What help to ease my weary pains have I?
What comfort in distress to calm my griefs?
_Griefs_.
Sweet nymph, these griefs are grown, before I thought so.
_I thought so_.
Thus Marius lives disdain'd of all the gods.
_Gods_.
With deep despair late overtaken wholly.
_O lie_.
And will the heavens be never well appeased?
_Appeased_.
What mean have they left me to cure my smart?
_Art_.
Nought better fits old Marius' mind than war.
_Then war_[130].
Then full of hope, say, Echo, shall I go?
_Go_.
Is any better fortune then at hand?
_At hand_.
Then farewell, Echo, gentle nymph, farewell.
_Farewell_.
O pleasing folly to a pensive man!
Well, I will rest fast by this shady tree, Waiting the end that fate allotteth me.
[_Sits down_.
_Enter_ MARIUS _the son_, ALBINOVANUS, CETHEGUS, LECTORIUS, _with Soldiers_.
YOUNG MARIUS. My countrymen, and favourites of Rome, This melancholy desert where we meet, Resembleth well young Marius' restless thoughts.
Here dreadful silence, solitary caves, No chirping birds with solace singing sweetly, Are harbour'd for delight; but from the oak, Leafless and sapless through decaying age, The screech-owl chants her fatal-boding lays.
Within my breast care, danger, sorrow dwell; Hope and revenge sit hammering in my heart: The baleful babes of angry Nemesis Disperse their furious fires upon my soul.
LECTORIUS. Fie, Marius, are you discontented still, When as occasion favoureth your desire!
Are not these noble Romans come from Rome?
Hath not the state recall'd your father home?
YOUNG MARIUS. And what of this? What profit may I reap, That want my father to conduct us home?
LECTORIUS. My lord, take heart; no doubt this stormy flaw[131], That Neptune sent to cast us on this shore, Shall end these discontentments at the last.
MARIUS. Whom see mine eyes? What, is not yon my son?
YOUNG MARIUS. What solitary father walketh there?
MARIUS. It is my son! these are my friends I see.
What, have sore-pining cares so changed me?
Or are my looks distemper'd through the pains And agonies that issue from my heart?
Fie, Marius! frolic, man! thou must to Rome, There to revenge thy wrongs, and wait thy tomb.
YOUNG MARIUS. Now, fortune, frown and palter if thou please.
Romans, behold my father and your friend.
O father!
MARIUS. Marius, thou art fitly met.
Albinovanus, and my other friends, What news at Rome? What fortune brought you hither?
ALBINOVANUS. My lord, the Consul Cinna hath restor'd The doubtful course of your betrayed state, And waits your present swift approach to Rome, Your foeman Sylla posteth very fast With good success from Pontus, to prevent Your speedy entrance into Italy.
The neighbouring cities are your very friends; Nought rests, my lord, but you depart from hence.
YOUNG MARIUS. How many desert ways hath Marius sought, How many cities have I visited!
To find my father, and relieve his wants!
MARIUS. My son, I 'quite thy travails with my love.
And, lords and citizens, we will to Rome, And join with Cinna. Have you shipping here?
What, are these soldiers bent to die with me?
SOLDIERS. Content to pledge our lives for Marius.
LECTORIUS. My lord, here, in the next adjoining port, Our ships are rigg'd, and ready for to sail.
MARIUS. Then let us sail unto Etruria, And cause our friends, the Germans, to revolt, And get some Tuscans to increase our power.
Deserts, farewell! Come, Romans, let us go-- A scourge for Rome, that hath depress'd us so.
[_Exeunt_.
ACTUS QUARTUS, SCENA PRIMA.
_Enter_ MARK ANTHONY, LEPIDUS, OCTAVIUS, FLACCUS, _Senators_.
OCTAVIUS. What helps, my lords, to overhale these cares?
What means or motions may these mischiefs end?
You see how Cinna, that should succour Rome Hath levied arms to bring a traitor in.
O worthless traitor, woe to thine and thee, That thus disquieteth both Rome and us?
ANTHONY. Octavius, these are scourges for our sins; These are but ministers to heap our plague.
These mutinies are gentle means and ways, Whereby the heavens our heavy errors charm.
Then with content and humbled eyes behold The crystal shining globe of glorious Jove; And, since we perish through our own misdeeds, Go let us flourish in our fruitful prayers.
LEPIDUS. 'Midst these confusions, mighty men of Rome, Why waste we out these troubles all in words?
Weep not your harms, but wend we straight to arms, Lo, Ostia[132] spoil'd, see Marius at our gate!
And shall we die like milksops, dreaming thus?
OCTAVIUS. A bootless war to see our country spoil'd.
LEPIDUS. Fruitless is dalliance, whereas dangers be.
ANTHONY. My lord, may courage wait on conquer'd men?