The Tragedy of Cleopatra

CERTAINE SMALL WORKES HERETOFORE Divulged by Samuel Daniel one of the Groomes of the Queenes Maieſties priuie Chamber, & now againe by him corrected and augmented.

AEtas prima canat veneres poſtrema tumultus

AT LONDON

Printed by I.W. for Simon Waterʃon, 1607.

The Poems herein contained are

The tragedy of Cleopatra newly altered.

The tragedie of Philotas.

The Queenes Arcadia, or a paſtorall commedie.

The epiſtle of Octauia to An.

The complaint of Roſamond.

Muſo.or a defence of Poeſie.

A Funerall Poeme vpon the Death of the late Earle of Deuonſhire

To the Reader

BEhold once more with ſerious labor here

  Haue I refurniſht out this little frame,

Repaird ſome parts effectiue here and there,

And paſſages new added to the ſame, 

Some rooms inlargd, made ſome les thē they were

Like to the curious builder who this yeare

Plus downe, and alters what he did the laſt

As if the thing in doing were more deere

Then being done, & nothing likes that’s paſt

  For that we euer make the latter day

The ſcholler of the former, and we find

Something is ſtill amiſſe that muſt delay

Our buſines, and leaue worke for vs behinde.

As if there were no ſaboath of the minde

And howſoeuer be it well or ill

What I haue done, it is mine owne I may

Do whatſoeuer there withall I will

  I may pull downe, raiſe, and reedifie

It is the building of my life the ſee

Of Nature, all th’inheritance that I

Shal leaue to thoſe which muſt come after me

And all the care I haue is but to ſee

Theſe lodgings of m’affections nearly dreſt

Wherein ſo many noble friends there be

Whoſe memories with mine muſt therin reſt

And glad I am that I haue liud to ſee

This edifice renewd, who doo but long

To liue t’amend. For man is a tree

That hath his fruite late ripe, and it is long

Before he come t’his taſte, there doth belong

So much t’experience, and ſo infinite

The faces of things are, as hardly we

Diſcerne which lookes the likeſt vnto right.

 Beſides theſe curious times ſtuf’d with the ſtore

Of cōpoſitions in this kind, do driue  

Me to examine my defects the more,

And oft would make me not my ſelf belieue

Did I not know the world wherein I liue,

Which neither is ſo wiſe, as that would ſeeme

Nor certaine iudgement of thoſe things doth giue

That in diſliks, nor that it doth eſteeme.

  I know no work from man yet euer came

But had his marke, and by ſome error ſhewd

That it was his, and yet what in the ſame

Was rare, an worthy, euermore allowd

Safe cōuoy for the reſt: the good thats ſow’d

Thogh rarely paies our coſt, & who ſo looks

T’haue all thinges in perfection, & in frame

In mens inuentions, neuer muſt read books.

  And howſoeuer here detraction may

Diſvalew this my labour, yet I know

There wil be foūd therin, that which wil pay

The reckning for the errors which I owe

And likewiſe will ſufficiently allow

T’an vndiſtaſted iudgement fit delight

And let preſumptuous ſelfe-opinion ſay

The worſt it can, I know I ſhall haue right

  I know I ſhal be read, among the reſt

So long as men ſpeake english, and ſo long

As verſe and vertue ſhal be in requeſt

Or grace to honeſt induſtry belong:

And England ſince I vſe thy preſent tongue

Thy forme of ſpeech thou muſt be my defēce

If to new eares, it ſeemes not well expreſt

For though I hold not accent I hold ſence

  And ſince the meaſures of our tong we ſee

Confirmd by no edict of power doth reſt

But onely vnderneath the regencie

Of vſe and faſhion, which may be the beſt

Is not for my poore forces to conteſt

But as the Peacock, ſeeing himſelfe to weake

Confeſt the Eagle fairer farre to be

And yet not in his feathers but his beake.

Authoritie of powerfull cenſure may

Preiudicate the forme wherein we mould

This matter of our ſpirite, but if it pay (wold

The care with ſubſtance, we haue what wee

For that is all which muſt our credit hold.

The reſt (how euer gay, or ſeeming rich

It be in faſhion, wiſe men will not wey)

The ſtamp will not allow it, but the touch

 And would to God that nothing falty were

But only that poore accent in my verſe

Or that I could all other recknings cleere

Wherewith my heart ſtands charg’d, or might

The errors of my iudgmēt paſſed here (revers

Or els where, in my bookes, and vnrehearce

What I haue vainely ſaid, or haue addreſt

Vnto neglect miſtaken in the reſt.

 Which I do hope to liue yet to retract

And craue that England neuer wil take note

That it was mine. I’le diſavow mine act,

And wiſh it may for euer be forgot,

I truſt the world will not of me exact

Againſt my will, that hath all els, I wrote

I will aske nothing therein for my paine

But onely ti haue in mine owne againe.

THE TRAGEDIE OF Cleopatra.

AEtas prima canat veneres poſtrema tumultus.

TO THE MOST NOBLE LADIE THE LADY Marie Counteſſe of Pembrooke

BEhold the worke which once thou didſt impoſe

Great ſiſter of the Muſes glorious ſtarre

Of femall worth, who didst at firſt diſcloſe

Unto our times, what noble powers there are

In womenſ hartſ, and ſent example farre

To call vp others to like ſtudious thoughts

And me at firſt from out my low repoſe

Didſt raiſe to ſing of state and tragicke notes

  Whilſt I contented with an humble ſong

Made muſique to my ſelfe that pleaſd me beſt

And onely told of Delia and her wrong

And praiſd her eyes, and plaind mine owne vnreſt

A text from whence Muſe had not digreſt

Had I not ſeene thy well grac'd Anthonie

Adornd by thy ſweet ſtile in our faire tongue

T’expect his Cleopatras company.

And that thoſe notions which at firſt in me

The, then dilicious Wilton did impreſſe

That arbor of the Muſes grac’d by thee

And which did likewiſe grace thy worthineſſe

Were growne to apprehend how th images

Of action and of greatneſſe figured were

Made me attempt t'attire her miſery

In th'habit I conceiud became her care

Which if to her it be not fitted right

Yet in the ſute of nature ſure it is

And is the language that affliction might

Perhaps deliuer when it ſpake diſtreſſe

And aſ it was I did the ſame addreſſe

To thy cleere vnderſtanding and therein

Thy noble name, aſ in her proper right

Continued euer ſince that time hath beene

And ſo muſt likewiſe ſtill, now it iſ caſt

Into thiſ ſhape that I haue giuen thereto

Which now muſt ſtand, being like to be the laſt

That I ſhall euer herein haue to doo.

And glad I am I haue renewd to you

The vowes I owe your worth, although thereby

There can no glory vnto you accrew

Who conſecrate your proper memory.

Thoſe holy Hymnes the melodie of heauen

Which Iſraels ſinger to hiſ God did frame

Vnto thy voice eternall fame hath giuen

And ſhews thee deer to him fro whēce they came

In them ſhall reſt thy euer reuerent name

So long aſ Syons God remaineth honored

And till confuſion hath all zeale bereauen

And murthered faith and temples ruined

By them great Lady you ſhall then be knowne

When Wilton may lie leuell with the ground

And this is that which you may call your owne

Which ſacriligious Time cannot confound:

Here you ſuruiue your ſelfe, here are you found

Of late ſucceeding ages freſh in fame,

This monument cannot be ouerthrowne,

Where in eternall braſſe remaines your name.

O that the Ocean did not bound our stile

Within theſe strict and narrow limits, ſo,

But that the muſique of our well tund Ile

Might hence be heard to Mintium arme and Po,

That they might know, how far Thames doth out go

Declined Tyber, and might not contemne.

Our Northern tunes, but now another while

Receiue from vs, more then we had from them

   Or why may not ſome after comming hand

Vnlock theſe limitſ, open our our confines,

And breake a ſunder this impriſoning band

T'inlarge our ſpirits, and let out our deſignes

Planting our roſes on the Apinines,

And to Iberus, Loyce and Arue to Teach

That we part glory with their, and our land

Being match for worth, comes not behind in ſpeach

 Let them produce the beſt of all they may

Since Roome left bearing, who bare more then men

And we ſhall paralell them euery way

In all the glorious actions of the pen.

Our Phœbus is the ſame that theirs hath beene,

How euer ignorance, phantsticke growne

Rates them aboue the valew that they pay,

And likes ſtrange notes, and diſesteemes our owne

 They cannot ſhew a Sidney let they ſhew

All their choice peeces, and bring all in one

And altogether ſhall not make that ſhew

Of wonder and delight, as he hath donne:

He hath th'Olimpian prize (of all that run

Or euer ſhall with mortall powers) poſſeſt

In that faire courſe of glory and yet now

Sydney is not our all, although our beſt.

That influence had Elizaes bleſſed peace

Peculiar to her glory aſ it ſpred

That ſacred flame of many, and th'increaſe

Did grace the ſeaſon, and her honored

And if the ſame come now extinguiſhed

By the diſtemprature of time, and ceaſe

Suffice we were not yet behind the reſt,

But had our part of glory with the beſt.

THE TRAGEDIE Of CLEOPATRA.

To the Ladie Marie Countiſſe of Pembrooke.

AEtas prima canat veneres poſtrema tumultus.

LONDON

Printed by I.W.for Simon Waterſon.

1607.

The Argument.

AFter the death of Antonius, Cleopatra (liuing ſtill in the Monument ſhee had cauſed to be built) could not by any meanes be drawn forth, although Octauius Caesar verie earneſtly laboured it, and ſent Proculeius, to vſe all diligence to bring her vnto him: for that he thought it would be a great ornament to his Triumphs, to get her aliue to Rome. But neuer would ſhee put her ſelfe into the handes of Proculeius, although on a time he found the meanes, (by a window that was at the toppe of the Monument,) to come downe vnto her. where hee persſwaded her (all hee might) to yeeld herſelfe to Cæſars mercy. Which ſhe (to be rid of him) cunningly ſeemed to grant vnto. After that, Octauius in perſon went to viſite her, to whome ſhe excuſed her offence, laying all the fault vpon the greatnes, and feare ſhe had of Antonius, and withall ſeemed very tractable, and willing to be diſpoſed of by him.

