Kyd.0003_modernised

CORNELIA.

At London, Printed by James Roberts, for N.L. and John Busbie.

1594.

To the virtuously noble, and rightly honoured lady, the Countess of Sussex.

Having no leisure (most noble lady) but such as evermore is travelled with th’afflictions of the mind, than which the world affords no greater misery, it may be wondered at by some, how I durst undertake a matter of this moment which both requireth cunning, rest and opportunity; but chiefly, that I would attempt the dedication of so rough, unpolished a work, to the survey of your so worthy self.

But being well instructed in your noble and heroic dispositions, and perfectly assur’d of your honourable favours past (though neither making needless glosses of the one, nor spoiling paper with the others Pharisaical embroidery), I have presum’d upon your true conceit and entertainment of these small endeavours, that thus I purposed to make known, my memory of you and them to be immortal.

A fitter present for a patroness so well accomplished I could not find, than this fair president of honour, magnanimity, and love. Wherein, what grace that excellent Garnier hath lost by my default, I shall beseech your honour to repair, with the regard of those so bitter times and privy broken passions that I endured in the writing it.

And so, vouchsafing but the passing of a winter’s week with desolate Cornelia, I will assure your ladyship my next sommer’s better travel, with the Tragedy of Portia. And ever spend one hour of the day in some kind service to your honour, and another of the night in wishing you all happiness.

Perpetually thus devoting my poor self.

Yours honours in all humbleness.

T. K.  

The Argument.

Cornelia, the daughter of Metellus Scipio , a young Roman lady, (as much accomplished with the graces of the body, and the virtues of the mind as ever any was), was first married to young Crassus  who died with his father in the discomfiture of the Romans against the Parthians . Afterward, she took to second husband Pompey the Great  who (three years after), upon the first fires of the civil wars betwixt him and Caesar, sent her from thence to Mytilene , there to attend the uncertain success of those affaires. And when he saw that he was vanquisht at Pharsalia , returned to find her out, and carry her with him into Egypt, where his purpose was to have re-enforc’d a new army, and give a second assault to Caesar. 

In this voyage, he was murdered by Achillas and Septimius the Roman  before her eyes, and in the presence of his young son Sextus, and some other senators his friends. After which, she retyred herself to Rome. But Scipio her Father, (being made general of those that survived after the battaile , assembled new forces, and occupied the greater part of Afrique, allying himself to Juba King of Numidia. Against all whom Caesar (after he had ordered the affairs of Egypt and the state of Rome) in the end of winter marched. And there (after many light encounters) was a fierce and furious battaile given amongst them, near the walls of Thapsus , where Scipio, seeing himself subdued and his army scattered, he betook himself, with some small troop, to certain ships which he had caused to stay for him. 

Thence, he sailed toward Spain, where Pompey’s faction commanded, and where a sudden tempest took him on the sea, that drove him back to Hippon, a town in Afrique at the devotion of Caesar, where (lying at anchor) he was assailed, beaten and assaulted by the adverse fleet, and, for he would not fall alive into the hands of his so mighty enemy, he stabbed himself, and suddenly leapt over bord into the sea, and there died. 

Caesar (having finished these wars, and quietly reduc’d the towns and places thereabout to his obedience) return’d to Rome in triumph for his victories, where this most faire and miserable lady, having overmour’d the death of her dear husband, and understanding of these cross events and hapless news of Afrique, together with the piteous manner of her father’s end, she took (as she had cause) occasion to redouble both her tears and lamentations wherewith she closeth the catastrophe of this their tragedy.

Interlocutores

Marcus Tullius Cicero     

Cornelia

Phillip       

Caius Cassius

Decimus Brutus    

Julius Caesar

Mark Antony    

The Messenger

Chorus

[A Chorus of Caesar’s Friends]

CORNELIA.

[1]

CICERO

Vouchsafe Immortals, and (above the rest)

  Great Jupiter, our cities sole protector,

  That if (provok’d against us by our evils)

  You needs will plague us with your ceaseless wroth,

  At least to choose those forth that are in fault,

  And save the rest in these tempestuous broils:

  Els let the mischief that should them befall,

  Be pour’d on me, that one may die for all.

Oft hath such sacrifice appeas’d your ires ,

  And oft ye have your heavy hands withheld

  From this poor people, when (with one man’s loss)

  Your pity hath preserv’d the rest untouched:

  But we, disloyal to our own defence,

  Fainthearted do those liberties enthral,

  Which (to preserve onto our after good)

  Our fathers hazarded their dearest blood.

Yet Brutus , Manlius , hardy Scevola ,

  And stout Camillus , are returned from Stix ,

  Desiring arms to aide our Capitol .

  Yea, come they are, and, fiery as before,

 Under a Tyrant see our bastard hearts

 Lye idly sighing, while our shameful souls

 Endure a million of base controls.

Poisoned Ambition (rooted in high minds)

 T’is thou that train’st us into all these errors:

 Thy mortal covetize  perverts our laws,

 And tears our freedom from our franchiz’d hearts.

 Our fathers found thee at their former walls,

 And humbled to their offspring lest thee dying.

 Yet thou reviving, soyl’dst our infant town,

 With guiltless blood by brothers hands out-launched.

 And hang’st (O Hell) upon a forte half finished,

 Thy monstrous murder for a thing to mark.

“ But faith continues not where men command.

“ Equals are ever bandying for the best:

“ A state divided cannot firmly stand.

“ Two Kings within one realm could never rest .

 This day, we see, the father and the son

 Have fought like foes Pharsalia’s misery;

 And with their blood made marsh the parched plains,

 While th’earth, that gron’d to beare their carcasses,

 Bewail’d th’insatiate humours of them both;

 That as much blood in wilful folly spent.

 As were to tame the world sufficient.

Now, Parthia, fear no more, for Crassus’ death

 That we will come thy borders to besiege, 

 Nor fear the darts of our courageous troops,

 For those brave soldiers, that were (sometime) wont

 To terrify thee with their names, are dead.

 And civil fury, fiercer than thine hosts,

 Hath in a manner this great town ore-turn’d,

 That whilom was the terror of the world,

 Of whom so many nations stood in fear,

 To whom so many nations prostrate stooped,

 Ore whom (save heaven) nought could signiorize ,

 And whom (save heaven) nothing could affright.

 Impregnable, immortal, and whose power

 Could never have been curb’d but by itself.

 For neither could the flaxen-haired high Dutch

 (A martial people madding after arms),

 Nor yet the fierce and fiery humor’d French

 The More that travels to the Libyan sands,

 The Greek, th’Arabian, Macedons or Medes ,

 Once dare t’assault it, or attempt to lift

 Their humbled heads, in presence of proud Rome.

 But by our laws from liberty restrained,

 Like Captives liv’d eternally enchained.

But Rome (alas) what helps it that thou ty’dst

 The former world to thee in vassalage?

 What helps thee now t’have tam’d both land and sea?

 What helps it thee that under thy control,

 The morn and mid-day both by east and west,    

 And that the golden sun, where’er he drive

 His glittering chariot, finds our ensigns spread?

 Sith it contents not thy posterity;

 But as a bait for pride (which spoils us all)

 Embarks us in so perilous a way,

 As menaceth our death, and thy decay.

For Rome thou now resemblest a ship,

 At random wandring in a boisterous Sea, 

 When foaming billows feel the Northern blasts:

 Thou toyl’st in peril, and the windy storm,

 Doth topside-turvy toss thee as thou floatest.

 Thy mast is shiver’d, and thy main sail torn,

 Thy sides sore beaten, and thy hatches broke.

 Thou want’st thy tackling, and a Ship unrig’d

 Can make no shift to combat with the Sea.

 See how the rocks do heave their heads at thee,

 Which if thou shouldst but touch, thou straight becomst

 A spoil  to Neptune, and a sportful prey

 To th’ glauc’s and trytons , pleased with thy decay.

Thou vaunt’st not of thine ancestors in vain,

 But vainly count’st thine own victorious deeds.

 What helpeth us the things that they did then,

 Now we are hated both of Gods and men?

“ Hatred accompanies prosperity,

“ For one man grieveth at another’s good,

“ And so much more we think our misery,

“ The more that Fortune hath with others stood;

“ So that we sild are seen, as wisdom would,

“ To bridle time with reason as we should.

“ For we are proud, when Fortune favours us,

“ As if inconstant Chance were always one,

“ Or standing now, she would continue thus.

“ O fools, look back and see the rolling stone,

“ Whereon she blindly lighting sets her foot,

“ And slightly sows that seldom taketh root.

Heaven heretofore (inclined to do us good)

 Did favour us, with conquering our foes,

 When jealous Italy (exasperate,

 With our up-rising) sought our cities fall.

 But we, soon tickled with such flattering hopes,

 Wag’d further war with an insatiate heart,

 And tired our neighbour countries so with charge,

 As with their loss we did our bounds enlarge.

Carthage and Sicily we have subdued,

 And almost yoked all the world beside:

 And solely through desire of public rule,

 Rome and the earth are waxen all as one,

 Yet now we live despoil’d and robbed by one,

 Of th’ancient freedom wherein we were borne.

 And even that yoke that wont to  tame all others,

 Is heavily return’d upon ourselves —

“ A note of Chance that may the proud control,

“ And shew God’s wrath against a cruel soul,

“ For heaven delights not in us, when we doe

“ That to another, which ourselves disdain:

“ Judge others, as thou wouldst be judg’d again.

“ And do but as thou wouldst be done unto.

“ For, sooth to say, (in reason) we deserve,

“ To have the self-same measure that we serve.

What right had our ambitious ancestors,

 (Ignobly issued from the cart and plough)

 To enter Asia? What, were they the heirs

 To Persia or the Medes, first monarchies?

 What interest had they to Afrique?

 To Gaule or Spain? Or what did Neptune owe us

 Within the bounds of further Brittanie?

 Are we not thieves and robbers of those realms

 That ought us nothing but revenge for wrongs? 

 What toucheth us the treasure or the hopes,

 The lives or liberties of all those nations,

 Whom we by force have held in servitude?

 Whose mournful cries and shrieks to heaven ascend,

 Importuning both vengeance and defence

 Against this city, rich of violence.

“ T’is not enough (alas) our power t’extend,

“ Or over-run the world from east to west,

“ Or that our hands the earth can comprehend,

“ Or that we proudly doe what like us best.

“ He lives more quietly whose rest is made,

“ And can with reason chasten his desire,

“ Than he that blindly toileth for a shade,

“ And is with others empire set on fire.

“ Our bliss consists not in possessions, 

“ But in commanding our affections,

“ In virtue’s choice, and vices needful chase

“ Far from our hearts, for staining of our face.

CHORUS

Upon thy back (where misery doth sit)

  O Rome, the heavens with their wrathful hand,

Revenge the crimes thy fathers did commit.

  But if (their further fury to withstand,

Which ore thy walls thy wrack sets menacing)

  Thou dost not seek to calm heaven’s ireful king,

  A further plague will pester all the land.

“ The wrath of heaven (though urg’d)we see is slow

“  In punishing the evils we have done:

“ For what the Father hath deserv’d, we know,

“ Is spar’d in him, and punisht in the son.

“ But to forgive the apter that they be,

“  They are the more displeased, when they see,

“  That we continue our offence begun.

“ Then from her loathsome cave doth Plague repair,

“  That breaths her heavy poisons down to hell,

“ Which with their noisome fall corrupt the air,

“ Or maigre famine, which the weak foretell,

“ Or bloody war (of other woes the worst)

“ Which where it lights, doth show the land accurst,

“ And ne’er did good where ever it befell.

