CORNELIA.  
AT LONDON, Printed by james Roberts, for N. L. and John busby. 1594.   

To the virtuously Noble, and rightly honoured Lady, the Countess of Sussex.  
Having no leisure (most noble Lady) but such as evermore is traveled 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 assured of your honourable favours passed, (though neither making needles glozes of the one, nor spoiling paper with the others Pharisaical embroidery,) I have presumed 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 precedent 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 summers 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  Your 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, & 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 & Caesar, sent her fro thence to Mitilen, there to attend the incertain success of those affairs. And when he saw that he was vanquished at Pharsalia, returned to find her out, & carry her with him into Egypt, where his purpose was to have reenforced 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 retired herself to Rome. But Scipio her Father, (being made General of those that survived after the battle) assembled new forces, and occupied the greater part of afric, 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 battle given amongst them, near the walls of Tapsus. Where Scipio seeing himself subdued, and his Army scattered, he betook himself with some small troup, 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 & 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 board into the Sea, and there died.  
Caesar (having finished these wars, and quietly reduced the Towns and places thereabout to his obedience) returned to Rome in triumph for his victories; Where this most fair and miserable Lady, having overmourned 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.   

❧ INTERLOCVTORES.  


M. Cicero.  
Philip.  
Deci. Brutus.  
M. Anthony.  
Cornelia.  
C. Cassius.  
julius Caesar.  
The Messenger.  
CHORUS.     
CORNELIA.  

ACTVS. primus.  CICERO. 
VOuchsafe Immortals, and (above the rest)  
Great jupiter, our Cities sole Protector,  
That if (provoked against us by our evils,)  
You needs will plague us with your ceaseless wrath,  
At least to choose those forth that are in fault,  
And save the rest in these tempestuous broils:  
Else let the mischief that should them befall,  
Be poured on me, that one may die for all.  
Oft hath such sacrifice appeased your ires,  
And oft ye have your heavy hands withheld  
From this poor people, when (with one man's loss,)  
Your pity hath preserved the rest untouched:  
But we disloyal to our own defence,  
faint-hearted do those liberties enthrall,  
Which (to preserve unto our after good)  
Our fathers hazarded their dearest blood.  
Yet Brutus Manlius, hardy Scevola,  
And stout Camillus, are returned fro Styx,  
Desiring Arms to aid our Capitol.  
Yea, come they are, and fiery as before,  
undera Tyrant see our bastard hearts  
Lie idly sighing, while our shameful souls  
Endure a million of base controls.  
Poisoned Ambition (rooted in high minds)  
'tis thou that trainest us into all these errors:  
Thy mortal covetise perverts our laws,  
And tears our freedom from our franchized hearts.  
Our Fathers found thee at their former walls;  
And humbled to their offspring left thee dying.  
Yet thou reviving, foiledst our Infant Town,  
With guiltless blood by brother's hands outlaunched.  
And hongst (O Hell) upon a Fort 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 groaned to bear their carcases,  
Bewailed 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 o'erturned;  
That whilom was the terror of the world.  
Of whom so many Nations stood in fear,  
To whom so many Nations prostrate stooped,  
o'er whom (save heaven) nought could signorize,  
And whom (save heaven) nothing could affright.  
Impregnable, immortal, and whose power,  
Could never have been curbed, but by itself.  
For neither could the flaxen-haired high Dutch,  
(A martial people madding after Arms,)  
Nor yet the fierce and fiery humoured French,  
The More that travels to the Lybian 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 lived eternally enchained.  
But Rome (alas) what helps it that thou tiedst  
The former World to thee in vassalage?  
What helps thee now t'have tamed both land and Sea?  
What helps it thee that under thy control,  
The Morn and Midday both by East and West,  
And that the golden Sun where ere 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 wandering in a boisterous Sea,  
When foaming billows feel the Northern blasts:  
Thou toil'st in peril, and the windy storm,  
Doth topsy-turvy toss thee as thou flotest.  
Thy Mast is shivered, and thy mainsail torn,  
Thy sides sore beaten, and thy hatches broke.  
Thou want'st thy tackling, and a Ship unrigged  
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 becomest  
A spoil to Neptune, and a sportful pray  
Toth' glaucs and Trytons, pleased with thy decay.  
Thou vauntest not of thine Ancestors in vain,  
But vainly countest 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 filled 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 uprising) sought our Cities fall.  
But we, soon tickled with such flattering hopes,  
Waged 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 despoiled and robbed by one,  
Of th'ancient freedom wherein we were borne.  
And even that yoke that wont to tame all others,  
Is heavily returned upon ourselves.  
"A note of Chance that may the proud control,  
" And show God's wrath against a cruel soul.  
"For heaven delights not in us, when we do  
" That to another, which ourselves disdain:  
"judge others as thou wouldst be judged 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 Afric?  
To Gaul or Spain? Or what did Neptune owe us  
Within the bounds of further brittany?  
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.  
"'tis not enough (alas) our power t'extend,  
" Or overrun the world from East to West,  
"Or that our hands the Earth can comprehend,  
" Or that we proudly do what like us best.  
"He lives more quietly whose rest is made,  
" And can with reason chasten his desire,  
"Then 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 virtues 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 o'er thy walls thy wrack sets menacing)  
Thou dost not seek to calm heavens ireful king,  
A further plague will pester all the land.  
"The wrath of heaven (though urged,) we see is slow  
" In punishing the evils we have done:  
"For what the Father hath deserved, we know  
" Is spared in him, and punished 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 maugre famine, which the weak foretell,  
" Or bloody war, (of other woes the worst,)  
"Which where it lights doth show the Land accursed,  
" And near did good wherever 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 toils 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 battles wage:  
Which on the Mountain tops of warlike Thrace,  
Made thundering Mars (Dissensions common friend,)  
Amongst the forward Soldiers first descend,  
Armed with his blood-besmeared keen cutlass.  
Who first attempted to excite to Arms,  
The troops enraged with the Trumpets sound,  
Headlong 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 grain upon the ground.  
O war, if thou were subject but to death,  
And by desert might'st fall to Phlegethon,  
The torment that Ixion suffereth,  
Or his whose soul the Vulture seizeth on,  
Were all too little to reward thy wrath:  
Nor all the plagues, that fiery Pluto hath  
The most outrageous sinners laid upon.  
Accursed Caitiffs, wretches that we are,  
Perceive we not that for the fatal dumb,  
The Fates make haste enough: but we (by war)  
Must seek in Hell to have a hapless room.  
Or fast enough do 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 surcloyed)  
With worthless Gorse, that yearly fruitless dies;  
And choke the good which else we bade enjoyed.  
Death dwells within us, and if gentle Peace  
Descend not soon, our sorrows to surcease,  
Latium (already quailed) will be destroyed.   

