i A1r ii A1v iii A2r

Tragedie of


Doone into Engliſh by the
Counteſſe of

An open book with the sun behind it and clouds above, surrounded by an ornamental border with the words Et usque ad nubes veritas tua running around the border.

Imprinted at London for William

iv A2v isolated words and lettersomitted
Crown over shield of arms; the shield is divided into four quarters, top left and bottom right each showing three unicorn heads and three stars, top right and bottom left showing three hollow rhombi each.
v A3r

The Argument.

Square containing large initial capital A in front of two facing cherubs, reclining cross-legged, each holding a palm-leaf in his raised hand.After the overthrowe of Brutus and Caſsius, the libertie of Rome being now utterly oppreſſed, and the Empire ſetled in the hands of Octavius Cæſar and Marcus Antonius, (who for knitting a ſtraiter bonde of amitie betweene them, had taken to wife Octavia the ſiſter of Cæſar) Antonius undertooke a journey againſt the Parthians, with intent to regaine on them the honor won by them from the Romanes, at the diſcomfiture and ſlaughter of Craſſus. But comming in his journey into Siria the places renewed in his remembrāance A3 the vi A3v the long intermitted love of Cleopatra Queene of Aegipte: who before time had both in Cilicia and at Alexandria, entertained him with all the exquiſite delightes and ſumptuous pleaſures, which a great Prince and voluptuous lover could to the uttermoſt deſire. Whereupon omitting his enterprice, he made his returne to Alexandria, againe falling to his former loves, without any regarde of his vertuous wife Octavia, by whom nevertheles he had excellent children. This occation Octavius toke of taking armes againſt him: & preparing a mighty fleet; encoūuntred him at Actium, who alſo had aſſembled to that place a great nūumber of Gallies of his own, beſide, 60, which Cleopatra brought with her from Aegipt, But at the very beginning of the battel Cleopatra with all her Gallies betooke her to flight, which Antony ſeeing could not but follow: by his departure leaving to vii A4r leaving to Octavius the greateſt victory which in any Sea battell hath beene hard off. Which he not negligent to purſue, followes them the next ſpring, and beſiedgeth them with in Alexandria, where Antony finding al that he truſted to faile him, beginneth to growe jealouſe and to ſuſpect Cleopatra. She thereupon encloſed her ſelfe with two of her women in a monumēent ſhe had before cauſed to be built, thence ſends him worde ſhe was dead: which he beleeving for truth, gave himſelfe with his Sworde a deadly woūund: but died not until a meſſenger came frōom Cleopatra to have him brought to her to the tombe. Which ſhe not daring to open leaſt ſhe ſhould bee made a priſoner to the Romaines, & carried in Cæſars triumph, caſt downe a cord from an high window, by the which (her womēen helping her) ſhe truſſed up Antonius halfe dead, & ſo got him into the monumēent. The ſtage ſuppoſed alexandria: the chorus firſt Egiptians, & after Romane ſouldiors: The hiſtory to be read at large in Plutarch in the life of Antonius.

viii A4v

The Actors.




Cleopatras womēen

Philoſtratusa Philoſopher.


DiomedeSecretarie to Cleopatra.

Octavius Cæſar.


Euphron,teacher of Cleopatras children.

Children of Cleopatra,

Dircetusthe Meſſenger.

001 A5r


Square containing large initial capital S in front of two cherubs, one reclining and reading a book which he holds open on his knees, the other looking at the book and holding it in his right hand, his left pointing upward in the opposite direction.
Since cruell Heav’ns againſt me obſtinate,

Since all miſhappes of the round engin doo

Conſpire my harme:

ſince mēen, ſince powers divine

Aire, earth, and Sea

are all injurious:

And that my Queene her ſelfe, in whome I liv’d,

The Idoll of my harte, doth me purſue;

It’s meete I dye. For her have I forgone

My Country, Cæſar unto warre provok’d

(For juſt revenge of Siſters wrong my wife,

Who mov’de my Queene (ay me!) to jealouſie)

For love of her, in her allurements caught

Abandon’d life, I honor have deſpiſde,

Diſdain’d my freends, and of the ſtatelye Rome

Deſpoilde the Empire of her beſt attire,

Contemn’d that power that made me ſo much fear’d,

A 002 A5v

A ſlave become unto her feeble face.

O cruell, traitres, woman moſt unkinde,

Thou doſt, forſworne, my love and life betraie:

And giv’ſt me up to ragefull enemie,

Which ſoone (ô foole!) will plague thy perjurye.

Yeelded Peluſium on this countries ſhore,

Yeelded thou haſt my Shippes and men of warre,

That nought remaines (ſo deſtitute am I)

But theſe ſame armes which on my back I weare.

Thou ſhould’ſt have had them too, and me unarm’de

Yeelded to Cæſar naked of defence.

Which while I beare let Cæſar never thinke

Triumph of me ſhall his proud chariot grace

Not thinke with me his glory to adorne,

On me alive to uſe his victorie.

Thou only Cleopatra triumph haſt,

Thou only haſt my fredome ſervile made,

Thou only haſt me vanquiſht: not by force

(For forſte I cannot be) but by ſweete baites

Of thy eyes graces, which did gaine ſo faſt

upon 003 A6r

upon my libertie, that nought remain’d.

None els henceforth, but thou my deareſt Queene,

Shall glorie in commaunding Antonie.

Have Cæſar fortune and the Gods his freends,

To him have Jove and fatall ſiſters given

The Scepter of the earth: he never ſhall

Subject my life to his obedience.

But when that death, my glad refuge, ſhall have

Bounded the courſe of my unſtedfaſt life,

And froſen corps under a marble colde

Within tombes boſome widdowe of my ſoule: ]

Then at his will let him it ſubject make:

Then what he will let Cæſar doo with me:

Make me limme after limme be rent: make me

My buriall take in ſides of Thracian wolfe.

Poore Antonie! alas what was the day,

The daies of loſſe that gained thee thy love!

Wretch Antonie! ſince Mægæra pale

With Snakie haires enchain’d thy miſerie.

The fire thee burnt was never Cupids fire

For 004 A6v

(For Cupid beares not ſuch a mortall brand)

It was ſome furies torch, Oreſtes torche,

Which ſomtimes burnt his mother-murdering ſoule

(When wandring madde, rage boiling in his bloud,

He fled his fault which folow’d as he fled)

kindled within his bones by ſhadow pale

Of mother ſlaine return’d from Stygian lake.

Antony, poore Antony! ſince that daie

Thy olde good hap did farre from thee retire.

Thy vertue dead: thy glory made alive

So ofte by martiall deeds is gone in smoke:

Since then the Baies ſo well thy forehead knewe

To Venus mirtles yeelded have their place:

Trumpets to pipes: field tents to courtly bowers:

Launces and Pikes to daunces and to feaſtes.

Since then, ô wretch! in ſtead of bloudy warres

Thou ſhouldſt have made upon the Parthian Kings

For Romain honor filde by Craſſus foile,

Thou threw’ſt thy Curiace off, and fearfull healme,

With coward courage unto Aegipts Queene

In 005 A7r

In haſte to runne, about her necke to hang

Languiſhing in her armes thy Idoll made:

In ſumme given up to Cleopatras eies.

Thou breakeſt at length frōom thence, as one encharm’d

Breakes from th’enchaunter that him ſtrongly helde.

For thy firſt reaſon (ſpoyling of their force

the poiſned cuppes of thy faire Sorceres)

Recur’d thy ſperit: and then on every ſide

Thou mad’ſt again the earth with Souldiours ſwarme

All Aſia hidde: Euphrates bankes do tremble

To ſee at once ſo many Romanes there

Breath horror, rage, and with a threatning eye

In mighty squadrons croſſe his ſwelling ſtreames.

Nought ſeene but horſe, and fier ſparkling armes:

Nought heard but hideous noiſe of muttring troups.

The Parth, the Mede, abandoning their goods

Hide them for feare in hilles of Hircanie,

Redoubting thee. Then willing to beſiege

The great Phraate head of Media,

Thou campedſt at her walles with vaine aſſault,

Thy 006 A7v

Thy engins ſit (miſhap!) not thither brought,

So long thou ſtai’ſt, ſo long thou doſt thee reſt,

So long thy love with ſuch things nouriſhed

Reframes, reformes it ſelfe and ſtealingly

Retakes his force and rebecomes more great.

For of thy Queene the lookes, the grace, the words,

Sweetnes, alurements, amorous delights,

Entred againe thy ſoule, and day and night,

In watch, in ſleepe, her Image follow’d thee:

Not dreaming but of her, repenting ſtill

That thou for warre hadſt ſuch a goddes left.

Thou car’ſt no more for Parth, nor Parthian bow,

Sallies, aſſaults, encounters, ſhocks, alarmes,

For ditches, rampiers, wards, entrenched grounds:

Thy only care is ſight of Nilus ſtreames,

Sight of that face whoſe gilefull ſemblant doth

(Wandring in thee) infect thy tainted hart.

Her abſence thee beſottes: each hower, each hower

Of ſtaie, to thee impatient ſeemes an age.

Enough of conqueſt, praiſe thou deem’ſt enough,

If 007 A8r

If ſoone enough the briſtled fields thou ſee

Of fruitfull Aegipt, and the ſtranger floud

Thy Queenes faire eyes (another Pharos) lights.

Returned loe, diſhonoured, deſpiſde,

In wanton love a woman thee miſleades

Sunke in ſoule ſinke: meane while reſpecting nought

Thy wife Octavia and her tender babes,

Of whome the long contempt againſt thee whets

The ſword of Cæſar now thy Lord become.

Loſt thy great Empire, all thoſe goodly townes

Reverenc’d thy name as rebells now thee leave:

Riſe againſt thee, and to the enſignes flocke

Of conqu’ring Cæſar, who enwalles thee round

Cag’d in thy hold, ſcarſe maiſter of thy ſelfe,

Late maiſter of ſo many Nations.

Yet, yet, which is of griefe exrreameſt griefe,

Which is yet of miſchiefe higheſt miſchiefe,

It’s Cleopatra alas! alas, it’s ſhe,

It’s ſhe augments the torment of thy paine,

Betraies thy love, thy life alas!) betraies,

Cæſar 008 A8v

Cæſar to pleaſe, whoſe grace ſhe ſeekes to gaine:

With thought her crowne to ſave and fortune make

Onely thy foe which common ought have beene.

If her I alwaies lov’d, and the firſt flame

Of her heart-killing love ſhall burne me laſt:

Juſtly complaine I ſhe diſloyall is,

Nor conſtant is, even as I conſtant am,

To comfort my miſhap, deſpiſing me

No more, then when the heavens favour’d me.

But ah! by nature women wav’ring are,

Each moment changing and rechanging mindes.

Unwiſe, who blinde in them, thinkes loyaltie

Ever to finde in beauties companie.


The boyling tempeſt ſtill

makes not Sea waters fome:

nor ſtill the Northern blaſt

diſquiets quiet ſtreames:

nor 009 χ1r

Nor who his cheſt to fill

ſayles to the morning beames,

on waves winde toſſeth faſt

ſtill kepes his ſhip from home.

Nor Jove ſtill downe doth cast

inflam’d with bloudie ire

on man, on tree, on hill,

his darts of thundring fire.

nor ſtill the heat doth laſt

on face of parched plaine.

nor wrinkled colde doth ſtill

on frozen furrowes raigne.

But ſtill as long as we

in this low world remaine,

miſhapps our daily mates

our lives doe intertaine:

and woes which beare no dates

ſtill pearch upon our heads,

none go but ſtraight will be

ſome greater in their ſteads.

