Chapter 5

O swete fertile land, wherinPhæbusdid with breath inspireMan who men did first begin,Formed first ofNilusmire.Whence ofArtesthe eldest kindes,Earthes most heauenly ornament,Were as from their fountaine sent,To enlight our mistie mindes.Whose grosse sprite from endles time,As in darkned prison pente,Neuer did to knowledg clime.Wher theNile, our father good,Father-like doth neuer misseYearely vs to bring such food,As to life required is:Visiting each yeare this plaine,And with fatt slime cou’ring it,Which his seauen mouthes do spitt,As the season comes againe.Making therby greatest groweBusie reapers ioyfull paine,When his flouds do highest flowe.Wandring Prince of riuers thou,Honor of theÆthiopslande,Of a Lord and master nowThou a slaue in awe must stand.Now ofTiberwhich is spredLesse in force, and lesse in fameReuerence thou must the name,Whome all other riuers dread,For his children swolne in pride,Who by conquest seeke to treadeRound this earth on euery side.Now thou must begin to sendeTribute of thy watrie store,As Sea pathes thy stepps shall bende,Yearely presents more and more.Thy fatt skumme, our frutefull corne,Pill’d from hence with theeuish handsAll vncloth’d shall leaue our landsInto foraine Countrie borne.Which puft vp with such a prayShall therby the praise adorneOf that scepterRomedoth sway.Nought thee helps thy hornes to hideFarre from hence in vnknowne grounds,That thy waters wander wide,Yearely breaking bankes, and bounds.And that thy Skie-coullor’d brookesThrough a hundred peoples passe,Drawing plots for trees and grasseWith a thousand turn’s and crookes.Whome all weary of their wayThy throats which in widenesse passePowre into their Mother Sea.Nought so happie haplesse life“In this worlde as freedome findes:“Nought wherin more sparkes are rife“To inflame couragious mindes.“But if force must vs enforce“Nedes a yoke to vndergoe,“Vnder foraine yoke to goe“Still it proues a bondage worse.“And doubled subiection“See we shall, and feele, and knowe“Subiect to a stranger growne.From hence forward for a King,whose first being from this placeShould his brest by nature bringCare of Countrie to embrace,We at surly face must quakeOf someRomainemadly bent:Who, our terrour to augment,HisProconsulsaxe will shake.Driuing with our Kings from henceOur establish’d gouerment,Iustice sworde, and Lawes defence.Nothing worldly of such mightBut more mightieDestinie,By swiftTimesvnbridled flight,Makes in ende his ende to see.Euery thingTimeouerthrowes,Nought to ende doth stedfast staie:His great sithe mowes all awayAs the stalke of tender rose.Onlie ImmortalitieOf the Heau’ns doth it opposeGainst his powerfullDeitie.One daie there will come a daieWhich shall quaile thy fortunes flower,And thee ruinde low shall laieIn some barbarous Princes power.When the pittie-wanting fireShall, ORome, thy beauties burne,And to humble ashes turneThy proud wealth, and rich attire,Those guilt roofes which turretwise,Iustly making Enuie mourne,Threaten now to pearce Skies.As thy forces fill each landHaruests making here and there,Reaping all with rauening handThey finde growing any where:From each land so to thy fallMultitudes repaire shall make,From the common spoile to takeWhat to each mans share maie fall.Fingred all thou shalt beholde:No iote left for tokens sakeThat thou wert so great of olde.Like vnto the auncientTroieWhence deriu’de thy founders be,Conqu’ring foe shall thee enioie,And a burning praie in thee.For within this turning ballThis we see, and see each daie:All things fixed ends do staie,Ends to first beginnings fall.And that nought, how strong or strange,Chaungles doth endure alwaie,But endureth fatall change.M. Antonius. Lucilius.M. Ant.Lucil, sole comfort of my bitter case,The only trust, the only hope I haue,In last despaire: Ah! is not this the daieThat death should me of life and loue bereaue?What waite I for that haue no refuge left,But am sole remnant of my fortune left?All leaue me, flie me: none, no not of themwhichof my greatnes greatest good receiu’d,Stands with my fall: they seeme as now asham’deThat heretofore they did me ought regarde:They draw them back, shewing they folow’d me,Not to partake my harm’s, but coozen me.Lu.In this our world nothing is stedfast found,In vaine he hopes, who here his hopes doth groũd.Ant.Yet nought afflicts me, nothing killes me so,As that I so myCleopatraseePractize withCæsar, and to him transportMy flame, her loue, more deare then life to me.Lu.Beleeue it not: Too high a heart she beares,Too Princelie thoughts.Ant.Too wise a head she weareToo much enflam’d with greatnes, euermoreGaping for our great Empires gouerment.Lu.So long time you her constant loue haue tri’de.Ant.But still with me good fortune did abide.Lu.Her changed loue what token makes you know?An.Pelusiumlost, andActianouerthrow,Both by her fraud: my well appointed fleet,And trustie Souldiors in my quarell arm’d,Whom she, false she, in stede of my defence,Came to persuade, to yelde them to my foe:Such honorThyredone, such welcome giuen,Their long close talkes I neither knew, nor would,And treacherouse wrongAlexashath me done,Witnes too well her periur’d loue to me.But you O Gods (if any faith regarde)With sharpe reuenge her faithles change reward.Lu.The dole she made vpon our ouerthrow,Her Realme giuen vp for refuge to our men,Her poore attire when she deuoutly keptThe solemne day of her natiuitie,Againe the cost, and prodigall expenceShew’d when she did your birth day celebrate,Do plaine enough her heart vnfained proue,Equally toucht, you louing, as you loue.Ant.Well; be her loue to me or false, or true,Once in my soule a cureles wound I feele.I loue, nay burne in fire of her loue:Each day, each night her Image haunts my minde,Her selfe my dreams: and still I tired am,And still I am with burning pincers nipt.Extreame my harme: yet sweeter to my senceThen boiling Torch of iealouse torments fire:This grief, nay rage, in me such sturre doth kepe,And thornes me still, both when I wake and slepe.TakeCæsarconquest, take my goods, take heTh’onor to be Lord of the earth alone,My Sonnes, my life bent headlong to mishapps:No force, so not myCleopatratake.So foolish I, I can not her forget,Though better were I banisht her my thought.Like to the sicke, whose throte the feauers fireHath vehemently with thirstie drouth enflam’d,Drinkes still, albee the drinke he still desiresBe nothing else but fewell to his flame:He can not rule himselfe: his health’s respectYeldeth to his distempred stomackes heate.Lu.Leaue of this loue, that thus renewes your woe.Ant.I do my best, but ah! can not do so.Lu.Thinke how you haue so braue a captaine bene,And now are by this vaine affection falne.Ant.The ceasles thought of my felicitiePlunges me more in this aduersitie.For nothing so a man in ill torments,As who to him his good state represents.This makes my rack, my anguish, and my woeEquall vnto the hellish passions growe,When I to minde my happie puisance callWhich erst I had by warlike conquest wonne,And that good fortune which me neuer left,Which hard disastre now hath me bereft.With terror tremble all the world I madeAt my sole worde, as Rushes in the streamesAt waters will: I conquer’d Italie,I conquer’dRome, that Nations so redoubt.I bare (meane while besiegingMutina)Two Consuls armies for my ruine brought,Bath’d in their bloud, by their deaths witnessingMy force and skill in matters Martiall.To wreake thy vnkle, vnkindeCæsar, IWith bloud of enemies the bankes embru’dOf stain’dEnipeus, hindering his courseStopped with heapes of piled carcases:WhenCassiusandBrutusill betideMarcht against vs, by vs twise put to flight,But by my sole conduct: for all the timeCæsarheart-sicke with feare and feauer laie.Who knowes it not? and how by euery oneFame of the fact was giu’n to me alone.There sprang the loue, the neuer changing loue,Wherein my hart hath since to yours bene bound:There was it, myLucil, youBrutussau’de,And for yourBrutusAntonieyou found.Better my happ in gaining such a frende,Then in subduing such an enemie.Now former vertue dead doth me forsake,Fortune engulfes me in extreame distresse:She turnes from me her smiling countenance,Casting on me mishapp vpon mishapp,Left and betraide of thousand thousand frends,Once of my sute, but youLucilare left,Remaining to me stedfast as a towerIn holy loue, in spite of fortunes blastes.But if of any God my voice be heard,And be not vainely scatt’red in the heau’ns,Such goodnes shall not glorilesse be loste,But comming ages still therof shall boste.Lu.Men in their frendship euer should be one,And neuer ought with fickle Fortune shake,Which still remoues, nor will, nor knowes the way,Her rowling bowle in one sure state to staie.Wherfore we ought as borrow’d things receiueThe goods light she lends vs to pay againe:Not holde them sure, nor on them builde our hopesAs one such goods as cannot faile, and fall:But thinke againe, nothing is dureable,Vertue except, our neuer failing hoste:So bearing saile when fauouring windes do blowe,As frowning Tempests may vs least dismaieWhen they on vs do fall: not ouer-gladWith good estate, nor ouer-grieu’d with bad.Resist mishap.Ant.Alas! it is