposition.

Cat.
I do wish
You had all your Health, sweet Lady. Lentulus,
You'll do her Service.

Len.
To her Coach, and Duty.

Catiline.

What Ministers Men must for practice use!
The rash, th' ambitious, needy, desperate,
Foolish, and wretched, ev'n the Dregs of Mankind,
To Whores, and Women! Still it must be so.
Each have their proper place, and in their Rooms
They are the best. Grooms fittest kindle Fires,
Slaves carry Burdens, Butchers are for Slaughters,
Apothecaries, Butlers, Cooks, for Poysons;
As these for me: Dull stupid Lentulus,
My Stale, with whom I stalk; the rash Cethegus
My Executioner; and fat Longinus,
Statilius, Curius, Ceparius, Cimber,
My Labourers, Pioneers, and Incendiaries:
With these Domestick Traitors, Bosom-thieves,
Whom Custom hath call'd Wives; the readiest Helps
To betray heady Husbands, rob the easie,
And lend the Moneys on Returns of Lust.
Shall Catiline not do now, with these Aids,
So sought, so sorted, something shall be call'd
Their Labour, but his Profit? and make Cæsar
Repent his vent'ring Counsels to a Spirit
So much his Lord in Mischief? when all these
Shall, like the Brethren sprung of Dragons Teeth,
Ruin each other, and he fall amongst 'em,
With Crassus, Pompey, or who else appears
But like, or near a Great one. May my Brain
Resolve to Water, and my Blood turn Phlegm,
My Hands drop off, unworthy of my Sword,
And that b' inspired of it self to rip
My Breast for my lost Entrails, when I leave
A Soul that will not serve; and who will, are
The same with Slaves, such Clay I dare not fear.
The Cruelty I mean to act, I wish
Should be call'd mine, and tarry in my Name;
Whilst After-ages do toil out themselves
In thinking for the like, but do it less:
And were the Power of all the Fiends let loose,
With Fate to boot, it should be still Example,
When, what the Gaul or Moor could not effect,
Nor emulous Carthage, with their length of spite,
Shall be the Work of one, and that my Night.

Cicero, Fulvia, Quintus.

I Thank your Vigllance. Where's my Brother, Quintus?
Call all my Servants up. Tell noble Curius,
And say it to your self, you are my Savers:
But that's too little for you; you are Romes.
What could I then hope less? O Brother! now
The Engines I told you of are working,
The Machin 'gins to move. Where are your Weapons?
Arm all my Houshold presently, and charge
The Porter, he let no Man in till day.

Qui.
Not Clients, and your Friends?

Cic.
They wear those Names,
That come to murder me. Yet send for Cato,
And Quintus Catulus; those I dare trust:
And Flaccus, and Pomptinius, the Prætors,
By the back way.

Qui.
Take care, good Brother Marcus,
Your Fears be not form'd greater than they should;
And make your Friends grieve, while your Enemies laugh.

Cic.
'Tis Brothers Counsel, and worth thanks. But do
As I entreat you. I provide, not fear.
Was Cæsar rhere, say you?

Ful.
Curius says, he met him
Coming from thence.

Cic.
O, so. And had you a Council
Of Ladies too? Who was your Speaker, Madam?

Ful.
She that would be, had there been forty more;
Sempronia, who had both her Greek and Figures,
And ever and anon would ask us if
The witty Consul could have mended that,
Or Orator Cicero could have said it better?

Cic.
She's my gentle Enemy. Would Cethegus
Had no more danger in him. But my Guards
Are you, great Powers, and th' unbated Strengths
Of a firm Conscience, which shall arm each Step
Tane for the State; and teach me slack no Pace
For fear of malice. How now, Brother? Qui. Cato,
And Quintus Catulus were coming to you,
And Crassus with 'em. I have let 'em in
By th' Garden.

Cic.
What would Crassus have?

Qui.
I hear
Some whispering 'bout the Gate, and making doubt
Whether it be not yet too early, or no?
But I do think, they are your Friends and Clients,
Are fearful to disturb you.

Cic.
You will change
T' another thought anon. Ha' you giv'n the Porter
The Charge I will'd you?

