A Prologue to Catiline, to be
Merrily Spoaken by Mrs Nell Guin:
in an Amazonian Habit
A woman's prologue! that is vent'rous news:
But we a Poet wanting, crav'd a. Muse.
Why should or brains lye fallow, as if they
Without his fire, ware meer Promethean clay?
In natuers Long-song wee may bear or parts
Allthoug wee want choise Descant, from ye Arts,
Amongst Musicians: so the Philomel
May in wild notes, though not in rules excell
And when i'th weaker vessel wit doeth lye;
Thoug into froath, it will work out & flye
But Gentlemen, you know or formall way
Allthoug we're sure 'tis false, yet wee must say
Nay Pish, nay Fye, in troath it is not good
When wee ye while think it not understood:
Catilines Conspiracy: by B. JohnsonSyllas Ghost
Dost thou not feel me Rome? not yet? is night
so heavy on ye, and my weight so light?
Can Sylla's Ghost arise within thy walls,
Less threatning, then an earth-quak, ye quick falls
Of ye & thine? shake not ye frighted heads
Of thy steep towers? Or shrink to their first beds?
Or as their ruine ye proud Tyber fills,
Make yt swell up and drown thy seven proud hills?
What sleep is this doth seize ye, so like death,
And is it not? Wake feel her in my breath:
Behold I come, sent from ye stygian sound,
As a dire vapour yt hath cleft ye ground,
T'engender with ye night, & blast ye day:
Or like a Pestilence that shoud display
Infections throug ye world, which thus I doe
By Sulla's Ghost,
in Catiline (1.1.1-15),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 22r
Catiline
It is decree'd. Nor shall thy Fate, O Rome,
Resist my vow. Though hills were set on hills,
And seas met seas, to guard ye; I would through:
I'd plow up rocks, steep as ye Alpes, in dust;
And lave ye Tyrrhene waters into clouds;
But I would reach thy head, thy head proud city.
The ills that I have done can not be safe,
But by attempting greatr; and I feel
A spirit in me, chides my sluggish hands
And says, they have bin innocent too long.
Was I a man breed great as Rome her selfe?
One, form'd for all her honours, all her glorys?
Equall to all her titles? That could stand
close up, with Atlas; and sustaine her name,
As strong, as he doeth heaven! and was I,
Of all her brood, mark'd out for ye repulse
By her no voyce, whom I stood candidate,
To be commander in ye Pontick war?
I will hereaftr call her step-dame ever.
If shee can loose her nature, I can loose
My pyety; & in her stony entrailes
Dig me a seat, where I will live again.
The labour of her womb, & be a burden,
weightier then all ye prodigies, & Monster,
That shee hath teem'd with, since she first knew Man.
By Catiline,
in Catiline (1.1.73-97),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 22v
Cat: speakin to Aurelia of Cethag'
Cethag'
Whose valour I have turn'd into his poyson;
And prays'd so into daring, as he would
Goe on upon ye Gods, kiss lightning, wrest
At face of a full cloud, & stand his ire:
when I would bid him move
By Catiline,
in Catiline (1.1.140-146),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 22v
Lentul' Cethag' & Catiline
at their appointed meeting
It is, me thinks, a morning full of Fate!
It riseth slowly, as her sollen care
Had all ye weights of sleep & death hung at her!
Shee is not rosy-fingred, but swoln black!
Her face, is like a water turn'd to bloud,
And her sick head is bound about with clouds,
As if shee threatned night ere noon of day!
It does not look as it would have a hail,
Or health, wish'd in it, as on other morns.
By Lentulus,
in Catiline (1.1.191-201),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23r
Cethagus seeing yt ye rest were not come early as was appointed Paulo post
Come, we all sleep; are mere dormice; Flies.
A little less than dead: more dulness hangs
on us, then on the morn. We are spirit-bound
In ribs of ice: Our whole blouds are one stone;
Though they burn, hot as feavers to our states.
By Cethegus,
in Catiline (1.1.210-227),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23r
O ye dayes
Of Scylla's sway, when ye free sword took leave
Slaughtr bestrid ye streets, and strech'd him selfe
To seeme more huge; whilst to his steyned thighs
The gore he drew flow'd up: and caried down
Whole heaps of limbs, and bodyes, through his arch
By Cethegus,
in Catiline (1.1.229-238),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23v
The rugged Charon fainted
And ask'd a navy rather then a Boat
To ferry over ye sad world that came:
The maws and deans of bests, could not receive
The bodys, that those souls were frighted from
And e'en ye graves were fill'd with ym yet living
Whose flight and feare, had mix'd ym with ye dead.
