The
Monarchick Tragedies.
By
William Alexander of Menstry.
{illustration}
Printed
at London by V.S. for Edward Blount. 1604.
To
his sacred Majesty.
Disdain
not (mighty Prince) these humble lines,
Though
too mean Music for so Noble ears!
Thou
glorious pattern of all good engines,
Whose
sacred brow a twofold Laurel bears;
To
whom Apollo his own harp resigns,
And
everlasting Trophighs virtue rears;
Thou
can afford that which my soul affects:
Let
thy perfections shadow my defects.
Although
my wit be weak, my vows are strong,
Which
consecrate devoutly to thy name
My
Muses’ labours, that ere it be long
May
cast some feathers to impen in Fame,
Wherewith
emboldened, in a sweetr Song,
Thy
praises, and inestimable worth,
Through
all great Britain’s coasts from South to North.
No
doubt our warlike Calidonian coast
(Still
kept unconquered by heaven’s decree)
Expelled
the Picts, repelled the Danes, did host
In
spite of all the Roman legions free,
As
that which was ordained (though long time crossed
In
this Herculean birth) to bring forth thee,
Whom
many a famous Sceptred Parent brings
From
an undaunted Race to do great things.
Of
this divided Isle the nurslings brave,
Erst
could not from intestine wars desist,
Yet
did in foreign fields their names engrave,
Whilst
whom th’one spoiled, still th’other would assist.
Those
now made one, whilst such a head they have,
What
world of worlds were able to resist?
Thus
hath thy worth (great James) conjoined them now,
Whom
many a bloody battle could not bow.
And
so most justice thy renowned deeds
Do
raise thy fame above the starry round,
Which
in the world a glad amazement breeds
To
see thy virtues as thy merits crowned,
Whilst
thou (great Monarch) that in power exceeds,
With
a good conscience does thy greatness bound.
Where
if thou liked to be more great than good,
Thou
might soon build a Monarchy with blood.
For
this fair world without the world, no doubt
Which
Neptune strongly guards with liquid bands,
As
aptest so to rule as most majestick stands,
Thence
(the world’s mistress) to give judgement out,
With
full authority for other lands,
Which
on the seas would gaze attending still,
By
wind-winged messengers their Sovereigns will.
Th’Antartic
regions did all realms surpass,
And
were the first that reach’d great armies forth.
Yet
Sovereignty had there first founded was,
Still
by degrees has drawn unto the North
To
this great Climate that it could not pass,
The
fatal period bounding all true worth:
For
it can not from hence a passage find,
Within
our circle mouing floods confined.
As
waters that a mass of earth restrains,
If
they be swelling high begin to vent,
Do
rage disdainfully over all the plains,
As
scorning in strict limits to be pent;
Even
so this mass of earth that thus remains,
Walled
in with liquid waves, if too high bent
That
if be forced t’overflow the floods, o then
It
will wrack the world with a deluge of men.
Then
since (great Prince) the torrent of thy power
May
drown whole nations in a scarlet flood,
On
th’infidels thine indignation power,
And
bathe not Christian bounds with Christian blood!
The
tyrant Ottoman (that would devour
All
the redeemed souls) may be withstood,
While
as thy troops (great Albion’s Emperour) once
Do
comfort Christ’s afflicted flock that moans.
Thy
thundering troops may take the stately rounds
Of
Constantine’s great town renown’d in vain,
And
bar the barbarous Turks the baptized bounds,
Reconquering
Geoffrey’s conquests once again.
O
well spent labours! O illustrious wounds!
Whose
triumph shall eternal glory gain,
And
make the Lion to be feared far more,
Then
ever was the Eagle of before.
But
o thrice happy thou that of thy throne,
Th’unbounded
power for such an use controls
Which
if some might command, to reign alone
Of
all their life they would be-blood the scrolls,
And
to content to ambition but of one,
Would
sacrifice a thousand thousand souls –
Which
thou doest spare, though having spirit and might
To
challenge all the world as thine own right.
Then
unto whom more justly could I give
The
ruind Monarchys of those great States,
That
did the world of liberty deprive,
To
rear tyrannical and evil-conquered Seats,
Then
unto thee, that may, and will not lie
Like
those proud Monarchs born to stormy Fates?
But
whilst, frank-spirited Prince, thou this would flee,
Crowns
come unsought, and Sceptres seek to thee.
Unto
the Ocean thy worth I send
Those
runls rising from a rash attempt –
Not
that I to augment that depth pretend,
Which
is from all necessity exempt.
The
gods’ small gifts of Zealous minds comend,
While
Hecatombs are held in contempt.
So
Sir, I offer at your Virtue’s shrine,
This
little incense, or this smoke of mine.
To
the Author of the Monarchick Tragedies.
Well
may the program of your tragic stage
Invite
the curious pomp-expecting eyes,
To
gaze on present shows of passd age,
Which
just desert Monarchick dare baptize.
Crowns
thrown from Thrones to tombs, detomb’d arise
To
match your Muse with a Monarchick theme.
That
whilst her sacred soaring cuts the skies,
A
vulgar subject may not wrong the same:
And
which gives most advantage to thy fame.
The
worthighst Monarch that the sun can see
Does
grace thy labours with his glorious Name,
And
deigns Protector of thy birth to be.
Thus
all Monarchic, Patron, subject, style,
Make
thee, the Monarch-tragic of this Isle.
Robert
Ayton.
The
Argument.
At
that time when the States of Greece began to grow great, and
Philosophy to be thought precious, Solon, the first light of the
Athenian commonwealth, like a prouident Bee gathering honey over many
fields, learning knowledge over many countries, was sent for by
Croesus King of Lidia as famous for his Wealth, as the other was for
his Wisdom. And not so much for any desire the King had to profit by
the experience of so profound a Philosopher, as to have the report of
his (as he thought it) happiness approved by the testimony of so
renowned a witness. But Solon, always like himself, entering the
regal Palace and seeing the same very gloriously apparelled, but very
incommodiously furnished with Courtiers (more curious to have their
bodies decked with a womanishly affected form of rayment, and some
superficial complements of pretended courtesies, then to have their
minds enriched with the true treasure of inestimable virtue), he had
the same altogether in disdain. Therefore after some conference he
had with Croesus concerning the felicity of man, his opinion not
seconding the King’s expectation, he was returned with contempt as
one of no understanding, but yet comforted by Aesop (Author of the
witty fables, who for the time was resident at Court, and in credit
with the King).
Immediately
after the departure of Solon, Croesus having two sons (whereof the
eldest was dumb, and the other a brave youth) dreamed that the
youngest died by the wound of a dart. Wherewith being marvellously
troubled, he married him to a Gentlewoman named Caelia, and for
farther disappointing the suspected, though inevitable destiny, he
discharged the using of all such weapons as he had dreamed of. Yet
who could cut away the occasion from the heavens of accomplishing
that which they had designd? The spiritful youth, being long
restrained from the fields, was invited by some countrymen to the
chase of a wild Boar, yet could very hardly impetrate leave of his
louingly suspicious father.
Now
in the meantime there arrived at Sardis a youth named Adrastus, son
to the King of Phrigia, one no less unfortunate then valourous. He,
having lost his mistress by a great disaster, and having killed his
brother by a far greater, came to Croesus, by whom he was courteously
entertained, and by the instancy of the King, and the instigation of
others against his own will, who feared the frowardeness of his
infectious fortune, he got the custody of Atis (so was the Prince
called) whom in time of the sport thinking to kill the Boar, by a
monstrous mishap he killed. After which disastrous accident, standing
above the dead corpse, after the inquiry of the truth being pardoned
by Croesus, he punished himself by a violent death. There after,
Croesus, sorrowing exceedingly this exceeding misfortune, was
comforted by Sandanis, who laboured to dissuade him from his
unnecessary journey against the Persians. Yet he, reposing on
superstitious and wrong interpreted responses of deceiving oracles,
went against Cyrus, who having defeated his forces in the field, and
taken himself in the City, tied him to a stake to be burned. Whereby
he, exclaiming diverse times on the name of Solon, mouing the
Conquerour to compassion, he was set at liberty, and lamenting the
death of his son, and the loss of his Kingdom, makes the Catastrophe
of this present Tragedy.
The
scene in Sardis
Actors.
Croesus
King of Lydia.
Atis
his son.
Caelia
wise to Atis.
Adrastus.
Sandanis
a Counsellour.
Chorus
of all the Lidians.
Solon.
Aesop.
Cyrus
king of Persia.
Harpagus
Lieutenant to Cyrus.
Chorus
of some Countrymen.
The
Tragedy of Croesus.
ACT.
1.
Solon.
Look how the trustless world the worldlings tosses,
And
leads her lovers headlong unto death!
Those
that do court her most have the most cross,
And
yet vain man, this half-spent spark of breath,
This
dying substance, and this living shadow,
The
sport of Fortune, and the spoil of Time,
Who
like the glory of a half-mow’d meadow
Does
flourish now, and straight falls in his prime,
Still
toils t’attain (such is his foolish nature)
A
constant good in this inconstant ill.
Unreasonable
reasonable creature
That
makes his reason subject to his will!
Whilst
in the stage of Contemplation plac’d
Of
worldly humours I behold the strife.
Though
different spirits have diverse pares embraced,
All
act this transitory scene of Life:
Of
curious minds who can the fancys fetter,
The
soul unsatisfyd, a prey t’each snare,
Still
loathing what it has, does dream of better,
Which
gotten, but begets a greater care.
And
yet all labour for t’attain the top
Of
th’unsure sovereign bliss that they surmise,
Flowers
of Felicity, that few can crop,
Yea,
scarce can be discerned by the wise.
Some
place their happiness (unhappy beasts,
And
I must say, more senseless then their treasures)
In
gorgeous garments, and in dainty feasts,
To
pamper breath-toss’d flesh with flying pleasures.
Some
more austerely with a wrinckled brow
That
triumph over their Passions with respects,
With
neither fortune mou’d to brag or bow,
Would
make the world enamour’d of their sects.
Some
ravish’d still with virtue’s purest springs,
Feed
on th’Idea of that divine brood,
And
search the secrets of celestial things
As
most undoubted heirs of that high good.
Thus
with conceited ease and certain pain,
All
seek by several ways a perfect bliss,
Which
(O what wonder!), if they not obtain,
Who
cannot well discern what thing it is?
What
happiness can be imagin’d here?
Though
we our hopes with vain surmises cherish,
Who
hardly conquer first what we hold dear,
Then
fear to lose it still that once must perish,
Think
– though of many thousands scarcely any
Can
at this point of Happiness arrive;
Yet
if it chance, it chances not to many,
Only
to get for what a world did strive.
And
though one swim in th’Ocean of delights,
Have
none above him, and his equals rare,
Ears
joying pleasant sounds; eyes Stately sights;
His
treasures infinite; his buildings fair.
Yet
does the world on Fortune’s wheel rely,
Which
love t’advance the wretched, wrack the great;
Whose
course resembles an inconstant eye,
Ever
in motion compassing deceit.
Then
let the greedy of his substance boast,
Whilst
th’excrements of th’earth his senses smother:
What
has he gain’d, but what another lost?
And
why may not his loss enrich an other?
But
ah! all lose, who seek to profite thus,
And
found their confidence on things that fade.
We
may be robbed from them, they robbed from us,
All’s
grieved for th’one, as for the other glad.
Vain
fool, that thinks solidity to find
In
this frail world, where for a while we range,
Which
like sea-waves, depending on the wind,
Ebbs,
flows, calms, storms, still mouing, still in change!
Each
surge, we see, does drive the first away;
The
foam is whitest, where the Rock is near,
And
as one grows, another does decay.
The
greatest dangers oft do least appear.
Their
seeming bliss that trust in frothy shows,
In
Fortune’s danger, burden’d with the Fates,
First
to a full, then to confusion grows:
A
secret Destiny does guide great States.
But
I scorn Fortune, and was ever free
From
that dead wealth that wavers in her power:
I
bear my treasure still about with me,
Which
neither Time nor Tyrants can devour.
Light
author of events, and vain adventures,
Now
do thy worst, I know how to undo thee!
The
way is stopped by which thy poison enters,
You
can harm none but them that trust unto thee.
And
I have learn’d to moderate my mind,
Contentment
is the crown of my desires:
My
clothes are course, my fare such as I find.
He
has enough that to no more aspires.
What
satisfaction does over-flow my soul,
While
as I weigh the world which few hold fast,
And
in my memory’s unblotted scroll,
Judge
of the present by the time that’s passd?
The
poor-rich heir of breath that boasts of smoke,
And
come of dust, yet of the dross still thinks,
Whilst
baser passions do his virtues choke,
The
soul over-balanc’d with the body sinks.
Yet
need I not to loath the world and live,
As
one whom stepdam she would never nourish.
I
had a part of all that she could give:
My
race, my house, by fame and wealth did flourish.
And
if that I would vaunt of mine own deeds,
Fair
City where mine eyes first sucked the light,
I
challenge might what most thy glory breeds
Whose
labours both enlarg’d thy fame and might.
When
Salamina utterly was lost,
And
by the rascal multitude neglected,
A
counterfeited fool, I went and crossed
All
their designs, whose courses were suspected.
And
when I had by policy persuaded
My
country to embrace the wars again,
I
both by stratagems and strength invaded
That
famous Isle which vanquished did remain.
Then
having compass’d that exploited with speed,
And
turn’d in triumph decked with stranger’s spoils,
No
perfect bliss below worse did succeed:
The
peace that was abroad bred civil broils.
What
with more violence does fury lead,
Then
a rash multitude that wants a head?
The
meaner sort could not their minds conform,
T’abide
at what their betters did command;
Then
the weal public in a dangerous storm,
All
joined to place the ruler in my hand.
I
re-united that divided State,
And
manag’d matters with a good success,
Which
farther kindled had been quenched too late,
That
Hydra-head tumult to suppress.
When
I had both these glorious works effected,
And
troad the path of sovereignty a space,
The
minion of the people most respected,
None
could be great save such as I would grace.
Thus
carried with the force of Fortune’s stream,
I
absolutely acted what I would:
For
the Democraty was but a name,
My
hand the rains did of the City hold.
I
might a Tyrant still have govern’d so,
But
my pure soul could no such thought conceive.
And
that oversight yet made me never woe:
If
I may rule myself it’s all I crave.
Yet
some that seem’d to be more subtle-witd
Said
my base spirit could not aspire t’a crown,
And
foolish Solon had a fault committed,
Who
would not do the like in every town.
My
mind in this a more contentment finds,
Then
if a Diadem adorn’d my brow,
I
chain d th’affections of undaunted minds,
And
made them civil that were wild ‘til now.
I
hardly could rich Citizens entice,
T’embrace
the Statutes that my Laws contain’d:
What
one approu’d another did despise,
Some
lou’d, some loath’d, ev’n as they thought they gain’d.
At
last at least in show, all rest content,
Ev’n
those that hate me most lend their applause.
A
worthy mind needs never to repent
T’have
suffered cross for an honest cause.
I
travel now with a contented thought:
The
memory of this my fancy feeds,
When
all their Empires shall be turn’d to nought,
Time
cannot make a prey of Virtue’s deeds.
Where
seven-mouth’d Nile from a conceald source
Inunding
over the fields, no banks can bind,
I
saw their wonders, heard their wise discourse,
Rare
sights enrich’d mine eyes, rare lights my mind.
And
if it were but this, yet this delights:
Behold,
how Croesus here the Lidian King,
To
be his guest us earnestly invites,
The
which to some would great contentment bring.
But
I disdain that world-bewitched man,
Who
makes his gold his God, the earth his heaven.
Yet
I will try by all the means I can
To
make his judgement with his fortune even.
Chorus.
What
can confine man’s wandering thought,
Or
satisfy his fancys all?
Is
ought so great, but it seems small
To
that tossed spirit, which still as flought
Does
dream of things were never wrought,
And
would gripe more then it can hold.
This
sea-environ’d centered ball
Is
not a bound unto that mind,
That
mind, which big with monsters,
The
right delivery never consters,
And
seeking here a solid ease to find,
Would
but melt mountains and imbrace the wind.
What
wonder, though the soul of man
(A
spark of heav’n, that shines below,
Does
labour by all means it can,
Itself
like to itself to show),
This
heav’nly essence heaven would know,
But
married with this mass we see,
With
pain they spend lives little span,
The
better part would be above,
The
earth from th’earth cannot remove?
How
can two contrairs well agree?
Thus
as the best or worst part does prevail,
Man
is of much, or else of no avail.
O
from what source can this proceed,
T’have
humours of so many kinds?
Each
brain does divers fancys breed,
All’s
many men, all’s many minds,
And
in the world, a man scarce finds
Another
of his humour right.
There
are not two so like indeed,
If
we remark their several graces
And
lineaments of both their faces,
That
can abide the proof of sight:
If
the outward forms then differ as they do,
Of
force th’affections must be different to.
Ah!
Passions spoil our better part,
The
soul is vexed with their dissentions;
We
make a God of our own heart,
And
worship all our vain inventions.
This
brain-bred mist of apprehensions
The
mind does with confusion fill,
Whilst
reason in exile does smart;
And
few are free from this infection,
For
all are slaves to some affection,
Which
does extorse the senses still.
These
partial tyrants rage the sight oversiles,
And
does eclipse the clearst judgement whiles.
A
thousand times O happy he,
Who
does his passions so subdue,
That
he may with clear reason’s eye,
Their
imperfections fountain’s view,
And
as it were himself renew.
If
that one might prescribe them laws,
And
set his soul from bondage free,
From
reason never for to swerve,
And
make his passions him to serve,
And
be but mou’d as he had cause:
O
greater were that monarch of the mind,
Then
if he might command from Thule to Inde.
ACT.
II.
SCEN.
I.
Croesus.
Aesop. Solon.
Croesus.
Who ever was so favour’d by the Fates,
As
could like us of full contentment boast?
Lou’d
of mine own, and feard of foreign States,
I
know not what it is for to be crossed.
No
thwarting chance my good hap does importune:
In
all attempts my success has been such,
(The
darling of heaven, the minion of fortune),
I
wot not what to wish I have so much.
Mine
eyes did never yet dismay my heart
With
no delightless object that they saw;
My
name applauded is in every part
My
word an Oracle, my will a Law.
My
breast cannot contain this flood of joys
That
with a mighty stream o’erflows my mind,
Which
never dream’d of sorrow or annoys,
But
did in all a satisfaction find.
My
soul then be content and take thy pleasure,
And
be not vexed with fear of any ill!
My
bliss abounds, I cannot count my treasure,
And
gold that conquers all, does what I will.
Aesop.
That Greek (sir) is at the Court arriv’d,
Whose
wisdom, Fame so prodigally praises.
Craes.
And have you not t’extend my greatness striv’d,
And
entertain’d his ears with courteous phrases?
Aesop.
I think in all the parts where he has been,
In
foreign Countries or his native home,
He
never has such Stately wonders seen,
As
since unto this princely Court he came.
When
first he in the regal Palace entered –
As
one, who born amongst the craggy Mountains,
That
never for to view the plains adventured,
Acquainted
but with due and little Fountains,
If
he be forc’d for to frequent the Vales,
And
there the wanton water-Nimphs to see,
The
rareness of the sight so far prevails,
Each
strip appears a flood, each flood a sea –
So
all that he re’ncountred by the way,
Did
to his mind a great amazement bring:
The
gold-embroidred Gallants made him stay,
Each
groom appear’d a Prince, each squire a King.
And
now he comes t’attain your Grace’s sight,
Whom
in his mind, no doubt he does adore.
He
gazed on those, who held of you their light:
Of
force he must admire yourself far more.
Now
he will set your happy Empire forth,
And
be eye-witness of your glorious Reign.
One
wise man’s testimony is more worth
Then
what a world of others would maintain.
Sol.
Disdain not, mighty Prince, the louing zeal,
Which
a mean man, yet a good kind affords,
And
who perchance as much affects your weal,
As
those that paint their love with fairer words.
Croes.
Thy
love, sage Greek, is grateful unto us,
Whom
Fame long since enamour’d of thy deeds.
We
of thy virtues have heard her discuss,
Who
in extolling of the same exceeds.
I
wish that many such should here resort,
Whose
unstain’d life would teach us what were best;
Whose
grave aspect would grace so great a Court,
And
like clear Lamps give light unto the rest.
Sol.
My sovereign sire, I merit no such praise.
I
am but one that does the world despise,
And
would my thoughts to some perfection raise:
A
Wisdom-lover that would fain be wise.
Yet
with great toil all that I can attain
By
long experience, and in learnd schools,
Is
for to know my knowledge is but vain,
And
those that think them wise are greatest fools.
Croes.
This
is the nature of a worthy mind.
It
rather would be good then be so thought,
As
if it had no aim but Fame to find,
Such
as the shadow not the substance sought.
Yet
that pursues thee too which you so flys,
Still
troops applaude thy worth though thou not spy them,
Whilst
thou would press it down, it mounts up high:
For
Fame and Honor follow those that fly them.
And
now I think in all the world none lives,
That
better may unfold what I would learn,
Than
thou to whom frank Nature largely gives
The
grace to see, the judgement to discern.
Sol.
I’ll
answer freely to what you propose,
If
my small skill can comprehend the sense.
Croes.
Lo, you have seen in what I most repose
My
treasures huge, my great magnificence.
Sol.
This is the dream of bliss that Fortune brings,
On
which the wisest never have presum’d.
I
saw nought but a heap of senseless things,
A
momentary treasure soon consum’d.
This
only serves the body to decore,
And
for corruption fram’d cannot persever.
The
mind immortal lays up better store
Of
unconsuming joys that last for ever.
Croes.
I wot not what you mean by such surmises,
And
fained Ideas of imagin’d bliss.
This
portrait of Fancy but entices
Sick
brains to dream that which indeed they miss.
But
I brook more than their conceits can show,
Whose
rich conjectures breed but poor effects,
And
I beseech you: did you ever know
A
man more blessed than I in all respects?
Sol.
Yes: I knew Tellus, an Athenian born,
Whom
I hold happy in the first degree.
Who
ev’n the harvest of Happiness has shorn,
He
liv’d with fame, and did with honour die,
For
having long time liv’d, lou’d and respected,
His
country in a conflict had the worst,
He
came, and there falln courage re-erected,
And
having won the field did die unforced.
More
happy now nor when he was alive:
He
dead, does reap the guerdon of his merit,
And
in his children does again revive,
Who
all their fathers worthy parts inherit.
Croes.
Well, since that to a private Citizen
You
do ascribe the first most blessed estate,
Now
in the second rank of happy men
Whom
would you number in your own conceit?
Sol.
O Cleobis and Biton! Now I may
No
doubt prefer you next, without reproach.
Their
mother chanc’d on a festival day
To
want two horses, for to draw her coach.
Them
to supply the place, Love kindly raised,
Who
drew her to that place of public mirth,
And
both of them exceedingly were praised,
They
for their piety, she for her birth.
This
charitable office being ended,
Both
in the Church were found dead the next morrow.
I
think the gods who this good work comended,
Were
loth to let them taste of farther sorrow.
For
why? Our lives are frail, do what we can,
And
like the brittle glass, are but a glance,
And
often the heavens t’abate the height of man,
Do
entertain our sweets with some sad chance.
Croes.
Then from this cathegory am I secluded,
And
is my State so vile unto thine eyes,
That
as one of all happiness denuded,
Thou
thus do my felicity despise?
Or
think thou me of judgement too remiss,
A
miser that in misery remains,
The
bastard child of Fortune, barr’d from bliss,
Whom
heavens do hate, and all the world disdains?
Are
base companions then to be compar’d
With
one that may consume such in his wrath?
Who,
as I please, do punish and reward,
Whose
words, nay, even whose looks yield life or death?
Sol.
Sir, be not thus commou’d without all reason,
Nor
misconceive my meaning as you do!
Those
that speak freely, have no mind of treason;
I
cannot be your friend and flatter too.
Unto
us Greeks, sir, the gods have granted
A
moderate measure of a humble wit,
And
in our Country there have never wanted
Some
whom the world for wise men did admit.
And
yet amongst us all, the greatest number
Have
here dispair’d of any perfect rest,
Though
some awhile in Fortune’s bosom slumber,
And
to world-blindeed eyes seem to be blessed.
Yet
over all mortal States, change so prevails,
We
alterations daily do attend,
And
hold this for a ground that never fails:
None
should triumph in bliss before the end.
I
may compare our State to table-plays,
Where
by dumb judges matters are decided.
Their
many doubts, the earnest mind dismays:
The
dice must first cast well, then be well guided.
So
all our days in doubt what thing may chance us,
Time
runs away, the breath of man does chance it,
And
when th’occasion come’s for to advance us,
Amongst
a thousand one can scarce embrace it.
When
two by generous indignation moved,
Would
try by sword, whose glory, fame will smother,
Whilst
valour blindly by th’event is proved,
And
th’one’s overthrow can only grace the other.
O
what a fool his judgment will commit
To
crown the one with undeserv’d applauses,
Where
fortune is for to give sentence yet,
While
bloody agents plead such doubtful causes!
This
world, it is the field, where each man ventures,
And
arm’d with reason, resolutely gos,
To
fight against a thousand misadventures,
Both
with external and internal foes.
And
how can he the victor’s title gain,
That
yet is busied with a doubtful fight,
Or
he be happy that does still remain
In
Fortune’s danger for a small delight?
Th’abortive
course of man away fast wears,
Course
that consists of hours, hours of a day,
Day
that give’s place to night, night full of fears.
Thus
all things alter, still all things decay:
Who
flourish now in peace, may fall in strife,
And
have their fame with infamy suppressed.
The
evening shows the day, the death the life,
And
many are fortunate, but few are blessed.
Croes.
I see this Greek of a simple spirit,
The
which is capable of no great things.
Men
but advance him far above his merit:
He
cannot comprehend the States of Kings.
Fame
did so largely of his worth report,
It
made me long to have him in my house;
But
all my expectations are come short.
I
think a Mountain has brought forth a mouse.
Exit
Croesus.
ACT.
II. SCEN. II.
Solon.
Aesop.
Sol.
This king has put his trust in trustless treasures,
Cloy’d
with th’abundance of all worldy bliss,
And
like a hooded hawk gorg’d with vain pleasures
At
random flys, and wots not where he is.
O
how this makes me wonderfully sorry,
To
see him keep this lifeless wealth so straight,
Whilst
witless worldlings wonder at his glory,
Which
I not envy, no, but pity greatly!
Thus
worms of th’earth, whose worse part does prevail,
Love
melting things, whose show the body fits,
Where
souls of clearr sight do never fail
To
thesaurize the gifts of gallant wits.
Those
worldly things do in this world decay,
Or
at the least we leave them with our breath,
Whereas
the other makes us live forever:
So
differ they as far as life and death.
Aesop.
And yet what wonder though that he be thus,
Whose
knowledge clouded is with prosp’rous winds?
Though
this indeed seem somewhat strange to us,
Who
have with learning purified our minds.
Was
he not born heir of a mighty State?
And
used with Fortune’s smiles, not fear’d for frowns,
Does
measure all things by his own conceit.
Th’infirmity
that fatal is to Crowns:
He
has been from his infancy addicted
To
all the pompous shows wealth could devise,
And
still entreated, never contradicted,
Now
does all liberty of speech despise.
Though
I durst not so to his sight appear,
Whose
corrupt judgement was from reason sweruing,
I
griev’d to see your entertainment here
So
far inferior to your own deseruing.
That
divine Wisdom which the world admires,
And
ravish’d with delight amazed hears,
Because
it answer’d not his vain desires,
Did
seem unsavory to distemper’d ears –
Ears
that are ever stopped to all discourses
Save
such as enter fraughted with his praises.
He
can love none but them that love his courses,
And
thinks all fools that use not flattring phrases.
This
wracks the great, and makes the heavens despight them:
Let
virtue spread forth all her heavenly powers,
If
not in their own livery to delight them,
They
will not deign her audience a few hours.
Sol.
I care not, Aesop, how the King conceited
Of
my frank speeches, which I ever use.
I
came not here, till I was first entreated,
Nor
being come, will I my name abuse.
Should
I his poisonous Sycophants resemble,
A
hateful thing to honest men that know it?
I
would not for his Diadem dissemble:
What
the heart thinks, the tongue was made to show it.
And
what, if his vain humor to have cherish’d,
I
had my speeches for the purpose painted?
I
had but gotten gifts that would have perish’d,
But
nothing could have clear’d my fame once tainted.
If
I had shown myself toward him officious,
It
would in end have but procured my shame:
To
have our virtue prais’d by one that’s vicious,
This
in effect is but a secret blame.
He
thinks him simple, who his anger raises,
But
better simply good, then doubly ill:
I
never value my worth by others praises,
Nor
by opinions do direct my will.
