Classic Poem

Act. 2.

Philostratus.

What horrible furie, what cruell rage,
O Ægipt so extremely thee torments?
Hast thou the Gods so angred by thy fault?
Hast thou against them some such crime conceiv'd,
That their engrained hand lift up in threats
They should desire in thy hart bloud to bathe?
And that their burning wrath which nought can quench
Should pittiles on us still lighten downe?
We are not hew'n out of the monst'rous masse
Of Giantes those, which heavens wrack conspir'd:
Ixions race, false prater of his loves:
Nor yet of him who fained lightnings found:
Nor cruell Tantalus , nor bloudie Atreus ,
Whose cursed banquet for Thyestes plague
Made the beholding Sunne for horrour turne
His backe, and backward from his course returne:
And hastning his wing-footed horses race
Plunge him in sea for shame to hide his face:
While sulleine night upon the wondring world
For mid-daies light her starrie mantle cast,
But what we be, what ever wickednes
By us is done, Alas! with what more plagues,
More eager torments could the Gods declare
To heaven and earth that us they hatefull holde?
With Souldiors, strangers, horrible in armes
Our land is hidde, our people drown'd in teares.
But terror here and horror, nought is seene:
And present death prizing our life each hower.
Hard at our ports and at our porches waites
Our conquering foe: harts faile us, hopes are dead:
Our Queene laments: and this great Emperour
Sometime (would now they did) whom worlds did feare,
Abandoned, betraid, now mindes no more
But from his evils by hast'ned death to passe.
Come you poore people tir'de with ceasles plaints
With teares and sighes make mournfull sacrifice
On Isis altars: not our selves to save,
But soften Cæsar and him piteous make
To us, his pray: that so his lenitie
May change our death into captivitie.
Strange are the evils the fates on us have brought,
O but alas! how farre more strange the cause!
Love, love (alas, who ever would have thought?)
Hath lost this Realme inflamed with his fire.
Love, playing love, which men say kindles not
But in soft harts, hath ashes made our townes.
And his sweet shafts, with whose shot none are kill'd,
Which ulcer not, with deaths our lands have fill'd,
Such was the bloudie, murdring, hellish love
Possest thy hart faire false guest Priams Sonne,
Fi'ring a brand which after made to burne
The Trojan towers by Græcians ruinate
By this love, Priam, Hector, Troilus ,
Memnon, Deiphobus, Glaucus , thousands mo,
Whome redd Scamanders armor clogged streames
Roll'd into Seas, before their dates are dead
So plaguie he, so many tempests raiseth,
So murdring he, so many Cities raiseth,
When insolent, blinde, lawles, orderles,
With madd delights our sence he entertaines.
All knowing Gods our wracks did us foretell
By signes in earth, by signes in starry Sphæres:
Which should have mov'd us, had not destinie
With too strong hand warped our miserie.
The Comets flaming through the scat'red clouds
With fiery beames, most like unbroaded haires:
The fearefull dragon whistling at the bankes,
And holie Apis ceaseles bellowing
(As never erst) and shedding endles teares:
Bloud raining downe from heav'n in unknow'n showers:
Our Gods darke faces overcast with woe,
And dead mens Ghosts appearing in the night
Yea even this night while all the Cittie stoode
Opprest with terror, horror, servile feare,
Deepe silence over all: the sounds were heard
Of diverse songs, and divers instruments,
Within the voide of aire: and howling noise,
Such as madde Bacchus priests in Bacchus feasts
On Nisa make: and (seem'd) the company,
Our Cittie lost, went to the enemie.
So we forsaken both of Gods and men
So are we in the mercy of our foes:
And we hencefoorth obedient must become
To lawes of them who have us overcome.
Chorus.

Lament we our mishaps,
Drowne we with teares our woe:
For Lamentable happes
Lamented easie growe:
And much lesse torment bring
Then when they first did spring.
We want that wofull song,
Wherwith wood-musiques Queene
Doth ease her woes, among,
fresh springtimes bushes greene,
On pleasant branche alone
Renewing auntient mone.
We want that monefull sounde,
That pratling Progne makes
On fieldes of Thracian ground,
Or streames of Thracian lakes:
To empt her brest of paine
For Itys by her slaine.