Nature 010 χ1v

Nature made us not free

When firſt ſhe made us live:

When we began to be,

To be began our woe:

Which growing evermore

As dying life doth growe,

Do more and more us greeve,

And tire us more and more.

No ſtay in fading ſtates,

For more to height they retch,

Their fellow miſeries.

The more to height do ſtretch.

They cling even to the crowne,

And threatning furious wiſe

From tirannizing pates

Do often pull it downe.

In vaine on waves untride

To ſhun them go we ſhould

To Scythes and Maſſagetes

Who neere the Pole reſide:

In 011 B1r

In vaine to boiling ſandes

Which Phœbus battry beates,

For with us ſtill they would

Cut ſeas and compaſſe landes.

The darknes no more ſure

To joyne with heavy night:

The light which guildes the days

To follow Titan pure:

No more the ſhadow light

The body to enſue:

Then wretchednes alwaies

Us wretches to purſue.

O bleſt who never breath’d,

Or whome with pittie mov’de,

Death from his cradle reav’de,

And ſwadled in his grave:

And bleſſed alſo he

(As curſe may blesſing have)

Who low and living free

No princes charge hath prov’de.

B By 012 B1v

By ſtealing ſacred fire.

Prometheus then unwiſe,

provoking Gods to ire,

the heape of ills did ſturre,

and ſicknes pale and colde

our ende which onward ſpurre,

to plague our hands too bolde

to filch the wealth of skies.

In heavens hate ſince then

of ill with ill enchain’d

we race of mortall men

ful fraught our breſts have borne

and thouſand thouſand woes

our heav’nly ſoules now thorne,

which free before from thoſe

no! earthly pasſion pain’d.

Warre and warrs bitter cheare

now long time with us ſtaie,

and feare of hated foe

ſtill ſtill encreaſeth ſore:

our 013 B2r

our harmes worſe dayly grow,

leſſe yeſterday they were

then now, and will be more

to morrow then to day.

Act. 2,


What horrible furie, what cruell rage,

O Aegipt ſo extremely thee torments?

Haſt thou the Gods ſo angred by thy fault?

Haſt thou againſt them ſome ſuch crime conceiv’d,

That their engrained hand lift up in threats

They ſhould deſire in thy heart bloud to bathe?

And that their burning wrath which noght cāan quēench

Should pittiles on us ſtill lighten downe?

We are not hew’n out of the monſt’rous maſſe

Of Giantes thoſe, which heavens wrack conſpir’d:

Ixions race, falſe prater of his loves:

B2 Nor 014 B2v

Nor yet of him who fained lightnings ſound:

Nor cruell Tantalus, nor bloudy Atreus,

Whoſe curſed banquet for Thyeſtes plague

Made the beholding Sunne for horrour turne

His backe, and backward from his courſe returne:

And haſtning his wing-footed horſes race

Plunge him in ſea for ſhame to hide his face:

While ſulleine night upon the wondring world

For mid-daies light her ſtarrie mantle cast.

But what we be, what ever wickedneſſe

By us is done, Alas! with what more plagues,

More eager torments could the Gods declare

To heaven and earth that us they hatefull holde?

With ſouldiors, ſtrangers, horrible in armes

Our land is hidde, our people drown’d in teares.

But terror here and horror, nought is ſeene:

And preſent death priſing our life each hower.

Hard at our ports and at our porches waites

Our conquering foe: harts faile us, hopes are dead:

Our Queene laments: and this great Emperour

Sometime 015 B3r

Somtime (would now they did) whom worlds did fear

Abandoned, betraid, now mindes no more

But from his evils by haſt’ned death to paſſe.

Come you poore people ti’rde with ceaſles plaints

With teares and ſighes make moruurnfull ſacrifice

On Iſis altars: not our ſelves to ſave,

But ſoften Cæſar and him piteous make

To us, his praie: that ſo his lenitie

May change our death into captivitie.

Strange are the evils the fates on us have brought,

O but alas! how far more ſtrange the cauſe!

Love, love (alas, who ever would have thought?)

Hath loſt this Realme inflamed with his fire.

Love, playing love, which men ſay kindles not

But in ſoft hearts, hath aſhes made our townes.

And his ſweet ſhafts, with whoſe ſhot none are kill’d,

Which ulcer not, with deaths our lands have fill’d,

Such was the bloudie, murdring, helliſh love

Poſſeſt thy hart faire falſe gueſt Priams ſonne,

Firing a brand which after made to burne

B3 The 016 B3v

The Trojan towers by Græcians ruinate.

By this love, Priam, Hector, Troilus,

Memnon, Deiphœbus, Glancus, thouſands mo.

Whome redd Scamanders armor clogged ſtreames

Roll’d into Seas, before their dates are dead.

So plaguie he, ſo many tempeſts raiſeth,

So murdring he, ſo many Citties raiſeth,

When inſolent, blinde, lawles, orderles,

With mad delights our ſence he entertaines.

All knowing Gods our wracks did us fortell

By ſignes in earth, by ſignes in ſtarry Sphæres,

Which ſhould have mov’d us, had not deſtinie

With too ſtrong hand warped our miſerie.

The Comets flaming through the ſcat’red clouds

With fiery beames, moſt like unbroaded haires:

The fearfull dragon whiſtling at the bankes:

And holy Apis ceaſles bellowing

(As never erſt) and ſhedding endles teares:

Bloud raining down frōom heav’n in unknow’n ſhowers:

Our Gods darke faces overcast with woe,

And 017 B4r

And dead mens Ghoſts appearing in the night.

Yea even this night while all the Cittie ſtood

Oppreſt with terror, horror, ſervile feare,

Deepe ſilence over all: the ſounds were heard

Of divers ſongs, and diverſe inſtruments,

Within the voide of aire: and howling noiſe,

Such as madde Bacchus prieſts in Bacchus feaſts

On Niſa make: and (ſeem’d) the company,

Our Cittie loſt, went to the enemie.

So we forſaken both of Gods and men,

So are we in the mercy of our foes:

And we henceforth obedient muſt become

To lawes of them who have us overcome.


Lament we our miſhaps,

Drowne we with teares of woe:

For Lamentable happes

Lamented eaſie growe:

And 018 B4v

and much leſſe torment bring

then when they firſt did ſpring.

We want that wofull ſong,

wherwith wood-muſiques Queen

doth eaſe her woes, among,

freſh ſpringtimes buſhes greene,

on pleaſant branch alone

renewing auntient mone.

We want that monefull ſound,

that pratling Progne makes

on fields of Thracian ground,

or ſtreames of Thracian lakes:

to empt her breſt of paine

for Itys by her ſlaine.

Though Halcyons do ſtill,

bewailing Ceyx lot,

the Seas with plainings fill

which his dead limmes have got,

not ever other grave

then tombe of waves to have:

And 019 B5r

And though the bird in death

that moſt Meander loves:

ſo ſweetly ſighes his breath

when death his fury proves,

as almoſt ſofts his heart,

and almoſt blunts his dart:

Yet all the plaints of thoſe,

nor all their tearfull larmes,

cannot content our woes,

nor ſerve to waile the harmes,

in ſoule which we, poore we.

to feele enforced be.

Nor they of Phœbus bredd

in teares can doo ſo well,

they for their brother ſhedd,

who into Padus fell,

raſh guide of chariot cleere

ſurveiour of the yeare.

Nor ſhe whom heav’nly powers

to weping rocke did turne,

Whoſe 020 B5v

whoſe teares diſtill in ſhowers,

and ſhew ſhe yet doth mourne,

wherewith his toppe to Skies

mount Sipylus doth riſe.

Nor weping drops which flowe

from barke of wounded tree,

that Mirrhas ſhame doth ſhowe

with ours compar’d may be,

to quench her loving fire

who durſt embrace her fire.

Nor all the howlings made

on Cybels ſacred hill

By Eunukes of her trade,

who Atys, Atys ſtill

with doubled cries reſound,

which Eccho makes rebound.

Our plaints no limits ſtay,

nor more then do our woes:

both infinitely ſtraie

and neither meaſure knowes

In 021 B6r

In meaſure let them plaine:

Who measnur’d griefes ſuſtaine.

Cleopatra. Eras. Charmion. Diomede.


That I have thee betraide, deare Antonie,

My life, my ſoule, my ſunne? I had ſuch thought?

That I have thee betraide my Lord, my King?

That I would breake my vowed faith to thee?

I flawed-reproductionone letterave thee? deceive thee yeelde thee to the rage

Of mightie foe? I ever had that hart?

Rather ſharpe lightning lighten on my head:

Rather may I to deepeſt miſchiefe fall:

Rather the opened earth devoure me:

Rather fierce Tigers feed them on my fleſh:

Rather, ô rather let our Nilus ſend,

To ſwallow me quicke, ſome weeping Crocodile.

And didſt thou then ſuppoſe my royall heart

Had 022 B6v

Had hatcht, thee to enſnare, a faithles love?

And changing minde, as Fortune changed cheare,

I would weake thee, to winne the ſtronger, looſe?

O wretch! ô caitive! ô too cruell happe!

And did not I ſufficient loſſe ſuſtaine

Looſing my Realme, looſing my libertie,

My tender of-ſpring, and the joyfull light

Of beamy Sunne, and yet, yet looſing more

Thee Antony my care, if I looſe not

What yet remain’d? thy love alas! thy love,

More deare then Scepter, children, freedome, light

So readie I to row in Charons barge,

Shall leeſe the joy of dying in thy love:

So the ſole comfort of my miſerie

To have one tombe with thee is me bereft.

So I in ſhady plaines ſhall plaine alone,

Not (as I hop’d) companion of thy mone,

O height of griefe! Eras why with continuall cries

Your griefull harmes doo you exaſperate?

Torment your ſelfe with murthering complaints;

Straine 023 B7r

Straine your weake breſt ſo oft, ſo vehemently?

Water with teares this faire alablaſter?

With ſorrowes ſting ſo many beauties wound?

Come of ſo many Kings want you the hart

Bravely, ſtoutly, this tempeſt to reſiſt?


My ev’lls are wholy unſupportable,

No humain force can them withſtand, but death.


To him that ſtrives nought is impoſſible.


In ſtriving lyes no hope of my miſhapps.


All things do yeelde to force of lovely face.


My face too lovely cauſ’d my wretched caſe.

My face hath ſo entrap’d, ſo cast us downe,

That for his conqueſt Cæſar may it thanke,

Cauſing that Antonie one army loſt

The other wholy did to Cæſar yeld.

For not induring (ſo his amorouſe ſprite

Was with my beautie fir’de) my ſhamefull flight,

Soone as he ſaw from ranke wherein he ſtoode

In hotteſt fight, my Gallies making ſaile:

Forgetfull of his charg (as if his ſoule

Unto 024 B7v

Unto his Ladies ſoule had beene enchain’d)

He left his men, who ſo couragiouſly

Did leave their lives to gaine him victorie.

And careleſſe both of fame and armies loſſe

My oared Gallies follow’d with his ſhips

Companion of my flight, by this baſe parte

Blaſting his former flouriſhing renowne.


Are you therefore cauſe of his overthrow?


I am ſole cauſe: I did it, only I.


Feare of a woman troubled ſo his ſprite?


Fire of his love was by my feare enflam’d.


And ſhould he then to warre have led a Queene?


Alas! this was not his offence, but mine.


(ay me! who elſe ſo brave a chiefe!)

Would not I ſhould have taken Seas with him:

But would have left me fearefull woman farre

From common hazard of the doubtfull warre.

O that I had beleev’d! now, now of Rome

All the great Empire at our beck ſhould bende.

