THE TRAGICOMOEDI of the virtuous Octavia.  
Done by SAMVEL BRANDON. 1598.  
Carmen amat, quisquis carmine digna gerit.  
LONDON Printed for William Ponsonbye, and are to be sold at his shop in S. Paul's Churchyard.   

To the right honourable, and truly virtuous Lady, the Lady LUCIA AUDELAY: health, honour, happiness and heaven.  

RAre Phoenix, which your life do sacrifice,  
In virtues flame, to find a life divine:  
Rich treasurer, of heavens best treasuries,  
In whom worth wisdom honour virtues shine.  
Sdaine not, these art less humble lines to view,  
With honours eyes let virtues plaints be scanned,  
That she whose virtues doubled are in you,  
By you may scape from Lybitinas hand.  
Her dying fame, by you may be preserved,  
Whiles time, and men, and memory endure:  
Your living name by hers mought be reserved,  
Did not these lines, too much her worth obscure.  
These lines, wherein, if ought be free from blame,  
Your noble Genius taught my Pen the same.    

All' autore.  

THe Thracian Poet, that reviv'd his wife,  
Breeding in furies, pity, and delight;  
Whose fame doth yet survive his shortened life,  
Must honour yield to what thou dost indite.  
For he, who oftentimes by Musics force,  
Did serpents charm, streams stay, and trees remove:  
In women's minds, could never move remorse,  
As his unhappy end doth plainly prove.  
Wherefore most praised be thy praise worthy muse,  
Which far surmounts the might of antic age:  
Winning that sex's grace, which did refuse  
By hearing Orpheus, to relent their rage.  
Because no music with their mind accords:  
But that which virtues harmony affords.   
MIA.   

Prosopopeia al libro.  

WHen barking envy saw thy birth,  
it strait contemned the same:  
And armed his tongue, to give a charge,  
thy weakness to disfame.  
But seeing honours golden hook,  
so linked to virtues line:  
He fled away as half afraid,  
yet ceased not to repine.  
But fear not Momus, make return,  
and haply for thy pain  
Thou mayst Antonius colours bear  
when he revives again.   
S. B.   

The Argument.  
AFter the death of julius Caesar, & the overthrow of Brutus and Cassius the chief conspirators: the government of the Roman Empire, remained unto Octavius Caesar, Mark Antony, and (at that time) Sextus Pompeius. Mark Antony, to confirm an inviolable league of amity, between Caesar and himself: took to wife Octavia, the sister of Caesar. Antony and Caesar falling at debate, met at Tarentum with their armies, and had been the cause of much bloodshed: but that they were appeased, by the wisdom of Octavia. Not long after, Antony going to make war with the Parthians, and coming into Syria: the place renewed the memory, and the memory revived the long intermitted love, he once bare to Cleopatra the Queen of Egypt: he therefore wholly subjecting himself to the desire of this Cleopatra: forsaketh his virtuous wife Octavia. Whereupon, her brother Caesar disdaining that she should suffer so great an indignity: maketh war upon Antony, and overcometh him, first at Actium, and then at Pelusium, to the utter ruin and destruction, both of Antony and Cleopatra.   

Octaviae tragicomoedia.  
The stage supposed Rome. 

The Actors.  
Octavius Caesar who was afterwards called Augustus.  
Octavia the sister of Caesar & wife of Antony. 

Two of the nobles of Octavius Caesar.  
Maecenas.  
Agrippa   

Roman Ladies.  
Camilla.  
julia.    
Antony's children.  
Syluia, a licentious woman. 

Consuls.  
Titius.  
Plancus.    
Geminus a Captain.  
Byllius nuntius.  
Chorus. Romano.    

Actus primus.  

Octavia.  
Camilla.  
julia.   