    Whereupon, Octauius, thinking himſelfe ſure) reſolued preſently to ſend 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 he would ſuffer her to ſacrifice to the Ghoſt of Antonius, which being granted her, ſhee was brought vnto his Sepulcher, where, after her rites performed ſhe 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 figges vnto her, who (vnſuſpected) was ſuffered to carry them in: And in that baſket (among the figges) were conueied the Aſpicks wherewith ſhee did her ſelfe to death. Dinner being ended, ſhe diſpatched Letters to Cæſar, containing great lamentations with an earneſt ſupplication, that ſhe might be intombed with Antonius. Whereupon Cæſar knowing what ſhe intended, ſent preſently with all ſpeede, Meſſengers to haue preuented her death, which notwithſtanding, before they came, was diſpatched, Cæſario her ſonne, which ſhe had by Iulius Cæſar (conueyed before vnto India, out of the danger of the warres) 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 bee wholy extinct, and the flouriſhing ritch kingdome of Egypt vtterly ouerthrowne and ſubdued.     

The names of the Actors.

Cleopatra.        

Oct.  Cæſar.      

Cæſario         

Dolabella.        

Proculeius.       

Arius.         

Philostratus.

Sileucus.

Rodon.

Dircetus,

Diomedes

Charmion,

Eras.

THE TRAGEDIE of Cleopatra.

Actus I. Scæna I.

Cleopatra. Cæſario. Rodon.

COme Rodon, here, conuey from out this coaſt

This precious iem, the chiefeſt I haue left,

The iewell of my ſoule I value moſt,

My deare Caſario: Saue him, ſaue my theft,

Guide him to India, lead him farre from hence,

Conceale 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 wracke,

And raiſe the ſhattered ruines made of late:

He may giue limits to the boundleſſe pride

Of fierce Octauius, and abate his might,

Great Iulius ofspring, he may come to guide

The Empire of the world, as his by right.

 Ro. No doubt he may, deare Soueraigne when the rage

Of this confuſed ſtorme is ouerpaſt,     

That furiouſly now beates vpon this age,

And, may be, is too violent at laſt.

And Cæſars fortune which now ſeems to grow

Into th’Aſcendent of felicitie,

And makes the round and full of glory now,

May come to waine likeſ others wretchednes:

No tyrant can preſcribe to iniurie:

Kings Rights may oft be ſicke, but neuer die.

  Cle. Rodon, my ſelfe, thoſe turnes of Chance haue ſeen

And known both ſides of fortune, worſt & beſt

And therefore he, whoſe birth, whoſe ſexe hath beene

Worthier then mine, why ſhould not he rebleſt

Turne backe to rule the ſcepter of this land?

Which ah, how well it would become this hand!

  O how he ſeemes the modell of his ſyre,

Now doe 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,

Hie ſhouldred, and his forehead euen as hie,

And had he not, ay me, bin borne ſo late,

He might haue rul’d the worlds wide Monarchy,

And now haue bin the Champion of our State.

But O deare ſonne, the time yeilds no delaies,

Sonne of my youth, flie hence, O flie, be gone,

Reſerue thy ſelfe, ordaind for better daies,

For much thou haſt to ground thy hopes vpon.

Leaue me thy wofull mother to indure

The fury of thiſ tempeſt here alone,

Who cares not for her ſelfe, ſo thou be ſure:

Thou maieſt reuenge, when others can but mone.

Rodon will ſee thee ſafe, Rodon will guid

Thee in the way, thou ſhalt not need to feare,

Rodon my faithfull ſeruant will prouide

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

And O good Rodon, tender well his youth,

The wayes are long, and dangerous euery where;

I vrge it not, that I doe doubt thy truth,

But motherſ caſt the worſt, and alwaies feare.

‘‘The abſent danger greater ſtill appeares,

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

   Rod. Madame, nor can, nor haue I other gage,

To lay for this aſſurance of my troth,

But th’earneſt of that faith, which all my age

Your grace hath tri’d: and which againe by oath

Vnto the care of this ſweet Prince I vow,

Whoſe ſafetie I will tender with more heed

Then mine owne life. For conſider how

The life of Egypt ſtands on hiſ good ſpeed:

And doubt not Madame Cæſar left vs hath

The Poſterne gate of Nylus free, to flie,

And India lies beyond the bounds of wrath,

And owes no homage to his Empery.

And there we ſhall find welcome, there remaine

Safe, till good fortune bring vs backe againe.

 Cle. But ah, I know not what preſaging thought

My ſpirit ſuggeſts of ominous euent:

And yet perhaps my loue doth make me dote

On idle ſhadowes, which my feares preſent.

But yet the memorie of mine owne fate,

Makes me feare his:and yet why ſhould I feare?

His fortune may in time regaine his ſtate,

And he with greater glory gouerne here.

But yet I feare the Genius of our race,

By ſome more powerfull ſpirit comes ouerthrowne,

Our blood muſt be extinct, in my diſgrace,

And Egypt haue no more kings of their owne.

  Then let him ſtay, and let vs fall together,

If it be fore-decreed that we muſt fall:

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

What Marchant in one veſſell venters all?

Let vs diuide our ſtarres, goe, goe my ſonne:

Let not the fate of Egypt find you here.

Trie if ſo be thy Deſtinie can ſhun

The common wracke of vs, by beeing there.

But who is he found euer yet defence

Againſt the heauens, or hide him any where?

Then what need I to ſend thee ſo farre hence

To ſeeke thy death, that maieſt aſ well die here?

And here die with thy mother, die in reſt,

Not trauelling to what will come to thee:

Why ſhould we leaue our blood vnto the Eaſt,

When Egypt may a tombe ſufficient be?

  O my diuided ſoule what ſhall I doe,

Whereon ſhall now my reſolution reſt?

What were I beſt reſolue to yield vnto?

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

Stay; I may hap to worke with Cæſar now,

That he may yield him to reſtore thy right.

Goe; Cæſar neuer will conſent that thou

So neere in blood ſhalt be ſo great in might.

Then take him Rodon, goe my ſonne, farewell.

But ſtay: there's ſomething I would gladly ſay,

Yet nothing now. But O God ſpeed you well,

Leſt ſaying more, that more might make the ſtay.

Yet let me ſpeake, perhaps it is 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 (deare heart) tis no ſuch ſlender twine

Wherewith the knot iſ tyde twixt me and thee:

That blood 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,

Though I haue made an ende, I haue done.

 Cæſ. Deare ſoueraigne mother, ſuffer not your care

To tumult thus with th’honor of your ſtate: 

Theſe miſeries of ours no ſtrangers are,

Nor is it new to be vnfortunate.

And this good, let your many ſorrows paſt

Worke on your heart t’inharden it at laſt.

Looke but on all the neighbour States beſide,

Of Europe, Afrique, Aſia, and but note

What Kings? what States? hath not the Romane pride

Ranſackt, confounded, or els ſeruile brought?

And ſince we are ſo borne that by our fate,

Againſt the ſtormes we cannot now beare ſaile,

And that the boiſtrous current of their ſtate

Will beare downe all our fortunes, and preuaile:

Let vs yet temper with the time: and thinke

The windes may change, and all theſe States oppreſt,

Colleagu,d in one, may turne againe to ſincke

Their Greatneſſe, who now holds them all diſtreſt:

And I may lead their troupes, and at the walles

Of greedie Rome, reuenge the wronged blood

Of th’innocent, which now for vengeance calls,

And doe th’inthralled Prouinces this good.

And therefore my deare mother doe not leaue

To hope the beſt. I doubt not my returne.

I ſhall doe well, let nor your griefe bereaue

Your eyes of ſeeing thoſe comforts when they turne.

  Cleop. Well, worthy ſonne, and worthily the ſonne

Of ſuch a father. And in this thou ſhewſt

From whence thou camſt; I ſay no more:be gone,

Grow in thy virtue, as in yeares thou growſt

Exeunt.

Cleopatra ſola.

Poore comforts can they giue, whom our diſtreſſe

Makes miſerable, and like comfortleſſe.

Alas, ſuch forced cheering from our owne,

Vpon our griefes doe more affliction lay,

To thinke, that by our meanes they are vndone,

On whom we ſought our glory to conuay.

Well then, here is a ſad daies worke begun:

For firſt, betweene theſe armes, my Antony

Expir’d this day: and whilſt I did vphold

His ſtruggling limmes in his laſt extaſie,

The yet vncloſed wound, which his owne ſword

Had made before, burſt out, imbru'd my wombe,

And here with theſe faire collours of my Lord

Which now I weare: I come from out a tombe,

To ſend away this deereſt part of me

Vnto diſtreſſe, and now whilſt time I haue,

I got t’interre my ſpouſe: So ſhall I ſee

My ſonne diſpatcht for death, my loue t’his graue.

Exit.

SCENA II.

Octauius. Dircetus. Gallus. Proculeius.

WHat newes brings now Dircetus from our foe,

Will Antony yet ſtruggle beeing vndone?

Dir. Noe, Cæſar he will neuer vexe thee more.

His worke is ended, Anthony hath done.

Here is the ſword that hath cut off the knot

Of his intangled fortunes, and hath freed

His grieued life from his diſhonor’d blot.

 Oct. Who is the man that did effect this deed?

 Dir. His owne hand and this ſword hath done the deed.

 Oct. Relate Dirceus of the manner how.   

  Dir. My Lord when Anthony had made this laſt

And deſperate triall of his fortunes, and

With all the forces which he had amaſt

From out each coaſt and corner of the land.

Had brought them to their worke, perceiuing how

His ſhips in ſtead of blowes ſhooke hands with yours

And that his powers by land were vanquiſht now,

Backe to the city he with griefe retires,

Confounded with his fortunes, crying out,

That Cleopatra had betraid his truſt.

Shee all amaz'd, and fearing leaſt he mought

In this conceipt to farther rages burſt,

Haſtes to the tombe which ſhee erected had

(A ſtately vault to Iſis temple ioynd)

And thence caus’d word be ſent how ſhee was dead,

And had diſpatcht her ſelfe, through griefe of mind.

   Which whē Antonius heard, he ſtraight burſt forth

Into this paſsion: what? and haſt thou then

Preuented me, braue Queene, by thy great worth

Hath Cleopatra taught the worke of men?

Hath ſhee outgone me in the greateſt part

Of reſolution, to die worthely?

And muſt I follow? doth ſhee diſapoint

Me, of th'example to teach her to die?

