The Tragedy of Cleopatra

THE POETICALL ESSAYES OF Sam. Danyel. Newly corrected and augmented.

Ætas prima canat veneres, poſtremas tumultus.

AT LONDON Printed by P. Short for Simon Waterſon 1599.

To the Right honorable, Sir Charles Blunt Knight, Lord Mountioy, and Knight of the moſt Noble order of the Garter, and his moſt worthy Lord.

I Do not plant thy great reſpected name

Here in this fron, to th’end thou ſhouldſt protect

Theſe my endeuors from contempt or blame,

Which none but their own forces muſt effect:

Nor do I ſeeke to win by more reſpect,

Moſt learned Lord, by theſe Eßaies of mine,

Since that cleere iudgement that did firſt elect

To fauor me, will alwaies keepe me thine:

Nor do I this more honor to aſſigne.

Vnto thy worth that is no more hereby,

Since th’offrings made vnto the powers deuine,

Enrich not them but ſhew mens pietie:

But this I do to th’end if deſtinie

Shall any monument reſerue of me,

Thoſe times ſhould ſee my loue, how willing I

That liu’d by thee, would haue thee liue with me.

S. D.

THE TRAGEDIE OF CLEOPATRA

Aetas prima canat veneres poſtrema tumultus.

AT LONDON

Printed by P.S. for Simon Waterſon. 1599.

To the Right Honourable, the Lady Mary, 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.

She, whoſe cleere brightneſſe 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 eies, and plaind 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 Queen & Loue he ſcarce wil know her,

Finding how much ſhe 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 eies

My darke defects, which from her ſpirit detract,

He 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 pens (like Speares) are charg’d,

To chace away this tyrant of the North:

Groβe 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 hideous 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 elſe in darkneſſe carries all away,

And makes of all our honours but a pray.

So that if by my pen procure I ſhall

But to defend me, 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 glorie giue

Vnto thy ſelfe, then I can by the ſame.

Who doſt with thine own 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 from 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 Faith, and Temples ruined.

By this (great Ladie,) 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 limits ſo:

But that the melodie of our ſweete 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,

Vnlocke theſe limits, open our confines:

And breake aſunder 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 and our Spencer might,

With thoſe Po-ſingers beeing equalled,

Enchaunt the world with ſuch a ſweet delight,

That their 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, locke vp with thy Ocean key

This treaſure to our ſelues, and let them miſſe

Of ſo ſweet ritches: as vnworthie they

To taſte the great delights that we inioy.

And let our harmonie 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 inioind?

Alas, what honour can a voyce ſo low

As this of mine,expect hereby to find?

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

That fauored by the worthies of our Land,

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

In time to take a greater taske in hand.

The Argument.

AFter the death of Antonius, Cleopatra (liuing ſtill in the Monument ſhee had cauſed to bee built,) coulde not by anie meanes bee drawne foorth, although Octauius Caeſar verie earneſtlie laboured it: and ſent Proculeius to vſe all diligence to bring her vnto him: For that he thought it woulde bee a great Ornament to his ryumphes, to get her aliue to Rome. But neuer woulde ſhee put her ſelfe into the handes of Proculeius, although on a time hee founde the meanes, (by a window that was at the toppe 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 ridde of him,) cunningly ſeemed to graunt vnto. After that, Octauius in perſon went to viſite her, to whome ſhee excuſed her offence, laying all the fault vpon the greatneße, and feare ſhee had of Antonius, and withall, ſeemed verie tractable,and willing to be diſpoſed of by him. Whereupon Octauius, (thinking himſelfe ſure) reſolu’d preſentlie to ſende her away to Rome. Whereof, Dolabella a fauorite of Cæſars, (and one that was growne into ſome good liking of her,) hauing certified her, ſhee makes her humble petition to Cæſar, that hee would ſuffer her to ſacrifice to the ghoſt of Antonius: which beeing graunted her, ſhee was brought vnto his Sepulcher, where after her rytes performed, ſhe returned to the Monument, and there dined with great magnificence. And in dinner time, came there one in the habite of a Countreyman, with a Basket of Figges vnto her, who (vnſuſpected) was ſuffered to carrie them in. And in that Baſket (among the Figges) were conueyed the Aſpicks wherewith ſhe did herſelfe to death. Dinner beeing ended, ſhee diſpatched Letters to Cæſar, contayning great lamentations: with an earneſt ſupplication, that ſhe might be intomb’d with Antonius. Wherevpon Cæſar knowing what ſhee intended, ſent preſentlie with all ſpeede, Meſſengers to haue preuented her death,which notwithſtanding, before they came was diſpatched.

Ceſario her ſonne, which ſhe had by Iulius Cæſar, (conuaied before vnto India, out of the daunger of the warres,) was about the ſame time of her death, murthered at Rhodes: trayned thither by the falſhoode of his Tutor, corrupted by Cæſar. And ſo hereby, came the race of the Ptolomies to bee wholie extinct, and the flouriſhing rich kingdome of Egypt vtterlie ouerthrowne and ſubdued.

The Scæne ſuppoſed Alexandria

THE ACTORS.

Cleopatra. Octauius Caeſar.

Proculeius. Dolabella.

Titivs, ſeruaunt to Dolabella.

Seleucus, ſecretarie to Cleopatra.

Rodon, Tutor to Cæſario.

Nuntius.

The Chorus. all Egyptians.

ACTVS PRIMVS

Cleopatra.

YET do I liue, and yet doth breath extend

My life beyonf my life, nor can my graue

Shut vp my griefes, to make my end my end?

Will yet confuſion haue more then I haue?

Is th’honor, wonder, glory, pompe and all

Of Cleopatra dead, and ſhe not dead?

Haue I out-liu’d my ſelfe, and ſeene the fall

Of all vpon me, and not ruined?

Can yet theſe eyes endure the gaſtly looke

Of deſolations darke and ougly face,

Wont but on fortunes faireſt ſide to looke,

Where nought was but applauſe, but ſmiles, and grace?

Whiles on his ſhoulders all my reſt relide

On whom the burthen of m’ambition lay,

My Atlas, and ſupporter of my pride

That did the world of all my glory ſway,

Who now thrown down, diſrac’d, confoūded lies

Cruſht with the weight of shame and infamie,

Following th’vnlucky party of my eies,

The traines of luſt and imbecilitie,

Whereby my diſſolution is become

The graue of Ægypt and the wracke of all:

My vnforeſeeing weakeneſſe muſt intoome

My Countries fame and glory with my fall.