too stronge.Mishappes oft times are by some comfort borne:But these, ay me! whose weights oppresse my hart,Too heauie lie, no hope can them relieue.There rests no more, but that with cruell bladeFor lingring death a hastie waie be made.Lu.Cæsar, as heire vnto his Fathers state:So will his Fathers goodnes imitate,To you warde: whome he know’s allied in bloud,Allied in mariage, ruling equallieTh’ Empire with him, and with him making warreHaue purg’d the earth ofCæsarsmurtherers.You into portions parted haue the worldEuen like coheir’s their heritages parte:And now with one accord so many yearesIn quiet peace both haue your charges rul’d.Ant.Bloud and alliance nothing do preuaileTo coole the thirst of hote ambitious breasts:The sonne his Father hardly can endure,Brother his brother, in one common Realme.So feruent this desier to commaund:Such iealousie it kindleth in our hearts.Sooner will men permit another shouldLoue her they loue, then weare the Crowne they weare.All lawes it breakes, turns all things vpside downe:Amitie, kindred, nought so holie isBut it defiles. A monarchie to gaineNone cares which way, so he maie it obtaine.Lu.Suppose he Monarch be and that this worldNo more acknowledg sundrie Emperours.ThatRomehim onelie feare, and that he ioyneThe East with west, and both at once do rule:Why should he not permitt you peaceablieDischarg’d of charge and Empires dignitie,Priuate to liue readingPhilosophie,In learnedGreece,Spaine,Asia, anie lande?Ant.Neuer will he his Empire thinke assur’deWhile in this worldMarke Antonieshall liue.Sleeples Suspicion, Pale distrust, colde feareAlwaies to princes companie do beareBred of Reports: reports which night and dayPerpetuall guests from Court go not away.Lu.He hath not slaine your brotherLucius,Nor shortned hath the age ofLepidus,Albeit both into his hands were falne,And he with wrath against them both enflam’d.Yet one, as Lord in quiet rest doth beareThe greatest sway in greatIberia.The other with his gentle Prince retainesOf highest Priest the sacred dignitie.Ant.He feares not them, their feeble force he knowes.Lu.He feares no vanquisht ouerfill’d with woes.Ant.Fortune may chaunge againe,L.A down-cast foeCan hardlie rise, which once is brought so lowe.Ant.All that I can, is done: for last assay(When all means fail’d) I to entreatie fell,(Ah coward creature!) whence againe repulstOf combate I vnto him proffer made:Though he in prime, and I by feeble ageMightily weakned both in force and skill.Yet could not he his coward heart aduaunceBaselie affraid to trie so praisefull chaunce.This makes me plaine, makes me my selfe accuse,Fortune in this hir spitefull force doth vse’Gainst my gray hayres: in this vnhappie IRepine at heau’ns in my happes pittiles.A man, a woman both in might and minde,InMarsesschole who neuer lesson learn’d,Should me repulse, chase, ouerthrow, destroie,Me of such fame, bring to so lowe an ebbe?Alcidesbloud, who from my infancieWith happie prowesse crowned haue my praise.Witnesse thouGaulevnus’d to seruile yoke,Thou valiantSpaine, you fields ofThessalieWith millions of mourning cries bewail’d,Twise watred now with bloude ofItalie.Lu.witnesse mayAfrique, and of conquer’d worldAll fower quarters witnesses may be.For in what part of earth inhabited,Hungrie of praise haue you not ensignes spredd?An.Thou know’st richÆgypt(Ægyptof my deedsFaire and foule subiect)Ægyptah! thou know’stHow I behau’d me fighting for thy kinge,When I regainde him his rebellious Realme.Against his foes in battaile shewing force,And after fight in victorie remorse.Yet if to bring my glorie to the ground,Fortune had made me ouerthrowne by oneOf greater force, of better skill then I;One of those Captaines feared so of olde,Camill,Marcellus, worthyScipio,This late greatCæsar, honor of our state,Or that greatPompeiaged growne in armes;That after haruest of a world of menMade in a hundred battailes, fights, assaults,My bodie thorow pearst with push of pikeHad vomited my bloud, in bloud my life,In midd’st of millions felowes in my fall:The lesse hir wrong, the lesse should my woe:Nor she should paine, nor I complain me so.No, no, wheras I should haue died in armes,And vanquisht oft new armies should haue arm’d,New battailes giuen, and rather lost with meAll this whole world submitted vnto me:A man who neuer saw enlaced pikesWith bristled pointes against his stomake bent,Who feares the field, and hides him cowardlyDead at the verie noise the souldiors make.His vertue, fraude, deceit, malicious guile,His armes the arts that falseVlissesvs’de,Knowne at Modena, wher theConsulsbothDeath-wounded were, and wounded by his menTo gett their armie, warre with it to makeAgainst his faith, against his countrie soile.OfLepidus, which to his succours came,To honor whome he was by dutie bounde;The Empire he vsurpt: corrupting firstWith baites and bribes the most part of his men.Yet me hath ouercome, and made his pray,And state ofRome, with me hath ouercome.Strange! one disordred act atActiumThe earth subdu’de, my glorie hath obscur’d.For since, as one whome heauens wrath attaints,With furie caught, and more then furiousVex’d with my euills, I neuer more had careMy armies lost, or lost name to repaire:I did no more resist.Lu.All warres affaires,But battailes most, daily haue their successeNow good, now ill: and though that fortune haueGreat force and power in euery worldlie thing,Rule all, do all, haue all things fast enchaindVnto the circle of hir turning wheele:Yet seemes it more then any practise elseShe doth frequentBallonasbloudie trade:And that hir fauour, wauering as the wind,Hir greatest power therin doth oftnest shewe.Whence growes, we dailie see, who in their youthGatt honor ther, do loose it in their age,Vanquisht by some lesse warlike then themselues:Whome yet a meaner man shall ouerthrowe.Hir vse is not to lende vs still her hande,But sometimes headlong back a gaine to throwe,When by hir fauor she hath vs extolldVnto the topp of highest happines.Ant.well ought I curse within my grieued soule,Lamenting daie and night, this sencelesse loue,Whereby my faire entising foe entrap’dMy hedelesseReason, could no more escape.It was not fortunes euer chaunging face,It was not Dest’nies chaungles violenceForg’d my mishap. Alas! who doth not knowThey make, nor marre, nor any thing can doe.Fortune, which men so feare, adore, detest,Is but a chaunce whose cause vnknow’n doth rest.Although oft times the cause is well perceiu’d,But not th’effect the fame that was conceiu’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 mireWith glutted heart I wallow’d in delights,All thoughts of honor troden vnder foote.So I me lost: for finding this swete cuppPleasing my tast, vnwise I drunke my fill,And through the swetenes of that poisons powerBy stepps I draue my former witts astraie.I made my frends, offended me forsake,I holpe my foes against my selfe to rise.I robd my subiects, and for followersI saw my selfe besett with flatterers.Mine idle armes faire wrought with spiders worke,My scattred men without their ensignes strai’d:Cæsarmeane while who neuer would haue dar’deTo cope with me, me sodainlie despis’de,Tooke hart to fight, and hop’de for victorieOn one so gone, who glorie had forgone.Lu.Enchaunting pleasure;Venusswete delightsWeaken our bodies, ouer-cloud our sprights,Trouble our reason, from our harts out chaseAll holie vertues lodging in their place.Like as the cunning fisher takes the fisheBy traitor baite wherby the hooke is hidde:SoPleasureserues to vice in steede of foodeTo baite our soules theron too licourishe.This poison deadlie is alike to all,But on great kings doth greatest outrage worke,Taking the Roiall scepters from their hands,Thenceforward to be by some straunger borne:While that their people charg’d with heauy loadesTheir flatt’rers pill, and suck their mary drie,Not ru’lde but left to great men as a pray,While this fonde Prince himselfe in pleasur’s drowns:Who heares nought, sees nought, doth nought of a king,Seming himselfe against himselfe conspirde.Then equall Iustice wandreth banished,And in hir seat sitts greedie Tyrannie.Confus’d disorder troubleth all estates,Crimes without feare and outrages are done.Then mutinousRebellionshewes hir face,Now hid with this, and now with that pretence,Prouoking enimies, which on each sideEnter at ease, and make them Lords of all.The hurtfull workes of pleasure here behold.An.The wolfe is not so hurtfull to the folde,Frost to the grapes, to ripened fruits the raine:As pleasure is to Princes full of paine.Lu.Ther nedes no proofe, but by th’Assiriankinge,On whome that Monster woefull wrack did bring.An.Ther nedes no proofe, but by vnhappie I,Who lost my empire, honor, life therby.Lu.Yet hath this ill so much the greater force,As scarcelie anie do against it stand:No, not the Demy-gods the olde world knew,Who all subdu’de, couldPleasurespower subdue.GreatHercules,Herculesonce that wasWonder of earth and heau’n, matchles in might,WhoAnteus,Lycus,Geryonouercame,Who drew from hell the triple-headed dogg,WhoHydrakill’d, vanquishdAchelous,Who heauens weight on his strong shoulders bare:Did he not vnderPleasuresburthen bow?Did he not Captiue to