ACTVS SECVNDVS.  Cornelia. and Cicero. 
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 fro 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 Destinies,  
Admit me passage to th'infernal Lake;  
That my poor ghost, may rest where powerful fate,  
In Death's sad kingdom hath my husband lodged.  
fain would I die, but darksome ugly Death,  
Withholds 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 do mask unseen:  
You that amongst the darksome mansions  
Of pining ghosts, twixt sighs, and sobs and tears,  
Do exercise your mirthless Empory.  
Ye 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 tide thee here,  
whenas thy husband Crassus (in his flower)  
Did first bear Arms, and bore away my love.  
And not (as thou hast done) go break the bands,  
By calling Hymen once more back again.  
Less hapless, and more worthily thou might'st,  
Have made thine ancestors and thee renowned:  
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,  
Bewitched 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 avenged of lovers oaths;  
Oaths made in marriage, and after broke.  
Those powers, those spirits (moved with my light faith,)  
Are now displeased with Pompey and myself.  
And do with civil discord (furthering it)  
Untie the bands, that sacred Hymen knit.  
Else only I, am cause of both their wraths,  
And of the sin that seeleth up thine eyes;  
Thine eyes (O deplorable Pompey) I am she,  
I am that plague, that sacks thy house and thee.  
For 'tis not heaven, nor Crassus (cause he sees  
That I am thine) in jealousy pursues us.  
No, 'tis a secret cross, an unknown thing,  
That I received, from heaven at my birth,  
That I should heap misfortunes on their head,  
Whom once I had received in marriage bed.  
Then ye the noble Romulists that rest,  
Henceforth 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 spareth 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 holp it thee that under thy command  
Thou sawst 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 famed and feared,  
Than Summers thunder to the silly Herd?  
What holp it, that thou sawst when thou wert young,  
Thy Helmet decked with coronets of bays?  
So many enemies in battle ranged?  
Beat back like flies before a storm of hail?  
T'have looked 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 herewithal, what holp 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 triumphedst thrice  
o'er three parts of the world that thou hadst yoked?  
That Neptune weltering on the windy plains,  
Escaped not free fro 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 restrained;  
By whom the glory of thy conquests got,  
Might die disgraced 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 griefs 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 world's 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)  
" Do 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 summers pride (with sultry heat) pursues;  
"To whom mild Autumn doth earth's treasure bring,  
" The sweetest season that the wise can choose.  
"heavens influence was near so constant yet,  
" In good or bad as to continue it.  
When I was young, I saw against poor Sulla,  
Proud Cynna, Marius, and Carbo fleshed,  
So long, till they 'gan tyrannize the Town,  
And spilled such store of blood in every street,  
As there were none but deadmen 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,  
Returned due honours to our Commonwealth,  
Which peaceably retained her ancient state,  
Grown great without the strife of Citizens.  
Till this ambitious tyrant's time, that toiled  
To stoop the world, and Rome to his desires.  
But flattering Chance that trained 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. 
'tis true, the Heavens (at leastwise 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. 
Mourn not for Pompey, Pompey could not die  
A better death, then for his country's weal.  
For oft he searched 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 falchion in his fist.)  
Had he amidst huge troops of Armed men  
Been wounded, by another any way,  
It would have calmed many of my sighs.  
For why, t'have seen his noble Roman blood  
Mixed with his enemies, had done him good.  
But he is dead, (O heavens) not dead in fight,  
With pike in hand upon a Fort besieged  
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 every feeble stroke.  
My spirit (chained with impatient rage,)  
Did raving strive to break the prison open,  
(Enlarged,) to drown the pain it did abide,  
In solitary Lethe's sleepy tide.  
Thrice (to absent me from this hateful light,)  
I would have plunged my body in the Sea.  
And thrice detained, with doleful shrieks and cries,  
(With arms to heaven upreared) 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 waxed stronger, and myself grew weak.  
Thus day and night I toil in discontent,  
And sleeping wake, when sleep itself that rides  
Upon the mists, scarce moisteneth mine eyes.  
Sorrow consumes me, and instead 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 do? alas must I,  
Must I myself, be murderer of myself?  
Must I myself be forced 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 misfortunes with more ease,  
" The more indifferently that they fall,  
"And nothing more (in uproars) men can please,  
" Then when they see their woes not worst of all.  Cornelia. 
"Our friends misfortune 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 entertain none such.  Cornelia. 
"Another's tears, draw tears fro 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 ghastly spirits,  
To make him live that's locked in his tomb,  
And wandereth in the Centre of the earth?  
"No, no, Cornelia, Charon takes not pain,  
" To ferry those that must be fetched 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 reviv'd by them.  
Weeping avails not, therefore do I weep.  
Great losses, greatly are to be deplored,  
The loss is great that cannot be restored.  Cicero. 
"Nought is immortal underneath the Sun,  
" All things are subject to Death's tyranny:  
"Both Clowns & Kings one selfsame 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 ordained to die?  
Sith jove's owns sons, retaining human 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 wars fierce lightning fierce;  
Are they not dead? Yes, and their death (our dearth)  
Hath hid them both embowelled in the earth.  
And those great Cities, whose foundations reached  
From deepest hell, and with their tops touched heaven:  
Whose lofty Towers, (like thorny-pointed spears)  
Whose Temples, Palaces, and walls embossed,  
In power and force, and fierceness, seemed to threat  
The tired world, that trembled with their weight;  
In one days space (to our eternal moans)  
Have we not seen them turned to heaps of stones?  
Carthage can witness, and thou heavens handwork  
Fair Ilium, razed by the conquering Greeks;  
Whose ancient beauty, worth and weapons, seemed  
Sufficient t'have tamed the Myrmidons.  
"But whatsoever hath been begun, must end.  
" Death (haply that our willingness doth see)  
"With brandished dart, doth make the passage free;  
" And timeless doth our souls to Pluto send.  Cornelia. 
Would Death had steeped his date in Lerna's blood,  
That I were drowned 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'elysian shade.  Cicero. 
"Death's always ready, and our time is known  
" To be at heavens dispose, and not our own.  Cornelia. 
Can we be overhasty 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 do, or suffer that I would not?  Cicero. 
"True noblesse never doth the thing it should not.  Cornelia. 
Then must I die.  Cicero. 
Yet dying think this still;  
"No fear of death should force us to do ill.  Cornelia. 
If death be such, why is your fear so rife?  Cicero. 
My works will show I never feared my life.  Cornelia. 
And yet you will not that (in our distress,)  
We ask Death's aid 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 do that goes against our heart;  
" 'twere 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 'tis (for fear) that we ourselves do kill,  
" So fond we are to fear the world's disgrace.  Cornelia. 
'tis 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 incertain chance.  
"He that retires not at the threats of death,  
" Is not as are the vulgar, slightly faied.  
"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 'tis 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 placed 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 do us pleasure,  
"So look they for return of such a treasure.  CHORUS. 
" whate'er the massy Earth hath freight,  
" 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 do 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 heavens 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 do never die,  
" because the matter that remains,  
"Reforms another thing thereby,  
" That still the former shape retains.  
'The roundness of two bouls cross-cast,  
' (so they with equal pace be aimed,)  
'Shows their beginning by their last,  
' which by old nature is new-framed.  
'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 vain,  
cut from a spring by chance or art,  
Engendereth fountains, whence-again,  
those fountains do 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 every thing,  
Is now subdued by conquering Time:  
and liveth subject to a King.  
And yet perhaps the sun-bright crown,  
that now the tyrants head doth deck,  
May turn to Rome with true renown,  
If fortune chance but once to check.  
The stately walls that once were reared,  
and by a shepherds hands erect,  
(With hapless brother's blood besmeared)  
shall show by whom they were infect.  
And once more unjust Tarquin's frown,  
(with arrogance and rage inflamed)  
Shall keep the Roman valour down;  
and Rome itself a while be tamed.  
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 tyranny 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.   

