Slight crooked friend's as snake-like in his words As his deeds.

Cas.
Your highness much mistakes me.
The first snake was a flatterer-I am none;
And for my deeds, I only sting when stung.
Bourb. You are brave, and that's enough for me;
and quick

In speech as sharp in action—and that's more.
I am not alone a soldier, but the soldiers'
Comrade.

Cas. They are but bad company, your highness: And worse even for their friends than foes, as being More permanent acquaintance.

If the earth's princes ask'd no more. Bourb.

Be silent!

Cas. Ay, but not idle. Work yourself with words! You have few to speak.

Phil.

Retain'd her sway o'er nations, and the Cæsars,
But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics
Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest,
Still the world's masters! Civilised, barbarian,
Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus
Have been the circus of an empire.
'Twas their turn-now 't is ours; and let us hope
That we will fight as well, and rule much better.
Cæs. No doubt, the camp's the school of civic
rights.

What would you make of Rome ?
Bourb.

Cas. In Alaric's time?
Bourb.

Well!

That which it was.

No, slave in the first Cæsar's,

On the eve of battle, no;

That were not soldier-like. 'Tis for the general

To be more pensive: we adventurers
Must be more cheerful. Wherefore should we think?
Our tutelar deity, in a leader's shape,

Takes care of us. Keep thought aloof from hosts!
If the knaves take to thinking, you will have
To crack those walls alone.
Bourb.

You may sneer, since

'Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for 't. Cæs. I thank you for the freedom; 'tis the only Pay I have taken in your highness' service.

Bourb. Well, sir, to-morrow you shall pay yourself. Look on those towers; they hold my treasury: But, Philibert, we'll in to council. Arnold, We would request your presence. Arn.

Is yours, as in the field.

Bourb.

Prince my service

In both we prize it,

To follow glory with the Bourbon.

And yours will be a post of trust at daybreak.
Cæs. And mine?
Bourb.

Good night!

Arn. (to CÆSAR). Prepare our armour for the assault,

And wait within my tent.

[Exeunt BOURBON, ARNOLD, PHILIBERT, &c. Within thy tent!

Cæs. (solus).

Except a mask? And these are men, forsooth! Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards! This is the consequence of giving matter

The power of thought. It is a stubborn substance,

And thinks chaotically, as it acts,

Ever relapsing into its first elements.

Well! I must play with these poor puppets: 'tis
The spirit's pastime in his idler hours.
When I grow weary of it, I have business
Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem
Were made for them to look at. "Twere a jest now
To bring one down amongst them, and set fire
Unto their anthill: how the pismires then
Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing
From tearing down each other's nests, pipe forth
One universal orison! Ha! ha!

[Exit CESAR

PART II.

SCENE I.

Before the Walls of Rome. The assault: the army

in motion, with ladders to scale the walls; BOURBON, with a white scarf over his armour, foremost.

Chorus of Spirits in the air.

1.

'Tis the morn, but dim and dark.
Whither flies the silent lark?
Whither shrinks the clouded sun?
Is the day indeed begun ?
Nature's eye is melancholy
O'er the city high and holy :
But without there is a din
Should arouse the saints within,
And revive the heroic ashes

Round which yellow Tiber dashes.
Oh ye seven hills! awaken,
Ere your very base be shaken!

2.

Hearken to the steady stamp !
Mars is in their every tramp!
Not a step is out of tune,

As the tides obey the moon !

On they march, though to self-slaughter,
Regular as rolling water,

Whose high waves o'ersweep the border
Of huge moles, but keep their order,
Breaking only rank by rank.
Hearken to the armour's clank!
Look down o'er each frowning warrior,
How he glares upon the barrier:
Look on each step of each ladder,
As the stripes that streak an adder.

Will you sleep when nations' quarrels
Plough the root up of your laurels ?
Ye who weep o'er Carthage burning,
Weep not-strike! for Rome is mourning!!

5.

Onward sweep the varied nations!
Famine long hath dealt their rations.
To the wall, with hate and hunger,
Numerous as wolves, and stronger,
On they sweep. Oh! glorious city,
Must thou be a theme for pity?
Fight, like your first sire, each Roman!
Alaric was a gentle foeman,
Match'd with Bourbon's black banditti!
Rouse thee, thou eternal city;
Rouse thee! Rather give the torch
With thy own hand to thy porch,
Than behold such hosts pollute
Your worst dwelling with their foot.

6.

Ah! behold yon bleeding spectre !
Ilion's children find no Hector;
Priam's offspring loved their brother;
Rome's great sire forgot his mother,
When he slew his gallant twin,
With inexpiable sin.

See the giant shadow stride
O'er the ramparts high and wide!
When the first o'erleapt thy wall,
Its foundation mourn'd thy fall.
Now, though towering like a Babel,
Who to stop his steps are able?
Stalking o'er thy highest dome,
Remus claims his vengeance, Rome!

7.

Now they reach thee in their anger:
Fire and smoke and hellish clangour
Are around thee, thou world's wonder!
Death is in thy walls and under.
Now the meeting steel first clashes,
Downward then the ladder crashes,
With its iron load all gleaming,
Lying at its foot blaspheming!
Up again! for every warrior
Slain, another climbs the barrier.
Thicker grows the strife: thy ditches
Europe's mingling gore enriches.
Rome! although thy wall may perish,
Such manure thy fields will cherish,
Making gay the harvest-home;
But thy hearths, alas! oh, Rome!—
Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish,
Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish!