this passion yelde,When by his Captiue, so he was enflam’de,As now your selfe inCleopatraburne?Slept in hir lapp, hir bosome kist and kiste,With base vnsemelie seruice bought her loue,Spinning at distaffe, and with sinewy handWinding on spindles threde, in maides attire?His conqu’ring clubbe at rest on wal did hang:His bow vnstringd he bent not as he vs’de:Vpon his shafts the weauing spiders spunne:And his hard cloake the freating mothes did pierce.The monsters free and fearles all the timeThroughout the world the people did torment,And more and more encreasing daie by dayScorn’d his weake heart become a mistresse plaie.An.In onelie this likeHerculesam I,In this I proue me of his lignage right:In this himselfe, his deedes I shew in this,In this, nought else, my ancestor he is.But go we: die I must, and with braue endeConclusion make of all foregoing harmes:Die, die I must: I must a noble death,A glorious death vnto my succor call:I must deface the shame of time abus’d,I must adorne the wanton loues I vs’deWith some couragiouse act: that my last daieBy mine owne hand my spotts may wash away.Come deareLucill: alas! why wepe you thus!This mortall lot is common to vs all.We must all die, each doth in homage oweVnto that God that shar’d the Realmes belowe.Ah sigh no more: alas: appeace your woes,For by your griefe my griefe more eager growes.Chorus.Alas, with what tormenting fire.Vs martireth this blinde desireTo staie our life from flieng!How ceasleslie our minds doth rack,How heauie lies vpon our backThis dastard feare of dieng!Deathrather healthfull succor giues,Deathrather all mishappes relieuesThat life vpon vs throweth:And euer to vs doth vncloseThe doore, wherby from curelesse woesOur wearie soule out goeth.What Goddesse else more milde then sheeTo burie all our paine can be,What remedie more pleasing?Our pained hearts when dolor stings,And nothing rest, or respite brings,What help haue we more easing?Hopewhich to vs doth comfort giue,And doth or fainting hearts reuiue,Hath not such force in anguish:For promising a vaine reliefeShe oft vs failes in midst of griefe,And helples letts vs languish.But Death who call on her at nedeDoth neuer with vaine semblant feed,But when them sorow paineth,So riddes their soules of all distresseWhose heauie weight did them oppresse,That not one griefe remaineth.Who feareles and with courage boldeCanAcheronsblack face beholde,Which muddie water beareth:And crossing ouer, in the wayIs not amaz’d at Perruque grayOlde rustieCharonweareth:Who voide of dread can looke vponThe dreadfull shades that rome alone,On bankes where sound no voices:Whom with her fire-brands and her SnakesNo whit afraideAlectomakes,Nor triple-barking noyses:Who freely can himselfe disposeOf that last hower which all must close,And leaue this life at pleasure:This noble freedome more esteemes,And in his hart more precious deemes,Then Crowne and kingly treasure.The waues whichBoreasblasts turmoileAnd cause with foaming furie boile,Make not his heart to tremble:Nor brutish broile, when with strong headA rebell people madly leddeAgainst their Lords assemble:Nor fearfull face of Tirant wood,Who breaths but threats, and drinks but bloud,No, nor the hand which thunder,The hand ofIouewhich thunder beares,And ribbs of rocks in sunder teares,Teares mountains sides in sunder:Nor bloudieMarsesbutchering bands,Whose lightnings desert laie the landswhome dustie cloudes do couer:From of whose armour sun-beames flie,And vnder them make quaking lieThe plaines wheron they houer:Nor yet the cruell murth’ring bladeWarme in the moistie bowells madeof people pell mell diengIn some great Cittie put to sackBy sauage Tirant brought to wrack,At his colde mercie lieng.How abiect him, how base think I,Who wanting courage can not dyeWhen need him therto calleth?From whom the dagger drawne to killThe curelesse griefes that vexe him stillFor feare and faintnes falleth?OAntoniewith thy deare mateBoth in misfortunes fortunate!Whose thoughts to death aspiringShall you protect from victors rage,Who on each side doth you encage,To triumph much desiring.ThatCæsarmay you not offendNought else but Death can you defend,which his weake force derideth,And all in this round earth containd,Powr’les on them whom once enchaindAuernusprison hideth:Where greatPsammetiquesghost doth rest,Not with infernall paine possest,But in swete fields detained:And oldeAmasissoule likewise,And all our famousPtolemiesThat whilome on vs raigned.Act. 4.Cæsar. Agrippa. Dircetusthe Messenger.Cæsar.You euer-liuing Gods which all things holdeWithin the power of your celestiall hands,By whom heate, colde, the thunder, and the winde,The properties of enterchaunging mon’thsTheir course and being haue, which do set downeOf Empires by your destinied decreeThe force, age, time, and subiect to no chaungeChaunge all, reseruing nothing in one state:You haue aduaunst, as high as thundring heau’nTheRomainsgreatnes byBellonasmight:Mastring the world with fearfull violence,Making the world widow of libertie.Yet at this daie this proud exaltedRomeDespoil’d, captiu’d, at one mans will doth bende:Her Empire mine, her life is in my hand,As Monarch I both world andRomecommaund;Do all, can all; fourth my commaund’ment castLike thundring fire from one to other PoleEquall to Ioue: bestowing by my wordeHappes and mishappes, as Fortunes King and Lord.No Towne there is, but vp my Image settes,But sacrifice to me doth dayly make:Whither wherePhæbusioyne his morning steedes,Or where the night them weary entertaines,Or where the heat theGaramantsdoth scorche,Or where the colde fromBoreasbreast is blowne:AllCæsardo both awe and honor beare,And crowned Kings his verie name do feare.Antonieknowes it well, for whom not oneOf all the Princes all this earth do rule,Armes against me: for all redoubt the powerWhich heau’nly powers on earth haue made me beare.Antonie, he poore man with fire enflam’deA womans beauties kindled in his heart,Rose against me, who longer could not beareMy sisters wrong he did so ill entreat:Seing her left while that his leud delightsHer husband with hisCleopatratookeInAlexandrie, where both nights and daiesTheir time they pass’d in nought but loues and plaies.AllAsiasforces into one he drewe,And forth he sett vpon the azur’d wauesA thousand and a thousand Shipps, which fill’dWith Souldiors, pikes, with targets, arrowes, darts,MadeNeptunequake, and all the watrie troupesOfGlauques, andTritonslodg’d atActium.But mightie Gods, who still the force withstandOf him, who causles doth another wrong,In lesse then moments space redus’d to noughtAll that proud power by Sea or land he brought.Agr.Presumptuouse pride of high and hawtie sprite,Voluptuouse care of fonde and foolish loue,Haue iustly wrought his wrack: who thought he helde(By ouerweening) Fortune in his hand.Of vs he made no count, but as to play,So fearles came our forces to assay.So sometimes fell to Sonnes of Mother Earth,Which crawl’d to heau’n warre on the Gods to make,OlymponPelion,OssaonOlymp,PindusonOssaloading by degrees:That at hand strokes with mightie clubbes they mightOn mossie rocks the Gods make tumble downe:When mightieIouewith burning anger chaf’d,Disbraind with himGygesandBriareus,Blunting his darts vpon their brused bones.For no one thing the Gods can lesse abideIn dedes of men, then Arrogance and Pride.And still the proud, which too much takes in hand,Shall fowlest fall, where best he thinks to stand.Cæs.Right as some Pallace, or some stately tower,Which ouer-lookes the neighbour buildings roundIn scorning wise, and to the Starres vp growes,Which in short time his owne weight ouerthrowes.What monstrous pride, nay what impietieIncen’st him onward to the Gods disgrace?When his two children,Cleopatrasbratts,ToPhæbeand her brother he compar’d,Latonasrace, causing them to be call’dThe Sunne and Moone? Is not this folie right?And is not this the Gods to make his foes?And is not this himself to worke his woes?Agr.In like proud sort he caus’d his head to leeseThe Iewish kingAntigonus, to haueHis Realme for balme, thatCleopatralou’d,As though on him he had some treason prou’d.Cæs.Lydiato her, andSiriahe gaue,Cyprusof golde,Arabiarich of smelles:And to his children moreCilicia,Parth’s,Medes,Armenia,Phænicia:The kings of kings proclaiming them to be,By his owne worde, as by a sound decree.Agr.What? Robbing his owne countrie of her dueTriumph’d he not inAlexandria,OfArtabasustheArmenianKing,Who yelded on his periur’d word to him?Cæs.Nay, neuerRomemore iniuries receiu’d,Since thou, ôRomulus, by flight of birdswith happy hand theRomainwalles did’st build,ThenAntoniesfond loues to it hath done.Nor euer warre more holie, nor more iust,Nor vndertaken with more hard constraint,Then is this warre: which were it not, our stateWithin small time all dignitie should loose:Though I lament (thou Sunne my witnes art;And thou greatIoue) that it so deadly proues:ThatRomainbloud should in such plentie flowe,Watring the fields and pastures where we goe.WhatCarthagein olde hatred obstinate,WhatGaulestill barking at our rising state,What rebellSamnite, what fiercePyrrhuspower,What cruellMithridate, whatParthhath wroughtSuch woe toRome: whose common wealth he had,(Had he bene victor) intoEgiptbrought.Agr.Surely the Gods, which haue this Cittie builtStedfast to stand as long as time endures,Which kepe the Capitoll, of vs take care,And care will take of those shall after come,Haue made you victor, that you might redresseTheir honor growne by passed mischieues lesse.Cæs.The seelie man when all the Greekish SeaHis fleete had hidd, in hope me sure to drowne,Me battaile gaue: where fortune, in my stede,Repulsing him his forces disaraied.Him selfe tooke flight, soone as his loue he sawAll 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 serue,With darts, with swords, with Pikes, with fierie flames.So that the darkned night her starrie vaileVpon the bloudie sea had ouer-spred,Whilst yet they held: and hardlie, hardlie thenThey fell to flieng on the wauie plaine.All full of Souldiors ouerwhelm’d with waues:The aire throughout with cries and grones did sound:The Sea did blush with bloud: the neighbor shoresGroned, so they with shipwracks pestred were,And floting bodies left for pleasing foodeTo birds, and beasts, and fishes of the sea.You know it wellAgrippa.Ag.Mete it wasTheRomainEmpire so should ruled be,As heau’n is rul’d: which turning ouer vs,All vnder things by his example turnes.Now as of heau’n one onely Lord we know:One onely Lord should rule this earth below.When one self 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.Then to the ende none, while my daies endure,Seeking to raise himselfe may succours finde,We must with bloud marke this our victorie,For iust example to all memorie.Murther we must, vntill not one we leaue,Which may hereafter vs of rest bereaue.Ag.Marke it with murthers? who of that can like?Cæ.Murthers must vse, who doth assurance seeke.Ag.Assurance call you enemies to make?Cæs.I make no such, but such away I take.Ag.Nothing so much as rigour doth displease.Cæs.Nothing so much doth make me liue at ease.Ag.What ease to him that feared is of all?Cæ.Feared to be, and see his foes to fall.Ag.Commonly feare doth brede and nourish hate.Cæ.Hate without pow’r comes comonly too late.Ag.A feared Prince hath oft his death desir’d.Cæ.A Prince not fear’d hath oft his wrong conspir’de.Ag.No guard so sure, no forte so strong doth proue,No such defence, as is the peoples loue.Cæs.Nought more vnsure more weak, more like the winde,ThenPeoplesfauor still to chaunge enclinde.Ag.Good Gods! what loue to gracious Prince men beare!Cæs.What honor to the Prince that is seuere!Ag.Nought more diuine then isBenignitie.Cæ.Nought likes theGodsas dothSeueritie.Ag.Godsall forgiue.Cæ.On faults they paines do laie.Ag.And giue their goods.Cæ.Oft times they take away.Ag.They wreake them not, ôCæsar, at each timeThat by our sinnes they are to wrathe prouok’d.Neither must you (beleue, I humblie praie)Your victorie with crueltie defile.The Gods it gaue, it must not be abus’d,But to the good of all men mildlie vs’d,And they be thank’d: that hauing giu’n you graceTo raigne alone, and rule this earthlie masse,They may hence-forward hold it still in rest,All scattred power vnited in one brest.Cæ.But what is he, that breathles comes so fast,Approaching vs, and going in such hast?Ag.He semes affraid: and vnder his arme I(But much I erre) a bloudie sworde espie.Cæs.I long to vnderstand what it may be.Ag.He hither comes: it’s best we stay and see.Dirce.What good God now my voice will reenforce,That tell I may to rocks, and hilles, and woods,To waues of sea, which dash vpon the shore,To earth, to heau’n, the woefull newes I bring?Ag.What sodaine chaunce theetowardsvs hath brought?Dir.A lamentable chance. O wrath of heau’ns!O Gods too pittiles!Cæs.What monstrous happWilt thou recount?Dir.Alas too hard mishapp!When I but dreame of what mine eies beheld,My hart doth freeze, my limmes do quiuering quake,I senceles stand, my brest with tempest tostKilles in my throte my wordes, ere fully borne.Dead, dead he is: be sure of what I say,This murthering sword hath made the man away.Cæs.Alas my heart doth cleaue, pittie me rackes,My breast doth pant to heare this dolefull tale.IsAntoniethen dead? To death, alas!I am the cause despaire him so compelld.But souldiour of his death the maner showe,And how he did this liuing light forgoe.Dir.WhenAntonieno hope remaining sawHow warre he might, or how agreement make,Saw him betraid by all his men of warreIn euery fight as well by sea, as lande;That not content to yeld them to their foesThey also came against himselfe to fight:Alone in Court he gan himself torment,Accuse theQueene, himselfe of hir lament,Call’d hir vntrue and traytresse, as who foughtTo yeld him vp 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 furie fear’d,Gatt to the Tombes, darke horrors dwelling place:Made lock the doores, and pull the hearses downe.Then fell shee wretched, with hir selfe to fight.A thousand plaints, a thousand sobbes she castFrom hir weake brest which to the bones was torne,Of women hir the most vnhappie call’d,Who by hir loue, hir woefull loue, had lostHir realme, hir life, and more, the loue of him,Who while he was, was all hir woes support.But that she faultles was she did inuokeFor witnes heau’n, and aire, and earth, and sea.Then sent him worde, she was no more aliue,But lay inclosed dead within hir Tombe.This he beleeu’d; and fell to sigh and grone,And crost his armes, then thus began to mone.Cæs.Poore hopeles man!Dir.What dost thou more attend?AhAntonie! why dost thou death deferre?SinceFortunethy professed enimie,Hath made to die, who only made thee liue?Sone as with sighes he had these words vp clos’d,His armor he vnlaste, and cast it of,Then all disarm’d he thus againe did say:My Queene, my heart, the grief that now I feele,Is not that I your eies, my Sunne, do loose,For soone againe one Tombe shal vs conioyne:I grieue, whom men so valorouse did deeme,Should now, then you, of lesser valor seeme.So said, forthwith heErosto him call’d,Eroshis man; summond him on his faithTo kill him at his nede. He tooke the sworde,And at that instant stab’d therwith his breast,And ending life fell dead before his fete.OErosthankes (quothAntonie) for thisMost noble acte, who pow’rles me to kill,On thee hast done, what I on mee should doe.Of speaking thus he scarce had made an ende,And taken vp the bloudie sword from ground,But he his bodie piers’d; and of redd bloudA gushing fountaine all the chamber fill’d.He staggred at the blowe, his face grew pale,And on a couche all feeble downe he fell,Swounding with anguish: deadly cold him tooke,As if his soule had then his lodging left.But he reuiu’d, and marking all our eiesBathed in teares, and how our breasts we beattFor pittie, anguish, and for bitter griefe,To see him plong’d in extreame wretchednes:He prai’d vs all to haste his lingr’ing death:But no man willing, each himselfe withdrew.Then fell he new to crie and vexe himselfe,Vntill a man fromCleopatracame,Who said from hir he had commaundementTo bring him to hir to the monument.The poore soule at these words euen rapt with IoyKnowing she liu’d, prai’d vs him to conueyVnto his Ladie. Then vpon our armesWe bare him to the Tombe, but entred not.For she, who feared captiue to be made,And that she should toRomein triumph goe,Kept close the gate: but from a window highCast downe a corde, wherin he was impackt.Then by hir womens helpt the corps she rais’d,And by strong armes into hir windowe drew.So pittifull a sight was neuer sene.Little and littleAntoniewas pull’d,Now breathing death: his beard was all vnkempt,His face and brest all bathed in his bloud.So hideous yet, and dieng as he was,His eies half-clos’d vppon the Queene he cast:Held vp his hands, and holpe himself to raise,But still with weakenes back his bodie fell.The miserable ladie with moist eies,With haire which careles on hir forhead hong,With brest which blowes had bloudilie benumb’d,With stooping head, and bodie down-ward bent,Enlast hir in the corde, and with all forceThis life-dead man couragiously vprais’de.The bloud with paine into hir face did flowe,Hir sinewes stiff, her selfe did breathles growe.The people which beneath in flocks beheld,Assisted her with gesture, speech, desire:Cri’de and incourag’d her, and in their soulesDid sweate, and labor, no white lesse then shee.Who neuer tir’d in labor, held so longHelpt by hir women, and hir constant heart,ThatAntoniewas drawne into the tombe,And ther (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 ageDo all pell mell in house and strete lament,Scratching their faces, tearing of their haire,Wringing their hands, and martyring their brests.Extreame their dole: and greater miseryIn sacked townes can hardlie euer 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 riuers stream’d;That sonne his sire saw in his bosome slaine,The sire his sonne: the husband reft of breathIn his wiues armes, who furious runnes to death.Now my brest wounded with their piteouse plaintsI left their towne, and tooke with me this sworde,Which I tooke vp at what timeAntonieWas from his chamber caried to the tombe:And brought it you, to make his death more plaine,And that therby my words may credite gaine.Cæs.Ah Gods what cruell happ! pooreAntonie,