ACTVS TERTIVS.  Cornelia. and Chorus. 
THE cheerful Cock (the sad night's 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, transformed 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 turned to fearful dreams.  
And whose first fortunes, (filled with all distress,)  
Afford no hope of future happiness.  
But what disastrous or hard accident,  
Hath bathed your blubbered eyes in bitter tears?  
That thus consort me in my misery.  
Why do 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 Tarquins tyranny?  
Under his outrage now are all our goods,  
Where scattered they run by Land and Sea  
(Like exiled 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-born household gods, and ye good spirits,  
To whom in doubtful things we seek access,  
By whom our family, hath been adorned,  
And graced with the name of African.  
Do ye vouchsafe that this victorious title,  
Be not expired in Cornelia's blood;  
And that my Father now (in th'Afric 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 do 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-paced Teem, that long had traveled.  
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 used,  
When he (enthronised,) at his feet beheld  
Great Emperors, fast bound in chains of brass.  
But all amazed, with fearful hollow eyes,  
His hair and beard, deformed with blood and sweat,  
Casting a thin course linsey o'er his shoulders,  
That (torn in pieces) trailed upon the ground.  
And (gnashing of his teeth) unlocked his jaws,  
Which (slightly covered with a scarce-seen skin,)  
This solemn tale, he sadly did begin.  
Sleep'st thou Cornelia? sleepest 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 saved) 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)  
broke up my slumber; When I oped my lips  
Three times to cry, but could nor cry, nor speak.  
I moved 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 loved our liberty and followed him,  
Be so discomfited? O would it were but an illusion.  Cho. 
Madam never fear.  
Nor let a senseless Idol of the night,  
Increase a more than needful fear in you.  Cor. 
My fear proceeds not of an idle dream,  
For 'tis a truth that hath astonished me.  
I saw great Pompey, and I heard him speak;  
And thinking to embrace him, oped mine arms,  
When drowsy sleep that waked me at unwares,  
Did with his flight unclose my fearful eyes  
So suddenly, that yet methinks 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 adjudged,  
"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 locked in fiery gates,  
" Fast-guarded by a fell remorseless Monster.  
"And therefore think not it was Pompey's sprite,  
" But some false Daemon that beguiled your sight.  Cicero. 
Then O world's Queen, O town that didst extend  
Thy conquering arms beyond the Ocean,  
And throng'dst thy conquests from the Lybian shores  
Down to the Scythian swift-foot fearless Porters,  
Thou art embased; and at this instant yield'st  
Thy proud neck to a miserable yoke.  
Rome thou art tamed, & th'earth dewed with thy blood  
Doth laugh to see how thou art signiorized.  
The force of heaven exceeds thy former strength.  
For thou that wontest to tame and conquer all,  
Art conquered 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  
(joined with the right) did reinforce our hopes,  
Now murdered lie for Foul to feed upon.  
Petreus, Cato, and Scipio are slain,  
And juba that amongst the moor did reign.  
Now you whom both the gods and Fortune's grace,  
Hath saved 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.  
'tis thou (O Rome) that nursed his insolence.  
'tis thou (O Rome) that gav'st him first the sword  
Which murder-like against thyself he draws:  
And violates both God and Nature's laws.  
Like moral Esop'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 yearly sacrificed.  
Minerva, Stator, and stout Thracian Mars,  
Father to good Quirinus our first founder.  
To what intent have ye preserved 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 Gaules?  
Why from Molossus and false Hannibal,  
Have ye reserved the noble Romulists?  
Or why from Catiline's lewd conspiracies,  
Preserved 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 shalt 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 devoured,  
And cannot rest until his maw be scoured.  
Thinkest thou to signiorize, 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 unrevenged?  
No, for methinks I see the shame, the grief,  
The rage, the hatred that they have conceived:  
And many a Roman sword already drawn,  
T'enlarge the liberty that thou usurpest.  
And thy dismembred body (stabbed and torn,)  
Dragged through the streets, disdained to be borne.  Phillip. and Cornelia. 
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 selfsame 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 seemed 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 burned thereon.  
Which when it was consumed I kindly took,  
And sadly closed within an earthen Urn  
The ashy relics of his hapless bones.  
Which having scaped the rage of wind and Sea,  
I bring to fair Cornelia to inter  
Within his Elders Tomb that honoured her.  Cornelia. 
ay, what see I?  Phil. 
Pompey's tender bones,  
which (in extremes) an earthen Urn containeth.  Corn. 
O sweet, dear, deplorable cinders,  
O miserable woman, living dying.  
O poor Cornelia, borne to be distressed,  
Why liv'st thou toiled, that (dead) mightst lie at rest?  
O faithless hands that under cloak of love,  
Did entertain him, to torment him so.  
O barbarous, inhuman, hateful traitors,  
This your disloyal dealing hath defamed  
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 outraged over an afflicted soul;  
Murdered a man that did submit himself,  
And injured him that ever used you kindly.  
For which misdeed, be Egypt pestered,  
With battle, famine, and perpetual plagues.  
Let Aspies, Serpents, Snakes, and Lybian Bears,  
Tigers, and lions, breed with you for ever.  
And let fair Nilus (wont to nurse your Corn)  
Cover your Land with Toads and crocodiles,  
That may infect, devour and murder you.  
Else earth make way, and hell receive them quick.  
A hateful race, 'mongst whom there doth abide  
All treason, luxury, and homicide:  Phillip. 
Cease these laments.  Corn. 
I do but what I ought to mourn his death:  Phil. 
Alas that profits nought.  Cor. 
Will heaven let treason be unpunished?  Phil. 
heavens will perform what they have promised.  Cor. 
I fear the heavens will not hear our prayer.  Phil. 
The plaints of men oppressed, do pierce the air.  Cor. 
Yet Caesar liveth still.  Phil. 
"Due punishment  
" Succeeds not always after an offence.  
"For oftentimes 'tis 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.  Cor. 
This is the hope that feeds my hapless days,  
Else 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.  
Else (god tofore) myself may live to see,  
His tired corpse lie toiling in his blood:  
Gored with a thousand stabs, and round about,  
The wronged people leap for inward joy.  
And then come Murder, then come ugly Death,  
Than Lethe open thine infernal Lake,  
I'll down with joy: because before I died,  
Mine eyes have seen what I in heart desired.  
Pompey may not revive, (and Pompey dead)  
Let me but see the murderer murdered.  Phil. 
Caesar bewailed his death.  Corn. 
His death he mourned, whom while he lived, to live like him he scorn.  Phil. 
He punished his murderers.  Corn. 
Who murdered him but he that followed Pompey with the sword?  
He murdered Pompey that pursued 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.  Phil. 
Photis and false Achillas he beheaded.  Corn. 
That was, because that Pompey being their friend, they had determined once of Caesar's end.  Phil. 
What got he by his death?  Cor. 
Supremacy.  Phil. 
Yet Caesar speaks of Pompey honourably.  Corn. 
Words are but wind, nor meant he what he spoke.  Phil. 
He will not let his statues be broke.  Cor. 
By which disguise( whate'er 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.  Phil. 
He took no pleasure in his death you see.  Corn. 
Because himself of life did not bereave him.  Phil. 
Nay, he was moved with former amity.  Corn. 
He never trusted him but to deceive him.  
But, had he loved 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'inextinguishable thirst of signiory.  
" Not heavens fear, nor country's sacred love,  
"Not ancient laws, nor nuptial chaste desire,  
" Respect of blood, or (that which most should move,)  
"The inward zeal that Nature doth require:  
" All these, nor any thing we can devise,  
"Can stoop the heart resolved to tyrannize.  Phil. 
I fear your griefs increase with this discourse.  Corn. 
My griefs are such, as hardly can be worse.  Phil. 
"Time calmeth all things.  Corn. 
No time qualifies my doleful spirits 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 breath an Autumn forth of fiery sighs,  
Yet herewithal my passion neither dies,  
Nor dries the heat the moisture of mine eyes.  Phil. 
Can nothing then recure these endless tears?  Corn. 
Yes, news of Caesar's death that medicine bears.  Phil. 
Madam, beware, for should he hear of this, his wrath against you 'twill exasperate.  Corn. 
I neither stand in fear of him nor his.  Phil. 
'tis policy to fear a powerful hate.  Corn. 
What can he do?  Phil. 
Madam what cannot men that have the power to do what pleaseth them?  Corn. 
He can do me no mischief that I dread.  Phil. 
Yes, cause your death.  Corn. 
Thrice happy were I dead.  Phil. 
With rigorous torments.  Corn. 
Let him torture me.  
Pull me in pieces, famish, fire me up,  
Fling me alive into a lions 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,  
" Used o'er the world and worldlings thus  
"to tyrannize,  
" When she hath heaped 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 fleers 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 over night  
"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 pass 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 do stand,  
"thou canst do much,  
" And often helpest the helps hand,  
"thy power is such.  
" And many times (disposed 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'er got victory,  
"was urged 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 suage.  
"And Pompey whose days haply led,  
" So long thou seemedst t'have favoured,  
"in vain 'tis said  
" When the Pharsalian field be led  
"implored thine aid.  
" Now Caesar swollen with honours heat,  
"Sits signiorizing in her seat,  
" and will not see,  
"That Fortune can her hopes defeat  
" whate'er they be.  
"From chance is nothing franchized.  
" And till the time that they are dead,  
"is no man blessed.  
" He only that no death doth dread,  
"doth live at rest.   