By Cethegus,
in Catiline (1.1.248-253),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23v
Cataline & Cethegus, talking aftCatilines disapoyntment of Consulship
Repulse upon repulse? An in-mate Consul>
That I could reach ye axell where ye pins are,
Which bolt this frame; that I might pull 'hem out
And pluck all into chaos with my selfe.
By Catiline,
in Catiline (3.1.192-200),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23v
Cicero after his discourse wth FulviaCatilines councells to him
Is there a heaven; and gods, and can it be
They should so slowly hear, so slowly see!
Hath Jove no thunder? Or is Jove become
Stupid as thou art? O near-wretched Rome,
When both thy senate, and thy Gods do sleep,
And neither thine, nor their own states do keep!
What will awake thee, heaven? What can excite
Thine anger if this practice be to Light?
His former drifts partake of former crimes
But this last plot was only Catilines
O that it ware his last. But he before
Had safely doen so much, he'll still dar more.
By Cicero,
in Catiline (3.2.1-11),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23v
Cicero after his discourse wth Fulvia & Curius concerning ye conspiracy
O Rome in what a sickness art thou fallen!
How dangerous and deadly! when thy head
Is drown'd in sleep, and all thy body feavery!
No noise, no pulling, no vexation wakes thee,
Thy Lethargy is such: or if by chance,
Thou heavest thy eye-lids up, thou do'st forget
Sooner then thou wert told, thy proper danger
I did unreverently, to blame the gods,
By Cicero,
in Catiline (3.2.204-211),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 23v
Who wake for thee, though thou soneer to thy selfe
Is it not strange, thou shouldst be so diseas'd
And so secure; But more that thy first symptomes
Of such a Malady should not rise but
From aney worthy Member, but a base
And common strumpet, worthless to be nam'd
A hair or part of ye! Think think hereafte r
How much ye Gods upbraid thy foule neglect.
They could have wrought by nobler ways have struck
Thy foes with foarked lightning; or ram'd thunder,
Thrown hills upon them in ye act: have sent
Death like a damp to all their families;
Or caus'd their consciences to Burt 'hem'em But
when they will shew ye, what thou art, and make
A scornfull diffrenc twixt their power & there
They help the by such aids, as geese, & Harlots
By Cicero,
in Catiline (3.2.212-230),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 24v
Catiline to Aurelia Exhorting her to perswadeye citizens wives to draw yr husbands into ye plot
Promise 'hem states & Empires,
And men for lovers made of better clay,
Then ever the old potter Titan knew.
By Catiline,
in Catiline (3.3.51-53),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 24v
Catiline to Lentul
Seize Pompeys sonne alive all else cut off
As tarquin did ye poppy heads or mowers
A Feild of Thistles, or else up, as plough
Do barren lands; and strike together flints
And clods; ye ungratefull senate and ye people
May weigh with yours though horrour leapt her selfe
Into ye scale; but in yr violent acts,
The fall of torrents, and ye noise of tempests
The boyling of Charybdis: ye Seas wildness.
The eating force of flames, and wings of winds,
Be all outwrought by yr transcendant Furies
It had bin done eare this had I bin consull
By Catiline,
in Catiline (3.3.153-167),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 24v
Catiline
May my brain
Resolve to water, and my bloud turn phlegme
My hands drop off, unworthy of my sword,
And that be inspired, of it selfe to rip.
My brest for my lost entrails when I leave
A soul that will not serve, and who will are
The same with slaves; such clay I dare not feare.
By Catiline,
in Catiline (3.3.250-256),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 25r
The Alobroges seeing diverse senators passing by trembling and quaking after ye thundring and lightning
Can these men fear? who are not only ours,
But ye worlds masters? then I see ye gods
upbraid our suffrings; or would humble them,
whose names we trembed at beyond ye alps:
of all yt pass I do not see a face
worthy a man, yt daers look up and stand;
One thunder out: but downward all like beasts
Running away from every flash is made.
The falling world could not deserve such baseness.
It is our base petitionary breath
That blows them to this greatness which this prick
would soon let out if wee ware bold and wretched;
When they have taken all we have or goods.
Crops, lands, and houses, they will leave us this.
A weapon and an arme will still be found.
Though naked left and lower then the ground.