All ſhould obey, the vagabonding Scythes,

The 025 B8r

The feared Germaines, back-ſhooting Parthians,

Wandring Numidians, Brittons farre remov’d,

And tawny nations ſcorched with the Sunne.

But I car’d not: ſo was my ſoule poſſeſt,

(To my great harme) with burning jealouſie:

Fearing leaſt in my abſence Antony

Should leaving me retake Octavia.


Such was the rigour of your deſteny.


Such was my errour and obſtinacie.


But ſince Gods would not, could you do withall?


Alwaies from Gods good haps, not harms, do fall.


And have they not all power on mens affaires?


They never bow ſo low. as worldly cares.

But leave to mortall men to be diſpos’d

Freely on earth what ever mortall is.

If we therein ſometimes ſome faults commit,

We may them not to their high majeſties,

But to our ſelves impute; whoſe pasſions

Plunge us each day in all afflictions.

Wherwith when we our ſoules do thorned feele,

Flat 026 B8v

Flatt’ring our ſelves we ſay they deſt’nies are:

That gods would have it ſo, and that our care

Could not empeach but that it muſt be ſo.


Things here below are in the heav’ns begot,

Before they be in this our wordle borne:

And never can our weakneſſe turne awry

The ſtaileſſe courſe of powerfull deſtenie.

Nought here force, reaſon, humaine providence,

Holie devotion, noble bloud prevailes:

And Jove himſelfe whoſe hand doth heavens rule,

Who both to gods and men as King commands,

Who earth (our firme ſupport) with plenty ſtores,

Moves aire and ſea with twinckling of his eie,

Who all can doe, yet never can undoe

What once hath beene be their hard lawes decreed.

When Troyan walles, great Neptunes workmanſhip,

Environ’d were with Greekes, and Fortunes whele

Doubtfull ten yeares now to the campe did turne,

And now againe towards the towne return’d.

How many times did force and fury ſwell

In 027 C1r

In Hectors veines egging him to the ſpoile

Of conquer’d foes, which at his blowes did fly,

As fearefull ſheepe at feared wolves approch:

To ſave (in vaine: for why? it would not be)

Poore walles of Troy from adverſaries rage,

Who died them in bloud, and cast to ground

Heap’d them with bloudie burning carcaſes.

No, Madame, thinke, that if the ancient crowne

Of your progenitors that Nilus rul’d,

Force take from you; the Gods have will’d it ſo,

To whome oft times Princes are odious.

They have to every thing an end ordain’d;

All worldly greatnes by them bounded is:

Some ſooner, later ſome, as they thinke beſt:

None their decree is able to infringe.

But, which is more, to us diſaſtred men

Which ſubject are in all things to their will,

Their will is hid: nor while we live, we know

How, or how long we muſt in life remaine.

Yet muſt we not for that feede on diſpaire,

C And 028 C1v

And make us wretched ere we wretched be:

But alwaies hope the beſt, even to the laſt,

That from our ſelves the miſchiefe may not grow.

Then, Madame, helpe your ſelfe, leave of in time

Antonies wracke, leſt it your wracke procure:

Retire you from him, ſave from wrathfull rage

Of angry Cæſar both your Realme and you.

You ſee him loſt, ſo as your amitie

Unto his evills can yeeld no more reliefe.

You ſee him ruin’d, ſo as your ſupport

No more henceforth can him with comfort raiſe.

With-draw you from the ſtorme: perſiſt not ſtill

To looſe your ſelfe: this royall diademe

Regaine of Cæſar.


Sooner ſhining light

Sall leave the day, and darknes leave the night:

Sooner moiſt currents of tempeſtuous ſeas

Shall wave in heaven, and the nightly troopes

Of ſtarres ſhall ſhine within the foming waves,

Then I thee, Antony, Leave in deepe diſtres.

I am with thee, be it thy worthy ſoule

Lodge 029 C2r

Lodge in thy breſt, or from that lodging parte

Crosſing the joyles lake to take her place

In place prepared for men Demy-gods.

Live, if thee pleaſe, if life be lothſome die:

Dead and alive, Antony, thou ſhalt ſee

Thy princeſſe follow thee, folow, and lament,

Thy wrack, no leſſe her owne then was thy weale.


What helps his wrack this ever-laſting love?


Help, or help not, ſuch muſt, ſuch ought I prove.


Ill done to looſe your ſelfe, and to no end.


How ill thinke you to follow ſuch a frend?


But this your love nought mitigates his paine.


Without this love I ſhould be inhumaine.


Inhumaine he, who his owne death purſues.


Not inhumaine who miſeries eſchues.


Live for your ſonnes.


Nay for their father die.


Hardharted mother!


Wife kindhearted I.


Then will you them deprive of royall right?


Do I deprive them? no, it’s deſt’nies might.


Do you not them deprive of heritage, C2 That 030 C2v

That give them up to adverſaries hands,

A man forſaken fearing to forſake,

Whome ſuch huge numbers hold invironned?

T’abandon one gainſt whome the frowning world

Banded with Cæſar makes conſpiring warre.


The leſſe ought I to leave him leſt of all.

A frend in moſt diſtreſſe ſhould most asſiſt.

If that when Antonie great and glorious

His legions led to drinke Euphrates ſtreames,

So many Kings in traine redoubting him;

In triumph raiſ’d as high as higheſt heav’n;

Lord-like diſpoſing as him pleaſed beſt,

The wealth of Greece, the wealth of Aſia:

In that faire fortune had I him exchaung’d

For Cæſar, then, men would have counted me

Faithles, unconſtant, light: but now the ſtorme,

And bluſtring tempeſt driving on his face,

Readie to drowne, Alas! what would they ſay?

What would himſelfe in Plutos manſion ſay?

If I, whome alwaies more then life he lov’de,

If 031 C3r

If I, Who am his heart, who was his hope,

Leave him, forſake him (and perhaps in vaine)

Weakly to pleaſe who him hath overthrowne?

Not light, unconſtant, faithleſſe ſhould I be,

But vile, forſworne, of treachrous cruelty.


Crueltie to ſhunne you ſelfe-cruell are:


Selfe-cruell him from cruelty to ſpare.


Our firſt affection to ourſelfe is due.


He is my ſelfe.


Next it extends unto

Our children, frends, and to our country ſoile.

And you for ſome reſpect of wively love,

(Albee ſcarce wively) looſe your native land,

Your children, frends, and (which is more) your life,

With ſo ſtrong charmes doth love bewitch our witts:

So faſt in us this fire once kindled flames.

Yet if his harme by yours redreſſe might have,


With mine it may be clos’de in darkſome grave.


And that, as Alceſt to her ſelfe unkind,

You might exempt him from the lawes of death.

But he is ſure to die: and now his ſword

C3 Alreadie 032 C3v

Already moiſted is in his warme bloud,

Helples for any ſuccour you can bring

Againſt deaths ſting, which he muſt ſhortly feele.

Then let your love be like the love of olde

Which Carian Queene did nouriſh in hir heart

Of hir Mauſolus: builde for him a tombe

Whoſe ſtatelineſſe a wonder new may make.

Let him, let him have ſumptuous funeralls:

Let grave thereon the horror of his fights:

Let earth be buri’d with unburied heaps.

Frame their Pharſaly, and diſcoulour’d ſtream’s

Of deepe Enipeus: frame the grasſie plaine,

Which lodg’d his campe at ſiege of Mutina.

Make all his combats, and couragious acts:

And yearely plaies to his praiſe inſtitute:

Honor his memory: with doubled care

Breed and bring up the children of you both

In Cæſars grace: who as a noble Prince

Will leave them Lords of this moſt glorious realme.


What ſhame were that? ah Gods! what infamie? With 033 C4r

With Antony in his good haps to ſhare,

And overlive him dead: deeming enough

To ſhed ſome teares upon a widdow tombe?

The after-livers juſtly might report

That I him only for his Empire lov’d,

And high eſtate: and that in hard eſtate

I for another did him lewdly leave?

Like to thoſe birds wafted with wandring wings

From foraine lands in ſpring-time here arrive:

And live with us ſo long as Somers heate,

And their foode laſts, then ſeeke another ſoile.

And as we ſee with ceaſleſſe fluttering

Flocking of feelly flies a browniſh cloud

To vintag’d wine yet working in the tonne:

Not parting thence while they ſweete liquor taſte:

After, as smoke, all vaniſh in the aire,

And of the ſwarme not one ſo much appeare.


By this ſharpe death what profit can you winne?


I neither gaine nor profit ſeeke therein.


What praiſe ſhall you of after-ages get?
Cl. 034 C4v


Nor praiſe, nor Glory in my cares are ſet.


What other end ought you reſpect, then this?


My only end my onele duty is.


Your dutie muſt upon ſome good be founded?


On vertue it, the onely good, is grounded.


What is that vertue ?


That which us beſeemes.


Outrage our ſelves? who that beſeeming deemes?


Finiſh I will my ſorrowes dieng thus.


Miniſh you will your glories doing thus.


Good frends I pray you ſeeke not to revoke

My fix’d intent of folowing Antony.

I will die. I will die: muſt not his life,

His life and death by mine be followed?

Meane while, deare ſiſters, live: and while you live,

Do often honor to our loved Tombes.

Straw them with flowers: and ſometimes happely

The tender thought of Antony your Lord

And me poore ſoule to teares ſhall you invite,

And our true loves your dolefull voice commend.


And thinke you Madame, we from you will part? Thinke 035 C5r

Thinke you alone to feele deaths ougly darte?

Thinke you to leave us? and that the ſame ſunne

Shall ſee at once you dead, and us alive?

Weele die with you: and Clotho pittileſſe

Shall us with you in helliſh boate imbarque:


Ah live, I praie you: this diſaſtred woe

Which racks my heart, alone to me belongs:

My lot longs not to you: ſervants to be

No ſhame, no harme to you, as is to me.

Live ſiſters, live, and ſeing his ſuſpect

Hath cauſleſſe me in ſea of ſorrowes drown’d,

And that I cannot live, if ſo I would,

Nor yet would leave this life, if ſo I could,

Without his love: procure me, Diomed,

That gainſt poore me he be no more incensd.

Wreſt out of his conceit that harmefull doubt,

That ſince his wracke he hath of me conceiv’d

Thogh wrong conceiv’d: witnes you reverent Gods,

Barking Anubis, Apis bellowing.

Tell him, my ſoule burning, impatient,

For- 036 C5v

Forlorne with love of him, for certaine ſeale

Of her true loialtie my corpſe hath left,

T’encreaſe of dead the number numberleſſe.

Go then, and if as yet he me bewaile,

If yet for me his heart one ſigh fourth breathe

Bleſt ſhall I be: and far with more content

Depart this world, where ſo I me torment.

Meane ſeaſon us let this ſad tombe encloſe,

Attending here till death conclude our woes.


I will obey your will.


So the deſert

The Gods repay of thy true faithfull heart.


And is’t not pittie, Gods, ah Gods of heav’n

To ſee from love ſuch hatefull frutes to ſpring?

And is’t not pittie that this firebrand ſo

Laies waſte the trophes of Phillippi fieldes?

Where are thoſe ſweet alluremēents, thoſe ſweet lookes,

Which gods thēemſelves right hart ſick wuld have made?

What 037 C6r

What doth that beautie, rareſt guift of heav’n,

Wonder of earth? Alas! what do thoſe eies?

And that ſweete voice all Aſia underſtoode,

And ſunburnt Africke wide in deſerts ſpred?

Is their force dead? have they no further power?

Can not by them Octavius be ſuppriz’d?