O swete fertile land, wherin

Phæbusdid with breath inspire

Man who men did first begin,

Formed first ofNilusmire.

Whence ofArtesthe eldest kindes,

Earthes most heauenly ornament,

Were as from their fountaine sent,

To enlight our mistie mindes.

Whose grosse sprite from endles time,

As in darkned prison pente,

Neuer did to knowledg clime.

Wher theNile, our father good,

Father-like doth neuer misse

Yearely vs to bring such food,

As to life required is:

Visiting each yeare this plaine,

And with fatt slime cou’ring it,

Which his seauen mouthes do spitt,

As the season comes againe.

Making therby greatest growe

Busie reapers ioyfull paine,

When his flouds do highest flowe.

Wandring Prince of riuers thou,

Honor of theÆthiopslande,

Of a Lord and master now

Thou a slaue in awe must stand.

Now ofTiberwhich is spred

Lesse in force, and lesse in fame

Reuerence thou must the name,

Whome all other riuers dread,

For his children swolne in pride,

Who by conquest seeke to treade

Round this earth on euery side.

Now thou must begin to sende

Tribute of thy watrie store,

As Sea pathes thy stepps shall bende,

Yearely presents more and more.

Thy fatt skumme, our frutefull corne,

Pill’d from hence with theeuish hands

All vncloth’d shall leaue our lands

Into foraine Countrie borne.

Which puft vp with such a pray

Shall therby the praise adorne

Of that scepterRomedoth sway.

Nought thee helps thy hornes to hide

Farre from hence in vnknowne grounds,

That thy waters wander wide,

Yearely breaking bankes, and bounds.

And that thy Skie-coullor’d brookes

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 worlde as freedome findes:

“Nought wherin more sparkes are rife

“To inflame couragious mindes.

“But if force must vs enforce

“Nedes a yoke to vndergoe,

“Vnder foraine yoke to goe

“Still it proues a bondage worse.

“And doubled subiection

“See we shall, and feele, and knowe

“Subiect to a stranger growne.

From hence forward for a King,

whose first being from this place

Should his brest by nature bring

Care of Countrie to embrace,

We at surly face must quake

Of someRomainemadly bent:

Who, our terrour to augment,

HisProconsulsaxe will shake.

Driuing with our Kings from hence

Our establish’d gouerment,

Iustice sworde, and Lawes defence.

Nothing worldly of such might

But more mightieDestinie,

By swiftTimesvnbridled flight,

Makes in ende his ende to see.

Euery thingTimeouerthrowes,

Nought to ende doth stedfast staie:

His great sithe mowes all away

As the stalke of tender rose.

Onlie Immortalitie

Of the Heau’ns doth it oppose

Gainst his powerfullDeitie.

One daie there will come a daie

Which shall quaile thy fortunes flower,

And thee ruinde low shall laie

In some barbarous Princes power.

When the pittie-wanting fire

Shall, ORome, thy beauties burne,

And to humble ashes turne

Thy proud wealth, and rich attire,

Those guilt roofes which turretwise,

Iustly making Enuie mourne,

Threaten now to pearce Skies.

As thy forces fill each land

Haruests making here and there,

Reaping all with rauening hand

They finde growing any where:

From each land so to thy fall

Multitudes repaire shall make,

From the common spoile to take

What to each mans share maie fall.

Fingred all thou shalt beholde:

No iote left for tokens sake

That thou wert so great of olde.

Like vnto the auncientTroie

Whence deriu’de thy founders be,

Conqu’ring foe shall thee enioie,

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.

And that nought, how strong or strange,

Chaungles doth endure alwaie,

But endureth fatall change.

Lucil, sole comfort of my bitter case,

The only trust, the only hope I haue,

In last despaire: Ah! is not this the daie

That death should me of life and loue bereaue?

What waite I for that haue no refuge left,

But am sole remnant of my fortune left?

All leaue me, flie me: none, no not of them

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

That heretofore they did me ought regarde:

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

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

Lu.In this our world nothing is stedfast found,

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

Ant.Yet nought afflicts me, nothing killes me so,

As that I so myCleopatrasee

Practize withCæsar, and to him transport

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

Lu.Beleeue it not: Too high a heart she beares,

Too Princelie thoughts.Ant.Too wise a head she weare

Too much enflam’d with greatnes, euermore

Gaping for our great Empires gouerment.

Ant.But still with me good fortune did abide.

Lu.Her changed loue what token makes you know?

An.Pelusiumlost, andActianouerthrow,

Both by her fraud: my well appointed fleet,

And trustie Souldiors in my quarell arm’d,

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

Came to persuade, to yelde them to my foe:

Such honorThyredone, such welcome giuen,

Their long close talkes I neither knew, nor would,

And treacherouse wrongAlexashath me done,

Witnes too well her periur’d loue to me.

But you O Gods (if any faith regarde)

With sharpe reuenge her faithles change reward.

Lu.The dole she made vpon our ouerthrow,

Her Realme giuen vp for refuge to our men,

Her poore attire when she deuoutly kept

The solemne day of her natiuitie,

Againe the cost, and prodigall expence

Shew’d when she did your birth day celebrate,

Do plaine enough her heart vnfained proue,

Equally toucht, you louing, as you loue.

Ant.Well; be her loue to me or false, or true,

Once in my soule a cureles wound I feele.

I loue, nay burne in fire of her loue:

Each day, each night her Image haunts my minde,

Her selfe my dreams: 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 iealouse torments fire:

This grief, nay rage, in me such sturre doth kepe,

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

TakeCæsarconquest, 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 myCleopatratake.

So foolish I, I can not her forget,

Though better were I banisht her my thought.

Like to the sicke, whose throte the feauers fire

Hath vehemently with thirstie drouth enflam’d,

Drinkes still, albee the drinke he still desires

Be nothing else but fewell to his flame:

He can not rule himselfe: his health’s respect

Yeldeth to his distempred stomackes heate.

Lu.Leaue of this loue, that thus renewes your woe.

Ant.I do my best, but ah! can not do so.

Lu.Thinke how you haue so braue a captaine bene,

And now are by this vaine affection falne.

Ant.The ceasles thought of my felicitie

Plunges me more in this aduersitie.

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 vnto the hellish passions growe,

When I to minde my happie puisance call

Which erst I had by warlike conquest wonne,

And that good fortune which me neuer left,

Which hard disastre now hath me bereft.

With terror tremble all the world I made

At my sole worde, as Rushes in the streames

At waters will: I conquer’d Italie,

I conquer’dRome, that Nations so redoubt.

I bare (meane while besiegingMutina)

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 vnkle, vnkindeCæsar, I

With bloud of enemies the bankes embru’d

Of stain’dEnipeus, hindering his course

Stopped with heapes of piled carcases:

WhenCassiusandBrutusill betide

Marcht against vs, by vs twise put to flight,

But by my sole conduct: for all the time

Cæsarheart-sicke with feare and feauer laie.

Who knowes it not? and how by euery one

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

There sprang the loue, the neuer changing loue,

Wherein my hart hath since to yours bene bound:

There was it, myLucil, youBrutussau’de,

And for yourBrutusAntonieyou found.

Better my happ in gaining such a frende,

Then in subduing such an enemie.

Now former vertue dead doth me forsake,

Fortune engulfes me in extreame distresse:

She turnes from me her smiling countenance,

Casting on me mishapp vpon mishapp,

Left and betraide of thousand thousand frends,

Once of my sute, but youLucilare left,

Remaining to me stedfast as a tower

In holy loue, in spite of fortunes blastes.

But if of any God my voice be heard,

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

Such goodnes shall not glorilesse be loste,

But comming ages still therof shall boste.

Lu.Men in their frendship euer should be one,

And neuer ought with fickle Fortune shake,

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

Her rowling bowle in one sure state to staie.

Wherfore we ought as borrow’d things receiue

The goods light she lends vs to pay againe:

Not holde them sure, nor on them builde our hopes

As one such goods as cannot faile, and fall:

But thinke againe, nothing is dureable,

Vertue except, our neuer failing hoste:

So bearing saile when fauouring windes do blowe,

As frowning Tempests may vs least dismaie

When they on vs do fall: not ouer-glad

With good estate, nor ouer-grieu’d with bad.

Resist mishap.Ant.Alas! it is too stronge.

Mishappes oft times are by some comfort borne:

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

Too heauie lie, no hope can them relieue.

There rests no more, but that with cruell blade

For lingring death a hastie waie be made.

Lu.Cæsar, as heire vnto his Fathers state:

So will his Fathers goodnes imitate,

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

Allied in mariage, ruling equallie

Th’ Empire with him, and with him making warre

Haue purg’d the earth ofCæsarsmurtherers.

You into portions parted haue the world

Euen like coheir’s their heritages parte:

And now with one accord so many yeares

In quiet peace both haue your charges rul’d.

Ant.Bloud and alliance nothing do preuaile

To coole the thirst of hote ambitious breasts:

The sonne his Father hardly can endure,

Brother his brother, in one common Realme.