  Come Eros, doe this ſeruice for thy Lord,

The beſt and greateſt pleaſure thou canſt doe:

Imploy this weapon here; come, make this ſword

That wone me honor, now to ſaue it to.

It is a deede of glory, Eros, this:

For theſe drie deaths are womaniſh and baſe.

It is for an vnſinewed feebleneſſe

T’expire in feathers, and t’attend diſgrace.

Ther’s nothing eaſier Eros then to die,

For when men cannot ſtand, thus they may flie.

  Eros, his late infranchiſ’d ſeruant, takes

The ſword, as if he would haue done thee deed,

And on it falls himſelfe: and thereby makes

Antonius more confus’d to ſee him bleed,

Who ſhould haue firſt euented out his breath.

O Eros, ſaid he, and hath fortune quite

Forſaken me? muſt I b'outgone in all?

What? can I not by loſing get a right?

Shall I not haue the vpper hand to fall

In death? muſt both a woman, and a ſlaue

The ſtart before me of this glory haue?

With that he takes his ſword, and downe he falls

Vpon the diſmall point, which makes a gate

Spacious enough for death, but that the walles

Of nature, skornd to let it in thereat.

And he ſuruiues his death. Which when his loue,

His royall Cleopatra vnderſtood,

She ſends with ſpeed his body to remoue,

The body of her loue imbru'd with blood.

Which brought vnto her tombe, (leſt that the preaſe

Which came with him, might violate her vow)

Shee drawes him vp in rowles of taffatie

T’a window at the top, which did allow

A little light vnto her monument.

  There Charmion, and poore Eras, two weake maids

Foretir'd with watching, and their miſtreſſe care,

Tugd at the pulley hauing no other ayds,

And vp they hoiſe the ſwounding body there

Of pale Antonius ſhowring out his blood

On th’under-lookers, which there gazing ſtood.

  And when they had now wrought him vp half way

(Their feeble powers vnable more to doe)

The frame ſtood ſtill, the body at a ſtay,

When Cleopatra all her ſtrength thereto

Puts, with what vigor loue, and care could vſe,

So that it mooues againe, and then againe

It comes to ſtay. When ſhee afreſh renewes

Her hold, and with r’inforced power doth ſtraine,

And all the weight of her weake bodie laies,

Whoſe ſurcharg'd heart more then her body wayes.

At length ſhee wrought him vp, and takes him in,

Laies his yet breathing body on her bed,

Applies all meanes his ſences to rewinne

Stops vp his wound againe that freſhly bled.

Calles him her Lord, her ſpouſe, her Emperor.

Forgets her owne diſtreſſe, to comfort his,

And interpoints each comfort with a kiſſe.

  He after ſome ſmall reſt and cheriſhing

Raiſes himſelfe, and frames a forced cheere,

Wils Cleopatra leaue her languiſhing,

And like herſelfe theſe accidents to beare,

Conſidering they had had ſo full a part

Of glory in this world: and that the turne

Of Change was come, and Fortune would depart.

T'was now in vaine for her to ſtand and mourne:

But rather ought ſhee ſeeke her race to free,

By all the meanes (her honor ſau'd) ſhee can,

And none about Octauius truſt, ſaid he,

But Proculeius ſhe's an honeſt man.

And for my ſelfe, ſuffize I haue not fail'd

In any acte of worth: and now in this,

A Roman hath but here a Roman quayld,

And onely but by fortunes variouſnes.

And yet herein I may this glory take,

That he who me vndoes, my ſword did make.

  This ſaid, he calls for wine, which he requires

Perhaps not for his thirſt, but t’end his breath:

Which hauing taken, forthwith he expires:

And thus haue I declar'd Antonius death.

 Octa. I grieue to heare this much. And I proteſt

By all the gods, I am no cauſe of this,

He ſought his ruine, wrought his owne vnreſt;

And here theſe letters are my witneſſes,

How oft I labour'd to recall him home,

And woo’d his friendſhip, ſu'd to him for loue:

And how he ſtill contemn'd me, skorned Rome,

Your ſelues my fellow cittizens can proue.

  But Gallus you, and Proculeius haſte

With ſpeed vnto the cittie to preuent

Leſt Cleopatra deſperat now at laſt,

Bereaue vs of the onely ornament,

Which is her ſelfe, that can our triumphs grace.

Or fire the treaſure which ſhe hath amaſt

Within that vault, of all the precious ſtuffe

That Egypt yieldes, and diſappoint at laſt

Our trauels of the benefit thereof.

Supple her heart with hopes of kinde reliefe,

Giue words of oyle, vnto her wounds of griefe.

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 ſprite,

The hideous 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 calls 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 behinde,

The which is euermore,

The ſure and certaine gaine

Impietie doth get,

And wanton loſe reſpect, that doth it ſelfe forget.

 And Cleopatra now,

Well ſees the dangerous way

Shee tooke, and car’d not how.

Which led her to decay:

  And likewiſe makes vs pay

For her diſordered 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 wonne,

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

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 ſecret cloſely done,

But now is vttered.

The text is made moſt plaine

That flatterie 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 lies.

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 eies,

Lies ſcattered, daſht, all broke.

Thus much beguiled haue

Poore vnconſiderate wights,

Theſe momentary pleaſures, fugitiue delights.

ACTVS II. SCENA I.

Cleopatra. Charmion. Eras.

YEt doe I liue, and yet can breath extend

My life beyond my life nor can my graue

Shut vp my griefs, 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 ſhee not dead?

Haue I outliu'd my ſelfe, and ſeene the fall

Of all vpon me, and not ruined?

Can yet theſe eyes indure the gaſtly looke

Of deſolations darke and ougly face,

Woont but on fortunes faireſt ſide to looke,

Where nought was, but applauſe, but ſmiles, & grace

Whil'ſt on his ſhoulders all my reſt relyde.

On whom the burthen of my ambition lay,

My Atlas, and the Champion of my pride,

That did the world of all my glory ſway:

Who here throwne downe, diſgrac’d, confounded lies

Cruſht with the weight of ſhame and infamie,

Following th'vnluckie partie of mine eies,

The traines of luſt and imbecillitie.

 Now who would thinke that I were ſhe who late

With all the ornaments on earth inrich’d,

Enuirond with delights, ingyrt with ſtate,

Glittring in pompe that hearts and eyes bewitc’d,

Should thus diſtreſt caſt downe from off the height,

Leueld with low diſgrac’d calamity.

Vnder the weight of ſuch affliction ſigh,

Reduc’d vnto th’extreameſt miſerie?

 Am I the woman whoſe inuentiue pride

Adorn’d like Iſis skornd mortallitie?

Iſt I would haue my frailty ſo beli’d,

That flatterie could perſwade I was not I?

Well now I ſee they but delude that praiſe vs,

Greatneſſe is mockt, proſperitie betraies vs.

And we are but our ſelues, although this clowd

Of interpoiſed ſmoake makes vs ſeeme more.

The ſpreading parts of pompe whereof w’are prowd,

Are not our parts, but parts of other ſtore.

Witneſſe theſe gallant fortune following traines,

Theſe ſummer-ſwallowes of felicitie,

Gone with the heat of all, ſee what remaines,

This monument, two maides, and wretched I.

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

A captiue kept to honor others ſpoyles,

Whom Cæſar labours ſo to hold preſeru’d,

And ſeekes to entertaine my life with wiles.

But Cæſar it is more then thou canſt doe,

Promiſe, flatter, threaten extreamities,

Imploy thy wits, and all thy force thereto,

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

Char. Come Eras, ſhall we goe and interrupt

With ſome perſwading words, this ſtreame of mone?

  Eras. No Charmion, ſtay, the current that is ſtopt

Will but ſwell vp the more: let her alone.

Time hath not brought this hot diſeaſe of griefe,

T’a Criſis fit to take a medicine yet;

Tis out of ſeaſon to apply reliefe.

To ſorrows late begun, and in the fit

Calamitie is ſtubborne in the prime

Of new afflictions, we muſt giue it time.

  Cle. Shall Rome behold my ſcepter-bearing hand

Behinde me bound, and glory in my teares?

Shall I paſſe by whereas Octauia ſtands

To view my miſerie, that purchaſt hers?

No,I diſdaine that head which wore a crowne

Should ſtoop 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 ſtaid behind my ſelfe this ſpace.

Nor paid ſuch intereſt for my borrowed breath,

But that hereby I ſeeke to purchaſe grace

For my diſtreſſed ſeed after my death.

Its that which doth my deereſt bloud controwle,

Thats it alas detaines me from my tombe.

Whilſt nature brings to contradict my ſoule,

The argument of mine vnhappy wombe.

 But what know I if th’heauens haue decreed,

And that the ſinnes of Egypt 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:

And my luxuriouſnes ſhould end the date

Of looſe and ill-diſpenſed libertie.

If it be ſo, then what need theſe delaies,

Since I was made the meanes of miſerie,

Why ſhould I not but make my death my praiſe,

That had my life but for mine infamie?

And leaue ingrau’d in letters of my blood.

A fit memoriall for the times to come,

To be example for ſuch princes good,

As pleaſe themſelues, and care not what become.

  Char. Deare madam, do not thus afflict your heart

No doubt you may worke out a meane to liue,

And hold your ſtate, and haue as great a part

In Cæſars grace, as Anthony could giue:

He that in this ſort doth ſollicit you,

And treats by all the gentle meanes he can,

Why ſhould you doubt that he ſhould proue vntrue,

Or thinke him ſo diſnatured a man,

To wrong your royall truſt or dignity?

  Cle. Charmion, becauſe that now I am not I,

My fortune, with my bewty, and my youth.

Hath left me vnto miſery and thrall,

And Cæſar cares not now by wayes of truth,

But cunning, to get honor by my fall.

 Ch. You know not Cæſars dealing till you try.

 Cle. To try, were to be loſt and then diſcry.

 Ch. You to Antonius did commit your ſelfe,

And why might not Antonius ſo haue done?

 Cl. I wonne Antonius, Cæſar hath me woone.

 Er. But madame, you might haue articuled

With Cæſar, when Thyrius he of late

Did offer you ſo kindly as he did.

Vpon conditions to haue held your ſtate.