Alas! if Jove in middſt of all his ire,

With thunderbolt in hand ſome land to plague,

Had cast his eies on my Queene, out of hand:

His plaguing bolte had falne out of his hand:

Fire of his wrath into vaine smoke ſhould turne,

And other fire within his breſt ſhould burne.

Nought lives ſo faire. Nature by ſuch a worke

Her ſelfe, ſhould ſeeme, in workmanſhip hath paſt.

She is all heav’nly: never any man

But ſeeing hir was raviſh’d with her ſight.

The Allablaſter covering of her face,

The corall coullor hir two lips engraines,

Her beamy eies, two Sunnes of this our world,

Of hir faire haire the fine and flaming golde,

Her 038 C6v

Her brave ſtreight ſtature, and her winning partes

Are nothing elſe but fiers, fetters, dartes.

Yet this is nothing th’enchaunting skilles

Of her celeſtiall Sp’rite, hir training ſpeach,

Her grace, hir majeſty, and forcing voice,

Whither ſhe it with fingers ſpeach conſorte,

Or hearing ſceptred kings embaſſadors

Anſwere to each in his owne language make.

Yet now at neede it aides her not at all

With all theſe beauties, ſo her ſorrow ſtinges.

Darkned with woe her only ſtudy is

To weepe, to ſigh, to ſeeke for lonelines.

Careles of all, hir haire diſordred hangs:

Hir charming eies whence murthring looks did flie,

Now rivers grown’, whoſe wellſpring anguiſh is,

Do trickling waſh the marble of hir face.

Hir faire diſcover’d breſt with ſobbing ſwolne

Selfe cruell the ſtill martirith with blowes,

Alas! It’s our ill hap, for if hir teares

She would convert into her loving charmes,

To 039 C7r

To make a conqueſt of the conqueror,

(As well ſhe might, would ſhe hir force imploie)

She ſhould us ſaftie from theſe ills procure,

Hir crowne to hir, and to hir race aſſure.

Unhappy he, in whome ſelfe-ſuccour lies,

Yet ſelfe-forſaken wanting ſuccour dies.


O ſweete fertile land, wherein

Phœbus did with breth inſpire

man who men did firſt begin,

Formed firſt of Nilus mire.

whence of Artes the eldeſt kindes,

earths moſt heavenly ornament,

were as from their fountaine ſent

to enlight our miſty mindes.

whoſe groſe ſprite frōom endles time

as in darkned priſon pente,

never did to knowledge clime.

Where 040 C7v

Wher the Nile, our father good,

father-like doth never miſſe

yearely us to bring ſuch food,

as to life required is:

viſiting each yeare this plaine,

and with fat ſlime cov’ring it,

which his ſeaven mouthes do ſpit,

as the ſeaſon comes againe.

making therby greateſt growe

buſie reapers joyfull paine,

when his flouds do higheſt flow.

Wandring Prince of rivers thou,

honor of the Aethiops lande,

of a Lord and maiſter now

thou a ſlave in awe muſt ſtand.

now of Tiber which is ſpred

leſſe in force, and leſſe in fame

reverence thou muſt the name,

whome all other rivers dread,

for his children ſwolne in pride,

who 041 C8r

who by conqueſt ſeeke to treade

round this earth on every ſide.

Now thou muſt begin to ſend

tribute of thy watry ſtore,

as ſea pathes thy ſteps ſhall bend,

yearely preſents more and more.

thy fat skumme, our fruitfull corne,

pill’d from hence with theviſh hāands

all uncloth’d ſhal leave our lands

into forraine country borne.

which puft up with ſuch a pray

ſhall thereby the praiſe adorne

of that ſcepter Rome doth ſway.

Nought thee helps thy hornes to hide

far from hence in unknown groūunds,

that thy waters wander wide,

yerely breaking banks, and bounds.

and that thy Skie-coullor’d brooks

through a hundred peoples paſſe,

drawing plots for trees and graſſe

with 042 C8v

with a thouſand turn’s and crookes.

whome all weary of their way

thy throats which in wideneſſe paſſe

powre into their mother Sea.

Nought ſo happie hapleſſe life

“in this world as freedome findes:

“nought wherin mor ſparkes are rife

“to inflame couragious mindes.

“but if force muſt us inforce

“needes a yoke to undergo,

“under foraine yoke to go

“Still it proves a bondage worſe.

“and doubled ſubjection

“ſee we ſhall, and feele, and know

“ſubject to a ſtranger growne.

From hence forward for a King,

whoſe firſt being from this place

ſhould his breſt by nature bring

care of country to imbrace,

We at ſurly face muſt quake

Of 043 D1r

of ſome Romaine madly bent:

who our terrour to augment.

his Proconſuls axe will ſhake.

driving with our Kings from hence

our eſtabliſh’d government,

juſtice ſword, and lawes defence.

Nothing worldy of ſuch might

but more mighty Deſtiny,

by ſwift Times unbridled flight,

makes in end his end to ſee.

every thing Time overthrowes,

nought to end doth ſteadfaſt ſtaie.

his great ſithe mowes all away

as the ſtalke of tender roſe.

onely immortalitie

of the heavens doth it oppoſe

gainſt his powrefull Deitie.

One day there will come a day

which ſhall quaile thy fortunes flower

and thee ruinde low ſhall laie

D In 044 D1v

in ſome barbarous Princes power.

when the pittie-wanting fire

ſhall, O Rome, thy beauties burne,

and to humble aſhes turne

thy proud wealth and rich attire,

thoſe guilt roofes which turretwiſe,

juſtly making envy mourne,

threaten now to pearce Skies.

As thy forces fill each land

harveſts making here and there,

reaping all with ravening hand

they find growing any where:

from each land ſo to thy fall

multitudes repaire ſhall make,

from the common ſpoile to take

what to each mans ſhaire may fall.

fingred all thou ſhalt behold:

no iote left for tokens ſake

that thou wert ſo great of olde.

Like unto the ancient Troie

whence 045 D2r

whence deriv’d thy founders be,

conqu’ring foe ſhall thee enjoie,

and a burning praie in thee.

for within this turning ball

this we ſee, and ſee each daie:

all things fixed ends do ſtaie,

ends to firſt beginnings fall.

& that nought, how ſtrong or ſtrāange

chaungeles doth endure alwaie,

But enndureth fatall change.

M. Antonius. Lucilius.

M. Ant.

Lucil. ſole comfort of my bitter caſe,

The only truſt, the only hope I have,

In laſt deſpaire: Ah is not this the daie

That death ſhould me of life and love bereave?

What waite I for that have no refuge left,

D2 But 046 D2v

But am ſole remnant of my fortune left?

All leave me, flie me: none, noe not of them

Which of my greatnes greateſt good receiv’d,

Stands with my fall: they ſeeme as now aſham’d

That heretofore they did me ought regard:

They draw them backe, ſhewing they folow’d me,

Not to partake my harm’s, but coozen me.


In this our world nothing is ſtedfaſt found,

In vaine he hopes, who here his hopes doth ground.


Yet nought afflicts me, nothing killes me ſo,

As that I ſo my Cleopatra ſee

Practiſe with Cæſar, and to him tranſport

My flame, her love, more deare then life to me.


Beleeve it not: Too high a heart ſhe beares,

Too princely thoughts.


Too wiſe a head ſhe weare

Too much enflam’d with greatnes, evermore

Gaping for our great Empires goverment.


So long time you her conſtant love have tri’de.


But ſtill with me good fortune did abide.


Her changed love what token makes you know?
An. 047 D3r


Peluſium loſt, and Actian overthrow,

Both by her fraud: my well appointed fleet,

And truſty Souldiors in my quarrell arm’d,

Whome ſhe, falſe ſhe, in ſtede of my defence,

Came to perſwade, to yelde them to my foe:

Such honor Thyre done, ſuch welcome given,

Their long cloſe talkes I neither knew, nor would,

And trecherous wrong Alexas hath me donne,

Witnes too well her perjur’d love to me.

But you O Gods (if any faith regarde)

With ſharpe revenge her faithleſſe change reward.


The dole ſhe made upon our overthrow,

Her realme given up for refuge to our men,

Her poore attire when ſhe devoutly kept

The ſolemne day of her nativitie,

Againe the coſt and prodigall expence

Shew’d when ſhe did your birth day celebrate,

Do plaine enough her heart unfained prove,

Equally toucht, you loving, as you love.


Well; be her love to me or falſe, or true, D3 Once 048 D3v

Once in my ſoule a cureles wound I feele.

I love: nay burne in fire of her love:

Each day, each night hir Image haunts my minde,

Her ſelfe my dreames: and ſtill I tired am,

And ſtill I am with burning pincers nipt.

Extreame my harme: yet ſweeter to my ſence

Then boiling Torch of jealous torments fire:

This griefe, nay rage, in me ſuch ſturre doth keepe,

And thornes me ſtill, both when I wake and ſleepe.

Take Cæſar conqueſt, take my goods, take he

Th’onor to be Lord of the earth alone,

My ſonnes, my life bent headlong to miſhapps:

No force, ſo not my Cleopatra take.

So fooliſh I, I cannot her forget,

Though better were I baniſht her my thought.

Like to the ſicke whoſe throte the feavers fire

Hath vehemently with thirſtie drought enflam’d,

Drinkes ſtill, albee the drinke he ſtill deſires

Be nothing elſe but fewell to his flame.

He cannot rule himſelfe: his health’s reſpect

Yealdeth 049 D4r

Yealdeth to his diſtempered ſtomacks heate.


Leave of this love, that thus renewes your woe.


I do my beſt, but ah! can not do ſo.


Thinke how you have ſo brave a captaine bene,

And now are by this vaine affection falne.


The ceaſles thought of my felicitie

Plunges me more in this adverſitie.

For nothing ſo a man in ill torments,

As who to him his good ſtate repreſents.

This makes my rack, my anguiſh, and my woe

Equall unto the helliſh pasſions growe,

When I to mind my happie puiſance call

Which erſt I had by warlike conqueſt wonne,

And that good fortune which me never left,

Which hard diſaſtre now hath me bereft.

With terror tremble all the world I made

At my ſole word, as Ruſhes in the ſtreames

At waters will: I conquer’d Italie,

I conquer’d Rome, that nations ſo redoubt.

I Bare (meane while beſieging Mutina)

Two 050 D4v

Two conſuls armies for my ruine brought.

Bath’d in their bloud, by their deaths witnesſing

My force and skill in matters Martiall.

To wreake thy unkle, unkind Cæſar, I

With bloud of enemies the bankes embru’d

Of ſtain’d Enipeus, hindring his courſe

Stopped with heapes of piled carcaſes:

When Casſius and Brutus ill betide

Marcht againſt us, by us twiſe put to flight,

But by my ſole conduct: for all the time

Cæſar hart-ſicke with feare and feaver lay.

Who knowes it not? and how by every one

Fame of the fact was giv’n to me alone.

There ſprang the love, the never changing love,

Wherin my heart hath ſince to yours bene bound:

There was it, my Lucill, you Brutus ſav’de,

And for your Brutus Antony you found.

Better my hap in gaining ſuch a frend,

Then in ſubduing ſuch an enimie.

Now former vertue dead doth me forſake,

Fortune 051 D5r

Fortune engulfes me in extreame diſtreſſe:

She turnes from me her smiling countenance,

Caſting on me miſhapp upon miſhapp,

Left and betraied of thouſand thouſand frends,

Once of my ſute, but you Lucill are left,

Remaining to me ſtedfaſt as a tower

In holy love, in ſpite of fortunes blaſtes.

But if of any God my voice be heard,

And be not vainely ſcatt’red in the heav’ns,

Such goodnes ſhall not glorileſſe be loſte.

But comming ages ſtill thereof ſhall boſte.