War that hath sought th’Ausonian  fame to rear,

  In warlike Emony , (now grown so great

With soldiers’ bodies that were buried there)

  Which yet to sack us toiles in bloody sweat:

T’enlarge the bounds of conquering Thessaly,

  Through murder, discord, wrath, and enmity,

  Even to the peaceful Indians’ pearled seat.

Whose entrails fired with rancour, wrath and rage,

  The former petty combats did displace,

And camp to camp did endless battailes  wage:

  Which on the mountain tops of warlike Thrace, 

Made thundering Mars (dissention’s common friend)

  Amongst the forward soldiers first descend,

  Arm’d with his blood-besmeared keen coute-lace .

Who first attempted to excite to arms

  The troops enraged with the trumpets’ sound,

Head-long to run and reck no after harms, 

 Where in the flowered meads dead men were found,

Falling as thick (through warlike cruelty)

 As ears of corn for want of husbandry;

  That (wasteful) shed their graine upon the ground. 

O war, if thou were subject but to death,

 And by desert mightst fall to Phlegethon,

The torment that Ixion  suffereth,

 Or his whose soul the vulture seazeth on ,

Were all too little to reward thy wrath:

 Nor all the plagues that fiery Pluto  hath

 The most outrageous sinners laid upon.

Accursed catives , wretches that we are,

 Perceive we not that for the fatal doom,

The Fates make hast enough: but we (by war)

 Must seek in Hell to have a hapless room.

Or fast enough doe foolish men not die,

 But they (by murder of themselves) must hie,

 Hopeless to hide them in a hapless tomb?

All sad and desolate our city lies, 

 And (for fair corn-ground are our fields surcloid )

With worthless gorse, that yearly fruitless dies;

 And chokes the good which else we had enjoy’d.

Death dwells within us, and if gentle Peace

 Descend not soon, our sorrows to surcease, 

 Latium (already quailed) will be destroyed.

[2]

Cornelia. Cicero.

[CORNELIA]

And will ye needs bedew my dead-grown joys,

And nourish sorrow with eternal tears?

O eyes, and will ye (cause I cannot dry

Your ceaseless springs) not suffer me to die?

Then make the blood from forth my branch-like veins,

Like weeping rivers, trickle by your vaults;

And sponge my body’s heat of moisture so,

As my displeased soul may shun my heart.

Heavens let me die, and let the Destinys

Admit me passage to th’infernal lake;

That my poor ghost, may rest where powerful fate,

In Death’s sad kingdom hath my husband lodg’d.

Fain would I die, but darksome ugly Death,

With-holds his dart, and in disdain doth fly me,

Maliciously knowing that hell’s horror

Is milder than mine endless discontent

And that if Death upon my life should seize,

The pain supposed would procure mine ease.

But ye sad Powers that rule the silent deeps,

 Of dead-sad night, where sins doe mask unseen,

 You that amongst the darksome mansions

 Of pining ghosts, twixt sighs, and sobs, and tears,

 Do exercise your mirthless empery .

 Yee gods (at whose arbitrament all stand)

 Dislodge my soul, and keep it with yourselves,

 For I am more than half your prisoner.

 My noble husbands (more than noble souls)

 Already wander under your commands. 

 O then shall wretched I, that am but one,

 (Yet once both theirs) survive, now they are gone?

Alas, thou shouldst, thou shouldst Cornelia,

 Have broke the sacred thread that tied thee here,

 When as thy husband Crassus (in his flower)

 Did first bear arms, and bare away my love.

 And not (as thou hast done) goe break the bands,

 By calling Hymen  once more back again.

 Less hapless, and more worthily, thou might’st

 Have made thine ancestors and thee renound:

 If (like a royal dame) with faith fast kept,

 Thou with thy former husband’s death hadst slept.

But partial Fortune, and the powerful Fates, 

 That at their pleasures wield our purposes,

 Bewitcht my life and did beguile my love.

 Pompey, the fame that ran of thy frail honours,

 Made me thy wife, thy love, and (like a thief)

 From my first husband stole my faithless grief.

But if (as some believe) in heaven or hell,

 Be heavenly powers, or infernal spirits,

 That care to be aveng’d of lovers’ oaths,

 Oaths made in marriage, and after broke.

 Those powers, those spirits (mov’d with my light faith) 

 Are now displeas’d with Pompey and myself.

 And doe with civil discord (furthering it)

 Untie the bands, that sacred Hymen knit.

 Els only I am cause of both their wraths,

 And of the sin that sealeth up thine eyes,

 Thine eyes (O deplorable Pompey) I am she,

 I am that plague, that sacks thy house and thee.

 For t’is not heaven, nor Crassus (cause he sees

 That I am thine) in jealousy pursues us.

 No, t’is a secrete cross, an unknown thing,

 That I receiv’d, from heaven at my birth,

 That I should heap misfortunes on their head,

 Whom once I had receiv’d in marriage bed.

Then ye the noble Romulists  that rest,

 Hence-forth forbear to seek my murdering love,

 And let their double loss that held me dear,

 Bid you beware for fear you be beguiled.

 Ye may be rich and great in Fortune’s grace,

 And all your hopes with hap may be effected,

 But if ye once be wedded to my love:

 Clouds of adversity will cover you.

 So (pestilently) fraught with change of plagues,

 Is mine infected bosom from my youth.

 Like poison that (once lighting in the body)

 No sooner toucheth than it taints the blood;

 One while the heart, another while the liver,

 (According to th’encountering passages)

 Nor speareth it what purely feeds the heart,

 More than the most infected filthiest part.

Pompey what holp  it thee, (say dearest life)

 Tell me what holp thy warlike valiant mind 

 T’encounter with the least of my mishaps?

 What holpe it thee that under thy command

 Thou saw’st the trembling earth with horror mazed?

 Or where the sun forsakes th’Ocean sea,

 Or watereth his coursers in the west,

 T’have made thy name be far more fam’d and feard

 Than summer’s thunder to the silly heard?

What holpe it, that thou saw’st, when thou wert young,

 Thy helmet deckt with coronets of bays ?

 So many enemies in battaile ranged?

 Beat back like flies before a storm of hail?

 T’have lookt askance and see so many kings

 To lay their crowns and sceptres at thy feet?

 T’embrace thy knees, and humbled by their fate,

 T’attend thy mercy in this mournful state?

Alas! and here-withal, what holpe it thee,

 That even in all the corners of the earth,

 Thy wandering glory, was so greatly known?

 And that Rome saw thee while thou triumph’dst thrice

 O’er three parts of the world that thou hadst yok’d?

 That Neptune weltering on the windy plains,

 Escapt not free from thy victorious hands?

 Since thy hard hap, since thy fierce destiny,

 (Envious of all thine honours) gave thee me.

By whom the former course of thy fair deeds,

 Might (with a biting bridle) be restraind;

 By whom the glory of thy conquests got,

 Might die disgrac’d with mine unhappiness. 

 O hapless wife, thus ominous to all,

 Worse than Megaera , worse than any plague.

 What foul infernal, or what stranger hell,

 Henceforth wilt thou inhabit, where thy hap,

 None other’s hopes, with mischief may entrap.

CICERO

What end (O race of Scipio) will the Fates

 Afford your tears? Will that day never come

 That your disastrous grieves shall turn to joy,

 And we have time to bury our annoy?

CORNELIA

Ne’er shall I see that day, for Heaven and Time

 Have failed in power to calm my passion. 

 Nor can they (should they pity my complaints)

 Once ease my life, but with the pangs of death.

CICERO

“ The wide worlds accidents are apt to change.

“ And tickle Fortune stays not in a place.

“ But (like the clouds) continually doth range,

“ Or like the sun that hath the night in chase.

“ Then, as the heavens (by whom our hopes are guided)

“ Doe coast the earth with an eternal course,

“ We must not think a misery betided,

“ Will never cease, but still grow worse and worse.

“ When icy winter’s past, then comes the spring,

“ Whom sommer’s pride (with sultry heat) pursues;

“ To whom mild autumn doth earth’s treasure bring,

“ The sweetest season that the wise can choose. 

“ Heaven’s influence was ne’er so constant yet,

“ In good or bad as to continue it.

When I was young, I saw against poor Sulla ,

 Proud Cinna, Marius, and Carbo  flesh’d,

 So long, till they gan  tyrannize the town,

 And spilt such store of blood in every street,

 As there were none but dead men to be seen.

 Within a while, I saw how Fortune played,

 And wound those tyrants underneath her wheel,

 Who lost their lives, and power at once by one,

 That (to revenge himself) did (with his blade)

 Commit more murder than Rome ever made.

Yet Sulla, shaking tyranny aside,

 Return’d due honours to our Commonwealth,

 Which peaceably retain’d her ancient state,

 Grown great without the strife of citizens.

 Till this ambitious tyrants’ time, that toiled

 To stoop the world, and Rome to his desires.

 But flattering Chance that train’d his first designs,

 May change her looks, and give the tyrant over, 

 Leaving our city, where so long ago,

 Heavens did their favours lavishly bestow.

CORNELIA

T’is true, the Heavens (at least wise if they please)

 May give poor Rome her former liberty.

 But (though they would) I know they cannot give 

 A second life to Pompey, that is slain.

CICERO

Mourne not for Pompey, Pompey could not die

 A better death, than for his country’s weal .

 For oft he search’t amongst the fierce alarms,

 But (wishing) could not find so fair an end; 

 Till fraught with years, and honour both at once,

 He gave his body as a barricade

 For Rome’s defence, by tyrants overlaid.

 Bravely he died, and (haply) takes it ill,

 That (envious) we repine at heavens will.

CORNELIA

Alas, my sorrow would be so much less

 If he had died (his fauchin  in his fist)

 Had he amidst huge troops of armed men

 Been wounded, by another anyway,

 It would have calmed many of my sighs. 

 For why, t’have seen his noble Roman blood

 Mixt with his enemies, had done him good.

But he is dead (O heavens!), not dead in fight,

 With pike in hand upon a fort besieg’d.

 Defending of a breach, but basely slain.

 Slain traitorously, without assault in war.

 Yea, slain he is, and bitter chance decreed

 To have me there, to see this bloody deed.

I saw him, I was there, and in mine arms

 He almost felt the poniard when he fell.

 Whereat, my blood stopped in my straggling veins,

 Mine hair grew bristled, like a thorny grove

 My voice lay hid, half dead, within my throat;

 My frightful heart (stunned in my stone-cold breast)

 Faintly redoubled ev’ry feeble stroke;

 My spirit (chained with impatient rage)

 Did raving strive to break the prison ope ,

 (Enlarg’d) to drown the pain it did abide,

 In solitary Lethe’s sleepy tide.

Thrice, to absent me from this hateful light, 

 I would have plund’d my body in the sea.

 And thrice detained, with doleful shrieks and cries,

 (With arms to heaven uprea’d) I gan exclaim

 And bellow forth against the gods themselves,

 A bedroll of outrageous blasphemies.

 Till (grief to hear, and hell for me to speak)

 My woes waxt  stronger, and myself grew weak.

Thus, day and night I toile in discontent,

 And sleeping wake, when sleep itself that rides

 Upon the mists, scarce moisteneth mine eyes.

 Sorrow consumes me, and, in steed of rest,

 With folded arms I sadly sit and weep.

 And if I wink, it is for fear to see

 The fearful dreams’ effects that trouble me.

O heavens, what shall I doe? Alas! must I,

 Must I myself, be murderer of myself?

 Must I myself be forc’d to ope the way,

 Whereat my soul in wounds may sally forth?

CICERO

Madam, you must not thus transpose yourself.

 We see your sorrow, but who sorrows not? 

 The grief is common. And I muse, besides

 The servitude that causeth all our cares,

 Besides the baseness wherein we are yoked,

 Besides the loss of good men dead and gone,

 What one he is that in this broil hath been

 And mourneth not for some man of his kin?