ACTVS QVARTVS.  Cassius, Decim and Brutus. 
ACcursed Rome, that armest 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 armed;  
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 buildest 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 murder'st 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 world's affairs;  
They care not for us, nor account of men,  
For what we see is done, is done by chance.  
'tis Fortune rules, for equity and right,  
Have neither help nor grace in heavens sight.  
Scipio hath wrenched a sword into his breast,  
And lanced his bleeding wound into the sea.  
Undaunted Cato, tore his entrails out.  
Affranius and Faustus murdered died.  
juba-and Petreus fiercely combating,  
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 yoked.  
So Rome to Caesar yields both power and pelf,  
And o'er 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 do us good,  
Plain in their Tombs of our base cowardice?  
Shall lamed Soldiers, and grave gray-haired men,  
Point at us in their bitter tears, and say,  
See where they go that have their race forgot.  
And rather choose (unarmed) to serve with shame,  
Then (armed) 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 repressed.  
I freely marched with Caesar in his wars,  
Not to be subject, but to aid his right.  
But if (envenomed with ambitious thoughts)  
He life his hand imperiously o'er us,  
If he determine but to reign in Rome,  
Or followed Pompey but to this effect:  
Or if (these civil discords now dissolved)  
He render not the Empire back to Rome,  
Then shall he see, that Brutus this day bears,  
The self-same Arms to be avenged 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 birthright bear,  
"Exceeds all loves, and dearer is by far  
" Our country's love, than friends or children are.  Cassius. 
If this brave care be nourished in your blood,  
Or if so Frank a will your soul possess,  
Why haste we not even while these words are uttered,  
To sheath our new-ground swords in Caesar's throat?  
Why spend we daylight, 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.  Bru. 
Yet haply he (as Sulla whilom did,)  
When he hath rooted civil war from Rome,  
Will therewithal discharge the power he hath.  Cass. 
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 chased,  
And of his safety thoroughly was assured,  
He laid apart the power that he had got,  
And gave up rule, for he desired it not.  
Where Caesar that in silence might have slept,  
Nor urged by aught but his ambition,  
Did break into the heart of italy.  
And like rude Brennus brought his men to field,  
Traversed the seas: And shortly after (backed  
With wintered soldiers used to conquering,)  
He aimed 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 traveled too far to leave it so.  Brut. 
But Cassius, Caesar is not yet a King.  Cas. 
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 perished 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 pity can assuage,)  
Though they contain dead bodies numberless,  
Are yet inferior to Caesar's rage.  
Who (monsterlike) with his ambition,  
Hath left more Tombs than ground to lay them on.  Brut. 
soldiers with such reproach should not be blamed.  Cass. 
He with his soldiers hath himself defamed.  Bru. 
Why then you think there is no praise in war.  Cass. 
Yes, where the causes reasonable are.  Bru. 
He hath enriched the Empire with new states.  Cass. 
Which with ambition now he ruinates.  Bru. 
He hath revenged the Gaules old injury,  
And made them subject to our Roman 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-aid,  
Against the Romans, whom in policy  
He trained 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 Gaules were but a foregame fetched about  
For civil discord, wrought by Caesar's sleights,  
Whom (to be King himself) he so one removed.  
Teaching a people hating servitude,  
To fight for that that did their deaths conclude.  Bru. 
The wars once ended, we shall quickly know,  
Whether he will restore the state or no.  Cas. 
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 do so many good,  
In spite of Caesar, Cassius will be free.  Bru. 
A generous or true ennobled spirit,  
Detests to learn what tastes of servitude.  Cass. 
Brutus I cannot serve nor see Rome yoked,  
No, let me rather die a thousand deaths.  
"The stiffnecked 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 overthrown,  
Now make herself a subject to her own?  
O base indignity. A beardless youth,  
Whom King Nicomides could overreach,  
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 aught,  
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 overlong endured;  
We should have practised, conspired, conjured,  
A thousand ways, and weapons to repress,  
Or kill outright this cause of our distress.  Chorus. 
"WHo prodigally spends his blood,  
" Bravely to do his country good,  
"And liveth to no other end,  
" But resolutely to attempt  
'What may the innocent defend,  
' And bloody tyrant's rage prevent;  
'And he that in his soul assured,  
' Hath water's force, and fire endured,  
'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 evermore.  
" 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 Summer 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 blessed.  
" 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 fro the hands  
" Of a Tyrant, near 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 do.  
" 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 scars,  
"Seeking that was not their own.  
" For no Tyrant commonly,  
"Living ill, can kindly die.  
" But either traitorously surprised  
"Doth coward poison quail their breath,  
" Or their people have devised,  
"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.  Caesar. Mar. anthony. Caesar. 
O Rome that with thy pride dost over-pear,  