Men in their frendſhip ever ſhould be one,

And never ought with fickle Fortune ſhake,

Which ſtill removes, nor will, nor knowes the way,

Her rowling bowle in one ſure ſtate to ſtaie.

Wherfore we ought as borrow’d things receive

The goods light ſhe lends us to pay againe:

Not hold them ſure, nor on them build our hopes

As on ſuch goods as cannot faile, and fall:

But thinke againe, nothing is dureable,

Vertue 052 D5v

Vertue except, our never failing hoſt:

So bearing faile when favoring windes do blow,

As frowning tempeſts may us leaſt dismaie

When they on us do fall: not over-glad

With good eſtate, nor over-griev’d with bad.

Reſiſt miſhap.


Alas! it is too ſtrong.

Miſhappes oft times are by ſome comfort borne:

But theſe, ay me! whoſe weights oppreſſe my hart,

Too heavie lie, no hope can them relieve.

There reſts no more, but that with cruell blade

For lingring death a haſtie waie be made.


Cæſar, as heire unto his fathers ſtate.

So will his Fathers goodnes imitate,

To you ward: whome he know’s allied in bloud,

Allied in mariage, ruling equally

Th’ Empire with him, and with him making warre

Have purg’d the earth of Cæſars murtherers.

You into portions parted have the world

Even like coheirs their heritages parte:

And now with one accord ſo many yeares

In 053 D6r

In quiet peace both have your charges rul’d.


Bloud and alliance nothing do prevaile

To coole the thirſt of hote ambitious breſts:

The ſonne his Father hardly can endure,

Brother his brother, in one common Realme.

So fervent this deſire to commaund:

Such jealouſie it kindleth in our hearts,

Sooner will men permit another ſhould

Love her they love, then weare the crowne they weare.

All lawes it breakes, turnes all things upſide downe:

Amitie, kindred, nought ſo holy is

But it defiles. A monarchie to gaine

None cares which way, ſo he may it obtaine.


Suppoſe he Monarch be and that this world

No more acknowledg ſundry Emperours,

That Rome him only feare, and that he joyne

The eaſt with weſt, and both at once do rule:

Why ſhould he not permitt you peaceablie

Diſcharg’d of charge and Empires dignitie,

Private to live reading Philoſophy,

In 054 D6v

In learned Greece, Spaine, Aſia, any land?


Never will he his Empire thinke aſſur’de

While in this world Marke Antony ſhall live.

Sleepeles Suſpicion, Pale diſtruſt, cold feare

Alwaies to princes companie do beare

Bred of reports: reports which night and day

Perpetuall gueſts from court go not away.


He hath not ſlaine your brother Lucius,

Nor ſhortned hath the age of Lepidus,

Albeit both into his hands were falne,

And he with wrath againſt them both enflam’d.

Yet one, as Lord in quiet reſt doth beare,

The greateſt ſway in great Iberia:

The other with his gentle Prince retaines

Of higheſt Prieſt the ſacred dignitie.


He feares not them, their feeble force he knowes.


He feares no vanquiſht overfill’d with woes.


Fortune may chaunge againe.


A down-cast foe

Can hardly riſe, which once is brought ſo low.


All that I can is donne: for laſt aſſay (When 055 D7r

(When all means fail’d) I to entreaty fell,

(Ah coward creature!) whence againe repulſt

Of combate I unto him proffer made:

Though he in prime, and I by feeble age

Mightily weakned both in force and skill.

Yet could not he his coward heart advaunce

Baſely affraide to trie ſo praiſefull chaunce.

This makes me plaine, makes me my ſelfe accuſe,

Fortune in this her ſpitefull force doth uſe

’Gainſt my gray hayres: in this unhappy I

Repine at heav’ns in my happes pittiles.

A man, a woman both in might and minde,

In Mars his ſchole who never leſſon learn’d,

Should me repulſe, chaſe, overthrow, deſtroy,

Me of ſuch fame, bring to ſo low an ebbe?

Alcides bloud, who from my infancy

With happy proweſſe crowned have my praiſe

Witneſſe thou Gaule unus’d to ſervile yoke,

Thou valiant Spaine, you fields of Theſſalie

With millions of mourning cries bewail’d,

Twiſe 056 D7v

Twiſe watred now with bloud of Italie.


Witnes may Afrique, and of conquer’d world

All fower quarters witneſſes may be.

For in what part of earth inhabited,

Hungry of praiſe have you not enſignes ſpred?


Thou know’ſt rich Aegipt (Aegipt of my deedes

Faire and foule ſubject) Aegypt ah! thou know’ſt

How I behav’d me fighting for thy kinge,

When I regainde him his rebellious Realme:

Againſt his foes in battaile ſhewing force,

And after fight in victory remorſe.

Yet if to bring my glory to the ground,

Fortune had made me overthrowne by one

Of greater force, of better skill then I:

One of thoſe Captaines feared ſo of olde,

Camill, Marcellus, worthy Scipio,

This late great Cæſar, honor of our ſtate,

Or that great Pompei aged growne in armes;

That after harveſt of a world of men

Made in a hundred battailes, fights, aſſaults,

My 057 D8r

My body thorow pearſt with puſh of pike

Had vomited my bloud, in bloud my life,

In midd’ſt of millions felowes in my fall:

The leſſe her wrong, the leſſe ſhould my woe:

Nor ſhe ſhould paine, nor I complaine me ſo.

No, no, wheras I ſhould have died in armes,

And vanquiſht oft new armies ſhould have arm’d,

New battailes given, and rather loſt with me

All this whole world ſubmitted unto me:

A man who never ſaw enlaced pikes

With briſtled points againſt his ſtomake bent,

Who feares the field, and hides him cowardly

Dead at the very noiſe the ſouldiors make.

His vertue, fraud, deceit, malicious guile,

His armes the arts that falſe Uliſſes us’de,

Knowne at Modena, where the Conſuls both

Death-wounded were, and wounded by his men

To get their armie, war with it to make

Againſt his faith, againſt his country ſoile.

Of Lepidus, which to his ſuccours came,

To 058 D8v

To honor whome he was by dutie bound,

The Empire he uſurpt: corrupting firſt

with baites and bribes the moſt part of his men.

Yet me hath overcome, and made his pray,

And ſtate of Rome, with me hath overcome.

Strange! one diſordred act at Actium

The earth ſubdu’de, my glory hath obſcur’d.

For ſince, as one whome heavens wrath attaints,

With furie caught, and more then furious

Vex’d with my evills, I never more had care

My armies loſt, or loſt name to repaire:

I did no more reſiſt.


all warres affaires,

But battailes moſt, dayly have their ſucceſſe

Now good, now ill: and though that fortune have

Great force and power in every worldly thing,

Rule all, do all, have all things faſt enchaind

Unto the circle of hir turning wheele:

Yet ſeemes it more then any practiſe elſe

She doth frequent Bellonas bloudy trade:

And that hir favour, wavering as the wind,

Hir 059 E1r

Hir greateſt power therein doth oftneſt ſhewe.

Whence growes, we dailie ſee, who in their youth

Gatt honor ther, do looſe it in their age,

Vanquiſht by ſome leſſe warlike then themſelves:

Whome yet a meaner man ſhall overthrowe.

Hir uſe is not to lend us ſtill her hande,

But ſometimes headlong backe a gaine to throwe,

When by hir favor ſhe hath us extolld

Unto the topp of higheſt happines.


well ought I curſe within my grieved ſoule,

Lamenting daie and night, this ſenceleſſe love,

Whereby my faire entiſing foe entrap’d

My hedeleſſe Reaſon, could no more eſcape.

It was not fortunes ever chaunging face:

It was not Deſt nies chaungles violence

Forg’d my miſhap. Alas! who doth not know

They make, nor marre, nor any thing can doe.

Fortune, which men ſo feare, adore, deteſt,

Is but a chaunce whoſe cauſe unknow’n doth reſt.

Although oft times the cauſe is well perceiv’d,

E But 060 E1v

But not th’ effect the ſame that was conceiv’d.

Pleaſure, nought elſe, the plague of this our life,

Our life which ſtill a thouſand plagues purſue,

Alone hath me this ſtrange diſaſtre ſpunne,

Falne from a ſouldior to a chamberer,

Careles of vertue, careles of all praiſe.

Nay, as the fatted ſwine in filthy mire

With glutted heart I wallowed in delights,

All thoughts of honor troden under foote.

So I me loſt: for finding this ſweet cupp

Pleaſing my taſt, unwiſe I drunke my fill,

And through the ſweetnes of that poiſons power

By ſteps I drave my former wits aſtraie.

I made my frends, offended me forſake,

I holpe my foes againſt my ſelfe to riſe.

I robd my ſubjects, and for followers

I ſaw my ſelfe beſet with flatterers.

Mine idle armes faire wrought with ſpiders worke,

My ſcattred men without their enſignes ſtrai’d:

Cæſar meane while who never would have dar’de

To 061 E2r

To cope with me, me ſo dainely deſpiſ’de,

Tooke hart to fight, and hop’de for victorie

On one ſo gone, who glorie had forgone.


Enchaunting pleaſure Venus ſweete delights

Weaken our bodies, over-cloud our ſprights,

Trouble our reaſon, from our hearts out chaſe

All holie vertues lodging in thir place:

Like as the cunnig fiſher takes the fiſhe

By traitor baite whereby the hooke is hid:

So Pleaſure ſerves to vice in ſteede of foode

To baite our ſoules thereon too liquoriſhe.

This poiſon deadly is alike to all,

But on great kings doth greateſt outrage worke,

Taking the roiall ſcepters from their hands,

Thence forward to be by ſome ſtranger borne:

While that their people charg’d with heavie loades

Their flatt’rers pill, and ſuck their mary drie,

Not rul’d but left to great men as a pray,

While this fonde Prince himſelfe in pleaſur’s drowns

Who hears nought, ſees noght, doth nought of a king

E2 Se- 062 E2v

Seming himſelfe againſt himſelfe conſpirde.

Then equall Juſtice wandreth baniſhed,

And in her ſeat ſitts greedie Tyrannie.

Confus’d diſorder troubleth all eſtates,

Crimes without feare and outrages are done.

Then mutinous Rebellion ſhewes her face,

Now hid with this, and now with that pretence,

Provoking enimies, which on each ſide

Enter at eaſe, and make them Lords of all.

The hurtfull workes of pleaſure here behold.


The wolfe is not ſo hurtfull to the folde,

Froſt to the grapes, to ripened frutes the raine:

As pleaſure is to princes full of paine.


There nedes no proofe, but by th’Aſſirian kinge,

On whom that Monſter woefull wrack did bring.


There nedes no proofe, but by unhappie I,

Who loſt my empire, honor, life thereby,


Yet hath this ill ſo much the greater force,

As ſcarcely any do againſt it ſtand:

No not the Demy-gods the olde world knew,

Who 063 E3r

Who all ſubdu’de, could Pleaſures power ſubdue.

Great Hercules, Hercules once that was

Wonder of earth and heaven, matchles in might,

Who Anteus, Lycus, Geryon overcame,

Who drew from hell the triple-headed dogg,

Who Hydra kill’d, vanquiſhd Achelous,

Who heavens weight on his ſtrong ſhoulders bare:

Did he not under Pleaſures burthen bow?

Did he not Captive to this pasſion yelde,

When by his Captive, ſo he was inflam’d,

As now your ſelfe in Cleopatra burne?

Slept in hir lapp, hir boſome kiſt and kiſte,

With baſe unſeemely ſervice bought her love,

Spinning at diſtaſſe, and with ſinewy hand

Winding on ſpindles threde, in maides attire?

