Cinn.
Embassadours from Rome? How many Slaves,
Traitours, and Tyrants, Villains was I call'd
But yesterday? yet now their Consul Cinna.
Oh! what an excellent Master is an Army,
To teach Rebellious Cities Manners! Say,
My Friend and Collegue Marius, shall we hear 'em?

Mar. sen.
Whom?

Cinn.
The Embassadours.

Mar. sen.
From whence?

Cinn.
From Rome.

Mar. sen.
My loving Countrymen? they must be heard,
Or Sylla will be angry.....

Cinn.
In what state
And Pageantry the solid Lumps move on?
And though they come to beg, will be attended
With their ill-order'd Pomp and awkward Pride.
Who are ye? and from whence?

1. Emb.
From wretched Rome.
To thee, most mighty Cinna, and to thee,
Most dread Lord Marius, in her name we bow.

Cinn.
What's your Demand?

1. Emb.
Hear but our humble Prayers,
And all Demands be made by God-like Cinna.
Whither, oh! whither will your Rage pursue us?
Must all the Fortunes and the Lives of Rome
Suffer for one Miscarriage of her Masters?
Your sorrowfull afflicted Mother Rome,
In whose kind Bosome you were nurst and bred,
Stretches her trembling Arms t' implore your Pity.
Fold up your dreadfull Ensigns, and lay by

Your warlike Terrours, that affright her Matrons,
And come to her e're Sorrows quite o'rewhelm her.
But come like Sons that bring their Parents Joy:
Enter her Gates with Dove-like Peace before ye,
And let no bloudy Slaughter stain her Streets.

Cinn.
Thus 'tis you think to heal up smarting Honour,
By pouring flatt'ring Balm into the Wound,
Which for a time may make it whole and fair,
Till the false Medicine be at last discover'd,
And then it ranckles to a Sore again.
Take this my Answer: I will enter Rome;
But for my Force, I'll keep it still my own,
Nor part with Pow'r to give it to my Foes.

Mar. sen.
Sulpitius, see, what abject Slaves are these?
Such base Deformities a long Robe hides.

Sulpit.
I cannot but laugh to think on't.

Mar. sen.
What?

Sulpit.

How these politick Noddles, that look so grave upon the matter in the Senate-house, will laugh and grin at one another when they are set a sunning upon the Capitol.

2. Emb.
May we return with joy into our City,
Proclaiming Peace agreed with Heav'n and You?

Cinn.
Go, tell 'em we expect due Homage paid,
Of every Senatour expect Acknowledgment,
Mighty Rewards, and Offices of Honour.

1. Emb.
But on that Brow there still appears a Cloud,
That never rose without a following Storm.

Mar. sen.
Alas! for me, a simple Banisht man,
Driv'n from my Country by the right of Law,
And justly punisht as my Ills deserv'd,
Think not of me: whate're are his Resolves,
I shall obey.

Both Emb.
May all the Gods reward you.... [Ex. Embass. and Attendants.

Cinn.
Now, Marius.

Mar. sen.
Now, my Cinna.

Cinn.
Are not we
True born of Rome, true Sons of such a Mother?
How I adore thy Temper?

Mar. sen.
Those two Knaves,
Those whining, fawning, humble, pliant Villains,
Would cut thy Throat or mine for half a Drachma.

Cinn.
Let's not delay a moment.

Mar. sen.
Oh! let's fly,
Enter this cursed City; nay, with Smiles too,
But false as the adulterate Promises

Of Favourites in pow'r, when poor men court 'em.

Cinn.
They always hated me, because a Souldier.

Mar. sen.
Base Natures ever grudge at things above 'em,
And hate a Pow'r they are too much oblig'd to.
When Fears are on them, then their kindest Wishes
And best Rewards attend the gallant Warriour:
But Dangers vanisht, infamous Neglect,
Ill Usage and Reproach are all his portion;
Or at the best he's wedded to hard Wants,
Robb'd of that little Hire he toil'd and bled for.

Sulpit.
I'd rather turn a bold true-hearted Rogue,
Live upon Prey, and hang for't with my Fellows,
Then, when my Honour and my Country's Cause
Call'd me to Dangers, be so basely branded.

Mar. sen.
E're we this City enter then, let's swear
Not to destroy one honest Roman living.

Sulpit.
Nor one chast Matron.

Cinn.
Nor a faithfull Friend,
Nor true-born Heir, nor Senatour that's wise.

Mar. sen.
But Knaves and Villains, Whores and base-born Brats,
And th' endless swarms of Fools grown up in years,
Be Slaughter's Game, till we dispeople Rome.

Cinn.
Draw out our Guards, and let the Trumpets sound,

Mar. sen.
Till all things tell 'em Marius is at hand.
O Sylla, if at Capua thou shalt hear
How Fortune deals with me, fall on thy Knees,
And make the Gods thy Friends to keep thee from me.
Sulpitius, as along the Streets we move
With solemn pace and meditating Mischiefs,
Whom-e're I smile on let thy Sword go through.
Oh! can the Matrons and the Virgins Cries,
The Screams of dying Infants, and the Groans
Of murther'd men be Musick to appease me?
Sure Death's not far from such a desp'rate Cure.
Be't with me rather (Gods,) as Storms let loose,
That rive the Trunks of tallest Cedars down,
And tear from Tops the loaded pregnant Vine,
And kill the tender Flow'rs but yet half blown.
For having no more Fury left in store,
Heav'ns face grows clear, the Storm is heard no more,
And Nature smiles as gaily as before..... [Exeunt.

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