CORNELIA

If all the world were in the like distress,

 My sorrow yet would never seem the less.

CICERO

“ O, but men bear mis-fortunes with more ease,

“  The more indifferently that they fall,

“ And nothing more (in uproars) men can please,

“  Than when they see their woes not worst of all.

CORNELIA

“ Our friends’ mis-fortune doth increase our own.

CICERO

“ But ours of others will not be acknown .

CORNELIA

“ Yet one man’s sorrow will another touch.

CICERO

“ I when himself will entertaine none such.

CORNELIA

“ Another’s tears, draw tears from forth our eyes.

CICERO

“ And choice of streams the greatest river dries.

CORNELIA

“ When sand within a whirlpool lies unwet,

 My tears shall dry, and I my grief forget.

CICERO

What boot your tears, or what avails your sorrow

  Against th’inevitable dart of Death?

  Think you to move with lamentable plaints

  Persephone , or Pluto’s gastly spirits,

  To make him live that’s locked in his tomb, 

  And wandreth in the center of the earth?

“ No, no, Cornelia, Charon  takes not pain,

“ To ferry those that must be fetcht again.

CORNELIA

Proserpina  indeed neglects my plaints,

  And hell itself is deaf to my laments.

  Unprofitably should I waste my tears,

  If over Pompey I should weep to death,

  With hope to have him be reviu’d by them.

  Weeping avails not, therefore doe I weep.

  Great losses, greatly are to be deplor’d,

  The loss is great that cannot be restor’d.

CICERO

“ Nought is immortal underneath the sun,

“  All things are subject to Death’s tyranny,

“ Both clowns and kings one self-same course must run,

“  And whatsoever lives, is sure to die.

  Then, wherefore mourn you for your husband’s death,

  Sith being a man, he was ordain’d to die?

  Sith Jove’s own sons, retaining humane shape,

  No more than wretched we their death could ’scape.

Brave Scipio, your famous ancestor, 

  That Rome’s high worth to Afrique did extend,

  And those two Scipios  (that in person fought,

  Before the fearful Carthaginian walls),

  Both brothers, and both war fierce lightning fires,

  Are they not dead? Yes, and their death (our dearth) 

  Hath hid them both embowel’d in the earth.

And those great cities, whose foundations reacht

  From deepest hell, and with their tops toucht heaven:

  Whose lofty towers, (like thorny-pointed spears)

  Whose temples, palaces, and walls embossed,

  In power and force, and fierceness, seem’d to threat

  The tyred world, that trembled with their weight

  In one days space (to our eternal moans)

  Have we not seen them turn’d to heaps of stones?

Carthage can witness, and thou, heaven’s hand-work  

  Faire Ilium , razed by the conquering Greeks; 

  Whose ancient beauty, worth and weapons, seem’d

  Sufficient t’have tam’d the Myrmidons .

“ But whatso’eer hath been begun, must end.

“ Death (haply that our willingness doth see)

“ With brandisht dart, doth make the passage free,

“ And timeless doth our souls to Pluto send.

CORNELIA

  Would Death had steept his dart in Lerna’s  blood, 

  That I were drown’d in the Tartarean  deeps.

  I am an offering fit for Acheron,

  A match more equal never could be made,

  Than I, and Pompey, in th’Elisian  shade.

CICERO

“ Death’s always ready, and our time is known

“ To be at heaven’s dispose, and not our own.

CORNELIA

  Can we be over-hasty to good hap? 

CICERO

  What good expect we in a fiery gap?

CORNELIA

  To ’scape the fears that follows Fortune’s glances.

CICERO

“ A noble mind doth never fear mischances.

CORNELIA

“ A noble mind disdaineth servitude.

CICERO

  Can bondage true nobility exclude?

CORNELIA

  How if I doe, or suffer that I would not?

CICERO

“ True noblesse never doth the thing it should not.

CORNELIA

  Then must I dye.  

CICERO       Yet dying think this still,

“ No fear of death should force us to doe ill.

CORNELIA

  If death be such, why is your fear so rife?

CICERO

  My works will shew I never feard my life.

CORNELIA

  And yet you will not that (in our distress)

  We ask Death’s aide to end life’s wretchedness.

CICERO

“ We neither ought to urge nor ask a thing,

“ Wherein we see so much assurance lies. 

“ But if perhaps some fierce, offended king,

“ (To fright us) set pale death before our eyes,

“ To force us doe that goes against our heart,

“ T’were more than base in us to dread his dart.

“ But when for fear of an ensuing ill, 

“ We seek to shorten our appointed race,

“ Then t’is (for fear) that we ourselves doe kill,

“ So fond we are to fear the world’s disgrace.

CORNELIA

  T’is not for frailty or faint cowardice,

  That men (to shun mischances) seek for death.

 But rather he that seeks it, shows himself,

  Of certain courage, ’gainst uncertain chance.

“ He that retires not at the threats of death,

“ Is not as are the vulgar, slightly frayed.

“ For heaven itself, nor hell’s infectious breath, 

“ The resolute at any time have stayed.

“ And (sooth to say) why fear we when we see,

“ The thing we fear, less than the fear to be.

  Then let me die my liberty to save,

  For t’is a death to live a tyrant’s slave.

CICERO

Daughter, beware how you provoke the heavens,

  Which in our bodies (as a tower of strength)

  Have plac’d our souls, and fortified the same,

  As discreet princes set their garrisons,

  In strongest places of their provinces.

“ Now, as it is not lawful for a man,

“ At such a king’s departure or decease,

“ To leave the place, and falsify his faith,

“ So in this case, we ought not to surrender

“ That dearer part, till heaven itself command it.

“ For as they lent us life to doe us pleasure,

“ So look they for return of such a treasure.

CHORUS

“ What e’er the massy earth hath fraight ,

“   Or on her nurse-like back sustains,

“ Upon the will of Heaven doth wait, 

“  And doth no more than it ordains.

“ All fortunes, all felicities,

“ Upon their motion doe depend.

“ And from the stars doth still arise,

“ Both their beginning and their end. 

“ The monarchies, that cover all

“ This earthly round with majesty,

“ Have both their rising and their fall,

“ From heaven and heaven’s variety.

“ Frail men, or man’s more frail defence, 

“ Had never power, to practise stays

“ Of this celestial influence,

“  That governeth and guides our days.

“ No cloud but will be overcast.

“  And what now flourisheth, must fade.

“ And that that fades, revive at last,

“  To flourish as it first was made.

“ The forms of things doe never die,

“  because the matter that remains

“ Reforms another thing thereby, 

“ That still the former shape retains.

“ The roundness of two boules cross-cast,

“ (so they with equal pace be aim’d,)

“ Shows their beginning by their last,

“  which by old nature is new-fram’d.

“ So peopled cities that of yore 

“  were desert fields where none would bide,

“ Become forsaken as before,

“  yet after are re-edified.

Perceive we not a petty vein,

  cut from a spring by chance or art,

Engendreth fountains, whence again,

  those fountains doe to floods convert?

Those floods to waves, those waves to seas,

  that oft exceed their wonted bounds:

And yet those seas (as heavens please)

  return to springs by under-grounds.

Even so our city (in her prime)

  prescribing Princes everything,

Is now subdu’de by conquering time:

  and liveth subject to a king.

And yet perhaps the sun-bright crown,

  that now the tyrant’s head doth deck,

May turn to Rome with true renown,

  If fortune chance but once to check. 

The stately walls that once were rear’d,

 and by a shepherd’s hands erect,

(With hapless brothers’ blood besmear’d) 

  shall show by whom they were infect.

And once more unjust Tarquin’s frown ,

  (with arrogance and rage enflam’d)

Shall keep the Roman valour down;

  and Rome itself a while be tam’d.

And chastest Lucrece  once again,

  (because her name dishonoured stood)

Shall by herself be careless slain,

  and make a river of her blood,

Scorning her soul a seat should build

  within a body, basely seen.

By shameless rape to be defiled,

  that erst was clear as heavens’ queen.

But heavens as tyrannic shall yoke

  our bastard hearts, with servile thrall,

So grant your plagues (which they provoke)

  may light upon them once for all. 

And let another Brutus rise,

  bravely to fight in Rome’s defence,

To free our town from tyranny,

  and tyrannous proud insolence.

[3.1]

Cornelia. Chorus.

[CORNELIA]

The cheerful cock (the sad nights comforter),

 Waiting upon the rising of the sun,

 Doth sing to see how Cynthia  shrinks her horn,

While Clitie  takes her progress to the east.

  Where wringing wet with drops of silver dew, 

 Her wonted tears of love she doth renew.

The wandering swallow with her broken song,

The country wench unto her work awakes;

While Cytherea  sighing walks to seek

Her murdered love, transform’d into a rose.

  Whom (though she see) to crop she kindly fears,

  But, kissing, sighs, and dews him with her tears,

Sweet tears of love, remembrancers to time.

Time past with me that am to tears converted,

Whose mournful passions, dull the morning’s joys.

Whose sweeter sleeps are turn’d to fearful dreams.

  And whose first fortunes, filled with all distress,

  Afford no hope of future happiness .

But what disastrous or hard accident,

Hath bath’d your blubbered eyes in bitter tears?

That thus consort me in my misery.

Why doe you beat your breasts? Why mourn you so?

  Say, gentle sisters, tell me, and believe

  It grieves me that I know not why you grieve.

CHORUS

O poor Cornelia, have not we good cause,

  For former wrongs to furnish us with tears?

CORNELIA

O but I fear that Fortune seeks new flaws,

  And still (unsatisfied) more hatred bears.

CHORUS

Wherein can Fortune further injure us,

  Now we have lost our conquered liberty, 

  Our commonwealth, our empire, and our honours,

  Under this cruel Tarquin’s tyranny?

  Under his outrage now are all our goods,

  Where scattered they run by land and sea

  (Like exil’d us) from fertile Italy,

  To proudest Spain, or poorest Getulie .

CORNELIA

And will the heavens that have so oft defended

  Our Roman walls from fury of fierce kings,

  Not (once again) return our senators,

  That from the Lybic plains and Spanish fields,

  With fearless hearts do guard our Roman hopes?

  Will they not once again encourage them,

  To fill our fields with blood of enemies,

  And bring from Afrique, to our Capitol,

  Upon their helms , the empire that is stole?

Then, home-borne household gods, and ye good spirits,

  To whom in doubtful things we seek access,

  By whom our family hath been adorn’d,

  And graced with the name of African,

  Doe ye vouchsafe that this victorious title,

  Be not expired in Cornelia’s blood?

  And that my father now (in th’Afrique wars)

  The self-same style by conquest may continue?

  But wretched that I am, alas! I fear.

CHORUS

What fear you, Madam?

CORNELIA

That the frowning heavens,

Oppose themselves against us in their wrath.

CHORUS

Our loss (I hope) hath satisfied their ire.

CORNELIA

O no, our loss lifts Caesar’s fortunes higher.

CHORUS

Fortune is fickle.

CORNELIA

But hath failed him never.

CHORUS

The more unlike she should continue ever.

CORNELIA

  My fearful dreams doe my despairs redouble.

CHORUS

  Why suffer you vain dreams your head to trouble?

CORNELIA

  Who is not troubled with strange visions?

CHORUS

  That of our spirit are but illusions.

CORNELIA

  God grant these dreams, to good effect be brought.

CHORUS

  We dream by night what we by day have thought.

CORNELIA

The silent Night that long had sojourned,

  Now gan to cast her sable mantle off,

  And now the sleepy Wainman softly drove,

  His slow-pac’d team, that long had travelled.

  When (like a slumber, if you term it so)

  A dullness, that disposeth us to rest,

  Gan close the windows of my watchful eyes,

  Already tired and loaden with my tears. 

