The Tragedy of Cleopatra

Delia and Rosamond Augmented. Cleopatra By Samuel Daniel.

AEtas prima canat veneres postrema tumultus. 1594.

Printed at London for Simon Waterʃon, and are to be sold in Paules Church-yarde at the ſigne of the Crowne.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE LADY MARY, Counteſſe Of Pembrooke.

WOnder of theſe, glory of other times,

O thou whom Enuy eu’n is forst t’admyre:

Great Patroneβ of these my humble Rymes,

Which thou from out thy greatnes doost inspire:

Sith onely thou hast deign’d to rayse them higher,

Vouchſafe now to accept them as thine owne,

Begotten by thy hand, and my deſire,

Wherein my Zeale, and thy great might is ſhowne.

And ſeeing this vnto the world is knowne,

O leaue not, ſtill to grace thy worke in mee:

Let not the quickning ſeede be ouer-throwne,

Of that which may be borne to honour thee.

Whereof, the trauaile I may challenge mine,

But yet the glory, (Madam) must be thine.

THE Tragedie of CLEOPATRA

AEtas prima canat veneres postrema tumultus.

1594.

To the Right Honourable, the Lady Marie, Counteſſe of PEMBROOKE.

LOE heere the worke the which ſhe did impoſe,

Who onely doth predominate my Muſe:

The ſtarre of wonder, which my labours choſe

To guide their way in all the courſe I vſe.

Shee, whoſe cleere brightnes doth alone infuse

Strength to my thoughts, and makes mee what I am;

Call’d vp my ſpirits from out their low repoſe,

To ſing of ſtate, and tragick notes to frame.

I, who (contented with an humble ſong.)

Made muſique to my ſelfe that pleas’d mee beſt,

And onely told of Delia, and her wrong,

And prais’d her eyes, and plain’d mine owne vnreſt:

(A text from whence my Muſe had not degreſt.)

Madam, had not thy well grac’d Anthony,

(Who all alone hauing remained long,)

Requir’d his Cleopatras company.

Who if ſhee heere doe ſo appeare in act,

That for his Queene & Loue he ſcarce wil know her,

Finding how much shee of her ſelfe hath lackt,

And miſt that glory wherein I ſhould ſhew her,

In maieſtie debas’d, in courage lower;

Yet lightning thou by thy ſweet fauouring eyes,

My darke defects which from her ſp’rit detract,

Hee yet may geſſe it’s ſhee; which will ſuffiſe.

And I heereafter, in another kinde,

More fitting to the nature of my vaine,

May (peraduenture) better pleaſe thy minde,

And higher notes in ſweeter muſique ſtraine:

Seeing that thou ſo graciouſly dooſt daine.

To countenaunce my ſong and cheriſh mee.

I muſt ſo worke poſterity may finde

How much I did contend to honour thee.

Now when ſo many pennes (like Speares) are charg’d,

To chace away this tyrant of the North:

Groβs Barbariſm, whoſe powre growne far inlarg’d,

Was lately by thy valiant Brothers worth,

Firſt found, encountred, and prouoked forth:

Whoſe onſet made the reſt audacious,

Whereby they likewiſe haue ſo well diſcharg’d,

Vpon that hidious Beaſt incroching thus.

And now muſt I with that poore ſtrength I haue,

Reſiſt ſo foule a foe in what I may:

And arme againſt obliuion and the graue,

That els in darknes carries all away,

And makes of all our honors but a pray.

So that if by my penne procure I ſhall

But to defend mee, and my name to ſaue,

Then though I die, I cannot yet die all;

But ſtill the better part of me will liue,

Deckt and adorned with thy ſacred name,

Although thy ſelfe doſt farre more glory giue

Vnto thy ſelfe, then I can by the ſame.

Who dooſt with thine owne hand a Bulwarke frame

Againſt theſe Monſters, (enemies of honour,)

Which euer-more ſhall ſo defend thy Fame,

That Time nor they, ſhall neuer pray vpon her.

Thoſe Hymnes that thou dooſt conſecrate to heauen,

Which Iſraels Singer to his God did frame:

Vnto thy voyce eternitie hath giuen,

And makes thee deere to him frō whence they came.

In them muſt reſt thy euer reuerent name,

So long as Syons God remaineth honoured;

And till confuſion hath all zeale be-reauen,

And murthered Fayth, and Temples ruined.

By this, (Great Lady,) thou muſt then be knowne,

When Wilton lyes low leuell’d with the ground:

And this is that which thou maiſt call thine owne,

Which ſacriligious time cannot confound;

Heere thou ſuruiu’ſt thy ſelfe, heere thou are found

Of late ſucceeding ages, freſh in fame:

This Monument cannot be ouer-throwne,

Where, in eternall Braſſe remaines thy Name.

O that the Ocean did not bound our ſtile

Within theſe ſtrict and narrow limmits ſo:

But that the melody of our ſweet Ile,

Might now be heard to Tyber, Arne, and Po.

That they might know how far Thames doth out-go

The muſique of Declyned Italie:

And liſtning to our ſongs another while,

Might learne of thee, their notes to purifie.

O why may not ſome after-comming hand,

Vnlock theſe limits, open our confines:

And breake a ſunder this impriſoning band,

T’inlarge our ſpirits, and publiſh our diſſignes;

Planting our Roſes on the Apenines?

And teach to Rhene, to Loyre, and Rhodanus,

Our accents, and the wonders of our Land,

That they might all admire and honour vs.

Wherby great Sydney & our Spencer might,

With thoſe Po-ſingers beeing equalled,

Enchaunt the world with ſuch a ſweet delight,

That theyr eternall ſongs (for euer read,)

May ſhew what great Elizas raigne hath bred.

What muſique in the kingdome of her peace.

Hath now beene made to her, and by her might,

Whereby her glorious fame ſhall neuer ceaſe.

But if that Fortune doth deny vs this,

Then Neptune, lock vp with thy Ocean key,

This treaſure to our ſelues, and let them miſſe

Of ſo ſweet ritches: as vnworthy they

To taſte the great delights that we inioy.

And let our harmony ſo pleaſing growne,

Content our ſelues, whoſe errour euer is,

Strange notes to like, and diſeſteeme our owne.

But, whither doe my vowes tranſport me now,

Without the compaſſe of my courſe inioynd?

Alas, what honour can a voyce ſo low

As this of mine, expect heereby to find?

But, (Madam,) this doth animate my mind,

That fauored by the Worthyes of our Land,

My lynes are lik’d; the which may make me grow,

In time to take a greater taske in hand.

THE ARGVMENT.

AFter the death of Antonius, Cleopatra (liuing ſtill in the Monument ſhee had cauſed to be built,) could not by any means be drawne forth, although Octauius Caesar verie earnestly laboured it: & ſent Proculeius to vſe all diligence to bring her vnto him: For that hee though it woulde be a great ornament to his Tryumphes, to get her aliue to Rome. But neuer woulde shee put herſelfe into the hands of Proculeius, although on a time he found the meanes, (by a window that was at the top of the Monument,) to come downe vnto her: where hee perſwaded her (all hee might) to yeeld herſelfe to Cæſars mercie. Which shee, (to be ridd of him,) cunningly ſeemed to grant vnto. After that, Octauius in perſon went to viſite her, to whom ſhee excus’d her offence, laying all the fault vpon the greatnes, and feare ſhee had of Antonius, and withall, ſeemed verie tractable, and willing to be diſpoſed of by him. Wherevpon, Octauius (thinking himſelfe ſure) reſolu’d preſently to ſend her away to Rome. Whereof, Dolabella a fauorite of Cæſars, (and one that was grown into ſome good liking of her,) hauing certified her, ſhee makes her humble peticion to Cæſar, that he would ſuffer her to ſacrifize to the ghoſt of Antonius: which being granted her, ſhee was brought vnto his Sepulcher, where after her rites performed, ſhee returned to the Monument, and there dined, with great magnificence. And in dinner time, came there one in the habite of a Countriman, with a basket of figgs vnto her, who (vnſuſpected) was ſuffered to carry them in. And in that baſket (among the figges) were conuaid the Aſpicks wherewith shee did herſelfe to death. Dinner beeing ended, ſhee diſpatched Letters to Cæſar, contayning great lamentations: with an earneſt ſupplication, that ſhee might be entomb’d with Antonius. Wherevpon, Cæſar knowing what ſhee intended, ſent preſently with all ſpeed, meſſengers to haue preuented her death, which notwithſtanding, before they came was diſpatched. Ceſario her ſonne, which ſhee had by Iulius Cæſar, (conuaied before vnto India, out of the danger of the warrs,) was about the ſame time of her death, murthered at Rhodes: trained thether by the falſhood of his Tutor, corrupted by Cæſar. And ſo heereby, came the race of the Ptolomies to be wholy extinct, & the floriſhing ritch Kingdome of Egipt vtterly ouerthrowne and ſubdued.

The Scæne ſuppoſed Alexandria.

THE ACTORS.

CLEOPATRA.

OCTAVIVS CAESAR.

PROCVLEIVS.

DOLABELLA.

TITIVS, Seruaunt to DOLABELLA.

ARIVS.———— } two PhiloSophers.

PHILOSTRATVS.

SELEVCVS. Secretary to CLEOPATRA.

RODON. Tutor to CÆSARIO.

NVNTIVS.

The CHORVS. all Egiptians.

ACTVS PRIMVS

CLEOPATRA.

YET doe I liue, and yet doth breath poſſeſſe

This hatefull priſon of a loathſome ſoule:

Can no calamitie, nor no diſtreſſe

Breake hart and all, and end a life ſo ſoule?

Can Cleopatra liue, and with theſe eyes

Behold the deereſt of her life bereft her?

Ah, can ſhee entertaine the leaſt ſurmiſe

Of any hope, that hath but horror left her?

Why ſhould I linger longer griefes to try?

Theſe eyes that ſawe what honor earth could giue mee,

Doe now behold the worſt of miſery:

The greateſt wrack wherto Fortune could driue mee

Hee on whoſe ſhoulders all my reſt relyde,

On whom the burthen of my ambition lay:

The Atlas and the Champion of my pride,

That did the world of my whole fortune ſway;

Lyes falne, confounded, dead in ſhame and dolors,

Following th’vnlucky party of my loue.

Th’Enſigne of mine eyes, th’vnhappy collours,

That him to miſchiefe, mee to ruine droue.

And now the modell made of miſery,

scorne to the world, borne but for Fortunes foile,

My luſts haue fram’d a Tombe for mee to lie,

Euen in the aſhes of my Countries ſpoyle.

Ah, who would think that I were ſhee who late,

Clad with the glory of the worlds chiefe ritches,

Admir’d of all the earth, and wondred at,

Glittring in pompe that hart and eye bewitches:

Should thus diſtreſs’d, caſt down from of that heigth

Leuell’d with low diſgrac’d calamitie,

Vnder the waight of ſuch affliction ſigh,

Reduc’d vnto th’extreameſt miſery.

Am I the woman, whoſe inuentiue pride,

(Adorn’d like Isis,) ſcornd mortalitie?

Iſt I that left my ſence ſo without guide,

That flattery would not let him know twas I?

Ah, now I ſee, they ſcarce tell truth, that praiſe vs,

Crownes are beguild, proſperity betraies vs.

