Doone into Engliſh by the
Imprinted at London for William
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.
DiomedeSecretarie to Cleopatra.
Euphron,teacher of Cleopatras children.
Children of Cleopatra,
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 faſtupon 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 fireFor 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 QueeneIn 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.
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 EmperourSometime 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 burneB3 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 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 knowesIn 021 B6r
In meaſure let them plaine:
Who measnur’d griefes ſuſtaine.
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 heartHad 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?
No humain force can them withſtand, but death.
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 ſouleUnto 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.
(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.
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.
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 ſwellIn 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.
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 ſouleLodge 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.
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.
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.
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,
You might exempt him from the lawes of death.
But he is ſure to die: and now his ſwordC3 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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
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 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 quakeOf 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.
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 laieD 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 Troiewhence 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.
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 vaine he hopes, who here his hopes doth ground.
As that I ſo my Cleopatra ſee
Practiſe with Cæſar, and to him tranſport
My flame, her love, more deare then life to me.
Too princely thoughts.
Too much enflam’d with greatnes, evermore
Gaping for our great Empires goverment.
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.
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.
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 reſpectYealdeth 049 D4r
Yealdeth to his diſtempered ſtomacks heate.
And now are by this vaine affection falne.
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.
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.
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.
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 yearesIn 053 D6r
In quiet peace both have your charges rul’d.
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.
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?
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.
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.
Can hardly riſe, which once is brought ſo low.
(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.
All fower quarters witneſſes may be.
For in what part of earth inhabited,
Hungry of praiſe have you not enſignes ſpred?
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.
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.
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’deTo 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.
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 kingE2 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.
Froſt to the grapes, to ripened frutes the raine:
As pleaſure is to princes full of paine.
On whom that Monſter woefull wrack did bring.
Who loſt my empire, honor, life thereby,
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 timeE3 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 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 killThe 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. 4Cæſar. 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 RomeDe- 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’deA 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.
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.
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 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?
The Jewiſh king Antigonus, to have
His Realme for balme, that Cleopatra lov’d,
As though on him he had ſome treaſon prov’d.
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.
Triumph’d he not in Alexandria,Of 075 F1r
Of Artabaſus the Armenian King,
Who yeelded on his perjur’d word to him?
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.
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.
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.
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.
Seeking to raiſe himſelfe may ſuccours find,
We muſt with bloud marke this our victory,
For juſt example to all memorieF2 Murther 078 F2v
Murther we muſt, until not one we leave,
Which may hereafter us of reſt bereave.
No ſuch defence, as is the peoples love.
Then Peoples favour ſtill to change enclinde.
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.
Approching us, and going in ſuch haſt?
(But much I erre) a bloudy ſword eſpie.
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?
O Gods too pittiles!
Wilt thou recount?
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.
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.
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 loſtHir 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.
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 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 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.
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?
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.
Although not I, but his owne pride the cauſe,
And unchaſt love of this Aegiptian.
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.
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
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. 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!
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.
At their weake backs.
Some cruell cative in their bloud embrue.
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 feareG3 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.
I can no more, I die.
And will you yeld to woe? Ah ſpeake to us.
The Gods ſhall guide us.
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?
Leave us not thus: bid us yet firſt farwell.
Alas! wepe over Antony: Let not
His bodie be without due rites entomb’d.
How curſed am: and was there ever oneBy 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 ſtayFrom 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.
From him our teares, and thoſe laſt duties take
Unto his tombe we owe.
While moiſture laſts, then die before his feete.
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.
Of all the duties we to thee can yelde,
Before we die.
Take Antony, and take them in good parte.
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 coalesWhich 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.
1590-11-2626. of November. 1590.
London by P.S.
for William Ponſonby. 15951595.