  And lo! Methought, came gliding by my bed,

  The ghost of Pompey, with a ghastly look;

  All pale and brawn-fallen, not in triumph borne

  Amongst the conquering Romans as we us’d,

  When he (enthroniz’d) at his feet beheld

  Great emperors, fast bound in chains of brass,

  But all amaz’d, with fearful hollow eyes,

  His hair and beard, deform’d with blood and sweat,

  Casting a thin course linsel  o’er his shoulders,

  That (torn in pieces) trail’d upon the ground.

  And (gnashing of his teeth) unlockt his jaws,

  Which, slyghtly cover’d with a scarce-seen skin,

  This solemn tale, he sadly did begin:

“Sleep’st thou, Cornelia? Sleepst thou gentle wife,

  And seest thy father’s misery and mine?

  Wake dearest sweet, and (o’er our sepulchres)

  In pity show thy latest love to us.

  Such hap as ours attendeth on my sons,

  The self-same foe and fortune following them.

  Send Sextus  over to some foreign nation,

  Far from the common hazard of the wars;

  That (being yet sav’d) he may attempt no more,

  To venge the valour that is tried before.”

He said. And suddenly a trembling horror,

  A chill-cold shivering settled in my veins

  Brake up my slumber; When I opte  my lips

  Three times to cry, but could nor cry, nor speak.

  I mov’d mine head, and flung abroad mine arms

  To entertain him, but his airy spirit

  Beguiled mine embracements, and (unkind)

  Left me embracing nothing but the wind.

O valiant soul, when shall this soul of mine,

  Come visit thee in the Elysian shades?

  O dearest life; or when shall sweetest death,

  Dissolve the fatal trouble of my days,

  And bless me with my Pompey’s company?

  But may my father (O extreme mishap!)

  And such a number of brave regiments,

  Made of so many expert soldiers,

  That lov’d our liberty and follow’d him,

  Be so discomfited? O would it were

  but an illusion.

CHORUS      Madam never fear.

  Nor let a senseless idol of the night,

  Increase a more than needful fear in you.

CORNELIA

  My fear proceeds not of an idle dream,

  For t’is a truth that hath astonisht me.

  I saw great Pompey, and I heard him speak;

  And, thinking to embrace him, opte mine arms,

  When drowsy sleep, that wak’d me at unwares,

  Did with his flight unclose my fearful eyes

  So suddenly, that yet me thinks I see him. 

  Howbeit I cannot touch him, for he slides

  More swiftly from me then the ocean glides.

CHORUS

“ These are vain thoughts, or melancholy shows,

“ That wont to haunt and trace by cloistered tombs,

“ Which eath’s appear in sad and strange disguises

“ To pensive minds deceived with their shadows,

“ They counterfeit the dead in voice and figure,

“ Divining of our future miseries.

“ For when our soul the body hath disgaged ,

“ It seeks the common passage of the dead, 

“ Down by the fearful gates of Acheron.

“ Where, when it is by Aeacus  adiudg’d,

“ It either turneth to the Stygian lake,

“ Or stays for ever in th’Elysian fields;

“ And ne’er returneth to the corpse interred,

“ To walk by night, or make the wise afeard.

“ None but inevitable, conquering Death

“ Descends to hell, with hope to rise again;

“ For ghosts of men are lockt in fiery gates,

“ Fast-guarded by a fell remorseless Monster.

“ And therefore think not it was Pompey’s sprite,

“ But some false demon that beguiled your sight.

[3.2]

CICERO

Then O world’s Queen, O town that didst extend

  Thy conquering arms beyond the ocean, 

  And throngdst thy conquests from the Lybian shores

  Down to the Scythian swift-foot fearless porters,

  Thou art embas’d, and at this instant yeeld’st 

  Thy proud neck to a miserable yoke.

  Rome, thou art tam’d, and th’earth dewed with thy blood

  Doth laugh to see how thou art signorized.

  The force of heaven exceeds thy former strength,

  For thou, that wont’st to tame and conquer all,

  Art conquer’d now with an eternal fall.

Now shalt thou march (thy hands fast bound behind thee)

  Thy head hung down, thy cheeks with tears besprent,

  Before the victor; While thy rebel son,

  With crowned front triumphing follows thee.

  Thy bravest captains, whose courageous hearts,

  Join’d with the right, did re-enforce our hopes,

  Now murdered lye for fowl to feed upon:

  Petreus, Cato, and Scipio  are slain,

  And Juba , that amongst the Mores did reign.

Now you whom both the gods and Fortune’s grace

  Hath sav’d from danger in these furious broils,

  Forbear to tempt the enemy again,

  For fear you feel a third calamity.

  Caesar is like a brightly flaming blaze 

  That fiercely burns a house already fired,

  And ceaseless launching out on every side,

  Consumes the more, the more you seek to quench it,

  Still darting sparkles, till it find a train

  To seize upon, and then it flames amain .

The men, the ships, wherewith poor Rome affronts him,

  All powerless, give proud Caesar’s wrath free passage. 

  Nought can resist him, all the power we raise,

  Turns but to our misfortune and his praise.

T’is thou, O Rome, that nurs’d his insolence.

  T’is thou, O Rome, that gav’st him first the sword

  Which murder-like against thy self he draws,

  And violates both God and Nature’s laws;

Like moral Aesop’s misled country swain

  That found a serpent pining in the snow,

  And full of foolish pity took it up,

  And kindly laid it by his household fire,

  Till (waxen warm) it nimbly gan to stir,

  And stung to death the fool that fostered her.

O gods, that once had care of these our walls,

  And fearless kept us from th’assault of foes;

  Great Jupiter, to whom our Capitol

  So many oxen yeerely sacrific’d;

  Minerva, Stator , and stout Thracian Mars ,

  Father to good Quirinus, our first founder;

  To what intent have ye preserv’d our town?

  This stately town so often hazarded,

  Against the Samnites, Sabins, and fierce Latins? 

  Why from once footing in our fortresses,

  Have ye repelled the lusty warlike Gauls?

  Why from Molossus and false Hannibal,

  Have ye reserv’d the noble Romulists?

  Or why from Cat’lin’s lewd conspiracies,

  Preserv’d ye Rome by my prevention?

  To cast so soon a state so long defended,

  Into the bondage where (enthralled) we pine?

  To serve (no stranger, but amongst us) one

  That with blind frenzy buildeth up his throne?

But if in us be any vigour resting,

  If yet our hearts retain one drop of blood,

  Caesar thou shall not vaunt thy conquest long,

  Nor longer hold us in this servitude,

  Nor shalt thou bathe thee longer in our blood,

  For I divine that thou must vomit it,

  Like to a cur that carrion hath devour’d,

  And cannot rest until his maw be scour’d.

Think’st thou to signorize, or be the king

  Of such a number, nobler than thyself?

  Or think’st thou Romans bear such bastard hearts,

  To let thy tyranny be unreveng’d? 

  No, for methinks I see the shame, the grief,

  The rage, the hatred that they have conceiv’d,

  And many a Roman sword already drawn,

  T’enlarge the liberty that thou usurp’st.

  And thy dismembered body (stab’d and torn,) 

  Dragged through the streets, disdained to be borne.  

[3.3]

Phillip. Cornelia.

[PHILIP]

Amongst the rest of mine extreme mishaps,

  I find my fortune not the least in this,

  That I have kept my master company,

  Both in his life and at his latest hour.

  Pompey the Great, whom I have honoured,

  With true devotion both alive and dead.

One self-same ship contained us when I saw

  The murdering Egyptians bereave his life;

  And when the man that had affright the earth,

  Did homage to it with his dearest blood

  O’er whom I shed full many a bitter tear

  And did perform his obsequies with sighs:

  And on the strand upon the riverside,

  (Where to my sighs the waters seem’d to turn)

  I wove a coffin for his corpse of seggs ,

  That with the wind did wave like bannerets.

  And laid his body to be burn’d thereon.

  Which when it was consum’d I kindly took,

  And sadly clos’d within an earthen urn

  The ashy relics of his hapless bones.

  Which having ’scapt the rage of wind and sea,

  I bring to fair Cornelia to inter

  Within his elders’ tomb that honoured her.

CORNELIA

Ay me, what see I?  

PHILIP       Pompey’s tender bones,

  which (in extremes) an earthen urn containeth.

CORNELIA

O sweet, dear, deplorable cinders,

O miserable woman, living dying.

O poor Cornelia, borne to be distrest,

Why liv’st thou toil’d, that (dead) might’st lye at rest?

O faithless hands that under cloak of love,

Did entertain him, to torment him so.

O barbarous, inhumane, hateful traitors,

This your disloyal dealing hath defam’d

Your king , and his inhospitable seat,

Of the extremest and most odious crime,

That ’gainst the heavens might be imagined.

For ye have basely broke the law of arms ,

And outrag’d over an afflicted soul;

Murdered a man that did submit himself,

And injur’d him that ever us’d you kindly.

For which misdeed, be Egypt pestered,

With battaile, famine, and perpetual plagues.

Let aspics, serpents, snakes, and Lybian bears,

Tigers, and lions, breed with you forever,

And let fair Nilus (wont to nurse your corn)

Cover your land with toads and crocodiles,

That may infect, devour and murder you.

Els earth make way, and hell receive them quick:

A hateful race, ’mongst whom there doth abide

All treason, luxury, and homicide.

PHILIP

Cease these laments.   

CORNELIA       I doe but what I ought

  to mourn his death.

PHILIP        Alas that profits nought.

CORNELIA

Will heaven let treason be unpunished?

PHILIP

Heavens will perform what they have promised.

CORNELIA

I fear the heavens will not hear our prayer.

PHILIP

The plaints of men opprest doe pierce the air.

CORNELIA

Yet Caesar liveth still. 

PHILIP        “ Due punishment

“ Succeeds not always after an offence.

“ For oftentimes t’is for our chastisement

“ That heaven doth with wicked men dispense.

“ That when they list, they may with usury,

“ For all misdeeds pay home the penalty.

CORNELIA

  This is the hope that feeds my hapless days,

  Els had my life been long ago expired.

  I trust the gods, that see our hourly wrongs,

  Will fire his shameful body with their flames.

  Except some man (resolved) shall conclude,

  With Caesar’s death to end our servitude.

Els (god tofore) myself may live to see

  His tired corpse lie toiling in his blood,

  Gor’d with a thousand stabs, and round about,

  The wronged people leap for inward joy.

  And then, come murder, then come ugly death,

  Then, Lethe open thine infernal lake,

  I’ll down with joy, because before I died,

  Mine eyes have seen what I in heart desir’d.

  Pompey may not revive, and (Pompey dead)

  Let me but see the murderer murdered.

PHILIP

Caesar bewail’d his death.

CORNELIA         His death he mourn’d,

  whom, while he liv’d, to live like him he scorned. 

PHILIP

He punished his murd’rers.

CORNELIA         Who murdered him

  but he that followed Pompey with the sword?

He murdered Pompey that pursu’d his death,

And cast the plot to catch him in the trap.

He that of his departure took the spoil, 

Whose fell ambition (founded first in blood)

By nought but Pompey’s life could be withstood.

PHILIP

Photis and false Achillas he beheaded .

CORNELIA

That was, because that Pompey being their friend,

  they had determin’d once of Caesar’s end. 

PHILIP

What got he by his death?

CORNELIA         Supremacy.

PHILIP

Yet Caesar speaks of Pompey honourably.

CORNELIA

Words are but wind, nor meant he what he spoke.

PHILIP

He will not let his statues be broke.

CORNELIA

By which disguise (what ere he doth pretend)

His own from being broke he doth defend.

And by the trains, wherewith he us allures,

His own estate more firmly he assures.

PHILIP

He took no pleasure in his death you see.

CORNELIA

Because himself of life did not bereave him.