Now who would think that I were ſhe who late

With all the ornaments on earth inrich’d,

Enuiron’d with delights, compaſt with ſtate,

Glittering in pomp that harts and eies bewitch’d;

Should thus diſtreſt, 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 miſerie?

Am I the woman whoſe inuentiue pride,

Adorn’d like Iſis, skornd mortalitie?

Is’t I would haue my frailty ſo belide

That flattery could perſwade I was not I?

Well now I ſee they but delude that praiſe vs,

Greatneſſe is mockt, proſperity betraies vs.

And we are but our ſelues, although this clowd

Of interpoſed ſmokes make vs ſeeme more:

Witneſſe theſe gallant fortune-followng traines,

Theſe Summer Swallowes of felicitie

Gone with the heate, of all see what remaines,

This monument, two maydes, and wretched I.

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

A captiue kept to honor others ſpoyles,

Whom Cæſar labors ſo to haue preſeru’d,

And ſeekes to entertaine my life with wiles.

But Cæſar, it is more then thou canſt do,

Promiſe, flatter, threaten extremitie,

Imploy thy wits and all thy force thereto,

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

Though thou of both my country and my crown,

Of powre, of means & al dooſt quite bereaue me;

Though thou haſt wholy Egypt made thine own,

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,

Can neuer be so abiectly abated

To be thy Slaue that rull’d as good as thou.

Thinke Cæſar I that liued and raign’d a Queene,

Doe skorne to buy my life at such a rate,

That I ſhould vnder neath my ſelfe be ſeene,

Baſely induring to ſuruiue my ſtate:

That Rome ſhould ſee my ſcepter-bearing hands,

Behinde me bound, and glory in my teares.

That I ſhould paſſe, whereas Octauia ſtands,

To view my miſery, that purchaſt hers.

No, I diſdaine that head which 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 forc’d to liue,

Nor had I ſtaide dehind my ſelfe this ſpace,

Nor paid ſuch intreſt for this borrow’d breath,

But that hereby I ſeeke to purchaſe grace

For my diſtreſſed ſeed after my death.

It’t that which doth my deereſt bloud controule,

That’s it alas detaines mee from my tombe,

Whiles nature brings to contradict my ſoule

The argument of mine vnhappy wombe.

You luckles iſſue of an wofull mother,

The wretched pledges of a wanton bed;

You Kings deſign’d, muſt ſubiects liue to other;

Or elſe, I feare, ſcarſe liue, when I am dead.

It is for you I temporize with Cæſar,

And ſtaie this while to mediate your ſafetie:

For you I faine content and ſooth his pleaſure,

Calamity herein hath made me craſtie.

But this is but to trie what may be done,

For come what will, this ſtands, I muſt die free,

And die my ſelfe vncaptiu’d and vnwon.

Bloud, Children, Nature, all muſt pardon me.

My ſoule yeelds honour vp the victory,

And I muſt bee a Queene, forget a mother,

Though mother would I be, were I not I;

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

But what know I if th’heauens haue de cred,

And that the ſinnes of Ægypt haue deſeru’d,

The Ptolomies 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,

Luxuriouſneſſe in me ſhould raiſe the rate

Of looſe and ill-diſpenſed libertie.

If it be ſo, then what needes theſe delaies?

Since I was made the meanes of miſerie:

Why ſhuld I ſtriue but to make death my praiſe,

That had my life but for my infamie?

A fit memoriall for the times to come,

To be example to ſuch Princes good

As pleaſe themſelues and care not what becom.

And Anthony, becauſe the world takes note

That my defects haue only ruin’d thee:

And my ambitious practiſes are thought

The motiue and the cauſe of all to be:

Though God thou know’ſt, how iuſt this ſtaine is laid

Vpon my ſoule, whom ill ſucceſſe makes ill:

Yet ſince condemn’d misfortune hath no ayd

Againſt proud luck that argues what it will,

I haue no meanes to vndeceiue their mindes,

But to bring in the witneſſe of my bloud,

To teſtifie the faith and loue that bindes

My equall ſhame, to fall with whom I ſtood.

Defects I grant I had, but this was worſt,

That being the firſt to fall I dy’d not firſt.

Though I perhaps could lighten mine own ſide

With ſome excuſe of my conſtrained caſe

Drawn down with powre: but that were to deuide

My ſhame: to ſtand alone in my diſgrace.

To cleere me ſo, would ſhew m’affections naught,

And make th’excuſe more hainous then the fault.

Since if I ſhould our errours diſunite,

I ſhould confound afflictions onely reſt,

That from ſtearn death euen ſteales a ſad delight

To die with friends or with the like diſtreſt;

And ſince we tooke of either ſuch firme hold

In th’ouerwhelming ſeas of fortune caſt,

What powre ſhould be of powre to reunfold

The armes of our affections lockt ſo faſt,

For grapling in the ocean of our pride,

We ſunke each others greatneſſe both together;

And both made ſhipwracke of our ſame beſide,

Both wrought a like deſtruction vnto either:

And therefore I am bound to ſacrifice

To death and thee, the life that doth reproue me,

Our like diſtreſſe I feele doth ſimpathize,

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 do, now am I taught

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

For whilſt my glory in that greatneſſe ſtood,

And that I ſaw my ſtate and knew my beautie;

Saw how the world admir’d me, how they woo’d,

I then thought all men muſt loue me of dutie;

And I loue none: for my laſciuious Court,

Fertile in euer freſh and new-choiſe pleaſure,

Affoorded me ſo bountifull diſport

That I to ſtay on loue had neuer leaſure:

My vagabond deſires no limits found,

For luſt is endleſſe, pleaſure hath no bound.

Thou comming from the ſtrictnes of thy City,

And neuer this looſe pomp of monarchs learneſt,

Inu’rd to wars, in womens wiles vnwitty,

Whilſt others faynd, thou fell’ſt to loue in earneſt;

Not knowing how we like them beſt that houer,

And make leaſt reckning of a doting louer.