What is become of all that ſtatelie traine,

Thoſe troopes that wont attend proſperitie?

See what is left, what number doth remaine,

A tombe, two maydes, and miſerable I.

And I t’adorne their tryumphes, am reſeru’d

A captiue kept to beautifie their ſpoyles:

Whom Cæſar labours, ſo to haue preſeru’d,

And ſeekes to entertaine my life with wiles.

No Cæſar no, it is not thou canſt doe it.

Promiſe, flatter, threaten extreamitie,

Imploy thy wits, and all thy force vnto it,

I haue both hands, and will, and I can die.

Though thou of Country, kingdom, & my Crowne,

Though thou of all my glory doſt bereaue me,

Though thou haſt all my Egipt as thine owne,

Yet haſt thou left me that which will deceiue thee.

That courage with my blood and birth innated,

Admir’d of all the earth, as thou art now:

Cannot by threates be vulgarly abated,

To be thy ſlaue, that rul’d as good as thou.

Conſider Cæſar that I am a Queene,

And ſcorne the baſenes of a ſeruile thought:

The world and thou, doſt know what I haue beene,

And neuer thinke I can be ſo low brought,

That Rome ſhould ſee my ſcepter-bearing hands,

Behinde mee bounde, and glory in my teares.

That I ſhould paſſe, whereas Octauia ſtands

To view my miſery, that purchaſt hers.

No, I diſdaine that head that wore a Crowne,

Should ſtoope to take vp that which others giue:

I muſt not be, vnleſſe I be mine owne.

Tis ſweet to die when we are forſt to liue.

Nor had I troubled now the world thus long,

And beene indebted for this little breath,

But that I feare, Cæſar would offer wrong

To my diſtreſſed ſeede after my death.

Tis that which dooth my deereſt blood controule.

Tis that (alas) detaines mee from my Tombe,

Whilſt Nature brings to contradict my ſoule,

The argument of mine vnhappy wombe.

O luckleſſe iſſue of a wofull Mother,

Th’vngodly pledges of a wanton bed;

You Kings deſign’d, muſt now be ſlaues to other,

Or els not bee (I feare) when I am dead.

It is for you I temporiſe with Cæſar,

And liue this while for to procure your ſafetie.

For you I fayne content, and ſoothe his pleaſure,

Calamitie heerein hath made me crafty.

But tis not long, Ile ſee what may be done,

And come what will, this ſtands, I muſt die free.

Ile be my ſelfe, my thoughts doe reſt thereon,

Blood, chyldren, nature, all muſt pardon mee.

My ſoule yeelds honour vp the victory,

And I muſt bee a Queene, forget a mother:

Yet mother would I be, were I not I,

And Queene would I not now be, were I other.

But what know I, if th’heauens haue decreed,

And that the ſinnes of Egipt haue deſeru’d,

The Ptolomeyes ſhould faile, and none ſucceed,

And that my weakenes was thereto reſeru’d.

That I ſhould bring confuſion to my ſtate,

And fill the meaſure of iniquitie:

Licentiouſnes in mee ſhould end her date,

Begunne in ill-diſpenſed libertie.

If ſo it be, and that my heedles waies,

Haue this ſo great a diſſolation rais’d,

Yet let a glorious end conclude my dayes,

Though life were bad, my death may yet be prais’d,

That I may write in letters of my blood,

A fit memoriall for the times to come:

To be example to ſuch Princes good

That pleaſe themſelues, and care not what become.

And Anthony, becauſe the world doth know,

That my miſ-fortune hath procured thine,

And my improuidence brought thee folow,

To loſe thy glory, and to ruine mine:

By grapling in the Ocean of our pride,

To ſinke each others greatnes both together,

Both equall ſhipwrack of our ſtates t’abide,

And like deſtruction to procure to eyther:

If I ſhould now (our common faulte) ſuruiue,

Then all the world muſt hate mee if I doe it,

Sith both our errors did occaſion giue,

And both our faults haue brought vs both vnto it.

I beeing firſt inamour’d with thy greatnes,

Thou with my vanity bewitched wholy:

And both betrayd with th’outward pleaſant ſweetnes,

The one ambition ſpoyld, th’other folly.

For which, thou haſt already duly paid,

The ſtatute of thy errors deareſt forfeit:

Whereby thy gotten credite was decayd,

Procur’d thee by thy wanton deadly ſurfeit.

And next is my turne, now to ſacrifize

To Death, and thee, the life that doth reproue mee,

Our like diſtreſſe I feele doth sympathize,

And euen affliction makes me truly loue thee.

Which Anthony, (I muſt confeſſe my fault,)

I neuer did ſincerely vntill now;

Now I proteſt I doe, now am I taught,

In death to loue, in life that knew not how.

For whilſt my glory in that greatnes ſtood,

And that I ſaw my ſtate, and knew my beauty,

Saw how the world admir’d mee, how they woode,

I then thought all men, muſt loue me of dutie,

And I loue none: for my laſciuious Courte,

(Fertile in euer-freſh and new-choyce pleaſure,)

Affoorded me ſo bountiful diſport,

That I to thinke on loue had neuer leyſure.

My vagabond deſires no limits found,

For luſt is endleſſe, pleaſure hath no bound.

Thou, comming from the ſtrictnes of thy Citty,

The wanton pompe of Courts yet neuer learnedſt:

Inur’d to warrs, in womans wiles vnwittie,

Whilſt others fayn’d, thou fell’ſt to loue in earneſt.

Not knowing women like them beſt that houer,

And make leaſt reckning of a doting Louer.

And yet thou earn’ſt but in my beauties waine,

When new-appearing wrinkles of declining,

Wrought with the hand of yeeres, ſeem’d to detaine

My graces light, as now but dimly ſhining.

Euen in the confines of mine age, when I

Fayling of what I was, and was but thus:

When ſuch as wee, doe deeme in iealoſie

That men loue for them-ſelues, and not for vs.

Then, and but thus, thou didſt loue moſt ſincerely,

(O Anthony,) that beſt deſeru’dſt it better

Thys Antumne of my beauty bought ſo deerely,

For which (in more then death) I ſtand thy debter.

Which I will pay thee with moſt faithfull zeale,

And that ere long, no Cæſar ſhall detaine me;

My death, my loue and courage ſhall reueale,

The which is all the world hath left t’vnſtaine me.

And to the end I may deceiue beſt, Cæſar,

Who dooth ſo eagerly my life importune,

I muſt preuaile mee of this little leiſure,

Seeming to ſute my minde vnto my fortune.

Whereby I may the better mee prouide,

Of what my death and honor beſt ſhall fit:

A ſeeming baſe content, muſt warie hide

My laſt diſſeigne, till I accompliſh it.

That heereby yet the world ſhall ſee that I,

Although vnwiſe to liue, had wit to die.

Exit.

CHORVS.

BEhold what Furies ſtill

Torment their tortur’d breſt.

Who by their doing ill,

Haue wrought the worlds vnreſt.

Which when being moſt diſtreſt,

Yet more to vexe their ſp’rit,

The hidious face of ſinne,

(In formes they moſt deteſt)

Stands euer in their ſight.

Their Conſcience ſtill within,

Th’eternall larum is,

That euer-barking dog that calls vppon theyr miβ.

No meanes at all to hide

Man from himſelfe can finde:

No way to ſtart aſide

Out from the hell of mind.

But in himſelfe confin’d,

Hee ſtill ſees ſinne before:

And winged-footed paine,

That ſwiftly comes behind,

The which is euer more,

The ſure and certaie gaine

Impietie doth get,

And wanton looſe reſpect, that dooth it ſelfe forget.

And Cleopatra now,

Well ſees the dangerous way

Shee tooke. and car’d not bow,

Which led her to decay.

And likewiſe makes vs pay

For her diſordred luſt,

Th int’reſt of our blood:

Or liue a ſeruile pray,

Vnder a band vniuſt,

As others ſhall thinke good.

This hath her riot wonne.

And thus ſhee hath her ſtate, her ſelfe and vs vndunne.

Now euery mouth can tell,

What cloſe was muttered:

How that ſhee did not well,

To take the courſe ſhee did.

For now is nothing hid,

Of what feare did reſtraine.

No ſecrete cloſely done,

But now is vttered:

The text is made moſt plaine

That flattry glos’d vpon,

The bed of ſinne reueal’d,

And all the luxurie that ſhame would haue conceal’d.

The ſcene is broken downe,

And all vncou’red lyes,

The purple Actors knowne

Scarce men, whom men deſpiſe.

The complots of the wiſe,

Proue imperfections ſmoake:

And all what wonder gaue

To pleaſure-gazing eyes,

Lyes ſcattered, daſht, all broke.

Thus much beguiled haue

Poore vnconſider at wights,

Theſe momentary pleaſures, fugitiue delights.

ACTVS SECVNDVS.

CAESAR. PROCVLEIVS.

KIngdoms I ſee we winne, we conquere Climates,

Yet cannot vanquiſh harts, nor force obedience,

Affections kept in cloſe-concealed limits,

Stand farre without the reach of ſword or violence.

Who forc’d doe pay vs duety, pay not loue:

Free is the hart, the temple of the minde,

The Sanctuarie ſacred from aboue,

Where nature keepes the keyes that looſe and bind.

No mortall hand force open can that doore,

So cloſe shut vp, and lockt to all mankind:

I ſee mens bodies onely ours, no more,

The reſt, anothers right, that rules the minde.

Behold, my forces vanquiſht haue this Land,

Subdu’de that ſtrong Competitor of mine:

All Egipt yeelds to my all-conquering hand,

And all theyr treaſure and themſelues reſigne.

Onely this Queene, that hath loſt all this all,

To whom is nothing left except a minde:

Cannot into a thought of yeelding fall,

To be diſpos’d as chaunce hath her aſsign’d.

But Proculei, what hope doth ſhee now giue,

Will ſhee be brought to condiſcend to liue?

Proc. My Lord, what time being ſent from you to try,

To win her foorth aliue, (if that I might)

From out the Monument, where wofully

Shee liues inclos’d in moſt afflicted plight;

No way I found, no meanes how to ſurprize her,

But through a Grate at th’entry of the place,

Standing to treate, I labour’d to aduiſe her,

To come to Cæſar, and to ſue for grace.

Shee ſaide, ſhee crau’d not life, but leaue to die,

Yet for her children, prayd they might inherite,

That Cæſar would vouchſafe (in clemency,)

To pitty them, though ſhee deſeru’d no merite.

So leauing her for then; and ſince of late,

With Gallus ſent to try another time,

The whilſt hee entertaines her at the grate,

I found the meanes vp to the Tombe to climbe.

Where in diſcending in the cloſeſt wiſe,

And ſilent manner as I could contriue:

Her woman mee deſcri’d, and out ſhee cryes,

Poore Cleopatra, thou art tane aliue.

With that the Queene raught frō her ſide her knife,

And euen in acte to ſtab her martred breſt,

I ſtept with ſpeed, and held, and ſau’d her life,

And forth her trembling hand the blade did wreſt.

Ah Cleopatra, why ſhould’s thou (ſaid I,)

Both iniurie thy ſelfe and Cæſar ſo?

Barre him the honour of his victory,

Who euer deales moſt mildly with his foe?

Liue and relye on him, whoſe mercy will

To thy ſubmiſsion alwaies ready be.