And
it contents me more to be applauded
By
one of judgement (though of mean degree)
Then
by a Prince of princely parts defrauded,
Who
has more wealth, but not more wit then he.
Aesop.
Who come to Court, must with King’s faults comport.
Sol.
Who come to Court, should truth to Kings report.
Aesop.
A wise man at their imperfections winks.
Sol.
An honest man will tell them what he thinks.
Aesop.
So should you lose yourself, and them not win.
Sol.
But I would bear no burden of their sin.
Aesop.
By this you should their indignation find.
Sol.
Yet have the warrant of a worthy mind.
Aesop.
It would be long, ere you were thus preferr’d.
Sol.
Then it should be the King, not I, that err’d.
Aesop.
They guerdon as they love, they love by guess.
Sol.
Yet when I merit well, I care the less.
Aesop.
It’s good to be still by the Prince approved.
Sol.
It’s better to be upright, though not loved.
Aesop.
But by this mean, all hope of Honor fails.
Sol.
Yet honesty in end ever prevails.
Aesop.
I think they should excel as oft they do
All
men in wit, that unto men give laws.
Kings
are the Center of the Kingdom, to
The
which each weighty thing by nature draws.
For
as the mighty Rivers, little streams,
And
all the liquid powers that rise or fall,
Do
seek in sundry parts by several seams
To
the main Ocean that receives them all,
(Who
as he were but steward of those waters
Returns
them back by many secret veins,
And
as the earth has need of moisture, scatters
His
humid treasures to refresh the plains),
So
are King’s breasts the depth where daily flows
Clear
streams of knowledge with rare treasures charg’d,
And
thus continually their wisdom grows
By
many helps that others want enlarg’d.
For
those that have intelligence over all,
Do
commonly communicate to Kings
All
th’accidents of weight that chance to fall,
Their
greatness to them this advantage brings.
They
being jealous find out many drifts,
And
by a long experience learn to scance them,
Then
those whom Art or Nature lends great gifts,
All
come to Kings as who may best advance them.
No
doubt, those Powers who put them in their places
To
make their qualities with their charge even,
Do
dote them with some supernatural graces,
Vice-gods
on th’earth, great Lieutenants of heaven.
Sol.
As you have shown, Kings have a good occasion
Whereby
t’attain unto the height of wit,
Which
who so do embrace by good persuasion,
Are
surely worthy on a Throne to sit.
But
ah! those Rivers are not ever pure,
The
which through tainted channels whiles convaid,
Vile
flatt’ries poison rendered has impure.
Thus
are Kings’ hearts oft by their ears betrayed:
For
impudent effronted persons dare
Court
with vain words and detestable lies,
Whilst
purer spiritd men must stand afar.
The
light is loathsome to diseased eyes,
But
this does ravish oft my soul with wonder:
Some
that are wise, with flatt’ry can comport,
And
though of all men best mens parts they ponder,
Yet
ever entertain the baddest sort.
Is’t
that such men as those cannot control them,
Nor
never cross their appetite in ought,
But
for each purpose that they speak extoll them,
Where
better wits would argue as they thought,
Or
as they would have none for to resist them,
So
for th’advancement of the worthighst sorry,
They
will have none that may seem to assist them,
Lest
any challenge intrest in their glory.
This
self-conceit is a most dangerous shelf,
Where
many have made shipwreck unaware:
He
that does trust too much unto himself,
Can
never fail to fall in many snares.
Of
all that live, great Monarchs have most need
To
balance all their actions, and their words,
And
with advice in all things to proceed:
A
faithful Counsel oft great good affords.
Lo,
how th’inferior spheres their courses bend
There,
whither the first Mover does them drive:
The
Commons customs on the Prince depend,
His
manners are the rules by which they live.
No
man is only for himself brought forth,
And
Kings for th’use of many are ordained.
They
should like suns, clear Kingdoms with their worth,
Whose
life a pattern must be kept unstained.
Those
that are virtuous have an ample field
T’express
their wisdom and t’extend their merit,
Where
mean men must to their misfortune yield,
Whilst
lack of power does burst a gallant spirit.
As
precious stones are th’ornaments of rings,
The
stone decores the ring, the ring the hand,
So
Countries are conform unto their Kings,
The
King decores the Court, the Court the Land.
And
as a drop of poison spent alone,
Th’infected
fountain does with venom fill,
So
mighty States may be overthrown by one:
A
vicious Prince is a contagious ill.
Aesop.
This is an easy thing, for us to spy
And
paint in th’air the shadows of our minds,
And
t’apprehend with th’intellectual eye:
A
blessing that no worldly Kingdom finds.
Sol.
I grant imaginary grounds of ours
Will
never move a world-bewitched Prince,
To
disenchant himself, and spend some hours
His
own dissigns of folly to convince.
Ere
Croesus can refrain from this his fury,
He
must forsake himself, and be renew’d,
And
in the Lethe of oblivion bury
The
vanities that have his soul subdued.
He
first must his prerogatives all smother,
And
be a man, a man to be controlled;
Then
all his faults as they were in another
Like
an unpartial Arbiter behold.
Could
he cast off this veil of fond self-love,
Through
which all things not as they are he spies,
He
would those wicked Parasites remove,
Vile
instruments of shame that live by lies.
And
th’only means to force them to depart,
That
he might judge more freely of his State,
Were
to cast out the Idol of his heart
Which
puffs him up with a pride-swollen conceit.
For
foreign flatterers could not find access,
Wer’t
not over-valving his own worth too much,
He
flattered first himself and thinks no less
But
all their praises ought for to be such.
And
when these hireling Sycophants have found
A
Prince whose judgement self-conceit disarms,
They
breach his weakst part, and bring to ground
The
greatness of his State with flattery’s charms.
Then
bearing over his Passions once the sway,
Least
by the better sort he be advised,
To
wholesome counsel they close up the way,
And
used all means t’have honest men despised.
Aesop.
If you at Court to credit would arise,
You
must not seek by truth t’acquire renown,
But
learn t’applaud whiles what you most despise,
And
smile in show, whilst in effect you frown.
Sol.
From Court in time I will myself retire:
I
find my humour is not fit for Court.
I
am none of those whom Croesus does desire,
I
cannot always of his worth report.
O
that he cannot see light Fortune flout him
While
as he glories in this outward show,
Hedg’d
in with greedy Harpies round about him,
That
gape t’enrich themselves with his overthrow!
Exeunt.
CHORUS.
Of
all the creatures below
We
must call Man most miserable,
Who
all his time is never able
T’attain
unto a true repose.
His
very birth may well disclose
What
miseries his bliss overthrow,
For
being born he can not know
Who
to his State is friend or foe.
Nor
how at first for to stand stable,
But
even with cries and tears does show
What
dangers do his life enclose,
Whose
griefs are sure, whose joys a fable.
Thus
still his days in dolour so
He
to all perils must expose,
And
with vexation lives, and dies with woe,
Not
knowing whence he come nor where to go.
While
as he brooks this lowest place,
O
how uncertain is his State,
Which
governed by a secret fate
Is
subject to inconstancy,
And
ever changing as we see
Is
still in toil, never in peace.
For
if man prosper but a space,
With
each good success too too bold,
And
puffed up in his own conceit,
He
but abuses Fortune’s grace;
And
when that with aduersity
His
pleasures come to end their date,
And
with disasters are controlled,
Straight
he begins for grief to die.
And
still the top of some extreme does hold,
Not
suffering summer’s heat, nor winter’s cold.
His
State does in most danger stand
That
most abounds in worldly things,
And
soars too high with Fortune’s wings,
Which
carry up aspiring minds
For
to be beaten with all winds.
The
course of such being rightly scanned,
Whilst
men can not themselves command
Transported
with a powerless name,
Oft
unexpected ruin brings.
We
have seen examples in this land,
How
worldly bliss the senses blind,
And
on a reed unsurely hangs,
He
that presumes upon the same
Hidden
poison in his pleasure finds,
And
sailing rashly with the winds of fame,
Does
oftentimes sink into a sea of shame.
It
is to be fear’d our King at last
Whilst
he for nothing is afraid,
Be
by prosperity betray’d.
For
growing thus in greatness still,
And
having worldly things at will,
He
thinks though Time should all things wasted,
Yet
his estate shall ever last,
The
wonder of th’inferiour round.
And
in his own conceit has said,
No
course of heaven his State can cast,
Nor
make his success to be ill:
If
Fortune once those thoughts t’obraid
Will
have our King to be un-crowned,
She
may that mind with horror fill,
And
in an instant utterly confound
The
State, that stands upon so slippery ground,
When
such a Monarch’s mind is bent
To
follow most the most unwise.
Who
can their folly disguise
With
sugared speeches poisonous baits,
The
secret canker of great States,
From
which at first few dissent,
The
which at last all do repent,
While
as repenting lust must go.
When
Kings begin for to despise
Of
honest men the good intent,
Who
to assure their sovereign’s seats,
Would
fain in time some help devise,
And
would cut off all cause of woe,
Yet
can not second their conceits.
These
dreadful Comets commonly forgo
The
Kings destruction that’s miscarried so.
ACT.
III. SCEN. I.
Croesus.
Adrastus.
Croes.
What uncoth fancys do affright my soul,
And
have captiv’d it to a thousand fears?
Strange
cares suggesting grief my joys control,
My
mind some coming evil character bears,
And
credulous suspicion too too wise,
To
fortify my fears does means invent,
Whilst
sodden terrors do my spirit surprise,
An
ominous presage of some bad event.
I
think the soul, come of immortal brood
As
being partner of a divine power,
Has
a foverknowledge both of evil and good,
Although
she can not fly a fatal hour.
Though
with this mortal veil being made half blind,
She
can not soar outright with her own wings,
Yet
she communicates unto the mind
In
cloudy dreams and misteries strange things.
Th’imagination
wonderful in force
Often
foils the judgement with confusion so,
That
presupposing all things to be worse
Then
they fall forth, we double our own woe.
For
as the shadow seems more monstrous still
Then
does the substance whence it has the being,
So
th’apprehension of approaching ill
Seems
greater than itself, whilst fears are lying.
This
alteration too seems more then strange,
Which
at an instant has over-whelmed my sences:
I
see (more then I thought) all States may change,
Against
the heaven th’earth can find no defences.
My
soul her wonted pleasure else is loathing.
This
has indeed so deep impression left,
A
dream, a fantasy, a shadow, nothing
Has
all my mirth even in a moment rest.
Adras.
Whence, mighty sovereign, can this change proceed,
That
does obscure the rays of princely grace?
Those
that are schooled in woe may clearly read
A
mighty passion written in your face.
And
if a stranger may presume so far,
I
would the copy of your passions borrow.
I
else conjecture in what State you are,
Taught
by a secret sympathy in sorrow.
Two
strings in diverse Lutes set in accord,
(Although
th’one be but touched) together sound:
Even
so souls tun’d to grief the like afford,
And
other with a mutual motion wound.
Croes.
No doubt but it disburdens much the mind,
A
secretary in distress to have,
Who
by his own another’s grief can find,
Where
glad minds scorn what they can not conceive.
And
I, Adrastus, would the cause declare
With
which I so destiny myself invain.
O
but I blush t’unfold my foolish care:
It’s
but th’illusion of a drowsy brain.
Adras.
According to the body’s constitution,
The
soul by night with fancys is afflicted,
Or
by these thoughts continual revolution,
To
which by day the mind is most addicted.
Craes.
Now whilst the sun did peep through Thetis’ bower,
And
on the beautys of Aurora gaz’d,
Out
of my body spoiled of mouing power
All
faculties of life dull sleep had raz’d,
While
as the spirit more powerful than ever,
Since
least impeached with this earthly part,
The
verity from lies could best discern,
Hidden
mysteries unclouding to the heart.
I
only have two sons, and th’one you see
The
sign of Nature’s indignation bears,
And
from his birthday dumb is dead to me,
Since
he can not power no pleasure in my ears.
The
other, Atis, all my life’s delight,
In
whom the treasures of my soul are kept,
I
thought (vain be my thought) in the twilight
(I
wot not whether yet I waked or slept),
Whilst
he was sporting void of worldly cares,
Not
in a lists belonging to his merits,
A
pointed tool of iron fell unaware,
And
pierc’d his temples, and expelled his spirits.
Whilst
the pale carcass seem’d t’upbraid mine eyes,
The
horror of the sight my sense recalled.
Which
when I think of, yet my comfort dies,
Such
an exceeding fear my spirit appalled.
This
has me mou’d, it touch’d my State so nearly,
To
match my son in marriage at this time
With
beauteous Caelia, whom he lou’d most dearly,
That
both might reap the pleasure of their prime.
And
if the heavens his overthrow have decreed
By
destiny that cannot be revoked,
So
shall we have behind some of his seed,
Ere
in his blossom all our hopes be choked.
Thus
ere his soul lodge in the lightless shade,
T’have
of his race that will mitigate my mind:
I
cannot hold him altogether dead,
That
leaves his Image in someone behind.
And
for the time we do all that seems best
For
to prevent those but surmis’d annoys.
Yet
for all this my mind has never rested,
Some
secret terror still disturbs my joys.
Adras.
Ah sir! If but th’imagind evil of this
Has
plung’d your soul in such a gulf of grief,
Unhappy
I who wail a thing that is,
And
have not means to hope for no relief.
If
all these dreadful fancys took effect
(Which
heavy chance th’almighty Iove withhold)
It
could not be compar’d in no respect
With
those misfortunes that my State enfold.
For
when your son fell by another’s hand,
You
should but wail his death, and not your crime;
The
heavens of me my brothers blood demand,
His
fate, my fault, mourn must I all my time.
Croes.
In what strange form could this disaster fall,
That
is th’occasion of so great distress,
Tell
on at length th’origin of all.
To
hear of greater grief t’will make mine less.
Adras.
I have concealed my sorrows still till now,
As
too offensive food for dainty ears;
Yet
since of such a subject you allow,
I’ll
tell a tale that may move stones to tears.
My
Father, of the Phrigian Princes come,
Had
in my growing age a tender care,
That
all my education might become
One
whom he might for mighty hopes prepare.
As
yet four lusters scarcely had begun
For
to discern my sex with downy cheeks,
When
I into that Labirinth was run,
Whence
back in vain the straying entrer seeks.
I
lou’d – O fatall love! unlovely fate –
The
vertuously fair, yet fairest Dame
That
ever was enshrin’d in souls conceit,
Or
gave a ditty to the sounds of fame.
Straight
were my fancys to her beautys tied,
None
can paint passions but in feeling minds.
I
burned, freezed, hoped, dispaired, and lived, and died,
My
actions chang’d as oft as th’ Autumn’s winds.
Yet
after many doubtful hopes and fears
That
I attained the height of my desires,
She
had subscrib’d a truce unto my tears,
And
tempered with encountring flames my fires.
For
as she was the most affected Saint,
Whose
image was erected in my thought,
She
had compassion too of my complaint,
And
to acquit my firm affection sought.
Thus
whilst I triumphed in mine own conceit,
As
one whose love his Lady did prefer,
I
was co-rivaled (O unhappy fate!)
By
one who lou’d, but was not lou’d by her.
He
looking as I look’d, saw what I saw,
Saw
Nature’s wonder, and the worlds delight,
And
as a blind god blind guide did him draw
Still
like a lizard liv’d but by her sight.
Then
straight he strives the Jewel for to won,
Whose
unstained worth he rates above his breath.
He
hates the light that comes not from my sun,
And
thinks to live without her worse then death.
And
this affection favour’d was by Fortune
Which
seem’d to ratify his high rear’d hopes:
The
Nymph her parents daily did importune,
For
to confine his flying fancy’s scopes.
Now
judge if that my miseries were rife,
Who
threatened thus with eminent mishap:
Was
like to lose a dearer thing then life,
Whilst
others striv’d my treasure to entrap.
The
man that sought my joys to undermine,
I
could not wish for this t’have him overthrown,
Nor
blame the spirit that sympathiz’d with mine,
I
envied not his hap, but wail’d mine own.
Now
in my breast a battle did begin,
Which
forc’d my soul with inward wounds to bleed.
Some
fancys fear’d to what his love might win,
And
possibility for to come speed;
Then
others call’d her constancy to mind,
Which
would not yield although she were invaded,
Yet
forc’d to fear the frailty of her kind
(A
woman that has ears may be persuaded).
Thus
toss’d with doubts into a deep of woe,
Which
with suspition had my joys supplanted,
I
blam’d the thoughts that durst accuse her so,
As
virtue’s pattern had one virtue wanted.
As
I concluded, so it come to pass,
Th’affliction
serv’d for fuel to affection:
For
she who th’ornament of women was,
Would
never wrong her worth with a defection.
When
in my absence they had oft assay’d
To
have me from her memory remou’d:
The
sun burns hottest when his beams are stay’d,
The
more that they would let, the more she lou’d.
And
finding that delay no end affords,
And
that fair generals are th’abuser’s Art,
She
did repel him with disdainful words
To
raze all thought of her out of his heart.
Love
is a joy that upon pain depends,
A
drop of sweet drown’d in a sea of sorrows.
What
Folly does begin, oft Fury ends:
They
hate for ever, that have lou’d for hours.
When
all his arguments prou’d of no force,
Straight
with disdain his soul in secret burned,
And
what he thought was evil, to make far worse,
He
unto furour all his favour turn’d.
As
he extremely lou’d, far more he hated,
And
mused of many means how to annoy her.
Which
was the best a long time he debated:
To
see her dead, or to see me enjoy her.
‘What?’
says he when he first had mused a space,
(So
hard it is to quench a great affection),
‘Shall
I disfigure that angelic face,
And
make the world eclipsed of all perfection?
Shall
she by me be to confusion brought,
To
whom I vows and prayers did impart,
To
whom I sacrific’d my secret thought,
And
on her beautys altar burn’d my heart?
Or
shall I see her in another’s power,
And
in his bosom lie t’upbraid my loss,
Whilst
both with scornful smiles then death more sorrow,
To
point me out for sport report my cross?
That
sight which sometime did me sweetly charm,
Should
it become a cause of grief to me?
No,
none that lives shall glory in my harm:
Since
she will not be mine, she shall not be.’
Th’unlouing
Lover having vow’d her death,
Did
with a cup of poison drown my joys:
The
fairest body from the sweetst breath
Was
parted thus (O Ocean of annoys!).
That
Monster Fame – whose many mouths and ears
Must
know, but not conceal a rare thing long,
And
prodigal of ill, most chiefly bears
The
worst news first – inform’d me of this wrong.
For
neighbouring near the most unhappy part
That
had been spoiled of such a beeauteous guest,
No
soonr had death seized on the chaste heart
Then
sorrow on my ears to rob my rest.
How
the sad news first sounded in my soul,
I
will not weary you with long laments:
Rage
did the outward signs of grief controlled.
When
great winds blow the fire, the smoke worst vents.
Whilst
generous disdain disguised my grief,
(As
one transported with a mighty rage)
I
ran unto the Theater of mischief,
A
tragic Actor for a bloody stage.
For
I was come no soonr to the place
Whereas
I thought the Murderer to have found,
But
I re’ncountered (O unhappy case)
To
dear a friend to catch an enemy’s wound.
Ah
passions! Dimmed mine eyes, wrath led my hand,
I
was no more myself, sorrow had killed me.
The
first (it was night) that did before me stand,
I
fiercely did pursue, as Furor willed me.
And
as it chanced, ere one could speak a word,
I
filled his bosom with a lukewarm flood,
And
in his kind breast drowned the cruel sword,
That
in another’s body drank my blood.
When
as a Torch had partly robbed the night,
Proud
of supposed revenge (ah bitter gain)
I
saw, I knew, black knowledge, cruel sight,
T’was
mine own brother that myself had slain.
O
bitter loss that nothing can repair!
My
soul at once with all woes’ army wounded,
Grief,
rage, spite, shame, amazement and despair,
Galled,
tossed, burned, dashed, astonished, and confounded.
The
thought of my offence destinys me most,
Yet
am I while by my Loves verdict cleansed,
And
while my brothers violated ghost
By
dreadful dreams does boast to be revenged.
Croes.
Now whilst this great disaster did occur,
What
came of him who was the cause of all?
Adra.
He having heard this lamentable story,
Whom
self-accusing thoughts did guilty call,
Straight
stricken with a wonderful remorse
(I
wot not whether fear or pity mou’d him,
If
not t’over-live her death, or dreading worse)
He
killed himself: his conscience so disproved him.
Croes.
I grant the manner of so rare mischances
Would
force compassion from your greatest foe,
Where
all the grief-begetting circumstances
Do
join to make a harmony in woe.
But
natural love does at ourself begin,
It
moves far more to feel then hear mishaps,
The
perturbation that my spirit is in,
Me
in a maze of miscontentments wraps.
We
should such past misfortunes pretermit,
At
least no more immoderately lament them;
And
as for those which are but coming yet,
Use
ordinary means for to prevent them.
Adrast.
No wonder sir, although you take great care,
Lest
all your hopes in Atis’ person perish.
Croes.
I will by all the means I may, prepare
To
save his youth, that he my age may cherish.
If
it be possible for mortal States
To
strive against the stars and be more strong,
I’ll
unharm Fortune, and resist the fates,
By
barring both all means to do me wrong.
I
have commandd under pain of death,
That
no such weapon be within my walls,
As
I suppos’d should have abridg’d his breath,
T’eschew
such sudden evil as rashly falls.
He
shall go rarely to the fields, and then
With
chosen bands be guarded all the time.
Lo
where he communes with some countrymen:
We
will go try what they would have of him.
ACT.
III. SCEN. II.
Chorus
of countrymen. Croesus.
Atis. Adrastus. Caelia.
Chorus.
Lend,
sir, a willing ear to humble words.
Let
not our baseness bar us from your grace,
Which
still itself alike to all affords
Who
bless their sight with that Majestic face.
My
sovereign all his subjects well remembers,
As
vile as our estate is thought of now.
You
are our head, and we are of your members,
And
you must care for us, we care for you.
Our
poverty to us is no reproach,
Which
th’innocency of our mind adorns.
We
never on our neighbours bounds encroach,
But
by our labours live amidst many thorns;
And
ever busied for the Country’s good,
We
have no time to muse of vain conceits,
Yet
earning with continual toil our food
We
entertain the pomp of prouder States.
And,
sir, conceive not of our meaning ill,
That
thus dare speak so freely as we do,
Whilst
mediators do dilate our will
They
wrest it as they will, and wrack us too.
To
count’nance such as us you need not shun,
A
great man too well grac’d may do more harm:
And
t’is no stain unto the glorious sun,
Though
oft his beams an abject object warm.
Croes.
Be not discourag’d by your base estate:
You
are my people, and I’ll hear your plaint.
A
King must care for all, both small and great,
And
for to help th’afflicted never faint.
The
scepter such as these should chiefly shroud
(Not
cottages, but Castles spoil the Land)
T’advance
the humble and t’abate the proud:
This
is a Virtue that makes Kings to stand.
Chor.
Sir, our estate some speedy help requires.
In
Misia near unto the famous Mountain
Of
great Olympus that the World admires,
There
haunts a Boar by Diana’s Fountain
Of
a big body, and a hideous form.
His
fomy jaw with tusks like Javelins strikes,
And
all parts in deformity conform,
His
back has bristles like to iron pikes.
This
Monster of Nature, wonder of Men,
The
Forest’s tyrant, and the Country’s terror,
Tears
all to death, and draws them to his Den,
That
chance into his way by fatal error.
Whilst
tender-hearted Mothers do bewail
The
goared Infants toiling in their blood,
Th’abominable
beast them does assail,
And
in his bowels burys both for food.
Then
when we fly the field where he sojourns,
To
have his hunger or his rage alaid,
He
wastes the fruits, and ruins all the corns:
Thus
the poor husband’s hopes are all betrayed.
Ere
this, of true Repose we were the tipes,
And
pastur’d on each plain our fleecy flocks,
And
made a consort of our warbling pipes,
With
mouing crystals th’issue of the rocks.
And
sometime to refresh us after travail,
With
flowery garlands shighlded from sunbeams
We
gazed upon Pactolus’ golden gravel,
Glassed,
bathed, and quenched our thirst with his pure streams:
Whilst
we prefered, the River seemed amazed,
Unto
his golden bed, his grassy bank,
And
lay and looked whereas our cattle grazed,
Without
all envy of a greater rank.
That
to repress oppression you take care,
This
rest of ours is an effectual token.
Your
Laws like spider’s webs do not ensnare
The
feeble flys, and by the Bees are broken,
For
we by them are fenced from great men’s pride.
The
Heav’ns perpetuate your prosp’rous reign,
And
suffer not this savage Boare t’abide,
To
turn that ease which men have spar’d to pain.
Croes.
What would ye then, that should be done by me?
For
to repay your loss, repair this wrong.
Chorus.
We crave none of your wealth, yet wish to see
This
Boar be-blood the staff of the most strong.
Let
valorous Atis worthily your son,
Backed
with the best of all the Lidian Youth,
Go
to the fields before the rising sun
Quenchs
with the mornings tears his mid-day’s drouth,
And
we shall lead them crowned with laurel forth
Where
in a circuit small, yet a large Theater
For
men to make a trial of their worth
This
Monster stays. Th’earth never nurs’d a greater.
So
shall we both reap profit, and they pleasure,
Which
may be brought to pass without great obstacle,
By
making this waster of the world’s treasure,
Of
a horrid sight, a delightful spectacle.
Croes.
I may not spare my son for a respect,
Which
is not needful now for to be known;
But
I’ll send others for the same effect,
That
this pestiferous Beast may be overthrown.
Th’ossedentive
gallants that our Grace attend,
And
wait th’occasion but t’advance their strength,
Against
the Boar shall all their forces bend,
With
hounds and darts still till he falls at length.
I
swear this Monster shall, when he is dead,
A
memorable monument remain:
To
Dian’s Church I’ll consecrate his head.
The
Virgin-goddess darts no shaft in vain.
Atis.
Ah wherein Father have I thus offended?
Or
what vile sign of a degenered mind
Have
you remarked in me that ever tended
To
the reproach of our Imperial kind?
That
of this praise you would give me no part,
But
bar me from a famous enterprise,
As
one unworthy for to weeld a dart?
Who
still in vile repose inglorious lies,
Lies
like a wanton with vain thoughts bewitched,
Who
spoil’d of force effeminately lives,
A
Peacock but with painted pennes enrichd,
Yet
poor in all the parts that Glory gives.
What
glory gives those glorious styles to me
Which
by succession fall, not by desert,
Should
but my Fame with borrowd feathers flee?
For
come of Kings a kingdom is my part,
Who
only by his Birth advancement claims,
Like
a base bastard does his birth-right bloat.
I
will not beg my worth from dead men’s names,
Nor
conquer Credit only by my Cote:
What
comforts this to brook th’Imperial seat,
And
all the bliss that Majesty imparts?
If
those whom only we exceed in State,
Be
our superiors in far better parts.
More
then a Crown true Worth is to be valued:
Th’one
Fortunes gift, and th’other our own merit,
By
which oft times th’afflicted Mind is salved,
When
Fortune takes what we by her inherit.
Croes.
I see what brave Desires boil in thy soul,
And
make thee with immortal wings to flee:
This
high-bent courage, nothing can control,
All
Lidia is not large enough for thee.
Go,
seek an Empire equall with thy mind,
No
common limits can confine thy thought;
But
while a full perfection thou would find,
I
fear thy fall turn all our hopes to nought.
And
pardon me, dear son, it’s a great Love
That
makes me watch so wearily over thy ways.
Th’affection
of a Father what may move,
Whom
such an eminent danger not dismays?
The
Heavens of late advertised me by Dream,
That
some sad fortune did attend thy Youth:
New
Meteors and strange stars through th’air still stream,
Which
are as Oracles of Jove’s own mouth.
This
was the cause that hastened us so much
To
have thee bound to Hymen’s hallow’d Law.
This
was the cause that all our care was such,
Out
of our sight all weapons to withdraw.
Scorn
not th’amazing Comets that thou notes:
The
stars to mortal States have termes prefixed,
And
think not only that my love but dotes,
For
if thou fall, my fate with thine is mixed.
Atis.
Would God I had some means once ere my death
To
satisfy that infinite desert,
Which
I shall hold so long as I have breath,
Deep
registred with rev’rence in my heart.
Yet,
sir, we see it is a natural thing
For
too excessive love t’engender fears:
A
sport like this can no great peril bring
Where
either all delights the eyes or th’ears.
If
from my former deeds I now should shrink,
As
void of virtue to soft pleasure thrall,
Of
your two sons what might your subjects think,
Th’one
wanting but one sense, and th’other all?