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

When new appearing wrinkles of declining

Wrought with the hand of yeers, ſeem’d to detain

My graces light, as now but dimly ſhining

Euen in the confines of mine age, when I

Failing of what I was, and was but thus;

When ſuch as we do deeme in iealouſie

That men loue for themſelues and not for vs,

Then and but thus, thou didſt loue moſt ſincerely

O Anthony, that beſt deſeru’ſt it better,

This Antumne of my beauty bought ſo dearely,

For which in more then death, I ſtand thy debter,

Which I will pay thee with ſo true a mind,

(Caſting vp all theſe deepe accoumpts of mine)

That both our ſoules, and all the world ſhall find

All recknings cleer’d, betwixt my loue and thine.

But to the end I may preuent proud Cæſar,

Who dooth ſo eagerly my life importune,

I muſt preuaile me of this little leaſure,

Seeming to ſute my mind vnto my fortune;

Thereby with more conuenience to prouide

For what my death and honor beſt ſhall fit:

An yeelding baſe content muſt warie hide

My laſt diſſigne till I accompliſh it,

That hereby yet the world ſhall ſee that I,

Although vnwiſe to liue had wit to die.

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 vex their ſp’rite,

The hidious face of ſinne,

(In formes they muſt deteſt)

Stands euer in their ſight.

Their conſcience ſtill within

Th’eternall larum is

That euer-barking dog that calles vpon their miſſe.

No meanes at all to hide

Man from himſelfe can finde:

No way to ſtart aſide

Out from the hell of minde.

But in himſelfe confin’d,

He 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

She tooke, and car’d not bow,

Which led her to decay.

And likewiſe makes vs pay

For her diſordred luſt,

The int’reſt of our blood:

Or liue a ſeruile pray,

Vnder a hand vniuſt,

As others ſhall thinke good.

This hath her riot wunne.

And thus ſhe hath her ſtate, herſelfe and vs vndunne.

Now euery mouth can tell,

What cloſe was muttered:

How that ſhe did not well,

To take the courſe ſhee did.

For now is nothing hid,

Of what feare did reſtraine.

No ſecrete cloſelie 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 ſcattred, daſht, all broke.

Thus much beguiled haue

Poore vnconſiderate wights,

Theſe momentarie 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 dutie, pay not loue :

Free is the hart, the temple of the minde,

The Sanctuarie ſacred from aboue,

Where nature keepes the keies that looſe&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’d that ſtrong Competitor of mine:

All Egypt yeelds to my all-conquering hand,

And all their 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 ſhe now giue,

Will ſhee be brought to condiſcend to liue?

Proc. My Lord, what time being ſent frō 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 treat, I labour’d to aduiſe her,

To come to Cæſar, and to ſue for grace.

She ſaid, ſhe crau’d not life, but leaue to die,

Yet for her children, pray’d they might inherite,

That Cæſar would vouchſafe (in clemencie)

To pittie them, though ſhe deſeru’d no merite.

So leauing her for then;and ſince of late,

With Gallus ſent to trie another time,

The whilſt he entertaines her at the grate,

I found the meanes vp to the Tombe to clime.

Where in diſcending in the cloſeſt wiſe,

And ſilent manner as I could contriue:

Her woman me deſcri’d, and out ſhe cries,

Poore Cleopatra, thou art tane aliue.

With that the Queen raught from her ſide her knife,

And euen in act to ſtab her martred breſt,

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

And forth her trembling hād the blade did wreſt.

Ah Cleopatra, why ſhouldſt thou, (ſaid I)

Both iniurie thy ſelfe and Cæſar ſo?

Barre him the honour of his victorie,

Who euer deales moſt mildly with his foe?

Liue and relie on him, whoſe mercy will

To thy ſubmiſſion alwaies readie be.

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

Twixt maieſtie confus’d and miſerie.

Her proud grieu’d eyes, held ſorow 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 deem 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 cōmand conioin’d with humble ſpeech,

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

Ah, what hath Cæſar here to doe, ſaid ſhe,

In confines of the dead in darknes lying ?

Will he not grant 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 here ?

Hath miſerie 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 frailtie, and the Gods haue giuen

Sufficient glorie, if he could content him:

And let him now with his deſires make euen,

And leaue mee to this horror, to lamenting.

Now he hath taken all away from mee,

What muſt he take me 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 ofspring 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 be 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 ſhe deſir’d, both for herſelfe and hers.

And ſo with much a-do, (well pacifide

Seeming to be,) ſhe ſhew’d content to liue,

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

And to accept what fauour thou would’ſt giue,

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

Performe her laſt rites to her loſt belou’d.

To ſacrifice to him that wrought her plight:

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

I granting from thy part this her requeſt,

Left her for then, ſeeming in better reſt.

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

Pro. I thinke, and do aſſure my ſelfe ſhe will.

Cæſ. Ah, priuat 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 their honor more then blood.

Pro. Can princes powre diſpence with nature thā?

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 ſhe too, were ſhe 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 hearts will breake before they bow.

And ſure I thinke ſh’will neuer condiſcend,

To liue to grace our ſpoiles 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, how 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 he findes farre wide

Of what thou promiſedſt before:

For in the ſame he lookt for more,

Which proues but ſmall whē once tis tride

Then ſomthing elſe thou find ſt beſide,

To draw him ſtil frō 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 malecontent ſeducing gueſt,

Contriuer of our greatest woes:

Which borne of wind, & fed with ſhowes,

Dooſt nurſe thy ſelfe in thine vnrest.

Iudging vngotten things the best,

Or what thou in conceit 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 anie yet poſſeſt.

If we vnto ambition tende,

Then dooſt thou drawe our weakenes on,

With vaine imagination

Of that which neuer hath an ende.

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 we 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,

Ad Cleopatra knowes tis ſo,

By th’experience of their woe.

Shee can ſay, ſhe neuer knew

But that lust found pleaſures new,

And was neuer ſatisfide:

He can ſay by proofe of toile,

Ambition is a Vulture vile,

That feedes vpō the hart of pride:

And finds no reſt when all is tride.

For worlds cannot confine the one,

Th’other, liſts 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 elſe 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 from death this wretched life of mine:

Obtaining Cæſars gentle grace for mee,

When I of all helps elſe diſpaird 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 their 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 failes 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 this ayre of ſweet-contriued words

Proues but weake armour to defend the hart.