So feruent this desier to commaund:

Such iealousie it kindleth in our hearts.

Sooner will men permit another should

Loue her they loue, then weare the Crowne they weare.

All lawes it breakes, turns all things vpside downe:

Amitie, kindred, nought so holie is

But it defiles. A monarchie to gaine

None cares which way, so he maie it obtaine.

Lu.Suppose he Monarch be and that this world

No more acknowledg sundrie Emperours.

ThatRomehim onelie feare, and that he ioyne

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

Why should he not permitt you peaceablie

Discharg’d of charge and Empires dignitie,

Priuate to liue readingPhilosophie,

In learnedGreece,Spaine,Asia, anie lande?

Ant.Neuer will he his Empire thinke assur’de

While in this worldMarke Antonieshall liue.

Sleeples Suspicion, Pale distrust, colde feare

Alwaies to princes companie do beare

Bred of Reports: reports which night and day

Perpetuall guests from Court go not away.

Lu.He hath not slaine your brotherLucius,

Nor shortned hath the age ofLepidus,

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 greatIberia.

The other with his gentle Prince retaines

Of highest Priest the sacred dignitie.

Ant.He feares not them, their feeble force he knowes.

Lu.He feares no vanquisht ouerfill’d with woes.

Ant.Fortune may chaunge againe,L.A down-cast foe

Can hardlie rise, which once is brought so lowe.

Ant.All that I can, is done: for last assay

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

(Ah coward creature!) whence againe repulst

Of combate I vnto 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 aduaunce

Baselie affraid to trie so praisefull chaunce.

This makes me plaine, makes me my selfe accuse,

Fortune in this hir spitefull force doth vse

Repine at heau’ns in my happes pittiles.

A man, a woman both in might and minde,

InMarsesschole who neuer lesson learn’d,

Should me repulse, chase, ouerthrow, destroie,

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

Alcidesbloud, who from my infancie

With happie prowesse crowned haue my praise.

Witnesse thouGaulevnus’d to seruile yoke,

Thou valiantSpaine, you fields ofThessalie

With millions of mourning cries bewail’d,

Twise watred now with bloude ofItalie.

Lu.witnesse mayAfrique, and of conquer’d world

All fower quarters witnesses may be.

For in what part of earth inhabited,

Hungrie of praise haue you not ensignes spredd?

An.Thou know’st richÆgypt(Ægyptof my deeds

Faire and foule subiect)Ægyptah! thou know’st

How I behau’d me fighting for thy kinge,

When I regainde him his rebellious Realme.

Against his foes in battaile shewing force,

And after fight in victorie remorse.

Yet if to bring my glorie to the ground,

Fortune had made me ouerthrowne by one

Of greater force, of better skill then I;

One of those Captaines feared so of olde,

Camill,Marcellus, worthyScipio,

This late greatCæsar, honor of our state,

Or that greatPompeiaged growne in armes;

That after haruest of a world of men

Made in a hundred battailes, fights, assaults,

My bodie 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 hir wrong, the lesse should my woe:

Nor she should paine, nor I complain me so.

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

And vanquisht oft new armies should haue arm’d,

New battailes giuen, and rather lost with me

All this whole world submitted vnto me:

A man who neuer saw enlaced pikes

With bristled pointes against his stomake bent,

Who feares the field, and hides him cowardly

Dead at the verie noise the souldiors make.

His vertue, fraude, deceit, malicious guile,

His armes the arts that falseVlissesvs’de,

Knowne at Modena, wher theConsulsboth

Death-wounded were, and wounded by his men

To gett their armie, warre with it to make

Against his faith, against his countrie soile.

OfLepidus, which to his succours came,

To honor whome he was by dutie bounde;

The Empire he vsurpt: corrupting first

With baites and bribes the most part of his men.

Yet me hath ouercome, and made his pray,

And state ofRome, with me hath ouercome.

Strange! one disordred act atActium

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

For since, as one whome heauens wrath attaints,

With furie caught, and more then furious

Vex’d with my euills, I neuer more had care

My armies lost, or lost name to repaire:

I did no more resist.Lu.All warres affaires,

But battailes most, daily haue their successe

Now good, now ill: and though that fortune haue

Great force and power in euery worldlie thing,

Rule all, do all, haue all things fast enchaind

Vnto the circle of hir turning wheele:

Yet seemes it more then any practise else

She doth frequentBallonasbloudie trade:

And that hir fauour, wauering as the wind,

Hir greatest power therin 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 themselues:

Whome yet a meaner man shall ouerthrowe.

Hir vse is not to lende vs still her hande,

But sometimes headlong back a gaine to throwe,

When by hir fauor she hath vs extolld

Vnto the topp of highest happines.

Ant.well ought I curse within my grieued soule,

Lamenting daie and night, this sencelesse loue,

Whereby my faire entising foe entrap’d

My hedelesseReason, could no more escape.

It was not fortunes euer 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 vnknow’n doth rest.

Although oft times the cause is well perceiu’d,

But not th’effect the fame that was conceiu’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 wallow’d in delights,

All thoughts of honor troden vnder foote.

So I me lost: for finding this swete cupp

Pleasing my tast, vnwise I drunke my fill,

And through the swetenes of that poisons power

By stepps I draue my former witts astraie.

I made my frends, offended me forsake,

I holpe my foes against my selfe to rise.

I robd my subiects, and for followers

I saw my selfe besett with flatterers.

Mine idle armes faire wrought with spiders worke,

My scattred men without their ensignes strai’d:

Cæsarmeane while who neuer would haue dar’de

To cope with me, me sodainlie despis’de,

Tooke hart to fight, and hop’de for victorie

On one so gone, who glorie had forgone.

Lu.Enchaunting pleasure;Venusswete delights

Weaken our bodies, ouer-cloud our sprights,

Trouble our reason, from our harts out chase

All holie vertues lodging in their place.

Like as the cunning fisher takes the fishe

By traitor baite wherby the hooke is hidde:

SoPleasureserues to vice in steede of foode

To baite our soules theron too licourishe.

This poison deadlie is alike to all,

But on great kings doth greatest outrage worke,

Taking the Roiall scepters from their hands,

Thenceforward to be by some straunger borne:

While that their people charg’d with heauy loades

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

Not ru’lde but left to great men as a pray,

While this fonde Prince himselfe in pleasur’s drowns:

Who heares nought, sees nought, doth nought of a king,

Seming himselfe against himselfe conspirde.

Then equall Iustice wandreth banished,

And in hir seat sitts greedie Tyrannie.

Confus’d disorder troubleth all estates,

Crimes without feare and outrages are done.

Then mutinousRebellionshewes hir face,

Now hid with this, and now with that pretence,

Prouoking enimies, which on each side

Enter at ease, and make them Lords of all.

The hurtfull workes of pleasure here behold.

An.The wolfe is not so hurtfull to the folde,

Frost to the grapes, to ripened fruits the raine:

As pleasure is to Princes full of paine.

Lu.Ther nedes no proofe, but by th’Assiriankinge,

On whome that Monster woefull wrack did bring.

An.Ther nedes no proofe, but by vnhappie I,

Who lost my empire, honor, life therby.

Lu.Yet hath this ill so much the greater force,

As scarcelie anie do against it stand:

No, not the Demy-gods the olde world knew,

Who all subdu’de, couldPleasurespower subdue.

GreatHercules,Herculesonce that was

Wonder of earth and heau’n, matchles in might,

WhoAnteus,Lycus,Geryonouercame,

Who drew from hell the triple-headed dogg,

WhoHydrakill’d, vanquishdAchelous,

Who heauens weight on his strong shoulders bare:

Did he not vnderPleasuresburthen bow?

Did he not Captiue to this passion yelde,

When by his Captiue, so he was enflam’de,

As now your selfe inCleopatraburne?

Slept in hir lapp, hir bosome kist and kiste,

With base vnsemelie seruice bought her loue,

Spinning at distaffe, and with sinewy hand

Winding on spindles threde, in maides attire?

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

His bow vnstringd he bent not as he vs’de:

Vpon his shafts the weauing spiders spunne:

And his hard cloake the freating mothes did pierce.

The monsters free and fearles all the time

Throughout the world the people did torment,

And more and more encreasing daie by day

Scorn’d his weake heart become a mistresse plaie.

An.In onelie this likeHerculesam I,

In this I proue me of his lignage right:

In this himselfe, his deedes I shew in this,

In this, nought else, my ancestor he is.

But go we: die I must, and with braue ende

Conclusion make of all foregoing harmes:

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

A glorious death vnto my succor call:

I must deface the shame of time abus’d,

I must adorne the wanton loues I vs’de

With some couragiouse act: that my last daie

By mine owne hand my spotts may wash away.

Come deareLucill: alas! why wepe you thus!

This mortall lot is common to vs all.

We must all die, each doth in homage owe

Vnto that God that shar’d the Realmes belowe.

Ah sigh no more: alas: appeace your woes,

For by your griefe my griefe more eager growes.