His conqu’ring clubbe at reſt on wal did hang:

His bow unſtringd he bent not as he us’de:

Upon his ſhafts the weaving ſpiders ſpunne:

And his hard cloake the fretting mothes did pierce.

The monſters free and fearles all the time

E3 Through- 064 E3v

Throughout the world the people did torment.

And more and more encreaſing daie by daie

Scorn’d his weake heart become a miſtreſſe play.


In onely this like Hercules am I,

In this I prove me of his lignage right:

In this himſelfe, his deedes I ſhew in this:

In this, nought elſe, my anceſtor he is.

But goe we: die I muſt, and with brave end

Concluſion make of all foregoing harmes:

Die, die I muſt: I muſt a noble death,

A glorious death unto my ſuccour call:

I muſt deface the ſhame of time abuſ’d,

I muſt adorne the wanton loves I uſ’de,

With ſome couragious act: that my laſt day

By mine owne hand my ſpots may waſh away.

Come deare Lucill: alas! why weepe you thus!

This mortall lot is common to us all.

We muſt all die, each doth in homage owe

Unto that God that ſhar’d the Realmes belowe.

Ah ſigh no more: alas! appeace your woes,

For 065 E4r

For by your greife my griefe more eager growes.


Alas, with what tormenting fire.

Us martireth this blind deſire

to ſtay our life from flieng!

How ceaſleſlie our minds doth rack,

How heavie lies upon our back

This daſtard feare of dieng!

Death rather healthfull ſuccour gives,

Death rather all miſhapps relieves

That life upon us throweth:

And ever to us death uncloſe

The dore whereby from cureleſſe woes

Our weary ſoule out goeth.

What Goddeſſe elſe more milde then ſhe

To burie all our paine can be,

What remedie more pleaſing?

Our pained hearts when dolor ſtings,

And 066 E4v

And nothing reſt, or reſpite brings,

What help have we more eaſing?

Hope which to us doth comfort give,

And doth our fainting harts revive,

Hath not ſuch force in anguiſh:

For promiſing a vaine reliefe

She oft us failes in midſt of griefe,

And helples lets us languiſh.

But Death who call on her at neede

Doth never with vaine ſemblant ſeed,

But when them ſorrow paineth,

So riddes their ſoules of all diſtreſſe

Whoſe heavie weight did them oppreſſe,

That not one griefe remaineth.

Who feareles and with courage bolde

Can Acherons black face behold,

Which muddie water beareth:

And crosſing over in the way

Is not amaz’d at Perruque gray

Olde ruſty Charon weareth?

Who 067 E5r

Who voide of dread can looke upon

The dreadfull ſhades that Rome alone,

On bankes where found no voices:

Whome with hir fire-brands and her Snakes

No whit afraide Alecto makes,

Nor triple-barking noiſes:

Who freely can himſelfe diſpoſe

Of that laſt hower which all muſt cloſe,

And leave this life at pleaſure:

This noble freedome more eſteemes,

And in his heart more precious deemes,

Then crowne and kinglie treaſure,

The waves which Boreas blaſts turmoile

And cauſe with foaming furie boile,

Make not his heart to tremble:

Nor brutiſh broile, when with ſtrong head

A rebell people madly ledde

Againſt their Lords aſſemble:

Nor fearefull face of Tirant wood,

Who breaths but threats, & drinks but bloud,

No 068 E5v

No, nor the hand which thunder,

The hand of Jove which thunder beares,

And ribbs of rocks in ſunder teares,

Teares mountains ſides in ſunder:

Nor bloudy Marſes butchering bands,

Whoſe lightnings deſert laie the lands

Whome duſtie cloudes do cover:

From of whoſe armour ſun-beames flie,

And under them make quaking lie

The plaines wheron they hover:

Nor yet the cruell murth’ing blade

Warme in the moiſtie bowels made

Of people pell mell dieng

In ſome great Cittie put to ſack

By ſavage Tirant brought to wrack,

At his colde mercie lieng.

How abject him, how baſe thinke I,

Who wanting courage can not dye

When need him thereto calleth?

From whome the dagger drawne to kill

The 069 E6r

The cureles griefes that vexe him ſtill

For feare and faintnes falleth?

O Antony with thy deare mate

Both in misfortunes fortunate!

Whoſe thoughts to death aſpiring

Shall you protect from victors rage,

Who on each ſide doth you encage,

To triumph much deſiring.

That Cæſar may you not offend

Nought elſe but death can you defend,

Which his weake force derideth.

And all in this round earth containd,

Powr’les on them whome once enchaind

Avernus priſon hideth:

Where great Pſammetiques ghoſt doth reſt,

Not with infernall paine poſſeſt,

But in ſweete fields detained:

And olde Amaſis ſoule likewiſe,

And all our famous Ptolomies

That whilome on us raigned.

Act.4 070 E6v

Act. 4

Cæſar. Agrippa. Dircetus. The Meſſenger.


You ever-living Gods which all things holde

Within the power of your celeſtiall hands,

By whome heate, colde, the thunder, and the wind,

The properties of enterchaunging mon’ths

Their courſe and being have; which do ſet downe

Of Empires by your deſtinied decree

The force, age, time, and ſubject to no chaunge

Chaunge all, reſerving nothing in one ſtate:

You have advaunſt, as high as thundring heav’n

The Romaines greatnes by Bellonas might:

Maiſtring the world with fearefull violence,

Making the world widdow of libertie.

Yet at this day this proud exalted Rome

De- 071 E7r

Deſpoil’d, captiv’d, at one mans will doth bend:

Her Empire mine, her life is in my hand,

As Monarch I both world and Rome commaund;

Do all, can all; foorth my command’ment cast

Like thundring fire from one to other Pole

Equall to Jove: beſtowing by my word

Happs and miſhappes, as Fortunes King and Lord.

No towne there is, but up my Image ſettes,

But ſacrifice to me doth dayly make:

Whither where Phœbus joyne his mourning ſteedes,

Or where the night them weary entertaines,

Or where the heat the Garamants doth ſcorch,

Or where the colde from Boreas breaſt is blowne:

All Cæſar do both awe and honor beare,

And crowned Kings his verie name doth feare.

Antony knowes it well, for whome not one

Of all the Princes all this earth do rule,

Armes againſt me: for all redoubt the power

which heav’nly powers on earth have made me beare.

Antony, he poore man with fire inflam’de

A 072 E7v

A womans beauties kindled in his heart.

Roſe againſt me, who longer could not beare

My ſiſters wrong he did ſo ill intreat:

Seing her left while that his leud delights

Her husband with his Cleopatre tooke

In Alexandria, where both nights and daies

Their time they pasſ’d in nought but loves and plaies.

All Aſias forces into one he drewe,

And forth he ſet upon the azur’d waves

A thouſand and a thouſand Shipps, which fill’d

With Souldiors, pikes, with targets, arrowes, darts,

Made Neptune quake, and all the watry troupes

Of Glanques, and Tritons lodg’d at Actium,

But mightie Gods, who ſtill the force withſtand

Of him, who cauſles doth another wrong,

In leſſe then moments ſpace redus’d to nought

All that proud power by Sea or land he brought.


Preſumptuous pride of heigh and hawtie ſprite,

Voluptuous care of fond and fooliſh love,

Have juſtly wrought his wrack: who thought he helde

(By 073 E8r

(By overweening) Fortune in his hand.

Of us he made no count, but as to play,

So feareles came our forces to aſſay.

So ſometimes fell to Sonnes of mother earth,

Which crawl’d to heav’n warre on the God to make,

Olymp on Pelion, Oſſa on Olymp,

Pindus on Oſſa loading by degrees:

That at hand ſtrokes with mightie clubbes the might

On mosſie rocks the Gods make tumble downe:

When mightie Jove with burning anger chaſ’d,

Disbraind with him Gyges and Briareus,

Blunting his darts upon their bruſed bones.

For no one thing the Gods can leſſe abide

In deedes of men, then Arrogance and pride.

And ſtill the proud, which too much takes in hand,

Shall fowleſt fall, where beſt he thinkes to ſtand.


Right as ſome Pallace, or ſome ſtately tower,

Which over-lookes the neighbour buildings round

In ſcorning wiſe, and to the ſtarres up growes,

Which in ſhort time his owne weight overthrowes.

What 074 E8v

What monſtrous pride, nay what impietie

Incenſt him onward to the Gods disgrace?

When his two children, Cleopatras bratts,

To Phœbe and her brother he compar’d,

Latonas race, cauſing them to be call’d

The Sunne and Moone? Is not this follie right

And is not this the Gods to make his foes?

And is not this himſelfe to worke his woes?


In like proud ſort he caus’d his hed to leeſe

The Jewiſh king Antigonus, to have

His Realme for balme, that Cleopatra lov’d,

As though on him he had ſome treaſon prov’d.


Lidia to her, and Siria he gave,

Cyprus of golde, Arabia rich of smelles:

And to his children more Cilicia,

Parth’s, Medes, Armenia, Phœnicia:

The kings of kings proclaming them to be,

By his owne word, as by a ſound decree.


What? Robbing his owne country of her due

Triumph’d he not in Alexandria,

Of 075 F1r

Of Artabaſus the Armenian King,

Who yeelded on his perjur’d word to him?


Nay, never Rome more injuries receiv’d,

Since thou, ô Romulus, by flight of birds

With happy hand the Romain walles did’ſt build,

Then Antonyes fond loves to it hath done.

Nor ever warre more holie, nor more juſt,

Nor undertaken with more hard conſtraint,

Then is this warre: which were it not, our ſtate

Within small time all dignitie ſhould looſe:

Though I lament (thou Sunne my witnes art,

And thou great Jove) that it ſo deadly proves:

That Romaine bloud ſhould in ſuch plentie flowe,

Watring the fields and paſtures where we go.

What Carthage in olde hatred obſtinate,

What Gaule ſtill barking at our riſing ſtate,

What rebell Samnite, what fierce Phyrrhus power,

What cruell Mithridate, what Parth hath wrought

Such woe to Rome? whoſe common wealth he had,

(Had he bene victor) into Egypt brought.

F Agr. 076 F1v


Surely the Gods, which have this cittie built

Steadfaſt to ſtand as long as time endures,

Which keepe the Capitoll, of us take care,

And care will take of thoſe ſhall after come,

Have made you victor, that you might redreſſe

Their honor growne by paſſed miſchieves leſſe.


The ſeelie man when all the Greekiſh Sea

His fleete had hid, in hope me ſure to drowne,

Me battaile gave: where fortune in my ſtede,

Repulſing him his forces diſaraied.

Himſelfe tooke flight, ſoone as his love he ſaw

All wanne through feare with full ſailes flie away.

His men, though loſt, whome none did now direct,

With courage fought faſt grappled ſhipp with ſhipp,

Charging, reſiſting, as their oares would ſerve,

With darts, with ſwords, with pikes, with fiery flames.

So that the darkned night her ſtarrie vaile

Upon the bloudy ſea had over-ſpred,

Whilſt yet they held: and hardly, hardly then

They fell to flieng on the wavie plaine,

All 077 F2r

All full of ſoldiors overwhelm’d with waves.

The aire throughout with cries & grones did ſound:

The ſea did bluſh with bloud: the neighbour ſhores

Groned, ſo they with ſhipwracks peſtred were,

And floting bodies left for pleaſing foode

To birds, and beaſts, and fiſhes of the ſea,

You know it well Agrippa.


Mete it was

The Romain Empire ſo ſhould ruled be,

As heav’n is rul’d: which turning over us,

All under things by his example turnes.

Now as of heav’n one onely Lord we know:

One onely Lord ſhould rule this earth below.