The worthiest Cities of the conquered world.  
Whose honour got by famous victories,  
Hath filled heavens fiery vaults with frightful horror.  
O lofty towers, O stately battlements,  
O glorious temples, O proud Palaces,  
And you brave walls, bright heavens masonry,  
Graced with a thousand kingly diadems.  
Are ye not stirred with a strange delight,  
To see your Caesars 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 haste 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 passed?  
And make their vaunts to old Oceanus,  
That henceforth Tiber shall salute the seas,  
More famed than Tiger or fair Euphrates?  
Now all the world (well-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 wrapped in Crystal ice,  
Or where the Summer doth but warm the earth.  
Or here, or there, where is not Rome renowned?  
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, und Fortune's terror,  
And Caesar's worth hath stained old soldiers praises.  
Rome, speak no more of either Scipio,  
Nor of the Fabij, or Fabritians,  
Here let the Decij and their glory die.  
Caesar hath tamed more Nations, ta'en more Towns,  
And fought more battles than the best of them.  
Caesar doth triumph over all the world,  
And all they scarcely conquered a nook.  
The Gaules that came to Tiber to carouse,  
Did live to see my soldiers drink at Loire;  
And those brave Germains, true borne Martialists,  
Beheld the swift Rhine under-run mine Ensigns;  
The Britons (locked within a watery Realm,  
And walled by Neptune,) stooped 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 sevenfold Nilus doth disgorge itself,  
Have all been urged 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 advised) repined at my glory.  
Pompey that second Mars, whose haught renown  
And noble deeds, were greater than his fortunes.  
Proved to his loss but even in one assault  
My hand, my hap, my heart exceeded his;  
When the Thessalian fields were purpled over  
With either Armies murdered soldiers go.  
When he (to conquering accustomed,)  
Did (conquered) fly, his troops discomforted.  
Now Scipio, that longed to show himself  
descent of African, (so famed for Arms)  
He durst affront me and my warlike bands,  
Upon the Coasts of Lybia, till he lost  
His scattered Army: and to shun the scorn  
Of being taken captive, killed himself.  
Now therefore let us triumph Anthony.  
And rendering thanks to heaven as we go  
For bridling those that did malign our glory,  
Let's to the Capitol.  Anth. 
Come on brave Caesar,  
And crown thy head, and mount thy Chariot.  
Th'impatient people run along the streets,  
And in a rout against thy gates they rush,  
To see their Caesar after dangers passed,  
Made Conqueror and Emperor at last.  Caesar. 
I call to witness heavens 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 enemy's despite,  
And Romans wrong, was I constrained to fight.  Anth. 
They sought t'eclipse thy fame, but destiny  
Reversed th'effect of their ambition.  
And Caesar's praise increased by their disgrace  
That recked 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'erruled.  
For as I am inferior to none,  
So can I suffer no Superiors.  Anth. 
Well Caesar, now they are discomfited,  
And Crows are feasted with their carcases.  
And yet I fear you have too kindly saved  
Those, that your kindness hardly will requite.  Caes. 
Why Anthony, what would you wish me do?  
Now shall you see that they will pack to Spain,  
And (joined with the Exiles there encamped,)  
Until th'ill spirit that doth them defend,  
Do bring their treasons to a bloody end.  Anth. 
I fear not those that to their weapons fly,  
And keep their state in Spain, in Spain to die.  Caes. 
Whom fear'st thou then Mark Anthony?  Anth. 
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?  Anth. 
In conquered foes what credit can there be?  Caesar. 
Besides their lives, I did their goods restore.  Anth. 
O but their Countries good concerns them more.  Caesar. 
What, think they me to be their country's foe?  Anth. 
No, but that thou usurpest the right they owe.  Caesar. 
To Rome have I submitted mighty things.  Anth. 
Yet Rome endures not the command of Kings.  Caes. 
Who dares to contradict our empire?  Anth. 
Those whom thy rule hath robbed of liberty.  Caes. 
I fear them not whose death is but deferred.  Anth. 
I fear my foe until he be interred.  Caes. 
A man may make his foe his friend you know.  Anth. 
A man may easier make his friend his foe.  Caes. 
Good deeds the cruelest heart to kindness bring,  Anth. 
But resolution is a deadly thing.  Caes. 
If Citizens my kindness have forgot,  
whom shall I then not fear?  Anth. 
Those that are not.  Caes. 
What, shall I slay them all that I suspect?  Anth. 
Else cannot Caesar's Empery endure.  Caes. 
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 famed?  
Can I too-soon go taste Cocytus' flood?  
No Anthony, Death cannot injure us,  
'For he lives long that dies victorious.  Anthony. 
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 eternised.  Caesar. 
Heaven sets our time, with heaven may nought dispense.  Anth. 
But we may shorten time with negligence.  Caes. 
But Fortune and the heavens have care of us.  Anth. 
Fortune is fickle, Heaven imperious.  Caes. 
What shall I then do?  Anth. 
As befits your state,  
Maintain a watchful guard about your gate.  Caes. 
What more assurance may our state defend  
Then love of those that do on us attend?  Anth. 
There is no hatred more if it be moved,  
Than theirs whom we offend, and once beloved.  Caes. 
Better it is to die then be suspicious.  Anth. 
'tis 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 pleased,  
I could desire that I might die so well.  
The fear of evil doth afflict us more,  
Than th'evil itself, though it be near so sore.  A Chorus of Caesar's friends. 