Alas, with what tormenting fire.Vs martireth this blinde desireTo staie our life from flieng!How ceasleslie our minds doth rack,How heauie lies vpon our backThis dastard feare of dieng!Deathrather healthfull succor giues,Deathrather all mishappes relieuesThat life vpon vs throweth:And euer to vs doth vncloseThe doore, wherby from curelesse woesOur wearie soule out goeth.What Goddesse else more milde then sheeTo burie all our paine can be,What remedie more pleasing?Our pained hearts when dolor stings,And nothing rest, or respite brings,What help haue we more easing?Hopewhich to vs doth comfort giue,And doth or fainting hearts reuiue,Hath not such force in anguish:For promising a vaine reliefeShe oft vs failes in midst of griefe,And helples letts vs languish.But Death who call on her at nedeDoth neuer with vaine semblant feed,But when them sorow paineth,So riddes their soules of all distresseWhose heauie weight did them oppresse,That not one griefe remaineth.Who feareles and with courage boldeCanAcheronsblack face beholde,Which muddie water beareth:And crossing ouer, in the wayIs not amaz’d at Perruque grayOlde rustieCharonweareth:Who voide of dread can looke vponThe dreadfull shades that rome alone,On bankes where sound no voices:Whom with her fire-brands and her SnakesNo whit afraideAlectomakes,Nor triple-barking noyses:Who freely can himselfe disposeOf that last hower which all must close,And leaue this life at pleasure:This noble freedome more esteemes,And in his hart more precious deemes,Then Crowne and kingly treasure.The waues whichBoreasblasts turmoileAnd cause with foaming furie boile,Make not his heart to tremble:Nor brutish broile, when with strong headA rebell people madly leddeAgainst their Lords assemble:Nor fearfull face of Tirant wood,Who breaths but threats, and drinks but bloud,No, nor the hand which thunder,The hand ofIouewhich thunder beares,And ribbs of rocks in sunder teares,Teares mountains sides in sunder:Nor bloudieMarsesbutchering bands,Whose lightnings desert laie the landswhome dustie cloudes do couer:From of whose armour sun-beames flie,And vnder them make quaking lieThe plaines wheron they houer:Nor yet the cruell murth’ring bladeWarme in the moistie bowells madeof people pell mell diengIn some great Cittie put to sackBy sauage Tirant brought to wrack,At his colde mercie lieng.How abiect him, how base think I,Who wanting courage can not dyeWhen need him therto calleth?From whom the dagger drawne to killThe curelesse griefes that vexe him stillFor feare and faintnes falleth?OAntoniewith thy deare mateBoth in misfortunes fortunate!Whose thoughts to death aspiringShall you protect from victors rage,Who on each side doth you encage,To triumph much desiring.ThatCæsarmay you not offendNought else but Death can you defend,which his weake force derideth,And all in this round earth containd,Powr’les on them whom once enchaindAuernusprison hideth:Where greatPsammetiquesghost doth rest,Not with infernall paine possest,But in swete fields detained:And oldeAmasissoule likewise,And all our famousPtolemiesThat whilome on vs raigned.

Alas, with what tormenting fire.

Vs martireth this blinde desire

To staie our life from flieng!

How ceasleslie our minds doth rack,

How heauie lies vpon our back

This dastard feare of dieng!

Deathrather healthfull succor giues,

Deathrather all mishappes relieues

That life vpon vs throweth:

And euer to vs doth vnclose

The doore, wherby from curelesse woes

Our wearie soule out goeth.

What Goddesse else more milde then shee

To burie all our paine can be,

What remedie more pleasing?

Our pained hearts when dolor stings,

And nothing rest, or respite brings,

What help haue we more easing?

Hopewhich to vs doth comfort giue,

And doth or fainting hearts reuiue,

Hath not such force in anguish:

For promising a vaine reliefe

She oft vs failes in midst of griefe,

And helples letts vs languish.

But Death who call on her at nede

Doth neuer with vaine semblant feed,

But when them sorow paineth,

So riddes their soules of all distresse

Whose heauie weight did them oppresse,

That not one griefe remaineth.

Who feareles and with courage bolde

CanAcheronsblack face beholde,

Which muddie water beareth:

And crossing ouer, in the way

Is not amaz’d at Perruque gray

Olde rustieCharonweareth:

Who voide of dread can looke vpon

The dreadfull shades that rome alone,

On bankes where sound no voices:

Whom with her fire-brands and her Snakes

No whit afraideAlectomakes,

Nor triple-barking noyses:

Who freely can himselfe dispose

Of that last hower which all must close,

And leaue this life at pleasure:

This noble freedome more esteemes,

And in his hart more precious deemes,

Then Crowne and kingly treasure.

The waues whichBoreasblasts 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 fearfull face of Tirant wood,

Who breaths but threats, and drinks but bloud,

No, nor the hand which thunder,

The hand ofIouewhich thunder beares,

And ribbs of rocks in sunder teares,

Teares mountains sides in sunder:

Nor bloudieMarsesbutchering bands,

Whose lightnings desert laie the lands

whome dustie cloudes do couer:

From of whose armour sun-beames flie,

And vnder them make quaking lie

The plaines wheron they houer:

Nor yet the cruell murth’ring blade

Warme in the moistie bowells made

of people pell mell dieng

In some great Cittie put to sack

By sauage Tirant brought to wrack,

At his colde mercie lieng.

How abiect him, how base think I,

Who wanting courage can not dye

When need him therto calleth?

From whom the dagger drawne to kill

The curelesse griefes that vexe him still

For feare and faintnes falleth?

OAntoniewith 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.

ThatCæsarmay 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 whom once enchaind

Auernusprison hideth:

Where greatPsammetiquesghost doth rest,

Not with infernall paine possest,

But in swete fields detained:

And oldeAmasissoule likewise,

And all our famousPtolemies

That whilome on vs raigned.

You euer-liuing Gods which all things holde

Within the power of your celestiall hands,

By whom heate, colde, the thunder, and the winde,

The properties of enterchaunging mon’ths

Their course and being haue, which do set downe

Of Empires by your destinied decree

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

Chaunge all, reseruing nothing in one state:

You haue aduaunst, as high as thundring heau’n

TheRomainsgreatnes byBellonasmight:

Mastring the world with fearfull violence,

Making the world widow of libertie.

Yet at this daie this proud exaltedRome

Despoil’d, captiu’d, at one mans will doth bende:

Her Empire mine, her life is in my hand,

As Monarch I both world andRomecommaund;

Do all, can all; fourth my commaund’ment cast

Like thundring fire from one to other Pole

Equall to Ioue: bestowing by my worde

Happes and mishappes, as Fortunes King and Lord.

No Towne there is, but vp my Image settes,

But sacrifice to me doth dayly make:

Whither wherePhæbusioyne his morning steedes,

Or where the night them weary entertaines,

Or where the heat theGaramantsdoth scorche,

Or where the colde fromBoreasbreast is blowne:

AllCæsardo both awe and honor beare,

And crowned Kings his verie name do feare.

Antonieknowes it well, for whom not one

Of all the Princes all this earth do rule,

Armes against me: for all redoubt the power

Which heau’nly powers on earth haue made me beare.

Antonie, he poore man with fire enflam’de

A womans beauties kindled in his heart,

Rose against me, who longer could not beare

My sisters wrong he did so ill entreat:

Seing her left while that his leud delights

Her husband with hisCleopatratooke

InAlexandrie, where both nights and daies

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

AllAsiasforces into one he drewe,

And forth he sett vpon the azur’d waues

A thousand and a thousand Shipps, which fill’d

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

MadeNeptunequake, and all the watrie troupes

OfGlauques, andTritonslodg’d atActium.

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.Presumptuouse pride of high and hawtie sprite,

Voluptuouse care of fonde and foolish loue,

Haue iustly wrought his wrack: who thought he helde

(By ouerweening) Fortune in his hand.

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

So fearles came our forces to assay.

So sometimes fell to Sonnes of Mother Earth,

Which crawl’d to heau’n warre on the Gods to make,

OlymponPelion,OssaonOlymp,

PindusonOssaloading by degrees:

That at hand strokes with mightie clubbes they might

On mossie rocks the Gods make tumble downe:

When mightieIouewith burning anger chaf’d,

Disbraind with himGygesandBriareus,

Blunting his darts vpon their brused bones.

For no one thing the Gods can lesse abide

In dedes of men, then Arrogance and Pride.

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

Shall fowlest fall, where best he thinks to stand.

Cæs.Right as some Pallace, or some stately tower,

Which ouer-lookes the neighbour buildings round

In scorning wise, and to the Starres vp growes,

Which in short time his owne weight ouerthrowes.

What monstrous pride, nay what impietie

Incen’st him onward to the Gods disgrace?

When his two children,Cleopatrasbratts,

ToPhæbeand her brother he compar’d,

Latonasrace, causing them to be call’d

The Sunne and Moone? Is not this folie right?

And is not this the Gods to make his foes?

And is not this himself to worke his woes?