PHILIP

Nay, he was mov’d with former amity.

CORNELIA

He never trusted him, but to deceive him.

  But, had he lov’d him with a love unfeigned,

  Yet had it been a vain and trustless league;

“ For there is nothing in the soul of man 

“ So firmly grounded, as can qualify,

“ Th’inextinguible thirst of signiory.

“ Not heavens fear, nor countries sacred love,

“ Nor ancient laws, nor nuptial chaste desire,

“ Respect of blood, or (that which most should moue,)

“ The inward zeal that Nature doth require:

“ All these, nor any thing we can devise,

“ Can stoop the heart resolv’d to tyrannize.

PHILIP

I fear your griefs increase with this discourse.

CORNELIA

My griefs are such, as hardly can be worse.

PHILIP

“ Time calmeth all things.

CORNELIA        No time qualifies

 my doleful spirit’s endless miseries.

My grief is like a rock, whence (ceaseless) strain

Fresh springs of water at my weeping eyes:

Still fed by thoughts, like floods with winter’s rain. 

For when, to ease th’oppression of my heart,

I breathe an Autumn  forth of fiery sighs,

Yet herewithal my passion neither dyes,

Nor dries the heat the moisture of mine eyes.

PHILIP

Can nothing then recure these endless tears? 

CORNELIA

Yes, news of Caesar’s death that med’cine bears.

PHILIP

Madam, beware, for, should he hear of this,

  his wrath against you t’will exasperate.

CORNELIA

I neither stand in fear of him nor his.

PHILIP

T’is policy to fear a powerful hate. 

CORNELIA

What can he doe?

PHILIP       Madam, what cannot men

  that have the power to doe what pleaseth them?

CORNELIA

He can doe mee no mischief that I dread.

PHILIP

Yes, cause your death.

CORNELIA       Thrice happy were I dead.

PHILIP

With rigorous torments.

CORNELIA        Let him torture me,

  Pull me in pieces, famish, fire me up,

  Fling me alive into a lion’s den:

  There is no death so hard torments me so,

  As his extreme triumphing in our woe.

But if he will torment me, let him then 

  Deprive me wholly of the hope of death; 

  For I had died before the fall of Rome,

  And slept with Pompey in the peaceful deeps,

  Save that I live in hope to see ere long,

  That Caesar’s death shall satisfy his wrong. 

CHORUS.

“ Fortune in power imperious,

“  Us’d o’er the world and worldlings thus

“             to tyrannize,

“ When she hath heap’t her gifts on us.

“             away she flies. 

“ Her feet more swift than is the wind,

“ Are more inconstant in their kind

“             than autumn blasts,

“ A woman’s shape, a woman’s mind,

“            that seldom lasts. 

“ One while she bends her angry brow,

“ And of no labour will allow.

“            Another while,

“ She fleres  again, I know not how,

“             still to beguile. 

“ Fickle in our adversities,

“ And fickle when our fortunes rise,

“             she scoffs at us:

“ That (blind herself) can blear our eyes,

“             to trust her thus. 

“ The sun that lends the earth his light,

“ Beheld her never overnight

“             lie calmly down,

“ But, in the morrow following, might

“            perceive her frown. 

“ She hath not only power and will,

“ T’abuse the vulgar wanting skill,

“            but when she list,

“ To kings and clowns doth equal ill

“            without resist.

“ Mischance that every man abhors,

“ And cares for crowned emperors

“             she doth reserve,

“ As for the poorest labourers

“             that work or starve. 

“ The merchant that for private gain,

“ Doth send his ships to passe the main,

“            upon the shore,

“ In hope he shall his wish obtain,

“            doth thee adore. 

“ Upon the sea, or on the land,

“ Where health or wealth, or vines doe stand,

“             thou canst doe much,

“ And often helpst the helpless hand,

“             thy power is such.

“ And many times (dispos’d to jest)

“ ’Gainst one whose power and cause is best,

“             (thy power to try)

“ To him that ne’er put spear in rest

“             giv’st victory.

“ For so the Lybian monarchy,

“ That with Ausonian blood did die

“              our warlike field,

“ To one that ne’re got victory,

“             was urg’d to yield.

“ So noble Marius, Arpin’s friend,

“ That did the Latin state defend

“             from Cymbrian rage,

“ Did prove thy fury in the end

“             which nought could swage. 

“ And Pompey, whose days haply led,

“ So long thou seem’dst t’have favoured,

“              in vain t’is said

“ When the Pharsalian field he led

“              implor’d thine aide. 

“ Now Caesar, swoll’n with honour’s heat,

“ Sits signiorizing in her seat,

“             and will not see

“ That Fortune can her hopes defeat

“            whate’er they be.

“ From chance is nothing franchised,

“ And till the time that they are dead,

“             is no man blest.

“ He only that no death doth dread,

“             doth live at rest.

[4.1]

Cassius. Decimus Brutus.

[CASSIUS]

Accursed Rome, that arm’st against thyself

  A tyrant’s rage, and mak’st a wretch thy king.

  For one man’s pleasure (O injurious Rome!)

  Thy children ’gainst thy children thou hast arm’d;

  And thinkst not of the rivers of their blood,

  That erst was shed to save thy liberty,

  Because thou ever hatedst monarchy.

Now o’er our bodies (tumbled up on heaps,

  Like cocks of Hay when July shears the field)

  Thou buildst thy kingdom, and thou seat’st thy king. 

  And to be servile (which torments me most)

  Employest our lives, and lavishest our blood.

  O Rome, (accursed Rome!) thou murderest us,

  And massacrest thyself in yielding thus.

Yet are there gods, yet is there heaven and earth,

  That seem to fear a certain Thunderer ,

  No, no, there are no gods, or if there be,

  They leave to see into the worlds affairs;

  They care not for us, nor account of men,

  For what we see is done, is done by chance.

  T’is Fortune rules, for equity and right,

  Have neither help nor grace in heaven’s sight.

Scipio hath wrencht a sword into his breast, 

  And launc’d his bleeding wound into the sea.

  Undaunted Cato tore his entrails out.

  Afranius and Faustus  murdered died.

  Juba and Petreus  fiercely combatting,

  Have each done other equal violence.

  Our army’s broken, and the Lybian bears

  Devour the bodies of our citizens.

  The conquering tyrant, high in Fortune’s grace,

  Doth ride triumphing o’er our commonwealth.

  And, mournful, we behold him bravely mounted

  (With stern looks) in his chariot, where he leads

  The conquered honour of the people yok’t.

  So Rome to Caesar yields both power and pelf ,

  And o’re Rome Caesar reigns in Rome itself.

But Brutus shall we dissolutely sit,

  And see the tyrant live to tyrannize?

  Or shall their ghosts that died to doe us good,

  Plaine in their tombs of our base cowardice?

  Shall lamed soldiers, and grave grey-haired men,

  Point at us in their bitter tears, and say:

  “See where they goe that have their race forgot.

  And rather choose (unarm’d) to serve with shame,

  Than (arm’d) to save their freedom and their fame.”

BRUTUS

I swear by heaven, th’immortals’ highest throne,

  Their temples, altars, and their images,

  To see (for one) that Brutus suffer not

  His ancient liberty to be represt. 

  I freely marcht with Caesar in his wars,

  Not to be subject, but to aide his right.

  But if (envenom’d with ambitious thoughts)

  He lift his hand imperiously o’er us,

  If he determine but to reign in Rome,

  Or follow’d Pompey but to this effect;

  Or if (these civil discords now dissolv’d)

  He render not the empire back to Rome,

  Then shall he see that Brutus this day bears,

  The selfsame arms to be aveng’d on him.

  And that this hand (though Caesar blood abhor)

  Shall toil in his, which I am sorry for.

I love, I love him dearly. “ But the love

“ That men their country and their birth-right bear,

“ Exceeds all loves, and dear is by far 

“ Our country’s love, than friends or children are.

CASSIUS

If this brave care be nourisht in your blood,

  Or if so frank a will your soul possess,

  Why hast we not even while these words are uttred,

  To sheathe our new-ground swords in Caesar’s throat?

  Why spend we day-light, and why dies he not,

  That by his death we wretches may revive?

  We stay too long, I burn till I be there

  To see this massacre, and send his ghost

  To theirs, whom (subtly) he for monarchy,

  Made fight to death with show of liberty.

BRUTUS

Yet haply he (as Sulla whilom did)

  When he hath rooted civil war from Rome,

  Will therewithal discharge the power he hath.

CASSIUS

Caesar and Sulla, Brutus, be not like.

  Sulla (assaulted by the enemy)

  Did arm himself (but in his own defence)

  Against both Cinna’s host and Marius.

  Whom when he had discomfited and chas’d,

  And of his safety throughly was assur’d, 

  He laid apart the power that he had got,

  And gave up rule, for he desir’d it not.

Where Caesar that in silence might have slept,

  Nor urg’d by ought but his ambition,

  Did break into the heart of Italie.

  And like rude Brennus  brought his men to field,

  Travers’d the seas, and shortly after (backt

  With wintered soldiers us’d to conquering)

  He aim’d at us, bent to exterminate,

  Whoever sought to intercept his state.

Now, having got what he hath gaped for,

  Dear Brutus, think you Caesar such a child,

  Slightly to part with so great signiory?

  Believe it not, he bought it dear you know,

  And travelled too far to leave it so.

BRUTUS

But, Cassius, Caesar is not yet a king.

CASSIUS

No, but dictator, in effect as much.

  He doth what pleaseth him (a princely thing),

  And wherein differ they whose power is such?

BRUTUS

He is not bloody.

CASSIUS

         But by bloody jars 

  he hath unpeopled most part of the earth.

  Both Gaul and Afrique perisht by his wars.

  Egypt, Emathia,  Italy and Spain,

  Are full of dead men’s bones by Caesar slain.

Th’infectious plague, and famine’s bitterness,

  Or th’ocean (whom no pitty can asswage)

  Though they contain dead bodies numberless,

  Are yet inferior to Caesar’s rage.

  Who (monster-like) with his ambition

  Hath left more tombs than ground to lay them on. 

BRUTUS

Soldiers with such reproach should not be blam’d.

CASSIUS

He with his soldiers hath himself defam’d.

BRUTUS

Why then you think there is no praise in war.

CASSIUS

Yes, where the causes reasonable are.

BRUTUS

He hath enricht the empire with new states.

CASSIUS

Which with ambition now he ruinates.

BRUTUS

He hath reveng’d the Gauls old injury,

  And made them subject to our Romane laws.

CASSIUS

The restful Almains with his cruelty,

  He rashly stirred against us without cause,

  And hazarded our city and ourselves

  Against a harmless nation, kindly given,

  To whom we should do well (for some amends)

  To render him, and reconcile old friends.

These nations did he purposely provoke,

  To make an army for his after-aide,

  Against the Romans, whom in policy

  He train’d in war to steal their signiory.

“ Like them that (striving at th’Olympian sports

“ To grace themselves with honour of the game)

“ Anoint their sinews fit for wrestling,

“ And (ere they enter) use some exercise.

The Gauls were but a fore-game fecht about

  For civil discord, wrought by Caesar’s sleights,

  Whom (to be King himself) he soon remov’d,

  Teaching a people hating servitude,

  To fight for that that did their deaths conclude.

BRUTUS

The wars once ended, we shall quickly know,

  Whether he will restore the state or no.

CASSIUS

No Brutus, never look to see that day, 

  For Caesar holdeth signiory too dear.

  But know, while Cassius hath one drop of blood,

  To feed this worthless body that you see,

  What reck I death to doe so many good,

  In spite of Caesar, Cassius will be free. 

BRUTUS

A generous or true ennobled spirit,

  Detests to learn what lasts of servitude.

CASSIUS

Brutus, I cannot serve nor see Rome yok’d.