With that (as all amaz’d) ſhee held her ſtill,

Twixt maieſtie confus’d and miſerie.

Her proud grieu’d eyes, held ſorrow and diſdaine,

State and diſtreſſe warring within her ſoule:

Dying ambition diſpoſſeſt her raigne,

So baſe affliction ſeemed to controule.

Like as a burning Lampe, whoſe liquor ſpent

With intermitted flames, when dead you deeme it,

Sendes foorth a dying flaſh, as diſcontent,

That ſo the matter failes that ſhould redeeme it.

So ſhee (in ſpight) to ſee her low-brought ſtate,

(When all her hopes were now conſum’d to nought,)

Scornes yet to make an abiect league with Fate,

Or once diſcend into a ſeruile thought.

Th’imperious tongue vnuſed to beſeech,

Authority confounds with prayers, ſo

Words of commaund conioyn’d with humble ſpeech,

Shew’d ſhee would liue, yet ſcorn’d to pray her foe.

Ah, what hath Cæſar heere to doe, ſaid ſhee,

In confines of the dead in darknes liuing?

Will hee not graunt our ſepulchers be free,

But violate the priuiledge of dying?

What, muſt hee ſtretch forth his ambitious hand

Into the right of Death, and force vs heere?

Hath miſery no couert where to ſtand

Free from the ſtorme of pryde, iſt ſafe no where?

Cannot my land, my gold, my Crowne ſuffiſe,

And all what I held deere, to him made common,

But that he muſt in this ſort tirannize,

Th’afflicted body of an wofull woman?

Tell him, my frailty, and the Gods haue giuen,

Sufficient glory, if hee could content him:

And let him now with his deſires make euen,

And leaue mee to this horror, to lamenting.

Now hee hath taken all away from mee,

What muſt hee take mee from my ſelfe by force?

Ah, let him yet (in mercie) leaue mee free

The kingdom of this poore diſtreſſed corſe.

No other crowne I ſeeke, no other good.

Yet wiſh that Cæſar would vouchſafe this grace,

To fauour the poore of-ſpring of my blood.

Confuſed iſſue, yet of Roman race.

If blood and name be linkes of loue in Princes,

Not ſpurres of hate; my poore Cæſario may

Finde fauour notwithſtanding mine offences,

And Cæſars blood, may Cæſars raging ſtay.

But if that with the torrent of my fall,

All muſt bee rapt with furious violence,

And no reſpect, nor no regard at all,

Can ought with nature or with blood diſpence:

Then be it ſo, if needes it muſt be ſo.

There ſtayes and ſhrinkes in horror of her ſtate.

When I began to mitigate her woe,

And thy great mercies vnto her relate;

Wiſhing her not diſpaire, but rather come

And ſue for grace, and ſhake off all vaine feares:

No doubt ſhee ſhould obtaine as gentle doome

As ſhee deſir’d, both for herſelfe and hers.

And ſo with much a-doe, (well pacifide

Seeming to bee,) ſhee ſhew’d content to lyue,

Saying ſhee was reſolu’d thy doome t’abide,

And to accept what fauour thou would’ſt giue.

And heere-withall, crau’d alſo that ſhee might

Performe her laſt rites to her loſt belou’d.

To ſacrifize to him that wrought her plight:

And that ſhee might not bee by force remou’d.

I graunting from thy part this her requeſt,

Left her for then, ſeeming in better reſt.

Cæſ. But dooſt thou thinke ſhe will remaine ſo ſtill?

Pro. I thinke, and doe aſſure my ſelfe ſhee will.

Cæſ. Ah, priuate men found not the harts of Princes,

Whoſe actions oft beare contrarie pretences.

Pro. Why, tis her ſafety for to yeeld to thee.

Cæſ. But tis more honour for her to die free.

Pro. Shee may thereby procure her childrens good.

Cæſ. Princes reſpect theyr honour more then blood.

Pro. Can Princes powre diſpence with nature than?

Cæſ. To be a Prince, is more then be a man.

Pro. There’s none but haue in time perſwaded beene.

Cæſ. And ſo might ſhee too, were ſhee not a Queene.

Pro. Diuers reſpects will force her be reclam’d.

Cæſ. Princes (like Lyons) neuer will be tam’d.

A priuate man may yeeld, and care not how,

But greater harts will breake before they bow.

And ſure I thinke ſh’will neuer condiſcend,

To lyue to grace our ſpoyles with her diſgrace:

But yet let ſtill a warie watch attend,

To guard her perſon, and to watch the place.

And looke that none with her come to confer:

Shortly my ſelfe will goe to viſite her.

CHORVS.

OPINION, howe doost thou molest

Th affected minde of restles man?

Who following thee, neuer can,

Nor euer ſhall attaine to rest.

For getting what thou ſaist is best,

Yet loe, that best hee findes farre wide

Of what thou promiſedst before:

For in the ſame hee lookt for more,

Which proues but ſmall when once tis tride.

Then ſomething els thou find’st beſide,

To draw him ſtill from thought to thought:

When in the end all proues but nought.

Farther from reſt hee findes him than,

Then at the first when he began.

O malcontent ſeducing guest,

Contriuer of our greatest woes:

Which borne of winde, and fed with ſhowes,

Dooſt nurſe thy ſelfe in thine vnrest.

Iudging vngotten things the best,

Or what thou in conceite deſign’st.

And all things in the world doost deeme,

Not as they are, but as they ſeeme:

Which ſhewes, their ſtate thou ill defin’st:

And liu’st to come, in preſent pin’st.

For what thou hast, thou ſtill dooſt lacke:

O mindeſ tormentor, bodies wracke,

Vaine promiſer of that ſweet rest,

Which neuer any yet poſſest.

If wee vnto ambition tende,

Then doost thou draw our weakenes on,

With vaine imagination

Of that which neuer hath an end.

Or if that lust we apprehend,

How doth that pleaſant plague infest?

O what ſtrange formes of luxurie,

Thou ſtraight doost cast t’intice vs by?

And tell’st vs that is euer best,

Which wee haue neuer yet poſſest.

And that more pleaſure rests beſide,

In ſomething that we haue not tride.

And when the ſame likewiſe is had,

Then all is one, and all is bad.

This Anthony can ſay is true,

And Cleopatra knowes tis ſo,

By th’experience of their woe.

Shee can ſay, ſhee neuer knew

But that iust found pleaſures new,

And was neuer ſatiſ-fide:

Hee can ſay by proofe of toyle,

Ambition is a Vulture vile,

That feedes vpon the hart of pride:

And findes no rest when all is tride.

For worlds cannot confine the one,

Th’other, listes and bounds hath none.

And both ſubuert the minde, the ſtate,

Procure destruction, enuie, hate.

And now when all this is prou’d vaine,

Yet Opinion leaues not heere,

But ſticks to Cleopatra neere.

Perſwading now, how ſhe ſhall gaine

Honour by death, and fame attaine.

And what a ſhame it were to liue,

Her kingdome loſt, her Louer dead:

And ſo with this perſwaſion led,

Diſpayre doth ſuch a courage giue,

That naught els can her minde relieue.

Nor yet diuert her from that thought:

To this concluſion all is brought.

This is that reſt this vaine world lends,

To end in death that all thing ends.

ACTVS TERTIVS.

PHILOSTRATVS. ARIVS.

HOW deepely Arius am I bounde to thee,

That ſau’dſt frō death this wretched life of mine:

Obtayning Cæſars gentle grace for mee,

When I of all helps els diſpayr’d but thine?

Although I ſee in ſuch a wofull ſtate,

Life is not that which ſhould be much deſir’d:

Sith all out glories come to end theyr date,

Our Countries honour and our owne expir’d.

Now that the hand of wrath hath ouer-gone vs,

Liuing (as’twere) in th’armes of our dead mother,

With blood vnder our feete ruine vpon vs,

And in a Land moſt wretched of all other,

When yet we reckon life our deereſt good.

And ſo we liue, we care not how we liue:

So deepe we ſeele impreſſed in our blood,

That touch which nature with our breath did giue.

And yet what blaſts of words hath learning found,

To blow againſt the feare of death and dying?

What comforts vnſicke Eloquence can ſound,

And yet all fayles vs in the poynt of trying.

For whilſt we reaſon with the breath of ſafety,

Without the compaſſe of deſtruction liuing:

What precepts ſhew wee then, what courage lofty

In taxing others feares in counſell giuing?

When all thys ayre of ſweet-contriued words,

Prooues but weake armour to defend the hart.

For when this lyfe, pale feare and terror boords,

Where are our precepts then, where is our arte?

O who is he that from himſelfe can turne,

That beares about the body of a man?

Who doth not toyle and labour to adiorne

The day of death, by any meanes he can?

All this I ſpeake to th’end my ſelfe t’excuſe,

For my baſe begging of a ſeruile breath,

Wherein I graunt my ſelfe much t’abuſe,

So ſhamefully to ſeeke t’auoyd my death.

Arius. Philoſtratus, that ſelfe ſame care to liue,

Poſſeſſeth all alike, and grieue not then

Nature dooth vs no more then others giue:

Though we ſpeak more then men, we are but men.

And yet (in truth) theſe miſeries to ſee,

Wherein we ſtand in moſt extreame diſtreſſe:

Might to our ſelues ſufficient motiues be

To loathe this life, and weigh our death the leſſe.

For neuer any age hath better taught,

What feeble footing pride and greatnes hath.

How ‘improuident proſperity is caught,

And cleane confounded in the day of wrath.

See how diſmaid Confuſion keepes thoſe ſtreetes,

That nought but mirth & Muſique late reſounded,

How nothing with our eye but horror meetes,

Our ſtate, our wealth, our pride & all confounded.

Yet what weake ſight did not diſcerne from far

This black-aryſing tempeſt, all confounding?

Who did not ſee we ſhould be what we are,

When pride and ryot grew to ſuch abounding.

When diſſolute impiety poſſeſt,

Th’vnreſpectiue mindes of ſuch a people:

When inſolent Security found reſt

In wanton thoughts, with luſt and eaſe made feeble.

Then when vnwary peace with fat-fed pleaſure,

New-freſh inuented ryots ſtill detected,

Purchac’d with all the Ptolomies ritch treaſure,

Our lawes, our Gods, our miſteries neglected.

Who ſaw not how this confluence of vice,

This innondation of diſorders, muſt

At length of force pay back the bloody price

Of ſad deſtruction, (a reward for luſt.)

O thou and I haue heard, and read, and knowne

Of lyke proude ſtates, as wofully incombred,

And fram’d by them, examples for our owne:

Which now among examples muſt be numbred.

For this decree a law from high is giuen,

An auncient Canon, of eternall date,

In Conſiſtorie of the ſtarres of heauen,

Entred the booke of vnauoyded Fate;

That no ſtate can in heigth of happines,

In th’exaltation of theyr glory ſtand:

But thither once ariu’d, declyning leſſe,

Ruine themſelues, or fall by others hand.

Thus doth the euer-changing courſe of things,

Runne a perpetuall circle, euer turning:

And that ſame day that higheſt glory brings,

Brings vs vnto the poynt of back-returning.

For ſenceles ſenſualitie, doth euer

Accompany felicity and greatnes.