Agr.In like proud sort he caus’d his head to leese

The Iewish kingAntigonus, to haue

His Realme for balme, thatCleopatralou’d,

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

Cæs.Lydiato her, andSiriahe gaue,

Cyprusof golde,Arabiarich of smelles:

And to his children moreCilicia,

Parth’s,Medes,Armenia,Phænicia:

The kings of kings proclaiming them to be,

By his owne worde, as by a sound decree.

Agr.What? Robbing his owne countrie of her due

Triumph’d he not inAlexandria,

OfArtabasustheArmenianKing,

Who yelded on his periur’d word to him?

Cæs.Nay, neuerRomemore iniuries receiu’d,

Since thou, ôRomulus, by flight of birds

with happy hand theRomainwalles did’st build,

ThenAntoniesfond loues to it hath done.

Nor euer warre more holie, nor more iust,

Nor vndertaken 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 greatIoue) that it so deadly proues:

ThatRomainbloud should in such plentie flowe,

Watring the fields and pastures where we goe.

WhatCarthagein olde hatred obstinate,

WhatGaulestill barking at our rising state,

What rebellSamnite, what fiercePyrrhuspower,

What cruellMithridate, whatParthhath wrought

Such woe toRome: whose common wealth he had,

(Had he bene victor) intoEgiptbrought.

Agr.Surely the Gods, which haue this Cittie built

Stedfast to stand as long as time endures,

Which kepe the Capitoll, of vs take care,

And care will take of those shall after come,

Haue made you victor, that you might redresse

Their honor growne by passed mischieues lesse.

Cæs.The seelie man when all the Greekish Sea

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

Me battaile gaue: where fortune, in my stede,

Repulsing him his forces disaraied.

Him selfe tooke flight, soone as his loue 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 serue,

With darts, with swords, with Pikes, with fierie flames.

So that the darkned night her starrie vaile

Vpon the bloudie sea had ouer-spred,

Whilst yet they held: and hardlie, hardlie then

They fell to flieng on the wauie plaine.

All full of Souldiors ouerwhelm’d with waues:

The aire throughout with cries and grones did sound:

The Sea did blush with bloud: the neighbor 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 wellAgrippa.Ag.Mete it was

TheRomainEmpire so should ruled be,

As heau’n is rul’d: which turning ouer vs,

All vnder things by his example turnes.

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

One onely Lord should rule this earth below.

When one self 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.Then to the ende none, while my daies endure,

Seeking to raise himselfe may succours finde,

We must with bloud marke this our victorie,

For iust example to all memorie.

Murther we must, vntill not one we leaue,

Which may hereafter vs of rest bereaue.

Ag.Marke it with murthers? who of that can like?

Cæ.Murthers must vse, who doth assurance seeke.

Ag.Assurance call you enemies to make?

Cæs.I make no such, but such away I take.

Ag.Nothing so much as rigour doth displease.

Cæs.Nothing so much doth make me liue at ease.

Ag.What ease to him that feared is of all?

Cæ.Feared to be, and see his foes to fall.

Ag.Commonly feare doth brede and nourish hate.

Cæ.Hate without pow’r comes comonly too late.

Ag.A feared Prince hath oft his death desir’d.

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

Ag.No guard so sure, no forte so strong doth proue,

No such defence, as is the peoples loue.

Cæs.Nought more vnsure more weak, more like the winde,

ThenPeoplesfauor still to chaunge enclinde.

Ag.Good Gods! what loue to gracious Prince men beare!

Cæs.What honor to the Prince that is seuere!

Ag.Nought more diuine then isBenignitie.

Cæ.Nought likes theGodsas dothSeueritie.

Ag.Godsall forgiue.Cæ.On faults they paines do laie.

Ag.And giue their goods.Cæ.Oft times they take away.

Ag.They wreake them not, ôCæsar, at each time

That by our sinnes they are to wrathe prouok’d.

Neither must you (beleue, I humblie praie)

Your victorie with crueltie defile.

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

But to the good of all men mildlie vs’d,

And they be thank’d: that hauing giu’n you grace

To raigne alone, and rule this earthlie masse,

They may hence-forward hold it still in rest,

All scattred power vnited in one brest.

Cæ.But what is he, that breathles comes so fast,

Approaching vs, and going in such hast?

Ag.He semes affraid: and vnder his arme I

(But much I erre) a bloudie sworde espie.

Cæs.I long to vnderstand what it may be.

Ag.He hither comes: it’s best we stay and see.

Dirce.What good God now my voice will reenforce,

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

To waues of sea, which dash vpon the shore,

To earth, to heau’n, the woefull newes I bring?

Ag.What sodaine chaunce theetowardsvs hath brought?

Dir.A lamentable chance. O wrath of heau’ns!

O Gods too pittiles!Cæs.What monstrous happ

Wilt thou recount?Dir.Alas too hard mishapp!

When I but dreame of what mine eies beheld,

My hart doth freeze, my limmes do quiuering quake,

I senceles stand, my brest with tempest tost

Killes in my throte my wordes, ere fully borne.

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

This murthering sword hath made the man away.

Cæs.Alas my heart doth cleaue, pittie me rackes,

My breast doth pant to heare this dolefull tale.

IsAntoniethen dead? To death, alas!

I am the cause despaire him so compelld.

But souldiour of his death the maner showe,

And how he did this liuing light forgoe.

Dir.WhenAntonieno hope remaining saw

How warre he might, or how agreement make,

Saw him betraid by all his men of warre

In euery fight as well by sea, as lande;

That not content to yeld them to their foes

They also came against himselfe to fight:

Alone in Court he gan himself torment,

Accuse theQueene, himselfe of hir lament,

Call’d hir vntrue and traytresse, as who fought

To yeld him vp 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 furie fear’d,

Gatt to the Tombes, darke horrors dwelling place:

Made lock the doores, and pull the hearses downe.

Then fell shee 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 vnhappie call’d,

Who by hir loue, hir woefull loue, had lost

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

Who while he was, was all hir woes support.

But that she faultles was she did inuoke

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

Then sent him worde, she was no more aliue,

But lay inclosed dead within hir Tombe.

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

And crost his armes, then thus began to mone.

Cæs.Poore hopeles man!Dir.What dost thou more attend?

AhAntonie! why dost thou death deferre?

SinceFortunethy professed enimie,

Hath made to die, who only made thee liue?

Sone as with sighes he had these words vp clos’d,

His armor he vnlaste, and cast it of,

Then all disarm’d he thus againe did say:

My Queene, my heart, the grief that now I feele,

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

For soone againe one Tombe shal vs conioyne:

I grieue, whom men so valorouse did deeme,

Should now, then you, of lesser valor seeme.

So said, forthwith heErosto him call’d,

Eroshis man; summond him on his faith

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

And at that instant stab’d therwith his breast,

And ending life fell dead before his fete.

OErosthankes (quothAntonie) for this

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

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

Of speaking thus he scarce had made an ende,

And taken vp the bloudie sword from ground,

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

A gushing fountaine all the chamber fill’d.

He staggred at the blowe, his face grew pale,

And on a couche all feeble downe he fell,

Swounding with anguish: deadly cold him tooke,

As if his soule had then his lodging left.

But he reuiu’d, and marking all our eies

Bathed in teares, and how our breasts we beatt

For pittie, anguish, and for bitter griefe,

To see him plong’d in extreame wretchednes:

He prai’d vs all to haste his lingr’ing death:

But no man willing, each himselfe withdrew.

Then fell he new to crie and vexe himselfe,

Vntill a man fromCleopatracame,

Who said from hir he had commaundement

To bring him to hir to the monument.

The poore soule at these words euen rapt with Ioy

Knowing she liu’d, prai’d vs him to conuey

Vnto his Ladie. Then vpon our armes

We bare him to the Tombe, but entred not.

For she, who feared captiue to be made,

And that she should toRomein triumph goe,

Kept close the gate: but from a window high

Cast downe a corde, wherin he was impackt.

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

And by strong armes into hir windowe drew.

So pittifull a sight was neuer sene.

Little and littleAntoniewas pull’d,

Now breathing death: his beard was all vnkempt,

His face and brest all bathed in his bloud.

So hideous yet, and dieng as he was,

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

Held vp his hands, and holpe himself to raise,

But still with weakenes back his bodie fell.

The miserable ladie with moist eies,

With haire which careles on hir forhead hong,

With brest which blowes had bloudilie benumb’d,

With stooping head, and bodie down-ward bent,

Enlast hir in the corde, and with all force

This life-dead man couragiously vprais’de.

The bloud with paine into hir face did flowe,

Hir sinewes stiff, her selfe did breathles growe.

The people which beneath in flocks beheld,

Assisted her with gesture, speech, desire:

Cri’de and incourag’d her, and in their soules

Did sweate, and labor, no white lesse then shee.

Who neuer tir’d in labor, held so long

Helpt by hir women, and hir constant heart,

ThatAntoniewas drawne into the tombe,

And ther (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 strete 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 euer 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 riuers stream’d;

That sonne his sire saw in his bosome slaine,

The sire his sonne: the husband reft of breath

In his wiues 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 vp at what timeAntonie

Was from his chamber caried to the tombe:

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

And that therby my words may credite gaine.

Cæs.Ah Gods what cruell happ! pooreAntonie,

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