CAmilla, now me thinks this golden time,  
Invites our minds to bathe in streams of joy:  
See how the earth doth flourish in his prime,  
Whose livery shows the absence of annoy.  
These woods, how they bedecked with nature's pride,  
Show inward touch of new conceived mirth.  
The pretty birds, that in their coverts hide,  
(Free Citizens, even happy from their birth)  
How they rejoice! and every senseless thing,  
Even smiles with joy: the earth perfumes the air,  
The air, sweet Nectar to the earth doth bring,  
And both with joy, beget these children fair.  
How richly nature doth her wealth enrobe:  
Giving each thing his beauty, form and grace.  
Eye-pleasing green, circle of this our globe,  
Great mirror of Apollo's youthful face,  
Colour of life, youths livery, how delight  
Dwells still with thee, whiles we, whom reason named  
(But falsely named and if I judge aright)  
Princes of all the rest that nature framed:  
Still subject are to sorrows tyranny;  
Slaves to mischance, vassals of fortune's power;  
Bearing the yoke of endless misery:  
Fair baits of time which doth us all devour.  
Now raised aloft in honours highest seat,  
Yet in that height far short of sweet content,  
Now, thrown down headlong, be we near so great,  
In gulf of grief, which we may not prevent.  
Our pleasures, (posting guests,) make but small stay,  
And never once look back when they are gone:  
Where griefs bide long, and leave such scores to pay;  
As make us banckerout ere we think thereon.  
Yet this same earth with new-born beauties graced,  
Doth say me thinks in his dumb eloquence:  
Thus shall you spring, 'mongst heavenly angels placed,  
When deaths cold winter once hath snatched you hence.  
These flowers, do bid us in their language, read  
In beauty's books, how beauty is most frail:  
Whose youthful pride, th'untimely steps doth tread,  
To deaths black kingdom, dark oblivions vail.  
These nature's choristers, do plainly say,  
Waste thus your time, in setting forth his praise:  
Who feeds, who clothes, who fills our hearts with joy:  
And from this dead earth, doth our bodies raise.  
Thus all their mirth, are accents of our moan:  
Their bliss full state, of our unhappiness,  
A perfect map, where only we alone,  
May see our good, but never it possess.   Cam. 

Madam, as nature more than perfect is,  
And far more fair, then that we fairest call:  
So you as heir apparent to her bliss,  
Chief treasurer of her perfections all;  
Will show yourself self most wise, and most divine,  
In curious search of her most hidden will;  
And following but her footsteps, yet refine:  
The universal secrets of her skill.  
Yet I admire, your Eagle-sighted eye,  
Which hath truths sun-bright circle so well known:  
In others worth, discerns each Attomie,  
Forgetful most, of what is most your own.  
These other creatures, have their properties,  
Which show, their Sire no niggard of his store,  
But such great gifts our minds immortalize,  
As proud ambitious self, can wish no more.  
And you, great Lady, whose high honour flies,  
With virtues wings, in admirations air:  
Towering, an eagle's pyche, above the skies,  
Where vulgar thoughts, are settled in despair;  
You, whose designs, have put out envies eyes,  
Whose lamp of virtue gives the purest light;  
You, that enforce weak fame to royalize,  
Such high revolues, as far surpass her might,  
You, whose large praise, makes naked virtue lower,  
And tires report, in painting out your story;  
You, in whose lap doth stream the golden shower,  
Of all good fortune, gracing highest glory.  
O how can you, once entertain a thought,  
That these high joys should stoop to sorrows lure?  
Or how can true felicity be brought,  
The smallest touch of passion to endure?  
Let those complain, which suck misfortunes paps:  
Who know nought else of virtue but the name,  
Who seeming wise, are snared in follies traps,  
Whose rash attempts, breed swift ensuing shame,  
But you heavens day-star, pillar of our bliss,  
O want you ever, clouds of discontent:  
You are our joy, we all joys, all should miss,  
Did not your sun beams gild our firmament.   Oct. 

Did not thy true love seal this precedent,  
I should suspect a serpent 'mongst the flowers:  
And hardly judge fair words from false intent,  
Poor niggard truth, rich flattery, powers down showers.  
But loyal Ladies, do you think in faith,  
That highest honour, joys most sweet content?   Cam. 

It doth no doubt, for high, and heavenly saith  
The proverb old, to which I give consent.   Oct. 