Though Halcyons doo still,
Bewailing Ceyx lot,
The Seas with plainings fill
Which his dead limmes have got,
Not ever other grave
Then tombe of waves to have:
And though the birde in death
That most Meander loves
So swetely sighes his breath
When death his fury proves,
As almost softs his heart,
And almost blunts his dart:
Yet all the plaints of those,
Nor all their tearfull larmes,
Cannot content our woes,
Nor serve to waile the harmes,
In soule which we, poore we,
To feele enforced be.
Nor they of Phæbus bredd
In teares can doo so well,
They for their brother shedd,
Who into Padus fell,
Rash guide of chariot cleare
Surveiour of the yeare.
Nor she whom heav'nly powers
To weping rocke did turne,
Whose teares distill in showers,
And shew she yet doth mourne,
Where with his toppe to Skies
Mount Sipylus doth rise.
Nor weping drops which flowe
From barke of wounded tree,
That Myrrhas shame do showe
With ours compar'd may be,
To quench her loving fire
Who durst embrace her sire.
Nor all the howlings made
On Cybels sacred hill
By Eunukes of her trade,
Who Atys , Atys still
With doubled cries resound,
Which Echo makes rebound.
Our plaints no limits stay,
Nor more then doo our woes:
Both infinitely straie
And neither measure knowes
In measure let them plaine :
Who measur'd griefes sustaine .

Cleopatra. Eras. Charmion. Diomede.

Cleopatra.

That I have thee betraid, deare Antonie ,
My life, my soule, my Sunne? I had such thought?
That I have thee betraide my Lord, my King?
That I would breake my vowed faith to thee?
Leave thee? deceive thee? yeelde thee to the rage
Of mightie foe? I ever had that hart?
Rather sharpe lightning lighten on my head:
Rather may I to deepest mischiefe fall:
Rather the opened earth devower me:
Rather fierce Tigers feed them on my flesh:
Rather, ô rather let our Nilus send,
To swallow me quicke, some weeping Crocodile .
And didst thou then suppose my royall hart
Had hatcht, thee to ensnare, a faithles love?
And changing minde, as Fortune changed cheare,
I would weake thee, to winne the stronger, loose?
O wretch! ô caitive! ô too cruell happe!
And did not I sufficient losse sustaine
Loosing my Realme, loosing my liberty,
My tender of-spring, and the joyfull light
Of beamy Sunne, and yet, yet loosing more
Thee Antony my care, if I loose not
What yet remain'd? thy love alas! thy love,
More deare then Scepter, children, freedome, light.
So ready I to row in Charons barge,
Shall leese the joy of dying in thy love:
So the sole comfort of my miserie
To have one tombe with thee is me bereft.
So I in shady plaines shall plaine alone,
Not (as I hop'd) companion of thy mone,
O height of griefe! Eras . why with continuall cries
Your griefull harmes doo you exasperate?
Torment your selfe with murthering complaints?
Straine your weake breast so oft, so vehemently?
Water with teares this faire alablaster?
With sorrowes sting so many beauties wound?
Come of so many Kings want you the hart
Bravely, stoutly, this tempest to resist?
Cl. My ev'lls are wholy unsupportable,
No humain force can them withstand, but death.
Eras. To him that strives nought is impossible.
Cl. In striving lyes no hope of my mishapps.
Eras. All things do yeelde to force of lovely face.
Cl. My face too lovely caus'd my wretched case
My face hath so entrap'd, so cast us downe,
That for his conquest Cæsar may it thanke,
Causing that Antony one army lost
The other wholy did to Cæsar yeld.
For not induring (so his amorouse sprite
Was with my beautie fir'de) my shamefull flight,
Soone as he saw from ranke wherin he stoode
In hottest fight, my Gallies making saile:
Forgetfull of his charge (as if his soule
Unto his Ladies soule had bene enchain'd)
He left his men, who so couragiouslie
Did leave their lives to gaine him victorie.
And carelesse both of fame and armies losse
My oared Gallies follow'd with his Ships
Companion of my flight, by this base parte
Blasting his former flourishing renowne.
Eras. Are you therefore cause of his overthrowe?
Cl. I am sole cause: I did it, only I
Er , Feare of a woman troubled so his sprite?