A fatall witch, whoſe charmes do leaue vs neuer,

Till we leaue all in ſorrow for our ſweetnes;

When yet our ſelues muſt be the cauſe we fall,

Although the ſame be firſt decreed on hie:

Our errors ſtill muſt beare the blame of all,

This muſt it be, earth aſke not heauen why.

Yet mighty men with wary iealous hand,

Striue to cut off all obſtacles of feare:

All whatſoeuer ſeemes but to withſtand

Theyr leaſt conceite of quiet, held ſo deere;

And ſo intrench themſelues with blood, wt crymes,

With all iniuſtice as theyr feares diſpoſe:

Yet for all thys wee ſee, how oftentimes

The meanes they worke to keep, are means to loſe.

And ſure I cannot ſee, how this can ſtand

With great Auguſtus ſafety and his honor,

To cut off all ſucceſſion from our land,

For her offence that puld the warrs vpon her.

Phi. Why muſt her iſſue pay the price of that?

Ari. The price is life that they are rated at.

Phi. Cæſario to, iſſued of Cæſars blood?

Ari. Pluralitie of Cæſars are not good.

Phi. Alas what hurt procures his feeble arme?

Ari. Not for it dooth, but that it may doe harme.

Phi. Then when it offers hurt, repreſſe the ſame,

Ari. Tis best to quench a ſparke before it flame.

Phi. Tis inhumane, an innocent to kill.

Ari. Such innocents, ſildome remaine ſo ſtill.

And ſure his death may best procure our peace,

Competitors the ſubiect deerely buies:

And ſo that our affliction may ſurceaſe,

Let geat men be the peoples ſacrifice.

But ſee where Cæſar comes himſelfe, to try

And worke the mind of our diſtreſſed Queene,

To apprehend ſome falſed hope: whereby

Shee might be drawne to haue her fortune ſeene.

But yet I thinke, Rome will not ſee that face

(That quel her chāpions,) bluſh in baſe diſgrace.

SCENA. SECVNDA.

CÆSAR, CLEOPATRA, SELEVCVS, DOLABELLA.

Cæſ. WHat Cleopatra, dooſt thou doubt ſo much

Of Cæſars mercy, that thou hid’ſt thy face?

Or dooſt thou think, thy’offences can be ſuch,

That they ſurmount the meaſure of our grace?

Cleo. O Cæſar, not for that I flye thy fight

My ſoule this ſad retyre of ſorrow choſe:

But that my’oppreſſed thoughts abhorring light,

Like best in darknes, my diſgrace t’incloſe.

And heere to theſe cloſe limmits of diſpaire,

This ſolitary horror where I bide:

Cæſar, I thought no Roman ſhould repaire,

More after him, who heere oppreſſed dyde.

Yet now, heere at thy conquering feete I lye,

Poore captiue ſoule, that neuer thought to bow:

Whoſe happy foote of rule and maieſtie,

Stoode late on yt ſame ground thou ſtandeſt now.

Cæſ. Riſe Queene, none but thy ſelfe is cauſe of all.

And yet, would all were but thyne owne alone:

That others ruine had not with thy fall

Brought Rome her ſorowes,to my tryumphs mone.

For breaking off the league of loue and blood.

Thou mak’ſt my winning ioy a gaine vnpleaſing:

Sith th’eye of griefe muſt looke into our good,

Thorow the horror of our owne blood-ſhedding.

And all, we muſt attribute vnto thee.

Cleo. To mee? Cæſar what ſhould a woman doe

Oppreſt with greatnes? What was it for mee

To contradict my Lord, beeing bent thereto?

I was by loue, by feare, by weakenes, made

An inſtrument to ſuch diſſeignes as theſe.

For when the Lord of all the Orient bade,

Who but obeyd? who was not glad to pleaſe?

And how could I with-draw my ſuccouring hand,

From him that had my hart, or what was mine?

Th’intreſt of my faith in ſtraighteſt band,

My loue to his moſt firmely did combine.

Cæſ. Loue? alas no, it was th’innated hatred

That thou and thine haſt euer borne our people:

That made thee ſeeke al meanes to haue vs ſcattred,

To diſvnite our ſtrength, and make vs feeble.

And therefore did that breſt nurſe our diſſention,

With hope t’exalt thy ſelfe, t’augment thy ſtate:

To pray vpon the wrack of our contention,

And (with the reſt our foes,) to ioy thereat.

Cleo. O Cæſar, ſee how eaſie tis t’accuſe

Whom fortune hath made faultie by their fall,

The wretched conquered may not refuſe

The titles of reproch he’s charg’d withall.

The conquering cauſe hath right, wherein yu art,

The vanquiſht, ſtill is iudg’d the worſer part.

Which part is mine, becauſe I loſt my part.

No leſſer then the portion of a Crowne.

Enough for mee, alas what needed arte

To gaine by others, but to keepe mine owne?

But heere let weaker powers note what it is,

To neighbour great Competitors too neere,

If we take part, we oft doe perriſh thus,

If neutrall bide, both parties we muſt feare.

Alas, what ſhall the forſt partakers doe,

When following none, yet muſt they perriſh to?

But Cæsar. ſith thy right and cauſe is ſuch,

Bee not a heauie weight vpon calamitie:

Depreſſe not the afflicted ouer-much,

The chiefeſt glory is the Victors lenitie.

Th’inheritaunce of mercy from him take,

Of whom thou haſt thy fortune and thy name:

Great Cæſar mee a Queene at firſt did make,

And let not Cæſar now confound the ſame.

Reade heere theſe lines which ſtill I keep with me,

The witnes of his loue and fauours euer:

And God forbid this ſhould be ſaid of thee,

That Cæſar wrong’d the fauoured of Cæſar.

For looke what I haue beene to Anthony,

Thinke thou the ſame I might haue been to thee.

And heere I doe preſent thee with the note,

Of all the treaſure, all the Iewels rare

That Egipt hath in many ages got;

And looke what Cleopatra hath, is there.

Seleu. Nay there’s not all ſet down within that roule,

I know ſome things ſhee hath reſeru’d a part.

Cle. What vile vnggreateful wretch, dar’ſt thou cōtroule

Thy Queene & ſoueraine? caitiue as thou art.

Cæſ. Hold, holde, a poore reuenge can worke ſo feeble hands.

Cle. Ah Cæſar, what a great indignitie

Is this, that heere my vaſſale ſubiect ſtands,

T’accuſe mee to my Lord of trechery?

If I reſeru’d ſome certaine womens toyes,

Alas it was not for my ſelfe (God knowes,)

Poore miſerable ſoule, that little ioyeſ

In trifling ornaments, in outward ſhowes.

But what I kept, I kept to make my way

Vnto thy Liuia, and Octauias grace.

That thereby in compaſsion mooued, they

Might mediat thy fauour in my caſe.

Cæſ. Well Cleopatra, feare not, thou ſhalt finde

What fauour thou deſir’ſt, or canſt expect:

For Cæſar neuer yet was found but kinde

To ſuch as yeeld, and can themſelues ſubiect.

And therefore giue thou comfort to thy minde;

Relieue thy ſoule thus ouer-charg’d with care,

How well I will intreate thee thou ſhalt find,

So ſoone as ſome affayres diſpatched are.

Til whē farewel. Cl. Thanks thriſe-renowned Cæſar,

Poore Cleopatra reſts thine owne for euer.

Dol. No meruaile Cæſar though our greateſt ſp’rits,

Haue to the powre of ſuch a charming beautie,

Beene brought to yeeld the honour of their merits:

Forgetting all reſpect of other dutie.

Then whilſt the glory of her youth remain’d

The wondring obiect to each wanton eye:

Before her full of ſweet (with ſorrow wain’d,)

Came to the period of this miſery.

If ſtill, euen in the midſt of death and horror,

Such beauty ſhines, thorow clowds of age & ſorow,

If euen thoſe ſweet decayes ſeeme to plead for her,

Which from affliction, mouing graces borrow;

If in calamity ſhee could thus moue,

What could ſhe do adorn’d with youth & loue?

What could ſhe do then, when as ſpreading wide

The pompe of beauty, in her glory dight?

When arm’d with wonder, ſhee could vſe beſide,

Th’engines of her loue, Hope and Delight?

Beauty daughter of Meruaile, ô ſee how

Thou canſt diſgracing ſorrowes ſweetly grace?

What power thou ſhew’ſt in a diſtreſſed brow.

That mak’ſt affliction faire, giu’ſt teares their grace.

What can vntreſſed locks, can tornerent haire,

A weeping eye, a wailing face be faire?

I ſee then, artleſſe feature can content,

And that true beauty needes no ornament.

Cæſ. What in a paſsion Dolabella? what? take heede:

Let others freſh examples be thy warning;

What miſchiefes theſe, ſo idle humors breed,

Whilſt error keepes vs from a true diſcerning.

Indeed, I ſaw shee labour’d to impart

Her ſweeteſt graces in her ſaddeſt cheere:

Preſuming on the face that knew the arte

To moue with what aſpect ſo eu’r it were.

But all in vaine, shee takes her ayme amiſſe,

The ground and marke, her leuel much deceiues;

Time now hath altred all, for neither iſ

Shee as shee was, nor wee as shee conceiues.

And therefore now, twere best ſhe left ſuch badnes,

Folly in youth is ſinne, in age, tis madnes.

And for my part, I ſeeke but t’entertaine

In her ſome feeding hope to draw her forth;

The greateſt Trophey that my trauailes gaine,

Is to bring home a prizall of ſuch worth.

And now, ſith that ſhee ſeemes ſo well content

To be diſpos’d by vs, without more ſtay

Shee with her chyldren ſhall to Rome be ſent,

Whilſt I by Syria thither take my way.

CHORVS.

O Fearefull frowning Nemesis,

Daughter of Ivstice, moſt ſeuere,

That art the worlds great Arbitreſſe,

And Queene of cauſes raigning heere.

Whoſe ſwift-ſure hand is euer neere

Eternill iustice, righting wrong:

Who neuer yet-deferrest long

The proudes decay, the weakes redreſſe.

But through thy powre euery where,

Doost raze the great, and raiſe the leſſe.

The leſſe made great, doost ruine to,

To ſhew the earth what heauen can doe.

Thou from dark-clos’d eternitie,

From thy black clowdy hidden ſeate,

The worlds diſorders doost diſcry:

Which when they ſwell ſo proudly great,

Reuerſing th’order nature ſet,

Thou giu’ſt thy all-confounding doome,

Which none can know before it come.

Th’ineuitable destinie,

Which neyther wit nor ſtrength can let,

Fast chayn’d vnto neceβitie,

In mortall things doth order ſo,

Th’alternate courſe of weale or wo.

O low the powres of heauen do play

With trauailed mortalitie:

And doth their weakenes still betray,

In theyr best proſperitie.

When beeing liſted vp ſo hie,

They looke beyond themſelues ſo farre,

That to themſelues they take no care:

Whilst ſwift confuſion downe doth lay,

Theyr late proude mounting vanitie:

Bringing theyr glory to decay.

And with the ruine of theyr fall,

Extinguiſh people, ſtate and all.

But is it iustice that all wee

Th’innocent poore multitude,

For great mens faults ſhould puniſht be,

And to deſtruction thus purſude.

O why ſhould th’ heauens vs include,

Within the compaſſe of theyr ſall,

Who of themſelues procured all?