 Cl. Tis true, I know I might haue held my ſtate,

If I would then haue Anthony betrai'd,

 Er. And why not now, ſince Anthony is dead,

And that Octauius hath the end he ſought,

May not you haue what then was offered?

On fairer tearmes, if things were fitly wrought

And that you would not teach him to deny,

By doubting him, or aſking fearefully.

 Cleop. Fearefully Eras peace, I skorne to feare,

Who now am got out of the reach of wrath,

Aboue the power of pride. What ſhould I feare

The might of men, that am at one with death?

Speake ye no more to me I charge you here.

What? will you two, who ſtill haue tooke my part

In all my fortunes, now conſpire with feare

To make me mutinie againſt my heart?

  No Antony, becauſe the world takes note

That t'was my weakeneſſe that hath ruin’d thee,

And my ambitious practiſes are thought

The motiue and the cauſe of all to be.

My conſtancy ſhall vndeceiue their mindes,

And I will bring the witneſſe of my blood

To teſtifie my fortitude, that binds

My equall loue, to fall with him I ſtood.

Though God thou knowſt, this ſtaine is wrongly laid

Vpon my ſoule, whom ill ſucceſſe makes ill:

And my condemnd miſfortune hath no aide

Againſt prowd lucke that argues what it will.

Defects I grant I had, but this was worſt,

That being the firſt to fall, I di’d not firſt.

 Though I perhaps could lighten mine owne ſide

With ſome excuſe of my conſtrained caſe

Drawne downe with power: but that were to diuide

My ſhame, to ſtand alone in my diſgrace.

To cleare me ſo, would ſhew my affections naught,

And make th'excuſe more hainous then the fault.

Since if I ſhould our errors diſvnite,

I ſhould confound afflictions onely reſt,

That from ſterne death euen ſteales a ſad delight

To die with friendes, and with the like diſtreſt.

And I confeſſe me bound to ſacrifice

To death and thee the life that doth reproue me.

Our like diſtreſſe I feele doth ſimpathize,

And now affliction makes me truely loue thee.

When heretofore my vaine laſciuious Cort

Fertile in euery freſh and new-choyce pleaſure,

Affoarded me ſo bountifull diſport,

That I to ſtay on loue, had neuer leiſure.

  My vagabound deſires no limits found,

  For luſt is endleſſe, pleaſure hath no bound.

When thou bred in the ſtrictneſſe of the citie,

The ryotous pompe of monarchs neuer learnedſt

Invr’d to warres, in womens wiles vnwitty,

Whilſt others faind, thou feltſt to loue in earneſt

Not knowing women loue them beſt that houer,

And make leaſt reckoning of a doting louer.

And yet thou camſt but in by bewties waine,

When new appearing wrinckles of declining

Wrought with the hand of yeares, 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 we doe deeme in iealouſie,

That men loue for themſelues, and not for vs.

Then and but thus thou didſt loue moſt ſincerely.

(O Antony that beſt deſerudſt it better)

This Autumne of my beautie, bought ſo deerely,

For which, in more then death I ſtand thy debtor

Which I will pay thee with ſo true a mind,

Caſting vp all theſe deepe accounts of mine

As both our ſoules, and all the world ſhall find

All reckonings cleerd betwixt my loue and thine.

But to the end I may preuent prowd Cæſar,

Who doth ſo eagerly my life importune:

I muſt preuaile me of this little leiſure,

Seeming to ſuite 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 wary hide

My laſt deſigne, till I accompliſh it:

That hereby yet the world ſhall ſee that I,

Although vnwiſe to liue, had wit to die.

SCENA II.

Octauius. Proculeius. Gallus.

Kingdoms I ſee we win, we conquer Climats,

Yet cannot vanquiſh hearts, nor force obedience

Affections kept in cloſe concealed limits,

Stand farre without the reach of ſword or violence.

Who forc’d doe pay vs dury, pay not loue,

Free is the heart, the temple of thy mind,

The ſanctuary ſacred from aboue,

Where nature keyes that looſe and bind,

No mortall hand force open can that dore,

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 yields to my al-conquering hand:

And all their ſtates, and all themſelues reſigne,

Onely this Queene, that hath loſt all this all,

To whom is nothing left, except a mind,

Cannot into a thought of yielding fall,

To be diſpos’d as chance hath her aſsign'd,

But Proculeius tell me what y’haue done,

Will yet this womans ſtubborne heart be woone?

  Pro. My Lord, we haue all gentle meanes impli’d,

According to th’inſtructions which you gaue,

And hope in time ſhee will be pacifi’d,

And theſe are all the likelihoods we haue.

Firſt when we came into her arched vault,

I Gallus ſet to entertaine the time

Below with her, conferring at a grate,

Whilſt I found meanes vp to the top to clime:

He there perſwaded her to leaue that place,

And come to Cæſar and to ſue for grace.

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

Yet for her children praid they might inherit,

That Cæſar would vouchſafe in clemencie,

To pittie them, though ſhee deſeru’d no merit.

I now deſcending in the cloſeſt wiſe,

And ſilent manner as I could contriue,

Her woman me deſcri'd, and out ſhee cries.

Ah Cleopatra, thou art forc'd aliue.

With that the queene raught from her ſide her knife,

And euen in act to ſtabbe her martyred 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 you ſaid I,

Both iniurie your ſelfe, and Cæſar ſo?

Barre him the honor of his victory,

Who euer deales moſt mildly with his foe.

Liue, and rely on him, whoſe mercy will

To your ſubmiſsion alwayes ready be.

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

Twixt maieſtie confuſ'd, and miſerie.

Her prowd grieu’d eies, held ſorrow and diſdaine,

State and diſtreſſe warring within her ſoule,

Dying ambition diſpoſſeſt her raigne:

So baſe affliction ſeemed to controwle.

Like to a burning lampe whoſe liquor ſpent

With intermitted flames, when dead you deeme it,

Sends forth 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 naught,

Skornes yet to make an abiect league with fate,

Or once deſcend into a ſeruile thought.

Th’imperions tongue vnuſed to beſeech,

Authoritie confounds with praiers ſo,

As words of rule, conioynd with humble ſpeech

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

  Ah what hath Cæſar here to doe, ſaid ſhee,

In confines of the dead, in darknes lying,

Will he not grant our ſepulchers be free,

But violate the priuiledge of dying?

What muſt he 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 pride, iſt ſafe no where?

Cannot my land, my gold, my crowne ſuffize,

And all that I held deare, to him made common,

But that he thus muſt ſeeke to tyrannize

On th’wofull body of a wretched woman?

Tell him my frailtie, and the gods haue giuen

Sufficient glory, could he be content,

And let him now with his deſires make euen,

And leaue me heare in horror to lament.

Now he hath taken all away from me,

What muſt he take me from my ſelfe by force?

Ah let him yet in mercy leaue me free

The kingdome of this poore diſtreſſed coarſe.

No other crowne I ſeeke, no other good,

Yet wiſh that Cæſar would vouchſafe this grace,

To fauour th’wofull ofspring of my blood,

A mixed iſſue yet of Romane race.

If blood and name be linkes of loue in princes,

Not ſpurs of hate;my poore Cæſario may

Find 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, or no regard at all,

Can ought with nature, or with blood diſpence.

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

There ſtaies and ſhrinks, in th horror of her ſtate,

When I began to mittigate her woe,

And your great mercies vnto her relate.

And wiſht her not deſpaire but rather come,

And ſue for grace, and ſhake of all vaine feares,

No doubt ſhee ſhould obtaine as gentle doome

As ſhee deſir’d, both for her ſelfe and hers.

Wherewith at laſt ſhee ſeemd well pacifi’d,

And gaue great ſhewes to be content to liue,

And ſaid ſhee was reſolu’d your doome t’abide,

And to accept what fauour you would giue.

And therewithall crau’d onely that ſhe might

Performe ſome obſequies vnto the coarſe

Of her dead loue, according to her rite,

And in the meane time might be free from force.

  I granting from thy part this her requeſt,

  Left her for then, as ſeeming well in reſt.

  Oct. But doe you thinke ſhe will remaine ſo ſtill?

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

Oct. Ah priuat thoghts, aime wide from princes hearts

Whoſe ſtate allows them not t’act their owne parts.

 Pro. Why tis her ſafetie to come yield to thee.

 Oct. But tis more honour fo^r her to die free.

 Pro. She may by yeilding work her childrēs good.

  Oct. Princes reſpect their honor more then blood

 Pro. Can Princes power diſpence with nature thā^?

 Oct. To be a Prince is more then be a man.

 Pro. Ther’s none but haue in time perſwaded bin.

 Oct. And ſo might ſhe too, were ſhee not a queen.

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

 Oct. Princes like Lyons neuer will be tam’d.

A priuate man may yield, and care not how,

But greater hearts will breake before they bowe.

And ſure I feare ſhe will not condeſcend

To liue to grace our ſpoiles with her diſgrace.

But yet let ſtill a wary troupe attend,

To guard her perſon, and to watch the place:

And well obſerue with whom ſhee doth conferre,

And ſhortly will my ſelfe goe viſit her.

CHORVS.

STerne, and imperious Nemeſis

 Daughter of iuſtice, moſt ſeuere,

  That art the worlds great arbitreſſe,

  And Queene of cauſes raigning here:

Whoſe ſwift-ſure hand is euer neere

  Eternall iuſtice, righting wrong:

  Who neuer yet deferreſt long

  The prowds decay, the weakes redreſſe:

But through thy power euery where,

 Doeſt raze the great, and raiſe the leſſe.

  The leſſe made great doeſt ruine too,

  To ſhew the earth what heauen can doe.

Thou from darke-cloi’d eternitie,

From thy blacke clowdy hidden ſeat,

  The worlds diſorders doeſt diſcry:

  VVhich 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 deſtenie,

VVhich neither wit nor strength can let,

  Faſt chain’d vnto neceſsity,

  In mortall things doth order ſo,

  Th’alternate courſe of weale or woe.

O how the powers of heauen doe play

  VVith trauailed mortalitie:

  And doth their weakeneſſe ſtill betray,

  In their beſt proſperitie?

VVhen beeing lifted vp ſo hie,

  They looke beyond themſelues ſo farre,

  That to themſelnes they take no care;

  VVhilſt ſwift confuſion downe doth lay,

Their late prowd mounting vanity:

  Bringing their 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 purſu’d?