For when this life, 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 grant my ſelfe much to abuſe,

So ſhamefully to ſeeke t’auoide my death.

Arius. Philoſtratus, that ſelfe ſame care to liue,

Poſſeſſeth all alike, and grieue not then

Nature doth vs no more then others giue:

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

And yet (in truth) theſe miſeries to ſee,

Wherein we ſtand in moſt extreame diſtreſſe:

Might to our ſelues ſufficient motiues be

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

For neuer any age hath better taught,

What feeble footing pride and greatneſſe hath.

How ‘improuident proſperitie is caught,

And cleane confounded in the day of wrath.

See how diſmaid Confuſion keepes thoſe ſtreetes,

That nought but mirth and muſique late reſounded,

How nothing with our eie 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 impietie poſſeſt,

Th’vnreſpectiue mindes of ſuch a people:

When inſolent Security found reſt

In wanton thoughts, with luſt & 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 inundation 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 like proude ſtates, as wofully incombred,

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

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 vnauoided Fate;

That no ſtate can in heigth of happineſſe,

In th’exaltation of their glory ſtand:

But thither once ariu’d, declining 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 hieſt glory brings,

Brings vs vnto the poynt of back-returning.

For ſenceles ſenſualitie, doth euer

Accompany felicitie and greatneſſe.

A fatal witch, whoſe charmes do leaue vs neuer,

Till we leaue all in ſorrow for our ſweetneſſe;

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

Their leaſt conceit of quiet, held ſo deere;

And ſo intrench themſelues with blood, with crimes,

With all iniuſtice as their feares diſpoſe:

Yet for all this we ſee, howe oftentimes

The meanes they worke to keepe, are meanes to loſe.

And ſure I cannot ſee, howe this can ſtand

With great Auguſtus ſafety and his honor,

To cut off all ſucceſſion from our land,

For her offence that puld the wars 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 doth, 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

She might be drawn to haue her fortune ſeene.

But yet I thinke, Rome will not ſee that face

(That queld her champiōs,) 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 doſt thou thinke, thy’ offences can be ſuch,

That they ſurmount the meaſure of our grace?

Cleo. O Cæſar, not for that I flie 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 here to theſe cloſe limmits of deſpaire,

This ſolitarie horror where I bide:

Cæſar, I thought no Roman ſhould repaire,

More after him, who here oppreſſed dyde.

Yet now, heere at thy conquering feete I lie,

Poore captiue ſoul, that neuer thought to bow:

Whoſe happie foote of rule and Maieſtie

Stood late on y^e 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 triumphs 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 own bloodſhedding.

And all, we muſt attribute vnto thee.

Cleo. To me? Cæſar, what ſhould a woman doe

Oppreſt with greatnes? what was it for me

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 obey’d? who was not glad to pleaſe?

And how could I withdraw my ſuccouring hand,

From him that had my heart, and what was mine?

The intreſt of my faith in ſtreighteſt band,

My loue to his moſt firmly 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 means to haue vs ſcattred,

To diſunite our ſtrength and make vs feeble.

And therfore did that breſt nurſe our diſſentiō,

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

To pray vppon the wracke 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 thou 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 me, 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 periſh thus,

If neutrall bide, both parties we muſt feare.

Alas, what ſhall the forſt partakers doe,

When folowing none, yet muſt they periſh to?

But Cæſar, ſith thy right and cauſe is ſuch,

Be not a heauie weight vpon calamitie:

Depreſſe not the afflicted ouer-much,

The chiefeſt glorie is the Victors lenitie.

Th’inheritance of mercie from him take,

Of whom thou haſt thy fortune and thy name:

Great Cæſar me a Queene at firſt did make,

And let not Cæſar now confound the ſame,

Read here 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 Anthonie,

Think 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 Egypt hath in many ages got;

And looke what Cleopatra hath, is there.

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

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

Cleo. What vile vngrateful wretch, dar’ſt thou cōtroule

Thy Queen & ſoueraine, caitife as thou art.

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

Cleo. Ah Cæſar, what a great indignitie

Is this, that here my vaſſale ſubiect ſtands

T’accuſe me to my Lord of trecherie?

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 mediate 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 ouercharg’d with care,

How well I will intreate thee thou ſhalt find,

So ſoone as ſome affaires diſpatched are.

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

Poore Cleopatra reſts thine owne for euer.

Dol. No maruel Cæſar though our greateſt ſpirits,

Haue to the powre of ſuch a charming beautie

Been brought to yeeld the honor 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 miſerie.

If ſtill, euen in the midſt of death and horror

Such beautie ſhines, thorow clouds of age & ſorow,

If euen thoſe ſweet decaies ſeeme to plead for her,

Which from affliction mouing graces borrow:

If in calamitie ſhe could thus moue,

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

What could ſhe do then, when as ſpreading wide

The pompe of beautie, in her glorie dight?

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

Th’ ingines of her loue, Hope and Delight?

Beautie daughter of Maruaile, 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 tears their grace.

What can vntreſſed locks, can torne rent haire,

A weeping eye, a wailing face be faire?

I ſee then, artleſſe feature can content,

And that true beautie needes no ornament.

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

Let others freſh examples be thy warning;

What miſchiefes theſe, ſo idle humors breed,

Whilſt error keepes vs from a true diſcerning.

In deed I ſaw ſhe 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, ſhe takes her ayme amiſſe,

The ground and marke, her leuel much deceiues;

Time now hath altred all, for neither is

She as ſhe was, nor we as ſhe 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 ſhe ſeemes ſo well content

To be diſpos’d by vs, without more ſtay

She with her chyldren ſhall to Rome be ſent,

Whilſt I by Syria thither take my way.

CHORVS,

O Fearefull frowning Nemeſis,

Daughter of Iuſtice, moſt ſeuere,

That art the worlds great arbitreſſe,

And Queene of cauſes raigning heere.

Whoſe ſwift-ſure hand is euer neere

Eternall iustice, righting wrong:

Who neuer yet deſerrest long

The proudes decay, the weakes redreße:

But through thy power euery where,

Doſt raze the great, and raiſe the leſſe.

The leſſe made great, doſt ruine to,

To ſhew the earth what heauen can do.

