Ovid. Farewell all company, and, if l could, All light with thee! hell's shade should hide my brows, Till thy dear beauty's beams redeem'd my vows. [Going Jul. Ovid, my love; alas! may we not stay. A little longer, think'st thou, undiscern'd?
Ovid. For thine own good, fair goddess, do not stay. Who would engage a firmament of fires Shining in thee, for me, a falling star? Be gone, sweet life-blood; if I should discern Thyself but touch'd for my sake, I should die.
Jul. I will begone, then; and not heaven itself Shall draw me back. [Going.
Ovid. Yet, Julia, if thou Wilt, A little longer stay.
Ovid. O, mighty Ovid! what the sway of heaven Could not retire, my breath hath turned back.
Jul. Who shall go first, my love? my passionate eyes Will not endure to see thee turn from me.
Ovid. If thou go first, my soul Will follow thee.
Ovid. Ay me, there is no stay In amorous pleasures; if both stay, both die. I hear thy father; hence, my deity. [Julia retires from the window. Fear forgeth sounds in my deluded ears; I did not hear him; I am mad with love. There is no spirit under heaven, that works With such illusion; yet such witchcraft kill me, Ere a sound mind, without it, save my life! Here, on my knees, I worship the blest place That held my goddess; and the loving air, That closed her body in his silken arms. Vain Ovid! kneel not to the place, nor air; She's in thy heart; rise then, and worship there. The truest wisdom silly men can have, Is dotage on the follies of their flesh. [Exit.
ACT V SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter CAESAR, MECAENAS, GALLUS, TIBULLUS, HORACE, and Equites Romani.
Caes. We, that have conquer'd still, to save the conquer'd, And loved to make inflictions fear'd, not felt; Grieved to reprove, and joyful to reward; More proud of reconcilement than revenge; Resume into the late state of our love, Worthy Cornelius Gallus, and Tibullus: You both are gentlemen: and, you, Cornelius, A soldier of renown, and the first provost That ever let our Roman eagles fly On swarthy AEgypt, quarried with her spoils. Yet (not to bear cold forms, nor men's out-terms, Without the inward fires, and lives of men) You both have virtues shining through your shapes; To shew, your titles are not writ on posts, Or hollow statues which the best men are, Without Promethean stuffings reach'd from heaven! Sweet poesy's sacred garlands crown your gentry: Which is, of all the faculties on earth, The most abstract and perfect; if she be True-born, and nursed with all the sciences. She can so mould Rome, and her monuments, Within the liquid marble of her lines, That they shall stand fresh and miraculous, Even when they mix with innovating dust; In her sweet streams shall our brave Roman spirits Chase, and swim after death, with their choice deeds Shining on their white shoulders; and therein Shall Tyber, and our famous rivers fall With such attraction, that the ambitious line Of the round world shall to her centre shrink, To hear their music: and, for these high parts, Caesar shall reverence the Pierian arts.