Or doe the Gods (in cloſe) decree,

Occaſion take how to extrude

Man from the earth with crueltie?

Ah no, the Gods are euer iust,

Our faults excuſe theyr rigor must.

This is the period Fate ſet downe,

To Egipts fat proſperity:

Which now vnto her greateſt growne,

Must perriſh thus, by courſe muſt die.

And ſome muſt be the cauſers why

This reuolution muſt be wrought:

As borne to bring theyr ſtate to nought.

To change the people and the crowne,

And purge the worlds iniquitie:

Which vice ſo farre hath ouer-growne.

As wee, ſo they that treate vs thus,

Must one day perriſh like to vs.

ACTVS QUARTVS.

SELEVCVS. RODON.

Sel. NEuer friend Rodon in a better howre,

Could I haue met thee then eu’en now I do

Hauing affliction in the greateſt powre

Vpon my ſoule, and none to tell it to.

For tis ſome eaſe our ſorrowes to reueale,

If they to whom wee ſhall impart our woes

Seeme but to feele a part of what wee feele,

And meete vs with a ſigh but at a cloze.

Rod. And neuer (friend Seleucus) found’ſt thou one,

That better could beare ſuch a part with thee:

Who by his owne, knowes others cares to mone,

And can in like accord of griefe agree.

And therefore tell th’oppreſsion of thy hart,

Tell to an eare prepar’d and tun’d to care:

And I will likewiſe vnto thee impart

As ſad a tale as what thou ſhalt declare.

So ſhal we both our mournful plaints combine,

Ile waile thy ſtate, and thou ſhalt pitty mine.

Sel. Well then, thou know’ſt how I haue liu’d in grace

With Cleopatra, and eſteem’d in Court

As one of Counſell, and of chiefeſt place,

And euer held my credite in that ſort.

Tyll now in this confuſion of our ſtate,

When thinking to haue vs’d a meane to climbe,

And fled the wretched, flowne vnto the great,

(Follow’ing the fortune of the preſent time,)

Am come to be caſt downe and ruin’d cleene.

And in the courſe of mine owne plot vndonne.

For hauing all the ſecretes of the Queene

Reueal’d to Ceſar, to haue fauour wonne:

My trechery is quited with diſgrace,

My falſhood loath’d, and not without great reaſon

Though good for him, yet Princes in this caſe

Doe hate yu Traytor, though they loue the treaſon.

For how could hee imagine I would be

Faithfull to him, being falſe vnto mine owne?

And falſe to ſuch a bountious Queene as ſhee,

That had me rais’d, and made mine honor known.

Hee ſaw twas not for zeale to him I bare,

But for baſe feare, or mine owne ſtate to ſettle.

Weakenes is falſe, and faith in Cowards rare,

Feare findes out ſhyfts, timiditie is ſubtle.

And therefore ſcornd of him, ſcornd of mine own.

Hatefull to all that looke into my ſtate:

Deſpis’d Seleucus now is onely growne

The marke of infamy, that’s pointed at.

Rod. Tis much thou ſaiſt, and ô too much to feele,

And I doe grieue and doe lament thy fall:

But yet all this which thou dooſt heere reueale,

Cōpar’d with mine, wil make thine ſeem but ſmal.

Although my fault be in the ſelfe-ſame kind,

Yet in degree far greater, far more hatefull;

Mine ſprong of myſchiefe, thine from feeble mind,

I ſtaind with blood, thou onely but vngratefull.

For vnto mee did Cleopatra gyue

The best and deereſt treaſure of her blood.

Louely Caſario, whom ſhee would ſhould liue

Free from the dangers wherein Egipt ſtood.

And vnto mee with him this charge ſhe gaue,

Heere Rodon, take, conuay from out thys Coaſt,

This precious Gem, the chiefeſt that I haue,

The iewell of my ſoule I value moſt.

Guide hym to India, leade him farre from hence,

Safeguard him where ſecure he may remaine,

Till better fortune call him back from thence,

And Egipts peace be reconcil’d againe.

For this is hee that may our hopes bring back,

(The ryſing ſunne of our declyning ſtate:)

Theſe be the hands that may reſtore our wrack,

And rayſe the broken ruines made of late.

Hee may gyue limmits to the boundles pryde

Of fierce Octauius, and abate his might:

Great Iulius of-ſpring, hee may come to guide

The Empire of the world, as his by right.

O how hee ſeemes the modell of his Syre?

O how I gaze my Cæſar in his face?

Such was his gate, ſo dyd his lookes aſpyre;

Such was his threatning brow, ſuch was his grace.

High ſhouldred, and his forehead euen as hie.

And ô, (if hee had not beene borne ſo late,)

He might haue rul’d the worlds great Monarchy,

And nowe haue beene the Champion of our ſtate.

Then vnto him, ô my deere ſonne, (ſhe ſayes,)

Sonne of my youth, flye hence, ô flye, be gone:

Reſerue thy ſelfe, ordain’d for better dayes,

For much thou haſt to ground thy hopes vppon.

Leaue mee (thy wofull Mother) to endure,

The fury of thys tempeſt heere alone:

Who cares not for herſelfe, ſo thou be ſure,

Thou mayſt reuenge, when others can but mone.

Rodon will ſee thee ſafe, Rodon will guide

Thee and thy waies, thou ſhalt not need to feare.

Rodon (my faithfull ſeruaunt) will prouide

What ſhall be best for thee, take thou no care.

And ô good Rodon, looke well to his youth,

The wayes are long, and daungers eu’ry where.

I vrge it not that I doe doubt thy truth,

Mothers will caſt the worſt, and alwaies feare.

The abſent daunger greater ſtill appeares,

Leſſe feares he, who is neere the thing he feares.

And ô, I know not what preſaging thought

My ſp’rit ſuggeſts of luckles bad euent:

But yet it may be tis but loue doth dote,

Or idle ſhadowes which my feares preſent.

But yet the memory of myne owne fate,

Makes mee feare his. And yet why ſhould I feare?

His fortune may recouer better ſtate,

And hee may come in pompe to gouerne heere.

But yet I doubt the Genius of our Race

By ſome malignant ſpirit comes ouer-throwne:

Our blood muſt be extinct, in my diſgrace,

Egypt muſt haue no more Kings of theyr owne.

Then let him ſtay, and let vs fall together,

Sith it is fore-decreed that we muſt fal.

Yet who knowes what may come? Let him go thither,

What Merchaunt in one Veſſell venters all?

Let vs deuide our ſtarrs. Goe, goe my Sonne,

Let not the fate of Egypt find thee heere:

Try if ſo be thy deſtiny can shunne

The common wracke of vs, by beeing there.

But who is hee found euer yet defence

Againſt the heauens, or hyd him any where?

Then what neede I to ſend thee ſo far hence

To ſeeke thy death that mayſt as well die heere?

And heere die with thy mother, die in reſt,

Not trauayling to what will come to thee.

Why ſhould wee leaue our blood vnto the Eaſt,

When Egipt may a Tombe ſufficient be?

O my deuided ſoule, what ſhall I doe?

Whereon ſhall now my reſolution reſt?

What were I best reſolue to yeeld vnto

When both are bad, how ſhall I know the best?

Stay; I may hap ſo worke with Cæſar now,

That hee may yeeld him to reſtore thy right.

Goe; Cæſar neuer will conſent that thou

So neere in blood, ſhalt bee ſo great in might.

Then take him Rodon, goe my ſonne fare-well.

But ſtay; ther’s ſomething els that I would ſay:

Yet nothing now, but ô God ſpeed thee well,

Leaſt ſaying more, that more may make thee ſtay.

Yet let mee ſpeake: It may be tis the laſt

That euer I ſhall ſpeake to thee my Sonne.

Doe Mothers vſe to parte in ſuch poſt-haſt?

What, muſt I ende when I haue ſcarce begun?

Ah no (deere hart,) tis no ſuch ſlender twine

Where-with the knot is tyde twixt thee and mee.

That blood within thy vaines came out of mine,

Parting from thee, I part from part of mee:

And therefore I muſt ſpeake. Yet what? O ſonne.

Here more ſhe wold, whē more ſhe could not ſay.

Sorrow rebounding backe whence it begun,

Fild vp the paſſage, and quite ſtopt the way:

When ſweet Cæſario with a princely ſp’rite,

(Though comfortleſſe himſelfe) did comfort giue;

With mildeſt words, perſwading her to beare it.

And as for him, shee ſhould not neede to grieue.

And I (with proteſtations of my part,)

Swore by that faith, (which ſworne I did deceaue)

That I would vſe all care, all wit and arte

To ſee hym ſafe; And ſo we tooke our leaue.

Scarce had wee trauail’d to our iourneyes end,

When Cæſar hauing knowledge of our way,

His Agents after vs with ſpeed doth ſend

To labour mee, Cæſario to betray.

Who-with rewards, and promiſes ſo large.

Aſſaild mee then, that I grew ſoone content;

And backe to Rhodes dyd reconuay my charge,

Pretending that Octauius for him ſent,

To make hym King of Egipt preſently.

And thither come, ſeeing himſelfe betrayd,

And in the hands of death through trecherie,

Wayling his ſtate, thus to himſelfe he ſayd.

Loe heere brought back by ſubtile traine to death,

Betrayde by Tutors fayth, or Traytors rather:

My faulte my blood, and mine offence my birth,

For beeing ſonne of ſuch a mightie Father.

From India, (whither ſent by Mothers care,

To be reſeru’d from Egypts common wracke,)

To Rhodes, (ſo long the armes of Tyrants are,)

I am by Cæſars ſubtile reach brought back.

Heere to be made th’oblation for his feares,

Who doubts the poore reuenge theſe handes may doe him:

Reſpecting neyther blood, nor youth, nor yeeres,

Or how ſmall ſafety can my death be to him.

And is this all the good of beeing borne great?

Then wretched greatnes, proud ritch miſery,

Pompous diſtreſſe, glittering calamity.

Is it for this th’ambitious Fathers ſweat,

To purchaſe blood and death for them and theirs?

Is this the iſſue that theyr glories get,

To leaue a ſure deſtruction to theyr heyres?

O how farre better had it beene for mee,

From low diſcent, deriu’d of humble birth,

To’haue eate the ſweet-ſowre bread of pouerty,

And drunke of Nilus ſtreame in Nilus earth:

Vnder the cou’ring of ſome quiet Cottage,

Free from the wrath of heauen, ſecure in minde,

Vntoucht when ſad euents of Princes dotage,

Confounds what euer mighty it dooth find.

And not t’haue ſtoode in theyr way, whoſe condition,

Is to haue all made cleere, and all thing plaine,

Betweene them and the marke of theyr ambition,

That nothing let the full ſight of theyr raigne.

Where nothing ſtands, that ſtands not in ſubmiſsion;

Where greatnes muſt all in it ſelfe containe.

Kings will be alone, Competitors muſt downe,

Neere death he ſtands, that ſtands too neer a Crowne.

Such is my caſe, for Cæſar will haue all:

My blood muſt ſeale th’aſſurance of his ſtate:

Yet ah weake ſtate that blood aſſure him ſhall,

Whoſe wrongfull shedding, Gods and men do hate.

Iniuſtice neuer ſcapes vnpuniſht ſtill,

Though men reuenge not, yet the heauens will.

