The
Tragedie of
Antonie.
Doone into English by the
Countesse of
Pembroke
Imprinted at London for William
Ponsonby 15951595.
The Argument.
Figure 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
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
leauing to
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.
The Actors.
Antonius.
Cleopatra.
Eras and
Charmiōon.
Philostratus a Philosopher.
Lucilius.
Diomede Secretarie to Cleopatra.
Octavius Cæsar.
Agrippa.
Euphron, teacher of Cleopatras
children.
Children of Cleopatra,
Dircetus the Messenger.
Antonius.
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 A5vA 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
vpon A6rupon 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 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 A7rIn 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 A7vThy 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 A8rIf 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 A8vCæsar 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.
Chorus.
The boyling tempest still
makes not Sea waters fome:
nor still the Northern blast
disquiets quiet streames:
nor χ1rNor 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 χ1vNature 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 B1rIn 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 B1vBy 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 B2rour harmes worse dayly grow,
lesse yesterday they were
then now, and will be more
to morrow then to day.
Act. 2,
Philostratus.
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 B2vNor 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 B3rSomtime (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 B3vThe 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 B4rAnd 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.
Chorus.
Lament we our mishaps,
Drowne we with teares of woe:
For Lamentable happes
Lamented easie growe:
And B4vand 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 B5vwhose 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 B6rIn measure let them plaine:
Who measnur’d griefes sustaine.
Cleopatra.
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 [Gap in transcription—flawed-reproduction1 letter]ave 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 B6vHad 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 B7rStraine 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?
Cl.
No humain force can them withstand, but death.
Eras.
Cl.
Eras.
Cl.
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
Vnto B7vUnto 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.
Eras.
Cl.
Er.
Cl.
Er.
Cl.
Antony.
(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 B8rThe 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.
Char.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
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 B8vFlatt’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.
Char.
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 C1rIn 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 C1vAnd 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.
Cl.
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 C2rLodge 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.
Char.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
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.
Cl.
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 C3rIf 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.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
Cl.
Ch.
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,
Cl.
Ch.
You might exempt him from the lawes of death.
But he is sure to die: and now his sword
C3 Alreadie C3vAlready 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.
Cl.
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.
Eras.
Cl.
Er.
Cl.
Eras.
Cl.
Eras.
Cl.
Er.
Cl.
Er.
Cl.
Er.
Cl.
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.
Ch.
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:
Cl.
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- C5vForlorne 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.
Diom.
Cl.
The Gods repay of thy true faithfull heart.
Diomed.
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 C6rWhat 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 C6vHer 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 C7rTo 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.
Chorus.
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 C7vWher 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 C8rwho 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 quake
Of D1rof 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 D1vin 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 D2rwhence 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. 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 D2vBut 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.
Lu.
In vaine he hopes, who here his hopes doth ground.
An.
As that I so my Cleopatra see
Practise with Cæsar, and to him transport
My flame, her love, more deare then life to me.
Lu.
Too princely thoughts.
An.
Too much enflam’d with greatnes, evermore
Gaping for our great Empires goverment.
Lu.
An.
Lu.
An.
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.
Lu.
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.
Ant.
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 D4rYealdeth to his distempered stomacks heate.
Lu.
An.
Lu.
And now are by this vaine affection falne.
An.
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 D4vTwo 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 D5rFortune 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.
Lu.
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 D5vVertue 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.
Ant.
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.
Lu.
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 D6rIn quiet peace both have your charges rul’d.
Ant.
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.
Lu.
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 D6vIn learned Greece, Spaine, Asia, any land?
An.
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.
Lu.
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.
An.
Lu.
An.
L.
Can hardly rise, which once is brought so low.
Ant.
(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 D7vTwise watred now with bloud of Italie.
Lu.
All fower quarters witnesses may be.
For in what part of earth inhabited,
Hungry of praise have you not ensignes spred?
Ant.
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 D8rMy 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 D8vTo 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.
Lu.