What
fancys might my late spoused love possess,
To
see her husband hateful in their sights,
And
from the height of Honour to digress,
To
womanize with courtly vain delights?
Though
women love t’have men at their devotion,
They
hate base minds that hatch no noble motion.
Croes.
Well, well, my son, I see thou must prevail:
Go
follow forth the chase, use thine own will.
Yet
stay, or let my words thus much avail:
Walk
warily now t’eschew this threatened ill.
Thy
haughty spirit t’attempt all hazards bent,
I
fear transport thee to a fatal strife
(God
grant I be deceiv’d). Yet take good tent:
Thy
over-frank courage may betray thy life.
And,
dear Adrastus, I must let him know
What
benefites I have bestow’d on thee,
Not
to upbraid thee, no, but for to show
How
I may trust thee best that’s bound to me.
When
thou from Phrigia come defiled with blood,
And
a fraternal violated love;
When
in a most extreme estate thou stood,
Chas’d
from thy father’s face, cursed from above,
Thou
found me friendly, and my Court thy rest,
A
sanctuary sacred for thy safety,
Where
thou were entertain’d as pleas’d thee best,
I
think those dangers escap’d should make thee crafty.
Yet
though I grac’d thee earst, t’was but a sign
Of
a heroic mind that helps the wretched:
But
in thy hands my soul I’ll now consign,
And
give a proof of love not to be matched.
Behold
how Atis of our age the shighld,
Whose
harm as you have heard I fear’d ere now,
Is
to go take his pastime in the field,
And
with his custody I’ll credit you.
I
must my friend even fervently exhort:
Wait
on my son, remember of my dream.
This
dangerously delectable sport,
Does
make me fear the grief exceed the game.
Adras.
I never shall those courtesies neglect.
It
irks me not to think nor hear the same:
For
while this spirit these members does direct,
All
shall concur to celebrate your fame.
If
t’were your will I would not hence depart,
Who
all such motives unto mirth abhor,
But
with my passions here, retired apart,
Would
wail woe past and shun all cause of more.
For
if I strive t’abandon my annoys,
I
fear my fellowship infect with woe:
Those
that would recreat themselves with joys,
still
strange mishaps attend me where I go.
Yet
since you will commit this charge to me,
I’ll
use all means that you may not repent you.
At
lest all my defects faith shall supply,
I
covet nothing more then to content you.
Atis.
Now for to see this monster’s ugly shape,
With
an enflam’d desire my thoughts do burn.
And
Father, be not feared for no mishap:
I
hope soon, and victorious to return.
Caelia.
Return? And whither love? O deadly word,
That
does import thy parting from my sight,
I
heard thee name, mishap, ah my dear Lord!
Should
such strict limits bound so large delight?
O
cruel resolution, unkind dealing,
And
can thou condiscend to leave me so?
Or
from my presence privily thus stealing,
Think
thou to rob a portion of my woe?
This
might indeed to thee yield some relief,
To
have thy ears not wounded with my moan,
But
would wound me with a continual grief
To
fear all things where I should fear but one.
Desist
in time from this intended strife,
With
which thy thoughts have unadvisedly entered.
Remember
I have interest in thy life,
Which
I consent not to be thus adventured.
Has
thou not given a proof in thy green prime,
That
may content the most ambitious hopes,
Whilst
Atis was his own? O then t’was time
To
follow fancy’s unconfined scopes.
Thyself
then only camp’d in Fortune’s bounds,
Thou
do endanger Caelia likewise now.
You
sigh her breath, she suffers in your wounds:
You
live in her, and she must die in you.
Atis.
Life of my soul, how do such broken speeches
From
confused passions thus abruptly rise?
I
know my love, thy love my mind over-reaches,
Affection
schooled with fears is too too wise.
I
go over-thwart the fields for sport to range.
Thy
sighs do but my soul with sorrow fill,
And
pardon, dear, I find this wondrous strange:
Thou
never did till now resist my will.
If
I trespass in aught against my duty,
Which
makes thee thus my faith for to mistrust,
Mistrust
not yet the chains of thine own beauty,
Which
bind all my desires and so they must.
Are
we not now made one such fears overcome,
Though
I would fly myself myself do fetter?
And
if that I would fly, from whom? To whom?
I
can love none so well, none loves me better.
Have
pity of those pearls, sweet eyes’ soul’s pleasures,
Lest
they presage what thou would not have done:
The
heav’ns had not giv’n me those precious treasures
Of
such perfections to be spoil’d so soon.
Chorus.
Those
that domain above,
High
presidents of heaven,
By
whom all things do move
As
they have order given,
What
worldling can arise
Against
them to repine?
Whilst
castel’d in the skies
With
prouidence divine
They
force th’inferior round
Their
judgements to confess,
And
in their wrath confound
Proud
mortals that transgress
The
covenant they made
With
Nature in heavens stead.
Base
brood of earth, vain man,
Why
brag thou of thy might?
The
heavens thy courses scan,
Thou
walk still in their sight.
Ere
thou were born, thy deeds
Their
registers dilate,
And
think that none exceeds
The
compass of his fate.
What
heavens would have thee to
Though
they thy ways abhor,
That
thou of force must do,
And
thou may do no more.
This
reason would fulfill,
Their
work should serve their will.
Are
we not heirs of death,
In
whom there is no trust,
Who
tossed with circling breath,
Are
but a dram of dust?
Yet
fools when as we err
And
do th’heaven’s wrath contract,
If
they a while defer
A
just revenge t’exact,
Pride
in our bosom creeps,
And
misinforms us thus,
That
the Eternal sleeps,
Or
takes no care of us.
No,
th’eye of heaven beholds
All
what our heart enfolds.
The
gods digest no crime
Though
they continue long,
And
in th’offenders time
seem
to neglect their wrong,
Till
others of their race
Fill
up the cup of wrath,
Whom
wine and disgrace
Long
time attended has.
And
Giges’ fault we fear
To
Croesus charge be laid,
Which
love will not forbear
Though
it be long delayed.
For
o sometime the gods
Must
plague sin with sharp rods.
And
lo how Croesus still
Destinyed
in his mind,
Like
a reed on a hill,
Is
shivering with each wind.
Each
step a terrour brings,
Dreams
do by night afflict him,
And
by day many things,
All
his thoughts do convict him.
He
his star would control:
This
makes evil not the worst,
Whilst
he wounds his own soul
With
th’apprehension first.
Man
may his fate foresee,
But
not shun heaven’s decree.
ACT.
IIII. SCEN. I.
Adrastus.
Croesus. Chorus.
Adras.
Can heaven behold hands stained with blood ofttimes,
And
to the Stigian streams not headlong hurled?
Can
th’earth support one burden’d with such crimes,
As
may prouoke the wrath of all the world?
Why
sends not Iove t’have my curs’d course confined,
A
death-denouncing flash of rumbling thunder,
Or
a tempestuous terror-breeding wind,
With
violence to tear me all asunder?
What
unknown corner from the world remou’d
T’inhabit
in th’horizon of dispair
shall
I go now possess and be approu’d
By
monsters like myself that hate repair?
I’ll
go indeed whom all the world detests,
Who
have no interest in the fields of bliss,
And
barbarize among the barbarous beasts,
Where
Tigers rage, Toads spew, and serpents hiss.
Yet
though both th’Artic and Antartic Pole
I
should overpass, and find th’unpeopled zones,
A
wilderness where nought were to control
My
damnable crueltys but trees and stones.
Yet
of my deeds which all the world do tell,
All
this could not deface th’infamous scroll,
Within
my breast I bear about my hell,
And
cannot escape the horrors of my soul.
Those
fearful monsters of confused aspects,
Chimera,
Gorgon, Hydra, hellish apes,
Which
in the world wrought wonderful effects,
And
borrowd from th’infernal shades their shapes.
Their
devilish forms that did the world amaze,
Not
half so monstrous as myself I find,
When
on mine own deformities I gaze,
In
the black depth of a polluted mind.
No,
but my mind untainted still remains,
My
thoughts in this delict have had no part,
Which
accidentally this foul fact stains:
My
hands had no commission of my heart.
Yet,
whether it was fortune or my fate,
Or
some hell-hag that did direct my arm,
I
quailed the Lidians’ hopes abortive date,
And
am the instrument of all their harm.
Then
swelling mountains come and fall upon me,
Your
height may hide me from the wrath of heaven!
But
this needs not, my fault has else undone me:
No
destiny can with my offence be even.
Ah
of what desert shall I now make choice,
T’avoid
the countenance of an angry King?
I
know th’avenging sword of Croesus’ voice,
To
wound my soul of rebukes does bring.
No,
th’object of distress I’ll stand alone,
A
memorable monster of mishap,
For
though Pandora’s plagues were pour’d in one,
All
were too few so vile a wretch t’entrap.
Chor.
O how the King is mou’d with Atis’ death!
His
face th’impression of a passion bears
With
bended eyes, crossed arms, and quivering breath;
His
princely robe he desperately tears.
Lo,
with a silent pity-pleading look,
Which
shows with sorrow mixed a high disdain,
He
whilst his soul seems to dissolve in smoke,
While
eyes the corpse while him by whom ’tis slain.
Croes.
Thou ruthless Tyrant, ruin of my bliss,
And
did thou so disguise thy devilish nature
To
recompence my courtesies with this?
Ah
cruel wretch, abhominable creature!
Thy
Tigrish mind who could have well detected?
In
mortal breasts so great barbarity?
What
forward spirit could have such spight suspected?
In
hospitality hostlity?
Did
I revive thee when thy hopes were dead,
When
as thy life thy parents had not spar’d,
And
having heapt such favours on thy head,
Is
this? Is this?
Chor.
He would say the reward.
Adrast.
I grant what you alledge, and more, is true.
I
have unto the height of hatred run,
A
blood-staind Wretch, not worthy for to view
The
rolling Circles, nor the raying sun.
I’ll
never strive to cloak my foul abuses,
so
for to make my forfeit to seem less,
And
paint my fault with imperfect excuses:
‘Tis
greater far then words can well express.
Nor
go I thus to aggravate my crime,
And
damn myself to be absolv’d by others:
No,
no, such Rhetorick comes out of time.
I’ll
not survive his death, as earst my brother’s,
Whose
unkind fall if I had followed straight,
As
then indeed I died to all delight,
I
had not groan’d charged with this inward weight,
But
slept with shadows in eternal night.
Yet
must I die at last, though late grown wise.
This
in my mind most discontentment breeds:
A
thousand tort’ring deaths cannot suffise
To
plague condignely for so heinous deeds.
Come,
cause him, who the spiritless body burys,
Upon
the Tomb to sacrifice my blood,
No
fitter offring for th’infernal Furies
Then
one, in whom they reign’d while as he stood,
In
whom they oft infused their div’lish rage,
And
in my bosom all their serpents nestled,
so
that this hellish horror to assuage,
I
all my days have with disasters wrestled.
Croes.
I find Adrastus, when I deeply scan
Th’effectual
motives of this fatal cross,
That
not thy malice, but mine own mischance
Has
been th’occasion of our bitter loss.
Whilst
barely with a superficial wit
We
weigh the outside of such strange events,
If
but the mediate means our judgements hit,
We
search not the first cause, this much contents.
When
such prodigious accidents fall out,
Though
they amaze our minds, and so they must,
The
ground of all comes from ourself no doubt.
Ah!
man has sin’d, the heau’ns are always just.
Now
when I search the secrets of my soul,
And
rip the corners of my corrupt mind,
Mark
of my former life th’offensive scroll,
And
do examine how I was inclined,
O
then I see the angry hosts of heaven
Come
girt with flames to plague for my offences,
Which
once no doubt will with the world be even,
And
judge our thoughts, words, acts, and vain pretenses.
Son,
‘tis my pride that has procured thy fall:
I’m
guilty of thy blood, I gave the wound
Which
was thy death, and whose remembrance shall
My
life each day with many deaths confound.
Then
injust stars, your Statutes I condemn.
O!
if I were confronted with the gods,
I
would their partiall prouidence condemn,
That
in such sort do exercise their rods.
Ah!
My son’s death does show their judgement naught.
What
could he perpetrate against such Powers?
Should
he have suffred for his Father’s fault,
Whom
without cause their wrong-spent wrath devours?
Now
all the world those deities may despise,
Which
plague the guiltless, and the guilty spare.
Cease
hapless man t’outrage thyself this way:
I
pardon thee, and pity thy despair.
Adrast.
O cruel judgement of a rigorous fate!
Must
I over-live myself t’entomb my Fame?
All
things that I behold upbraid my State,
Too
many monuments of one man’s shame.
All
(and no more than I) my deeds detest,
Yet
some not find a friend, I find no foe
To
rid the world of such a dangerous pest,
Born
but to be an instrument of woe.
I
know what makes all worthy minds refrain
The
sword against a Captive for to stretch:
They
this opprobrious office do disdain,
To
be the Deaths-men of so base a wretch.
Or
must I yet a fouler fact commit,
And
fill the world with th’horror of my name?
Is
there some new disaster resting yet,
And
other funerals famous by my shame?
Or
would some bastard thought life’s cause debate,
That
in the blasted field of comfort gleams?
No,
no, in spite of heav’n I’ll force my fate,
One
that’s resolv’d to die, cannot want means.
Proud
tyrant Death, and must thou make it strange,
T’involve
my wearied soul in further strife?
Unless
my courage with my fortune change,
I
can appoint a Period to my life.
But
this (Ay me) all hope of help devours:
What
gains my soul by death in those sad times?
If
potent still in all her wonted powers
she
must remember of my odious crimes.
What
though unbodyd she the world forsake?
Yet
cannot from her conscience be divorc’d:
It
will but vex her at the shadowy Lake,
Till
even to groan the god of ghosts be forc’d.
But
welcome death, and O would God I had
Less
famous or more fortunately liv’d!
Then
had I never shown myself so mad
T’have
only been by infamy surviv’d.
Ah!
have I liv’d to see my Lady die,
And
die for me, for me not worth so much;
Ah!
have I liv’d (unnatural man) to be
My
Brother’s death, whose love to me was such;
Ah!
have I liv’d, with mine own hands to kill
A
gallant Prince committed to my charge,
And
do I gaze on the dead body still,
And
in his Father’s sight my shame enlarge.
Ah!
have I liv’d (O execrable Monster)
To
be accounted of a div’lish nature,
And
even by them that best my actions conster,
For
to be call’d (and justly call’d) a Traitor.
Yet
with my blood this stain away I’ll wash,
And
lest my memory make th’earth detracted,
Let
my name perish in my bodies ash,
And
all my life be as a thought unacted.
Brave
Atis, now I come to plead for grace,
Although
thou frown’st on my affrighted ghost,
And
to revenge thy wrong this wound embrace.
Thus,
thus, I toil t’attain the Stygian coast.
Cho.
The man himself does desperately wound,
With
leaden lights, weak legs, and head declined.
The
body in disdain does beat the ground,
That
of his members one has prou’d unkind.
The
fainting hand falls trembling from the sword
With
this micidial blow for shame grown red,
Which
straight the blood pursues with vengeance stor’d
To
drown the same with the same floods it shed.
Who
of those parties can the combat show,
Where
both but one, one both, strook and sustained,
Or
who shall triumph for this strange overthrow
Whereas
the Victor lost, the Vanquish’d gained.
Croes.
Cursed eyes, what sudden change has drowned your lights,
And
made your mirthful objects mournful now?
Ye
that were still injured to Stately sights
since
seated under an Imperial brow,
Overclouded
now with vapours of my cares,
Are
low thrown down unto a hell of grief,
And
have no prospect but my soul’s despairs,
The
sad beholdrs of a rare mischief.
O
dead Adrastus I absolve thy ghost,
Whose
hand some secret destiny did charm.
Thou
hated by the Heav’ns, wert to thy cost
An
accidental Actor of our harm.
No
doubt some angry God has laid this snare,
And
whilst thy purpose was the Boar to kill,
Did
intercept thy shaft amidst the air,
And
threw it at my son against thy will.
Ah
son! Must I be witness of thy death,
Who
view thee thus with violence to bleed,
And
yet want one on whom to power my wrath,
To
take just vengeance for so vile a deed?
This
wretch whose guiltless mind has cleard his hand
Griev’d
for his error, lo, unforced does fall,
And
not as one that did in danger stand,
For
he liv’d still till I forgave him all.
Thus
have I but the heav’ns on whom I may
Pour
forth the poison of my troubled spirit.
In
my soul’s bitterness I’m forced to say,
This
second not their custom and my merite.
ACT.
IIII. SCEN. II.
Sandanis.
Croesus.
Sand.
Why spend you, sir, with sighs th’Imperious breath,
Which
nought but words of sovereignty should breed?
O
weak revenge for one that’s wronged by death,
T’adorn
his triumph with a mourning weed!
This
pale-fac’d tyrant, author of our ill,
Who
did, t’eclipse our Joys, that black shaft borrow,
should
you frame Trophighs to his Tigrish will,
And
wear his livery, and succumb to sorrow?
No,
though he might this outward bliss overthrow,
And
you save you of all that’s yours might spoil,
Yet
whilst of one that yields no sign you show,
You
triumph still, and he receives the foil.
Th’over-flowing
humor that would drown your soul,
In
baser breasts might better be excused,
Who
want the spirit their passions to control,
As
from their birth still to subjection used.
But
you, in whom high Thoughts have been innate,
To
this decay how is your Virtue come?
I
blush to see my sovereign so abated,
And
Majesty by misery overcome.
Nor
are my words out of a rocky mind,
T’unnaturalize
you, as not feeling smart:
No,
none can bar a Prince from being kind,
Th’undoubted
badge of an Heroic heart.
That
supreme Power, by which great States do stand,
should
order but th’affection, not undo it.
And
I could wish you might your self command,
Which
though you may not well, yet seem to do it.
Croes.
I will not now rehearse, t’enlarge my grief,
On
what just reasons my laments are grounded,
But
still will muse upon mine own mischief,
While
as my soul a thousand ways is wounded.
What
pensive pensil ever limm’d aright
The
sad conceits of soul-consuming woe?
Ah!
words are weak to show the swelling hight
Of
th’inward anguish that over-whelms me so.
Though
many Monarchs jealously despise
The
rising sun that their declining stains,
And
hate the Heir, who by their fall must rise,
As
griev’d to hear of death, or others reigns,
My
love towards Atis otherwise appeared,
Whom,
whilst for him I did my cares engage,
I
as a Father lou’d, as King not feard,
The
comfort, not th’encombrance of mine age.
And
had thou son, as reason would, surviv’d me,
Who
glanced and vanish’d like a lightning-flash,
Then
death of life could never have depriv’d me,
Whilst
such a Phoenix had reviv’d my ash.
San.
Let not these woes eclipse your Virtue’s light.
Croes.
Ah! rage and grief must once be at a height.
San.
Strive of your sorrows for to stop the source.
Croes.
These salt eye-floods must flow and have their course.
San.
That is not kingly.
Croes.
And yet it is kindly,
Where
passions do domain they govern blindly.
San.
Such woeful plaints cannot repair your State.
Croes.
Th’infortunate at least may wail their Fate.
The
meanest comfort can a wretch return,
Is
in calamite t’have leave to mourn.
San.
What grave-browed stoic void of all affections,
With
tearless eyes could that Youth’s death behold?
Though
green in yeares, yet ripe in all perfections,
A
hoary judgment under lockes of gold.
No,
no man lives but must lament to see
The
world’s chief hope even in his blossome choked.
But
men cannot control the Heav’ns decree,
And
mischief done, can never be revoked.
Then
let not this destiny your mind no more:
This
cross with you alike your Country bears.
If
wailing could your ruind State restore,
souls
fraught with grief should sail in seas of tears,
Lest
all our comfort dash against one shelf
And
his untimely end occasion yours.
Have
pity of your people, spare yourself,
If
not to your own use, yet unto ours.
Croes.
When Sandanis, I first thy faith did find,
Thou
div’d so deeply in my bosom then,
That
since thou kept the key still of my mind,
And
knew what I conceald from other men.
Behold,
I go to open up to you,
Dear
Treasurer of all my secrets still,
A
mighty enterprise I mind for now,
A
Phisic in some sort t’assuage my ill,
Which
may unto my soul yield some relief,
And
make me to forgo sad thoughts’ content,
Or
else acquire copartners in my grief,
If
not for me, yet with me to lament.
Sand.
This benefit must bind me with the rest,
To
love your Majesty, and wish you well.
I’ll
give you my advise, and I protest,
That
you take friendly what I freely tell.
Croes.
Since that it has not pleased the Divine powers,
That
of my offspring I might comfort claim,
Yet
lest the ravenous course of flying hours
Should
make a prey of my respected name,
I
hope t’engender such a generous brood,
That
the unborn shall know how I have liv’d,
And
this no doubt would do my ghost great good,
To
be by famous Victories revib’d.
I’ll
Eagle-like so are with Fame’s immortal wings,
Unless
my high-bent thoughts themselves deceive,
That
having acted admirable things,
I
may scorn death, and triumph over the grave.
Yet
have I not so settled my conceit
That
all opinions are to be despised:
Unfold
your judgement touching my estate,
Take
heed I’ll tell you what I have devised.
Some
Scithian shepherd in a high disdain,
As
I have heard rehearsed by true discourses,
To
plague some of the Medes with endless pain,
Did
entertain them with Thiestes’ courses;
And
to content their more then Tigrish wishes,
They
with the infants flesh the parents fed,
Who
not suspecting such polluted dishes,
Did
in their bowels bury whom they bred.
Then
after this abhominable crime,
They
come unto my fathers’ famous court,
And
working on th’advantage of the time,
Did
as they pleas’d of what was past report.
They
show’d what serv’d to help, and hid the rest.
Whilst
pity pleaded for affliction’s part,
He
noble-minded favouring the distressed,
Was
won to them by this sinonic art.
San.
Oft Kings of Judges thence have parties gone,
Where
both their ears were patent but to one.
Croes.
Then Ciaxares, Monarch of the Medes,
To
prosecute those fugitives to death,
In
indignation of my father’s deeds,
Did
boast them both with all the words of wrath.
My
father, thinking that his court should be
A
sanctuary for all supplicants,
Did
levy men, that all the world might see
He
helped the weak, and scorn’d the mighty vaunts.
Thus
mortal wars on every side proclaim’d,
With
mutual damage did continue long,
Till
both the armies by Bellona tam’d,
Did
irk t’avenge or to maintain a wrong.
It
chanc’d whilst peace was at the highest dearth,
That
all their forces furiously did fight,
A
sudden darkness courtain’d up the earth,
And
violently dispossessed the light.
I
think for Phaeton the sun looked sad,
And
that the bloody objects that he saw
Did
wound his memory, with grief gone mad,
He
from the world his wagon did withdraw.
Yet
Ignorance, the mother of confusion,
With
wresting nature’s course found cause of fears,
Which
well edg’d on by wiser mens’ illusion,
Was
cause of concord and of truce from tears.
Then
straight there was a perfect peace begun,
And
that it might more constantly endure,
Astiages
the King of Media’s son,
A
marriage with my sister did procure.
A
deadly rancour reconcil’d again,
Must
seal’d with consanguinity remain.
He
since his father’s age-worn course was ended,
Has
ruled his people free from blood or strife,
Till
now a Viper of his loins discended,
Would
by his ruin make himself a life.
I
mean by Cyrus, base Cambises’ brood,
Who
by a Bitch nursed with the country swains,
Degener’d
far from any princely blood,
The
doggish nature of his nurse retains.
He
come against his Grandfather to field,
And
unexpected with a mighty power,
Overthrew
his forces, forc’d himself to yield,
Who
captive kept now waits for death each hour.
That
you may see now what my interest is,
I
made recital of this ruthfull story.
Those
circumstances show that shame of his
Tends
to the derogation of our glory,
That
any dare presume to trouble thus
One
whom our kingdom’s favour should defend,
In
strict affinity combined with us,
Yet
not respected for so great a friend.
My
joyless soul with this will be rejoic’d,
Whilst
I to war against that rebel go.
I
hope that both shall know how they have choic’d,
Th’one
a kind friend, and th’other a feirce foe.
San.
Though Nature’s law you car’d not to transgress,
And
this your wrong’d ally would not repair,
Yet
the regard t’a Monarch in distress,
Should
move the mighty with a mutual care.
These
terrours to that thunder in your ear,
I
think the Lidians will not well allow,
For
when the Cedar falls, the Oak may fear:
Th’
Assirians’ overthrow may astonish you.
And
when we see our neighbour’s house afire,
Then
we may judge our own to be in danger:
It’s
better first with others to conspire,
Or
we be forc’d ourselves t’invade that stranger.
Ah
this is but the outside of your course,
A
dangerous ambush by ambition planted!
There
may come raging rivers from this source,
To
drown your State whilst fancys are undanted:
I
know these new-born monsters of your mind
Have
arm’d your ravish’d thoughts with fair conceits.
Yet
may these wonders that you have divin’d
Prove
traitrous projects painted for deceits.
And
(pardon sir) it is not good to be
Too
rashly stout nor curiously wise,
Lest
that you from that which is certain flee,
And
not attain to that which you devise.
Croes.
I grant indeed which very few shall know.
Though
I design but to relieve my friend,
My
thoughts are aim’d (this unto you I’ll show)
And
not without great cause, t’a greater end.
You
see how Fortune nought but change affects:
Some
are reproach’d that others may be praised,
And
every age brings forth some strange effects.
Some
must be ruin’d, others must be raised.
I
doubt not you have heard who was the first
Whom
fame for warring with the world revives,
Who
had of sovereignty so great a thirst,
That
it could not be quenched with a thousand lives.
T’was
he who first obtain’d the name of Iove,
Who
was reputed for his glorious acts
The
most imperious of the powers above,
That
vows and offrings of the world exacts.
He
all his time could nought but terrour breathe,
To
make the world acquaint with war and death,
The
chiefest sergeant deputed by death,
That
made th’Assirians sovereigns of the earth.
Yet
since his course the world’s first plague was past,
His
successours who many ages reign’d,
Made
shipwreck of their Empire at the last,
And
by the Medes were thral’d, scorn’d, and disdain’d.
This
was the cause of that great kingdom’s fall:
A
King who could not judge of kingly treasures,
With
loss of scepter, honour, life and all,
Did
buy his base delights and servile pleasures.
To
that distressed Monarchy’s decay,
Th’aspiring
Persians purpose to succeed,
But
I intend to cross them by the way,
And
quail their courage ere that they can speed.
The
Persians once the Lidians force must prove,
And,
O who knows but that it is ordain’d
At
the Tribunal of the States above,
That
I should reign where famous Ninus reign’d.
This
all the host of heaven ofttimes foretells,
To
this the gods of Greece my mind have mou’d,
And
he that in th’Arabian desert dwells,
By
his response this enterprise approu’d.
San.
Thus still in love with what we mind to do,
What
we affect we first still conceive.
This
feeds our humour whilst we labour, to
Seem
full of wit ourselves for to deceive.
You
flatter so yourself, you can not spy
What
secret danger this design does bear;
But
whilst I look with an indifferent eye
On
your intentions, I find cause of fear.
You
unadvisedly purpose to pursue
A
barbarous people that are foes to peace,
Who
but by rapine to their greatness grew,
And
would for each light cause the war’s embrace.
No
dainty silks of the Assirian die
Do
deck their bodies to abase their minds,
But
cloth’d with wild beasts skins they do defy
The
force of Phoebus’ rays, and Eolus’ winds.
They
simply feed and are not griev’d each day
With
stomachs cloyed decocting diverse meats;
They
fare not as they would, but as they may,
Of
judgement sound not carried with conceits.
These
uncorrupted customs that they hold
Make
all things easy that they feel no pain:
This
cools the summer’s heat, kills Winter’s cold,
This
makes the Rivers dry, the Mountains plain.
Those
whose ambition poverty did bound,
Of
the delights of Lidia if they taste
Will
have in hatred straight their barren ground,
And
insolently all our treasures waste.
To
govern such although that you prevail,
You
shall but buy vexation with your blood,
And
do yourself and yours, if fortune fail,
From
a possessed sovereignty seclude.
Yea,
though this rash desire your judgement leads,
I
for my part must praise the gods for you,
They
have not put into the Persians’ heads
To
war against the Lidians long ere now.
Croes.
These flames that burn my brest must once burst out!
Your
councel for more quiet minds I leave,
And
be you still thought wise, so I prove stout.
I’ll
conquer more, or lose the thing I have.
Caelia.
Yet am I forc’d out of affliction’s store
To
ease my mind a few sad words to strain,
And
but unload it now to load it more,
I
empty but mine eyes to fill again.
