NEN. Where is false Cæsar's sword, call'd Crocea Mors,[309] Which never hurt but kill'd? Let it be plac'd Within my tomb. BEL. Here is the fatal blade. NEN. Death like a Parthian flies, and flying kills; In midst of conquest came my deadly wound. Accursed weapon--more accursed man Who, serpent-like, in poison bathes his sting! Tiber doth breed as venomous beasts as Nile. We scorn such cruel craft. But death draws near, A giddy horror seizeth on my brain. Dear brother, and thou holy priest of heaven, Witness my words; I leave my country free, And die a victor. Thus with lighter wing My purified soul mounts to her first best cause. I long even to behold those glorious cloisters, Where Brutus,[310] great Dunwallo,[311] and his sons, Thrice-noble spirits, walk. Thou mighty enginer of this wondrous globe, Protect this isle, confound all foreign plots: Grant Thames and Tiber never join their channels; But may a natural hate, deriv'd from us, Live still in our long-trailed progeny-- My eyes do swim in death-- Before this land shall wear the Roman yoke, Let first the adamantine axle crack, Which binds the ball terrestrial to her poles, And dash the empty air! let planets drop Their scalding jelly, and, all flame being spent, Entomb the world in everlasting smoke![312] Come faster, Death: I can behold thy grim And ugly jaws with quiet mind. Now, now I hear sweet music; and my spirit flies. [_He dies._ CAS. His breath is gone, who was his country's prop And my right hand. Now only doth he crave To see him laid with honour in the grave. [_Exeunt._ SCENE VI. EULINUS, HIRILDAS.