ccept this goulden crowne,
A gift not equall to thy dignity.
_Caes._ Content you Lordes for I wilbe no King,
An odious name vnto the _Romaine_ eare,
_Caesar_ I am, and wilbe _Caesar_ still,
No other title shall my Fortunes grace:
Which I will make a name of higher state
Then Monarch, King or worldes great Potentate.
Of _Ioue_ in Heauen, shall ruled bee the skie, 1510
The Earth of _Caesar_, with like Maiesty.
This is the Scepter that my crowne shall beare,
And this the golden diadem Ile weare,
A farre more rich and royall ornament,
Then all the Crownes that the proud _Persian_ gaue:
Forward my Lordes let Trumpets sound our march,
And drums strike vp Reuenges sad alarms,
_Parthia_ we come with like incensed heate,
As great _Atrides_ with the angry Greekes,
Marching in fury to pale walls of Troy. 1520

ACT. 3. SC. 5. {SN _Act III sc. vi_}

_Enter Cassius, Brutus, Trebonius, Cumber Casca._

_Tre._ Braue Lords whose forward resolution,
Shewes you descended from true _Romaine_ line,
See how old _Rome_ in winter of her age,
Reioyseth in such Princely budding hopes,
No lesse then once she in _Decius_ vertue did,
Or great _Camillus_ bringing back of spoyles.
On then braue Lords of this attempt begun,
The sacred Senate doth commend the deede: 1530
Your Countries loue incites you to the deed,
Vertue her selfe makes warrant of the deed,
Then Noble _Romains_ as you haue begun:
Neuer desist vntill this deede be done.
_Casi._ To thee Reueng doth _Cassius_ kneele him downe.
Thou that brings quiet to perplexed soules,
And borne in Hel, yet harborest heauens ioyes,
Whose fauor slaughter is, and dandling death,
Bloud-thirsty pleasures and mis boding blisse:
Brought forth of Fury, nurse of cankered Hate, 1540
To drowne in woe the pleasures of the world.
Thou shalt no more in duskish _Erebus_:
And dark-some hell obscure thy Deity,
Insteede of _Ioue_ thou shalt my Godesse bee,
To thee faire Temples _Cassius_ will erect:
And on thine alter built of _Parian_ stone
Whole _Hecatombs_ will I offer vp.
Laugh gentle Godesse on my bould attempt,
Yet in thy laughter let pale meager death:
Bee wrapt in wrinkels of thy murthering spoyles. 1550
_Bru