And thou Augustus that with bloody hand,

Curt’st off ſucceſsion from anothers race,

Maiſt find the heauens thy vowes ſo to withſtand.

That others may depriue thine in like caſe.

When thou maiſt ſee thy proude contentious bed

Yeelding thee none of thine that may inherite:

Subuert thy blood, place others in theyr ſted,

To pay this thy iniuſtice her due merite.

If it be true, (as who can that deny

Which ſacred Prieſts of Memphis doe fore-ſay,)

Some of the of-ſpring yet of Anthony,

Shall all the rule of this whole Empire ſway.

And then Auguſtus, what is it thou gaineſt

By poore Antillus blood, or this of mine?

Nothing but thys thy victory thou ſtaineſt,

And pull’ſt the wrath of heauen on thee and thine.

In vaine doth man contende againſt the ſtarrs,

For what hee ſeekes to make, his wiſdom marrs.

Yet in the mean-time we whom Fates reſerue,

The bloody ſacrifices of ambition,

We feele the ſmart what euer they deſerue,

And wee indure the preſent times condition.

The iuſtice of the heauens reuenging thus,

Doth onely ſacrifice it ſelfe, not vs.

Yet tis a pleaſing comfort that dooth eaſe

Affliction in ſo great extreamitie.

To thinke theyr like deſtruction ſhall appeaſe

Our ghoſtes, who did procure our miſery.

But dead we are, vncertaine what ſhall bee,

And lyuing, wee are ſure to feele the wrong:

Our certaine ruine wee our ſelues doe ſee.

They ioy the while, and wee know not how long.

But yet Cæſario, thou muſt die content,

For men will mone, & God reuenge th’innocent.

Thus he cōplain’d, & thus thou hear’ſt my ſhame.

Sel. But how hath Cæſar now rewarded thee?

Rod. As hee hath thee. And I expect the ſame

As fell to Theodor to fall to mee:

For he (one of my coate) hauing betrayd

The young Antillus, ſonne of Anthony,

And at his death from of his necke conuayd

A iewell: which being askt, he did deny:

Cæſar occaſion tooke to hang him ſtraight.

Such inſtruments with Princes liue not long.

Although they neede vs, (actors of deceit,)

Yet ſtill our ſight ſeemes to vpbrayd their wrong;

And therefore we muſt needes this danger runne,

And in the net of our owne guile be caught:

Wee muſt not liue to bray what we haue done,

For what is done, muſt not appeare theyr fault.

But heere comes Cleopatra, wofull Queene,

And our ſhame will not that we ſhould be ſeene.

Exeunt.

Cleopatra.

WHat, hath my face yet powre to win a Louer?

Can this torne remnant ſerue to grace me ſo,

That it can Cæſars ſecrete plots diſcouer

What he intends with mee and mine to do?

Why then poore Beautie thou haſt doone thy laſt,

And best good ſeruice thou could’ſt doe vnto mee.

For now the time of death reueal’d thou haſt,

Which in my life didſt ſerue but to vndoe mee.

Heere Dolabella far forſooth in loue,

Writes, how that Cæſar meanes forthwith, to ſend

Both mee and mine, th’ayre of Rome to proue:

There his Tryumphant Chariot to attend.

I thanke the man, both for his loue and letter;

Th’one comes fit to warne mee thus before,

But for th’other, I muſt die his debter,

For Cleopatra now can loue no more.

But hauing leaue, I muſt goe take my leaue

And laſt farewell of my dead Anthony:

Whoſe deerely honour’d Tombe muſt heere receaue

This ſacrifice, the laſt before I dye.

O ſacred euer-memorable Stone,

That haſt without my teares, within my flame,

Receiue th’oblation of the wofull’ſt mone

That euer yet from ſad affliction came.

And you deere reliques of my Lord and Loue,

(The ſweeteſt parcells of the faithfull’ſt liuer,)

O let no impious hand dare to remoue

You out from hence, but reſt you heere for euer.

Let Egypt now giue peace vnto you dead,

That lyuing, gaue you trouble and turmoyle:

Sleepe quiet in this euer-laſting bed,

In forraine land preferr’d before your ſoyle.

And ô, if that the ſp’rits of men remaine

After their bodies, and doe neuer die,

Then heare thy Ghoſt thy captiue Spouſe complaine,

And be attentiue to her miſery.

But if that laborſome mortalitie,

Found this ſweet error, onely to confine

The curious ſearch of idle vanity,

That would the deapth of darknes vndermine:

Or rather, to giue reſt vnto the thought

Of wretched man, with th’after-comming ioy

Of thoſe conceiued fieldes whereon we dote,

To pacifie the preſent worlds anoy.

If it be ſo, why ſpeake I then to th’ayre?

But tis not ſo, my Anthony doth heare:

His euer-liuing ghoſt attends my prayer,

And I doe know his houering ſp’rite is neere.

And I will ſpeake, and pray, and mourne to thee,

O pure immortall loue that daign’ſt to heare:

I feele thou aunſwer’ſt my credulitie

With touch of comfort, finding none elſwhere.

Thou know’ſt theſe hands entomb’d thee heer of late,

Free and vnforſt, which now muſt ſeruile be,

Reſeru’d for bands to grace proude Cæſars ſtate,

Who ſeekes in mee to tryumph ouer thee.

O if in life we could not ſeuerd be,

Shall Death deuide our bodies now a ſunder?

Muſt thine in Egypt, mine in Italie,

Be kept the Monuments of Fortunes wonder?

If any powres be there where as thou art,

(Sith our owne Country Gods betray our caſe,)

O worke they may theyr gracious helpe impart,

To ſaue thy wofull wife from ſuch diſgrace.

Doe not permit shee ſhould in tryumph shew

The bluſh of her reproch, ioyn’d with thy ſhame:

But (rather) let that hatefull Tyrant know,

That thou and I had powre t’auoyde the ſame.

But what doe I ſpend breath and idle winde,

In vaine invoking a conceiued ayde?

Why doe I not my ſelfe occaſion find

To breake the bounds wherein my ſelfe am ſtayd?

Words are for them that can complaine and lyue,

Whoſe melting harts compos’d of baſer frame,

Can to theyr ſorrowes time and leyſure gyue,

But Cleopatra may not doe the ſame.

No Anthony, thy loue requireth more.

A lingring death, with thee deſerues no merit,

I muſt my ſelfe force open wide a dore

To let out life, and ſo vnhouſe my ſpirit.

Theſe hands muſt breake the priſon of my ſoule

To come to thee, there to enioy like ſtate,

As doth the long-pent ſolitary Foule,

That hath eſcapt her cage, and found her mate.

This Sacrifice to ſacrifize my life,

Is that true incenſe that doth best beſeeme:

Theſe rites may ſerue a life-deſiring wife,

Who dooing them, t’haue done enough doth deeme.

My hart blood ſhould the purple flowers haue beene,

Which heere vpon thy Tombe to thee are offred,

No ſmoake but dying breath ſhould heere been ſeene,

And this it had beene to, had I beene ſuffred.

But what haue I ſaue theſe bare hands to doe it?

And theſe weake fingers are not yron-poynted:

They cannot peirce the fleſh be’ing put vnto it,

And I of all meanes els am diſapoynted.

But yet I muſt a way and meanes ſeeke, how

To come vnto thee, what ſo ere I doo.

O Death, art thou ſo hard to come by now,

That wee muſt pray, intreate, and ſeeke thee too?

But I will finde thee where ſo ere thou lye,

For who can ſtay a minde reſolu’d to die?

And now I goe to worke th’effect in deede,

Ile neuer ſend more words or ſighes to thee:

Ile bring my ſoule my ſelfe, and that with ſpeed,

My ſelfe will bring my ſoule to Anthony.

Come goe my Maydes, my fortunes ſole attenders,

That miniſter to miſery and ſorrow:

Your Miſtres you vnto your freedom renders,

And quits you from all charge yet ere to morrow.

And now by this, I thinke the man I ſent,

Is neere return’d that brings mee my diſpatch.

God graunt his cunning ſort to good euent,

And that his skill may well beguile my watch.

So ſhall I ſhun diſgrace, leaue to be ſorie,

Fly to my loue, ſcape my foe, free my ſoule;

So ſhall I act the laſt act of my glory,

Dye like a Queene, and reſt without controule.

Exit.

CHORVS.

MIsterious Egipt, wonder breeder,

ſtrict religions ſtrange obſeruer,

State-ordrer Zeale, the best rule-keeper,

fostring ſtill in temprate feruor:

O how cam’st thou to loſe ſo wholy

all religion, law and order?

And thus become the most vnholy

of all Lands that Nylus border?

How could confus’d Diſorder enter

where ſterne Law ſate ſo ſeuerely?

How durst weake lust and ryot venter

th’eye of Iustice looking neerely?

Could not thoſe means that made thee great,

Be ſtill the meanes to keepe thy ſtate?

Ah no, the courſe of things requireth

change and alteration euer:

That ſame continuaunce man deſireth,

th’vnconſtant world yeeldeth neuer.

Wee in our counſels must be blinded,

and not ſee what dooth import vs:

And often-times the thing least minded,

is the thing that moſt muſt hurt vs.

Yet they that haue the stearne in guiding,

tis their fault that ſhould preuent it,

For oft they ſeeing their Country ſlyding,

take their eaſe, as though contented.

Wee imitate the greater powres,

The Princes manners faſhion ours.

Th’example of their light regarding,

vulgar looſenes much incences:

Vice vncontrould, growes wide inlarging,

Kings ſmall faults, be great offences.

And this hath ſet the window open

vnto lycence, lust and ryot:

This way Confuſion first found broken,

whereby entred our diſquiet.

Thoſe lawes that Zoroaſter founded,

and the Ptolomies obſerued,

Heereby first came to be confounded,

which our state ſo long preſerued.

The wanton luxurie of Court,

Dyd forme the people of like ſort.

For all (reſpecting priuate pleaſure,)

vniuerſally conſenting

To abuſe theyr time, theyr treaſure,

in theyr owne delights contenting:

And future dangers nought reſpecting,

whereby, (O howe eaſie matter

Made this ſo generall neglecting,

Confus’d weakenes to diſeater?)

Cæſar found th’effect true tryed,

in his eaſie entrance making:

Who at the ſight of armes, diſcryed

all our people, all forſaking.

For ryot (worſe then warre,) ſo ſore

Had wasted all our ſtrength before.

And thus is Egipt ſeruile rendred,

to the inſolent destroyer:

And all their ſumptuous treaſure tendred,

all her wealth that did betray her.

Which poyſon (O if heauens be rightfull,)

may ſo far infect their ſences,

That Egipts pleaſures ſo delightfull,

may breed them the like offences.

And Romans learne our way of weaknes,

be instructed in our vices:

That our ſpoyles may ſpoyle your greatnes,

ouercome with our deuiſes.

Fill full your hands, and carry home

Inough from vs to ruine Rome.

ACTVS QVINTVS.

Dolabella, Titivs.

Dol. COme tell mee Titius eu’ry circumſtaunce

How Cleopatra did receiue my newes:

Tell eu’ry looke, each geſture, countenaunce,

That ſhee did in my Letters reading vſe.

Tit. I ſhall my Lord ſo farre as I could note,

Or my conceite obſerue in any wiſe.

