FRONTO

How chance I cannot live then? That's certain, for every ass does that. What art thou? And dost breathe? And wherefore livest thou? How canst thou? what art thou? No man? What mayest thou be then? Heaven bless us. I have done; what devil art thou? Ophioneus? what's that? And so were hurled down to hell. Why should he? My name is Fronto. How the devil knows he all this? My idle dislolute life, is thrust out of all his corners By this searching tumult now on foot in Room. — Caesar now and Pompey Are both for battle: Pompey (in his fear Of Caesars greater force) is sending hence His wife and children, and he bent to fly. See, all are on their wings; and all the City In such and uproar, as if fire and sword Were ransacking, and ruining their houses, No idle person now can lurk near Room, All must to arms; or shake their heals beneath Her martial halters; whose officious pride I'll shun, and use mine own swinge: I be forced To help my Country, when it forceth me To this past-helping pickle? I can name none. None better. Archflamen? what's that? A Priest? that never was Clerk? All this I can do to a hair. Not for hell? Oh this were most honourable and admirable. Is't possible? Sacred and puissant. He kneels. Protest I am. No? I fear my fallen is too low. Yet you cannot change the old fashion (they say) And hide your cloven feet. For love of the fashion do then. But for the Priesthood you offer me, I affect it not. The only second means to raise a rascal In the earth. Excellent; was ever great office better supplied? Exeunt. Now is the mighty Empress of the earth (Great Room ) fast locked up in her fancied strength, All broke in uproars; fearing the joust gods In plagues will drown her so abused blessings. In which fear, all without her walls, fly in; By both their jarring Champions rushing out; And those that were within, as fast fly forth; The Consuls both are fled without one rite Of sacrifice submitted to the gods, As ever heretofore their custom was When they began the bloody frights of war. In which our two great Soldiers now encountering, Since both left Room, opposed in bitter skirmish, Pompey (not willing yet to hazard battle, By Catos counsel, urging good cause) fled: Which firing Caesars spirit; he pursued So home, and fiercely, that great Pompey scorning The heart he took, by his advised flight, Despised advice as much as his pursuit. And as in Libya, and aged Lion, Urged from his peaceful covert, fears the light With his unready and diseased appearance, Gives way to chase a while, and coldly Hunt's Till with the youthful hunter's wanton heat, He all his cool wrath frets into a flame: And then his sides he swings with his Stern, To lash his strength up, let's down all his brows About his burning eyes; erects his mane, Breaks all his throat in thunders, and to wreak His hunter's insolence, his heart even barking; He frees his fury, turns, and rushes back With such a ghastly horror, that in heaps, His proud foes fly, and he that station keeps: So Pompey cool spirits, put to all their heat By Caesars hard pursuit he turned fresh head, And flew upon his foe with such a rapture As took up into furies, all friends fears; Who fired with his first turning, all turned head, And gave so fierce a charge, their followers fled, Whose instant issue on their both sides, see, And after set out such a tragedy, As all the Princes of the earth may come To take their patterns by the spirits of Room.