My
soul must sound even as my passions strike,
Which
now are tun’d to nothing but mischief;
My
breast and eyes are both accursed alike,
The
cabinet of care, the cells of grief.
O
cruel heaven, fierce star, unhappy fate,
Too
foul injustice of the divine powers,
Whose
high disdain t’wards me with partial hate,
The
comfort of the world (sad world) devours.
Cursed
be the day in which I first was born,
When
lying tongues affirm’d I come to light:
A
monstrous blasphemy, a mighty scorn,
Since
t’was to darkness and a joy-set night.
O
happy if I then had chanc’d to smother,
That
the first hour had been the last to me,
Then
from one grave t’have gone unto another,
I
should have died to live, not liv’d to die.
What
profited to me my parents’ joys,
That
with such pomp did solemnize my birth,
When
I must be the mirror of annoyances,
And
all my days taste but one dram of mirth?
Which
serv’d for nothing but to make me know
The
height of horror that was to succeed,
I
was but raised up high to be brought low,
That
short-liv’d joys might endless anguish breed.
That
nothing might for my confusion lack,
All
my best actions but betray’d my State:
My
virtues too were guilty of my wrack,
And
warr’d against me banded with my fate.
For
whilst my Virgin-years with praise I passd,
Which
did (ah that it did) too much import,
My
modest eye told that my mind was chaste:
This
gain’d the warrant of the world’s report
(And
Maids must have a great respect to fame:
No
greater dowry then an unstain’d name).
Fair
beauty’s Goddess, thou can bear record,
My
offering never made thine altar rich:
All
such lascivious fancys I abhord,
My
free-born thoughts no folly could bewitch,
Till
happily (ah so it seem’d to some) ...
Ah
but unhappely th’event has prou’d.
All
this and more to Atis’ ears did come,
Who
straightway liked, and after liking lou’d.
Then
to our ears his purpose did impart,
Not
lip-sick-lover-like with words far sought:
His
tongue was but the agent of his heart,
Yet
could not tell the tenth part of his thought.
And
lest his travels should have seem’d to tend
To
breach my honour, work my fame’s decay,
He
brought his wishes to a lawful end,
And
by th’effect, th’affection did bewray.
Their
Iuno president of wedlock’s vow,
And
Hymen with his saffron-colour’d coat,
Our
love with sacred customs did allow,
Whilst
th’ominous Owls no cross did denote.
The
blessing that this marriage did procure,
It
was too great to have continv’d long:
A
thing that’s vehement can not endure.
Our
joys far past th’expressing of the tongue,
Who
ever did full satisfaction find,
Yet
with satiety were never cloy’d.
We
seem’d two bodies govern’d by one mind,
Such
was the happines that we enjoy’d.
He
lou’d me dearly, I obey’d his will,
Proud
of myself because that I was his.
A
harmony remained betwixt us still,
Each
in another plac’d their chiefest bliss.
This
mou’d th’Immortals to a high disdain,
That
thus two worldlings who of death were heirs,
Should
in a paradise of joys remain,
Which
did exceed, at least did equal theirs.
But
chiefly Iuno did despised it most,
Who
through a jealousy still jars with Iove
That
body-prison’d souls of that could boast,
Which
she (although Heaven’s Queen) had not above.
Thus,
even for envy of our rare delights,
The
fatal sisters by the heavens subhorn’d,
Of
my soul’s treasure closed the lovely lights,
By
which they thought the earth too much adorn’d.
O
but he is not dead, he lives in me ...
Ah
but I live not, for I died in him:
The
one without the other cannot be.
If
death have set his eyes, mine must look dim,
Since
to my sight that sun no more appear’d,
From
whom my beautys borrowed all their rays.
A
long eclipse that never shall be clear’d,
Has
darkened all the points of my sad days.
Ay
me! I live too long, he died too soon!
Thus
still the worst remain, the best depart,
Of
him who told how this black deed was done.
The
words like swords shall ever wound my heart.
Fierce
tyrant Death, that in thy wrath did take
One
half of me, and left an half behind,
Take
this to thee, or give me th’other back:
Be
altogether cruel, or all kind.
For
whilst I live, thou can not wholly die.
O!
even in spite of death, yet still my choice,
Oft
with th’Imagination’s love-quick eye,
I
think I see thee, and I hear thy voice.
And
to content my languishing desire,
Each
thing to ease my mind some help affords:
I
fancy whiles thy form, and then afire,
In
every found I apprehend thy words.
Then
with such thoughts my memory to wound,
I
call to mind thy looks, thy words, thy grace,
Where
thou did haunt, yet I adore the ground,
And
where thou stepped, O sacred seems that place!
My
solitary walks, my widowed bed,
My
dreary sighs, my sheets oft bathed with tears,
These
can record the life that I have led
Since
first sad news breath’d death into mine ears.
I
live but with despair my spirit to dash.
Thee
first I lou’d, with thee all love I leave;
For
my chaste flames extinguished in thy ash
Can
kindle now no more but in thy grave.
By
night I wish for day, by day for night;
Yet
wish far more, that none of both might be;
But
most of all, that banished from the light
I
were no more, their courses for to see.
At
night revolving my despaired estate,
I
go to sum with sighs my wonted joys,
When
in an agony, a griev’d conceit
Does
blot th’unperfect comped with new annoys.
When
Sleep, the eldest brother of pale Death,
The
Child of darkness, and Father of rest,
In
a free prison has confined my breath,
That
it may vent, but not with words expressed,
Then
with my spirit thou enter for to speak
With
honeyed speechs to appease my grief,
And
my sad heart that laboured for to break,
In
this fayn’d comfort finds a while relief.
Yea,
if our souls remained united so,
This
late divorcement would not vex my mind;
But
when I wake, it augments my woe,
Whilst
this a dream, and me a wretch I find.
O
happy, if I had been happy never,
But
happier, if my happiness had lasted;
Yet
had I in this State chanc’d to persever,
My
days had with excessive joys soon wasted.
Why
waste I thus, whilst vainly I lament,
The
precious treasure of that swift Possessed Time?
Ah!
pardon me, (dear Love) for I repent
My
lingering here, my Fate, and not my crime,
Since
first thy body did enrich the Tomb,
In
this spoiled world, my eye no pleasure sees.
And
Atis, Atis, lo, I come, I come
To
be thy Mate, amongst the Mirtle trees.
Chorus.
Loe
all our time even from our birth,
In
nought but misery exceeds:
For
where we find a moment’s mirth,
A
Month of mourning still succeeds.
By
all the evils that Nature breeds,
Which
daily do our spirits appall,
Th’infirmitys
that frailty sends,
The
loss of it, that fortune lends:
And
such disasters as oft fall.
Yet
to far worse our States are thrall,
Whilst
wretched man with man contends,
And
every one his whole force bends,
How
to procure anothers loss.
But
this destinys us most of all:
The
mind of man, which many a fancy toss,
Does
forge unto itself a thousand crosses.
O
how the soul with all her might
Does
all her heav’nly forces strain!
How
to attain unto the light
Of
Nature’s wonders, that remain
Hid
from our eyes, we strive in vain
To
seek out things that are unsure.
In
sciences to seem profound,
We
dive so deep we find no ground,
And
the more knowledge we procure,
The
more it does our minds allure,
Of
mystery’s the depth to sound.
Thus
our desires we never bound,
Which
by degrees thus drawn on still,
The
memory may not endure.
But
like the tubes that Danaus’ daughters fill,
Does
drink no faster then it’s forc’d to spill.
Yet
how comes this? and O how can
Divine
Knowledge, the soul’s chief treasure,
Occasion
such a cross to man,
That
should afford him greatest pleasure?
O
it’s because we cannot measure
The
limits that to it belong!
But
for to tempt forbidden things,
Do
soar too high with Nature’s wings;
Still
weakst whilst we think us strong,
The
Heavens that think we do them wrong,
To
try what in suspence still hangs,
This
cross upon us justly brings:
With
knowledge, knowledge is confused,
And
grows a grief ere it be long.
That
which a blessing is, being rightly used,
Does
grow the greatest cross, when it’s abused.
Ah!
what avails this unto us?
Who
in this vale of woes abide,
With
endless toil to study thus,
To
learn the thing that Heav’n would hide;
And
trusting in too blind a guide,
To
spy the Planets how they move,
And
too transgressing common bars
The
constellation of the stars,
And
all that is decreed above,
Whereof
as oft th’event does prove,
Th’intelligence
our welfare mars,
And
in our breasts breeds endless wars,
Whilst
what our Horoscopes foretell,
Our
expectations do disprove.
Those
apprehended plagues prove such a Hell,
That
we would wish t’unknow them till they fell.
This
is the pest of great Estates:
They
by a thousand means devise
How
to foreknow their doubtful Fates,
And
like new Giants scale the skies,
Heav’ns
secret stoverhouse to surprise.
Which
sacriligious skill we see
With
what great pain they apprehend it,
And
then how foolishly they spend it,
To
learn the thing that once must be.
Why
should we seek our destiny?
If
it be good, we long attend it,
If
it be evil, none may amend it:
Such
knowledge further rest exiles.
T’is
best to abide the Heaven’s decree.
It’s
to be feared, those whom this Art beguiles,
Do
change their fate and make their Fortune wheeles.
And
loe of late, what has our King
By
his prepossed’rous travels gained,
In
searching each particular thing
That
Atis’ Horoscope containd.
But
what the Heav’ns had once ordained,
He
could not by no means prevent,
And
yet he labours to find out
Through
all the Oracles about.
Of
future things th’unsure event,
This
does his raving mind torment.
Now
in his age unwisely stout
To
fight with Cyrus, but no doubt
The
Heavens are griev’d for to hear told
Long
ere the time their hid intent.
Let
Tantalus b’a terror to th’over-bold
That
dare Iove’s cloudy secrecies unfold.
ACT.
V. SCEN. I.
Cyrus.
Harpagus.
Cyrus.
Go, let us triumph over these unthron’d thralls,
Whose
maimed greatness to confusion runs,
Who
forfeited their glory by their falls:
No
hand that fights is pure, but that which wins.
The
ravished world that fraught with doubts did stand,
To
see the bloody end of this day’s toil,
Saw
how the Heavens placed lightning in my hand,
To
thunder on all those that sought my foil.
Now
therefore let us first devoutly go
And
lose our vows: the gods detest th’ingrate,
And
who delight t’adore their deities so,
Do
never fail t’establish their estate.
Go
load the Altars, smoke the sacred places
With
Bullocks, Incense, Odours of all kinds;
Though
none can give the gods that flow in graces
A
sweetr sacrifice then thankefull minds.
Har.
Though all that indenized in this Vale
Walk
here confined within this fertile Round,
And
are tapestred with this azure Pale,
T’adore
the gods by many means are bound.
Yet
there are some particularly, I find,
Whose
names are written in their dearest scrolls,
Whom
extraordinary favours bind,
Even
to prefer them to their very souls.
Of
which (sir) you are one: your deeds declare
Of
you amidst innumerable broils.
Even
from your cradle they have had a care,
And
led you safe through all your greatest toils.
Though
of the dangers of your youth I see
The
thought no more with grief your mind importunes;
Yet
I think on who had the hap to be
An
Actor in your Tragic-Comic fortunes.
Cyr.
The accidents that in our Nonage chance,
When
as our years grow ripe, slide out of thought
Like
fabulous dreams that Darkness does advance,
And
are by Day disdained as things of nought
(For
our Conceptions are not then so strong
As
for to leave th’impression long behind)
Yet
mix (dear Friend) old griefs new Joys among,
And
call afflicted Infancy to mind.
Har.
Who would not wonder at thy wondrous Fate,
Whose
ruin ere thy Birth appeard conspir’d?
Who
unbegun, seemed to expire that date,
Which
now begun, shall never be expir’d.
Your
Mother first her Syre with cares did sting,
While
as he dreamed, which yet his soul confounds:
That
from her womb there did a Vine-tree spring,
Which
did over-shadow all great Asia’s bounds.
Then
to the Mages straight he gave in charge,
To
try what this strange Vision did presage,
Who
having studied their dark Art at large,
Gave
this response with a prophetick rage:
That
once his Daughter should bring forth a son,
For
glorious Acts exceedingly renowned,
By
whom th’Empire of Asia should be won,
By
whom his Grandfather should be uncrowned.
This
to Astiages a terrour bred,
Who
labouring to anull the heavens’ decree,
Advised
as best his Daughter for to wed
T’a
powerless stranger, but of base degree.
Then
of Cambises he by chance made choice,
And
for his barb’rous Country’s cause the rather,
Whom
by your birth the Princess did rejoice,
And
further then before affright her Father.
Thus
tyranny by feeble spirits begun
Does
force the Parents in despair to fall,
A
dastard to attempt, proud having won,
Which
being feared of all, does still fear all
(And
tyrants no security can find,
For
every shadow frights a guilty mind).
This
Monarch, whom scarce Armies could surprise,
Whom
gallant Guards and Stately Courts delighted,
Who
triumphd over th’Earth, threatened the skies,
A
Babe scarce born, come of himself, affrighted.
And
whilst Lucina the last help did make,
As
if some ugly Monster had been born,
A
Minotaur, a Centaur or a Snake,
The
world’s terror, and the Mother’s scorn,
The
Nephews birth, that would have seemed t’impart
Unto
the Grandfather great cause of joy,
As
if the naked hand had pierc’d his heart,
Did
wind him in a maze of sad annoys.
And
to prevent a but suspected spight,
By
giving an occasion of just hate,
He
sought by robbing you the new-found Light,
To
make your birth and burial of one date.
Soon
after this he sent for me in hast,
Whom
at that time (and not in vain) he lou’d,
Then
showed me all the circumstances past,
Wherewith
his marble mind seemed nothing mou’d:
Out
of the which, as he would let me know,
All
complements of pity were not blotted.
He
would this superficial favour show,
Not
with your blood to have his own hands spotted.
Thus
having lulled asleep the conscience, still
The
wickd would extenuate their crimes,
Not
knowing those that but allow of ill,
Are
Actors in effect, guilty all times.
Yet
with his fault he would have burdened me,
And
willed that I an Innocent should slay.
I
promised to perform his rash decree,
Well
weighing whom, but not wherein t’obay.
When
I had parted from his Highness’ face,
And
carried you (then swadled) with me too,
Through
th’apprehended horror of my case,
I
stood perplex’d and wist not what to do.
Necessity
took place: I waild with tears
Th’untimely
funerals (as I thought) of you.
My
soul confounded, with a swarm of fears,
Did
with sad sighs my message disallow.
Yet
t’him I send a servant of mine own,
Who
for the time was Herdsman to the King,
To
whom I made all my commission known,
But
as direct to him show’d every thing.
Delivering
you with an unwilling breath,
Then
with a mantle of pure gold array’d,
I
threatened him with many a cruel death,
If
that your death were any way delay’d.
Straight
for to execute th’intended doom,
He
from my sight did all astonish’d go:
Too
great a charge for such a simple groom,
The
show of Majesty amaz’d him so.
O
what a wonder is’t for to behold
Th’unfailing
prouidence of powerful Iove,
Whose
brazen edicts can not be controlled:
Firm
are the Statutes of the States above.
That
mortal whom th’Immortals favour shields,
No
worldly force is able to confound:
He
may securely walk through danger’s fields,
Times
and occasions are t’attend him bound.
For
lo before the Herdsman was come home,
His
wife of a dead burden was delivered,
Who
wondered so to see her Husband come,
That
with a secret terror faintly shivered.
She
straight grew curious for to know the form
How
he a Babe so beautiful obtained,
Who
did her suddenly of all inform,
And
to what cruelty he was constrained.
See
quickly then th’occasion to embrace,
(No
doubt inspir’d by some celestial power)
Prayed
him t’expose her dead child in your place,
Yet
where no beasts repair’d him to devour.
“So
shall we have (saith she) a double gain:
Our
off-spring shall receive a Stately tomb,
And
we a princely infant, to remain
Still
nursed with us as th’issue of my womb.”
The
Husband liked so well his Wive’s intent,
That
all what she affected he effected,
And
soon I had one of my household sent,
To
try if all were done as t’was directed.
He
seeing the babe dead, dead in that weed,
With
that rich funeral furniture about him,
Told
what the fellow told, and I indeed
Reposed
on his report: for who could doubt him?
In
end, Time, posseding with hour-feth’red wings,
Had
given you strength with others of your years.
You
passd the time, not nephews unto Kings,
But
for that time admitted for your peers.
They
fail, call Fortune blind: she sight bewrayed,
And
your authority by lot enlarg’d,
In
pastural sports who still the scepter swayed,
And
as but born for that, that best discharg’d.
Then
with the other children, as it chanc’d,
A
noble man of Medea’s son remaind,
Who
swollen with envy to see you advanc’d,
Your
childish charge with scornful words disdained.
You
spighting at that proud attempt of his,
Did
punish him as it became a Prince.
I
doubt now (sir) if that you think on this,
The
rest of rashness did your deed convince.
Cyr.
More mighty matters now to muse upon:
My
memory with the remembrance cloy,
That
those are all forgot. And yet tell on,
For
I delight to hear this childish toy.
Harpa.
The father of the child inform’d the King
How
such a base-born boy abused his son,
And
caused an Esquire straightway you to bring,
To
suffer for the fault that you had done.
And
when the King accused you in his sight,
As
the presumptuous brat of a base clown,
You
boldly did maintain that you had right
To
scourge one that rebelled against your crown.
The
King astonish’d at th’imperious words
Of
one so magnanimous, and so young,
Does
pause awhile, and straightway he records,
That
you were you, and I had done him wrong.
The
tortour to the Netheard was presented,
Who
soon for fear confessed (O sudden change).
The
King as seem’d exceedingly contented,
Sent
one for me to hear the tidings strange.
And
as he had good cause, in show delighted,
Did
for a solemn sacrifice prepare,
And
me as his most special guest invited,
Who
with my son did straight to Court repair.
When
light was banish’d by night’s shadow sable,
The
candles by his forfeit taking place,
They
serv’d me with my son’s flesh at the table,
Then
did upbraid me with his bloodless face.
What
anguish, or what rage overflow’d my soul,
A
louing father may imagin best!
Yet
at that time I did my rage control,
But
laid it up for ever in my brest.
Cyr.
Some of the wise men then I heard remain’d,
Who
from their former sentence did recoil,
Saying,
no danger was since I had reigned,
And
so dismissed me for my native soil.
Where
when I had my unripe season spent,
Your
Letter came to give my fire new fuel,
And
told how many of the Medes were bent
T’abandon
their own Lord that prou’d so cruel;
And
wish’d if to that scepter I aspir’d,
That
I should move the Persians to rebel:
Which
did succeed even as my soul desir’d,
For
they disdain’d in servitude to dwell.
I
plac’d my gallant troops in warlike order,
And
lest th’occasion should have slipped away,
March’d
with my army to my enemy’s border,
Whereas
you had the conduct for that day.
Harpa.
Lo how those wretches that the heav’ns would wrack
Are
spoild of judgement! That proud Tyrant offered
The
charge to me, not thinking I would take
A
high revenge for th’injury I suffered,
Which
was so deeply rooted in my heart.
My
country’s thralldom, and mine own disgrace,
And
all the horrors that death could impart,
Seem’d
nought to me so my disdain took place.
Cyr.
‘Tis dangerous trusting one that’s wrong’d we see,
Just
rancour unreveng’d can never die.
Harpa.
That was the first beginning of your glory,
Which
since has been augmented by degrees,
And
which by time may breed so brave a story,
As
may be pretious in all Princes’ eyes.
Cyr.
Behold how Croesus, with his riches blinded,
Durst
come t’encounter with my warlike bands,
And
through a long prosperity high-minded,
Was
not affrayed to fall before my hands.
But
he and his confederates have seen
How
Victory does still my troops attend,
And
Persia must be once all Asia’s Queen,
Or
we shall
war unto
the world’s end.
Now
Croesus is overcome, rich Sardis taken,
And
Lidia fraught with gold is made our spoil,
Th’Egiptians
have th’unprosp’rous league forsaken:
This
is the happy end of all our toil.
But
ah one sorrow unseasons all my sweets:
Brave
Abradatus, my brother in arms,
Whose
praise through all the peopled circuit fleets,
And
with his love each generous courage warms,
Whilst
but over-bold for to be backed so badly,
Th’Egiptian
Chariots desperatly he charg’d:
There
with evil-fortun’d valour fighting madly,
His
soul out of th’earth’s prison was enlarg’d.
Harpa.
No doubt that dame this trouble hardly bears,
Who
only seem’d for him t’account of life.
I
heard him whilst she bath’d his Coach with tears
Wish
to prove worthy of so rare a wife.
When
their farewell was seal’d, last speechs spent,
She
kissed the Coach that did contain her trust,
And
with eyes big with pearl gaz’d where he went,
Still
till her sight was choak’d with cloudes of dust.
Cyr.
I hear you have not heard how his death prou’d
The
black beginning of a bloody scene.
His
wife Panthea, at the first not mou’d,
Seem’d
as she had some marble image been;
The
body that had oft her fancies fir’d
She
caused bear out of sight, still dear, though dead;
But
being to Pactolus banks retir’d,
She
in her bosom did entomb his head.
And
then from rage she did some respite borrow;
For
sorrow by degrees a passage seeks,
Vapouring
forth sighs that made a cloud of sorrow,
A
tempest then of tears rain’d down her cheeks.
And
whilst her eye the wonted object miss,
She
many a languishing look does cast,
And
on the senseless lips still lavish’d kiss,
As
affectionedly as in times past.
I
poasted thither for to have reliev’d
This
Lady of a portion of her woes.
Heaven
bear me witness, I was greatly griev’d,
Who
would, to save one friend, spare hosts of foes.
She
first a space me passionatly eyed,
Then
with these words her lips did slowly move:
“My
husband lo has valourously died,
Well
worthy of your friendship, and my love.”
When
I had all the flowers of comfort used,
That
a sad soul overcharg’d with grief could show,
I
went away with words that were confused,
And
scarcely could my last farewell forth throw.
I
was not well departed from her face,
When
as she char’ged the Eunuchs out of sight,
Then
pray’d her nurse to bury in one place
Her
and her Lord, as they deserv’d of right.
Then
looking on his corpse she drew a sword,
And
even as if her soul had flown in him,
She
stabbed herself; then falling on her Lord,
Her
beautys blubbered stars were waxing dim.
The
faithful Eunuchs, for their sou’reign sorry,
And
scorning to survive so rare a date,
In
emulation of their mistress’ glory,
Died,
violently partners of her fate.
O
sweet Panthea rich in rarest parts!
I
must admire thy ghost though thou be gone,
Who
mightst have made a monarchy of hearts,
Yet
loth’d unlawful loves, and lou’d but one.
O
wondrous wonders, wonders wondrous rare!
A
woman constant, such a beauty chaste,
So
pure a mind join’d with a face so fair,
Beauty
and Virtue in one person placed!
Both
were well match’d as any could devise,
Whose
undivided end their choice allows:
He
valorous, she vertvous, both wise,
She
worthy such a mate, he such a spouse.
And
Harpagus, lest that it should be thought,
The
memory of virtuous minds may die,
Cause
build a Stately tomb with Statues wrought,
Where
their dead bodies may respected lie.
Har.
I’ll raise a Pyramid of Croesus’ spoils,
Where
all their famous parts shall be comprised.
But
how t’insist in these tumultuous broils,
‘Tis
best now (sir) that you were well advised.
Your
adversary does attend your will,
This
haughty city humbled has her crest,
And
therefore go to pardon, or to kill,
To
save, or sack, even as you shall think best.
Cyr.
Abstract for old Croesus I am else resolv’d.
He
with some captives which I keep in store,
Shall
have their bodies by the fire dissolv’d,
As
offrands to the Gods that I adore.
This
city shall my soldiers pains defray,
Since
by their force it has been brought to bow:
I
yield it unto them as their just pray,
Who
taste the sweetness of their travels now.
Of
other things we shall so well dispose,
That
our renown over all the world shall shine,
Till
Cyrus name b’a terrour to all those,
That
dare against his sou’reignty repine.
ACT.
V. SCEN. II.
Nuntius.
Chorus.
Nun.
Ah to what part shall I my steps address,
The
burden of base bondage to eschew?
Lo,
desolation, ruin, and distress,
With
horror does my native home pursue!
And
now poor country take my last farewell,
Farewell
all joy, all comfort, all delight!
Chor.
What heavy tidings hast thou for to tell,
That
tear’st thy garments thus? Tell thy sad plight.
Nun.
I tell the wrack of us, and all that live
Within
the circuit of this wretched soil.
Cho.
A hideous shout we heard the City give:
Is’t
in th’enemies’ hands, is’t made his spoil?
Nun.
It’s made his spoil.
Cho.
And is our sou’reign kild?
Nun.
No, but yet nearly escaped does live in danger.
Cho.
Then let our ears be with disasters filled:
And
must we bear the yoke of that proud stranger?
Nun.
You know how Croesus at th’advantage lay,
Still
seeking means t’abate the Persians pride;
And
his confederates had assign’d a day
When
they should for th’intended war prouide.
But
Cyrus, having heard how that they should
Against
his State so great an army bring,
Straight
raising all the forces that he could,
Prevents,
invades, overcomes and takes our King.
Chor.
This shows a Captain both expert and brave,
First
well t’advise, then t’execute with speed;
No
circumstance (friend) unrelated leave,
Which
with our Kings did our confusion breed.
Nun.
When Croesus saw that Cyrus came so soon,
He
stood awhile with a distracted mind;
Yet
what time would permit, left nought undone,
But
made his Musters, march’d his Foe to find.
Our
Stately Troops that glistered all with gold,
And
with umbragious Feathers fann’d the air,
They
with unwary insolence grown bold,
More
how to triumph, then to overcome, took care.
The
Lidian Horsemen are of great account,
And
are for valour through the world renowned:
Them
Cyrus chiefly laboured to surmount,
And
this devise for that effect was found.
Untrusting
all their baggage by the way,
Of
the disburden’d Camels each did bear
A
grim-fac’d Groom, who did himself array
Even
as the Persian Horsemen use to wear.
To
them th’Infantry did follow next,
A
solid Squadron like a brasen wall;
But
those in whom all confidence was fixed,
The
brave Cavalry came last of all.
Then
Cyrus by the rains his Courser took,
And
being mounted, holding out his hands,
With
an assured and Imperious look
Went
breathing valour through th’unconquer’d bands.
He
willed all them that at Death’s game should strive,
To
spare none of their foes in any form,
But
as for Croesus, to take him alive,
And
keep him captive for a greater storm.
Where
famous Hellus does to Hermus possede
In
his broad waves t’entomb his strength and name,
Our
Army ran against a greater Host
T’enrich
it likewise with our force and fame.
Our
Troops a time with equal valour stood,
Till
giving place, at length we took the chance:
While
as the River ran to hide our blood,
But
still his borders blushed at our disgrace.
For
so soon as the Camels once were come,
Our
Horses loathing to endure their sight,
Ran
raging back again, and of them some
Disordring
rancks, put many to the flight.
Yet
others that were of more martiall minds,
Perceiv’d
the stratagem that did deride them,
And
lighting on their feet, like mighty winds,
Bare
down before them all that durst abide them.
There,
whilst: the world prou’d prodigall of breath,
The
headless troncks lay prostrated in heapes,
This
field of funeralls, proper unto death,
Did
paint out Horror in most hideous shapes.
There
men unhorsed, horses unmastred, strayed,
some
calld on them whom they most dearly tendred,
some
ragde, some groand, some sigh’d, roard, wept & prayd,
Fighting,
fainting, falling, desp’rate, maymde, rendred.
Those
that escapt, like beasts unto a Den,
Fled
to a Fortress, which true valour drowns,
Walles
are for women, and the fields for men,
For
Towns cannot keep men, but men keep Towns.
And
we were scarcely entred at the Portes,
When
as the enemies did the Town inclose,
And
rearing many artificiall Fortes,
To
the Defenders did huge pains impose.
There
all the military slights werere found,
Which
at the like encounters had prevaild,
Both
for to use th’advantage of the ground,
Or
for to help with Arte where Nature faild.
They
ever compassing our Trench about,
still
where the Walls were weakst, made a breach,
Which
being straight repaird, we threw tools out,
And
killd all those that came within our reach.
There
all the bolts of death edgde by disdain,
That
many curious wits inclind to ill,
Helpt
by th’occasion, and the hope of gain,
Had
power t’inuent, were put in practise still.
Yet
as we see, it oft times has occurrde,
Where
we suspected least, we were surprised,
Whilst
fortune and the fates in one concurrde
To
have our ruin in their rolles comprised.
The
side of Sardis that was least regardd,
Which
lyes t’wards Tmolus, and was thought most sure,
Through
this presumption, whilst t’was weakly gvarded,
Th’orethrow
of all Lidia did procure.