It was the time when as ſhee hauing got

Leaue to her Deereſt dead to ſacrifize;

And now was iſſuing out the Monument,

With Odors, Incenſe, Garlands in her hand,

When I approcht (as one from Cæſar ſent,)

And did her cloſe thy meſſage t’vnderſtand.

Shee turnes her backe, and with her takes mee in,

Reades in thy lynes thy ſtrange vnlookt for tale:

And reades, and ſmyles, and ſtayes, and doth begin

Againe to reade, then bluſht, and then was pale.

And hauing ended with a ſigh, refoldes

Thy Letter vp: and with a fixed eye,

(Which ſtedfaſt her imagination holds)

Shee mus’d a while, ſtanding confuſedly.

At length. Ah friend, (ſaith shee,) tell thy good Lord,

How deere I hold his pittying of my caſe:

That out of his ſweet nature can afford,

A miſerable woman ſo much grace.

Tell him how much my heauy ſoule doth grieue

Mercileſſe Cæſar ſhould ſo deale with mee:

Pray him that he would all the counſell giue,

That might diuert him from ſuch crueltie.

As for my loue, ſay Anthony hath all,

Say that my hart is gone into the graue

With him, in whom it reſts and euer ſhall:

I haue it not my ſelfe, nor cannot haue.

Yet tell him, he ſhall more commaund of mee

Then any, whoſoeuer lyuing, can.

Hee that ſo friendly ſhewes himſelfe to be

A right kind Roman, and a Gentleman.

Although his Nation (fatall vnto mee,)

Haue had mine age a ſpoyle, my youth a pray,

Yet his affection muſt accepted be,

That fauours one diſtreſt in ſuch decay.

Ah, hee was worthy then to haue been lou’d,

Of Cleopatra whiles her glory laſted;

Before ſhee had declyning fortune prou’d,

Or ſeene her honor wrackt, her flower blaſted.

Now there is nothing left her but diſgrace,

Nothing but her affliction that can moue:

Tell Dolabella, one that’s in her caſe,

(Poore ſoule,) needes rather pitty now then loue.

But ſhortly ſhall thy Lord heare more of mee.

And ending ſo her ſpeech, no longer ſtayd,

But haſted to the Tombe of Anthony.

And this was all shee did, and all ſhee ſaid.

Dol. Ah ſweet diſtreſſed Lady. What hard hart

Could chuſe but pitty thee, and loue thee too?

Thy worthines, the ſtate wherein thou art

Requireth both, and both I vow to doo.

Although ambition lets not Cæſar ſee

The wrong hee doth thy Maieſtie and ſweetnes,

Which makes him now exact ſo much of thee,

To add vnto his pride, to grace his greatnes.

Hee knowes thou canſt no hurt procure vs now,

Sith all thy ſtrength is ceaz’d into our hands:

Nor feares hee that, but rather labours how

Hee might shew Rome ſo great a Queene in bands.

That our great Ladies (enuying thee ſo much

That ſtain’d thē all, & hell’d them in ſuch wonder,)

Might ioy to ſee thee, and thy fortune ſuch,

Thereby extolling him that brought thee vnder.

But I will ſeeke to ſtay it what I may;

I am but one, yet one that Cæſar loues,

And ô if now I could doe more then pray,

Then ſhould’ſt yu know how far affection moues.

But what my powre and prayer may preuaile,

Ile ioyne them both, to hinder thy diſgrace:

And euen this preſent day I will not fayle

To doe my best with Cæſar in this caſe.

Tit. And Sir, euen now her ſelfe hath Letters ſent,

I met her meſſenger as I came hither,

With a diſpatch as hee to Cæſar went,

But knowes not what imports her ſending thither.

Yet this hee told, how Cleopatra late

Was come from ſacrifice. How ritchly clad

Was ſeru’d to dinner in moſt ſumptuous ſtate,

With all the braueſt ornaments ſhee had.

How hauing dyn’d, ſhee writes, and ſends away

Him ſtraight to Cæſar, and commaunded than

All ſhould depart the Tombe, and none to ſtay

But her two maides, and one poore Countryman.

Dol. Why then I know, ſhe ſends t’haue audience now,

And meanes t’experience what her ſtate can doe:

To ſee if Maieſtie will make him bow

To what affliction could not moue him to.

And ô, if now ſhee could but bring a view

Of that freſh beauty ſhee in youth poſſeſt,

(The argument where-with ſhee ouer-threw

The wit of Iulius Cæſar, and the reſt,)

Then happily Auguſtus might relent,

Whilſt powrefull Loue, (far ſtronger thē ambition)

Might worke in him, a mind to be content

To graunt her asking, in the beſt condition.

But beeing as ſhee is, yet doth ſhe merite

To be reſpected, for what ſhee hath been:

The wonder of her kinde, of rareſt ſpirit,

A glorious Lady, and a mighty Queene.

And now, but by a little weakenes falling

To doe that which perhaps ſh’was forſt to doe:

Alas, an error paſt, is paſt recalling,

Take away weakenes, and take wemen too.

But now I goe to be thy Aduocate,

Sweet Cleopatra, now Ile vſe mine arte.

Thy preſence will mee greatly animate,

Thy face will teach my tongue, thy loue my hart.

SCENA SECVNDA.

Nvntivs.

AM I ordaind the carefull Meſſenger,

And ſad neweſ-bringer of the ſtrangeſt death,

Which ſelfe hand did vpon it ſelfe infer,

To free a captiue ſoule from ſeruile breath?

Muſt I the lamentable wonder ſhew,

Which all the world muſt grieue and meruaile at?

The rareſt forme of death in earth below,

That euer pitty, glory, wonder gat.

Chor. What newes bring’ſt yu, can Egipt yet yeeld more

Of ſorrow then it hath? what can it add

To th’already ouer-flowing ſtore

Of ſad affliction, matter yet more ſad?

Haue wee not ſeene the worſt of our calamitie?

Is there behind yet ſomething of diſtreſſe

Vnſeene, vnknowne? Tell if that greater miſery

There be, that we waile not that which is leſſe.

Tell vs what ſo it be, and tell at fyrſt,

For ſorrow euer longs to heare her worſt.

Nun. Well then, the ſtrangeſt thing relate I will,

That euer eye of mortall man hath ſeene.

I (as you know) euen from my youth, haue ſtil

Attended on the perſon of the Queene.

And euer in all fortunes good or ill,

With her as one of chiefeſt truſt haue beene.

And now in theſe ſo great extreamities,

That euer could to Maieſtie befall,

I did my best in what I could deuiſe,

And left her not, till now ſhee left vs all.

Chor. What is ſhee gone. Hath Cæſar forſt her ſo?

Nun. Yea, ſhee is gone, and hath deceiu’d him to.

Chor. What, fled to India, to goe find her ſonne?

Nun. No, not to India, but to find her ſonne.

Chor. Why thē there’s hope ſhe may her ſtate recouer.

Nun. Her ſtate? nay rather honor, and her Louer.

Chor. Her Louer? him shee cannot haue againe.

Nun. Well, him ſhee hath, wt him she doth remaine.

Cho. Why thē ſhe’s dead. Iſt ſo? why ſpeak’ſt not thou?

Nun. You geſſe aright, and I will tell you how.

Whē ſhe perceiu’d al hope was cleane bereſt her,

That Cæſar meant to ſend her ſtraight away,

And ſaw no meanes of reconcilement left her,

Work what she could, she could not work to ſtay.

Shee calls mee to her, and ſhe thus began.

O thou whoſe truſt hath euer beene the ſame

And one in all my fortunes, faithfull man,

Alone content t’attend diſgrace and ſhame.

Thou, whom the fearefull ruine of my fall,

Neuer deterrd to leaue calamitie:

As did thoſe other ſmooth ſtate-pleaſers all,

Who followed but my fortune, and not me.

Tis thou muſt doe a ſeruice for thy Queene,

Wherein thy faith and ſkill muſt doe their best:

Thy honeſt care and duty ſhall be ſeene

Performing this, more then in all the reſt.

For all what thou haſt done, may die with thee,

Although tis pitty that ſuch faith ſhould die.

But this ſhall euer-more remembred be,

A rare example to poſterity.

And looke how long as Cleopatra shall

In after ages liue in memory,

So long ſhall thy cleere fame endure withall,

And therefore thou muſt not my ſute deny;

Nor contradict my will. For what I will

I am reſolu’d: and this tis thou muſt doe mee:

Goe finde mee out with all thy arte and skill

To Aſpicqs, and conuay them cloſe vnto mee.

I haue a worke to doe with them in hand,

Enquire not what, for thou ſhalt ſoone ſee what,

If the heauens doe not my diſſeignes withſtand,

But doe thy charge, and let mee ſhyft with that.

Beeing thus coniur’d, by her t’whom I’had vow’d

My true perpetuall ſeruice, forth I went,

Deuiſing how my cloſe attempt to ſhrowde,

So that there might no arte my arte preuent.

And ſo diſguis’d in habite as you ſee,

Hauing foūnd out the thing for which I went,

I ſoone return’d againe, and brought with mee

The Aſpicqs, in a basket cloſely pent.

Which I had fill’d with figges, and leaues vpon.

And comming to the Guarde that kept the dore,

What haſt thou there? ſaid they, and lookt thereon.

Seeing the figgs, they deem’d of nothing more,

But ſayd, they were the faireſt they had ſeene.

Taſte ſome, ſaid I, for they are good and pleaſant.

No, no, ſayd they, goe beare them to thy Queene.

Thinking mee ſome poore man yt brought a Preſent.

Well, in I went, where brighter then the Sunne,

Glittering in all her pompous ritch aray,

Great Cleopatra ſate; as if ſhe’had wonne

Cæſar and all the world beſide this day.

Euen as ſhee was when on thy criſtall ſtreames,

O Cydnos ſhee did ſhew what earth could ſhew.

When Aſia all amaz’d in wonder, deemes

Venvs from heauen was come on earth below.

Euen as ſhee went at firſt to meete her Loue,

So goes ſhee now at laſt againe to finde him.

But that firſt, did her greatnes onely proue.

This laſt her loue, that could not liue behind him.

Yet as ſhee ſate, the doubt of my good ſpeed,

Detracts much from the ſweetnes of her looke:

Cheere-marrer Care, did then ſuch paſſions breed,

That made her eye bewray the care ſhee tooke.

But ſhee no ſooner ſees mee in the place,

But ſtraight her ſorrow-clowded brow shee cleeres,

Lightning a ſmile from out a ſtormy face,

Which all her tempeſt-beaten ſences cheeres.

Looke how a ſtray’d perplexed trauailer,

When chas’d by thieues, and euen at poynt of taking,

Diſcrying ſuddainly ſome towne not far,

Or ſome vnlookt-for ayde to him-ward making;

Cheeres vp his tired ſp’rits, thruſts forth his ſtrength

To meete that good, that comes in ſo good houre:

Such was her ioy, perceiuing now at length,

Her honor was t’eſcape ſo proude a powre.

Foorth from her ſeate ſhee haſtes to meet the preſent,

And as one ouer-ioyd, shee caught it ſtraight.

And with a ſmyling cheere in action pleaſant,

Looking among the figges, findes the deceite.

And ſeeing there the vgly venemous beaſt,

Nothing diſmayde, shee ſtayes and viewes it well.