Thou from darke-clos’d eternitie,

From thy black clowdy hidden ſeate,

The worlds diſorders doſt diſcry:

Which when they ſwel 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 neither wit nor ſtrength can let,

Faſt chain’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 weaknes still betray,

In their best proſperitie?

When beeing liſted vp ſo hie,

They looke beyond themſelues ſo ſarre,

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 their fall,

Extinguiſh people, ſtate and all.

But is it iuſtice that all we

The 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 their ſall,

Who of themſelues procured all?

Or do 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 their rigor muſt.

This is the period Fate ſet downe

To Egypts fat proſperitie:

Which now vnto her greateſt growne,

Muſt periſh thus, by courſe muſt die.

And ſome muſt be the cauſers why

This reuolution muſt be wrought:

As borne to bring their ſtate to nought.

To change the people and the crowne,

And purge the worlds iniquitie:

Which vice ſo farre hath ouer-growne.

As we, ſo they that treate vs thus,

Must one day periſh like to vs.

ACTVS QUARTVS.

Selevcvs. Rodon.

Sel. NEuer friend Rodon in a better howre,

Could I haue met thee thē eu’n 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 we ſhall impart our woes

Seeme but to feele a part of what we 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 own, knows 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 ſhall we both our mournefull 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:

Till 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,

(Following the fortune of the preſent time,)

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

And in the courſe of mine own plot vndonne.

For hauing all the ſecretes of the Queene

Reueald to Cæſar, to haue ſauor 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 the Traitor, 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 knowne.

He 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 ſhifts, 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 grown

The marke of infamy, that’s pointed at.

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

And I do grieue and do lament thy fall:

But yet all this which thou dooſt heere reueale,

Compar’d with mine, wil make thine ſeem but ſmall.

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 giue

The beſt and deereſt treaſure of her blood,

Louely Cæſario, whom ſhe would ſhould liue

Free from the dangers wherein Egypt ſtood.

And vnto me with him this charge ſhe gaue,

Here Rodon, take, conuay from out thys Coaſt,

This precious Gem, the chiefeſt that I haue,

The iewell of my ſoule I value moſt.

Guide him to India, lead him farre from hence,

Safeguard him where ſecure he may remaine,

Till better fortune call him backe from thence,

And Egypts peace be reconcil’d againe.

For this is he that may our hopes bring backe;

(The riſing Sunne of our declining ſtate:)

Theſe be the hands that may reſtore our wrack,

And raiſe the broken ruines made of late.

He may giue limits to the boundles pride

Of fierce Octauius, and abate his might:

Great Iulius of-ſpring, he may come to guide

The Empire of the world, as his by right.

O how he ſeemes the modell of his Syre?

O how I gaze my Cæſar in his face?

Such was his gate, ſo did his lookes aſpire;

Such was his threatning brow, ſuch was his grace.

High ſhouldred, and his forehead euen as hie.

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

He might haue rul’d the worlds great Monarchy,

And now haue beene the Champion of our ſtate.

Then vnto him, ô my deere Sonne (ſhe ſaies,)

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

Reſerue thy ſelfe, ordain’d for better daies,

For much thou haſt to ground thy hopes vpon.

Leaue me (thy wofull Mother) to endure

The fury of this tempeſt heere alone:

Who cares not for her ſelfe, 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 dangers eu’ry where.

I vrge it not that I do doubt thy truth,

Mothers will caſt the worſt, and alwaies feare.

The abſent daunger greater ſtill appeares,

Leſſe fears 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 mine owne fate

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

His fortune may recouer better ſtate,

And he may come in pompe to gouerne heere.

But yet I doubt the Genius of our race

By ſome malignant ſpirit comes ouer-throwne:

Our bloud 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 fall.

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

What Merchaunt in one Veſſell venters all?

Let vs deuide our ſtars. Go, go my ſonne,

Let not the fate of Egypt find thee heere:

Try if ſo be thy deſtinie can ſhunne

The common wracke of vs,by beeing there.

But who is he found euer yet defence

Againſt the heauens, or hid him any where?

Then what neede I to ſend thee ſo far hence

To ſeeke thy death that mayſt as well die here?

And here die with thy mother, die in reſt,

Not trauailing to what will come to thee.

Why ſhould wee leaue our blood vnto the Eaſt,

When Egypt may a Tombe ſufficient be?

O my deuided ſoule, what ſhall I do?

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 he may yeeld him to reſtore thy right.

Go; Cæſar neuer will conſent that thou

So neere in bloud, ſhalt be ſo great in might.

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

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

Yet nothing now, but ô God ſpeed thee well,

Leaſt ſaying more, that more may make thee ſtay.

Yet let me ſpeake : It may be tis the laſt

That euer I ſhall ſpeake to thee my Sonne.

Doe Mothers vſe to part in ſuch poſt-haſte?

What, muſt I end when I haue ſcarce begun?

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

Where-with the knot is tide twixt thee and me.

That bloud within thy vaines came out of mine,

Parting from thee, I part from part of me:

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

Here more ſhe would, when 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 ſpirite,

(Though comfortles himſelf) did comfort giue,

with mildeſt words, perſwading her to beare it.

And as for him, ſhe ſhould not need to grieue.

And I (with proteſtations of my part,)

Swore by that faith, (which ſworn I did deceiue)

That I would vſe all care, all wit and arte

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

Scarce had we trauail’d to our iourneies 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,

Aſſail’d me then, that I grew ſoone content;

And backe to Rhodes did reconuay my charge,

Pretending that Octauius for him ſent,

To make him King of Egypt preſently.

And thither come, ſeeing himſelfe betray’d,

And in the hands of death through trechery,

Wailing his ſtate, thus to himſelfe he ſaid.

Lo here brought back by ſubtile traine to death

Betraide by Tutors faith, or traytors rather:

My fault my bloud, 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 backe:

Here to be made th’oblation for his feares,

Who doubts the poore reuenge theſe hands may doe him:

Reſpecting neither 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 greatneſſe, proud ritch miſery,

Pompous diſtreſſe, glittering calamity.

Is it for this th’ambitious Fathers ſwear,

To purchaſe bloud and death for them and theirs?

Is this the iſſue that theyr glories get,

To leaue a ſure deſtruction to their heyres?