O Fair Sun that gently smiles,  
From the Orient-pearled Isles,  
Guilding these our gladsome days,  
With the beauty of thy rays:   

Free fro 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 julus happy race.   

Rather cause thy dearest son,  
By his triumphs new begun,  
To expel fro forth the Land,  
Fierce wars quenchless firebrand.   

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 decked with Laurel boughs,  
And his statues new set  
With many a fresh-flowered Coronet.   

So, in every place let be,  
Feasts, and Masks, and mirthful glee,  
Strewing Roses in the street,  
When their Emperor they meet.   

He his foes hath conquered,  
Never leaving till they fled,  
And (abhorring blood,) at last  
Pardoned all offences past.   

"For high jove the heavens among,  
" (Their support that suffer wrong,)  
"Doth oppose himself again  
" Bloody minded 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 wronged  
Of the honour him belonged,  
To defend himself from harms,  
Was enforced to take up Arms.   

For he saw that envies dart,  
(Pricking still their poisoned heart,  
For his sudden glory got,)  
Made his envious foe so hot.   

Wicked Envy feeding still,  
Foolish those that do thy will.  
For thy poisons in them pour  
Sundry passions every bower.   

And to choler doth convert,  
Purest blood about the heart.  
Which (o'erflowing of their breast)  
suffereth nothing to digest.   

"Other men's prosperity,  
" Is their infelicity.  
"And their choler then is raised  
" When they hear another praised.   

"Neither Phoebus fairest eye,  
" Feasts, nor friendly company,  
"Mirth, or whatsoe'er it be,  
" With their humor can agree.   

"Day or night they never rest,  
" Spiteful hate so pecks their breast.  
"Pinching their perplexed lungs,  
" With her fiery poisoned tongues.   

"Firebrands in their breasts they bear,  
" As if Tesiphon were there.  
"And their souls are pierced 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.    