Cl. Fire of his love was by my feare enflam'd
Er. And should he then to warre have ledd a Queene?
Cl. Alas! this was not his offence, but mine.
Antony (ay me! who else so brave a chiefe!)
Would not I should have taken Seas with him:
But would have left me fearfull woman farre
From common hazard of the doubtfull warre.
O that I had belev'd! now, now of Rome
All the great Empire at our beck should bende.
All should obey, the vagabonding Scythes ,
The feared Germains , back-shooting Parthians ,
Wandring Numidians, Brittons farre remoov'd,
And tawny nations scorched with the Sunne
But I car'd not: so was my soule possest,
(To my great harme) with burning jealousie:
Fearing least in my absence Antony
Should leaving me retake Octavia .
Char Such was the rigour of your destinie
Cl. Such was my errour and obstinacie.
Ch. But since Gods would not, could you doe withall?
Cl. Alwaies from Gods good happs, not harms, do fall.
Ch. And have they not all power on mens affaires?
Cl. They never bow so lowe, as worldly cares.
But leave to mortall men to be dispos'd
Freelie on earth what ever mortall is.
If we therin sometimes some faultes commit,
We may them not to their high majesties,
But to our selves impute; whose passions
Plunge us each day in all afflictions.
Wherwith when we our soules do thorned feele,
Flatt'ring our selves we say they dest'nies are:
That Gods would have it so, and that our care
Could not empeach but that it must be so.
Char. Things here belowe are in the heav'ns begot,
Before they be in this our wordle borne:
And never can our weaknes turne awry
The stailes course of powerfull destenie.
Nought here force, reason, humaine providence,
Holie devotion, noble bloud prevailes:
And Jove himselfe whose hand doth heavens rule,
Who both to Gods and men as King commaunds,
Who earth (our firme support) with plenty stores,
Moves aire and sea with twinckling of his eie,
Who all can doe, yet never can undoe
What once hath been by their hard lawes decreed.
When Trojan walles, great Neptunes workmanship,
Environ'd were with Greekes , and Fortunes whele
Doubtfull ten yeares now to the campe did turne,
And now againe towards the towne return'd:
How many times did force and fury swell
In Hectors veines egging him to the spoile
Of conquer'd foes, which at his blowes did flie,
As fearfull shepe at feared wolves approche:
To save (in vaine: for why? it would not be)
Pore walles of Troie from adversaries rage,
Who died them in bloud, and cast to ground
Heap'd them with bloudie burning carcases.
No, Madame, thinke, that if the ancient crowne
Of your progenitors that Nilus rul'd,
Force take from you; the Gods have will'd it so,
To whome oft times Princes are odiouse
They have to every thing an end ordain'd;
All worldly greatnes by them bounded is;
Some sooner, later some, as they think best:
None their decree is able to infringe.
But, which is more, to us disastred men
Which subject are in all things to their will,
Their will is hidd: not while we live, we know
How, or how long we must in life remaine
Yet must we not for that feede on dispaire,
And make us wretched ere we wretched bee:
But alwaies hope the best, even to the last,
That from our selves the mischief may not growe.
Then, Madame, helpe your selfe, leave of in time
Antonies wracke, lest it your wracke procure:
Retire you from him, save frrom wrathfull rage
Of angry Cæsar both your Realme and you.
You see him lost, so as your amitie
Unto his evills can yelde no more reliefe
You see him ruin'd, so as your support
No more hencefourth can him with comfort raise.
With-draw you from the storme: persist not still
To loose your selfe: this royall diademe
Regaine of Cæsar. Cl. Soner shining light
Shall leave the daie, and darknes leave the night:
Sooner moist currents of tempestuous seas
Shall wave in heaven, and the nightlie troopes
Of starres shall shine within the foming waves,
Then I thee, Antonie , Leave in depe distres.
I am with thee, be it thy worthy soule
Lodge in thy brest, or from that lodging parte
Crossing the joyles lake to take hir place
In place prepared for men Demy-gods.
Live, if thee please, if life be lothsome die:
Dead and alive, Antonie , thou shalt see
Thy princesse follow thee, folow, and lament,
Thy wrack, no lesse her owne then was thy weale.