O how much better had it beene for me,

From low diſcent,deriu’d of humble birth,

T’haue eate the ſweet-ſowre bread of pouertie,

And drunke of Nilus ſtreams in Nilus earth:

Vnder the cou’ring of ſome quiet Cottage,

Free from the wrath of heauen, ſecure in mind,

Vntoucht when ſad euents of princes dotage

Confounds what euer mighty it dooth find.

And not t’haue ſtood in their way, whoſe condition

Is to haue all made cleere, and all thing plaine

Betweene them and the marke of their ambition,

That nothing let, the full ſight of their raigne.

Where nothing ſtands, that ſtands not in ſubmiſſion;

Where greatneſſe muſt all in it ſelfe containe.

Kings will be alone, Competitors muſt downe,

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

Such is my caſe, for Cæſar will haue all.

My bloud 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 wil.

And thou Auguſtus that with bloodie 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 proud 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 denie

Which ſacred Prieſts of Memphis doe fore-ſay)

Some of the of-ſpring yet of Anthonie,

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 this thy victorie thou ſtaineſt,

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

In vaine doth man contende againſt the ſtarr’s,

For what he ſeekes to make, his wiſdom marr’s.

Yet in the mean-time we whom Fates reſerue,

The bloodie ſacrifices of ambition,

We feele the ſmart what euer they deſerue,

And we 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 doth eaſe

Affliction in ſo great extremitie,

To thinke their like deſtruction ſhall appeaſe

Our ghoſts, who did procure our miſerie.

But dead we are, vncertaine what ſhall bee,

And liuing, we are ſure to feele the wrong:

Our certaine ruine we our ſelues do ſee.

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

But yet Cæſario, thou muſt die content,

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

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

Sel. But how hath Cæſar now rewarded thee?

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

As fell to Theodor to fall to mee:

For he (one of my coate) hauing betraid

The young Antillus, ſonne of Anthonie,

And at his death from of his necke conuaid

A iewell: which being askt, he did denie:

Cæſar occaſion tooke to hang him ſtraight.

Such inſtruments with Princes liue not long.

Although they need ſuch actors of deceit,

Yet ſtill our ſight ſeemes to vpbraid their wrong;

And therefore we muſt needes this daunger runne,

And in the net of our owne guile be caught:

We muſt not liue to brag what we haue done,

For what is done, muſt not appeare their fault.

But here 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 me and mine to do?

Why then poore Beautie thou haſt done 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 me and mine, th’ayre of Rome to proue:

There his Triumphant Chariot to attend.

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

The one comes fit to warne me 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 Anthonie:

Whoſe deerly honour’d tombe muſt heere receiue

This ſacrifice, the laſt before I die.

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 deare reliques of my Lord and Loue,

(The ſweeteſt parcels 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 liuing gaue you trouble and turmoile:

Sleepe quiet in this euer laſting bed,

In forraine land preferr’d before your ſoile.

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

After their bodies, and do neuer die,

Then heare thy ghoſt thy captiue ſpouſe cōplaine

And be attentiue to her miſerie.

But if that laborſome mortalitie

Found this ſweete error, onely to confine

The curious ſearch of idle vanitie,

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 fields 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 Anthonie doth heare:

His euer-liuing ghoſt attends my prayer,

And I do know his houering ſp’rit 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 vnforc’d, which now muſt ſeruile be,

Reſeru’d for bands to grace proude Cæſars ſtate,

Who ſeekes in mee to triumph ouer thee.

O if in life we could not ſeuerd be,

Shall death deuide our bodies now aſunder?

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.

Do not permit ſhe ſhould in triumph 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 inuoking a conceiued ayde?

Why do I not my ſelfe occaſion find

To breake the bounds wherein my’ſelfe am ſtaid?

Words are for them that can complaine and liue,

Whoſe melting hearts compos’d of baſer frame,

Can to their ſorrowes, time and leiſure giue,

But Cleopatra may not doe the ſame.

No Anthonie, 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, thereto enioy like ſtate,

As doth the long-pent ſolitarie Foule,

That hath eſcapt her cage, and found her mate.

This Sacrifice to ſacrifize my life,

Is that true incenſe that dooth best beſeeme:

Theſe rites may ſerue a life-deſiring wife,

Who doing them, t’haue done inough doth deeme.

My hart blood ſhould the purple flowers haue been,

Which heere vpon thy Tombe to thee are offred,

No ſmoake but dying breath ſhould heere been ſeen,

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

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

And theſe weake fingers are not iron-poynted:

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

And I of all meanes els am diſappointed.

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 we muſt pray, intreate, and ſeeke thee too?

But I will finde thee where ſo ere thou lie,

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

And now I go to worke th’effect indeed,

Ile neuer ſend more words or ſighes to thee:

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

My ſelfe will bring my ſoule to Anthonie.

Come go my Maides,my fortunes ſole attenders,

That miniſter to miſerie and ſorrow:

Your Miſtris you vnto your freedom renders.

And will diſcharge your charge yet ere to morrow.

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

Is neere return’d that brings me my diſpatch.

God grant 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 glorie,

Die like a Queene, and reſt without controule.

Exit.

CHORVS.

MIſterious Egypt, wonder breeder,

ſtrict religions ſtrange obſeruer,

State-ordrer zeale, the best rule-keeper,

Fostring ſtill in temp’rate 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 riot venter

th’ eye of Justice looking neerely?

Could not thoſe means that made thee great

Be ſtill the means 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.

We in our counſels must be blinded,

and not ſee what doth import vs:

And often-times the thing leaſt minded

is the thing that moſt must hurt vs.

Yet they that haue the ſterne in guiding,

tis their fault that ſhould preuent it,

For oft they ſeeing their Country ſliding,

take their eaſe, as though contented.

We 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 licence, luſt and riot:

This way confuſion first found broken,

whereby entred our diſquiet.

Thoſe lawes that olde Seſoſtris founded,

and the Ptolomies obſerued,

Hereby first came to be confounded,

which our state ſo long preſerued.

The wanton luxurie of Court,

Did forme the people of like ſort.

For all (reſpecting priuate pleaſure,)

vniuerſally conſenting

To abuſe their time, their treaſure,

in their owne delights contenting:

And future dangers nought reſpecting,

whereby, (ô how eaſie matter

Made this ſo generall neglecting,

confus’d weakeneße to diſcatter ?)