ACTVS QVINTUS.  The Messenger. Cornelia. Chorus. Messenger. 
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 killing by my side,  
Nor those ignoble, but the noblest Lords.  
'mongst whom above the rest that moves me most,  
Scipio (my dearest Master) is deceased.  
And Death that sees the Nobles blood so rife,  
Full-gorged triumphs, and disdains my life.  Corn. 
We are undone.  Chor. 
Scipio hath lost the day.  
But hope the best, and hearken to his news.  Corn. 
O cruel fortune.  Mess. 
These misfortunes yet  
must I report to sad Cornelia.  
Whose cease les grief (which I am sorry for)  
Will aggravate my former misery.  Corn. 
Wretch that I am, why leave I not the world?  
Or wherefore am I not already dead?  
O world, O wretch.  Chor. 
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.  Corn. 
O no, for all is lost.  
Farewell dear Father.  Chor. 
He is saved perhaps.  Mess. 
methinks I hear my masters daughter speak.  
What sighs, what sobs, what plaints, what passions  
have we endured Cornelia for your sake?  Corn. 
Where is thine Emperor?  Mess. 
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.  Corn. 
O miserable.  Chor. 
Now I see the heavens, are heaped with rage and horror 'gainst this house.  Corn. 
O earth, why op'st thou not?  Chor. 
Why wail you so?  
Assure yourself that Scipio bravely died,  
And such a death excels a servile life.  
Say Messenger,  
The manner of his end will haply comfort this your discontent.  Corn. 
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 approved 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 bars.  
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 tire and weary us fro thence.  
And got his willing hosts to march by night,  
With heavy Armour on their hardened backs,  
Down to the Seaside; Where before fair Tapsus,  
He made his Pioneers (poor weary souls)  
The self-same day, to dig and cast new Trenches,  
And plant strong Barricades. Where he (encamped)  
Resolved by force to hold us hard at work.  
Scipio, no sooner heard of his designs,  
But being afeard to lose so fit a place,  
Marched on the sudden to the self-same City.  
Where few men might do 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 go search about,  
Cover the earth so thick, as scarce we tread  
But we shall see a thousand of them dead.  
even so our battles scattered on the sands,  
Did scour the plains in pursuit of the foe.  
One while at Tapsus 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 vowed)  
Runs to the Tent for fear we should be gone,  
And quickly claps his rusty Armour on.  
For true it is, that Caesar brought at first,  
An host of men to Afrique, meanly Armed,  
But such as had brave spirits, and (combating)  
Had power and wit to make a wretch a King.  
Well, forth to field they marched all at once,  
Except some few that stayed to guard the Trench.  
Them Caesar soon and subtly sets in rank.  
And every Regiment (warned 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 dreamed of death or flight.  
That tyered, would near hold out, if once they see  
That they o'erlaid them in the first assault.  
Meanwhile our Emperor (at all points armed)  
Whose silver hairs and honourable front,  
Were (warlike) locked within a plumed cask,  
In one hand held his Targe of steel embossed,  
And in the other grasped his cutlass:  
And with a cheerful look surveyed 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 Romans 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 'tis 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 upreared,  
Sit invocating for us to the Gods,  
That they will bless our holy purposes.  
methinks 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 show 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 touched with lightning flames)  
May by our horse, in heaps be overthrown,  
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 Alps.  
The clattering Armour buskling as they paced,  
rung through the Forests with a frightful noise,  
And every Echo took the trumpets clang.  
When (like a tempest raised with whirlwinds rage,)  
They ran at ever-each other hand and foot.  
Wherewith the dust, as with a darksome cloud,  
Arose, and overshadowed 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 fro forth their Armour flew,  
And with a duskish yellow, choked the heavens.  
The battles locked, (with bristle-pointed spears)  
Do 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 (fleshed 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 overforward 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 retire as fast.  
As on the Alps the sharp Nor-North-east wind,  
Shaking a pinetree 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 to;  
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 feign to breath.  
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 fair Lioness,  
When they have vomited their long-grown rage,  
And proved each other's force sufficient,  
Passant regardant softly they retire.  
Their jaw-bones died with foaming forth and blood.  
Their lungs like sponges, rammed within their sides,  
Their tongues discovered, and their tails long trailing.  
Till jealous rage (engendered with rest,)  
Returns them sharper set then at the first;  
And makes them couple when they see their prize,  
With bristled backs, and fire-sparkling eyes,  
Till tyered or conquered, one submits or flies.  
Caesar, whose kinglike looks like day-bright stars,  
Both comfort and encourage his to fight,  
Marched through the battle (laying still about him.)  
And subtly marked whose hand was happiest.  
Who nicely did but dip his spear in blood,  
And who more roughly smeared it to his fist.  
Who (staggering) fell with every feeble wound,  
And who (more strongly) paced it through the thickest,  
Him he inflamed, and spurred, and filled with horror.  
As when Allecto in the lowest hell,  
Doth breath new heat within Orestes breast,  
Till outward rage with inward grief begins,  
A fresh remembrance of our former sins.  