By First Allobrox,
in Catiline (4.1.1-32),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 25r
Cethag seingye Alobrogi, who came for to helpe ye conspiracy
Can these or such be any aid to us?
Look they, as they ware built to shake ye world.
Or be of moment to or enterprize?
A thousand such as they are could not make
One atome of our souls. They should be men
Worth heavens fear, that looking up but thus
Would make Jove stand upon his guard and draw
Himself within his thunder; which amaz'd
He should discharge in vaine, & they unhurt.
Or if they near, like Capane and Thebes.
They should hang dead upon ye highest spires
And ask ye second bolt to be thrown down.
Why Lentul talke ye soe long? This time
Had bin enough t'have scatter'd all ye starrs
Despair of day on any light but ours.
By Cethegus,
in Catiline (4.5.40-55),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 25v
Catiline in his speech to his souldiers. Paulo post
The sword must both direct and cut a passage.
I only therefore wish ye when ye strike,
To have ye valours and your soules about ye
And think ye carry in your labouring hands
The things ye seek glory and liberty.
By Catiline,
in Catiline (5.4.24-28),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 25v
Methinks I see Death and ye Furies waiting
What wee will doe; & all ye heave at leisure
For ye great spectacle. Draw then yr swords.
And if our destiny envy our vertue
The honour of ye day, let us take care
To sel our selves at such a price as may
Undo ye world to buy us; and make fate
while shee tempt ours, fear her own estate.
By Catiline,
in Catiline (5.4.46-53),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 26r
Cethegus when he was condemned to Dye by ye consul
O ye whore fortune & her bauds ye Fates
That put these tricks on men that knew ye way
To death by a sword. Strangle me I may sleep:
I shall grow angry with ye god else.
By Cethegus,
in Catiline (5.5.181-184),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 26r
Petreus gives an account of ye Successe of ye battle. The End
The streights and needs of Catiline being such
As he must fight with one of ye two armies
That then had near inclos'd him. It pleas'd Fate
To make us ye object of his desperate choise
Wherein ye danger allmost peis'd ye honour.
And as he ris ye day grew black with him;
And Fate descended nearer to ye earth,
As if shee meant to hide ye name of things
Under her wings, and make ye world her quarry.
At this wee rous'd least one small minutes stay
Had left it to be enquir'd what Rome was.
And (as we ought) arm'd with ye confidence
Of our great cause, in form of battle stood.
Whilest Catiline came on, not with ye face
Of aney man but of a publique ruine:
His count'nance was a Civil war it selfe
And all his host had standing in their looks.
The palenesse of ye death that was to come.
Yet cried they out like vultures, and urge'd on
As if they would precipitate our Fates.
Nor staid wee longer for 'hem but himselfe
strooke ye first stroake, and with it fled a life.
which cuts it seemed a narrow neck of land
Had broke between two mighty seas and either
Flow'd into other. For so did ye slaughter:
And whirl'd about as when two violent tides
Meet and not yeald. The Furies stood on hills,
Circling ye place and trembling to see men
Do More then they: whilst pity left ye feild
Greiv'd for that side, that in so bad a cause.
They knew not what a crime their valour was
The sun stood still and was behind ye cloud
The battalle made seen sweating to drive up
His fright'd horse, whome still ye noise drove backward
And now had fierce Enyo like a flame
consum'd all it could reach, and then it selfe;
Had not ye fortune of ye common-wealth
Come Pallas like to every Roman thought.
Which Catiline seeing, and that now his troops
Cover'd ye earth they had fought on wth yr trunks
Ambitious of great fame to crow his ill
collected all his fury and ran in.
Arm'd with a glory high as his dispaire
into or battaile like a Libian Lyon
upon his Hunters scornefull of or weapons.
Careless of wounds, plucking down lives about him
Till he had circled in himselfe with death
Then fell hee too t'embrace it where it lay
And as in that rebellion 'gainst ye gods
Minerva houlding forth Medusa's head
One of ye gyant brethren felt himselfe
Grow marble at ye killing sight and now
Allmost made stoune began t'enquire what flint
what rock it was that crept through all his lims
And ere he could think more was that he fear'd
So Catiline, at ye sight of Rome in us
Became his tombe: yet did his looke retaine
Some of his fiercenesse, & his hand still mov'd
Ais if he laboured yet to grspe ye state
With those rebellious part.
By Petreius,
in Catiline (5.5.210-271),
Ben Jonson
in British Library Sloane MS 161, f. 26r