Char. What helps his wrack this ever-lasting love?
Cl. Help, or help not, such must, such ought I prove.
Char. Ill done to loose your selfe, and to no ende.
Cl. How ill thinke you to follow such a frende?
Char. But this your love nought mitigates his paine
Cl. Without this love I should be inhumaine:
Char. Inhumaine he, who his owne death pursues
Cl. Not inhumaine who miseries eschues.
Ch. Live for your sonnes. Cl. Nay for their father die.
Cha. Hardhearted mother! Cl . Wife kindhearted I.
Ch. Then will you them deprive of royall right?
Cl. Do I deprive them? no, it's dest'nies might.
Ch. Do you not them deprive of heritage,
That give them up to adversaries handes,
A man forsaken fearing to forsake,
Whome such huge numbers hold environned?
T'abandon one gainst whome the frowning world
Banded with Cæsar makes conspiring warre.
Cl. The lesse ought I to leave him left of all.
A frend in most distresse should most assist.
If that when Antonie great and glorious
His legions led to drinke Euphrates streames,
So many Kings in traine redoubting him;
In triumph rais'd as high as highest heavn,
Lord-like disposing as him pleased best,
The wealth of Greece , the wealth of Asia :
In that faire fortune had I him exchaung'd
For Cæsar , then, men would have counted me
Faithles, unconstant, light: but now the storme,
And blustring tempest driving on his face,
Readie to drowne, Alas ! what would they saie?
What would himselfe in Plutos mansion saie?
If I, whome alwaies more then life he lov'de,
If I, who am his heart, who was his hope,
Leave him, forsake him (and perhaps in vaine)
Weakly to please who him hath overthrowne?
Not light, unconstant, faithlesse should I be,
But vile, forsworne, of treachrous crueltie.
Ch. Crueltie to shunne, you selfe-cruell are.
Cl. Selfe-cruell him from crueltie to spare.
Ch , Our first affection to our self is due.
Cl. He is my selfe. Ch. Next it extendes unto
Our children, frends, and to our countrie soile.
And you for some respect of wivelie love,
(Albee scarce wivelie) loose your native land,
Your children, frends, and (which is more) your life,
With so strong charmes doth love bewitch our witts:
So fast in us this fire once kindled flames
Yet if his harme by yours redresse might have,
Cl. With mine it may be clos'de in darksome grave.
Ch. And that, as Alcest to hir selfe unkinde,
You might exempt him from the lawes of death.
But he is sure to die: and now his sworde
Alreadie moisted is in his warme bloude,
Helples for any succour you can bring
Against deaths stinge, which he must shortlie feele.
Then let your love be like the love of olde
Which Carian Queene did nourish in hir heart
Of hir Mausolus: builde for him a tombe
Whose statelinesse a wonder new may make.
Let him, let him have sumtuouse funeralles:
Let grave thereon the horror of his fights:
Let earth be buri'd with unburied heaps.
Frame ther Pharsaly , and discoulour'd stream's
Of depe Enipeus : frame the grassie plaine,
Which lodg'd his campe at siege of Mutina
Make all his combats, and couragiouse acts:
And yearly plaies to his praise institute:
Honor his memorie: with doubled care
Breed and bring up the children of you both
In Cæsars grace: who as a noble Prince
Will leave them Lords of this most gloriouse realme
Cl. What shame were that? ah Gods! what infamie?
With Antonie in his good happs to share,
And overlive him dead: deeming enough
To shed some teares upon a widdowe tombe?
The after-livers justly might report
That I him onlie for his empire lov'd,
And high estate: and that in hard estate
I for another did him lewdlie leave?
Like to those birds wafted with wandring wings
From foraine lands in spring-time here arrive:
And live with us so long as Somers heate,
And their foode lasts, then seke another soile.
And as we see with ceaslesse fluttering
Flocking of seelly flies a brownish cloud
To vintag'd wine yet working in the tonne,
Not parting thence while they swete liquor taste:
After, as smoke, all vanish in the aire,
And of the swarme not one so much appeare.
Eras. By this sharp death what profit can you winne?
Cl. I neither gaine, nor profit seke therin.
Er. What praise shall you of after-ages gett?
Cl. Nor praise, nor glory in my cares are sett.