For then (as if provoked with pricking goads,)  
Their warlike Armies, (fast locked foot to foot,)  
Stooping their heads low bent to toss their staves,  
They fiercely open both Battalions.  
Cleave, break, and raging tempest-like o'erturn,  
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 fro the wood,  
Make forth amongst the flock, that scattered flies  
Before the Shepherd, that resistless lies.  Corn. 
O cruel fortune.  Mess. 
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 then 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  
Crushed in a Winepress, 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 shivered.  
Here horse and man (o'erturned) for mercy cried,  
With hands extended to the merciless.  
That stopped their ears, and would not hear a word,  
But put them all (remorseless) to the sword.  
He that had hap to scape, doth help afresh,  
To reinforce the side whereon he served.  
But seeing that there the murdering Enemy,  
pell-mell, pursued them like a storm of hail,  
They 'gan retire where juba was encamped;  
But there had Caesar eftsoons tyrannized.  
So that despairing to defend themselves,  
They laid aside their Armour, and at last,  
Offered to yield unto the enemy.  
Whose stony heart, that near did Roman good,  
Would melt with nothing but their dearest blood.  
And Scipio my Father,  
when he beheld  
His people so discomfited and scorned.  
When he perceived the labour profitless,  
To seek by new encouraging his men,  
To come upon them with a fresh alarm.  
And when he saw the enemy's 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 battles scattered, and their Ensigns taken.  
And (to conclude) his men dismayed to see,  
The passage choked with bodies of the dead;  
(Incessantly lamenting th'extreme loss,  
And suspirable 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 arrived 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 Hyppon.  
Where th'adverse Navy sent to scour the seas,  
Did hourly keep their ordinary course;  
Where seeing himself at anchor slightly shipped,  
Besieged, betrayed 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 broke again,  
Ended the lives of his best fighting men.  
There did the remnant of our Roman nobles,  
Before the foe, and in their captains presence  
Die bravely, with their falchions 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 conjured to injure him,)  
steps 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 beguiled,  
What refuge now remains for my distress,  
But thee my dearest never-deceiving sword?  
Yea, thee my latest fortune's firmest hope.  
By whom I am assured this hap to have,  
That being free borne, I shall not die a slave,  
Scarce had he said, but cruelly resolved,  
He wrenched it to the pommel through his sides,  
That fro the wound the smoky blood ran bubbling,  
Wherewith he staggered; And I stepped to him  
To have embraced him. But he (being afraid  
T'attend the mercy of his murdering foe,  
That still pursued him and oppressed 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 gild'st our days,  
O night stars, full of infelicities,  
O triple titled Heccat Queen and Goddess,  
Bereave my life, or living strangle me.  
Confound me quick, or let me sink to hell.  
Thrust me fro 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 do, 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 inflamed blood.  
Ixion's torment, Sisyphus' rolling stone,  
And th'Eagle tearing 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, dealest 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?  
shy death dear Scipio, Rome's eternal loss,  
Whose hopeful life preserved 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,  
'twill 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 enflamedst 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 sojourned 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 spoiled.  
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'Afric seas were died,  
And sacred Temples quenchlesly inflamed.  
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) perished by the Roman swords.  
The Hannon's, the Amilcars, Asdrubals,  
Especially, that proudest Hannibal,  
That made the fair Thrasimene so desert.  
For even those fields that mourned to bear their bodies,  
Now (loaden) groan to feel the Roman corpses.  
Their earth we purple over, 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,  
vailing your Crystal eyes to your fair bosoms,  
Rain showers of grief upon your Roselike cheeks,  
And dew yourselves with spring-tides 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  
(Defaced and rent) be witness of your sorrows.  
And let your hair that won't be wreathed in tresses,  
Now hang neglectly, dangling down your shoulders,  
Careless of Art, or rich accoutrements.  
That with the gold and pearl we used before,  
Our mournful habits may be decked no more.  
Alas what shall I do? 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 enjoyed,  
When they enjoyed their lives and liberty.  
And must I live to see great Pompey's house,  
(A house of honour and antiquity)  
Usurped in wrong by lawless Anthony?  
Shall I behold the sumptuous ornaments,  
(Which both the world and Fortune heaped on him,)  
Adorn and grace his graceless Enemy?  
Or see the wealth that Pompey gained in war,  
Sold at a pike, and borne away by strangers?  
Die, rather die Cornelia; And (to spare  
Thy worthless life that yet must one day perish,)  
Let not those Captains vainly lie interred,  
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 entombed,  
My drowned Father in some Sepulchre,  
Who will perform that care in kindness for me?  
Shall his poor wandering limbs lie still tormented,  
tossed 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, & mourn upon your hearses.  
Where (languishing,) my famous 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 forego,)  
Increase the number of the ghosts below.  Non prosunt Domino quae prosunt omnibus; Arts. 
Tho. Kyd.