  No, let me rather die a thousand deaths.

“ The stiff-neckt horses champ not on the bit, 

“ Nor meekly bear the rider but by force;

“ The sturdy oxen toil not at the plough,

“ Nor yield unto the yoke but by constraint.

  Shall we then that are men, and Romans borne,

  Submit us to unurged slavery? 

  Shall Rome that hath so many over-thrown,

  Now make herself a subject to her own?

O base indignity. A beardless youth,

  Whom king Nicomedes  could over-reach,

  Commands the world, and bridleth all the earth, 

  And like a prince controls the Romulists,

  Brave Roman soldiers, stern-born sons of Mars.

  And none, not one, that dares to undertake

  The intercepting of his tyranny.

  O, Brutus speak, O say Servilius, 

  Why cry you aim, and see us used thus?

But Brutus lives, and sees, and knows, and feels,

  That there is one that curbs their Country’s weal.

  Yet (as he were the semblance, not the son,

  Of noble Brutus, his great grandfather ,)

  As if he wanted hands, sense, sight, or heart,

  He doth, deviseth, sees, nor dareth ought,

  That may extirp or raze these tyrannies.

  Nor ought doth Brutus that to Brute belongs,

  But still increaseth by his negligence,

  His own disgrace, and Caesar’s violence,

The wrong is great, and over-long endur’d,

  We should have practiced, conspired, conjur’d,

  A thousand ways, and weapons to repress,

  Or kill out-right this cause of our distress.

CHORUS

“ Who prodigally spends his blood,

“  Bravely to doe his country good,

“ And liveth to no other end,

“ But resolutely to attempt

“ What may the innocent defend, 

“ And bloody tyrants rage prevent; 

“ And he that in his soul assur’d

“ Hath waters force, and fire endur’d,

“ And past the pikes of thousand hosts ,

“ To free the truth from tyranny, 

“ And fearless scours in danger coasts,

“ T’enlarge his country’s liberty,

“ Were all the world his foes before,

“ Now shall they love him ever-more.

“ His glory spread abroad by fame,

“ On wings of his posterity,

“ From obscure death shall free his name,

“ To live in endless memory.

“ All after ages shall adore,

“ And honour him with hymns therefore. 

“ Yearly the youth for joy shall bring,

“ The fairest flowers that grow in Rome.

“ And yearly in the sommer sing,

“ O’er his heroic kingly tomb.

“ For so the two Athenians ,

“ That from their fellow citizens,

“ Did freely chase vile servitude,

“ Shall live for valiant prowess blest.

“ No sepulchre shall ere exclude,

“ Their glory equal with the best.

“ But when the vulgar, mad and rude,

“ Repay good with ingratitude,

“ Hardly then they them reward: 

“ That to free them from the hands

“ Of a tyrant, ne’er regard 

“ In what plight their person stands.

“ For high Jove that guideth all,

“ When he lets his just wrath fall,

“ To revenge proud diadems,

“ With huge cares doth cross kings’ lives,

“ Raising treasons in their realms,

“ By their children, friends, or wives.

“ Therefore, he whom all men fear,

“ Feareth all men everywhere.

“ Fear that doth engender hate,

“ (Hate enforcing them thereto)

“ Maketh many undertake,

“ Many things they would not doe.

“ O how many mighty kings

“ Live in fear of petty things. 

“ For when kings have sought by wars,

“ Stranger towns to have o’erthrown,

“ They have caught deserved skars,

“ Seeking that was not their own.

“ For no tyrant, commonly

“ Living ill, can kindly die.

“ But either traitorously surpris’d

“ Doth coward poison quail their breath,

“ Or their people have devis’d,

“ Or their guard to seek their death.

“ He only lives most happily,

“ That free and far from majesty,

“ Can live content, although unknown:

“ He fearing none, none fearing him.

“ Meddling with nothing but his own, 

“ While gazing eyes at crowns grow dim.

[4.2]

Caesar. Marc Antony.

CAESAR

O Rome, that with thy pride dost overpeer,

  The worthiest cities of the conquered world.

  Whose honour got by famous victories,

  Hath filled heaven’s fiery vaults with frightful horror.

  O lofty towers, O stately battlements,

  O glorious temples, O proud palaces,

  And you brave walls, bright heaven’s masonry,

  Grac’d with a thousand kingly diadems.

  Are ye not stirred with a strange delight,

  To see your Caesar’s matchless victories? 

  And how your empire and your praise begins

  Through fame, which he of stranger Nations wins?

O beauteous Tiber , with thine easy streams,

  That glide as smoothly as a Parthian shaft;

  Turn not thy crispy tides like silver curl,

  Back to thy grass-green banks to welcome us,

  And with a gentle murmur hast to tell

  The foaming seas the honour of our fight?

  Trudge not thy streams to Triton’s mariners

  To bruit the praises of our conquests past? 

  And make their vaunts to old Oceanus ,

  That hence-forth Tiber shall salute the seas,

  More fam’d than Tiger or fair Euphrates?

Now all the world (wel-nigh) doth stoop to Rome.

  The sea, the earth, and all is almost ours.

  Be it where the bright sun with his neighbour beams,

  Doth early light the pearled Indians,

  Or where his chariot stays to stop the day,

  Till heaven unlock the darkness of the night.

  Be it where the sea is wrapt in crystal ice,

  Or where the sommer doth but warm the earth.

  Or here, or there, where is not Rome renown’d?

  There lives no king (how great so e’er he be)

  But trembleth if he once but hear of me.

Caesar is now earth’s fame, and Fortune’s terror,

  And Caesar’s worth hath stained old soldiers’ praises.

  Rome, speak no more of either Scipio,

  Nor of the Fabii, or Fabritians ,

  Here let the Decii  and their glory die.

  Caesar hath tam’d more nations, ta’en more towns,

  And fought more battailes than the best of them.

  Caesar doth triumph over all the world,

  And all they scarcely conquered a nook.

  The Gauls that came to Tiber to carouse,

  Did live to see my soldiers drink at Loire ;

  And those brave Germans, true borne martialists ,

  Beheld the swift Rhine under-run mine ensigns;

  The Brittains  (lockt within a watery realm,

  And walled by Neptune) stoopt to me at last. 

  The faithless Moor, the fierce Numidian,

  Th’earth that the Euxine sea  makes sometimes marsh,

  The stony-hearted people that inhabit

  Where sev’nfold Nilus doth disgorge itself,

  Have all been urg’d to yield to my command.

  Yea, even this city that hath almost made 

  An universal conquest of the world

  And that brave warrior my brother in law ,

  That (ill advis’d) repined at my glory:

  Pompey, that second Mars, whose haught  renown

  And noble deeds, were greater than his fortunes.

  Proov’d to his loss but even in one assault

  My hand, my hap, my heart exceeded his;

  When the Thessalian fields were purpled o’er

  With either armies murdered soldiers goe.

  When he (to conquering accustomed)

  Did (conquered) fly, his troops discomfited.

Now Scipio, that long’d to shew himself

  Descent of African (so fam’d for arms)

  He durst affront me and my warlike bands,

  Upon the coasts of Libya, till he lost

  His scattered army, and to shun the scorn

  Of being taken captive, killed himself.

Now therefore let us triumph Antony.

  And rendering thanks to heaven as we goe

  For bridling those that did malign our glory, 

  Let’s to the Capitol.

ANTONY        Come on, brave Caesar,

  And crown thy head, and mount thy chariot.

  Th’impatient people run along the streets,

  And in a route against thy gates, they rush

  To see their Caesar, after dangers past,

  Made conqueror and emperor at last.

CAESAR

I call to witness heaven’s great Thunderer,

  That ’gainst my will I have maintained this war,

  Nor thirsted I for conquests bought with blood.

  I joy not in the death of citizens,

  But through my self-willed enemies despite,

  And Romans wrong was I constrained to fight.

ANTONY

They sought t’eclipse thy fame, but destiny

  Revers’d th’effect of their ambition.

  And Caesar’s praise increased by their disgrace

  That reckt not of his virtuous deeds. But thus

  We see it fareth with the envious.

CAESAR

I never had the thought to injure them.

  Howbeit I never meant my greatness should,

  By any other’s greatness be o’erruld.

  For as I am inferior to none,

  So can I suffer no superiors.

ANTONY

Well, Caesar, now they are discomfited,

  And Crowes are feasted with their carcasses;

  And yet I fear you have too kindly sav’d 

  Those, that your kindness hardly will requite.

CAESAR

Why Antony, what would you wish me doe?

  Now shall you see that they will pack to Spain,

  And (joyned with the exiles there encamp)

  Until th’ill spirit that doth them defend, 

  Doe bring their treasons to a bloody end.

ANTONY

I fear not those that to their weapons fly,

  And keep their state in Spain, in Spain to die.

CAESAR

Whom fear’st thou then, Mark Antony?

ANTONY                The hateful crew,

  That wanting power in field to conquer you, 

  Have in their coward souls devised snares

  To murder thee, and take thee at unwares.

CAESAR

Will those conspire my death that live by me?

ANTONY

In conquered foes what credit can there be?

CAESAR

Besides their lives, I did their goods restore.

ANTONY

O but their country’s good concerns them more.

CAESAR

What, think they me to be their country’s foe?

ANTONY

No, but that thou usurp’st the right they owe.

CAESAR

To Rome have I submitted mighty things.

ANTONY

Yet Rome endures not the command of kings.

CAESAR

Who dares to contradict our empery?

ANTONY

Those whom thy rule hath rob’d of liberty.

CAESAR

I fear them not whose death is but deferred.

ANTONY

I fear my foe until he be interred.

CAESAR

A man may make his foe his friend you know. 

ANTONY

A man may easier make his friend his foe.

CAESAR

Good deeds the cruellest heart to kindness bring,

ANTONY

But resolution is a deadly thing.

CAESAR

If citizens my kindness have forgot,

  whom shall I then not fear?

ANTONY           Those that are not.

CAESAR

What, shall I slay them all that I suspect?

ANTONY

Els cannot Caesar’s empery endure.

CAESAR

Rather I will my life and all neglect.

  Nor labour I my vain life to assure.

  But so to die, as dying I may live,

  And leaving off this earthly tomb of mine,

  Ascend to heaven upon my winged deeds.

  And shall I not have lived long enough

  That in so short a time am so much fam’d?

  Can I too-soon goe taste Cocytus’  flood? 

  No Antony, Death cannot injure us,

“ For he lives long that dies victorious.

ANTONY

Thy praises show thy life is long enough,

  But for thy friends and country all too-short.

  Should Caesar live as long as Nestor  did, 

  Yet Rome may wish his life eternized.

CAESAR

Heaven sets our time, with heaven may nought dispense.

ANTONY

But we may shorten time with negligence.

CAESAR

But Fortune and the heavens have care of us.

ANTONY

Fortune is fickle, heaven imperious. 

CAESAR

What shall I then doe?

ANTONY        As befits your state,

  Maintain a watchful guard about your gate.

CAESAR

What more assurance may our state defend

  Than love of those that doe on us attend?

ANTONY

There is no hatred more if it be mov’d,

  Than theirs whom we offend, and once belov’d.

CAESAR

Better it is to die than be suspicious.

ANTONY

T’is wisdom yet not to be credulous.

CAESAR

The quiet life, that carelessly is led, 

  Is not alonely  happy in this world,

  But Death itself doth sometime pleasure us.

  That death that comes unsent for or unseen,

  And suddenly doth take us at unware,

  Methinks is sweetest. And if heaven were pleas’d,

  I could desire that I might die so well.

  The fear of evil doth afflict us more,

  Than th’evil itself, though it be ne’er so sore.

A CHORUS OF CAESAR’S FRIENDS.