When one ſelfe pow’re is common made to two

Their duties they nor ſuffer will, nor doe.

In quarell ſtill, in doubt, in hate, in feare;

Meane while the people all the smart do beare.


Then to the end none, while my daies endure,

Seeking to raiſe himſelfe may ſuccours find,

We muſt with bloud marke this our victory,

For juſt example to all memorie

F2 Murther 078 F2v

Murther we muſt, until not one we leave,

Which may hereafter us of reſt bereave.


Marke it with murthers? Who of that can like?


Murthers muſt uſe, who doth aſſurance ſeeke.


Aſſurance call you enemies to make?


I make no ſuch, but ſuch away I take.


Nothing ſo much as rigour doth diſpleaſe.


Nothing ſo much doth make me live at eaſe.


What eaſe to him that feared is of all?


Feared to be, and ſee his foes to fall.


Commonly feare doth brede and nouriſh hate.


Hate without pow’r comes commonly too late.


A feared Prince hath oft his death deſir’d


A Prince not fear’d hath oft his wrong conſpir,d.


No guard ſo ſure, nor forte ſo ſtrong doth prove.

No ſuch defence, as is the peoples love.


Nought more unſure more weak, more like the winde,

Then Peoples favour ſtill to change enclinde.


Good Gods! what love to gratious prince men beare!


What honor to the Prince that is ſevere!
Ag. 079 F3r


Nought more divine then is Benigntie.


Nought likes the Gods as doth Severity.


Gods all forgive.


On faults they paines do lay.


And give their goods.


Oft times they tak away


They wreake them not, ô Cæſar, at each time

That bvy our ſinnes they are to wrath provok’d.

Neither muſt you (beleeve, I humblie praie)

Your victorie with crueltie defile.

The Gods it gave, it muſt not be abuſ’d,

But to the good of all men mildely uſ’d,

And they bethank’d: that having giv’n you grace

To raigne alone, and rule this earthly maſſe,

They may hence-forward hold it ſtill in reſt,

All ſcattered power united in one breſt.


But what is he that breathles comes ſo faſt,

Approching us, and going in ſuch haſt?


He ſeemes affraid: and under his arme I

(But much I erre) a bloudy ſword eſpie.


I long to underſtand what it may be.


He hither comes: it’s beſt we ſtay and ſee.
F3 Dirce- 080 F3v


What good God now my voice will reenforce,

That tell I may to rocks, and hilles, and woods,

To waves of ſea, which daſh upon the ſhore,

To earth, to heaven, the woefull newes I bring?


What ſo daine chance thee towards us hath broght


A lamentable chance. O wrath of heav’ns!

O Gods too pittiles!


What monſtrous hap

Wilt thou recount?


Alas too hard miſhap!

When I but dreame of what mine eies beheld,

My hart doth freeze, my limmes do quivering quake,

I ſenceles ſtand, my breſt with tempeſt toſt

Killes in my throte my words, ere fully borne.

Dead, dead he is: be ſure of what I ſay,

This murthering ſword hath made the man away.


Alas my heart doth cleave, pittie me rackes,

My breſt doth pant to heare this dolefull tale.

Is Antony then dead? to death, alas!

I am the cauſe deſpaire him ſo compelld.

But ſoldior of his death the manner ſhowe,

And how he did this living light forgoe.

Dir. 081 F4r


When Antony no hope remaining ſaw

How warre he might, or how agreement make,

Saw him betraid by all his men of warre

In every fight as well by ſea, as land;

That not content to yeeld them to their foes

They alſo came againſt himſelfe to fight:

Alone in court he gan himſelfe torment,

Accuſe the Queene, himſelfe of hir lament,

Call’d hir untrue and traitreſſe, as who ſought

To yeeld him up ſhe could no more defend:

That in the harmes which for hir ſake he bare,

As in his blisfull ſtate, ſhe might not ſhare.

But ſhe againe, who much his fury fear’d,

Gat to the tombes, darke horrors dwelling place:

Made lock the doores, and pull the hearſes downe.

Then fell ſhe wretched, with hir ſelfe to fight.

A thouſand plaints, a thouſand ſobbes ſhe cast

From hir weake breſt which to the bones was torne.

Of women hir the moſt unhappy call’d,

Who by hir love, hir woefull love, had loſt

Hir 082 F4v

Hir realme, hir life, and more the love of him,

Who while he was, was all hir woes ſupport.

But that ſhe faultles was ſhe did invoke

For witnes heav’n, and aire, and earth, and ſea.

Then ſent him word, ſhe was no more alive,

But lay incloſed dead within her tombe.

This he beleev’d; and fell to ſigh and grone,

And croſt his armes, then thus began to mone.


Poore hopeles man!


What doſt thou more attend

Ah Antony! why doſt thou death deferre.

Since Fortune thy profeſſed enimie,

Hath made to die, who only made thee live?

Sone as with ſighes hee had theſe words up clos’d,

His armor he unlaſte and cast it off,

Then all diſarm’d he thus againe did ſay:

My Queene, my heart, the griefe that now I feele.

Is not that I your eies, my Sunne, do looſe,

For ſoone againe one tombe ſhall us conjoyne:

I grieve, whome men ſo valorous did deeme,

Should now, then you, of leſſer valor ſeeme.

So 083 F5r

So ſaid, forthwith he Eros to him call’d,

Eros his man; ſummond him on his faith

To kill him at his nede. He tooke the ſword,

And at that inſtant ſtab’d therwith his breaſt,

And ending life fell dead before his feete.

O Eros thankes (quoth Antony) for this

Moſt noble acte, who pow’rles me to kill,

On thee haſt done, what I on mee ſhould do.

Of ſpeaking thus he ſcarſce had made an end,

And taken up the bloudy ſword from ground,

But he his bodie piers’d; and of red bloud

A guſhing fountaine all the chamber fill’d.

He ſtaggred at the blow, his face grew pale,

And on a couche all feeble downe he fell,

Sounding with anguiſh: deadly cold him tooke,

As if his ſoule had then his lodging left

But he reviv’d, and marking all our eies

Bathed in teares, and how our breaſts we beate

For pittie, anguiſh, and for bitter griefe,

To ſee him plong’d in extreame wretchednes:

He 084 F5v

He prai’d us all to haſte his lingring death:

But no man willing, each himſelfe withdrew.

Then fell he new to cry and vexe himſelfe,

Untill a man from Cleopatra came,

Who ſaid from hir he had commaundement

To bring him to hir to the monument.

The poore ſoule at theſe words even rapt with joy

Knowing ſhe liv’d, prai’d us him to convey

Unto his Lady. Then upon our armes

We bare him to the Tombe, but entred not.

For ſhe who feared captive to be made,

And that ſhe ſhould to Rome in triumph goe,

Kept cloſe the gate but from a window high

Caſt downe a corde, wherein he was impackt.

Then by hir womens help the corps ſhe rais’d,

And by ſtrong armes into hir window drew.

So pittifull a ſight was never ſeene.

Little and little Antony was pull’d,

Now breathing death: his beard was all unkempt,

His face and breſt al bathed in his bloud.

So 085 F6r

So hideous yet, and dieng as he was,

His eies half-clos’d uppon the Queene he cast:

Held up his hands, and holpe himſelfe to raiſe,

But ſtill with weaknes back his bodie fell.

The miſerable ladie with moiſt eies,

With haire which careles on hir forhead hong,

With breſt which blowes had bloudily benumb’d,

With ſtooping head, and body down-ward bent,

Enlaſt hir in the corde, and with all force

This life-dead man couragiouſly uprais’d,

The bloud with paine into hir face did flowe,

Hir ſinewes ſtiff, her ſelfe did breathles grow.

The people which beneath in flocks beheld,

Aſſiſted her with geſture, ſpeach, deſire:

Cride and incourag’d her, and in their ſoules

Did ſweate, and labor, no whit leſſe then ſhe.

Who never tir’d in labor, held ſo long

Helpt by her women, and hir conſtant heart,

That Antony was drawne into the tombe,

And there (I thinke) of dead augments the ſumme.

The 086 F6v

The cittie all to teares and ſighes is turn’d,

To plaints and outcries horrible to heare:

Men, women, children, hoary-headed age

Do all pell mell in houſe and ſtreete lament,

Scratching their faces, tearing of their haire,

Wringing their hands, and martyring their breſts

Extreame their dole: and greater miſery

In ſacked townes can hardlie ever be

Not if the fire had ſcal’de the higheſt towers:

That all things were of force and murther full;

That in the ſtreets the bloud in rivers ſtream’d;

The ſonne his ſire ſaw in his boſome ſlaine,

The ſire his ſonne: the husband reft of breath

In his wives armes, who furious runnes to death.

Now my breſt wounded with their piteouſe plaints

I left their towne, and tooke with me this ſworde,

Which I tooke up at what time Antony

Was from his chamber caried to the tombe:

And brought it you, to make his death more plaine,

And that thereby my words may credite gaine.

Cæſ. 087 F7r


Ah Gods what cruell hap! poore Antony,

Alas haſt thou this ſword ſo long time borne

Againſt thy foe, that in the end it ſhould

Of thee his Lord the curſed murth’rer be?

O Death how I bewaile thee! we (alas!)

So many warres have ended, brothers, frends,

Companions, coozens, equalls in eſtate:

And muſt it now to kill thee be my fate?


Why trouble you your ſelfe with bootles griefe?

For Antony why ſpend you teares in vaine?

Why darken you with dole your victory?

Me ſeemes your ſelfe your glory do envie.

Enter the towne, give thanks unto the Gods.


I cannot but his tearefull chaunce lament,

Although not I, but his owne pride the cauſe,

And unchaſt love of this Aegiptian.


But beſt we ſought into the tombe to get,

Leſt ſhe conſume in this amazed caſe

So much rich treaſure, with which happely

Deſpaire in death may make hir feede the fire:

Suf- 088 F7v

Suffring the flames hir Jewells to deface,

You to defraud, hir funerall to grace.

Sende then to hir, and let ſome meane be us’d

With ſome deviſe ſo hold her ſtill alive,

Some faire large promiſes: and let them marke

Whither they may be ſome fine cunning ſlight

Enter the tombes.


Let Proculeius goe,

And feede with hope hir ſoule diſconſolate.

Aſſure hir ſoe, that we may wholy get

Into our hands hir treaſure and her ſelfe.

For this of all things moſt I do deſire

To keepe her ſafe until! our going hence:

That by hir preſence beautified may be

The glorious triumph Rome prepares for me.

Chorus of Romaine Souldiors.

Shall ever civile bate

gnaw and devour our ſtate?

ſhall 089 F8r

ſhall never we this blade,

our bloud hath bloudy made,

lay downe? theſe armes downe lay

as robes we weare alway?

but as from age to age.

ſo paſſe from rage to rage?

Our hands ſhall we not reſt

to bath in our owne breſt?

and ſhall thick in each land

our wretched trophees ſtand,

to tell poſteritie,

what madd Impietie

our ſtonie ſtomacks led

againſt the place us bred?

Then ſtill muſt heaven view

the plagues that us purſue.

and every wher deſcrie

Heaps of us ſcattred lie,

making the ſtranger plaines

fat with our bleeding raines,

proud 090 F8v

proud that on them their grave

ſo many legious have.

And with our fleſhes ſtill

Neptune his fiſhes fill

and dronke with bloud from blue

the ſea take bluſhing hue:

as juice of Tyrian ſhell,

when clarified well

to wolle of fineſt fields

a purple gloſſe it yeeldes.