Cæſar found th’effect true tried,

in his eaſie entrance making:

Who at the ſight of armes, deſcryed

all our people, all forſaking.

For ryot (worſe then warre,) ſo ſore

Had waſted all our ſtrength before.

And thus is Egypt ſeruile rendred

to the inſolent deſtroyer:

And all their ſumptuous treaſure tendred,

All her wealth that did betray her.

Which poiſon (O if heauen be rightfull,)

may ſo far infect their ſences,

That Egypts pleaſures ſo delightfull,

may breed them the like offences.

And Romans learne our way of weaknes,

be instructed in our vices:

That our ſpoiles may ſpoile 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 me 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 ſhal my Lord, ſo far as I could note,

Or my conceite obſerue in any wiſe.

It was the time when as ſhe 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 me in,

Reades in thy lines thy ſtrange vnlookt for tale:

And reades, and ſmiles, and ſtaies, 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)

She 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 affoord

A miſerable woman ſo much grace.

Tel him how much my heauy ſoule doth grieue

Mercileſſe Cæſar ſhould ſo deale with me:

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 command of me

Then any, whoſoeuer liuing can.

Hee that ſo friendly ſhewes himſelfe to be

A right kind Roman, and a Gentleman.

Although his Nation (fatall vnto me,)

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

Yet his affection muſt accepted be,

That fauours one diſtreſt in ſuch decay.

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

Of Cleopatra whiles her glory laſted;

Before ſhe had declining fortune prou’d,

Or ſeen her honor wrackt, her flowre 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)needs rather pity now thē loue.

But ſhortly ſhall thy Lord heare more of me.

And ending ſo her ſpeech, no longer ſtai’d,

But haſted to the tombe of Antony.

And this was all ſhe did, and all ſhe 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 maieſty and ſweetnes,

Which makes him now exact ſo much of thee,

To adde vnto his pride, to grace his greatnes,

He knowes thou canſt no hurt procure vs now,

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

Nor feares he that,but rather labours how

He might ſhew Rome ſo great a Queene in bands:

That our great Ladies (enuying thee ſo much

That ſtain’d them al, and held 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 thou know how far affection moues.

But what my powre and praier may preuaile,

Ile ioine them both, to hinder thy diſgrace:

And euen this preſent day I will not faile

To do 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 he to Cæſar went,

But knowes not what imports her ſending thither.

Yet this he told,how Cleopatra late

Was come from ſacrifice. How richly clad

Was ſeru’d to dinner in moſt ſumptuous ſtate,

With all the braueſt ornaments ſhe had.

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

Him ſtraight to Cæſar, and commanded than

All ſhould depart the Tombe, and none to ſtay

But her two maides, & one poore Countryman:

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

And means t’experience what her ſtate can do:

To ſee if Maieſty will make him bow

To what affliction could not moue him to.

And ô, if now ſhe could but bring a view

Of that freſh beauty ſhee in youth poſſeſt,

(The argument wherewith ſhe ouerthrew

The wit of Iulius Cæſar,and the reſt,)

Then happily Auguſtus might relent,

Whilſt powreful Loue, (far ſtronger then ambition)

Might worke in him,a mind to be content

To grant her asking, in the beſt condition.

But beeing as ſhe is, yet doth ſhe merite

To be reſpected, for what ſhe hath beene:

The wonder of her kind, of rareſt ſpirit,

A glorious Lady, and a mighty Queene.

And now, but by a little weakeneſſe falling

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

Alas, an error paſt, is paſt recalling,

Take away weakenes,and take women too.

But now I go to be thy aduocate,

Sweet Cleopatra, now Ile vſe mine arte.

Thy preſence will me greatly animate,

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

SCENA. SECVNDA.

Nvntivs.

AM I ordain’d 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 thou, can Egypt yet yeelde more

Of ſorrow then it hath? what can it adde

To the already ouerflowing ſtore

Of ſad affliction, matter yet more ſad?

Haue we not ſeene the worſt of our calamity?

Is there behind yet ſomething of diſtreſſe

Vnſeene, vnknown? Tel if that greater miſery

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

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

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 frō my youth, haue ſtill

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 ſhe left vs all.

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

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

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

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

Chor. why then ther’s hope ſhe may her ſtate recouer.

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

Chor. Her Louer? him ſhe cannot haue againe.

Nun. Well, him ſhe hath, with him she doth remaine.

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

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

When 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,

Worke what ſhe could, ſhe could not worke to ſtay:

She calls me 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 deterr’d to leaue calamitie:

As did thoſe other ſmooth ſtate-pleaſers all,

Who followed but my fortune, and not me.

Tis thou muſt do a ſeruice for thy Queene,

Wherein thy faith and skill muſt do their beſt:

Thy honeſt care and duty ſhall be ſeene

Performing this, more then in all the reſt.

For al what thou haſt don, may die with thee,

Although tis pitty that ſuch faith ſhould die.

But this ſhall euermore 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 denie;

Nor contradict my will. For what I will

I am reſolu’d: and this tis thou muſt do me:

Go find mee out with all thy arte and skill

Two Aſpicqs, and conuay them cloſe vnto me.

I haue a worke to do with them in hand,

Enquire not what, for thou ſhalt ſoone ſee what,

If the heauens doe not my diſſeignes withſtand,

But do thy charge, and let me ſhift with that.

Being 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 art my art preuent.

And ſo diſguis’d in habite as you ſee,

Hauing found out the thing for which I went,

I ſoone return’d againe, and brought with me

The Aſpicqs, in a basket cloſely pent.

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

And comming to the guard that kept the dore,

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

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

But ſaid, they were the faireſt they had ſeene.

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

No, no, ſaid they, goe beare them to thy Queene,

Thinking me ſome poore mā y^t brought a preſent.

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

Glittering in all her pompous rich aray,

Great Cleopatra ſate; as if ſh’had wonne

Cæſar and all the world beſide this day:

Euen as ſhe was when on thy criſtall ſtreames,

O Cydnos ſhe did ſhew what earth could ſhew.

When Aſia all amaz’d in wonder, deemes

Venvs from heauen was come on earth below.

