Upon my people; and with cold disdain Refuse our council, when 'twere meet and wise. I beg thee, cast them out, both root and branch And clean official nests from grafty filth. Our patriots, able, then can claim their own And on the ruins build a blissful state. _Caesar:_ Most noble Quezox, thou hast touched the sore. In Francos thou wilt find a helping hand, Council him wise for he the subtle wiles Of crafty scheming men may not discern. _Quezox:_ Ah, noble sir, if I advice may breathe, It were to shun the brood of vultures well. They're skilled indeed to sing the siren's song, And play with flattery on honest minds. I feel 'twere well to journey to these Isles In company with Francos, at thy will, Thus guarding him from every idle tongue, Which might make impress on an open heart. _Caesar:_ Sweet Quezox, thou art wise, it shall be done. And as you journey, meditate and plan To lop off every head that blocks thy way, Or lacks in sympathy for thy great work. For Francos hath been trained for civic life Where virtue reigns and intrigue hath no place. But with thine aid and to guide a fearless soul, And Tammany his pattern, all were well. _Francos:_ Great Caesar, trust me well; I smell the rot that distance cannot smother, and will clean The halls of state, and there implant true men. _Caesar:_ And silence! speak nor write not idle words, For they are often swords which cleave the soul; When enemies who wield a cunning hand Shall thrust them back, and laugh in gleeful scorn. E'en I regret what in an idle hour, I thoughtless paged regarding freedom's gift. And now they sting me, sting me to the soul. Oh that I ne'er had penned such childish thoughts! Hence hold thy tongue or honeyed words proclaim Which may mean little or perchance mean much. And now farewell, and hie thee on thy way: Again I say a padlock on thy tongue. _Quezox and Francos moving backward, and making obeisances._ Adieu, most noble Caesar, since the time When Washington first donned the regal crown. We'll smoke the woodchucks out and tan their hides And parchment make, on which, in words of gold, Shall be inscribed, so all the world may read: "Saturnine pleasure it to us doth give, To see them walk the plank from scuttled ship." _Caesar:_ Ha Ha! but speak it not aloud, until 'tis done. _Both:_ Whist! whist as mice! We'll oil the guillotine. _Exeunt both while Caesar washes his hands with invisible soap._ ACT II