To Rome again repaired Julius, With his triumphë laureate full high; But on a time Brutus and Cassius, That ever had of his estate envý, Full privily have made conspiracý Against this Julius in subtle wise And cast the place in which he shouldë die, With bodëkins, as I shall you devise.
This Julius to the Capitólë went Upon a day, as he was wont to gon; And in the Capitol anon him hent This falsë Brutus, and his other fone, And sticked him with bodëkins anon With many a wound, and thus they let him lie. But never groan’d he at no stroke but one, Or else at two, but if the story lie.
So manly was this Julius of heart, And so well lov’d estately honesty, That, though his deadly woundës sorë smert, His mantle o’er his hippës castë he, That no man shouldë see his privity And as he lay a-dying in a trance, And wistë verily that dead was he, Of honesty yet had he remembránce.
Lucan, to thee this story I recommend, And to Sueton’, and Valerie also, That of this story writë word and end; How that to these great conquerórës two Fortune was first a friend, and since a foe. No mannë trust upon her favour long, But have her in await for evermo’; Witness on all these conquerórës strong.
The richë Croesus , whilom king of Lyde— Of which Croesus Cyrus him sorë drad— Yet was he caught amiddës all his pride, And to be burnt men to the fire him lad; But such a rain down from the welkin shad, That slew the fire, and made him to escape: But to beware no gracë yet he had, Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.
When he escaped was, he could not stint For to begin a newë war again; He weened well, for that Fortúne him sent Such hap, that he escaped through the rain, That of his foes he mightë not be slain. And eke a sweven on a night he mette, Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain, That he in vengeance all his heartë set.