Er. What other end ought you respect, then this?
Cl. My only ende my onely dutie is
Er. your dutie must upon some good be founded.
Cl. On vertue it, the onlie good, is grounded.
Er. What is that vertue ? Cl. That which us beseemes.
Er. Outrage our selves? who that beseeming deemes?
Cl. Finish I will my sorowes dieng thus.
Er. Minish you will your glories doing thus.
Cl. Good frends I praie you seeke not to revoke
My fix'd intent of folowing Antonie
I will die. I will die: must not his life,
His life and death by mine be folowed?
Meane while, deare sisters, live: and while you live,
Doe often honor to our loved Tombes.
Straw them with flowrs: and sometimes happelie
The tender thought of Antonie your Lorde
And me poore soule to teares shall you invite,
And our true loves your dolefull voice commend.
Ch. And thinke you Madame, we from you will part?
Thinke you alone to feele deaths ougly darte?
Thinke you to leave us? and that the same sunne
Shall see at once you dead, and us alive?
Weele die with you: and Clotho pittilesse
Shall us with you in hellish boate imbarque.
Cl. Ah live, I praie you: this disastred woe
Which racks my heart, alone to me belonges:
My lott longs not to you: servants to be
No shame, no harme to you, as is to me.
Live sisters, live, and seing his suspect
Hath causlesse me in sea of sorowes drown'd,
And that I can not live, if so I would,
Nor yet would leave this life, if so I could,
Without, his love: procure me, Diomed ,
That gainst poore me he be no more incensd.
Wrest out of his conceit that harmfull doubt,
That since his wracke he hath of me conceiv'd
Though wrong conceiv'd: witnesse you reverent Gods,
Barking Anubis, Apis bellowing.
Tell him, my soule burning, impatient,
Forlorne with love of him, for certaine seale
Of her true loialtie my corpse hath left,
T'encrease of dead the number numberlesse.
Go then, and if as yet he me bewaile,
If yet for me his heart one sigh fourth breathe
Blest shall I be: and farre with more content
Depart this world, where so I me torment.
Meane season us let this sadd tombe enclose,
Attending here till death conclude our woes.
Diom. I will obey your will Cl. So the desert
The Gods repay of thy true faithfull heart.

And is't not pittie, Gods, ah Gods of heav'n!
To see from love such hatefull frutes to spring?
And is't not pittie that this firebrand so
Laies waste the trophes of Philippi fieldes?
Where are those swete allurements, those swete lookes,
Which Gods themselves right hart-sicke would have made?
What doth that beautie, rarest guift of heav'n,
Wonder of earth? Alas! what doe those eies?
And that swete voice all Asia understoode,
And sunburnt Afrike wide in deserts spred?
Is their force dead? have they no further power?
Can not by them Octavius be supriz'd?
Alas! if Jove in middst of all his ire,
With thunderbolt in hand some land to plague,
Had cast his eics on my Queene, out of hande
His plaguing bolte had falne out of his hande:
Fire of his wrathe into vaine smoke should turne,
And other fire within his brest should burne.
Nought lives so faire. Nature by such a worke
Her selfe, should seme, in workmanship hath past.
She is all heav'nlie: never any man
But seing hir was ravish'd with her sight.
The Allablaster covering of hir face,
The corall coullor hir two lipps engraines,
Her beamie eies, two Sunnes of this our world,
Of hir faire haire the fine and flaming golde,
Her brave streight stature, and hir winning partes
Are nothing else but fiers, fetters, dartes.
Yet this is nothing th'e'nchaunting skilles
Of her cælestiall Sp'rite, hir training speache,
Her grace, hir Majestie, and forcing voice,
Whither she it with fingers speach consorte,
Or hearing sceptred kings embassadors
Answer to eache in his owne language make.
Yet now at nede she aides hir not at all
With all these beauties, so hir sorowe stings.
Darkned with woe hir only studie is
To wepe, to sigh, to seke for lonelines.
Careles of all, hir haire disordred hangs:
Hir charming eies whence murthring looks did flie,
Now rivers grown', whose wellspring anguish is,
Do trickling wash the marble of hir face
Hir faire discover'd brest with sobbing swolne
Selfe cruell she still martireth with blowes,
Alas! It's our ill happ, for if hir teares
She would convert into hir loving charmes,
To make a conquest of the conqueror,
(As well shee might, would she hir force imploie)
She should us saftie from these ills procure,
Hir crowne to hir, and to hir race assure.