As
one of ours (unhappily it chanc’d)
T’over-take
his helmet that had scapt his hand,
Alongst
that steepy part his steps advanc’d
And
was returning back unto his Band:
He
was well markt by one that had not spard
No
kind of danger for to make us thralles,
For
Cyrus had proposed a great reward
To
any one that first could scale our walles.
And
this companion seeing without stay,
One
in his sight that craggie passage clim,
straight
followd on his footsteps all the way,
And
many a thousand followd after him.
By
whom all those that durst resist were killd,
The
rest were forc’d, and knew not where to flee:
For
every street was with confusion filld,
There
was no cornr from some mischief free.
O
what a piteous clamour did arise,
Of
ravished virgins, and of widowd wives!
Who
pierc’d the heau’ns with lamentable cries,
And
having lost all comfort, loathd their lives.
Whilst
those proud Victors did insist t’have staind
Themselves
with all the wrongs that such like use,
They
by a charge from Cyrus were restraind,
And
durst no more their captives thus abuse.
Chor.
No
doubt but desolation then abounded,
Whilst
with disdain the Conqu’rors bosom boylde,
some
with the sword, some with disgrace confounded,
sacred
Temples, private houses, all were spoylde.
None
can imagine greater misery
Then
all the suffrings of a captiv’d City.
But
whilst this famous City was distressd,
What
could become of the hard-fortun’d King?
Nun.
He
seeing th’enemie of his State possessd,
And
that confusion seazde on every thing,
stood
first amazd, scarse trusting his own sight,
His
formr fortune had him so transported,
Yet
it is hard for to deny the light,
He
saw a stranger that his wealth extorted.
And
when that he had deeply apprehended
Th’unbounded
horrors that overflow’d his soul,
As
one whose Joys had long before been ended,
He
could no more the signs of grief controul.
But
bursting out in bitter sighs and tears,
Plungde
in the deepst depth of black despair,
Through
over great fear, leaving all kind of fears,
Did
of his safetie take no further care,
And
never wished he so for a long life,
But
he over-wished it, wishing for death now,
still
seeking danger in the bounds of strife,
Prouiding
that he died, he car’d not how.
Whilst
thus he fossedred furies in his breast,
A
certain soldier by the way him meetes,
As
insolent as any of the rest,
That
drunke with blood, ran raging through the streetes:
And
seeking but an object to his ire,
He
made to him, and he to him again,
I
wot not which of them did most desire,
Th’one
for to slay, or th’other to be slain.
But
whilst so base a hand towring aloft,
Did
to so great a Monarch threaten death,
His
eldest son, that as you have heard oft,
Was
barrd from the right function of his breath.
I
cannot tell you well, nor in what fashion,
If
that the destinys had so ordained,
Or
if the vehemency of his passion
Did
breake the strings that had his tongue restraind.
But
when he saw his Syre in such a danger,
He
bursted forth into those words the rather,
Hold,
hold thy hand in haste thou furious stranger,
Kill
not King Croesus, murther not my Father.
The
other hearing this, his hand retyrde,
Then
call’d his Kings commandment to mind,
And
to no small preferment he aspyrde,
To
whom this desert did his sou’reign bind.
Now,
when that Croesus, who for death did languish,
Was
of this fair occasion disappointed,
Over-chargd
with grief, and surfeiting of anguish,
To
see himself for further evils appointed.
He
with sad sighs those syllables did accord,
Now
cruel destiny do what thou can,
Which
would not unto me the grace afford
That
I might perish like a private man.
Ah!
must I live to wish t’have been unborn,
Charactring
shame in a deyected face?
Ah!
must I live to my perpetvall scorn,
The
finger-pointed object of disgrace?
Yet
this unto his soul more sorrow bred,
He
King-like as in formr times arrayde,
Was
with a mighty acclamation led
straight
to the Tent whereas their Emp’rour stayde.
so
soon as Cyrus got him in his power,
He
causde bring bands of yron, burd’nous chains,
And
clogd him hand and foot at that same hour,
As
one that was design’d for grievous pains.
Then
causde in haste a pile of wood to make,
And
in the midst where all men might espy him,
Causde
bind the captiv’d King unto a stake,
With
fourteen others of the Lydians by him.
There,
as th’oblation for his Victory,
With
sacred flames their bodies to combure,
Although
Iove hates prepossedrous pietie,
And
does delight in offrings that are pure.
Now
whilst the fires were kindling round about,
As
one that to some powerfull god had vowd,
With
eyes bent up, and with his hands stretcht out,
O
Solon, Solon, Croesus cride alowd.
some
hearing him to vtter such a voyce,
And
seeing Cyrus curious for to know,
Now
of what Deity dying he made choice,
Did
pray him liberally his mind to show.
He
answered; upon one in wit profound
He
calld, with whom he wished, if it might be,
That
all the Rulers of th’inferior round
Had
had some conference as well as he.
For
he had told him whilst his fortune lasted,
As
one expert in good advises giving,
That
all his flowers of bliss might soon be blasted,
And
could not be accomplished he being living.
Then
he proceedd for to show at length
The
Dialogue twixed Solon and twixed him,
Who
prayd him not to trust in worldly strength,
By
which unto true bliss no man could clim.
This
speech mou’d Cyrus deeply, for to ponder
The
great uncertaintie of worldly things,
As
thinking that himself might be brought under,
Who
had no priviledge more then other Kings.
Then
having such a paterne plac’d before him,
Whose
far-changd fortune throughly was revolv’d,
He
freely did his libertie restore him,
And
willd him from the fire to be absolv’d.
O
now Devotion! well appeard thy force,
Which
binds the earth and opens up the Heaven,
In
the celestiall breasts a deep remorse
Was
strangely wrought whilst Coesus prayd; for even
Whileas
the flashing flames, in vain to quench,
All
men did labour, but could do no good,
The
cloudes were opend and a shour did drench
The
firie ashes of the flaming wood.
Now
whilst that Croesus coming from the fire,
saw
ruthles sould’ers sacking all the City,
To
save the same he had a great desire,
And
spake to Cyrus melting all in pity.
Great
Prince, for famous Victorys renownd,
Who
dossed in arms all others so surmount,
That
it contents me much to be uncrownd
By
one so worthy, and in such account:
And
since I am constraind your thrall to be,
I
must conform myself unto my fate,
And
cannot hold my pace whereas I see
Ought
to prejudge the greatnes of your State,
Which
ah! is wounded now with your own powers,
Whilst
this rich City is sackt and overthrown,
It
is not mine no more, no, it is yours,
And
therefore (sir) have pity of your own.
Yea,
though the loss of such a populous Town,
That’s
rich, that’s yours, your mind could nothing move,
Yet
think of this that does import your Crown;
A
piece of policie which time will prove.
The
barb’rous Persians born with stubborn minds,
Who
but for povertie first followd you,
Their
matchless worth in arms all Asia finds,
Their
fear is fall’n upon all Nations now.
But
if you suffer them in such a sort
T’enrich
themselves with plenteous Lidiaes spoile,
Not
able then their Conquest to support,
The
Victor of the vanquished gets the foile.
For
this will make them wealthigh out of measure:
Wealth
to confusion many a Country leads;
Whilst
feebled with delights, in-vild with pleasure,
No
thought of honour harbours in their heads.
Then
Cyrus straight approuing what he spake,
His
soldiers from their pillage were restraind,
Pretending
first the tenth part for to take,
As
a rich offring for the Gods ordained.
Of
our distress, this is the ruthfull story;
A
stranger is possst of this Prouince;
Our
King has with the loss of all his glory
Bought
breath a while, a poor thing for a Prince.
Chor.
O
wofull people! O unhappy King!
Our
joys are spoyld, his happiness expyrde,
And
no new chance can any comfort bring
To
either now, whose fall the Fates conspyrde.
Go
wofull messnger, hold on thy course,
For
to have heard too much, it yrks our ears,
We
ever must bewail thy sad discourse,
Accented
with sighs, and poynted with tears.
Exevnt.
Croesus.
What
needs me more of my mishap to pause?
Though
I have tasted of afflictions cup,
Yet
it may be, the gods for a good cause
Have
cast me down to raise a thousand up.
And
never let a Monarch after me,
Trust
in betraying titles glorious bates,
Who
with such borrow’d feathers rashly flee,
Fall
melted with the wrath of greater States.
O
had this pretious wit enrich’d my mind,
Which
by experynce I have dearly bought,
Whilst
fortune was within my court confind,
And
that I could not think a bitter thought.
Then
satisfide with sovereigntys earst prou’d,
I
had disdain’d new dangers to imbrace,
And
cloath’d with Majesty, admir’d and lou’d,
Had
liv’d with pleasure, and had died in peace.
Yet
it is wonderfull in any State,
To
see a worldling prosper, and not proud;
But
chiefly we whose fortunes grow so great,
It’s
hard for us to have our high thoughts bowd.
What
could the world afford, or man affect,
Which
did not glad my soul whilst I was such?
Who
now am past the compass of respect,
Plagu’d
with prosperity, clog’d with too much.
Long
luld asleep with scornfull fortunes lyes,
A
slave to pleasure, drown’d in base delights,
I
made a covenant with my wandring eyes,
T’have
entertain’d them still with pleasant sights.
I
held not from my heart none of her wishes,
But
wallowing in vain-glory this worlds toy,
still
serv’d with daintie, but suspitious dishes,
My
soul was sick with pleasure, faint for joi.
There
wanted nothing that might help to ease me,
All
did divine my will, ayme at my though,
And
strive to do that which they trow’d would please me,
Which
if I but allowd, no more was sought.
What
ever come of me was held of waight,
My
words were ballanc’d and my looks were markd,
Those
whom I grac’d were had in honour straight,
All
speeches in my praises were imbarkd.
I
in magnificence exceld all Kings,
Whilst
drowsie in security I slumbred,
My
coffers still were full of pretious things,
My
treasure infinite could not be numbred.
I
reard rare bvildings all emboast with gold,
Made
ponds for fishes, forrests for wild beasts,
And
with transported fancys uncontrold,
Oft
spent the day in sport, the night in feasts.
I
seem’d t’usurp the power that earst was Ioves,
And
of the Elements the course would change,
For
Stately fountains, artificiall groves,
These
were so common, they were not thought strange.
With
me (what more could any Monarch crave)
In
all the parts of pomp none could compare,
My
minions gallant, my counsellours grave,
My
gvards were strong, my concubines were fair:
Yea
ere my State was cast upon this shelfe,
I
wanted nought that could with seeming merites
Breed
wonder in the world, pride in ones self,
For
to puffe up the flesh and spoile the spirits.
Thus
pressing with delight the grapes of pleasure,
I
quafft with Fortune still sense-pleasing vines,
Till
drunke with wealth, and riotous out of measure,
I
card not to consume all Tmolus mines.
Then
wearie to be well, and tir’d of rest,
T’engender
discord I th’occasion sought,
Yet
for to cloke th’ambition of my brest,
Did
with devotion long disguise my thought.
I
send of all the Oracles to inquire,
What
was to come of this intended war,
Who
said as seem’d to second my desire,
That
I a mighty Monarchy should marre.
Those
doubtfull words I wresting to my will,
In
hope t’expugne th’impertous Persians powers,
Did
ruin quite whilst all succeedd ill,
What
many a age had conquer’d in few hours.
And
this most wondrous is, because most strange,
I
who disdain’d an equall of before,
(What
cannot Fortune do, being bent to change)
Must
a superior now serve, and adore?
What
eye not fraught with scorn my State surueyes?
Whom
Fates have forc’d for to over-live my shame,
And
in mine enemies danger for some days,
But
borrowd with the intrest of my fame.
Though
this sweet gale of life-bestowing winds,
Would
seem a favour (so it seems to some,
Who
by the baseness of their muddie minds,
show
of th’ignoble multitude they come)
I
scorn unlike myself for to be seen,
Though
to my comfort this appeard to tend,
As
if that all misfortunes past had been,
A
Tragick entry to a Comick end.
Of
all that plague my State the greatest pest
It
is base life, that faints from th’earth to sever,
And
has in one united all the rest,
To
make me die each day, and yet die never.
Life
in my breast no comfort can infuse,
An
enemies gift could never come for good,
It
but gives time of misery to muse,
And
bathe my sorrows in a bitter flood.
Ah!
had my breath evanish’d with my bliss,
And
closed the windows that give light to life,
I
had not apprehended as it is
The
height of my mishaps that now are rife:
Whilst
with a thousand sighes I call to mind,
The
death of Atis and mine own decay,
My
spirit in such perplexity I find,
That
to lives passage I would fain make way.
But
since I see reserv’d for further spight,
I
with sad thoughts must burden yet my soul,
My
memory t’a melancholious spright,
Of
all my troubles shall present a scroll.
Of
which while as th’account I go to cast,
Th’enormitys
still numbring of my fate,
I’ll
whiles look back upon my pleasures part,
And
by them ballance my (now) hapless State.
Chorus.
Is’t
not a wonder for to see
How
by experynce each man reeds,
In
practiz’d volumes pen’d by deeds,
Th’inconstant
courses that there bee,
Yet
whilst our selves continue free,
We
ponder oft, but not apply,
That
pretious oil, which we might buy
Best
with the price of others pains;
Which
as what nought to us pertains,
To
use we will not condiscend,
As
if we might the Fates defye,
While
as untouch’d our State remains:
But
soon the heau’ns a change may send,
No
perfect bliss before the end.
When
first we fill with frvitfull seed,
The
apt-conceiving womb of th’earth,
And
seem t’expell all fear of dearth,
With
the increase that it may breed,
Yet
dangers do our hopes exceed,
The
frosseds may first with cold confound
The
tender greens that dect the ground,
Whose
wrath though th’ Aprils smiles assuage,
It
has t’abide th’Eolian rage,
Which
t’overpass whilst we attend,
T’have
Ceres wandring tresss bound,
The
rains let from their cloudie cage,
May
spoil what we expect to spend,
No
perfect bliss before the end.
Lo
whilst the Vine-tree great with grapes
With
nectard liquor strives to kiss
Th’imbracing
Elme not lou’d amiss:
Those
clusters loose their comely shapes,
Whilst
by the thunder burnd in heapes,
All
Bacchus hopes fall down and perish:
Thus
many a thing does fairly flourish,
That
no perfection can attain,
And
yet we worldlings are so vain,
That
our conceits we highlie bend,
If
fortune but our spring-time cherrish,
Though
we have storms for to sustain,
Ere
to the haruest our yeares ascend,
No
perfect bliss before the end.
By
all that in this world have place,
There
is a course that must be run,
And
let none judge himself t’have wonne,
Till
he have finish’d first his race,
The
forrests through the which we trace,
Breed
ravenous beasts that do abhor us,
And
lye in wait for to devour us,
Whilst
brambles do our steps beguile,
The
fear of which though we exile,
And
to our mark with gladenes tend,
Then
balles of gold are laid before us,
To
entertain our thoughtes a while,
And
our good meaning to suspend,
No
perfect bliss before the end.
Behold
how Croesus long has liv’d,
Throughout
this spatious world admir’d,
And
having all that he desir’d
A
thousand means of joi contriv’d,
Yet
now is suddenly depriv’d
Of
all that wealth, and strangely falls;
For
every thing his spirit appalles;
His
sons decease, his Countrys loss;
And
his own State which huge storms toss:
Thus
he, who could not apprehend,
Whilst
as he slept in marble walles,
No,
nor imagine any cross,
To
bear all those, his breast must lend:
No
perfect bliss before the end.
And
we the Lydians that design’d
To
reign over all that were about us,
Behold
how Fortune too does flowt us,
And
has us vtterly resign’d:
For
we that had t’our selves assign’d
A
Monarchy, but knew not how,
Yet
thought to make the world to bow,
That
at our forces stood afraid;
We,
we, by whom these plots were laid,
To
think of bondage must descend,
And
bear the yoke of others now;
O
it is truth, that Solon said,
While
as he yet does breath extend;
No
man is blessed, behold the end.
W.
A.
Finis.
The
Tragedie of Darius. By William Alexander of Menstry.
Omne
tulit punctum qui miscvit vtile dulci.
London.
Printed by G. Elde for Edward Blount. 1604.
In
praise of the Author, and his Poem, a sonnet.
Give
place all ye to dying Darius’ wounds
(While
this great Greek him in his throne enstalls)
That
fell before seven-ported Thebes’ walls,
Or
under Ilion’s old sky-threatening rounds.
Your
sorrow-sweet sighs not half so sadly sounds,
Though,
I confess, most famous be your falls.
Slain,
sacrificed, transported, and made thralls,
Precipitate,
burned, banish’d from your bounds,
Whom
Sophocles, Euripides have song,
Aeschylus
end in Stately Tragick tune.
Yet
none of all has so divinely done,
As
matchless Menstry in his native tongue.
So
Darius ghost seems glad for to be so
Triumphed
on twice by Alexander too.
Io.
Murray.
A
sonnet.
When
as the Macedonian conquerour came
To
great Achilles’ Tomb, he sigh’d, and said:
“Well
may thy ghost, brave champion, be appay’d,
That
Homer’s Muse was trumpet of thy fame.”
But
if that Monarch great in deeds and name,
Now
once again with mortal vail array’d,
Came
to the Tomb where Darius has been lay’d,
This
speech more justly sighing might he frame:
“My
famous foe, whom I less hate, then pity,
Even
I, who vanquish’d thee, envy thy glory,
In
that such one does sing thy ruin’s story,
As
matches Homer in his sweetst ditty.”
Yet
joy I that he Alexander height,
And
sounds in thy overthrow my matchless might.
W.
Quin.
Eiusdem
in nomen Authoris Gulielmus Alexander, Anagramma. I,
Largus Melle Exunda. Tetrasticon.
Cum
tibi det Genius, Musa, ingeniumque, Poësis
Floribus
é varijs Attica mella lega;
I,
largus melle exunda, mellitáque funde
Carmina:
sic facias nomine fata iubent.
The
Argument.
Darius,
the fourteenth from Cyrus King of Persia, being after the death of
Occhus for his singular valour from the government of Armenia
advanc’d to the Persian empire, became so arrogant (Fortune, as it
were, setting him forward to confusion) as he sent to demand tribute
of Philip, then King of Macedonia; who, being of a haughty nature and
inferior to none of that age in courage or military
discipline, requited this contumelious message with as disdainful an
answer, threatening that he would come and deliver it in Persepolis.
But being prevented by death he left the execution of his design
to his son Alexander, who for the great victories which thereafter he
obtained was surnamed
the Great. He, inheriting the hatred of his Father towards Darius,
and far surmounting him in ambition, passd in person to Asia with an
army of thirty thousand
only.
After
his arrival, Darius wrote to him in a proud and contemptible manner,
ascribing to himself the title of the King of Kings, and kinsman of
the Gods, and naming Alexander
his servant. He also in vaunting manner boasted that he would have
that mad boy, the son of Philip (for so in derision he termed him)
bound and beaten with rods, and after brought to his presense
appareled like a Prince. For performance whereof he directed one of
his Minions with fourty thousand, to make impediment to his passage
at the river of Granick; where by the wonderful valour of Alexander
they
were overthrown. Darius, being advertised of this, came himself in
proper person, accompanied with infinite
(but evil ordered) numbers, and encountered
Alexander
beside Isso, in the straights of Cilicia, where, having fought a
doubtful and bloody battle, in end by the invincible valour and
never-failing Fortune of Alexander his army was defeated, himself put
to flight, and his mother, wife,
and children made captives. They were most courteously
entertained by Alexander who, notwithstanding their exceeding great
beauty, yet would not abuse them, or suffer them to be abused by
others, nor visited he them more oft then once (and that to comfort
them) all the time of their imprisonment.
Darius,
notwithstanding of all his losses (his courage being
in the full, whilst his Fortune was in the wain) wrote very proudly
to Alexander, taking still the title of a King to himself, but not
giving it him,
offering him as much gold, as Macedon could contain, for ransom of
the Captives. Which being very disdainfully refused by Alexander, he
having re-enforced his troops and coming forwarder to fight with
greater force then before, was enformed how his wife had died in
prison, whose death he bewailed with exceeding
great sorrow. And understanding what courtesy Alexander had used
towards her, he sent to sue for peace, not for any fear of his force,
but allured (as he alleged) by his courtesy. This suit
being likewise rejected, he fought beside
Arbela with no better Fortune then before; yet for all these
misfortunes being of an invincible courage, and dispairing of peace,
he re-assembled all his forces, which were augmented by the coming of
the Bactrians,
and was coming forward with intention at last either to die, or
prevail. But in the meantime two traitrous subjects of his own, to
wit, Bessus whom he had promoted to be governor of Bactria, &
Nabarzanes one in special credit with him, conspired his death. Which
danger, though it was revealed to him by Patron, Captain of the
Greeks, yet he could not, or rather would not eschew. At length,
those two traitors took and bound him with golden chains, and cast
him in an old Chariot,
with purpose to present him to Alexander. But they hearing how he
would not accept their present, and how he was coming to invade them,
threw their darts at Darius, and left him for dead. In this estate he
was found by Polistratus, and after
the delivery of some few words died. Alexander having exceedingly
lamented his miserable and undeserved end, directed his body to his
mother Sisigambis to be honourably
buried.
The
persons names that speaks.
Darius.
Sisigambis,
his mother.
Statira
Re. his wife.
Statira
Virg. his daughter.
Tiriotes,
their Evnuch.
Nabarzanes
two traitours.
Bessus.
two traitours.
Patron,
Captain of the mercenary Greeks.
Nuntius.
Alexander.
Parmnio,
his Lievtenant.
Hephestion,
his Minion.
Polistratus,
a soldier.
Artabazus,
a noble man of Persia.
Chorus,
all Persians.
The
scene supposed in Babilon.
The
Tragedy of Darjus.
ACTUS
PRIMUS.
Darius.
What thundering power grow’n jealous of my State
With
such hostlity my troops over-throws,
And
arm’d with lightning, breathing flames of hate,
Big
with disdain, high indignation shows?
Whil’st
sooth’d with self conceits asham’d to doubt,
In
greatness shadow I securely slept,
Lo
change-affecting Fortune wheels about,
And
ruins all that me from ruin kept.
Thus
I, whose only name amaz’d my foes,
Whom
th’earth ador’d as Monarch, once over all,
Am
so degraded now, and sunk in woes,
That
who admir’d my might, admire my fall.
Ah
then indeed I fell, when gallants stood,
And
Phoenix-like renew’d their life by death,
Who
having sealed their force and faith with blood,
Would
rather die, then draw a borrowed breath.
Yet
I, but then not I, view’d not aveng’d,
Those
monstrous mountains of my subjects slain,
Although
my conscience has my courage cling’d,
And
knows what valour was employ’d in vain.
Through
greatest dangers death I did pursue,
Till
heaps of slaughtered bodies barr’d my way,
And
chang’d my Chariot to a scarlet hue,
Ere
wounded honour could be drawn away.
O
how I envy yet their happy Ghosts,
Who
died whil’st hope of victory remain’d,
And
in the presence of two famous hosts
Left
bloody records that they died unstain’d!
Shall
I survive that soul-overwhelming shame,
To
be th’eternal stain of Persians’ praise?
No
rather let me die, and let my name
Be
quite exstinguish’d with my hateful days.
Star-boasting
Babilon, blush to behold
One
called thy King surmounted and abated:
How
may thy Towers but tremble, when it’s told,
Thy
Prince entreats, whom Princes earst entreated
Not
vassal-like? I will not yield to this:
Were
all my Empire to a period come,
Yet
none shall vaunt that ever I was his:
Hearts
holding courage are not all overcome.
This
tongue inur’d still to command does scorn
To
breath base words, to scape a minute’s pains.
Let
them obey, who to obey were born:
For
Darius this indignity disdains.
Since
I was once judg’d worthy to command,
Shall
I return to be a base entreater?
No,
whil’st a sword yields homage to this hand,
I’ll
not acknowledge in the world a greater.
Brave
spirits, who now possess the pleasant bowers
And
glorious gardens of th’Elisian plain
(For
if deserts may move th’infernal powers,
That
happy shade your shadows must contain)
Those
fields whereas your praises are set forth
Do
bury but your bodies, not your fame:
Men
shall adore the relics of your worth,
And
rear immortal Trophies to your name.
I’ll
sacrifice as incense to your souls
His
dying sighs, and sorrowing parents’ tears,
Who
now, while none his insolence controls,
Our
conquer’d ensigns in his triumph bears.
For
it may ease your Ghosts to hear his groans,
Whil’st
th’earth over-burdened sends rebounding back
A
plaintife Echo from the woods and stones,
To
sound through all the air his armies wrack.
Why
spend I speeches to disturb your rest?
What
idle disputations do I hold?
A
mighty furour has enflam’d my breast,
And
burns me, till I be aveng’d seven-fold.
Did
I that strong Cadusian first affront,
Who
durst advance himself to brave our bands,
Then
turn’d applauded, and in high account,
Charg’d
with his spoils the honour of my hands?
And
could I then all kind of doubt remouing,
Adventer
only to an Army’s shame?
And
should I now that ancient praise disprouing,
With
squadrons compassd lose that glorious name?
Blind
fortune, O, thy stratagems are strange:
Thou
wrack’st my greatness, wound’st mine honour to,
And
having made my State the stage of change,
Hast
acted all inconstancy could do.
Lo
I, who late of swarming troops did boast,
Am
spoil’d of all in whom I then repos’d,
And
those imprison’d, whom I fancy most,
Are
to th’insulting victors pride expos’d.
O
torment but to think, death to believe,
That
any may command my dearest part,
And
wretched I notable to relieve
The
Jewel of mine eye, joy of my heart.
Dear
object of my thoughts, my life, my love,
Sweet
source of my delights, my one, my all,
Bright
Image of excellencies above,
What?
do’st thou breath, and com’st not when I call?
And
can I be, and not be where thou art?
Has
heaven the force me from thy face to bar?
Or
are my hands grown traitors to my heart,
That
they should shrink from doing what it dare?
O
could my mind but distribute a space
These
emulating thoughts that toss my breast,
Among
those pointless Cyphers that spend place:
Then
I alone might animate the rest.
Since
in this great disgrace I chanc’d to fall,
Now
nothing rests to rase my fame forlorn,
But
to do desperatly, and hazard all.
I’ll
live with praise, or by my death fly scorn.
Some
prosperous issue afterward may purge
This
crime, with which th’event would burden me,
This
crime, that carries with itself a scourge:
No
greater torment than the want of thee.
But
what hope rests to re-obtain that treasure,
Which
avaritious tyrants once possess?
Another
now disposes at his pleasure
Of
all my wealth: how can I look for less?
Now,
not till now, I deem my State in danger,
When
I imagine how my best belou’d
Must
entertain my enemy a stranger,
I
being far from offering aid remou’d.
A
host of furies in my breast I find,
Which
do my soul with dreadful horrors fill,
And
foster in my melancholious mind
Strange
apprehensions that affright me still.
And
this surmis’d disgrace, grown throughly strong,
Reads
hourly in my ears a hateful scroll
Of
an imagin’d, yet recureless wrong:
Such
poison’d thoughts like serpents sting my soul.
Blind
love beguiles me not, sharp-sighted fears
Find
great apparances for to suspect thee:
Would
God I had no heart, nor eyes, nor ears,
To
think, to see, or hear thou shouldst neglect me.
This
aggravates the weight of my dispair,
When
doubt objects, t’annull love’s fast defence,
How
he is young and fierce, she young, and fair,
He
bent t’offend, and she exposd t’offence,
From
which I fear both cannot long abstain.
Her
beauty is sufficient to allure,
His
bravery is sufficient to obtain;
Captains
will force, and captives must endure.
O
Alexander, tender my renown,
Although
thou travel to usurp my throne!
I
rage to have a rival in my Crown,
But
in my love I can comport with none.
Load
her not with disgrace, and me with grief,
Least
so thou rob her honour, and my life;
Spare
in this point t’overcharge me with mischief:
In
all things else let arms decide our strife.
But
where does fury thus transport my spirits,
With
light belief my best half to mistrust?
Dear,
pardon, I trespass to wrong thy merits,
Whom
I have still found faithful louing just.
Pure
chastity does then most firmly stand,
When
fortified it is with wedlock’s band;
Yet
let me doubt, or let me leave to love:
To
fear the worst it is affection’s part.
I’ll
not mistrust thy truth? Yet it may prove,
Thy
face betray thy faith, thy hap thy heart.
But
on thy love approu’d my hope relies,
This
does dissolve suspition’s power to nought.
I
will repell reports as slanderous lies,
Which
second not thy virtue, and my thought.