Qui. Yes. Withdraw, and hearken.

Vargunteius, Cornelius, Porter, Cicero, Cato,
Catulus, Crassus.

The Door's not open yet.

Cor.
You were best to knock.

Var.
Let them stand close then; and, when we are in,
Rush after us.

Cor.
But where's Cethegus?

Var.
He Has left it, since he might not do't his way.

Por
Who's there?

Var.
A Friend, or more.

Por.
I may not let
Any man in, till day.

Var.
No? why?

Cor.
Thy Reason?

Por.
I am commanded so.

Var.
By whom?

Cor.
I hope
We are not discover'd.

Var.
Yes, by Revelation.
Pr'y thee, good Slave, who has commanded thee?

Por.
He that may best, the Consul.

Var.
We are his Friends.

Por.
All's one.

Cor.
Best give your Name.

Var.
Dost thou hear, Fellow?
I have some instant Business with the Consul.
My Name is Vargunteius.

Cic.
True, he knows it,
And for what friendly Office you are sent.

[Cicero speaks to them
from above.

Cornelius too is there?

Var.
We are betray'd.

Cic.
And desperate Cethegus, is he not?

Var.
Speak you, he knows my Voice.

Cic.
What say you to't?

Cor.
You are deceiv'd, Sir.

Cic.
No, 'tis you are so;
Poor mis-led men. Your States are yet worth Pity,
If you would hear, and change your savage minds.
Leave to be mad; forsake your Purposes
Of Treason, Rapine, Murder, Fire, and Horror;
The Commonwealth hath Eyes, that wake as sharply
Over her Life, as yours do for her Ruin.
Be not deceiv'd, to think her Lenity
Will be perpetual; or, if Men be wanting,
The Gods will be, to such a calling Cause.
Consider your Attempts, and while there's time,
Repent you of 'em. It doth make me tremble,
There should those Spirits yet breath, that when they cannot
Live honestly, would rather perish basely.

Cato.
You talk too much to 'em, Marcus, they are lost.
Go forth, and apprehend 'em.

Catu.
If you prove
This Practice, what should let the Commonwealth
To take due Vengeance?

Var.
Let us shift away.
The Darkness hath conceal'd us yet. We'll say,
Some have abus'd our Names.

Cor.
Deny it all.

Cato.
Quintus, what Guards ha' you? Call the Tribunes Aid,
And raise the City. Consul, you are too mild.
The foulness of some Facts takes thence all Mercy.
Report it to the Senate. Hear! The Gods

[It thunders and lightens violently on the sudden.

Grow angry with your Patience. 'Tis their Care,
And must be yours, that guilty Men escape not.
As Crimes do grow, Justice should rowse it self.

C H O R U S.

What is this, Heavens, you prepare
With so much swiftness, and so sudden rising?
There are no Sons of Earth that dare,
Again, Rebellion? or the Gods surprising?
The World doth shake, and Nature fears;
Yet is the Tumult, and the Horror greater
Within our Minds, than in our Ears:
So much Rome's Faults (now grown her Fate) do threat her.
The Priest and People run about,
Each Order, Age, and Sex amaz'd at other;
And at the Ports all thronging out,
As if their Safety were to quit their Mother:
Yet find they the same Dangers there,
From which they make such haste to be preserved:
For guilty States do ever bear
The Plagues about them which they have deserved.
And till those Plagues do get above
The Mountains of our Faults, and there do sit;
We see 'em not. Thus still we love
The Evil we do, until we suffer it.
But most, Ambition, that near Vice
To Vertue, hath the Fate of Rome provoked;
And made that now Rome's self no price
To free her from the Death wherewith she's yoked.
That restless Ill that still doth build
Upon success; and ends not in aspiring:
But there begins; and ne're is fill'd
While ought remains that seems but worth desiring.
Wherein the Thought, unlike the Eye,
To which things far seem smaller than they are,
Deems all Contentment plac'd on high:
And thinks there's nothing great but what is far.
O, that in time Rome did not cast
Her Errors up, this Fortune to prevent;
T' have seen her Crimes e're they were past,
And felt her Faults before her Punishment.