O why ſhould th’heauens vs include,

  VVithin the compaſſe of their fall,

  VVho 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 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 naughte

  To change the people and the crowne,

  And purge the worlds iniquitie:

  Which vice ſo farre hath ouergrowne,

  As we, ſo they that treate vs thus,

  Muſt one day periſh like to vs.

ACTVS III SCENA

Philoſtratus. Arius. 2. Philoſophers.

How deeply Arius am I bound to thee

That ſau’dſt from death this wretched life of mine,

Obtaining Cæſars gentle grace for me, 

When I of all help elſe deſpaird but thine:

Although I ſee in ſuch an wofull ſtate,

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

Since all our glories come to end their date,

Our countries honor, and our owne expir’d:

Now that the hand of wrath hath ouergone vs.

And that we live 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 deareſt good,

And ſo we liue we care not how we liue,

So deepe we feele 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 point of trying.

For whilſt we reaſon with the breath of ſafetie,

Without the compaſſe of deſtruction liuing,

What precepts ſhew we then, what courage lofetie,

In taxing others feares, in counſell giuing?

When all this aire of ſweet contriued words,

Prooues but weake armour to defend the heart,

For when this ſhip of life pale 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 adiourne

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 my profeſsion did abuſe,

So ſhamefully to ſeeke t’auoyd my death.

  Arius. Philoſtratus, that ſame deſire to liue,

Poſſeſſeth all alike, and grieue not then,

No priuiledge Philoſophy doth giue,

Though we ſpeake more then men, we are but men,

And yet in troth theſe miſeries to ſee,

Wherein we ſtand in moſt extreame diſtreſſe,

Might to our ſelues ſufficient motiues be,

To loath this life, end weigh our death the leſſe,

For neuer age could better teſtifie,

What feeble footing pride and greatnes hath,

How ſoone improuident proſperitie,

Comes caught, and ruin’d in the day of wrath.

See how diſmaid confuſion keepe thoſe ſtreetes,

That nought but mirth and muſique late reſounded,

How nothing with our eie but horror meetes;

Our ſtate, our wealth, our glory all confounded.

Yet what weake ſight did not diſcerne from farre,

This blacke ariſing 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 prince and people,

When inſolent ſecuritie 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,

Purchas’d with all the Ptolomies rich treaſure,

Our lawes, our gods, our myſteries neglected.

Who ſaw not how this confluence of vice,

This inundation of diſorders would

S’ingulph this ſtate in th’end, that no deuice

Our vtter ouerwhelming could withhold?

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

Of mighty lands, are wofully incombred,

And fram’d by them examples for our owne,

Which now amongſt examples muſt be numbred.

For this decree a law from hie is giuen,

An ancient Cannon of eternall date,

In Conſiſtorie of the ſtars of heauen,

Entred the booke of vnauoyded fate;

That no ſtate can in th’height of happines,

In th’exaltation ef their glory ſtand,

But thither once arriu’d, declining leſſe,

Doe wracke themſelues, or fall by others hand.

Thus doth th’euerchanging courſe of things,

Run a perpetuall circle euer turning,

And that ſame day that higheſt glory brings,

Brings vs vnto the point of backe returning.

For ſenſleſſe ſenſualitie doth euer

Accompanie our looſe felicitie,

A fatall which, whoſe charmes doth leaue vs neuer

Till we leaue all confus’d with miſerie.

When yet ourſelues muſt be the cauſe we fall,

Although the ſame be firſt decreed on hie,

Our error ſtill muſt beare the blame of all,

Thus muſt it be, earth aske not heauen why.

 Yet mightie 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 deare:

And ſo intrench themſelues with blood, with crimes,

With all iniuſtice, as their feares diſpoſe,

Yet for all this wee ſee, how oftentimes,

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

And ſure I cannot ſee how this can lie

With great Auguſtus ſafetie and renowne,

T’extinguiſh thus the race of Antony

And Cleopatra, to confirme his owne.

 Phi. Why muſt their iſſue be extinguiſhed?

 Ar. It muſt: Antillus is already dead.

 Ph. And what Cæſario ſprung of Cæſars blood?

 Ar. Pluralitie of Cæſars are not good.

  Phi. Alas, what hurt procures his feeble arme?

  Ar. Not for it doth, but that it may doe harme.

  Phi. Then when it offers hurt repreſſe the ſame.

  Ar. Men ſeeke to quench a ſparke before it flame.

  Ph. Tis humane an innocent to kill.

  Ar. Such innocents ſeldome remaine ſo ſtill.

They thinke his death will farther tumults ceaſe,

Competitors are ſubiects miſeries,

And to the end to purchaſe publike peace,

Great men are made the pleoples ſacrifice.

But ſee where Cæſar comes himſelfe to trie,

And worke the minde of our diſtreſſed queene

To apprehend ſome emptie hope, whereby

Shee may be drawne to haue her fortunes ſeene.

  Though I thinke Rome ſhall neuer ſee that face

  That queld her Champions, bluſh, in baſe diſgrace.

                      Exeunt.

SCENA II.

Cæſar. Cleopatra. Seleucus. Dolabella.

WHat Cleopatra, doſt thou doubt ſo much

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

  Or thinke you, your offences can be ſuch,

As they ſurmount the meaſure of our grace?

  Cleo. O Cæſar, not for that I flie thy ſight

My ſoule this ſad retire of ſorrow choſe:

But that my grieued ſoule abhorring light

Likes beſt in darkenes, my diſgrace t’incloſe:

And here in theſe cloſe limits of diſpaire,

This ſolitarie horror where I bide:

I thought not euer Roman ſhould repaire

More, after him, who here diſtreſſed di d.

Yet now here at thy conquering feet I lie,

A captiue ſoule that neuer thought to bow,

Whoſe happy foote of rule and maieſtie,

Stood late on that ſame ground thou ſtandeſt now.

  Cæſ. Riſe madame, riſe, your ſelfe was cauſe of all,

And yet would all were but your owne alone,

That others ruine, had not with your fall,

Brought Rome her ſorrowes, to my triumphs mone,

For you diſſolu’d that league and loue of blood,

Which makes my winning ioy, a gaine vnpleaſing,

Who cannot now looke out into our good,

But through the horror of our owne blood ſhedding.

And all we muſt attribute vnto you.

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

Oppreſt with greatneſſe what was it for me

T’contradict my Lord, being bent thereto?

I was by loue, by feare, by weakeneſſe, made

An inſtrument to euery enterpriſe.

For when the Lord of all the orient bade,

Who but obeyd, who then his helpe denies?

And how could I withdraw my ſuccouring hand,

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

The intereſt of my faith in ſtraiteſt band

My loue to his, moſt firmely did combine.

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

That you and yours haue euer borne our people.

That made you ſeeke all means to haue vs skattered,

To diſvnite our ſtrength and make vs feeble.

And therefore did that breaſt nurce our diſſention,

With hope t’exalt your ſelfe, t’augment your ſtate.

To prey vpon the wracke of our contention,

And with the reſt our foes to ioy thereat.

 Cle. How eaſie Cæſar is it to accuſe,

Whom fortune hath made faultie by their fall,

They who are vanquiſhed may not refuſe

The titles of reproch th’are charg’d withall.

  The conquering cauſe hath right, wherein thou art,

  The ouerthrowne muſt be the worſer part.

Which part is mine, becauſe I loſt my part,

No leſſer then the portion of a crowne,

Ynough for me. Ah what neede I vſe art

To gaine by others but to keepe mine owne?

But weaker powers may here ſee what it is,

To neighbour great competitors ſo neere,

If we take either part we periſh thus.

If newtrall ſtand, both parties we muſt feare,

Alas what ſhall the forc’d partakers doo,

When they muſt aid, and yet muſt periſh too?

 But Cæſar ſince thy right, or cauſe is ſuch,

Weigh not ſo heauie on calamitie,

Depreſſe not the afflicted ouer much;

Thy chiefeſt glory is thy 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 heare theſe lines which ſtill I keepe with me,

The witnes of his loue and fauours euer,

And God forbid it ſhould be ſaid of thee,

That Cæſar wrongd the fauored of Cæſar:

For looke what I haue beene to Antony,

Thinke thou the ſame I might haue beene to thee.

  And here I doe preſent you with the note

Of all my treaſure, all the iewels rare,

Which Egypt hath in many ages gote

And looke what Cleopatra hath is there.

Sel. Nay ther’s not all ſet downe within that rowle,

I know ſome things ſhe hath reſerud apart.  

Cle. What? vile vngratefull wretch durſt thou controwle

Thy queene, and ſoueraigne, caytiffe as thou art?

Ceſ. Hold, hold, a poore reuenge, can work ſo feeble handes

Cle. Ah Cæſar what a great indignitie,   

Is this, that here my vaſſall ſubiect ſtands,

T’accuſe me to my Lord of treacherie?

If I reſerud ſome certaine womens toies

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 Octauius grace,

That thereby in compaſſion moued, they

Might mediate thy fauour in my caſe.

Ceſ. Well Cleopatra, feare not, you ſhall finde

What fauour you deſire or can expect,

For Ceſar neuer yet was found but kinde,

To ſuch as yeeld and can themſelues ſubiect.

And therefore comfort now your drooping minde

Relieue your heart thus ouerchargde with care,

How well I will intreat ye you ſhall finde,

So ſoone as ſome affaires diſpatched are.

Till when farewell. Cle. Thanks thrice renowned Ceſar,

Poore Cleopatra reſts thine owne for euer.

Dola. No meruaile Ceſar, though our greateſt ſpirites,

Haue to the power of ſuch a charming beautie,

Bin brought to yeeld the honor of their merits,

Forgetting all reſpect of other dutie.

Then whilſt the glory of her youth remaind

The wondring obiect to each wanton eie

Before her full of ſweet, with ſorrow waind,

Came to the period of this miſerie.

If ſtill, euen in the midſt of griefe and horror

Such beautie ſhines th’row clouds of age and ſorrow,

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 doo adornd with youth and loue?

What could ſhe doo then when as ſpreading wide,

The pompe of beautie in her glory dight,

When armd with wonder, ſhe could vſe beſide

The ingines of her loue, Hope, and Delight.

 Daughter of meruaile, Beautie, how doſt thou

Vnto diſgracing ſorrowes giue ſuch grace?

What power ſhows’t thou in a diſtreſſed brow

To make affliction faire, and teares to grace?

