driues his chariot downe from heauens top, 2210
And in his wheels whirleth reueng and death:
Heere by _Phillippi_ they will pich their tents,
And in these fieldes (fatall to _Roman_ liues.)
Hazard the fortune of the doubtfull fight,
_Cat._ O welcome thou this long expected day,
On which dependeth _Romane_ liberty,
Now _Rome_ thy freedom hangeth in suspence,
And this the day that must assure thy hopes.
_Cassi._ Great _Ioue_, and thou _Trytonyan_ warlike Queene:
Arm'd with thy amazing deadly _Gorgons_ head. 2220
Strenghen our armes that fight for _Roman_ welth:
And thou sterne _Mars_, and _Romulus_ thy Sonne,
Defend that Citty which your selfe begun.
All heauenly powers assist our rightfull armes,
And send downe siluer winged victory,
To crowne with Lawrells our triumphant Crests.
_Bru._ My minde thats trobled in my vexed soule,
(Opprest with sorrow and with sad dismay,)
Misgiues me this wilbe a heauy day.
_Cassi._ Why faynt not now in these our last extremes, 2230
This time craues courage not dispayring feare,
_Titin._ Fie, twill distayne thy former valiant acts.
To say thou faintest now in this last act,
_Bru._ My mind is heauy, and I know not why,
But cruell fate doth sommon me to die,
_Cato._ Sweet _Brute_, let not thy words be ominous signes,
Of so mis-fortunnate and sad euent,
Heauen and our Vallour shall vs conquerours make.
_Cassi._ What Bastard feare hath taunted our dead hearts,
Or what vnglorious vnwounted thought, 2240
Hath changed the vallour of our daunted mindes.
What are our armes growne weaker then they were?
Cannot this hand that was proud _Caesars_ death,
Send all _Caesarians_ headlong that same path?
Looke how our troups in Sun-bright armes do shine,
With vaunting plumes and dreadfull brauery.
The wrathful steedes do check their iron bits,
And with a well grac'd terror strike the ground,
And keeping times in warres sad harmony.
And then hath _Brutus_ any cause to feare, 2250
My selfe like valiant _Peleus_ worthy Sonne,
The Noblest wight that eur _Troy_ beheld,
Shall of the aduerse troopes such hauock make,
As sad _Phillipi_ shall in blood bewayle,
The cruell massacre of _Cassius_ sword,
And then hath _Brutus