Unhappy he, in whome selfe-succour lies,
Yet self-forsaken wanting succour dies.

O swete fertile land, wherin
Phœbus did with breath inspire
Man who men did first begin,
Formed first of Nilus mire.
Whence of Artes the eldest kindes,
Earthes most heavenly ornament,
Were as from their fountaine sent,
To enlight our mistie mindes.
Whose grosse sprite from endles time,
As in darkned prison pente,
Never did to knowledg clime.
Wher the Nile , our father good,
Father-like doth never misse
Yearely us to bring such food,
As to life required is:
Visiting each yeare this plaine,
And with fatt slime cov'ring it,
Which his seaven mouthes do spitt,
As the season comes againe
Making therby greatest growe
Busie reapers joyfull paine,
When his flouds do highest flowe.
Wandring Prince of rivers thou,
Honor of the Æthiops lande,
Of a Lord and master now
Thou a slave in awe must stand.
Now of Tiber which is spred
Lesse in force, and lesse in fame
Reverence thou must the name,
Whome all other rivers dread,
For his children swolne in pride,
Who by conquest seeke to treade
Round this earth on every side.
Now thou must begin to sende
Tribute of thy watrie store,
As Sea pathes thy stepps shall bende,
Yearely presents more and more
Thy fatt skumme, our frutefull corne,
Pill'd from hence with theevish hands
All uncloth'd shall leave our lands
Into foraine Countrie borne.
Which puft up with such a pray
Shall therby the praise adorne
Of that scepter Rome doth sway.
Nought thee helps thy hornes to hide
Farre from hence in unknowne grounds,
That thy waters wander wide,
Yearely breaking bankes, and bounds
And that thy Skie-coullor'd brookes
Through a hundred peoples passe,
Drawing plots for trees and grasse
With a thousand turn's and crookes.
Whome all weary of their way
Thy throats which in widenesse passe
Powre into their Mother Sea.
Noght so happie haplesse life
“In this worlde as freedome findes:
“Nought wherin more sparkes are rife
“To inflame couragious mindes.
“But if force must us enforce
“Nedes a yoke to undergoe,
“Under foraine yoke to goe
“Still it proves a bondage worse.
“And doubled subjection
“See we shall, and feele, and knowe
“Subject to a stranger growne.
From hence forward for a King,
whose first being from this place
Should his brest by nature bring
Care of Countrie to embrace,
We at surly face must quake
Of some Romaine madly bent:
Who, our terrour to augment,
His Proconsuls axe will shake.
Driving with our Kings from hence
Our establish'd goverment,
Justice sworde, and Lawes defence.
Nothing worldly of such might
But more mightie Destinie ,
By swift Times unbridled flight,
Makes in ende his ende to see
Every thing Time overthrowes,
Nought to ende doth stedfast staie:
His great sithe mowes all away
As the stalke of tender rose.
Onlie Immortalitie
Of the Heav'ns doth it oppose
Gainst his powerfull Deitie .
One daie there will come a daie
Which shall quaile thy fortunes flower,
And thee ruinde low shall laie
In some barbarous Princes power
When the pittie-wanting fire
Shall, O Rome , thy beauties burne,
And to humble ashes turne
Thy proud wealth, and rich attire,
Those guilt roofes which turretwise,
Justly making Envie mourne,
Threaten now to pearce Skies
As thy forces fill each land
Harvests making here and there,
Reaping all with ravening hand
They finde growing any where:
From each land so to thy fall
Multitudes repaire shall make,
From the common spoile to take
What to each mans share maie fall.
Fingred all thou shalt beholde:
No jote left for tokens sake
That thou wert so great of olde.
Like unto the auncient Troie
Whence deriv'de thy founders be,
Conqu'ring foe shall thee enjoie,
And a burning praie in thee.
For within this turning ball
This we see, and see each daie:
All things fixed ends do staie,
Ends to first beginnings fall
And that nought, how strong or strange,
Chaungles doth endure alwaie,
But endureth fatall change.