Act 3 — Act III sc. v ACT. 2. SCE. 4.

Cæs. Now servile Pharthia proud in Romaine spoile, 1431 Shall pay her ransome vnto Cæsars Ghost: Which vnreuenged roues by the Stygian strond, Exclaming on our sluggish negligence. Leaue to lament braue Romans, loe I come, Like to the God of battell, mad with rage, To die their riuers with vermilion red: Ile fill Armenians playnes and Medians hils, With carkases of bastard Scithian broode, And there proud Princes will I bring to Rome, 1440 Chained in fetters to my charriot wheeles: Desire of fame and hope of sweete reueng, Which in my brest hath kindled such a flame, As nor Euphrates, nor sweet Tybers streame, Can quench or slack this feruent boyling heate: These conquering souldiers that haue followed me, From vanquisht France to sun-burnt Meroe, Matching the best of Alexanders troopes. Shall with their lookes put Parthian foes to flight, And make them twise turne their deceitfull lookes, 1450 Ant. The restlesse mind that harbors sorrowing thoughts, And is with child of noble enterprise, Doth neuer cease from honors toilesome taske, Till it bringes forth Eternall gloryes broode. So you fayre braunch of vertues great discent, Now hauing finish’d Ciuill warres sad broyles, Intend by Parthian triumphes to enlarge, Your contryes limits, and your owne renowne, But cause in Sibilles ciuill writs we finde, None but a King that conquest can atchiue, 1460 Both for to crowne your deedes with due reward, And as auspicious signes of victorye. Wee here present you with this Diadem, Lord. And euen as kings were banish’d Romes high throne Cause their base vice, her honour did destayne, So to your rule doth shee submit her selfe, That her renowne there by might brighter shine, Cæsar. Why thinke you Lords that tis ambitions spur. That pricketh Cæsar to these high attempts, Or hope of Crownes, or thought of Diadems, 1470 That made me wade through honours perilous deepe, Vertue vnto it selfe a shure reward, My labours all shall haue a pleasing doome, If you but Iudge I will deserue of Rome: Did those old Romaines suffer so much ill? Such tedious seeges, such enduring warrs? Tarquinius hates, and great Porsennas threats, To banish proude imperious tyrants rule? And shall my euerdaring thoughts contend To marre what they haue brought to happy end: 1480 Or thinke you cause my Fortune hath expeld, My friends, come let vs march in iolity, Ile triumph Monarke-like ore conquering Rome, Or end my conquests with my countryes spoyles, Dolo. O noble Princely resolution. These or not victoryes that we so call, That onely blood and murtherous spoyles can vaunt: But this shalbe thy victory braue Prince, That thou hast conquered thy owne climing thoughts, And with thy vertue beat ambition downe, 1490 And this no lesse inblazon shall thy fame. Then those great deeds and chiualrous attempts, That made thee conqueror in Thessalia. Ant. This noble mind and Pincely modesty, Which in contempt of honours brightnes shines, Makes vs to wish the more for such a Prince, Whose vertue not ambition won that praise, Nor shall we thinke it losse of liberty. Or Romaine liberty any way impeached, For to subiect vs to his Princely rule, 1500 Whose thoughts fayre vertue and true honor guides: Vouchsafe then to accept this goulden crowne, A gift not equall to thy dignity. Cæs. Content you Lordes for I wilbe no King, An odious name vnto the Romaine eare, Cæsar I am, and wilbe Cæsar still, No other title shall my Fortunes grace: Which I will make a name of higher state Then Monarch, King or worldes great Potentate. Of Ioue in Heauen, shall ruled bee the skie, 1510 The Earth of Cæsar, with like Maiesty. This is the Scepter that my crowne shall beare, And this the golden diadem Ile weare, A farre more rich and royall ornament, Then all the Crownes that the proud Persian gaue: Forward my Lordes let Trumpets sound our march, And drums strike vp Reuenges sad alarms, Parthia we come with like incensed heate, As great Atrides with the angry Greekes, Marching in fury to pale walls of Troy. 1520