Though
virtue’s foe, and worth-envying fortune,
Has
wrong’d my valour with an evil success:
Life
of my life, yet must I thee importune,
Join
not with her to double my distress.
Exit.
Chorus.
O
more then miserable mind,
That
of all things itself worst knows,
And
being through presumption blind
Is
puffed up with every wind,
Which
fortune in derision blows.
Such
one no stable bliss can find,
Whose
heart is guided by his eye,
And
trusts unto betraying shows,
Which
seem not as they be.
Oft
short prosperity
Breeds
long aduersity:
For
who abuse the first, the last overthrows.
A
dead security all care exiles:
‘Tis
no small danger to be happy whiles.
Who
on himself too much depends
And
makes an Idol of his wit
For
every favour fortune sends.
Self-flatterer
himself comends
And
will no sound advise admit,
But
at himself begins and ends,
And
never takes a moment’s leasure,
To
try what fault he may commit,
But
drunke with froths of pleasure,
Thirsts
for praise above measure
(Imaginary
treasure,
Which
slowly comes, and soon away does flit),
And
what is most affected at this time,
Succeeding
ages may account a crime.
A
Potentate that is respected,
And
by his subjects thought a God,
Thinks,
as his name on high erected
Has
what he list at home effected,
It
may like wonders work abroad.
O
how his folly is detected!
For
though he sit in Royal seat,
And
as he list his vassalls load,
Yet
others that are great
Live
not by his conceit,
Nor
ponder what he threatened,
But
plague his pride oft ere he fear the rod.
There
are rare qualities required in Kings:
A
naked name can never work great things.
They
who themselves too much esteem,
And
vainly vilipend their foe,
Oft
find not fortune as they deem,
And
with their treasure would redeem
Their
errour past. Behold even so:
From
blame who can our King exempt,
Who
his adversary to scorn,
Thought
he who in his name did go
The
laurell should have worn,
His
triumphe to adorn?
But
he with shame has shorn
The
fruits of folly ever ripe with woe.
An
enemy (if it be well advis’d)
Though
he seem weakened, should never be despis’d.
But
what? The Minions of our Kings
Who
speak at large, and are believed,
Dare
boast of many mighty things,
As
they could fly, though wanting wings,
And
deeds by words might be achieved.
But
time at length their lies to light
Their
sovereign to confusion brings.
Yet
so they gain, they are not grieve’d,
But
charm their Princes sight,
And
make what’s wrong seem right.
Thus
ruin they his might,
That
when he would, he cannot be relieved.
More
kings in chambers fall by flatterers’ charms,
Then
in the field by th’adversaries arms.
All
that the success has approved
By
Charidemus was foreshown,
Yet
with his words no man was moved:
For
good men first must be removed,
Before
their worth can well be known.
The
King would hear but what he loved,
And
what him pleased not did despise.
So
were the beater sort o’er-thrown,
And
Sycophants unwise,
Who
could the truth disguise,
Were
suffered for to rise,
That
him, who rais’d them up, they might cast down.
Thus
Princes will not hear, though such deceive them,
Things
as they are, but as themselves conceive them.
ACTUS
SECUNDUS.
Alexander.
Parmnenio.
Alex.
Behold,
the heavens with a benign aspect
To
prosper this brave enterprise intend,
And
with propitious stars seem to direct
This
great beginning to a glorious end.
Who
would be famous must of force aspire:
All
those astonish’d, who my troops do view,
Doubt
of those two which most they should admire,
My
coming, or my conquering with so few.
So
mighty minds t’achieve great actions bent
Force
Fortune oft to favour them in all,
Where
baser breasts devining evil event,
Through
superstitious fears procure their fall.
O
how I wonder, when I call to mind
That
monstrous camp, which not so much as doubted!
Dim
seem’d the sun, whileas their armour shined
Men
had not heard the thunder, whil’st they shouted.
Th’avant-courrers,
that came for to examine,
When
they so mean my numbers had perceiv’d,
Did
think them small to satisfy the famine,
That
their huge host of daughter had conceiv’d.
And
yet in end this prou’d a poison’d food,
Which
of their own to their confusion yields
Mountains
of murdered corps, and seas of blood:
Unburied
bodies buried all the fields.
So
now that few, whom they contemn’d so far
(See
how mortality itself deceives)
Have
far over-match’d their multitudes in war,
And
made the world waste to people the graves.
Then,
dear Parmenionn, since the fates afford
So
fair an entry to our first designs,
Let
us go prosecute with dint of sword
That
fortune, which the heavens our hopes assigns.
Parm.
This
high attempt, as we would wish succeed.
What
hosts have we overthrow’n? what cities raz’d?
Lo,
populous Asia trembles at our deeds,
And
martial Europe does remain amaz’d.
Proud
Greece, whose spirits oft preast to scorn the skies,
A
prostrate supplicant before thee falls;
Rebellious
Thebes, that durst thy power dispise,
Lies
now entomb’d within her broken walls.
That
sea-impyring Tyre, reposing much
In
liquid Castles, and a waving main,
Has
ratified thy forces to be such,
That
nothing can resist thy just disdain.
No
doubt the ancient Graecians ghosts are glad
To
see the fierce Barbarians brought so low;
Yet
are for envy of thy fortune sad,
And
though unbodied blush at this overthrow.
Miltiades
by all men was admir’d,
Who
once in Greece their flying troops pursued,
And
he that with a stratagem retir’d,
And
Salamina’s straits with blood imbrued.
But
yet for all the Captains of that age
The
Eastern Monarchs’ empire was enlarg’d,
Who
coming to their country, wars to wage,
The
sea with ships, the land with armies charg’d.
He
with more swarms of men then th’Autumns clusters,
Dri’d
rivers up, & march’d on Neptune’s back,
By
measure, not by number made his musters,
And
did attempt the mountains plain to make.
Then
Europe fear’d for to beforc’d to bow,
Wil’st
th’earth did groan to bear so great an host?
But
thou hast come, seen, and overcom’d them now
Even
in the bounds wherein their might was most.
That
haughty foe, who vilipended oft
Our
predecessours’ armies, and our own,
Now
laid as low, as he was once aloft,
With
his disgrace must make thy valour known.
He
cannot but acknowledge his distress
In
labouring first to have his friends restor’d.
This
message (potent Prince) imports no less:
By
his request thy conquest is decor’d.
For
the recovery of his captiv’d Queen
He
offered has innumerable gold,
And
would present a treasure to be seen
More,
as they say, then Macedon may hold.
My
counsel is that you accept those offers,
And
render her, as th’ancient custome binds;
Who
would make war must not have empty coffers:
For
hope of gain moves mercenary minds.
And
further, if those Princesses do tarry,
It
sumptuous is to entertain their State.
Women
and babes are cumbersome to carry:
Th’one
young in years, and th’other in conceit.
Alex.
If
I were come to traffic in this land
And
like a greedy merchant to embrace
Before
all hope of glory gain in hand,
This
your inviled opinion might have place.
But
soon I surfeit of such melting things,
And
famish but for fame, and crowns of Kings.
Parm.
So,
were I Alexander, would I do.
Alex.
If
I Parmenion were, so would I to.
Par.
Their
ransom would defray your soldiers’ fee.
Alex.
I’ll
rather without ransom set them free.
Parm.
The
good is lost that’s done unto a foe.
Alex.
The
greater glory to overcome him so.
Parm.
Gold
is the God that conquers in all parts.
Alex.
True
magnanimity does ravish hearts.
Parm.
Rich
treasures serve for th’arts of the war.
Alex.
No
but couragious hearts that all things dare.
Parm.
The
want of wages makes a mutinous band.
Alex.
But
who dare disobey, when I command?
Par.
Why
should you, sir, contemn so rich a treasure?
Alex.
A
noble spirit with praise no gain does measure.
Parm.
But
who delights in such an airy store?
Alex.
If
I be singular, I ask no more.
Parm.
Although
that you conceive no such suspicion,
Yet
I hear how your soldiers oft exclaim,
They
sacrifice their bloods for your ambition,
And
perish to perpetuate your name.
And
yet, without regard what they endure,
You
compass all the empire of the East,
And
more within your mind: this may procure
Some
sudden tumult, when you fear it least.
Retire
in time, while as the heavens are clear.
You
have perform’d, perform’d, and that right soon,
More
than your own could hope, your foes could fear,
Or
then the world can credit when ‘tis done.
Your
worth in war is wonderfully shown,
And
to the terror of all Asia tried:
Now
let your skill in peace be likewise known,
And
for the maint’nance of your State prouide.
Good
government the same of Kings does raise
No
less then conquest made of Realms and towns:
‘Tis
harder far, and does deserve more praise
To
guide then: get to keep, then conquer crowns.
Your
glory in her highest sphere is plac’d,
And
may not move except it be more low;
And
if it once discend to be disgrac’d,
Each
artisan your Statues will overthrow.
For
in the war, as you may well perceive,
No
little part depends upon fame:
If
we but once the least affront receive,
The
world will gather to exstripe our name.
Then
tempt not Fortune further than you need,
Let
reason bridle this aspiring thought,
Least,
whil’st your hopes with trophies fained you feed,
A
moment turn your travels all to nought.
Let
Darius be a lively patron now
Of
th’ever-changing course of States and crowns:
That
Prince to whom the Orynt once did bow,
His
desolation only now renowns.
He
scarsely loat length become content
To
call you King, though twice put in disorder:
In
dowry with his daughter does present
The
famous Euphrates, to be your border.
Or
otherwise he condiscends to give
Great
store of Gold, or what yourself desires,
If
that his mother, wife, and children live,
To
have them rend’red, as he oft requires.
And
let not vain ambition blind your eyes:
Remember
what strange nations will embrace him,
Whom
scarce he knows by name, or never sees,
Where
if he fled, your troops would tire to chance him.
Alex.
Peace,
peace Parmenion, now thou makest me rage,
With
these words unworthy of our ears!
It
seems the coldeness of decaying age
Has
kill’d thy courage with a frossed of fears.
Did
I abandon thee my native soil,
And
shadow’d with my Ensigns unknow’n coasts;
That
after infinite distress and toil,
Whil’st
in contempt of us our foe yet boasts,
I
should retire, effecting nought at last,
But
sharpened a desire, t’augment my merits,
Then
die in discontemment, when ‘tis past
The
time, that should have pacified my spirits?
No,
I will reign, and I will reign alone!
From
this design my fancy never wanders,
For
as the heav’ns can hold no sun but one:
The
earth cannot contain two Alexanders.
The
ample circuit of this spacious round
Seems
insufficient to confine my thought,
And
O would God there could more worlds be found,
That
many might t’adorn our deeds be brought.
O,
I could wish that th’Ocean were firm land,
Where
none but hideous Giants had retreat,
Such
as at Phlegra’s field in strife did stand
Against
the Gods for the Etherial seat.
These
could encourage martial minds to strike,
Who
being won would yield eternal praise.
I
conquer men, but many did the like,
And
after-ages may my equall rise.
But
since none such my triumphs are to grace,
Such
as there are I’ll to subjection bring;
And
here I swear no kind of ease t’embrace,
Till
all the world adore me for their King.
If
you or any else that live in dread
Withdraw
your selves, your Princes part despising,
Remember
always in his greatest need
You
fly to stop his honor in the rising.
Pass
home, and live like men in prison pent:
I
measure not my courage by my numbers.
Parm.
Your
Majesty misconstrues my intent!
You
know what I have told, what cares, what cumbers,
And
all for you: I to your eyes appeal,
Which
well can witness what my hands have wrought.
All
that I spake, proceed of a zeal
And
not of cowardice, or fear of ought,
Nor
match I will repose with honest pains.
My
courage is nor yet become so cold,
That
wounted vigour has not left my vains,
Which
spurred my spirit in youth, though I be old.
Alex.
‘Tis
not enough that you yourself be so:
To
be the same you should the rest exhort.
Is
he return’d, who was ordain’d to go
And
view the Captives, what does he report?
Parm.
As
we were since by some of them instructed
While
they as yet not of support dispair’d,
And
to a tent were courteously conducted,
Which
we of purpose caus’d to be prepar’d.
Even
in the way one fortun’d to espy
The
Diadem that Darius erst had born,
Which
on the earth so abjectly did lie,
As
each thing his calamity would scorn.
Then
they imagin’d, from his royal head,
Whose
dignity it sometime did decor,
None
could it cast, except himself were dead:
And
if so were, they long’d to live no more.
When
they had entered in the tent to weep,
Leonatus
came and at the entry knocked.
They
stood so still, he thought an yornie sleep
Had
lock’d their eyes, or else that he was mocked.
At
length by force he made a patent way,
And
was advanc’d them louingly to greet;
When
lo, these dolorous Ladies prostrate lay,
And
with a flood of tears bedue’d his feet.
Then
sobbing said, “We not refuse to die.
Let
us entomb first Darius like a King,
Then
when that we his latter honour see,
Death
cannot but a great contentment bring.”
This
so they urg’d, as he could scarce persuade
That
Darius was not dead as they suppos’d,
But
liv’d, in hope through dangers’ seas to wade
And
in the pow’r of other Realms repos’d.
And
further he protested on your part,
That
they might look for clemency and grace.
Thus
after that I had assuag’d their smart,
It
seem’d they longed to see my sovereign’s face.
Alex.
Of
my goodwill they may themselves assure:
I
never war’d with such as were subjected.
And
if my presence may their ease procure,
Straight
to their tent my steps shall be directed.
Exeunt.
Chorus.
Of
all the passions that possess the soul,
None
so disturbs vain mortals’ minds
As
this Ambition, that so blinds
The
sense of man, that nothing can control
Nor
curb their thoughts who will aspire.
This
raging vehement desire
Of
sovereignty no satisfaction finds,
But
in the breasts of men does ever roll
The
restless stone of Sisiph to torment them.
And
as his heart, who steal’d the heav’nly fire,
The
vulture gnaws, so does Ambition rent them:
Had
they the world, the world would not content them.
This
race of Ixion to embrace the clouds
Contemn
the State wherein they stand,
And
would all but themselves command,
As
one desire is quench’d another buds.
When
they have travel’d all their time,
Heaps
blood on blood, and crime on crime,
There
is a higher power that guides their hand.
More
happy he whom a poor cottage shrouds
Against
the tempest of the threatening heaven:
He
stands in fear of none, none envy him,
His
heart is upright, and his ways are even,
Where
others States are still twixted six and seven.
That
damned wretch up with Ambition blow’n,
Whileas
he turns the wheel about,
Whiles
cast within, whiles cast without,
In
striving for the top is still thrown down.
Those
that delight in climbing high
Oft
with a precepice do die:
So
do the stars sky-climbling worldlings flout.
But
this disease is fatal to a crown:
Kings,
who have most strive most t’augment their bounds.
And
if they be not all, they can not be:
Which
to their domage commonly redounds.
Too
great a State her proper waight confounds.
Th’ambitious
toyling to enlarge their State
Themselves
exceedingly deceive,
In
hazarding the hap they have
For
a felicity that they conceit.
Though
their dominions they increase,
Yet
their desires grow never less:
For
though they conquer Climats, more they crave.
This
is the misery of being great.
Such
eye-beguiling pomp is all but fume,
Such
glorious shows disguise the minds distress,
And
who to conquer all the earth presume,
A
little earth shall them at last consume.
And
if it fortune that they die in peace
(A
wonder wondrous rarely seen),
Who
conquer first their empire clean
Is
ruin’d by some persons of their race,
Who
coming to the crown with rest,
And
having all in peace possess,
Do
straight forget what bloody broils have been
Before
their Fathers could attain that place.
As
th’Ocean flows, and ebbs’ States rise and fall,
And
Princes, when their actions prosper best,
For
fear their greatness should oppress the small,
Are
of some hated, and envi’d of all.
We
know what end the mighty Cyrus made,
Whom,
while he striv’d to conquer still,
A
woman did most viledly kill,
And
in a bloody vessel rold his head,
Then
said, “Content thyself with blood.
Thou
still did famish for such food,
Now
quench thy thirst of blood with blood at will.”
Some
of his successors, since he was dead
Have
reign’d a space with pomp and yet with pain.
Now
all their glory cannot do us good:
What
they so long have labourd to obtain,
All
in an instant must be lost again.
Lo,
Darius once so magnified by fame,
By
one whom he contemn’d overcome,
For
all his bravery now made dumb,
With
downcast eyes must signify his shame.
Who
puffed up with pernitious pride
Think
still t’have fortune on their side,
They
cannot scape to be a pray to some.
They
spend their prosperous days as in a dream,
And
as it were in fortune’s bosom sleeping,
They
in this dull security abide,
And
of their doubtful State neglect the keeping,
Whilst
against lie ruin comes upon them creeping.
Thus
the vicissitude of worldly things
Does
to our eyes itself detect,
When
heavenly powers exalt, deject,
Confirm,
confound, erect and ruin Kings.
So
Alexander mighty now,
To
whom the vanquish’d world does bow
With
all submission, homage, and respect,
Does
fly a borrow’d flight with Fortune’s wings.
Nor
enters he his dangerous course to ponder,
Yet,
if that Fortune bend her cloudy brow:
All
those, who at his sudden success wonder,
May
gaze as much to see himself brought under.
ACTUS
TERTIUS.
SCEN.
I.
Sisigambis
Regina, Statira Virgo.
SiS.
O
Dismal day detested by the light,
And
would to God (but God neglects our case)
The
world were wrapped in a Cymmerian night,
That
no proud eye might gaze on our disgrace.
Why
did the heavens reserve my feeble age,
To
go to grave with infamy and grief?
Could
nothing but my shame their wrath assuage
Thus
offred upon th’altar of mischief?
Ah,
have I spent my youth in pomp and pleasure,
And
had my spring-time grac’d with pleasant flowers,
That
th’Autumn, which should reap the Summer’s treasure,
Might
be disastred with such stormy shores?
And
did smooth calms, and sunshines of delight
Make
all my voyage through the world a sport,
That
tossed with a tempest of despight
I
now might perish entering at my port?
Yet
for all this, were I expos’d alone,
Th’accursed
object of heaven’s plaguing-arms,
I
should not think I had just cause to moan,
When
I but wailed mine own, not others’ harms.
Ay
me, on those, whom more then life I love,
The
State-disturbing blasts of Fortune fall!
Yet
each of them some several sorrows move,
But
wretch I suffer ship-wreck in them all.
I
suffered when I saw Oxatres slain,
My
louing son, and most entirely lou’d:
Di’d
in Darius, when he tri’d in vain,
What
fates would do, yet still their hatred prou’d.
Ah,
do the destinies extend my breath
For
further evil? O extreme cruelty,
To
use so many instruments of death,
Against
one burdened with calamity.
Yet
Jove, if this may disenflame thine ire,
Let
all thy lightning light upon mine head:
To
be consum’d with a celestial fire
Some
comfort were, since that I must be dead.
Stat.
Reg.
Leave
mother these immoderate laments
To
me the very source and seat of sorrow,
Whose
days are burden’d with so sad events,
That
hell itself may of my torments borrow.
Lo,
the dear Lord and treasure of my thought,
Whose
presence I my Paradise esteem’d,
To
such a headlong praecipice is brought,
That
with the world his glory dead is deem’d.
Ah,
on what prop can I repose my trust,
When
first the greatness of his State I ponder?
Next
how his Diadem drenched in the dust
Was
Fortune’s Trophy, and all Asia’s wonder?
He
whose imperious speech the world respected,
And
as an oracle had in regard,
Now
vanquish’d and contemptibly neglected
Can
scarcely as a supplicant be heard.
And
yet I know this more his mind afflicts
Than
does the ruin of his regal State,
That
him my sight another interdicts,
Who
am the sovereign of his souls conceit.
Shall
he, pure quintessnce of my best part,
Than
only testify the love he bears?
No,
by mine eyes I will distill my heart,
And
for his sake dissolve myself in tears.
Would
God my breast like Cristal were transparent
That
all the world might see my sincere mind,
And
that my loyal thoughts were all apparent,
Whose
great affection cannot be confined.
They
have imprison’d only my poor eyes,
And
banish’d them from th’object of their joy:
My
fiery heart with winged fancies flies
And
where thou gost does still my steps convoy.
Thy
Queen is such, as whilst thou draw’st this air,
In
counting captives men may still accept her:
For
whilst thou liest, how can thy spouse dispair,
Whom
thou prefer’st even to thy soul and sceptre?
Yet
flatter I myself that am accursed:
The
apprehension, which with grief I cherish,
Of
thy mishap may serve to make me burst.
Ah,
ah I faint, I feel my spirits perish.
Sis.
Help,
help allace, allace! The Empress falls.
Sta.
Virg.
O
doleful day of darkness, world of woes.
Sis.
This
grievous spectacle my spirit appalls:
Heaven,
earth, and all are now become our foes.
Sta.
Virg.
I
may more justly moan than any other,
Whose
ears have heard the hard hap of my father,
Whose
eyes behold the anguish of my mother,
Whom
both do load with all the woes of either.
Stat.
Reg.
What
inhuman humanity is this,
With
such a cruel pity to oppress?
To
bring pale ghosts back from the fields of bliss,
Yet
to be plung’d in th’Ocean of distress?
O
unkind kindeness that by saving slays,
And
would with loveless love my love control.
Ah,
of this odious sun th’unhappy rays
Do
clear mine eyes but to confound my soul.
Sis.
Dear
daughter, strive your passions to restrain,
Least
that the torrent of your grief grow such,
That
it both carry you to a groundless main,
And
him overwhelm for whom you mourn so much.
No
doubt but he, if we rest captives thus,
Disdaining
these indignities of ours,
T’avenge
himself in re-obtaining us
Will
hazard all his Oriental pow’rs.
But
ah, what comfort can a wretch afford,
Whose
care-worn bread the word of woe contains?
Yet
though my heart would fain impugn my word,
I
hopeless speak of hope, t’appease her pains.
Stat.
Reg.
Such
consolations now came not in season,
Since
we must hold our grief the greatest good.
Dissemble
not your sorrow, we have reason
Yet
to sigh out our spirits and weep our blood.
Sis.
I
wail my son.
Stat.
Reg.
And
I my husbands fall.
Sta.
Virg.
I
wail my father, and in him us all.
Sis.
No
woe like mine, mine cannot be reliev’d.
I
wail his woe, who should my woe assuage,
Who
lives by me, by whom I should have liv’d,
Sport
of my youth, and piller of mine age.
Stat.
Reg.
No
woe like mine, who faithful to my fear
For
love of him all others had forsaken.
But
what a pheere? Myself, or one more dear:
Yet
from myself myself by force am taken.
Stat.
Virg.
No
woe like mine, who born a Monarch’s child
Thought
that my birth good hap should heap upon me:
Yet
all my expectations are beguil’d,
And
what I hop’d in most has most undone me.
Sis.
I
mourn for him who in my womb was form’d.
St.
Reg.
I
mourn for him in whom love me transform’d.
Stat.
Virg.
I
mourn for him by whom I formed was.
Sis.
Shall
I not see myself in that clear glass?
St.
Reg.
Ah!
Shall I never in his joy rejoyce?
St.
Virg.
Ah!
Shall I never hear his cheerful voice?
Sis.
Would
God from death my death might him exeem.
St.
Reg.
Would
God my life my lives’ life might redeem.
St.
Vir.
Would
God the life he gave him life might give!
Sis.
Must
these gray hairs my son’s green youth survive?
Sta.
Reg.
I
will prevent him and not live to languish.
Sta.
Virg.
Can
I remain behind to live in anguish?
Sis.
But
whiles our wretched State we justly moan,
We
may lament this infant too a space,
Who
in mishap inferiour were to none,
If
he could apprehend his tragic case.
Sta.
Reg.
O
then how can my heart but burst asunder,
Whom
nature moves most to bemoan his harms?
I
think I see the hosts of heav’n all thunder
On
me, my spouse, and this babe in my arms.
Dear
image of myself, in whom I live,
Thy
shape shames not the greatness of thy Syre,
But
of thy birth clear evidence does give:
Thy
sour-sweet sight adds coals to my desire.
Thou
that should comfort most, torment’st thou me?
Huge
hosts of passions now my soul assembles.
O
how I grieve! and yet am glad to see
Thee,
though not him, whom thy sweet face resembles.
Go,
bear this babe from hence: a wound too deep
Makes
in my breast compassion of his part.
Yet
let him stay; I joy to hear him weep:
This
motherly affection melts my heart.
Of
many woes this last is not the least,
That
unbegun thy glory must be ended:
Thy
fortunes sun, my son, set in the East,
While
thy fair-rising all the world attended.
Ah!
must this innocent taste of mishap,
Whose
tender age cannot discern his State,
And
be thus plagu’d, yea in his nurse’s lap
Inherit
woe by birth? Ah cruel fate!
If
thou could hope, what great hopes hast thou lost
That
art defrauded of so fair a throne?
Ah
in thy cradle must I see thee crossed,
Whom
I design’d so great when we were gone?
Yet
happy hapless child, thou can not know
From
whence the fountain of our sorrow flows,
Nor
what it is for to be high, or low,
Nor
on what thorn the rose of honour grows.
Yet
hast thou felt the prick before the smell.
Is
this the benefit thy birth-right brings
Here
in constrain’d captivity to dwell?
Then
better not be born, then come of Kings.
O
what a noise is that that does affright me?
I
trow to interrupt these tears of mine,
Least
that such sad lamentings should delight me.
They
will not let me plain, yet make me pine.
Or
is it some that does condole our case,
And
comes with pity mou’d to see us pin’d,
And
to behold how we can death embrace,
Death
sovereign salve of a diseased mind?
Sis.
By
many signs we may ourselves assure,
‘Tis
Alexander, whom we long’d not for.
Stat.
Reg.
What?
ah I die! and must my eye endure
Th’upbraiding
object which I most abhor?
Sis.
Suppress
such speeches now, least all go wrong.
We
are environ’d with outrageous hosts,
And
weakness must give place unto the strong:
For
Victors rage, when as the vanquish’d boasts.
I
will entreat him to, not for myself
(Mine
old age is become to death a debter)
But
that you may eschew this wrackful shelf,
Whose
flower pot faded yet deserves better.
Stat.
Reg.
No,
if you needs will sue, sue for my grave:
I
will not be indbted to him living.
I
rather death should once the mastery have,
Then
I should die so oft with death still striving.
ACTUS
TERTIUS. SCEN. II.
Alexander,
Sisigambis, Statira Regina, Hephestion.
Alex.
Rise
mother, rise, remove those causless fears:
I
come t’appease nort to procure your woe.
The
honour which I owe those aged years
Permits
me not to see you prostrate so.
Sis.
Most
gracious Prince, forgive me if I er’d,
In
taking him for you, that stands by.
Alex.
I
find no fault to see my friend preferr’d
Even
to myself: this is another I.
Sis.
My
sorrows so confounded have my mind,
That
scarce I know myself, much less another:
My
soul in such an agony I find,
As
if some mighty mountain did me smoother.
Alex.
I
pray you, mother, set those plaints apart:
They
vex me more then stern Bellona’s broils.
Sis.
This
tender name of mother wounds my heart,
Pronounc’d
by him who of that name me spoils.
I
was (woe that I was) a mother late
Of
two fair sons, fair sons lights of my life:
Now
th’one is dead, and in a worse estate
Does
th’other live involv’d in woe and strife,
Like
th’ancient trunk of some disbranched tree,
Which
Eolus’ rage has to confusion brought,
Disarm’d
of all those imps that sprung from me,
Unprofitable
stock, I serve for nought.
Stat.
Reg.
I
serve for nought, since him I cannot serve,
Whose
sight may only my dead joys revive.
I
with the famine of all comfort starve,
Since
I want him for whom I wish’d to live.
I
live without my half, without my whole,
Prodigious
monster, whom the world admires:
I
want the point, the Pilot and the Pole,
That
drew addressed, and govern’d my desires.
Now
toss’d with storms in th’Ocean of dispair
By
ruin only I attend relief.
Threatened
above with pitches clouds of care,
Threatened
below with swelling gulfs of grief.
My
soul seems to presage disastrous chances,
And
varying with herself has never peace.
My
hair oppressed falls into deadly trances,
My
eyes must grace the ground of my disgrace.
Hell
has assembled all her horrors here.
Ah,
in the concave of this cursed breast,
As
in the dark Tartarian groves, appear
A
thousand shadows to bereave my rest.
Alex.
Fair
Princess, spare those passionate complaints
Which
may augment, but not amend your harms:
This
voice, which with your woe the world acquaints,
Does
move me more, then all the Persians’ arms.
Madam,
take courage, be afraid of none:
You
may expect what help I can afford.
I
swear by Jove’s inviolable throne,
And
do protest by my imperial word,
That
neither I, nor any wight shall wrong you.
