LECTORIUS. Though swoll'n with sighs, my heart for sorrow burst, And tongue with tears and plaints be choked up, Yet will I furrow forth with forced breath A speedy passage to my pensive speech. Our consul Marius, worthy soldiers, Of late within a pleasant plot of ground Sat down for pleasure near a crystal spring, Accompanied with many lords of Rome. Bright was the day, and on the spreading trees The frolic citizens[149] of forest sung Their lays and merry notes on perching boughs; When suddenly appeared in the east Seven mighty eagles with their talons fierce, Who, waving oft about our consul's head, At last with hideous cry did soar away. When suddenly old Marius aghast, With reverend smile, determin'd with a sigh The doubtful silence of the standers-by. Romans, said he, old Marius now must die: These seven fair eagles, birds of mighty Jove, That at my birthday on my cradle sat, Now at my last day warn[150] me to my death, And lo, I feel the deadly pangs approach. What should I more? In brief, with many prayers For Rome, his son--his goods and lands dispos'd-- Our worthy consul to our wonder died. The city is amaz'd, for Sylla hastes To enter Rome with fury, sword and fire. Go place that head upon the capitol, And to your wards, for dangers are at hand. [_Exit_. CAPTAIN. Had we foreseen this luckless chance before, Old Anthony had liv'd and breathed yet. [_Exeunt_. ACTUS QUINTUS. _A great skirmish in Rome and long, some slain. At last enter_ SYLLA _triumphant, with_ POMPEY, METELLUS, _Citizens, Soldiers_. SYLLA. Now, Romans, after all these mutinies, Seditions, murders and conspiracies, Imagine with impartial hearts at last, What fruits proceed from these contentious brawls. Your streets, where erst the fathers of your state In robes of purple walked up and down, Are strewed with mangled members, streaming blood: And why? the reasons of this ruthful wrack Are your seditious innovations, Your fickle minds inclin'd to foolish change. Ungrateful men! whilst I with tedious pain In Asia seal'd my duty with my blood, Making the fierce Dardanians faint for fear, Spreading my colours in Galatia, Dipping my sword in the Enetans' blood, And foraging the fields of Phocida, You called my foe from exile with his friends; You did proclaim me traitor here in Rome; You raz'd my house, you did defame my friends. But, brawling wolves, you cannot bite the moon, For Sylla lives, so forward to revenge, As woe to those that sought to do me wrong. I now am entered Rome in spite of force, And will so hamper all my cursed foes. As be he tribune, consul, lord, or knight, That hateth Sylla, let him look to die. And first to make an entrance to mine ire, Bring me that traitor Carbo out of hand. POMPEY. O Sylla, in revenging injuries, Inflict the pain where first offence did spring, And for my sake establish peace in Rome, And pardon these repentant citizens.