What can vndreſſed lockes, diſpoyled haire,

A weeping eie, a wailing face be faire?

I ſee then artleſſe feature may content,

And that true bewtie needs no ornament.

   Ceſ. What in paſsion Dolabella. What? take heed.

Let others freſh examples charme this heate,

You ſee what miſchiefs theſe vaine humors breed,

When once they come our iudgements to defeat.

Indeed I ſaw ſhee labourd to impart,

Her ſweeteſt graces in her ſaddeſt cheere,

Preſuming on that face that knew the art

To moue, with what aſpect ſoeuer t’were.

But all in vaine, ſhee takes her aime amiſſe,

The ground and marke, her leuell much deceiues,

Time now hath altered all, for neither is

Shee as ſhee was, nor we as ſhee conceiues,

And therefore now tis fit ſhee were more ſage,

Folly, in youth is ſinne, madnes in age.

 And for my part, I ſeeke but t’entertaine

In her, ſome feeding hope to draw her forth,

The greateſt trophy that my toyle ſhall gaine,

Is to bring home a prizall of ſuch worth.

And now ſince ſhee doth ſeeme ſo well content,

To be diſpos’d by vs: without more ſtay,

Shee with her children ſhall to Rome be ſent,

Whilſt I by Syria, after take my way.

                    Exeunt.

CHORVS.

OPINION, how doeſt thou moleſt

   Th’affected minde of reſtleſſe man?

  VVho 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 when once tis tride,

Then ſomething elſe thou findſt beſide,

  To draw him ſtill from thought to thought,

  VVhen in the end all proues but nought.

  Farther from reſt he findes him than,

  Then at the firſt when he began.

O malecontent ſeducing gueſt,

  Contriuer of our greateſt woes:

  VVhich borne of winde, and fed with ſhowes,

  Dooſt nurſe thy ſelfe in thine vnreſt.

Iudging vngotten things the beſt,

  Or what thou in conceit deſignſt,

  And all thinges in the world doſt deeme,

 Not as they are, but as they ſeeme:

  Which ſhews, thou ill defin’ſt,

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

  For what thou haſt, thou ſtill doſt lacke:

  O mindes tormentor, bodies wracke,

Vaine promiſer of that ſweete reſt,

  VVhich neuer any yet poſſeſt.

If we vnto ambition tend,

  Then doeſt thou draw our weakeneſſe 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 doſt caſt t’intice vs by?

  And tel’ſt vs that is euer beſt,

Which we haue neuer yet poſſeſt.

  And that more pleaſure reſts beſide,

  In ſomething that we haue not tri’d.

  And when the ſame likewiſe is had,

  Then all is one, and all is bad.

This Antony can ſay is true,

  And Cleopatra knowes tis ſo,

  By th’experience of their woe.

  Shee can ſay, ſhee neuer knew

But that luſt found pleaſures new,

  And was neuer ſatisfi’d:

  He can ſay by proofe of toyle,

  Ambition is a Vulture vile,

  That feeds vpon the heart of pride:

And finds no reſt when all is tri’d.

  For worlds cannot confine the one,

  Th’other lists and bounds hath none.

  And both ſubuert the mind, the ſtate,

Procure deſtruction, enuie, hate.

And now when all this is prou’d vaine,

  Yet Opinion leaues not here,

  But ſticks to Cleopatra neere,

  Perſwading now, how ſhee 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,

  Deſpaire doth ſuch a corrage giue,

That nought elſe can her mind 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 things ends.

ACTVS IIII.

Seleucus. Rodon.

FRiend Rodon? neuer in a better hower

  Could I haue met a friend then now I doe,

  Hauing affliction in the greateſt power

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 cloſe.

 Rod. And neuer friend Seleucus foundſt thou one,

That better could beare ſuch a part with thee,

Who by his owne knowes others care to mone,

And can in like accord of griefe agree.

And therefore tell th’oppreſsion of thy heart,

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

  I will lament thy ſtate, thou pitty mine.

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

With Cleopatra, and eſteem’d in Corte

As one of Councell, and of worthy place,

And euer held my credit in that ſort,

Till now, in this late ſhifting of our ſtate,

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

And fled the wretched, flowne vnto the great,

Following the fortune of the preſent time;

I come to be diſgrac’d and ruin’d cleane:

For hauing all the ſecrets of the Queene

Reueal’d to Ceſar, to haue fauour wonne

My treachery hath purchas’d due diſgrace,

My falſhood’s loath’d, and not without great reaſon,

For Princes though they get, yet in this caſe,

They hate the traytor, though they loue treaſon.

For how could he imagine I could be

Entire to him, beeing falſe vnto myne owne?

And falſe to ſuch a worthy queene as ſhee

As had merais’d, by whome my ſtate was growne.

He ſaw t’was not for zeale to him I bare,

But for baſe feare, and mine eſtate to ſettle,

Weaknes is falſe, and faith in cowards rare,

Feare finds out ſhifts, timiditie is ſubtile.

And therefore skornd of him, skornd of mine owne,

Hatefull to all that looke into my ſtate:

Deſpis’d Seleucus now is onely growne

The marke of infamie, that’s pointed at.

Rod. Tis much thou ſaieſt, and too too much to feele,

And I doe pittie, and lament thy fall:

But yet all this which thou doeſt here reueale,

Compar’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 ſprung of miſchiefe, thine from feeble minde,

Mine ſtaind with blood, thou onely but vngratefull.

 For Cleopatra did commit to me

The beſt and deareſt treaſure of her blood,

Her ſonne Ceſario, with a hope to free

Him, from the danger wherein Egypt ſtood:

And chard’d my faith, that I ſhould ſafely guide,

And cloſe, to India ſhould conuey him hence:

Which faith, I moſt vnkindly falſifi’d,

And with my faith and conſcience did diſpence.

For skarce were we arriu’d vnto the ſhore,

But Ceſar hauing knowledge of our way,

Had ſet an agent, thither ſent before,

To labour me Ceſario to betray,

Who with rewards and promiſes ſo large,

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

And backe againe did reconuey my charge,

Pretending that Octauius for him ſent,

To make him king of Egypt preſently,

And in their hands haue left him now to die.

  Sel. But how hath Ceſar ſince rewarded thee?

  Rod. As he hath thee; and I expect the ſame

As Theodorus had, to fall to me.

And with as great extremitie of ſhame,

For Theodorus when he had betraid

The yong Antillus, ſonne of Antony,

And at his death from off his necke, conueyd

A iewell: which being askt, he did deny:

Ceſar occaſion tooke to hang him ſtreight.

Such inſtruments with Princes liue not long:

Though they muſt vſe thoſe Actors of deceit,

Yet ſtill their ſight, ſeemes to obraid their wrong:

And therefore they muſt needes this danger run,

And in the net of their owne guile be caught,

They may not liue to brag what they haue done,

For what is done is not the Princes fault.

  But here comes Cleopatra wofull Queene,

And our ſhame will not that we ſhould be ſeene.

                       Exeunt.

SCENA. II.

Cleopatra. Charmion. Eras. Diomedes.

WHat¹ hath my face yet power to win a louer,

Can this torne remnant ſerue to grace me ſo

That it can Cæſars ſecret plots diſcouer

What he intends with me and mine to doe?

Why then poore bewty thou haſt done thy laſt,

And beſt good ſeruice thou couldſt euer doe me,

For now the time of death reueald thou haſt,

Which in my life didſt ſerue but to vndoe me.

  Here Dolabella far forſooth in loue,

Writes now that Cæſar meanes forthwith to ſend

Both me and mine, the aire of Rome to prooue,

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 the other, I muſt die his debter,

For Cleopatra now can loue no more.

  Come Diomedes, thou who haſt bin one,

In all my fortunes, and art ſtill all one,

Whom the amazing ruine of my fall,

Neuer deterd to leaue calamitie,

As did thoſe other ſmooth State-pleaſures all,

Who followed but my fortune, and not me.

Tis thou muſt doe a ſeruice for thy Queene,

Wherein thy loyaltie muſt worke her beſt.

Thy honeſt care and dutie ſhall be ſeene,

Performing this, more then in all the reſt.

Thou muſt ſeeke out with all thy induſtrie,

Two Aſpicks, and conuey them cloſe to me.

I haue a worke to doe with them in hand,

Enquire not what, for thou ſhalt ſoone ſee what,

If th’heauens doe not my deſignes withſtand,

But doe the charge, and let me ſhift for that.

 Diom. I who am ſworne of the ſocietie

Of death, and haue indur’d the worſt of ill,

Prepar’d for all euents, muſt not deny

What you cōmand me, come there what there will.

And I ſhall vſe the apteſt skill I may

To cloake my worke and long I will not ſtay.

                       Exit.

 Cleop. But hauing leaue I muſt goe take my leaue

And laſt farewell of my dead Antony,

Whoſe dearely honord tombe muſt here receiue

This ſacrifice, the laſt before I die.

Cleopatra at the tombe of Antonius.

  O ſacred euer memorable ſtone,

That haſt without my teares, within my flame,

Receiue th’oblation of the wofulſt mone.

That euer yet from ſad affliction came.

And you deare Reliques of my Lord and loue,

Moſt precious parcels of the worthieſt liuer,

O let no impious hand dare to remooue

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

Let Egypt now giue peace vnto you dead,

Who liuing, gaue you trouble and turmoile,

Sleepe quiet in this euerlaſting bed,

In forraine land preferd before your ſoyle.

And O if that the ſpirits of men remaine

After their bodies, and doe neuer die:

Then heare thy ghoſt, thy captiue ſpouſe complain,

And be attentive to her miſerie.

But if that labourſome mortalitie,

Found this ſweete error onely to confine

The curious ſearch of idle vanitie,

That would the depth of darkneſſe vndermine

Or els to giue a reſt vnto the thought

Of wretched man, with th’aftercomming ioy

Of thoſe conceiued fields, whereon we dote,

To pacifie the preſent worlds annoy

Then why doe I complaine me to the aire?

But tis not ſo, my Antony doth heare:

His euer liuing ghoſt attends my praier,

And I do know his houering ſpirit is neere.

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

O pure immortall ſoule, that deign’ſt to heare:

I feele thou anſwerſt my credulitie,

With touch of comfort, finding none elſwhere.