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 E1rHir 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.
Ant.
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 E1vBut 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 E2rTo 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.
Lu.
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- E2vSeming 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.
An.
Frost to the grapes, to ripened frutes the raine:
As pleasure is to princes full of paine.
Lu.
On whom that Monster woefull wrack did bring.
An.
Who lost my empire, honor, life thereby,
Lu.
As scarcely any do against it stand:
No not the Demy-gods the olde world knew,
Who E3rWho 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- E3vThroughout the world the people did torment.
And more and more encreasing daie by daie
Scorn’d his weake heart become a mistresse play.
An.
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 E4rFor by your greife my griefe more eager growes.
Chorus.
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 E4vAnd 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 E5rWho 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 E5vNo, 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 E6rThe 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
[Cæsar. Agrippa. Dircetus.The Messenger.]
Cæsar.
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- E7rDespoil’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 E7vA 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.
Agr.
Voluptuous care of fond and foolish love,
Have justly wrought his wrack: who thought he helde
(By 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.
Cæs.
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?
Agr.
The Jewish king Antigonus, to have
His Realme for balme, that Cleopatra lov’d,
As though on him he had some treason prov’d.
Cæs.
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.
Agr.
Triumph’d he not in Alexandria,
Of F1rOf Artabasus the Armenian King,
Who yeelded on his perjur’d word to him?
Cæs.
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.
Agr.
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.
Cæs.
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 F2rAll 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.
Ag.
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.
Cæs.
Seeking to raise himselfe may succours find,
We must with bloud marke this our victory,
For just example to all memorie
F2 Murther F2vMurther we must, until not one we leave,
Which may hereafter us of rest bereave.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
No such defence, as is the peoples love.
Cæ.
winde,
Then Peoples favour still to change enclinde.
Ag.
beare!
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
Cæ.
Ag.
C.
Ag.
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.
Cæ.
Approching us, and going in such hast?
Ag.
(But much I erre) a bloudy sword espie.
Cæ.
Ag.
Dirce.
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?
A.
Dir.
O Gods too pittiles!
Cæs.
Wilt thou recount?
Dir.
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.
Caes.
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.
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 F4vHir 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.
C.
D.
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 F5vHe 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 F6rSo 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.
Cæs.
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?
Ag.
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.
Cæ.
Although not I, but his owne pride the cause,
And unchast love of this Aegiptian.
Agr.
Lest she consume in this amazed case
So much rich treasure, with which happely
Despaire in death may make hir feede the fire:
Suf- F7vSuffring 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.
Cæsar.
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 F8rshall 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 F8vproud 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 G1rand 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 G1vThe 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. ]
Cleop.
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 G2vAnd 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!
Euph.
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.
Cl.
Euph.
At their weake backs.
Cl.
Euph.
Cl.
Euph.
Cl.
Euph.
Some cruell cative in their bloud embrue.
Cl.
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 G3vAs 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 G4rWith 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.
Chil.
Cl.
I can no more, I die.
Eras.
And will you yeld to woe? Ah speake to us.
Eu,
Chil.
Eu.
chance.
The Gods shall guide us.
Char.
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?
Er.
Ch.
Leave us not thus: bid us yet first farwell.
Alas! wepe over Antony: Let not
His bodie be without due rites entomb’d.
Cl.
Char.
Cl.
Ch.
she is?
Cl.
How cursed am: and was there ever one
By G4vBy 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 G5rFrom Antony, who thee at Styx attends:
Go joyne thy Ghost with his, and sob no more
Without his love within these tombes enclos’d.
Eras.
From him our teares, and those last duties take
Unto his tombe we owe.
Ch.
While moisture lasts, then die before his feete.
Cl.
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.
Ch.
Of all the duties we to thee can yelde,
Before we die.
Er.
Take Antony, and take them in good parte.
Cl.
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 G6rAnd 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 G6vmy 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 G7rWhich 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.
Printed at
London by P.S.
for William Ponsonby. 15951595.