O fair sun that gently smiles,

From the orient-pearled isles, 

Gilding these our gladsome days,

With the beauty of thy rays:

Free from rage of civil strife,

Long preserve our Caesar’s life.

That from sable Afrique brings

Conquests whereof Europe rings.

And fair Venus thou of whom

The Eneades are come ,

Henceforth vary not thy grace,

From Iulus’ happy race.

Rather cause thy dearest son, 

By his triumphs new begun,

To expel from forth the Land,

Fierce wars quenchless fire-brand.

That of care acquitting us,

(Who at last adore him thus)

He a peaceful star appear,

From our walls all woes to clear.

And so let his warlike brows,

Still be deckt with laurel boughs ,

And his statues new set

With many a fresh-flowered coronet.

So, in every place let be,

Feasts, and masques, and mirthful glee,

Strewing roses in the street,

When their emperor they meet.

He his foes hath conquered,

Never leaning till they fled,

And (abhorring blood) at last

Pardon’d all offences past.

“ For high Jove the heavens among,

“ (Their support that suffer wrong)

“ Doth oppose himself again

“ Bloody mind cruel men.

“ For he shorteneth their days,

“ Or prolongs them with dispraise: 

“ Or (his greater wrath to show)

“ Gives them over to their foe.

Caesar, a citizen so wrong’d

Of the honour him belong’d,

To defend himself from harms, 

Was enforc’d to take up arms.

For he saw that Envy’s dart,

(Pricking still their poisoned heart

For his sudden glory got)

Made his envious foe so hot.

Wicked Envy, feeding still,

Foolish those that doe thy will!

For thy poisons in them pour

Sundry passions every hour,

And to choler  doth convert,

Purest blood about the heart.

Which (o’erflowing of their breast)

Suffreth nothing to digest.

“ Other men’s prosperity,

“ Is their infelicity.

“ And their choler then is rais’d

“ When they hear another prais’d.

“ Neither Phoebus fairest eye,

“ Feasts, nor friendly company,

“ Mirth, or what so-e’er it be, 

“ With their humour can agree.

“ Day or night they never rest,

“ Sprightful hate so pecks their breast,

“ Pinching their perplexed lunges,

“ With her fiery poisoned tongues. 

“ Fire-brands in their breasts they bear,

“As if Tisiphon  were there.

“And their souls are pierc’d as sore

“As Prometheus’ ghost, and more.

“ Wretches, they are woe-begone, 

“ For their wound is always one,

“ Nor hath Chiron power or skill,

“ To recure them of their ill.

[5]

The Messenger. Cornelia. Chorus.

MESSENGER [aside]

Unhappy man, amongst so many wracks 

  As I have suffered both by land and sea,

  That scornful destiny denies my death.

  Oft have I seen the ends of mightier men,

  Whose coats of steel base Death hath stolen into.

  And in this direful war before mine eyes,

  Beheld their corpses scattered on the plains,

  And endless numbers falling by my side,

  Nor those ignoble, but the noblest lords,

  ’Mongst whom above the rest, that moves me most,

  Scipio (my dearest master) is deceas’d.

  And Death that sees the noble’s blood so rife,

  Full-gorged triumphs and disdains my life.

CORNELIA

We are undone.

CHORUS     Scipio hath lost the day.

  But hope the best, and harken to his news.

CORNELIA

O cruel fortune.

MESSENGER   These mis-fortunes yet

  Must I report to sad Cornelia.

  Whose ceaseless grief (which I am sorry for)

  Will aggravate my former misery.

CORNELIA

Wretch that I am, why leave I not the world?

  Or wherefore am I not already dead?

  O world! O wretch!

CHORUS

Is this th’undaunted heart

  That is required in extremities?

  Be more confirmed. And Madam, let not grief

  Abuse your wisdom like a vulgar wit. 

  Haply the news is better than the noise,

  Let’s hear him speak.

CORNELIA

            O no, for all is lost.

  Farewell dear Father.

CHORUS        Hee is sav’d, perhaps.

MESSENGER

Me thinks, I hear my Master’s daughter speak.

  What sighs, what sobs, what plaints, what passions 

  Have we endured Cornelia for your sake?

CORNELIA

Where is thine emperor ?

MESSENGER        Where our captains are.

  Where are our legions? Where our men at arms?

  Or where so many of our Roman souls?

  The earth, the sea, the vultures and the crows,

  Lions and bears are their best sepulchres.

CORNELIA

O miserable.

CHORUS    Now I see the heavens,

  are heaped with rage and horror ’gainst this house.

CORNELIA

O earth, why op’st  thou not?

CHORUS

                Why wail you so?

  Assure yourself that Scipio bravely died,

  And such a death excels a servile life.

[CORNELIA]

Say Messenger, 

[CHORUS]    The manner of his end 

  will haply comfort this your discontent.

CORNELIA

Discourse the manner of his hard mishap,

  And what disastrous accident did break,

  So many people bent so much to fight.

MESSENGER

Caesar, that wisely knew his soldiers’ hearts,

 And their desire to be approv’d in arms,  

  Sought nothing more than to encounter us.

  And therefore faintly skirmishing in craft,

  Lamely they fought, to draw us further on.

  Oft (to provoke our wary well-taught troops)

  He would attempt the entrance on our bar.

  Nay, even our trenches, to our great disgrace,

  And call our soldiers cowards to their face. 

But when he saw his wiles, nor bitter words,

  Could draw our captains to endanger us,

  Coasting along and following by the foot,

  He thought to tyre and weary us from thence.

  And got his willing hosts to march by night, 

  With heavy armour on their hardened backs,

  Down to the seaside, where, before faire Thapsus,

  He made his pioneers (poor weary souls) 

  The self-same day, to dig and cast new trenches,

  And plant strong barricades. Where he (encampt)

  Resolv’d by force to hold us hard at work.

  Scipio, no sooner heard of his designs,

  But being afeard to lose so fit a place,

  Marcht on the sudden to the self-same city.

  Where few men might doe much, which made him see

  Of what importance such a town would be.

The fields are spread, and as a household camp

  Of creeping emmets in a country farm

  That come to forage when the cold begins,

  Leaving their crannies to goe search about,

  Cover the earth so thick, as scarce we tread

  But we shall see a thousand of them dead.

Even so our battails scattered on the sands,

  Did scour the plains in pursuit of the foe.

  One while at Thapsus we begin t’entrench,

  To ease our army, if it should retire.

  Another while we softly sally forth,

  And wakeful Caesar that doth watch our being,

  (When he perceives us marching o’er the plain)

  Doth leap for gladness. And (to murder vow’d)

  Runs to the tent for fear we should be gone,

  And quickly claps his rustic armour on.

For true it is, that Caesar brought at first,

  An host of men to Afrique, meanly arm’d,

  But such as had brave spirits, and (combatting)

  Had power and wit to make a wretch a king.

Well, forth to field they marched all at once,

  Except some few that stayd to guard the trench.

  Them Caesar soon and subt’ly sets in rank,

  And every regiment, warn’d with a word,

  Bravely to fight for honour of the day.

  He shows that ancient soldiers need not fear

  Them that they had so oft disordered,

  Them that already dream’d of death or flight.

  That tyer’d, would ne’er hold out, if once they see  

  That they o’erlaid them in the first assault.

Meanwhile our emperor (at all points arm’d)

  Whose silver hairs and honourable front,

  Were (warlike) lockt within a plumed cask,

  In one hand held his targe of steel embosst, 

  And in the other graspt his coutelas;

  And with a cheerful look survey’d the camp.

  Exhorting them to charge, and fight like men.

  And to endure whate’er betided them.

“For now” quoth he “is come that happy day, 

  Wherein our country shall approve our love.

  Brave Romains know, this is the day and hour,

  That we must all live free, or friendly die.

  For my part (being an ancient senator)

  An emperor and consul, I disdain 

  The world should see me to become a slave.

  I’ll either conquer, or this sword you see,

  (Which brightly shone) shall make an end of me.

We fight not we like thieves, for others’ wealth.

  We fight not we t’enlarge our scant confines.

  To purchase fame to our posterities,

  By stuffing of our trophies in their houses.

  But t’is for public freedom that we fight,

  For Rome we fight, and those that fled for fear.

  Nay more, we fight for safety of our lives, 

  Our goods, our honours, and our ancient laws.  

  As for the Empire, and the Roman state

  (Due to the victor) thereon ruminate.

Think how this day the honourable dames,

  With blubbered eyes, and hands to heaven uprear’d, 

  Sit invocating for us to the gods,

  That they will bless our holy purposes.

  Me thinks I see poor Rome in horror clad,

  And aged senators in sad discourse,

  Mourn for our sorrows and their servitude.

  Methinks I see them (while lamenting thus)

  Their hearts and eyes lie hovering over us.

On then brave men, my fellows and Rome’s friends,

  To shew us worthy of our ancestors!

  And let us fight with courage and conceit,

  That we may rest the masters of the field:

  That this brave tyrant valiantly beset,

  May perish in the press before our faces.

  And that his troops (as tucht with lightning flames)

  May by our horse, in heaps be over-thrown, 

  And he (blood-thirsting) wallow in his own”.

This said, his army crying all at once,

  With joyful tokens did applaud his speeches,

  Whose swift shrill noise did pierce into the clouds,

  Like northern winds that beat the horned Alpes.

  The clattering armour buskling  as they paced,

  Rong  through the forests with a frightful noise,  

  And every echo took the trumpets’ clang;

  When (like a tempest rais’d with whirlwind’s rage)

  They ran at ever’each other hand and foot.

  Wherewith the dust, as with a darksome cloud,

  Arose, and over-shadowed horse and man.

  The darts and arrows on their armour glanced,

  And with their fall the trembling earth was shaken.

  The air (that thickened with their thundering cries) 

  With pale wan clouds discoloured the sun.

  The fire in sparks from forth their armour flew,

  And with a duskish yellow, chokt the heavens.

  The battels lockt, (with bristle-pointed spears)

  Doe at the half-pike freely charge each other,

  And dash together like two lusty bulls

  That (jealous of some heifer in the herd,

  Run head to head, and (sullen) will not yield,

  Till, dead or fled, the one forsake the field.

The shivered lances (rattling in the air) 

  Fly forth as thick as moats about the sun

  When with their swords (flesht with the former fight,)

  They hew their armour, and they cleave their casks,

  Till streams of blood, like rivers fill the downs

  That being infected with the stench thereof

  Surcloys  the ground, and of a champant  land,

  Makes it a quagmire, where (knee-deep) they stand.

Blood-thirsty Discord, with her snaky hair,  

  A fearful hag, with fire-darting eyes,

  Runs ’cross the squadrons with a smoky brand, 

  And with her murdering whip encourageth

  The over-forward hands, to blood and death.

Bellona  fired with a quenchless rage,

  Runs up and down, and in the thickest throng,

  Cuts, casts the ground, and madding makes a pool, 

  Which, in her rage, free passage doth afford

  That with our blood she may anoint her sword.

Now we of our side, urge them to retreat,

  And now before them, we retyre as fast. 

  As on the Alpes the sharp north-northeast wind,

  Shaking a pine tree with their greatest power,

  One while the top doth almost touch the earth,

  And then it riseth with a counterbuff .

  So did the armies press and charge each other,

  With self-same courage, worth and weapons too; 

  And prodigal of life for liberty,

  With burning hate let each at other fly.

Thrice did the cornets of the soldiers (cleared)

  Turn to the standard to be new supplied;

  And thrice the best of both was fain to breathe;

  And thrice recomforted they bravely ran,

  And fought as freshly as they first began.

Like two fierce lions fighting in a desert,

  To win the love of some faire lioness,  

  When they have vomited their long-grown rage,

  And prov’d each other’s force sufficient,

  Passant regardant  softly they retire,

  Their jawbones dy’d with foaming froth and blood.

