me, neighbour, let us jog.
Faith, this news will set my daughter Dorothy agog.

[_Exeunt cum Lictore_.

SYLLA. Grave senators and Romans, now you see
The humble bent of Sylla's changed mind.
Now will I leave you, lords, from courtly train
To dwell content amidst my country cave,
Where no ambitious humours shall approach
The quiet silence of my happy sleep:
Where no delicious jouissance or toys
Shall tickle with delight my temper'd ears;
But wearying out the lingering day with toil,
Tiring my veins, and furrowing of my soul,
The silent night, with slumber stealing on,
Shall lock these careful closets of mine eyes.
O, had I known the height of happiness,
Or bent mine eyes upon my mother-earth,
Long since, O Rome, had Sylla with rejoice
Forsaken arms to lead a private life!

FLACCUS. But in this humbleness of mind, my lord,
Whereas experience prov'd and art do meet,
How happy were these fair Italian fields,
If they were graced with so sweet a sun.
Then I for Rome, and Rome with me, requires
That Sylla will abide, and govern Rome.

SYLLA. O Flaccus, if th'Arabian phoenix strive
By nature's warning to renew her kind,
When, soaring nigh the glorious eye of heaven,
She from her cinders doth revive her sex,
Why should not Sylla learn by her to die,
That erst have been the Phoenix of this land?
And drawing near the sunshine of content,
Perish obscure to make your glories grow.
For as the higher trees do shield the shrubs
From posting Phlegon's[166] warmth and breathing fire,
So mighty men obscure each other's fame,
And make the best deservers fortune's game.

_Enter_ GENIUS.

But ah, what sudden furies do affright?
What apparitious fantasies are these?
O, let me rest, sweet lords, for why methinks
Some fatal spells are sounded in mine ears.

GENIUS. _Subsequitur tua mors: privari lumine Syllam,
Numina Parcarum jam fera precipiunt
Precipiunt fera jam Parcarum numina Syllam
Lumine privari: mors tua subsequitur.
Elysium petis, o faelix! et fatidici astri
Praescius: Heroes, o, petis innumeros!
Innumeros petis, o, Heroes, praescius astri
Fatidici: et faelix, o, petis Elysium_!
[Evanescit subito.

SYLLA. _Ergo-ne post dulces annos properantia fata?
Ergo-ne jam tenebrae praemia lucis erunt?
Attamen, ut vitae fortunam gloria mortis
Vincat, in extremo funere cantet olor_.

POMPEY. How fares my lord? what dreadful thoughts are these?