8.

Yet once more, ye old Penates!

Let not your quench'd hearths be Ate's! Yet again, ye shadowy heroes,

Yield not to these stranger Neros! Though the son who slew his mother Shed Rome's blood, he was your brother:

1 Scipio, the second Africanus, is said to have repeated a verse of Homer, and wept over the burning of Carthag He had better have granted it a capitulation.

1 [Finding himself mortally wounded, Bayard ordered one of his attendants to place him under a tree with his face towards the enemy: then, fixing his eyes on the guard of his sword, which he held up instead of a cross, he addressed his prayers to God, and in this posture he calmly waited the approach of death."- ROBERTSON, Charles V.

2["On the 1st of May, 1527, the Constable and his army came in sight of Rome, and the next morning commenced

To die within the wall! Hence, Arnold, hence! You lose time-they will conquer Rome without

thee.

Arn. And without thee!

Bourb.

Not so; I'll lead them still

In spirit. Cover up my dust, and breathe not That I have ceased to breathe. Away! and be Victorious!

Arn.

But I must not leave thee thus.

Bourb. You must-farewell-Up! up! the world

is winning.

[BOURBON dies. 2

Cas. (to ARNOLD). Come, count, to business.
Arn.

True. I'll weep hereafter. [ARNOLD Covers BOURBON's body with a mantle, and mounts the ladder, crying

The Bourbon! Bourbon! On, boys! Rome is ours! Cas. Good night, lord constable! thou wert a man. [CESAR follows ARNOLD; they reach the battlement; ARNOLD and CESAR are struck down.

Cæs. A precious somerset ! injured?

Arn. No.

Is your countship

[Remounts the ladder.

Cas. A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated! And 't is no boy's play. Now he strikes them down! His hand is on the battlement- he grasps it As though it were an altar; now his foot Is on it, and

What have we here?-a Roman ?
[A man falls.

The first bird of the covey! he has fallen
On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow?
Wounded Man. A drop of water!

Cæs.

Nearer than Tiber.

Blood's the only liquid

[Dies.

Wounded Man. I have died for Rome. Cæs. And so did Bourbon, in another sense. Oh these immortal men! and their great motives! But I must after my young charge. By this time i' the forum. Charge charge! [CÆSAR mounts the ladder; the scene closes.

SCENE II.

He is

The City. Combats between the Besiegers and Besieged in the streets. Inhabitants flying in confusion.

Enter CESAR.

Cæs. I cannot find my hero; he is mix'd With the heroic crowd that now pursue The fugitives, or battle with the desperate. What have we here? A cardinal or two That do not seem in love with martyrdom. How the old red-shanks scamper! Could they doff Their hose as they have doff'd their hats, 't would be A blessing, as a mark the less for plunder. But let them fly; the crimson kennels now Will not much stain their stockings, since the mire Is of the self-same purple hue.

the attack. Bourbon wore a white vest over his armour, in order, he said, to be more conspicuous both to his friends and foes. He led on to the walls, and commenced a furious assault, which was repelled with equal violence. Seeing that his army began to waver, he seized a scaling ladder from a soldier standing, and was in the act of ascending, when he was pierced by a musket-ball, and fell. Feeling that his wound was mortal, he desired that his body might be concealed from his soldiers, and instantly expired."- ROBERTSON.]

Then he hath carved his monument.
Rom.

May live to carve your betters'.

Cæs. Well said, my man of marble! Benvenuto, Thou hast some practice in both ways; and he Who slays Cellini will have work'd as hard As e'er thou did'st upon Carrara's blocks. 1

[ARNOLD disarms and wounds CELLINI, but

slightly; the latter draws a pistol, and fires; then retires, and disappears through the portico.

Cas. How farest thou? Thou hast a taste, methinks,

St. Peter's

at the Altar

SCENE JIL

The Interior of the Church- The Pope Priests, &c. crowding in confusion, and Citizens flying for refuge, pursued by Soldiery.

Enter CESAR.

A Spanish Soldier. Down with them, comrades! seize upon those lamps !

Cleave yon bald-pated shaveling to the chine!
His rosary's of gold.

Lutheran Soldier. Revenge! revenge!
Plunder hereafter, but for vengeance now-
Yonder stands Anti-Christ!

Luth. Sold. In the holy name of Christ, Destroy proud Anti-Christ. I am a Christian. Caes. Yea, a disciple that would make the founder Of your belief renounce it, could he see Such proselytes. Best stint thyself to plunder. Luth. Sold. I say he is the devil. Cæs. Hush! keep that secret, Lest he should recognize you for his own. Luth. Sold. Why would you save him? I repeat he is The devil, or the devil's vicar upon earth.

Cas. And that's the reason: would you make a quarrel

perceived that there was an extraordinary confusion among the assailants, occasioned by our having shot the Duke of Bourbon: he was, as I understood afterwards, that chief personage whom I saw raised above the rest."-- Vol. 1. p This, however, is one of the many stories in Ceilus amusing autobiography which nobody seems ever to have believed.]