CESAR.

It answers better to resolve the alphabet
Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman,
And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist,
Philosopher, and what not, they have built
More Babels without new dispersion, than
The stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze,
Who fail'd and fled each other. Why? why, marry,
Because no man could understand his neighbour.
They are wiser now, and will not separate
For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood,
Their Shibboleth, their Koran, Talmud, their
Cabala; their best brick-work, wherewithal
They build more

ARNOLD (interrupting him).

Oh! thou everlasting sneerer' Be silent! How the soldiers' rough strain seems Soften'd by distance to a hymn-like cadence! Listen!

CESAR.

Yes. I have heard the angels sing.

ARNOLD.

Yes, sir. You forget I am or was

Spirit, till I took up with your cast shape

Thus

And a worse name. I'm Cæsar and a hunchback
Now. Well! the first of Cæsars was a bald-head,
And loved his laurels better as a wig
(So history says) than as a glory.
The world runs on, but we 'll be merry still.
I saw your Romulus (simple as I am)
Slay his own twin, quick-born of the same womb,
Because he leapt a ditch ('t was then no wall,
Whate'er it now be); and Rome's earliest cement
Was brother's blood; and if its native blood
Be spilt till the choked Tiber be as red
As e'er 't was yellow, it will never wear

The deep hue of the ocean and the earth,
Which the great robber sons of Fratricide
Have made their never-ceasing scene of slaughter
For ages.

ARNOLD.

Song of the soldiers within. The Black Bands came over The Alps and their snow, With Bourbon, the rover,

They pass'd the broad Po. We have beaten all foemen,

We have captured a king, We have turn'd back on no men, And so let us sing!

Here's the Bourbon for ever!

Though penniless all,

We'll have one more endeavour

At yonder old wall.

With the Bourbon we'll gather

At day-dawn before The gates, and together

Or break or climb o'er The wall: on the ladder,

As mounts each firm foot, Our shout shall grow gladder,

And death only be mute.

With the Bourbon we 'll mount o'er

The walls of old Rome,

And who then shall count o'er

The spoils of each dome?

Up! up with the lily!

And down with the keys!
In old Rome, the Seven-hilly,
We'll revel at ease:
Her streets shall be gory,

Her Tiber all red,

And her temples so hoary

Shall clang with our tread.
Oh! the Bourbon! the Bourbon'
The Bourbon for aye!
Or our song bear the burthen!
And fire, fire away!

With Spain for the vanguard,

Our varied host comes;

CÆSAR.

Your highness much mistakes me. The first snake was a flatterer-1 am none;

And for my deeds, I only sting when stung.

BOURBON.

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.

CESAR.

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

PHILIBERT.

How now, fellow! Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege Of a buffoon.

CESAR.

You mean, I speak the truth.

I'll lie-it is as easy; then you'll praise tue For Calling you a hero.

BOURBON.

Philibert!

Let nim alone; he 's brave, and ever has

Been first with that swart face and mountain shoulder
In field or storm; and patient in starvation;
And for his tongue, the camp is full of license,
And the sharp stinging of a lively rogue
Is, to my mind, far preferable to
The gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execration
Of a mere famish'd, sullen, grumbling slave,
Whom nothing can convince save a full meal,
And wine, and sleep, and a few maravedis,
With which he deems him tich.

BOURBON.

The world's Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow. Through every change the seven-hill'd city hath Retain'd her sway o'er nations, and the Cesars But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or prest, Still the world's masters! Civilized, barbarian, Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus Have been the circus of an empire. Well! T was their turn-now 't is ours; and let us hope That we will fight as well, and tule much better.

On the eve of battle, no ;

Tnat were not soldier-like. "T is 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.

BOURBON.

You may sneer, since 'Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for 't.

CESAR.

I thank you for the freedom; 't is the only Pay I have taken in your highness' service.

BOURBON.

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.

Is yours, as in the field.

ARNOLD.

BOURBON.

Prince! my service

In both, we prize it, And yours will be a post of trust at day-break.

And mine?

CESAR.

Since I must not lead. BOURBON.

BOURBON.

To follow glory with the Bourbon.

'Tis necessary, for the further daring
Of our too needy army, that their chief
Plant the first foot upon the foremost ladder's
First step.

CESAR.

Upon its topmost, let us hope:

So shall he have his full deserts.

Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my presence?

Or that this crooked coffer, which contain'd
Thy principle of life, is aught to me

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: 't is
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. 'T were a jest now
To bring one down amongst them, and set fire
Unto their ant-hill: how the pismires then
Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing
From tearing down each others' nests, pipe forth
One universal orison! Ha! ha!

PART II.

SCENE I.

[Exit CESAR.

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.

3.

Look upon the bristling wall,
Mann'd without an interval!
Round and round, and tier on tier,
Cannon's black mouth, shining spear,
Lit match, bell-mouth'd musquetoon,
Gaping to be murderous soon.

All the warlike gear of old,
Mix'd with what we now behold,
In this strife 'twixt old and new,
Gather like a locust's crew.
Shade of Remus! 't is a time
Awful as thy brother's crime!
Christians war against Christ's shrine :-.
Must its lot be like to thine?

4.
Near-and near-nearer still,
As the earthquake saps the bill,
First with trembling, hollow motion,
Like a scarce-awaken'd ocean,
Then with stronger shock and louder,
Till the rocks are crush'd to powder,-
Onward sweeps the rolling host!
Heroes of the immortal boast!
Mighty chiefs! Eternal shadows!
First flowers of the bloody meadows
Which encompass Rome, the mother
Of a people without brother!
Will you sleep when nations' quarrels
Plough the root up of your laurels ?
Ye who wept 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 thec! Rather give the porch

With thy own hand to thy torch,
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;
Roma's 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 he 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

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

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!

brother:

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
'T was the Roman curb'd the Roman:-
Brennus was a baffled foeman.
Yet again, ye saints and martyrs,
Rise, for yours are holier charters.
Mighty gods of temples falling,
Yet in ruin still appalling!
Mightier founders of those altars,

True and Christian-strike the assaulters!

Tiber! Tiber! let thy torrent

Show even nature's self abhorrent.

BOURBON.

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!

ARNOLD.

But I must not leave thee thus.

BOURBON.

You must-farewell-Up! up! the world is winning. [BOUREON dies.

CESAR (to ARNOLD).

Come, count, to business.

ARNOLD.

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!

CESAR.

Good night, Lord Constable! thou wert a man.

[CESAR follows ARNOLD; they reach the battlement; ARNOLD and CESAR are struck down.

A precious somerset! Is your countship injured?

No.

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 fall'n
On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow?

You must be

THE WOUNDED MAN.

Removed; the aid of-

A drop of water!