f uncertain chance
Hath turn'd these traitorous climbers from the top,
And seated Sylla in the chiefest place--
The place beseeming Sylla and his mind.
For, were the throne, where matchless glory sits
Empal'd with furies, threatening blood and death,
Begirt with famine and those fatal fears,
That dwell below amidst the dreadful vast,
Tut, Sylla's sparkling eyes should dim with clear[112]
The burning brands of their consuming light,
And master fancy with a forward mind,
And mask repining fear with awful power:
For men of baser metal and conceit
Cannot conceive the beauty of my thought.
I, crowned with a wreath of warlike state,
Imagine thoughts more greater than a crown,
And yet befitting well a Roman mind.
Then, gentle ministers of all my hopes,
That with your swords made way unto my wish,
Hearken the fruits of your courageous fight.
In spite of all these Roman basilisks,
That seek to quell us with their currish looks,
We will to Pontus: we'll have gold, my hearts;
Those oriental pearls shall deck our brows.
And you, my gentle friends, you Roman peers:
Kind Pompey, worthy of a consul's name,
You shall abide the father of the state,
Whilst these brave lads, Lucretius, and I,
In spite of all these brawling senators,
Will, shall, and dare attempt on Asia,
And drive Mithridates from out his doors.

POMPEY. Ay, Sylla, these are words of mickle worth,
Fit for the master of so great a mind.
Now Rome must stoop, for Marius and his friends
Have left their arms, and trust unto their heels.

SYLLA. But, Pompey, if our Spanish jennets' feet
Have learnt to post it of their mother-wind,
I hope to trip upon the greybeard's heels,
Till I have cropp'd his shoulders from his head.
And for his son, the proud, aspiring boy,
His beardless face and wanton, smiling brows,
Shall, if I catch him, deck yond' capitol.
The father, son, the friends and soldiers all,
That fawn on Marius, shall with fury fall.

LUCRETIUS. And what event shall all these troubles bring?

SYLLA. This--Sylla in fortune will exceed a king.
But, friends and soldiers, with dispersed bands
Go seek out Marius' fond confederates:
Some post along those unfrequented paths,
That track by nooks unto the neighbouring sea:
Murder me Marius, and maintain my life.
And that his favourites in Rome may learn
The difference betwixt my fawn and frown,
Go cut them short, and shed their hateful blood,
To quench these furies of my froward mood.