Euen as ſhe went at firſt to meete her Loue,

So goes ſhe now at laſt againe to find him.

But that firſt, did her greatnes onely proue,

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

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

Detracts much from the ſweetnes of her looke:

Cheer-marrer Care, did then ſuch paſſions breed,

That made her eye bewray the care ſhe tooke.

But ſhe no ſooner ſees me in the place,

But ſtraight her ſorrow-clowded brow ſhe cleeres,

Lightning a ſmile from out a ſtormie face,

Which all her tempeſt-beaten ſences cheeres.

Looke how a ſtray’d perplexed trauailer,

When chas’d by theeues, & euē 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 ſtrēgth

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

Such was her ioy, perceiuing now at length,

Her honour was t’eſcape ſo proude a powre.

Forth from her ſeat ſhe haſtes to meet the preſent,

And as one ouer-ioy’d, shee caught it ſtraight.

And with a ſmiling cheere in action pleaſant,

Looking among the figs, findes the deceite.

And ſeeing there the vgly venemous beaſt,

Nothing diſmaid, ſhe ſtayes and viewes it well.

At length, th’extreameſt of her paſſion ceaſt,

When ſhe began with words her ioy to tell.

O rareſt Beaſt (ſaith ſhe) that Affrick breedes,

How deerly welcome art thou vnto me?

The faireſt creature that faire Nylus feedes

Me 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, Deaths office thou diſchargeſt,

That with one gentle touch can 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, ſhe 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, flies the poore deſtreſſed,

Tortures our bodies ere he takes our breath,

And loads with paines th’already weak 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 doore 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 worſhips due to thee aſſigne,

In whom they found ſuch myſteries were hid.

Comparing thy ſwift motion to the Sunne,

That mou’ſt without the inſtruments that moue:

And neuer waxing olde, but alwayes 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 me

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:

Offring vp for my laſt, this laſt of breath,

The complement of my loues deareſt 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 ſtil doth ſpeake, and ſtill ſpeakes but the ſame;

Now bids farewell, and now recalls him backe,

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

And yet againe recalls; for ſtill doth lacke

Something that loue would faine and cannot tell.

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

So ſhe, although ſhe knew there was no way

But this, yet this ſhe could not handle ſo

But ſhe muſt ſhew that life deſir’d delay.

Faine would ſhe entertaine the time as now,

And now would faine that Death would ſeaze vpō her.

Whilſt I might ſee preſented in her brow,

The doubtfull combat try’d 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 helpe, to ſuch as do refer

All vnto him, and can admit delay.

But Honor ſcorning Life, loe forth leades he

Bright immortalitie in ſhining armour:

Thorow the rayes of whoſe cleere glorie, ſhee

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

Beſides, ſhee ſaw whole armies of Reproches,

And baſe Diſgraces, Furies fearfull ſad,

Marching with Life, and Shame that ſtil incroches

Vpon her face, in bloodie colours clad.

Which repreſentments ſeeing, worſe then death

She 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 ſhe would not giue them ſcope,

She preſently proceeds to th’execution.

And ſharply blaming of her rebell powres,

Falſe fleſh (ſayth ſhe,) & what doſt thou conſpire

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 enemie Baſe life, to let my good?

No,know there is a greater powre conſtraines

Then can be countercheckt with fearefull blood.

For to the mind that’s great, nothing ſeems great:

And ſeeing death to be the laſt of woes,

And life laſting diſgrace, which I shall get,

What do 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, ſhe 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:

What glory or diſgrace heere this world lends,

Both haue I had, and both I leaue behind.

And now ô Earth, the Theater where I

Haue acted this, witnes I dye vnforſt.

Witnes my ſoule parts free to Anthonie,

And now proude Tyrant Cæſar doe thy worſt.

This ſaid, ſhe ſtaies, and makes a ſuddaine pauſe,

As twere to feele whether the poyſon wrought:

Or rather else the working might be cauſe

That made her ſtay, and intertain’d her 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 Sun,

Declines 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 rich attyre procure ſhe could,

And dying Charmion trimming of her head.

And Eras at her feete, dead in like caſe.

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

Yea, well ſaid ſhe, and her that from the race

Of ſo great Kings deſcends, 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 ſhe ſent.

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

She writes, and earneſtly intreates, ſhe might

Be buried in one Tombe with Antony.

Whereby then Cæſar geſs’d all went not right.

And forth-with ſends, yet ere the meſſage came

She was diſpatcht, he croſt in his intent,

Her prouidence had ordred ſo the ſame

That ſhee was ſure none should her plot preuent.

CHORVS.

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-poſſeβe the Land

That Deſolations fils,

And where Ambition ſpils

With vncontrouled hand,

All th’iſſue of all thoſe

That ſo long rule haue held:

To make vs no more vs,

But cleane confound vs thus.

And canst ô 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 vnknown head we hold

A powre diuine to be?

Thou that didſt euer ſee

Thy free banks vncontrould

Liue vnder thine own care:

Ah wilt thou beare it now?

And now wilt yeeld thy ſtreams

A pray to other Reames?

Draw backe thy waters flo

To thy concealed head:

Rockes ſtrangle vp thy waues,

Stop Cataractes thy fall.

And turne thy courſes ſo,

That ſandy Deſarts dead,

(The world of dust that craues

To ſwallow thee vp all,)

May drinke ſo much as ſhall

Reuiue from vastie graues

A liuing green which ſpred

Far florsſhing, may gro

On that wide face of Death,

Where nothing now drawes breath.

Fatten ſome people there,

Euen as thou vs haſt done,

With plenties wanton ſtore,

And feeble luxurie:

And them as vs prepare

Fit for the day of mone

Reſpected not before.

Leaue leuell’d Egypt drie,

A barren pray to lie,

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 be,

Sith thou art what thou art:

Let not our race poſſeβe

Th’inheritance of ſhame,

The ſee of ſin, that we

Haue left them for their part:

The yoke of whoſe diſtreβe

Muſt ſtill vpbraid our blame,

Telling from whom it came.

Our weight of wantonneβe

Lies heauie 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 greatneſſe of this ſort,

That greatneſſe greatneſſe marres,

And wracks it ſelfe, ſelfe driuen

On Rocks of her own might?

Doth Order order ſo

Diſorders ouer-thro?

FINIS.