Yea
more then this, I lay my faith in hand,
You
shall be honoured here as does belong you:
And,
as it were, in your own Court command.
Sta.
Reg.
Ah
how can I command, whilst I am thrall?
What
can I have who wanting one want all?
Alex.
Though
it seem glorious in some victors’ sight
T’abuse
their captives, and triumph in ill,
The
larger grow the limits of my might
The
more I strive for to restrain my will,
The
safeguard of my favour shall extend
Not
only t’wards you, but t’wards all your train.
I
shall have care that who on me attend
From
offering wrong you, or yours refrain.
If
any press t’impugn what I appoint,
Or
would in ambush for your honour lie,
Or
discontent you but in any point,
As
Alexander lives, that wretch shall die.
Sta.
Reg.
O
what a host of evils, where ere I go,
Are
still encroaching on my downcast State?
And
must I be beholden to my foe,
Who
does devide me from my royal mate?
Should
he help me who would extermine him?
Cursed
be my heart, if it betray him thus.
Eternal
shadows mot these eyes first dim,
Ere
such a light be grateful unto us.
I
hold not of myself. Lord, I am thine:
Thy
love was sow’n not in a barren field,
But
in a fertile ground: this heart of mine
To
thee, my dear, no small increase does yield.
Yet
this good fortune does misfortune bring:
My
constancy shall now be clearly known.
Another
might have lou’d a happy King,
But
I will love thee though thou be overthrown.
Alex.
Fain
would I strive to comfort in some measure
This
mourning Queen, and mitigate her pain,
Whose
woe does make my victory no pleasure,
But
has ensowr’d the sweetness of my gain.
Sis.
Most
mighty King, thou do’st deserve indeed
That,
as for Darius, we should pray for thee,
Who
do so far in clemency exceed,
That
thou bewailst our loss no less than he.
Thou
hast not only by thy worth surmounted
All
other Kings in dignity alone,
And
benefits of Fortune most accounted,
But
in all virtues worthy of a throne.
Thou
do’st vouchsafe on me (more than I crave)
The
title of a Queen, and mother still,
But
I confess myself thy humble slave,
Whose
life has now no limits but thy will.
I
have all that imagin’d good forgot,
Which
greatness gave. I’ll look no more so sadly,
But
will alow of this my present lot,
And
bear the burden of my bondage gladly.
If
that this wretched woman here were free,
Who
has no heaven except her husband’s face,
I
could content myself (great Prince) to be
The
meanest handmaid that attends your grace.
Alex.
You
may command me as I were your son,
Whose
duteous love shall prove no less entire.
Sis.
Heaven’s
recompence the court’sy thou hast done
Which
all succeeding ages shall admire.
Alex.
Those
captiv’d Princesses have pierc’d my soul,
Who
ev’n amid’st our heaven have found a hell.
Hep.
What
stoic brow his passions could control,
As
not to weep, if he re-marked well
The
tears of these fair Ladys causing wonder
Who
need not challenge nature of her duty?
But
born to bring, although they be brought under,
Give
grief a grace for to apparrel beauty.
Sir,
such a victory has not been seen
As
you have gain’d, whose greatness well appears:
The
largest kingdom and the fairest Queen,
That
Asia vaunted of these many years.
Durst
Leda’s or Agenor’s brood compare
With
that sweet Queen, the honour of her kind?
But
as she is above all other fair,
As
far her daughters make her go behind.
It
seem’d at first that sorrow had been sleeping
While
as these Virgins in their Grand-dame’s bosom
With
weeping beauty, and with beauty’s weeping
Did
with a hail of pearl blast beauty’s blossom.
So
large a pow’r is to no Prince allotted,
As
to loves Empire in their face confynd.
Alex.
O
how is my Hephestion thus assotted?
Dare
folly seek t’assault so brave a mind?
Dare
Cupid enter in an armed camp,
And
Mars’ own minions thus presume to danton?
Must
his soft seal steel-wearing stomachs stamp,
And
make them tributaries to that wanton?
Hep.
We
dare resist (whil’st many a thousand dies)
Against
th’invasion of a world of men,
Yet
if in ivory orbes two sunny eyes
Assault
the soul at unawares. O then
Some
secret sympathy, some un-known motion
So
charms the mind, that vain are all defenses.
The
heart drunk with the eyes’ contagious potion
Corrupts
the spirits and poisons all the senses.
Alex.
But
I in my conceit do scorn all such!
No,
I resolve to be a thrall to none;
Yea,
ere I but abase myself so much,
I’ll
rather die ten thousand deaths in one.
Should
I be bound with will affections chains,
As
one oblivious of my former same?
This
resolution still my soul retains,
To
balance nothing with a noble name.
O
what a great indignity is this
To
see a Conquerour to his lust a slave?
Who
would the title of true worth were his
A
mind surmounting every vice must have.
The
bravest trophy ever man obtain’d
Is
that, which ou’r himself himself has gain’d.
Hep.
I
joy, my sovereign, that as you excel
Not
only men, but Mars himself in arms.
So
you by virtue’s might the power repel
Of
beauty, love, and Citherea’s charms.
Your
virtue bright, whose rays shine in your words
And
thence to heart’s centre are reflected,
Now
over myself such pow’r to me affords,
That
with fond love I loth to he infected.
ACTUS
TERTIUS. SCEN. III.
Bessus,
Narbazanes.
Bes.
Now
since, Narbazanes, we are come hither,
Let
us accomplish what we have intended
And
join our wit, our force, and all together,
That
it may be no sooner known than ended.
You
see occasion calls us, whil’st we sleep,
And
points us out the way to be advanc’d;
Yea
blames our sluggishness that cannot keep
The
course of things which for our weal have chanc’d.
The
heavens abhor our King, and strive t’undo him.
Nothing
does prosper that he enterprises:
Some
new disaster daily falls unto him,
Some
cross o’er-thwarts all things that he devises.
In
no strict limits should our thoughts be bounded
Whom
so great happiness seems to importune,
For
since our King is like to be confounded,
Upon
his fall we both may build our fortune.
Na.
I
shall not fail for to perform my part.
I
of your words exceedingly allow:
Honour,
and wealth are the idols of my heart,
Which
if I may obtain, I care not how.
And
yet I would we had some fair pretence:
Our
country’s care must seem our souls to comber,
This
seeming zeal must shadow our offence:
For
such a show will satisfy a number.
Let
us be well advis’d, ere we resolve:
And
then endevour t’execute it soon.
If
we ourselves once in this work involve,
And
then not finish it, we are undone.
Bes.
He
has sent one to Alexander late
To
speak of peace, but did the same in vain:
And
now involv’d in a despair’d estate,
Bar’d
from accord, he cannot wary sustain.
His
purpose is his Captains to convene,
To
ask of them some counsell for his safety.
A
time more fit for us could not have been:
Who
mind to compass Kings must needs be crafty.
For
to achieve that which we think to do,
A
course more fit we by no means could find,
Than
crooked seeming-upright counsel to
Disguise
our practises, and mask our mind.
We
will advise him to renounce a space
His
State to someone, whom he may desire.
But
for the fashion to accept his place,
And
as himself a certain time impire,
Whose
better fortune may perchance bring back
That
which his ever ebbing bears away.
Then
he again his Diadem shall take,
And
as before the regal sceptre sway.
Na.
Well
then amongst ourselves, t’auoid debate
(Which
undermines so many a mighty action)
I
will prefer you to the imperial seat,
And
to approve the same will frame my faction.
Bes.
All
that is one, which of us two receive it,
Since
everything does equally belong us.
I’ll
take it for the form, not that I crave it,
For
we will part his Empire all among us.
But
if he condescend to this we crave,
Which
at the first unfolding would seem good,
Let
him not think us two such fools to leave
That
which so many Monarchs buy with blood.
Who
once advanc’d would willingly go down,
And
not love in authority to stand?
‘Tis
not the custom so to quite a Crown,
When
one has know’n how sweet it’s to command.
This
name of faith but to get credit fain’d,
If
it were ballanc’d with a kingdom, straight
In
them whose consciences are most restrain’d
T’would
soon succumb: a scepter has such waight.
Na.
Yet
to betray our King we have no reason:
When
I muse on th’attempt it makes me sorry,
Our
name stain’d with this odious still of treason
Shall
leave our successours more shame, than glory.
We
first must end all our designs with pain,
Than
reign with fear, and live securely never,
As
in a dream a space with pomp remain,
Then
die disgrac’d, infamy forever.
The
sacred title of a sovereign King
Does
strike a terror in my troubled thought,
And
Majesty, t’amaze my mind, does bring,
Whose
aspect only has great wonders wrought.
Bes.
To
idle sounds and frivolous reports
Give
thou a passport, for they last not long:
And
all that thou alledge nought imports.
A
Crown may cover any kind of wrong:
What
hainous thing so odious is by nature,
That
for a Kingdom has not been committed?
To
be a King let me be call’d a traitour;
Faith,
if for ought, for this may be omitted.
Those
are but feeble brains, which fancies load
With
timorous dreams, that bare surmising brings.
Who
fear vain shadows must not come abroad:
Too
wary-wits dare never work great things.
If
our brave project happily succeed
(As
now I doubt not but it shall do soon)
We
straight will find enough t’applaud our deed,
And
sooth us up in all that we have done.
Na.
To
have the time and manner then prefixed,
Command
the Bactrians all themselves to arm,
And
to attend till we advertise next,
Prompt
for all perils at the first alarm.
Then
through the Camp a rumour we will spread,
That
hopeless Darius has dispairedly gone
With
violence to dwell amongst the dead,
And
seem therefore excessively to moan.
The
Persians we with promises must feed,
So
to disarm him of his native pow’rs;
Then
we will apprehend himself with speed.
For
while that he is free nothing is ours,
That
we may seem to use him with respect,
(As
to the State of such a Prince pertains)
We
will not this last ornament neglect.
He
shall be bound, but bound with golden chains.
To
Alexander after we will send,
And
offer Darius in his hands t’appease him,
Then
crave his favour, that he will defend
Us
as his friends, who have done all to please him.
If
his good-will we cannot thus procure,
And
he us with extremity pursue,
With
Darius’ death we will our States assure,
Then
raise fresh forces, and the wars renew.
Bos.
Let
us henceforth for nothing be dismayed,
But
strive ourselves courageously to bear:
This
dangerous action would not be delay’d,
Least
time work his assurance, and our fear.
Exevnt.
Chorus.
Time,
through Jove’s judgement just,
Huge
alterations brings.
Those
are but fools that trust
In
transitory things,
Whose
tails bear mortal stings,
Which
in the end will wound.
And
let none think it strange,
Though
all things earthly change
In
this inferiour round.
What
is from ruin free?
The
elements which be
At
variance (as we see)
Each
other do confound:
The
earth and air make war,
The
fire and water are
Still
wrestling at debate.
All
those through cold and heat,
Through
drought, and moisture jar:
No
wonder though men change and fade,
Who
of those changing elements are made.
How
dare vain worldlings vaunt
Of
fortune’s goods not lasting,
Evils
that our wits enchaunt,
Expos’d
to loss and wasting.
Lo
we to death are hasting,
Whilst
we these things discuss.
All
things from their beginning,
Unto
an end are running:
Heaven
has ordain’d it thus.
We
hear how heaven does thunder,
We
see th’earth burst asunder,
And
yet we never ponder,
What
this imports to us.
Those
fearful signs do prove,
That
th’angry pow’rs above
Are
mou’d to indignation
Against
this wretched nation,
Which
they no longer love.
What
are we but a puffe of breath,
Who
live assur’d of nothing but of death?
Who
was so happy yet,
As
never had some cross?
Though
on a Throne he sit,
And
is not us’d with loss,
Yet
fortune once will toss
Him,
when that least he would.
If
one had all at ones
Hydaspes’
pretious stones,
And
yellow Tagus’ gold,
All
th’Orient’s all treasure,
And
every earthly pleasure,
Even
in the greatest measure,
It
should not make him bold.
For
while he lives secure,
His
State is most unsure.
When
it does least appear,
Some
heavy plague draws near,
Destruction
to procure.
We
may compare th’earth’s glory to a flower,
That
flourishes and fades in an hour.
In
what we most repose
We
find our comfort light,
The
thing we soonest lose
That’s
precious in our sight.
For
honour, riches, might
Our
lives in hand we lay;
Yet
all like flying shadows,
Or
flowers enambling medows,
Evanish
and decay.
Long
time we toil to find
Those
idols of the mind,
Which
got we cannot bind
T’abide
with us one day.
Then
why should we presume
On
treasures that consume,
Difficult
to obtain,
Difficult
to retain,
A
dream, a breath, a fume,
Which
vex them most who them possess,
Who
starve with store, and famish with excess?
ACTUS
QUARTUS. SCEN. I.
Darius,
Tiriotes.
Tir.
Ah,
must I poison now my Prince’s ears
With
the worst news that ever burthe’d fame?
Had
I as many tongues, as I have tears,
All
would not serve my sorrows to proclaim.
Dar.
Great
signs of grief I in thy face discern.
Spare
not for to report this heavy cross
To
one, I fear, whom it does most concern.
Is’t
death, disgrace, distruction, treason, loss?
Tell
on the sum of honour at the first,
With
no ambiguous words my pain prolongue.
‘Tis
comfort to a wretch to know the worst,
And
I have learn’d to be unhappy long.
What
least I speak, and yet suspect too much,
Ist
some ludibrious message of my scorn,
Which
must wound me? but ah no torment such,
As
this to them who that disgrace have born.
Tir.
She
was not wrong’d, as you have misconceiv’d.
The
Gods have had a care for to preserve her:
Such
favour of the victour she receiv’d,
As
of her subjects that were bound to serve her.
But
what a volly does my voice prepare
Of
woes to charge your ears, woes full of dread?
Would
God ere I the sum thereof declare,
That
I might die in saying she is dead.
Cursed
captive, was it not enough, alas,
That
I beheld her die, and would have died,
But
that I must arm’d with sad tidings pass
To
wound all them that hear what I have spied?
See
how he fares shot with these words of mine,
As
one become the prey of grief and death.
Dar.
Yet
does the sun on my affliction shine,
And
sees the air infected with my breath,
And
can I live, and look them in the face,
That
have my ignominious over-throw seen?
And
how I vanquish’d, vanquish’d with disgrace
Engag’d
at once my kingdom, and my Queen?
Heaven
burn me all to powder with thy thunder,
That
I no more may in the world remain
The
object of thy wrath, and Fortune’s wonder,
Spoil’d
of all hope, yet kept for greater pain.
Ah!
art thou dead, and do I lie behind thee?
Thy
faulty husband thinkst thou so to fly?
If
it be thus, then I know where to find thee.
This
only grieves me that too late I die.
O
Alexander, what such heinous ill
Have
I done thee, that thou requit’st me thus?
Whom
of thy friends, or kindred did I kill?
This
cruelty comes undeserv’d of us.
Think
that thou had just causes to make war,
Yet
upon women should thy wrath be wroken?
This
Tiranny shall all thy Triumph mar,
And
ever shall to thy reproach be spoken.
Tir.
Sir,
without cause you guilty him esteem.
I
know her death did grievously displease him:
A
wondrous thing (which few, or none would deem)
He
took it so, that nothing could appease him.
Even
as my sovereign now, so then he smarted,
And
when he came to ease your mother’s grief,
As
if that his own mother had departed,
He
seem’d to need, not for to give relief.
Dar.
If
any sparks of that respect remain,
Which
should with reason move thy mind to ruth,
I
pray thee Tiriotes now be plain,
Or
else strange torments shall exact the truth:
I
loath to let this question scape my mouth,
Which
both I blush to crave, and long to know.
Is’t
possible so insolent a youth
Did
never tempt the treasure which I owe?
Could
this imperious Prince in flower of age
Have
such a peerless beauty in his power,
And
yet not seek to quench his ardent rage
With
the destruction of her honour’s flower?
Spare
not to tell upon what deadly shelf
My
joy is perish’d quite, and I defac’d.
The
fear of evil is worse then th’evil itself:
I’ts
to die twice, to die, and die disgrac’d.
Tir.
Let
not those love-bred fears abuse your thought:
By
all the world no fable I contrive.
If
I speak partially, or lie in ought,
Earth
open up, and swallow me alive.
He
whom your Grace so wrongfully suspects,
No,
not in thought, has once your Queen abus’d,
But
as his sister still in all respects,
As
chastly, and as honourablie us’d.
When
fortune first our warlike troops had scattered,
And
with great slaughter put them all to flight,
We,
whom she late so lovingly had flattered,
Were
made the patterns of that changling’s might:
For
having found a Crown troad on the ground.
Dar.
O
lasting shame that cannot be recurr’d!
Tir.
We
straight imagin’d that some cruel wound
Had
killed my Lord, and wail’d it as assur’d.
Dar.
Would
God I then had died, as I desir’d,
So
t’have prevented those ensuing harms:
Before
my honour and my hap expir’d,
With
Crown on head, and with my Queen in arms.
Tir.
But
Alexander having heard our cries
Sent
one t’enquire th’occasion of our woe,
Who
finding whence our errour did arise
Gave
full assurance that it was not so.
Then
he himself unto our tent resorted,
And
with most courteous speechs full of love
Your
mother, wife, and children oft exhorted
Such
vain surmized terrors to remove,
With
protestation that they should expect
No
harm of him their courage to appal.
Each
thing he did accordingly direct,
That
no man might endomage them at all.
Thus
having them against all dangers arm’d
(I
think for fear, for who would not have fear’d
Least
such an Angels graces had him charm’d)
He
never more before her face appear’d.
Or
was it virtue that would fly the sting
Of
trustless pleasures that abuse the sense?
So
continent a victor, and a king
Was
never seen. He fled what caus’d offence.
He
does his fame above all things prefer,
And
will not be where it may blemish find,
Nor
give his eyes commodity to err,
Nor
suffer impure thoughts to stain his mind.
He
stay’d till that fair face had lost all vigour,
And
with the coulours of pale death was painted.
Dar.
Injurious
heaven that with such hellish rigour
The
purest work that nature made has tainted!
Tir.
When
he beheld death’s triumph in that face,
Which
late had triumph’d ou’r a Monarch’s heart,
He
moan’d no less her miserable case,
Then
you that lost in her your better part.
And
when some days his dolour had ov’rcome,
Her
funerals solemnly to decore
He
us’d such honour, as might well become
The
Persian pomp in prosperous times before.
Dar.
O
supreme pow’r that of Empires dispose,
And
ratify thy will with fearful thunder,
Who,
as thou please, place and depose
Uncertain
worldlings whiles above, whiles under,
I
pray thy Deity in my soul’s distress:
If
that th’inhabitants of heaven can hear
The
plaints of those who this low point possess,
Or
that th’immortal can give mortals ear,
Vouchsafe
this my last suit for to fulfil!
Establish
first this sceptre in my hand,
But
if through my deserving, or thy will
The
race of Cyrus must no more command,
And
if thy heavenly breast such hate contracts,
That
I must needs my Diadem forgo,
Let
him succeed who proves in all his acts
So
just a Victor, and so mild a foe.
ACTUS
QUARTUS. SCEN.II.
Darius,
Artabazus, Narbazenes Patron, Bessus.
Dar.
If
Fortune had joined me with dastard minds,
Who
to a noble death base life prefer’d,
I
should not argue here unto the winds,
But
be content to have my fate defer’d.
O,
I repent I prov’d your worth too much,
Who
still have follow’d me in all estates:
I
rather should, then doubt that you are such,
Prease
to prove worthy of so worthy mates.
You
only rest of all that I conducted,
Of
whose great force and faith, which many sing.
I
by two fights and flights have been instructed:
Yet
having you I think myself a King.
He
has plac’d traitors in my towns most ample,
Not
that he honors them (he hates their humour)
But
to seduce you to by their example,
Then
banish all for every little rumour.
You
have not to my Fortune had regard,
But
freely-follow’d my evil fortun’d wars:
Which,
though that I might not, Iove would reward,
And
all the world extoll you to the stars.
How
long shall I a vagabond remain,
And
fly a stranger who my right would reave?
Since
by one battle we may reobtain
All
that we lost, or lose all that we have,
Like
those will traitours, whom I will arreign
To
hold me up, shall I go cast me down?
Must
Darius only by entereaty reign?
No,
none has pow’r to take, or give my Crown.
I
shall not my authority survive,
Nor
will I proffer a submissive breath.
My
hand shall hold a scepter while I live,
My
head shall bear a Diadem till death.
If
those frank thoughts that do possess my soul,
Such
flames of virtue kindled have in you,
A
Macedonian never shall control
Our
noble acts, nor laugh to see us bow.
My
State may testify frail Fortune’s change:
May
she not him overwhelm, as well as me?
At
least our hands bear death, if not revenge:
For
who can stop a stout heart for to die?
Think
of your ancestors, I you exhort,
Who
made the Greeks tributaries ever?
And
of whose wondrous acts men do report
Great
things, the fame whereof shall perish never?
Shall
future ages in your praise be dumb,
Whil’st
they your Father’s memory adore?
I
am resolv’d, my Triumph or my Tomb
A
Laurel, or a Cipress shall decore.
Art.
What
vain amazement does disturb our spirits?
Let
us consult no further but go to.
He,
who the Persians wonted worth inherits,
Will
not rest long advising what to do?
Come
let us with our best attire and arms
Accompany
our King to this last strife:
Through
bloody squadrons, and through hot alarms
By
slaughter only we must look for life.
And
when our host, as I hope, shall prevail,
Our
country shall have peace, we praise of right.
And
if our Fortune, not our courage, fail,
We
die with honour in our sovereign’s sight.
Let
us, if vanquish’d, be asham’d to be:
A
glorious death may greater honour give.
Do
to overcome, and yet not fear to die:
It’s
needful that we fight, not that we live.
Na.
My
words will first your Majesty displease,
Yet
duty makes me speak where silence spills:
The
fine Physician cures a sharp disease
With
some sorrow potion that corruption kills.
The
skilfull Pilot, when he fears a storm,
To
save the ship will cast out precious things,
Yet
I persuade you not in any form
To
further, but to stay what ruin brings.
We
war against the Gods, we cannot speed:
To
all our actions Fortune is oppos’d.
We
must of force some other way proceed:
So
have the heav’ns of our affairs dispos’d.
Dear
sir, give ov’r the government and still
To
some more happy man, not in effect,
But
cloth him with your shadow for a while,
Till
he your Realms half ruin’d re-erect.
When
he has clam’d this tempest now so hot,
And
settled Asia with a good success,
He
will your kingdoms lost with what he got
Restore:
appearance promises no less.
All
Bactria yet abides at your command;
The
Indians, lo, would die to do you good;
Yea
many thousand thousands armed stand,
Bent
for your pleasure to bestow their blood.
What?
Should we rush like beasts to needless strife?
Be
well prepar’d, and then pursue that stranger:
Brave
minds should death despise, not loathing life.
Base
cowards crave to die for fear of danger,
But
virtue, to have no support ov’r past,
Will
first on all means possible be thinking:
And
when that all is prov’d, death is the last,
To
which it is enough to go not shrinking.
Now
for the time let Bactria be our seat,
To
Bessus for the form your Crown resign,
Who,
when he once has re-advanc’d you State,
Shall
quite all sovereignty at the first sign.
Dar.
Wretch,
travelled thou thy sovereign to betray?
Such
treason darest thou to our ears impart?
Such
treason under trust? Stay traitor, stay:
I’ll
sheath my sword even in thy traitrous heart.
Art.
Sir,
you must strive to have this passion broken!
Consider
what they are, what is the time.
It
may be they through ignorance have spoken:
In
thought, and not in word, consists a crime.
Since
to affront your enemy you go,
You
must not stir for every little object,
But
tolerate your own, t’offend your foe.
For
now it’s time to love, not lose a subject.
I
shall get trial upon what pretence
This
ov’r-sight in advice has been committed.
If
through simplicity, not for offence,
He
must be pardon’d and his speech remitted.
Dar.
I
wish that it were so. I take no pleasure
To
ruin them that would my fortune cherish.
Na.
Your
grace will grant me mercy in some measure:
First
hear, and if I fail then let me perish.
I
call the Gods to witness of my case,
Who
can decipher every secret thought.
If
I intended treason toward your Grace,
Straight
where I stand let me be turn’d to nought.
I
counsel’d but according to my skill:
It
was my upright mind that made me bold.
I
rue my wit not answer’d to my will,
Yet
zeal what it conceives must needs unfold.
We
should beware to speak in great affairs,
Where
words are damn’d, or balanc’d by th’event.
For
if things fail, the fault is still thought theirs
Who
gave th’advise, though of a good intent.
I
fall before your feet here for refuge,
Then
let me not be without cause rejected!
At
least, examine first before you judge,
I’ll
rather die absolv’d, then live suspected.
Dar.
Your
fond opinion first was to be feared,
Which
seem’d indeed sinistrously inclined.
For
at the first your speech to me appear’d
Th’envenom’d
birth of some malitious mind,
But
since you purge you so, I’ll not arraign you,
Not
further call your loyalty in doubt.
But
in the same degree of grace retain you,
That
you were in before these words brake out.
I
think that Patron looks with speaking eyes,
As
if his mind were mightily perplexed.
Come,
Patron, tell what in thy bosom lies,
Wherewith
thou seem so wonderfully vexed.
Pa.
Sir,
I would speak in private, If I could:
That
which th’affection of my soul affords,
It
must be seal’d with silence, and I would
That
none were present to report my words.
Of
fifty thousand Greeks four only rest,
Companions
in all perils with your host,
Alike
with you delighted and distressed,
As
faithfull now as when you florish’d most.
Where
you remain we must remain with you:
All
kind of fortunes have us join’d together.
Appoint
our tents for your Pavilion now,
And
we will guard you, if that you come hither.
We
have abandon’d Greece, our native soil,
We
have no Bactria to be our retreat.
Our
hope is all in you: those that would spoil
Us
of your person ruin all our State.
Would
God that all your army did their due:
To
use more words th’occasion is not fit.
I
should not urge you, if your own were true,
Your
custody to strangers to commit.
Dar.
What
sudden accident does this dismay you
That
you such inconveniences forecast?
Pa.
Sir,
Bessus and Narbazanes betray you:
This
day to you, or them will be the last.
They
fain repentance only to dissemble,
Till
everything be for the fact prepar’d.
Their
friends in hast do all their force assemble,
And
once ere night mind to invade your guard.
Dar.
I
credit you, but yet I cannot wrong
My
subjects so, to think of them the worst.
Shall
I leave them who follow’d me so long,
By
doing so to make myself accursed?
I
will await on what the heav’ns will offer,
For
who can stand when fates his fall conspire?
Among
mine own I willingly will suffer.
I
live too long if they my death desire.
Bes.
Take
heed, sir, to this subtle-witted Greek:
The
Graecian faith to all the world is known.
I
am enform’d he by all means does seek
To
win his grace who has your State over-thrown.
And
marvel not though: mercenary men,
Who
sell themselves, sell all. Believe them never.
They
have no God but gold, nor house: how then
Can
they be constant that are changing ever?
Although
that he preoccupy you thus,
And
others who themselves abuse your Grace:
Faith
shall be found inviolate in us,
When
our accuser dare not show his face.
Dar.
Who
hope to have of Alexander gain,
Or
honour to be false, they have no reason:
No
man on earth does traitors more disdain,
Nor
more severely will b’aveng’d on treason.
Bes.
Well,
sir, you shall see shortly what we are:
I
will go see your Ensigns all displaied.
Dar.
It’s
better now since things are gone so far,
Then
seem for to mistrust, to be betrayed.
Lo
Artabazus, I have acted here
My
part of greatness, and my glass is run:
Now
Patron’s speech does evident appear.
I
see my end, yet can it no way shun.
Art.
The
Bactrians only meddled have with this.
Go
to the Graecians’ camp, when that is done;
And
when your danger once divulged is,
The
Persians all will follow after soon.
Dar.
And
what if I were gone to Patron’s Tent,
And
gvarded with the Greeks as you desire?
He
has but thousands four that are well bent;
They
thirty thousand that my fall conspire.
And
doing this I should their deed excuse,
In
giving them a motion who have might.
They
may indeed my lenity abuse,
But
by my deed they shall pretend no right.
Art.
O
deplorable Prince, who can but weep
To
see thee now reduc’d to this estate?
Dar.
Retire
you all, and seek yourselves to keep:
I
here attend the issue of my fate.
I
know you wonder all how I can stand,
Down
from the top of all contentment thrown,
And
not die desperately by mine own hand.
I’ll
die through others’ guilt, not through mine own.
None
of you all have falsified your truth,
But
with me loyal still to th’end you abide.