  Their lungs like sponges, ramm’d within their sides,

  Their tongues discovered, and their tails long trailing,

  Till jealous rage (engendered with rest)

  Returns them sharper set than at the first,

  And makes them couple when they see their prize,

  With bristled backs, and fire-sparkling eyes,

  Till, tired or conquer’d, one submits or flies. 

Caesar, whose kinglike looks like day-bright stars,

  Both comfort and encourage his to fight,

  Marcht through the battaile (laying still about him)

  And subtly markt whose hand was happiest;

  Who nicely did but dip his spear in blood, 

  And who more roughly smear’d it to his fist;

  Who (staggering) fell with every feeble wound,

  And who (more strongly) pac’d it through the thickest,

  Him he enflam’d, and spur’d, and filled with horror.

  As when Alecto  in the lowest hell

  Doth breathe new heat within Orestes’ breast,

  Till outward rage with inward grief begins,

  A fresh remembrance of our former sins.

For then (as if provokt with pricking goads,)

  Their warlike armies, (fast lockt foot to foot) 

  Stooping their heads low bent to toss their staves,

  They fiercely open both battalions,

  Cleave, break, and raging tempest-like o’er-turn,

  Whate’er makes head to meet them in this humour.

  Our men at arms (in brief) begin to fly;

  And neither prayers, entreaty, nor example

  Of any of their leaders left alive,

  Had power to stay them in this strange carrier.

  Straggling, as in the fair Calabrian fields ,

  When wolves for hunger ranging from the wood, 

  Make forth amongst the flock, that scattered flies

  Before the shepherd, that resistless lies.

CORNELIA

O cruel fortune.

MESSENGER    None resisting now,

   the field was filled with all confusion,

   of murder, death, and direful massacres.

  The feeble bands that yet were left entire

  Had more desire to sleep than seek for spoil .

  No place was free from sorrow, everywhere

  Lay armed men, o’ertrodden with their horses.

  Dismembered bodies drowning in their blood,

  And wretched heaps lie mourning of their maims,

  Whose blood, as from a sponge, or bunch of grapes

  Crusht in a wine-press, gusheth out so fast,

  As with the sight doth make the sound aghast.  

Some should you see that had their heads half cloven,

  And on the earth their brains lie trembling.

  Here one new wounded helps another dying,

  Here lay an arm, and there a leg lay shiver’d.

  Here horse and man (o’er-turnd) for mercy cried,

  With hands extended to the merciless

  That stopt their ears, and would not hear a word,

  But put them all (remorseless) to the sword.

He that had hap to ’scape, doth help a fresh,

  To re-enforce the side whereon he serv’d.

  But seeing that there the murdering enemy

  Pell-mell pursued them like a storm of hail,

  They gan retyre where Juba was encampt;

  But there had Caesar eftsoons tyranniz’d.

  So that, despairing to defend themselves,

  They laid aside their armour, and at last,

  Offred to yield unto the enemy.

  Whose stony heart, that ne’er did Roman good,

  Would melt with nothing but their dearest blood.

[CORNELIA]

And Scipio, my father?

[MESSENGER]      When he beheld

  His people so discomfited and scorn’d.

  When he perceiv’d the labour profitless,

  To seek by new encouraging his men,

  To come upon them with a fresh alarm;

  And when he saw the enemies pursuit,  

  To beat them down as fierce as thundering flints,

  And lay them level with the charged earth,

  Like ears of corn with rage of windy showers,

  Their battailes scattered, and their ensigns taken.

  And (to conclude) his men dismayed to see,

  The passage choakt with bodies of the dead

  (Incessantly lamenting th’extreme loss

  And souspirable  death of so brave soldiers);

  He spurs his horse, and (breaking through the press)

  Trots to the haven, where his ships he finds,

  And hopeless trusteth to the trustless winds. 

Now had he thought to have arriv’d in Spain,

  To raise new forces and return to field;

  But as one mischief draws another on,

  A sudden tempest takes him by the way,

  And casts him up near to the coasts of Hippon .

  Where th’adverse navy, sent to scour the seas,

  Did hourly keep their ordinary course;

  Where seeing himself at anchor slightly shipt,

  Besieg’d, betraid by wind, by land, by sea,

  (All raging mad to rig his better vessels,

  The little while this naval conflict lasted)

  Behold, his own was fiercely set upon,

  Which being sore beaten, till it brake again

  Ended the lives of his best fighting men.

There did the remnant of our Roman nobles, 

  Before the foe, and in their captain’s presence

  Die bravely, with their fauchins in their fists.

  Then Scipio, (that saw his ships through-galled

  And by the foe fulfilled with fire and blood,

  His people put to sword, sea, earth, and hell

  and heaven itself conjur’d to injure him)

  Stepts to the poop, and with a princely visage

  Looking upon his weapon, died with blood,

  Sighing he sets it to his breast, and said:

  “Since all our hopes are by the Gods beguil’d,

  What refuge now remains for my distress,

  But thee my dearest ne’er-deceiving sword?

  Yea, thee, my latest fortunes’ firmest hope,

  By whom I am assured this hap to have,

  That being free born, I shall not die a slave.” 

Scarce had he said, but cruelly resolv’d,

  He wrencht it to the pommel through his sides,

  That from the wound the smoky blood ran bubbling,

  Wherewith he staggered, and I stept to him

  To have embrac’d him. But he (being afraid 

  T’attend the mercy of his murdering foe,

  That stil pursued him, and opprest his ships)

  Crawled to the deck, and life with death to ease,

  Headlong he threw himself into the seas.

CORNELIA

O cruel Gods, O heaven, O direful Fates!

  O radiant sun that slightly guildst our days!

  O night stars, full of infelicities,

  O triple titled Hecat , queen and goddess,

  Bereave my life, or living strangle me!

  Confound me quick, or let me sink to hell.

  Thrust me from forth the world, that ’mongst the spirits

  Th’infernal lakes may ring with my laments.

  O miserable, desolate, distressful wretch,

  Worn with mishaps, yet in mishaps abounding.

  What shall I doe, or whether shall I fly

  To venge this outrage, or revenge my wrongs?

Come wrathful Furies with your ebon locks,

  And feed yourselves with mine enflamed blood.

  Ixion’s torment, Sysiph’s rolling stone,

  And th’eagle tiring on Prometheus, 

  Be my eternal tasks, that th’extreme fire,

  Within my heart, may from my heart retire.

I suffer more, more sorrows I endure,

  Than all the captives in th’infernal court. 

  O troubled Fate! O fatal misery,

  That unprovoked, deal’st so partially!

Say, fretful heavens, what fault have I committed,

  Or wherein could mine innocence offend you,

  When (being but young) I lost my first love Crassus?

  Or wherein did I merit so much wrong,

  To see my second husband Pompey slain?

  But ’mongst the rest, what horrible offence,

  What hateful thing (unthought of) have I done,

  That in the midst of this my mournful state,

  Nought but my father’s death could expiate? 

Thy death dear Scipio, Rome’s eternal loss,

  Whose hopeful life preserv’d our happiness;

  Whose silver hairs encouraged the weak;

  Whose resolutions did confirm the rest;

  Whose end, sith it hath ended all my joys, 

  O heavens at least permit, of all these plagues,

  That I may finish the catastrophe.

  Sith in this widowhood, of all my hopes

  I cannot look for further happiness.

  For both my husbands and my father gone, 

  What have I else to wreak your wrath upon.

Now as for happy thee, to whom sweet Death,

  Hath given blessed rest for life’s bereaving,

  O envious Julia , in thy jealous heart

  Venge not thy wrong upon Cornelia. 

  But, sacred ghost, appease thine ire, and see

  My hard mishap in marrying after thee.

O see mine anguish! Haply seeing it,

  T’will move compassion in thee of my pains:

  And urge thee (if thy heart be not of flint,

  Or drunk with rigor) to repent thyself

  That thou enflam’dst so cruel a revenge

  In Caesar’s heart, upon so slight a cause;

  And mad’st him raise so many mournful tombs,

  Because thy husband did revive the lights 

  Of thy forsaken bed; (Unworthily)

  Opposing of thy fretful jealousy,

  ’Gainst his mishap, as it my help had been,

  Or as if second marriage were a sin.

Was never city where calamity,

  Hath sojourn’d with such sorrow as in this;

  Was never state wherein the people stood

  So careless of their conquered liberty,

  And careful of another’s tyranny.

O Gods, that erst of Carthage took some care,

  Which by our fathers (pitiless) was spoil’d.

  When thwarting Destiny, at Afrique walls

  Did topside-turvy turn their commonwealth;

  When forceful weapons fiercely took away

  Their soldiers (sent to nourish up those wars);

  When (fired) their golden palaces fell down;

  When through the slaughter th’Afrique seas were dyed,

  And sacred temples quenchlessly enflam’d.

  Now is our hapless time of hopes expired,

  Then satisfy yourselves with this revenge,

  Content to count the ghosts of those great captains

  Which (conquered) perisht by the Roman swords.

  The Hannons, the Amilcars, Asdrubals,

  Especially, that proudest Hannibal ,

  That made the fair Thrasimene so desert .

  For even those fields that mourn’d to bear their bodies,

  Now (loaden) groan to feel the Roman corpses.

  Their earth we purple o’er, and on their tombs

  We heap our bodies, equalling their ruin.

  And as a Scipio did reverse their power,

  They have a Scipio to revenge them on.

Weep therefore Roman dames, and from henceforth,

  Valing  your crystal eyes to your fair bosoms,

  Raine showers of grief upon your rose-like cheeks,

  And dew yourselves with springtides of your tears.

  Weep, ladies, weep, and with your reeking sighs

  Thicken the passage of the purest clouds,

  And press the air with your continual plaints.

  Beat at your ivory breasts, and let your robes

  (Defac’d and rent), be witness of your sorrows.

  And let your hair that wont be wreath’d in tresses,

  Now hang neglect’ly, dangling down your shoulders,

  Careless of art, or rich accoutrements

  That with the gold and pearl we us’d before,

  Our mournful habits may be deckt no more. 

Alas what shall I doe? O dear companions,

  Shall I, O shall I live in these laments?

  Widowed of all my hopes, my haps, my husbands,

  And last, not least, bereft of my best father

  And of the joys mine ancestors enjoy’d,

  When they enjoy’d their lives and liberty.

  And must I live to see great Pompey’s house,

  (A house of honour and antiquity)

  Usurpt in wrong by lawless Antony?

Shall I behold the sumptuous ornaments

  Which both the world and Fortune heapt on him

  Adorn and grace his graceless enemy?

  Or see the wealth that Pompey gain’d in war,

  Sold at a pike, and borne away by strangers?

  Die, rather die Cornelia! And (to spare

  Thy worthies life that yet must one day perish)

  Let not those captains vainly lie inter’d,

  Or Caesar triumph in thine infamy,

  That wert the wife to th’one, and th’other’s daughter.

But if I die, before I have entomb’d

  My drown’d father in some sepulchre,

  Who will perform that care in kindness for me?

  Shall his poor wandering limbs lie still tormented,

  Tost with the salt waves of the wasteful Seas?

  No, lovely father, and my dearest husband, 

  Cornelia must live, (though life she hateth)

  To make your tombs, and mourn upon your hearses

  Where, languishing, my fumous , faithful tears

  May trickling bathe your generous sweet cinders, 

  And afterward (both wanting strength and moisture, 

  Fulfilling with my latest sighs and gasps,

  The happy vessels that enclose your bones)

  I will surrender my surcharged life,

  And (when my soul earth’s prison shall forgoe)

  Increase the number of the ghosts below. 

Non prosunt Domino, quae prosunt omnibus, Artes .

Thomas Kyd.