Thou knowſt theſe hands intomb’d thee here of late,

Free and vnforc’d, which now muſt ſeruile be,

Reſeru’d for bands to grace proud Ceſars ſtate,

Who ſeeke in me to triumph ouer thee.

O if in life we could not ſeuerd be,

Shall death diuide our bodies now aſunder?

Muſt thine in Egypt, mine in Italie,

Be made the monuments of fortunes wonder?

If any powers be there whereas thou art,

Since our owne country gods betraies our cauſe,

O worke they may their gracious help impart,

To ſaue thy wofull wife from ſuch diſgrace.

Doe not permit ſhee ſhould in triumph ſhew

The bluſh of her reproch, ioynd with thy ſhame,

But rather let that hatefull tyrant know,

That thou and I had power t’auoid the ſame.

But what doe I ſpend breath and idle winde,

In vaine inuoking, a conceiued aide,

Why doe I not my ſelfe occaſion find,

To breake theſe 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 muſt not doe the ſame.

No Antony, 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 to vnhouſe my ſpirit.

Theſe hands muſt breake the priſon of my ſoule,

To come to thee, there to inioy like ſtate,

As doth the long pent ſolitary fowle,

That hath eſcapt her cage, and found her mate,

This ſacrifice, to ſacrifice my life,

Is that true incenſe that my loue beſeemes,

Theſe rites may ſerue a life-deſiring wife,

Who doing them, t’haue done ſufficient deemes.

My heart-blood ſhould the purple flowers haue been,

Which here vpon thy tombe to thee are offred,

No ſmoake but my laſt gaſpe ſhould here bin ſeene,

And this it had bin too, had I bin ſuffred.

But what haue I, ſaue onely theſe bare hands,

And theſe weake fingers are not yron-pointed,

They cannot pierce the fleſh that them withſtands,

And I of all meanes elſe am diſappointed.

But yet I muſt away, and meanes ſeeke how

To come vnto thee, and to vnion vs,

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

That we muſt pray, intreat, and ſeeke thee thus?

But I will find, where euer thou doeſt lie,

For who can ſtay a mind reſolu’d to die.

 And now I come to worke th’effect indeed,

I neuer will ſend more complaints to thee,

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

My ſelfe will bring my ſoule to Antony.

Come, goe my maides, my fortunes ſole attenders.

That miniſter to miſery and ſorrow,

Your miſtreſſe you vnto your freedome renders,

And will diſcharge your charge, yet ere to morrow.

Eras. Good madame, if that worthy heart you beare

Doe hold it fit; it were a ſinne in vs

To contradict your will: but yet we feare

The world will cenſure that your doing thus,

Did iſſue rather out of your deſpaire

Then reſolution, and thereby you looſe

Much of your glory, which would be more faire

In ſuffring, then eſcaping thus your foes.

For when Pandora brought the boxe from heauen

Of all the good and ill that men befall,

And them immixt vnto the world had giuen,

Hope in the bottom lay, quite vnder all.

To ſhew that we muſt ſtill vnto the laſt

Attend our fortune, for no doubt there may

Euen at the bottom of afflictions paſt

Be found ſome happier turne if we but ſtay.

  Cl. Eras, that hope is honors enemie,

A traytor vnto worth, lies on the ground,

In the baſe bottom of ſeruilitie:

The beggars wealth, a treaſure neuer found,

The dreame of them that wake, a ghoſt of th’aire,

That leads men out of knowledge to their graues,

A ſpirit of groſſer ſubſtance then deſpaire,

And let them Eras hope, that can be ſlaues.

 And now I am but onely to attend

My mans returne, that brings me my diſpatch,

God grant his cunning ſort to happy end,

And that his skill may well beguile my watch:

So ſhall I ſhun diſgrace, leaue to be ſory,

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

So ſhall I act the laſt of life with glory,

Die like a Queen, & reſt without controule. Exeunt.

SCENA III.

Cæſario, with a Guard conueying him to Execution.

NOw gentle Guard, let me in curteſie

   Beſt me a little here, and eaſe my bands,

   You ſhall not need to hold me, for your eye

May now as well ſecure you, as your hands.

 Gu. Doe, take your eaſe Cæſario, but not long,

We haue a charge, which we muſt needs performe.

 Ceſ. Loe here brought back, by ſubtile traine to death

Betraid by Tutors faith, or traitors rather. 

My fault, my bloud, and mine offence my birth,

For being the ſonne of ſuch a mighty father.

I now am made th’oblation for his feares,   

Who doubts the poore reuenge theſe hands may doe him,

Reſpecting neither blood, nor youth, nor yeares.

Or how ſmall ſafetie can my death be to him.

  And is this all the good of beeing borne great?

Then wretched greatnes, golden miſerie,

Pompous diſtreſſe, glittering calamitie.

Is it for this th ambitious fathers ſweat

To purchaſe blood and death, for them and theirs?

Is this th’inheritance that glories get,

To leaue th’eſtate of ruine to their heires?

Then how much better had it been for me,

From low deſcent, deriu’d from humble birth,

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

And drunke of Nylus ſtreames, in Nylus earth?

Vnder the cou’ring of ſome quiet cottage,

Free from the wrath of heauen, ſecure in mind,

Vntoucht, when prowd attempts of Princes dotage,

Imbroyle the world, and ruinate mankind.

So had I not impeach’d their hie condition,

Who muſt haue all things cleere, and al made plaine

Betweene them, and the marke of their ambition,

That nothing let the proſpect of their raigne:

Where nothing ſtands, that ſtands not in ſubmiſsion,

Whoſe greatneſſe muſt all in it ſelfe containe.

Kings will alone, competitors muſt downe,

Neere death he ſtands, who ſtands too neere a crown,

 Such is my caſe, Auguſtus will haue all,

My blood muſt ſeale th’aſſurance of his ſtate,

Yet ah weake ſtate, which blood aſſure him ſhall,

Whoſe wrongfull ſhedding, gods and men doe hate.

Iniuſtice cannot ſcape and flouriſh ſtill,

Though men doe not reuenge it, th’heauens will.

  And he that thus doth ſeeke with bloudy hand,

T’extinguiſh th’ofspring of anothers race,

May finde the heauens, his vowes ſo to withſtand,

That others may depriue his in like caſe.

When he ſhall ſee his proud contentious bed

Yeilding him none of his that may inherit,

Subuert his blood, place others in their ſtead,

To pay this his iniuſtice, her due merit,

 If it be true, (as who can that denie

Which ſacred Prieſts of Memphis, doe foreſay,)

Some of the ofspring yet of Antony,

Shall all the rule of this whole Empire ſway.

And then Auguſtus what is it thou gaineſt

By poore Antillus blood, and this of mine?

Nothing but this, thy victory thou ſtaineſt,

And pulſt the wrath of heauen on thee and thine.

  In vaine doth man contend againſt the ſtarres,

  For what he ſeekes to make, his wiſedom mars.

But in the meane time, he whom fates reſerue,

The bloody ſacrifices of ambition,

We feele the ſmart, what euer they deſerue,

And we endure the heauy times condition,

The iuſtice of the heauens reuenging thus,

Doth onely ſatisfie it ſelfe not vs.

But yet Cæſario thou muſt die content,

God will reuenge, and men bewaile the innocent.

Well now alone, I reſted haue ynow,

Performe the charge, my friends, you haue to doe.

                     Exeunt.

CHORVS.

MIsterious Egypt, wonder breeder,

    Strict Religions ſtrange obſeruer,

   State-order 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 iuſtice looking neerely?

Could not thoſe meanes that made thee great,

Be ſtill the meanes to keepe thy ſtate?

Ah no, the courſe of things requireth

  change and alteration euer:

That ſtaid continuance man deſireth,

  Th’vnconſtant world yeildeth neuer.

We in our counſels must be blinded,

  and not ſee what doth import vs:

And oftentimes 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,

Who when they ſee their Countrey ſliding,

  for their priuate are contented.

VVe imitate the greater powers,

The Princes manners faſhion ours.

Th’example of their light regarding,

  vulgar looſeneſſe much incenſes:

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 old 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, (O how eaſie matter

Made this ſo generall neglecting,

  confus’d weakneſſe to diſcatter?)

Cæſar found th’effect true tried,

  in his eaſie entrance making.

VVho at the ſight of armes, diſcried

  all our people, all forſaking.

For riot (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 poyſon (O if heaueu be rightfull,)

  may ſo farre infect their ſences,

That Egypts pleaſures ſo delightfull.

  may breed them the like offences.

And Romans learne our way of weakenes,

  be instructed in our vices:

That our ſpoyles may ſpoyle your greatneſſe,

  ouercome with our deuiſes.

Fill full your hands, and carry home

Enough from vs to ruine Rome.

ACTVS V. SCENA I.

Dolabella. Titius.

Come tell me Titius euery circumſtance

How Cleopatra did receiue my newes,

Tell euery looke, each geſture, countenance,

That ſhee did in my letters-reading vſe.

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

Or my conceit obſerue in any wiſe.

It was the time when as ſhee hauing gote

Leaue to her deareſt dead to ſacrifice.

And now was iſſuing out the monument

With odours, incenſe, garlands in her hand,

When I approch’t (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 ſtares, and doth begin

Againe to read, then bluſht, and then was pale,

And hauing ended with a ſigh, refolds

The 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 deare I hold his pittying of my caſe,

That out of his ſweet nature can affoard

A miſerable woman ſo much grace,

Tell him how much my heauy ſoule doth grieue

Mercileſſe Cæſar ſhould ſo deale with me,

Pray him that hee the beſt aduice would giue

That might diuert him from ſuch cruelty.

As for my loue, ſay Antony hath all,

Say that my heart is gone into the graue

With him, in whom it reſts, and euer ſhall.

I haue it not my ſelfe, nor can it haue,

Yet tell him, he ſhall more command of me

Then any whoſoeuer liuing can.

He that ſo friendly ſhewes himſelfe to be

A worthy Roman and a gentleman.

Although his nation fatall vnto me,

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

Yet his affection muſt accepted be

That fauours one from whom all run away.

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

Of Cleopatra whiles her glory laſted,

Before ſhee had declining fortune prou’d,

Or ſeene her honour wrackt, her flower all blaſted.

Now there is nothing left her but diſgrace,

Nothing but her affliction that can mooue.