Now
I you all disburden of your oath:
Leave
me alone, and for yourselves prouide.
Exevnt.
Darius.
O
Wretched Monarchy, vain mortals’ choice,
The
glorious step to a disgraceful fall!
Our
pow’r depends upon the people’s voice,
And
to seem sovereign needs we must serve all.
Yet
blown, like blathers, with ambition’s wind,
On
envied scepters weakly we rely,
And
calling not our frail estate to mind,
Not
only earth, but heavens themselves defy.
This
hellish hag our restless mind does toss,
While
carried with a popular applause,
T’enlarge
our limits with our neighbours’ loss:
We
of our own confusions are the cause.
And
when th’eclipse comes of our glorious light,
Then
what avails th’adoring of our name?
A
mere illusion made to mock the sight,
Whose
best was but the shadow of a dream?
Let
greatness of her glassy scepters vaunt –
Not
sceptres, no, but reeds, soon brus’d soon broken –
And
let this worldly pomp our wits enchant.
All
fades, and scarcely leaves behind a token.
Those
golden Pallces, those gorgeous halls,
With
fourniture superfluously fair;
Those
Stately Courts, those sky-encounetring walls
Evanish
all like vapours in the air.
O
what affliction jealous greatness bears,
That
still must travell to hold others down,
Whil’st
all our guards not guard us from our fears?
So
grievous is the burden of a Crown.
Where
are they all who at my feet did bow,
While
I was made the idol of so many?
What
joy had I not then? What have I now?
Then
honoured of all, now scarce of any.
Our
painted pleasures but apparrel plain:
We
spend our days in dread, our lives in dangers,
Balls
to the stars, and thralls to Fortune’s reign,
Known
unto all, yet to ourselves but strangers.
A
golden Crown does cover leaden cares:
The
scepter cannot lull their thoughts asleep,
Whose
breasts are fraught with infinite dispairs,
Of
which the vulgar wits sounds not the deep.
The
Bramble grows, although it be obscure,
While
mighty Cedars feel the blustering winds,
And
mild Plebeian spirits may live secure,
While
mighty tempests toss imperial minds.
What
are our days, but dreams, our reigns but trances,
Whil’st
brain-sick reaving with our Fortune’s fever.
We
still are vexed with changes and mischances,
Till
death us both from life and scepter sever?
The
vanity of greatness I have prov’d,
And
been the wonder of each gazing eye:
Now
that deceiving shadow is remov’d,
And
I my wretched State too late espy.
Now
bound with chains (which though they be of gold,
Diminish
not my thralldom ought the more)
When
this preposterous honour I behold,
It
but upbraids me what I was before.
And
what was I before (though to each eye
The
form of my affliction was not known)
But
fettered in effect, while I seem’d free,
And
in a labyrinth of labours thrown?
Was
I not bound to serve then all men’s humour,
Or
to be censur’d with some Critic story,
Still
clogg’d with cares, as slought for every rumour?
O
glorious bondage, burdenable glory:
That
dignity which deified me late,
And
made the world do homage to my name,
Now
cannot succour my accursed State,
But
has with my misfortune feathered same.
My
best was but a momentary bliss,
Which
leaves behind this everlasting sting,
That
of all woe no woe is like to this,
To
think I was, and am not now a King.
No
man with me in all accomplish’d joys,
That
satisfy the soul, could once compare;
No
man may match me now in sad annoys,
And
all the miseries that breed dispair.
Thrice
Fortune did my gallant troops entrap,
And
I to fall did desperately stand;
Yet
could not be so happy in mishap,
As
for t’have died by some renowned hand.
But
for my greater grief, disgrace, and scorn,
(The
minds of men so apt are to deceive)
They
whom aloft my favours wings have born,
Ev’n
they made me their master thus a slave.
Ah,
did not death in prison from me reave
The
sacred sovereign of my soul’s desires?
I
wretch not being present to receive
The
last cold kiss that might assuage my fires?
Yet
o thrice happy thou, that hast not liv’d
To
bear a burden of this great disgrace!
More
than a thousand deaths this had thee griev’d,
To
know I died, and died in such a case.
Ah,
do the pledges of our mutual love
(The
only comfort that the fates have left me)
Rest
prison’d yet? And may I not remove
My
mother thence? Then is all bliss bereft me.
My
pains are more then with my pleasures ev’n,
Since
first I in authority did enter.
Was
I exalted once up to the heav’n,
To
be cast head-long down to mischief’s centre?
My
ample Empire, and my Princely birth,
My
great magnificence, and vain excess,
All
cannot yield my mind one minute’s mirth,
To
ease me now in this extreme distress.
Lo
here, reduc’d unto the worst of ills,
Past
help, past hope, and only great in grief,
I
wait upon two abject vassals’ wills,
And
dare not, no, not think upon relief.
Death
would I scorn (my course must once have run)
If
I had first repair’d mine honour’s breach,
Whose
wounds so thrill my soul, as unbegun
The
life I wish that do my fame impeach.
This
mortal vail I willingly resign,
Since
to an end my days the destinies bring;
Nor
will I so from Majesty decline,
As
to do ought unworthy of a King.
Exit.
Chorus.
Some
new disaster day lie does for show
Our
coming ruin: we have seen our best.
Now
fortune bent us utterly t’overthrow,
Throws
down our King from her wheel’s top so low,
As
by no means his State can be redressed.
And
since his foes by arms have him oppressed,
His
friends, and servants leave him all alone.
Few
have compassion of his State’s distress;
Yea,
false to him themselves do many show.
So
foes and fined friends conspire in one;
Frail
Fortune, and the fates with them agree
With
axes all run on this falling tree.
This
Prince in prosperous State has florish’d long,
And
never dream’d of any evil success,
But
was well follow’d while his State was strong.
Him
flattering Syrens with a charming song
Striv’d
to exalt, whileas he did possess
This
earthly dross, that with a vain excess
He
might reward their mercenary love.
But
now when fortune drives him to distress,
His
favorites whom he remain’d among,
With
foes and fortune straight their faith remove.
And
who for gain to follow him were wont,
They
after gain by his destruction hunt.
O
more then happy ten times were that King,
Who
were unhappy but a little space,
So
that it did no utter ruin bring,
But
made him prove (a profitable thing)
Who
of his train, did best deserve his grace!
Then
could, and would of those the best embrace,
And
fly such vultures as devour him living,
That
these whom he found faithful might have place.
O
how this does a generous stomach sting,
To
see some grac’d for craft and lies contriving?
This
is the grief that bursts an honest heart:
Lords’
favour comes by chance, not by desert.
Those
Minions to whom Princes do extend,
Above
their worth, immoderate good-will,
To
the disgrace of good men, show in end
They
only in prosperity depend
Not
upon them, but on their Fortune still.
Which
if it change, they change. Then though they fill,
Their
hopes with honour, and their chests with coin;
Yet
if they fall, or their affairs go ill,
Those
whom they rais’d, will not with them descend,
But
with th’ascending sun wil straightway join.
And
do forget all that they gave before,
For
that of them they can expect no more.
The
truth hereof in end now has th’event
In
Bessus, and Narbazanes approved,
On
whom their Prince so prodigally spent
Affection,
honour, titles, treasure, rent,
And
all that might each honest mind have moved
So
bountifull a Prince for to have loved,
Who
so beningly tendred their estate.
Yet
they to him vile traitours now have proved:
By
them he is enchain’d, disgrac’d and shent;
So
as he well may rue, although too late,
That
he such sly Camelions changing-hue
Prefer’d
to servants dutiful and true.
But
though a while those traitors speed,
No
doubt the heav’ns once vengeance will exact:
The
very horror of this heinous deed
Does
make the hearts of honest men to bleed.
Yea,
even the wicked hate this barbarous act:
The
heavens no higher choler can contract,
Then
for th’invasion of a sacred King,
Who,
as it were, out of the stars extract,
Should
fear and reverence inferiours breed,
To
whom from him both health and wealth does spring.
But
though on earth men should neglect this wrong,
Heavens
will those traitors plague ere it be long.
ACTUS
QUINTUS. SCEN. I.
Hephestion,
Alexander, Polistratus.
He.
What
story or what fable can record
Of
such a numberous troop so strangely lost?
I
know they quak’d to know it was my Lord,
Whose
name alone is worth another’s host.
It
scarce seems credible in many parts,
But
traitors fear though all the world would back them.
They
were but bodies destitute of hearts,
More
prisoners they were than men to take them.
Who
would believe so few durst strive to find
So
great an army, and the army shrinks
What
is impossible to a brave mind?
True
valour dare attempt all that it thinks.
Alex.
In
this encounter for t’have had the best
It
would content more then a common thought,
But
since we want the chief, what of the rest?
I
would be satisfied in all, or nought.
Those
traitours thought t’have finish’d all the war
With
giving me their Lord, whom they had bound,
But
I distrust not mine own force so far,
As
for to build upon so base a ground.
Although
indeed that Darius did me wrong,
I
will not suffer others to oppress him.
I
keep him for myself: he does belong
To
me alone. None other should distress him.
Whilst
he did only in himself confide,
I
labour’d by all means to make him bow,
But
since his hard estate abates that pride,
Turn’d
is my fury to compassion now.
Although
he oft contemn’d me by his letter,
Yet
I am griev’d to see him so deceiv’d.
If
he had but acknowledg’d me his better,
‘Twas
not his blood, nor kingdom that I crav’d.
And
if those traitours have not killed him straight,
Yet
his delivery shall my name renown:
I
would not lose a subject of such weight,
By
which my clemency might be made known.
Po.
Sir,
now your coming cannot do him good.
Alex.
What?
All are fled, none have my force withstood?
Po.
Yet
Darius cannot be redeem’d again.
Alex.
Why,
have they set him free? Or is he slain?
Po.
Now
has he got a liberty at last
With
no less ransom then his dearest breath.
Alex.
Then
is all Asia’s expectation past.
Tell
on at length the manner of his death.
Po.
The
boyling ardour of th’ascending sun
Had
caus’d in me a moisture parching drought,
Which
made me from the way a little run,
To
find some fountain to refresh my mouth.
There
where a source her liquors softly scatters,
Which
shadow’d was from Titan’s parching beams,
I
could my thirst with the cold crystal waters,
Which
seem’d to murmur that I forc’d their streams.
When
lo I sawe (a lamentable sight)
Two
wounded horses draw a bloody coach,
All
clad with skins in most uncomely plight,
Which
narrowly t’espy I did approach.
One
was within, who could not long escape
The
doubtful passage of th’infernal gates.
Yet
Majesty triumphing ov’r mishap,
He
seem’d to threaten fortune and the Fates,
And
as not to so base a fortune born,
While
all his blood aboundantly deval’d,
Burst
forth into these words in Fortune’s scorn,
As
one whose courage could not be appal’d:
“You
gaze to see, and have good cause wherefore.
A
man, no man; a King, no King; what monster?
Now
less then nought, who once was both, and more:
Which
few now by my present State would conster.
And
yet amidst my evils I must rejoyce,
That
this last comfort does forgo my end:
I
speak to one that understands my voice,
And
not in vain my dying-speeches spend.
I
am, but how? In name, but not in pow’r,
That
wretched Darius (which I should suppress)
Once
happy, as you heard, but at this hour
The
very pattern of extreme distress.”
Then
a while pausing after thus proceeded:
“Tell
Alexander these last words from me:
Although
my hatred still t’wards him exceeded,
Yet
I am forc’d far in his debt to die.
I
thank him highly for his great good-will,
My
mother, wife, and children so preserving.
Pray
him t’use them that rest as gently still
For
his own goodness’ sake, not my deserving.
They
to his foe pertain, and yet he strives
To
have them honour’d now, as in times passed;
But
those who held of me both lands and lives,
Of
land and life have me depriv’d at last.
I
pray you on my part entereat him thus
Not
to permit that unreveng’d below
My
ghost do wander: by his care of us
That
men his Justice, and their fault may know.
Beside
the honour, which he shall acquire
In
plaguing them that have betrayed my trust,
Men
shall his magnanimity admire,
And
fear t’offend him whom they find so just.
Loe,
all my pompe is past, my time expir’d:
My
wealth evanishd like watery bubbles.
Ov’r
many a mighty people I impyr’d:
Yet
has my life been but a stage of troubles.
And
since my glass is run, my glory gone,
And
I dead to the world, the world to me,
I
wish that all parts of th’earth’s globe in one
May
condescend his subjects for to be.”
Then
drooping down, faint, bloodless and half dead,
He
pray’d to give him water that stood by
(A
small request by such a Monarcke made).
Which
when that he had got: “Yet, ere I die,
This
cross must come” said he “t’undo me quite:
Though
most parts of the world once homage ought me,
I
have not now the power for to requite
This
little benefit that thou hast brought me.
But
Alexander shall rewarde thee well,
And
him the heavens, who has not done amiss,
To
those that have been mine, his foe must tell
That
undeserved courtesy of his.
Though
none have pow’r his pleasure to control,
If
he entereat them well whom he retains,
It
will procure no small rest to my soul,
And
make him famous, while the world remains.
When
my sprit parts out of this tent of clay,
Entereat
some with my burial to take order,
Least
churlish Charon force me for to stray
An
unrespected ghost on Stygian border.
Let
first my corps be carried to my mother,
Who
may it with my ancestors entomb;
And,
as she has more cause then any other,
May
wail this woeful burden of her womb.
In
pledge of that affection, which I bear
Thy
sovereign’s worth, whom now I must see never,
Have
heee a Prince’s hand. I hold him dear,
And
recomend me to his grace forever.”
I
scarce had got his hand, or touched his vesture,
When
like a torch whose wax and week is spent,
Somewhat
perplexed, yet with a princely gesture,
He
died in peace, his sprit appear’d content.
Alex.
Who
could refrain from tears to hear declar’d
The
desolation of this wretched wight?
Have
subjects slain their prince whom strangers spar’d?
Us
has he fled, that perish thus he might?
I
for his fall am wonderfully sorry,
Who
Nestor’s age was worthy t’have attain’d.
I
envy death, because it robb’d the glory,
Which
I in giving him his life had gain’d.
Hep.
Since
death has put a period to his woes,
The
favour that t’wards him you thought t’extend,
Convert
to furor now against his foes,
For
your designs can have no fairer end.
So
shall you both attain perpetual praise,
And
win their hearts who see their Lord reveng’d,
Then
reap no little profite in your days,
To
have the country of such vipers cleng’d.
If
but one virtue should adorn a King,
It
should be Justice: many great defects
Are
viled thereby, whereas each virtuous thing
In
one that is unjust, the world suspects.
Alex.
Although
your counsel, or yet his request
Had
not the pow’r to penetrate my ears,
A
generous stomack could not well digest
So
great a wrong: my mind it hardly bears.
My
spirit impatient of repose disdains
That
they so long this infamy survive.
But
I will punish with most grievous pains
The
horrid treason that they did contrive.
What?
Do they think, deceiv’d with some illusion.
That
Bactria is a bulwark for my ire?
Fly
where they list, they cannot scape confusion:
My
wrath shall follow like consuming fire.
Heaven
cannot be a sanctuary for them,
I
dare to force th’infernal caves’ adventer.
Th’earth
cannot keep them safe, if I abhor them:
I’ll
search them out though they were in the centre.
And
having gotten once those malefactors,
Betwixt
the bending boughs of two strong trees,
Unto
th’eternal terror of all traitours,
They
shall dismembered be before my eyes.
Pol.
Sir,
may it please your Grace to take some care,
That
some his funerall offices perform.
Alex.
Go
presently and every thing prepare
According
to the militarie form.
ACTUS
QUINTUS. SCEN. 2.
Sisigambis,
Nuntius, Chorus.
Sisi.
This
look, alas, has fraught my soul with fears.
Speak,
for my life does on thy lips depend:
Thy
count’nance (ah) a doleful copy bears
Of
some sad summons to denounce my end.
Starve
not my ears with famish for thy words,
That
swallow’d yet may make my heart to burst.
Nun.
Madam,
the message that my’soul affords
Must
once be known, and once known still accursed.
Sis.
Be
not a niggard of evil news.
Nun.
And
why?
Sis.
Fame
will tell the world.
Nun.
But
first to you.
Sis.
Tel
sone.
Nun.
Your
son is dead.
Sis.
Then
let me die.
Cho.
Her
joys and pleasures are all perish’d now.
Sis.
Why
opens not the earth for to devour
A
cursed captive, that all joy has lost?
The
longer that I live, my grief grows more:
Born
I am to mischief, kept to be crossed.
Would
God this body in mishaps abounding
Were
covered with some mountain of huge weight,
Or
else that th’Ocean ov’r these fields inunding
Might
make my burial in her bosom straight.
O
Alexander, hast thou robbed his life,
Yet
entertain’d me still in hope to find him?
Why
did thou not first kill this poor old wim
Who
was not worthy to have liv’d behind him?
Ah,
tended all thy courtesy to this,
That
I should live till thou hast slain my son?
Nun.
You
wrong that worthy Prince, for he and his
Came
him to help, who was ere then undone.
Sis.
What
impious hands durst one that wore a crown,
And
was thereof most worthy, murder so?
Nun.
Two
whom himself rais’d up have cast him down:
More
faithful than his own he found his foe.
Sis.
Tell
on thy message, message of my death,
And
load my mind with all mischief and horror,
That
in sad sighs I may dissolve my breath,
Whilst
thou relies these tidings full of terror.
Nun.
When
Alexander eftsoons back had sent
Th’Ambassadours
that peace had sought in vain,
A
general muster, then to try th’event
Of
doubtful Mars, King Darius did ordain,
And
in one battle to adventure all
Intending,
caus’d his will to be proclaim’d,
While
two will traitours did conspire his fall,
Who
Bessus, and Narbazanes were nam’d.
These
two in counsel did discover first
Some
portion of the poison of their heart,
Which
caus’d the King suspect, but not the worst.
Yet
with a sword he sought to make them smart.
But
having scap’d the first brunt of his rage,
With
tears of Crocodiles they so lamented,
As
they his indignation did assuage,
Whil’st
in appearance only they repented.
They
came to Artabazus, honest man,
Who
judg’d of others by his upright mind,
And
could not, or through bounty would not scan
What
they with craft and malice had desing’d.
Chor.
A
sincere mind is ever least suspitious:
They
think all faulty who themselves are vitious.
Nun.
They
urg’d him with the King to intercede,
That
in his favour he would give them place,
With
promise that by some notorious deed
Of
arms they would seek to deserve his grace.
He
in their favour first inform’d the King
The
battle would bear witness of their truth,
Then
both before his majesty did bring,
Who
was by their submission mov’d to rue.
Their
hands stretched up to heav’n, and humbled knees,
Their
tears like those the Crocodiles do shed,
Woe
in their face, and pity in their eyes
Did
for compassion and for mercy plead.
The
king, of nature mild, prompt to receive them,
While
they dissembledly were thus complaining,
Not
only of his lenity forgave them,
But
wept in earnest too while they were faining.
Then
as he us’d, his danger now not feeling,
He
mounted to his coach, they came behind
With
a submissive voice most humbly kneeling
To
him, whom shortly they were bent to bind.
The
Graecian Captain follow’d them with speed,
Who
being cal’d, and ask’d what he desir’d,
Sollicited
the King to take good heed
Of
those that had against his life conspir’d.
He
told him how he had their treason tried,
And
seen the Bactrians to a tumult bent,
Then
prais’d him for his safety to provide,
In
going with him to his trusty tent.
The
King grown careless, and his safety shunning
Refus’d
this offer on affection grounded,
Or
with some powerful fate his fall overrunning,
Was
carried headlong thus to be confounded.
The
Greek past thence dispairing of his safety,
Who
thus recur less help and health refus’d.
Then
Bessus did begin with speeches crafty
To
purge himself, and errors past excus’d.
The
King then Artabazus did command
T’approch,
and Patron’s speech at length reported;
He
then did doubt what danger was at hand,
And
to go with the Greek his Grace exhorted.
But
when he found this resolution plac’d,
Within
his breast, no peril for to fly,
With
mutuall tears each other they embrac’d,
Parting
like two, that living went to die.
Now
silent night in pitchy vapours cled
Had
mustered mists, and march’d unto the West.
A
shadowy horror ov’r the earth was spread:
The
sentinels were set, and all at rest,
When
a strange terror troubled all the hosts.
The
multitudes did murmur in all parts,
They
did resemble ships in storms near lost,
Whilst
each to th’other cause of fears imparts.
Those
who their King appointed were to guard
All
shrunk away to corners, none stayed there,
And
having to his danger no regard
His
better-fortunes Minions fled elsewhere.
The
desolation then was wonderous great:
With
a few Eunuchs Darius left alone
Did
enter deeply to revolve his State,
And
thus be-spake them, who did for him moan:
“Depart
in peace and for yourselves prouide,
Least
yee be likewise with my ruin caught:
I
will the issue of my fate abide.”
They
hearing this, as of their wits distraught
Went
howling through the host with dolorous cries.
This
made the King as dead to be bewailed,
And
in the army did a rumour rise,
That
he had killed himself, when all hope fail’d.
The
Persians griev’d, while these things did occur,
Did
first encourage all their country bands
To
help their Prince, but yet they durst not stur
For
fear of falling in the Bactrians hands.
Ev’n
in the time when this confusion was
The
traitors, to defer the fact no more,
Did
to their sovereigns own Pavilion pass,
And
rook and bound him, whom they serv’d before.
He,
who in golden coach superbly rode,
Was
cast in one for basest carriage us’d,
And
who of late was honoured like a God,
By
servants as a bond slave was abus’d.
Those
royal hands to bear a scepter born
Were
bound with chains. This also much did grieve him
That
fortune his aduersity would scorn
With
golden bands, that serv’d not to relieve him.
Then
Alexander, having heard in end
That
Darius came not forward to affront him,
To
find him out did all his forces bend,
Not
doubting but he eftsoons would surmount him.
But
being at the last at length inform’d
How
he was made a Captive to his own,
At
this indignity he highly storm’d,
And
swore he would avenge it by his crown.
Out
of his host he did select a few,
Who
were best hors’d, whose equipage was light,
With
whom his foes he did so fast pursue,
That,
ere they could suspect, he came in sight.
The
traitors, troubled with this he had done,
Came
to the Cart wherein the King was carried,
And
bad him mount on horseback and flee soon,
Least
that his foe should take him if he tarried.
He
look’d aloft, and cry’d aloud: “This day
Th’eternal
Justicer sees through the stars.
I
will not with such perjur’d rebelles stay,
And
fly from him, who mov’s but honest wars.”
Then
those in whom impiety abounds
Throw’d
darts at him whom they should have defended
And
hurt the horses with an hundred wounds.
While
they perform’d the Parricide intended,
Their
hands were feeble, as their hearts untrue:
For
when their foes began them once to comber,
The
traitors first, then all the traiterous crew
Fled
them, who were inferior far in number.
But
to the confines of death’s kingdom brought
The
King retir’d out from the way aside,
More
wounded with ingratitude then ought,
Did
fly the world whose follys he had tri’d.
Scarce
was the lasting last divorcement made
Twixt
soul and body whilst that th’eyes grew dim
When
Alexander came, and found him dead,
Who
long had labour’d for t’have ruin’d him.
Yet
with the vesture which himself then wore
He
covered the dead corpse and not eschew’d it;
But
ev’n with tears his coffin did decore,
To
the great wonder of all them that view’d it.
And
having waild his death above all measure,
For
t’have his funerals made in Princely wise
He
bids you spare no cost, but use his treasure,
And
them, as best becomes, to solemnise.
He
has his body hither sent by me,
That
the last honours you to him may do:
He
thinks they so shall best accomplish’d be,
And
who him bare shall see him buryd to.
Cho.
Behold
how grief has her of sense berest,
And
chok’d her breath with super-abounding groans:
No
will or power to live is to her left,
Since
all her weal vanish’d is at once.
Sis.
Ah
shall I see (no let me first be blind)
That
body breathless, which I brought to light?
Where
would my soul a force sufficient find
T’endure
the dolor of that deadly sight.
O
flinty hardened heart, that will not break
With
the remembrance of so many woes,
Why
part’st thou not, faint spirit, that whil’st I speak,
In
opening of my lips mine eyes might close?
This
heritage of death, this withered stock
Is
but a receptacle of dispairs:
A
torture to itself, a stumbling block,
Whose
aged furrows fertile are in cares.
What
helps it now to have been made the mother
Of
one who to such dignity did climb?
More
miserable now then any other,
I
live to wail my death, who died in him.
Aye
me, malitious Fates have done me wrong!
Who
came first to the world should first depart.
It
not becomes the old t’ou’r-live the young:
This
dealing is praeposterous and ou’r-thwart.
Ah,
why should death so indiscreet be found
To
save a captive, and confound a Prince?
My
half-dead body, weigh’d down to the ground,
Through
grief is grow’n ripe for the grave long since.
Chorus.
What
makes vain worldlings so to swell with pride,
Who
came of earth, and to the earth return?
So
hellish furies with their fire brands burn
Proud
and ambitious men, as they device
Them
from themselves, and so turmoil their minds,
That
all their time they study still
How
to content a boundless will,
Which
never yet a full contentment finds.
Who
so this flame within his bosom smothers
Does
many fantasies contrive,
And
even forgets himself alive,
To
be remembered after death by others.
Thus
while he is his pains are never ended;
That
while he is not, he may be comended.
What
can this help the happiness of Kings,
So
to subdue their neighbours, as they do,
And
make strange nations tributaries to?
The
greater State the greater trouble brings.
Their
pomps and triumphes, stands them in no stead:
Their
Archs, Tombs, Piramids high,
And
Statues are but vanity.
They
die, and yet would live in what is dead,
And
while they live, we see their glorious actions
Oft
wrested to the worst; and all their life
Is
but a stage of endless toil and strife,
Of
tumults, uproars, mutinies, and factions.
They
rise with fear, and lie with danger down:
There
is no burden weighter then a Crown.
And
as Ambition Princes undermines,
So
does it those that under them rule all.
We
see in how short time they rise, and fall,
How
oft their light eclips’d but dimly shines.
They
study by all shifts and slights to move
Their
Prince of their deserts t’account.
And
when they by his favour mount,
O
what a danger is’t to be above?
For
straight expos’d to hatred, and despight,
With
all their skill they cannot march so even,
But
some opprobrious scandall will be given:
For
all men envy those that have most might.
And
if the King dislike them once, then straight
The
wretched Courtiers fall with their own weight.
Some
of a poorr spirit, who would be prais’d,
And
yet have not wherefore to be esteem’d,
What
they are not indeed would fain be deemed,
And
indirectly labour to be rais’d.
These
crave each public place of honour haunts,
And
changing garments every day
While
they woulde hide, do but bewray
With
outward ornaments their inward wants.
And
men of better judgement justly loth
Those,
who in outward shows plain all their care,
And
deck their bodies, while their minds are bare,
Like
to a shadow, or a painted cloth.
The
multitude, who but th’apparrel notes,
Does
homage not to them, but to their coats.
Yet
Princes must be serv’d, and with all sorts,
Some
both to do, and counsel what is best.
Some
serve for Ciphers to set out the rest,
Like
live less pictures, that adorn the ports.
Fair
palaces replenish’d are with fears,
Those
seeming pleasures are but snares:
The
Royal Robe does cover cares,
Th’
Assyrian die dear buys he, that it bears.
Those
dainty delicates, and far fetch’d food
Oft
through suspicion savour out of season.
Embrodered
beds and tapesteris hatch treason,
The
golden goblets mingled are with blood.
Such
glorious gorgeous shows do serve for nought:
All
cannot calm the tempest of the thought.
O
happy he, who far from fame at home
Does
sit securely by a quiet fire,
Who
has not much, and does not much desire,
Nor
curious is to learn who gos, or come,
For
satisfyd with what his father left.
His
mind he measures by his store,
And
is not pined to gape for more;
Nor
eats ought that iniquity has rest.
He
has his little cleanly, and in peace,
And
looks not with suspitious eye.
No
poison comes in Cups of tree,
No
treason harbours in so poor a place.
No
troublous dream does interrupt his sleep:
A
quiet conscience does his cottage keep.
He
does not study oft what storms may blow:
His
poverty cannot be much impair’d,
He
fears no foreign force, and craves no guard.
None
coveteth his spoil, none looks so low,
Whereas
the great are commonly once crossed,
As
Darius has been in his flower,
Or
Sisigambis at this hour,
Who
has escap’d long, and now at length is lost.
But
how comes this that Potentates oft fall,
Forc’d
to confess th’ afflictions of their soul?
There
is some higher pow’r that can control
The
Monarchs of the earth, and censure all,
Who
once will call their doings to accompt,
Their
pride repressing, who t’oppress were prompt.
W.
A.
Finis.