At length, th’extreameſt of her paſſion ceaſt,

When shee began with words her ioy to tell.

O rareſt Beaſt (ſayth shee) that Affrick breedes,

How deerely welcome art thou vnto mee?

The fayreſt creature that faire Nylus feedes

Mee thinks I ſee, in now beholding thee.

What though the euer-erring world doth deeme

That angred Nature fram’d thee but in ſpight:

Little they know what they ſo light eſteeme,

That neuer learn’d the wonder of thy might.

Better then Death, Deathes office thou diſchargeſt,

That with one gentle touch canſt free our breath:

And in a pleaſing ſleepe our ſoule inlargeſt,

Making our ſelues not priuie to our death.

If Nature err’d, ô then how happy error,

Thinking to make thee worſt, shee made thee best:

Sith thou best freeſt vs from our liues worſt terror,

In ſweetly bringing ſoules to quiet reſt.

When that inexorable Monſter Death

That followes Fortune, flyes the poore diſtreſſed,

Tortures our bodies ere hee takes our breath,

And loades with paines th’already weake oppreſſed.

How oft haue I begg’d, prayd, intreated him

To take my life, and yet could neuer get him?

And when he comes, he comes ſo vgly grim,

That who is he (if he could chuſe) would let him?

Therefore come thou, of wonders wonder chiefe,

That open canſt with ſuch an eaſie key

The dore of life, come gentle cunning thiefe,

That from our ſelues ſo ſteal’ſt our ſelues away.

Well did our Prieſts diſcerne ſomething diuine

Shadow’d in thee, and therefore firſt they did

Offrings and worſhyps due to thee aſſigne,

In whom they found ſuch miſteries were hid.

Comparing thy ſweet motion to the Sunne,

That mou’ſt without the inſtruments that moue:

And neuer waxing old, but alwaies one,

Dooſt ſure thy ſtrange diuinitie approue.

And therefore to, the rather vnto thee

In zeale I make the offring of my blood,

Calamitie confirming now in mee

A ſure beliefe that pietie makes good.

Which happy men neglect, or hold ambiguous,

And onely the afflicted are religious.

And heere I ſacrifize theſe armes to Death,

That Luſt late dedicated to Delights:

Offling vp for my laſt, this laſt of breath,

The complement of my loues deereſt rites.

With that ſhee bares her arme, and offer makes

To touch her death, yet at the touch with-drawes,

And ſeeming more to ſpeake, occaſion takes,

Willing to die, and willing to to pauſe.

Looke how a Mother at her ſonnes departing

For ſome far voyage, bent to get him fame,

Doth intertaine him with an idle parling.

And ſtill doth ſpeake, and ſtill ſpeakes but the ſame;

Now bids farewell, and now recalls him back,

Tells what was told, and bids againe fare-well,

And yet againe recalls; for ſtill doth lack

Something that loue would faine and cannot tell.

Pleas’d hee should goe, yet cannot let him goe.

So ſhee, although ſhee knew there was no way

But this, yet this shee could not handle ſo

But shee muſt shew that life deſir’d delay.

Faine would shee entertaine the time as now,

And now would faine yt Death would ſeaze vpō her.

Whilſt I might ſee preſented in her brow,

The doubtfull combat tryde twixt Life and Honor.

Life bringing Legions of freſh hopes with her,

Arm’d with the proofe of Time, which yeelds we ſay

Comfort and Help, to ſuch as doe refer

All vnto him, and can admit delay.

But Honor ſcorning Life, loe forth leades he

Bright Immortalitie in ſhyning armour:

Thorow the rayes of whoſe cleere glory, ſhee

Might ſee Lifes baſenes, how much it might harm her.

Beſides, ſhee ſaw whole Armies of Reproches,

And baſe Diſgraces, Furies fearefull ſad,

Marching with Life, and ſhame that ſtill incroches

Vppon her face, in bloody collours clad.

Which repreſentments ſeeing worſe then death

Shee deem’d to yeeld to Life, and therfore choſe

To render all to Honour, hart and breath;

And that with ſpeede, leaſt that her inward foes

Falſe fleſh and blood, ioyning with lyfe and hope,

Should mutinie againſt her reſolution.

And to the end shee would not giue them ſcope,

Shee preſently proceeds to th’execution.

And ſharply blaming of her rebell powres,

Falſe fleſh, (ſayth shee,) and what doſt thou cōſpire

With Cæſar to, as thou wert none of ours,

To worke my ſhame, and hinder my deſire?

Wilt thou retaine in cloſure of thy vaines,

That enemy Baſe life, to let my good?

No, know there is a greater powre conſtraines

Then can be countercheckt with fearefull blood.

For to the minde that’s great, nothing ſeemes great.

And ſeeing death to be the laſt of woes,

And life laſting diſgrace, which I shall get,

What doe I loſe, that haue but life to loſe?

This hauing ſaid, ſtrengthned in her owne hart,

And vnion of her ſelfe ſences in one

Charging together, shee performes that part

That hath ſo great a part of glory wonne.

And ſo receiues the deadly poyſning touch.

That touch that tryde the gold of her loue pure,

And hath confirm’d her honor to be ſuch,

As muſt a wonder to all worlds endure.

Now not an yeelding ſhrinke or touch of feare.

Conſented to bewray leaſt ſence of paine:

But ſtill in one ſame ſweete vnaltred cheere,

Her honor did her dying thoughts retaine.

Well, now this work is done (ſaith she,) here ends

This act of life, that part of Fates aſſign’d mee:

What glory or diſgrace heere this world lends,

Both haue I had, and both I leaue behinde mee.

And now ô Earth, the Theater where I

Haue acted this, witnes I dye vnforſt.

Witnes my ſoule parts free to Anthony,

And now proude Tyrant Cæſar doe thy worſt.

This ſayd, ſhee ſtayes, and makes a ſuddaine pauſe,

As twere to feele whither the poyſon wrought:

Or rather els the working might be cauſe

That made her ſtay, as likewiſe may be thought.

For in that inſtant I might well perceiue,

The drowſie humor in her falling brow:

And how each powre, each part oppreſt did leaue

Theyr former office, and did ſenceleſſe grow.

Looke how a new-pluckt branch againſt the Sunne,

Declynes his fading leaues in feeble ſort,

So her disioyned ioyntures as vndonne.

Let fall her weake diſſolued limmes ſupport.

Yet loe that face the wonder of her life,

Retaines in death, a grace that graceth death,

Couller ſo liuely, cheere ſo louely rife,

That none wold think ſuch beauty could want breath.

And in that cheere, th’impreſsion of a ſmile

Did ſeeme to ſhew shee ſcorned Death and Cæſar,

As glorying that shee could them both beguile,

And telling death how much her death did pleaſe her.

Wonder it was to ſee how ſoone shee went,

Shee went with ſuch a will, and did ſo haſte it,

That ſure I thinke shee did her paine preuent,

Fore-going paine, or ſtaying not to taſte it.

And ſenceleſſe, in her ſinking downe shee wryes

The Diadem which on her head shee wore,

Which Charmion (poore weake feeble mayd) eſpyes,

And haſtes to right it as it was before.

For Eras now was dead, and Charmion too

Euen at the poynt, for both would imitate

Theyr Miſtres glory, ſtriuing like to doo.

But Charmion would in this exceede her mate,

For shee would haue this honour to be laſt,

That should adorne that head that muſt be ſeene

To weare a Crowne in death, that life held faſt,

That all the world might know shee dyde a Queene.

And as shee ſtood ſetting if fitly on,

Lo in ruſh Cæſars Meſſengers in haſte,

Thinking to haue preuented what was doone,

But yet they came too late, for all was paſt.

For there they found ſtretch’d on a bed of gold,

Dead Cleopatra, and that proudly dead,

In all the riche attyre procure ſhee could,

And dying Charmion trymming of her head.

And Eras at her feete, dead in like caſe.

Charmion, is this well doone? ſaid one of them.

Yea, well ſayd ſhee, and her that from the race

Of ſo great Kings diſcends, doth best become.

And with that word, yeelds too her faithful breath,

To paſſe th’aſſurance of her loue with death.

Chor. But how knew Cæſar of her cloſe intent?

Nun. By Letters which before to him shee ſent.

For when shee had procur’d this meanes to die,

Shee writes, and earneſtly intreates, shee might

Be buried in one Tombe with Anthony.

Whereby then Cæſar geſs’d all went not right.

And forth-with ſends, yet ere the meſſage came

Shee was diſpatcht, he croſt in his intent,

Her prouidence had ordred ſo the ſame

That ſhee was ſure none should her plot preuent.

C H O R V S.

THen thus we haue beheld

Th’accompliſhment of woes,

The full of ruine, and

The worst of worst of ills.

And ſeene all hope expeld,

That euer ſweet repoſe

Shall re-poſſeβ: the Land

That Deſolations fills,

And where Ambition ſpills

With vncontrouled hand,

All th’iſſue of all thoſe,

That ſo long rule haue hell’d:

To make vs no more vs,

But cleane confound vs thus.

And canst O Nylus thou,

Father of floods indure,

That yellow Tyber ſhould

With ſandy ſtreames rule thee?

Wilt thou be pleas’d to bow

To him thoſe feete ſo pure,

Whoſe vnknowne head we hold

A powre diuine to bee?

Thou that didst euer ſee

Thy free banks vncontroul’d

Liue vnder thine owne care:

Ah wilt thou beare it now?

And now wilt yeeld thy ſtreams

A pray to other Reames?

Draw backe thy waters floe

To thy concealed head:

Rockes ſtrangle vp thy waues,

Stop Cataractes thy fall.

And turne thy courſes ſo,

That ſandy Dezarts dead,

(The world of dust that craues

To ſwallow thee vp all,)

May drinke ſo much as ſhall

Reuiue from vastie graues

A lyuing greene, which ſpredd

Far florsſhing, may gro

On that wide face of Death.

Where nothing now drawes breath.

Fatten ſome people there,

Euen as thou vs haſt doone,

With plenties wanton ſtore,

And feeble luxurie:

And them as vs prepare

Fit for the day of mone

Reſpected not before.

Leaue leuell’d Egipt dry,

A barraine pray to lye,

Waſted for euer-more.

Of plenties yeelding none

To recompence the care

Of Victors greedy lust,

And bring forth nought but duſt.

And ſo O leaue to bee,

Sith thou art what thou art:

Let not our race poſſeβ

Th’inheritance of ſhame,

The ſee of ſin, that wee

Haue left them for theyr part:

The yoke of whoſe diſtreβ

Muſt ſtill vpbraid our blame,

Telling from whom it came.

Our weight of wantonnes,

Lyes heauy on their hart,

Who neuer-more ſhall ſee

The glory of that worth

They left who brought vs forth.

O thou all ſeeing light,

High Preſident of heauen,

You Magistrates the ſtarres

Of that eternall court

Of Prouidence and Right,

Are theſe the bounds y’haue giuen

Th’vntranſpaβable barres,

That limit pride ſo ſhort,

Is greatnes of this ſort,

That greatnes greatnes marres,

And wracks it ſelfe, ſelfe driuen

On Rocks of her owne might?

Doth Order order ſo

Diſorders ouer-thro?

FINIS.

AT LONDON, Printed by Iames Roberts, and Edward Allde, for Simon Waterſon. 1594.