Tell Dolabella, one that’s in her caſe,

Poore ſoule, needs rather pittie now then loue.

But ſhortly ſhall thy Lord heare more of me.

And ending ſo her ſpeech, no longer ſtaid.

But haſted to the tombe of Antony.

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

 Dol. Ah ſweet diſtreſſed Lady, what hard heart

Could chooſe but pitty thee and loue thee to?

Thy worthineſſe, the ſtate wherein thou art,

Requireth both, and both I vow to doe:

And what my powers and praiers may preuaile,

Ile ioyne 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 meſſengers as I came hither,

With ſome diſpatch, as he to Cæſar went

B’ut knowing not what meanes her ſending thither;

Yet this he told, how Cleopatra late

Was come from ſacrifice, how richly clad

Was ſeru’d to dinner, with moſt ſumptuous ſtate,

In all the braueſt ornaments ſhee had.

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

Him, ſtreight to Cæſar, and commanded than,

All ſhould depart the tombe, and none to ſtay

But her two maides, and one poore countriman.

  Dol. When then I know ſhee ſendes t’haue audience now

And means t’experience what her ſtate can doe,

To ſee if Maieſtie will make him bow,

To what affliction could not mooue him to.

And now if that ſhee could but bring a view

Of that rare beawtie ſhee in youth poſſeſt,

The argument wherewith ſhee ouerthrew

The wit of Iulius Cæſar and the reſt.

Then happily Auguſtus might relent,

Whilſt powerful loue, far ſtronger then ambition,

Might worke in him a minde to be content

To grant her asking in the beſt condition.

But beeing as ſhee is, yet doth ſhee merit,

To be reſpected for what ſhee hath beene.

The wonder of her kind of powerfull ſpirit,

A glorious Lady, and a mighty queene.

And now but by a little weakenes falling

To doe that which perhaps ſh’was forc’d to doe,

Alas, an error paſt, is paſt recalling,

Take away weakeneſſe, and take women too.

But now I goe to be thy aduocate,

Sweete Cleopatra, now Ile vſe my heart,

Thy preſence will me greatly animate,

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

SCENA. II.

Cleopatra. Eras. Charmion. Diomedes. the Guard, and Cæſars meſſengers.

NOw Eras; come, what newes haſt thou lookt out,

  Is Diomedes comming yet or not?

  Eras. Madame, I haue from off the turret top,

View’d euery way, he is not comming yet,

  Cl. Didſt thou ſee no man tending hitherward?

  Er. None truly madame, but one countriman

Carrying a baſket as I could diſcerne.

Cle. Alas then Eras I doe feare th’euent

Of my deſigne. For ſure he would not ſtay

Thus long I know, did not ſome force preuent

His forward faith, and hold him by the way.

 Char. Madame there may be many hindrances

To counterchecke and interrupt his ſpeed.

He hath a wary worke to doe in thiſ

He muſt take time.

 Cl. Charmion tis true indeed.

And yet in all this time, me thinkes he might

Effected haue his worke, had all gone right.

 Er. Alas we euer thinke the ſtay is more,

When our deſire is run t’our wiſh before.

  Cle. Eras I know my will to haue it done

Rides poſt, and feare in doing to b’vndone

Puts ſpurs thereto:whilſt that for which we long

Creepes but a foote. Yet ſure he ſtaies too long.

Good Eras goe and looke out once againe,

Yet ſtay a while, I know it is in vaine.

O gods, I craue no other fortune I

Of heauen and you, but onely lucke to die:

And ſhall I not haue that. Well, I will yet

Write my diſpatch to Cæſar, and when that

Is done, I will diſpatch my ſelfe, what way

So euer, I muſt vſe no more delay.

Enter the Guard with Diomedes.

Gua. And whither now ſir, ſtay, what haue you there?

 Diom. Good ſirs, I haue a ſimple preſent here,

Which I would faine deliuer to our queene.

Gu. What iſt? lets ſee? Diom. And pleaſe you ſirs it is

Onely a few choyce figs which I haue growne

In mine owne garden, and are ſooneſt ripe

Of any here about, and euery yeare

I vſe to bring a few vnto our queene.

And pray my maſters take a taſte of them

For I aſſure you they are very good.

 Gua. No, no, my friend, goe on, and beare them in.

 Cl. Now Eras, looke if he be comming yet.

See here he comes, This is that countriman

Which Eras thou diſcrid’ſt, O happy man,

Can ſuch poore robes beguile a Princes power?

Why then I ſee, it is our outſides moſt

Doe mocke the world. But tell me are they here?

Speake Diomedes. Diom. Madame they are there.

  Cle. O good-ill lucke, moſt fortunate diſtreſſe,

Deare Diomedes, thou haſt bleſt me now:

And here, goe take theſe letters, and diſmaske

Thy ſelfe againe, returne to thine owne ſhape

Good Diomedes, and giue Cæſar theſe.

Goe, leaue me here alone, I need no more:

I haue but theſe to keepe a death in ſtore.

I will not vſe their helpe till needes I muſt,

(And that is now) goe Diomedes goe.

  Diom. Good madame, I know well this furniture

Of death, is farre more requiſite, then that

Of life, whre ſuch as you cannot endure

To be beneath your ſelues, debas’d in ſtate.

I goe t’effect your will as well in this

As I haue done in that onely pray

Our tutelarie gods to giue ſucceſſe

Vnto the ſame, and be it what it may.

 Cl. Come rareſt beaſt, that all our Egypt breeds,

How deerely welcome art thou now to me?

The faireſt creature that faire Nylus feedes,

Me thinkes I ſee, in now beholding thee.

Better then death, deaths office thou diſchargeſt.

That with one gentle touch canſt free our breath,

And in a pleaſing ſleepe our ſoule in largeſt,

Making our ſelues not priuie to our death.

O welcome now of wonders, wonder chiefe,

That open canſt with ſuch an eaſie kay,

The dore of life, come gentle cunning theefe,

That from our ſelues ſo ſtealſt our ſelues away.

And now I ſacrifice 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.

 What now falſe fleſh: what? and wilt thou conſpire

With Cæſar too, as thou wert none of ours,

To worke my ſhame, and hinder my deſire:

And bend thy rible parts againſt my powers?

Wouldſt thou retaine in cloſure of thy vaines

That enemy, baſe life, to le: my good?

No know, there is a greater power conſtraines

Then can be countercheckt with fearefull blood:

For to a 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?

 Eras. See, not a yeilding ſhrinke, or touch of feare

Conſents now to bewray leaſt ſence of paine,

But ſtill in one ſame ſweet vnaltered cheere,

Her honor doth her dying ſpirits retaine.

Cle. Well now this worke of mine is done, here endes

This act of life, that part the fates aſſign’d

What glory or diſgrace this world could lend,

Both haue I had, and both I leaue behind.

And Egypt now the Theater where I

Haue acted this, witnes I die vnforc’d,

Witnes my ſoule parts free to Antony,

And now prowd tyrant Cæſar doe thy worſt.

  Eras. Come Charmion, come, wee muſt not onely be

Spectators in this Scene, but Actors too.    

Now comes our part, you know we did agree

The fellowſhip of death to vndergoe.

And though our meaner fortunes cannot claime

A glory by this acte, they ſhall haue fame.

  Ch. Eras I am prepar’d, and here is that

Will do the deed.

 Er. And here is of the ſame.

 Ch. But Eras Ile begin, it is my place.

 Er. Nay Charmion, here I drinke a death to thee.

I muſt be firſt.

 Ch. Indeed thou haſt preuented me.

Yet will I haue this honor to be laſt

Which ſhall adorne this head, which muſt be ſeene

To weare that crowne in death, her life held faſt,

That all the world may ſee, ſhee di’d a queene.

O ſee this face, the wonder of her life,

Retaines in death a grace, that graces death.

Colour ſo liuely, cheere ſo louely rife,

As none would thinke this bewty could want breath.

And in this cheere th’impreſſion or a ſmile

Doth ſeeme to ſhew ſhee skorns both death & Cæſar,

And glories that ſhee could them ſo beguile,  

And here tels death, how well her death doth pleaſe her

Ceſ. meſſ. ſee, we are come too late, this is diſpatcht,

Cæſar is diſappointed of this grace.

Why how now Charmion, what is this well done?

  Ch. Yea very well, and ſhee that from the race

Of ſo great kings deſcends doth beſt become.

CHORVS.

THen thus we haue beheld

  Th’accompliſhment of woes

  The full of ruine and

The worſt of worſt of ills:

And ſeeme all hope expeld,

That euer ſweet repoſe,

Shall repoſſeſſe the land,

That Deſolation 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 O Nylus thou,

Father of flouds indure

That yellow Tyber ſhould

With ſandy ſtreames rule thee?

VVilt thou be pleas’d to bowe

To him thoſe feete ſo pure,

VVhoſe vnknown head we hold

A power diuine to be ?

Thou that didſt euer ſee

Thy free bankes vncontrould,

Liue vnder thine owne care:

Ah wilt thou beare it now?

And now wilt yield thy ſtreams

A prey 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

Aliuing greene which ſpred

Far flouriſhing, may gro

On that wide face of Death,

VVhere nothing now drawes breath,

Fatten ſome people there,

Euen as thou vs haſt done,

VVith plenties wanton ſtore,

And feeble luxurie:

And them as vs p^repare

Fit for the day of mone

Reſpected not before.

Leaue leueld Egypt drie,

A barren prey to lie,

Wasted for euermore,

Of plenties yielding 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 poſſeße

Th’inheritance of ſhame,

The fee of ſinne, that we

Haue left them for their part:

The yoake of whoſe diſtreſſe

Must ſtill vpbraid our blame,

Telling from whom it came,

Our weight of wantonneſſe

Lies heauy on their heart,

Who neuer more ſhall ſee

The glory of that worth

They left who brought vs forth.

O thou al-ſeeing light,

High Preſident of Heauen,

You Magistrates the ſtarres

Of that eternall Court

Of Prouidence of Right

Are theſe the bounds y’haue giuen

Th’vntranſpaſſable barres,

That limit pride ſo ſhort,

Is greatneſſe of this ſort,

That greatneſſe greatneßemarres,

And wrackes it ſelfe, ſelfe driuen

On Rockes of her owne might?

Doth Order order ſo

Diſorders ouerthrow?

FINIS.