But ſince the rule of Rome,

to one mans hand is come,

who governes without mate

hir now united ſtate,

late jointly rulde by three

envieng mutuallie,

whoſe triple yoke much woe

on Latines necks did throwe:

I hope the cauſe of jarre,

and of this bloudie warre,

and 091 G1r

and deadly diſcord gone

by what we laſt have done:

our banks ſhall cheriſh now

the branchie pale-hew’d bow

of Olive, Pallas praiſe,

in ſtede of barraine baies.

And that his temple dore,

which bloudy Mars before

held open, now at laſt

olde Janus ſhall make faſt:

and ruſt the ſword conſume,

and ſpoild of waving plume,

The uſeles morion ſhall

on crooke hang by the wall.

At leaſt if warre returne

It ſhall not here ſojourne,

to kill us with thoſe armes

were forg’d for others harmes:

but have their points addreſt,

againſt the Germaines breſt,

G The 092 G1v

The Parthians fayned flight,

the Biſcaines martiall might.

Olde Memory doth there

painted on forehead weare

our Fathers praiſe: thence torne

our triumphs baies have worne:

therby our matchles Rome

whilome of Shepeheards come

rais’d to this greatnes ſtands,

the Queene of forraine lands.

Which now even ſeemes to face

the heav’ns, her glories place:

nought reſting under skies

that dares affront her eies.

So that ſhe needes but feare

the weapons Jove doth beare,

who angry at one blowe

may her quite overthrowe.

Act. 093 G2r

Act. 5,

Cleopatra. Euphron. Children of Cleopatra. Charmion. Eras.


O cruell fortune! ô accurſed lot!

O plaguy love! ô moſt deteſted brand!

O wretched joyes! ô beauties miſerable!

O deadly ſtate! ô deadly roialtie!

O hatefull life! ô Queene moſt lamentable!

O Antony by my faulte buriable!

O helliſh worke of heav’n! alas! the wrath

Of all the Gods at once on us is falne.

Unhappie Queene! ô would I in this world

The wandring light of day had never ſeene?

Alas! of mine the plague and poiſon I

The crowne have loſt my anceſtors me left,

This Realme I have to ſtrangers ſubject made,

G2 And 094 G2v

And robd my children of their heritage.

Yet this is nought (alas!) unto the price

Of you deare husband, whome my snares intrap’d:

Of you, whome I have plagu’d, whom I have made

With bloudy hand a gueſt of mouldie tombe:

Of you, whome I deſtroied, of you, deare Lord,

Whome I of Empire, honor, life have ſpoil’d.

O hurtfull woman! and can I yet live,

Yet longer live in this Ghoſt-haunted tombe?

Can I yet breath I can yet in ſuch annoy,

Yet can my ſoule within this body dwell?

O Siſters you that ſpin the thredes of death!

O Styx! ô Plegethon! you brookes of hell!

O Impes of Night!


Live for your childrens ſake:

Let not your death of kingdome them deprive.

Alas what ſhall they do who will have care?

Who will preſerve this royall race of yours?

Who pittie take? even now me ſeemes I ſee

Theſe little ſoules to ſervile bondage falne,

And borne in triumph.


Ah moſt miſerable!
emph. 095 G3r


Their tender armes with curſed cord faſt bound

At their weake backs.


Ah Gods what pitty more!


Their ſeely necks to ground with weaknes bend


Never on us, good Gods, ſuch miſchiefe ſend.


And pointed at with fingers as they go.


Rather a thouſand deaths.


Laſtly his knife

Some cruell cative in their bloud embrue.


Ah my heart breaks. By ſhady banks of hell,

By fields whereon the lonely Ghoſts do treade,

By my ſoule, and the ſoule of Antony

I you beſech, Euphron, of them have care.

Be their good Father, let your wiſedome lett

That they fall not into this Tyrants hands.

Rather conduct them where their freezed locks

Black Aethiops to neighbour Sunne do ſhew;

On wavie Ocean at the waters will;

On barraine cliffes of snowie Caucaſus;

To Tigers ſwift, to Lions, and to Beares;

And rather, rather unto every coaſte,

To ev’ry land and ſea: for nought I feare

G3 As 096 G3v

As rage of him, whoſe thirſt no bloud can quench.

Adieu deare children, children deare adieu:

Good Iſis you to place of ſafety guide,

Farre from our foes, where you your lives may leade

In free eſtate devoid of ſervile dread.

Remember not, my children, you were borne

Of ſuch a Princely race: remember not

So many brave Kings which have Egipt rul’de

In right deſcent your anceſtors have beene:

That this great Antony your father was,

Hercules bloud, and more then he in praiſe.

For your high courage ſuch remembrance will,

Seing your fall with burning rages fill.

Who knowes if that your hands falſe Deſtinie

The Scepters promis’d of imperious Rome,

In ſtede of them ſhall crooked ſhepehookes beare,

Needles or forkes, or guide the carte, or plough?

Ah learne t’endure: your birth and high eſtate

Forget, my babes, and bend to force of fate.

Farwell, my babes, farwell my heart is clos’d,

With 097 G4r

With pittie and paine, my ſelfe with death enclos’d,

My breath doth faile. Farwell for evermore,

Your Sire and me you ſhall ſee never more.

Farwell ſweet care, farwell.


Madame Adieu.


Ah this voice killes me. Ah good Gods! I ſwound.

I can no more, I die.


Madame, alas!

And will you yeld to woe? Ah ſpeake to us.


Come Children.


We come.


Follow we our chance.

The Gods ſhall guide us.


O too cruell lot!

O too hard chaunce! Siſter what ſhall we do,

What ſhall we do, alas! if murthring darte

Of death arrive while that in ſlumbring ſwound

Halfe dead ſhe lie with anguiſh overgone?


Her face is frozen.


Madame for Gods love

Leave us not thus: bid us yet firſt farwell.

Alas! wepe over Antony: Let not

His bodie be without due rites entomb’d.


Ah, ah.




Ay me!


How fainte ſhe is?


My Siſters, holde me up. How wretched I,

How curſed am: and was there ever one

By 098 G4v

By Fortunes hate into more dolours throwne?

Ah, weeping Niobe, although thy heart

Beholds it ſelfe enwrap’d in cauſefull woe

For thy dead children, that a ſenceleſſe rocke

With griefe become, on Sipylus thou ſtand’ſt

In endles teares: yet didſt thou never feele

The weights of griefe that on my heart do lie.

Thy Children thou, mine I poore ſoule have loſt,

And loſt their Father, more then them I waile,

Loſt this faire realme; yet me the heavens wrath

Into a ſtone not yet transformed hath.

Phætons ſiſters, daughters of the Sunne,

Which waile your brother falne into the ſtreames

Of ſtately Po: the Gods upon the bankes

Your bodies to banke-loving Alders turn’d.

For me, I ſigh, I ceaſles wepe, and waile,

And heaven pittiles laughes at my woe,

Revives, renewes it ſtill: and in the ende

(Oh cruelty!) doth death for comfort lend.

Die Cleopatra then no longer ſtay

From 099 G5r

From Antony, who thee at Styx attends:

Go joyne thy Ghoſt with his, and ſob no more

Without his love within theſe tombes enclos’d.


Alas! yet let us wepe, leſt ſodaine death

From him our teares, and thoſe laſt duties take

Unto his tombe we owe.


Ah let us wepe

While moiſture laſts, then die before his feete.


Who furniſh will mine eies with ſtreaming teares

My boiling anguiſh worthily to waile,

Waile thee Antony, Antony my heart?

Alas, how much I weeping liquor want!

Yet have mine eies quite drawne their Condits drie

By long beweeping my diſaſtred harmes.

Now reaſon is that from my ſide they ſucke

Firſt vitall moiſture, then the vitall bloud.

Then let the bloud from my ſad eies outflowe,

And smoking yet with thine in mixture grow.

Moiſt it, and heat it newe, and never ſtop,

All watring thee, while yet remaines one drop.


Antony take our teares: this is the laſt Of 100 G5v

Of all the duties we to thee can yelde,

Before we die.


Theſe ſacred obſeques

Take Antony, and take them in good parte.


O Goddeſſe thou whom Cyprus doth adore,

Venus of Phaphos, bent to worke us harme

For olde Julus broode, if thou take care

Of Cæſar, why of us tak’ſt thou no care?

Antony did deſcend, as well as he,

From thine owne Sonne by long enchained line:

And might have rul’d by one and ſelfe ſame fate,

True Trojan bloud, the ſtately Romain ſtate.

Antony, poore Antony, my deare ſoule,

Now but a blocke, the bootie of a tombe,

Thy life thy heat is loſt, thy coullour gone,

And hideous palenes on thy face hath ſeaz’d.

Thy eies, two Sunnes, the lodging place of love,

Which yet for tents to warlike Mars did ſerve,

Lock’d up in lidds (as faire daies cherefull light

Which darkneſſe flies) do winking hide in night.

Antony by our true loves I thee beſeeche,

And 101 G6r

And by our hearts ſweete ſparks have ſet on fire,

Our holy mariage, and the tender ruthe

Of our deare babes, knot of our amitie:

My dolefull voice thy eare let entertaine,

And take me with thee to the helliſh plaine,

Thy wife, thy frend: heare Antony, ô heare

My ſobbing ſighes, if here thou be, or there.

Lived thus long, the winged race of yeares

Ended I have as Deſtinie decreed,

Flouriſh’d and raign’d, and taken juſt revenge

Of him who me both hated and deſpisde.

Happie, alas too happie: if of Rome

Only the fleete had hither never come.

And now of me an Image great ſhall goe

Under the earth to bury there my woe.

What ſay I? where am I? ô Cleopatra,

Poore Cleopatra, griefe thy reaſon reaves.

No, no, moſt happie in this happles caſe,

To die with thee, and dieng thee embrace:

My bodie joynde with thine, my mouth with thine,

My 102 G6v

my mouth, whoſe moiſture burning ſighes have dried

To be in one ſelfe tombe, and one ſelfe cheſt,

And wrapt with thee in one ſelfe ſheete to reſt.

The ſharpeſt torment in my heart I feele

Is that I ſtay from thee, my heart, this while.

Die will I ſtraight now, now ſtreight will I die,

And ſtreight with thee a wandring ſhade will be,

Under the Cypres trees thou haunt’ſt alone,

Where brookes of hell do falling ſeeme to mone.

But yet I ſtay, and yet thee overlive,

That ere I die due rites I may thee give.

A thouſand ſobbes I from my breſt will teare,

With thouſand plaints thy funeralls adorne:

My haire ſhall ſerve for thy oblations,

My boiling teares for thy effuſions,

Mine eies thy fire: for out of them the flame

(Which burnt thy heart on me enamour’d) came.

Wepe my companions, weepe, and from your eies

Raine downe on him of teares a briniſh ſtreame.

Mine can no more, conſumed by the coales

Which 103 G7r

Which from my breſt, as from a furnace riſe.

Martir your breaſts with multiplied blowes,

With violent hands teare of your hanging haire,

Outrage your face: alas! why ſhould we ſeeke

(Since now we die) our beauties more to keepe?

I ſpent in teares, not able more to ſpende,

But kiſſe him now, what reſts me more to doe?

Then let me kiſſe you, you faire eies, my light,

Front ſeat of honor, face moſt firce, moſt faire!

O neck, ô armes, ô hands, ô breaſt where death

(O miſchiefe) comes to choake up vitall breath.

A thouſand kiſſes, thouſand thouſand more

Let you my mouth for honors farewell give:

That in this office weake my limmes may growe,

Fainting on you, and fourth my ſoule may flow.

At Ramsbury.
104 G7v

Printed at London by P.S.
for William Ponſonby. 15951595.