Sulpit.
Harken, ye men of Rome. I, I Sulpitius,
Your Tribune, and Protectour of your Freedoms,
By virtue of that Office here have call'd you,
To chuse a Consul. Mithridates King of Pontus has begun a War upon us,
Invaded our Allies, our Edicts violated,
And threatens Rome it self. Whom will you chuse
To lead you forth in this most glorious War?
Marius, or Sylla?

All Cit.
A Marius! a Marius! a Marius!

Mar. sen.
Countrymen,
And Fellow-citizens, my Brethren all,
Or, if it may be thought a dearer name,
My Sons, my Children, glory of my Age;
I come not hither arm'd to force your Suffrage,
As Sylla does to enter Rome with Pow'r,
As if he meant a Triumph o're his Country.
I have not made a Party in the Senate,
To bring you into Slavery, or load
Your Necks with the hard Yoak of Lordly pow'r.
I am no Noble, but a Free-born man,
A Citizen of Rome, as all you are,
A Lover of your Liberties and Laws,
Your Rights and Privileges. Witness here
These Wounds, which in your Service I have got,
And best plead for me.....

All Cit.
Marius! Marius! Marius! No Sylla! no Sylla! no Sylla!

Sulpit.
No more remains,
Most honourable Consul, but that straight you mount
The Seat-Tribunall.... Lictors, bring your Rods,
Axes and Fasces, and present 'em here.
Hail, Caius Marius, Consul of the War.

Trumpets. Enter Metellus, Cinna, Antonius, Quintus Pompeius, his Son, &c. Guards.

Metell.
See, Romans, there the Ruine of your Freedome,
The blazing Meteor that bodes ill to Rome.
Oppression, Tyranny, Avarice and Pride,
All center in that melancholick Brow.
If you are mad for Slavery, long to try
The weight of abs'lute Chains, once more proclaim him,
And shout so loud till Mithridates hear,
And laugh to think your Throats fit for his Sword.
Take Me, take all your Senatours, and drag
Us headlong to the Tiber .... plunge us in,
And bid adieu to Liberty for ever—
Then turn and fall before your new-made God;
Bring your Estates, your Children and your Wives,
And lay 'em at the feet of his Ambition.
This you must doe, and well it will become
Such Slaves, who sell their Charters for a Holiday.

Cit.
No Marius! no Marius!

Metell.
Quintus Pompeius, in the Senate's name,
As Consul, we command thee to demand
Justice of Marius, and proclaim him Traitour.

Q. Pomp.
Descend then, Marius, Traitour to the State
And Liberty of Rome, and hear thy Sentence.

Mar. sen.
Now, by the Gods, this Cause is worthy of me,
Worthy my Fate.
Is this the Right and Liberty of Rome,
To pull its lawfull Consul from his Seat,
Unjudg'd, and brand him with the mark of Traitour?
Draw all your Swords, all you that are my Friends.
Sulpitius, dam the Rabble, let 'em fall
Like common Dross with that well-spoken Fool,
That popular Clack: or let us sell our Fates
So dear, that Rome may sicken with our Fall.

All Cit.
No Marius! no Marius! Down with him; down with him...

Sulp.
Ha! what art Thou?

Y. Pomp.
The Consul's Son.

Sulp.
A Worm;
A thin Skin full of Dirt; and thus I tread thee
Into thy mother Earth..... [Kills him.

Mar. sen.
Drag hence that Traitour,
And bring me straight his Head upon thy Dart.
The Fate of Rome's begun.

Q. Pomp.
Our Children murther'd,

Thus massacred before our eyes? Come all
That love Pompeius, and revenge his Loss.

Sulpit.
Fall on.

All Cit.
No Marius! no Marius! Liberty! Liberty! &c. They fight. Marius conquers....

Mar. sen.
Thanks for this good beginning, Gods. These Slaves,
These wide-mouth'd Brutes that bellow thus for Freedome,
Oh! how they ran before the hand of Pow'r,
Flying for shelter into every Brake!
Like cow'rdly fearful Sheep they break their Herd,
When the Wolf's out, and ranging for his Prey.
Sulpitius, thy Guards did noble Service.

Sulpit.
Oh! they are Fellows fit for you and I,
Fit for the work of Power: say the word,
Not one amongst 'em all but what shall run,
Take an old grumbling Senatour by th' Beard,
And shake his Head off from his shrinking Shoulders.

Mar. sen.
Sylla, I hear, is at the Gates of Rome.
Proclaim straight Liberty to every Slave
That will but own the Cause of Caius Marius.
Horrour, Confusion, and inverted Order,
Vast Desolation, Slaughter, Death and Ruine
Must have their Courses e're this Ferment settle.
  “Thus the Great Jove above, who rules alone,
  “When men forget his Godlike Pow'r to own,
  “Uses no common means, no common ways,
  “But sends forth Thunder, and the World obeys. [Ex. omnes. The end of the Second ACT.

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