Then hear me speak, what I shall say by proof,  
And what experience printed in my heart?  
Perhaps a story for your own behoof,  
Where I myself, have played an actors part.  
In youth, I thought though falsely thought) that best  
Which fairest seemed, and my aspiring mind  
Disdained (though not with pride) that there should rest  
A mean borne thought, within my thoughts confined.  
Treading this path, I was at last desired,  
By Lord Marcellus, for his spouse, and wife.  
Marcellus, he whose worthy fame aspired,  
To th'highest top of honour, during life.  
If wealth, (nurse of delight) mought breed content:  
I had no want of store to make me glad:  
My greatness did ambitious thoughts prevent:  
Such high success Marcellus honours had.  
Proud Carthage knows, his youthful sword did pay  
Large tribute of their souls to stygian lake:  
His middle age, the stoutest Gauls did fray,  
Marcellus name made their huge armies quake.  
His ancient years, made crafty Hannibal  
Admire the proofs, and valour of his foe:  
Thrice bitter name, that cursed Cannibal,  
By bloody treason, made him life forego.  
Five times this city graced my worthy Lord,  
Or rather he them graced, with Consul's name.  
What they to others suits would scarce afford,  
They joyed to see my Lord accept the same.  
Now Ladies to forget my present state,  
Did joy think you this while orecharge my mind?  
I joyed I must confess, to see how fate  
With bounds of honour, had my life cozened.  
But when I found, how monster envy, feeds  
On highest honour, as his daintiest prey:  
How brightest fire, great store of fuel needs,  
To keep his light, and beauty from decay.  
When that I found the music of my mind,  
Tuned to the concord, of Marcellus bliss:  
And saw, true valour had his life assigned,  
To haughty Mars, whose course most dangerous is.  
I lived in him, he spent his royal days,  
In bloody bosom of life scorning wars.  
Safety may breed delight, not nourish praise;  
Hard is the way, from th'earth unto the stars.  
Whiles thus our state, depended on his sword,  
And thousand thousands sought his final end:  
Can my true love, in all this time, afford  
One quiet thought in perfect mirth to spend?  
So many perils as on earth are found,  
So many dangers as on raging seas,  
So many terrors all my joys confound,  
For true love passions are no weak disease.  
But is this all? no, more if more may be,  
'tis greater care, to keep, then get, a crown.  
Virtue doth raise by small degrees we see:  
Where in a moment Fortune casts us down.  
And surely those that live in greatest place,  
Must take great care, to be such as they seem:  
They are not princes, whom sole titles grace,  
Our princely virtues, we should most esteem.  
The sands on Neptune's shores, and beamy stars,  
Do not exceed the number of those cares  
Which in our minds, do stir up civil wars,  
And cross delights accounts, at unawares.  
Let this suffice, the tempest soon tears  
The highest towers, and who will mount aloft,  
The more he climbs, the more his footing fears:  
Often he slides, but seldom falleth soft.  
What words, can paint the infinite of woes?  
What tongue, can half those miseries relate?  
Which thundering fortune, threatened to impose  
Upon my head, at Tarent, but of late.  
When as mine eyes mought see (though loath to see)  
The suns, with whose eclipse, my fortune changed:  
Mine own dear Lord, and brother, both to be  
In mortal arms, against each other ranged.  
Which tempest calmed, the storm gins again,  
On mischiefs main, full sails mishap doth bear:  
I know not now what doth my Lord detain,  
But for I know not, I know cause to fear.  
To visit him, at last I was contented,  
And in those foreign coasts to make appeal:  
But my access, at Athens he prevented,  
Which makes me think, more than I will reveal.  
And can I then with sorrows weight oppressed,  
Think to enamel my conceit with joy?  
Can I, that am with fortune's wrack distressed,  
Hope to escape the Ocean of annoy?  
Why, this is joy, to taste no sense of death,  
Till dying hour, have stopped our vital breath.   julia. 

'Tis true delight, to know no cause of grief,  
Although the outward signs of joy be small:  
Who most rejoicing, feels that inward thief,  
A stained conscience finds no joy at all.   Cam. 

Indeed I think, true joy, a thing severe,  
Springing from fountain of a virtuous mind:  
From spotless faith, and conscience pure and clear,  
The chiefest good, the heavens have us assigned.  
For as some weep, that are not passing sad:  
So many laugh that are not rightly glad.   

Geminus.  
Titius.   

Say worthy Titius, what rare accident,  
In so short time, did bring to happy end,  
The cruel wars; which Caesar's discontent,  
'Gainst Lord Antonius, lately did intend;  
How could so many weapons thirsting blood,  
Be satisfied with unexpected peace?  
What powerful stars importuned us such good?  
And did their anger's tyranny suppress?   Titi. 

That will I do, my good friend Geminus.  
And much the sooner, for that you may know,  
No force, or weapons, hath procured us,  
The happy truce, wherein we glory now.  
It was the time, when the declining sun  
Made greatest show of least performed light:  
And by his swift departure had begun,  
To yield his interest, to th'encroaching night.  
When as the seas, even burdened with our weight,  
Delivered us unto the perfect view  
Of dreadful Tarent: where for us did weight,  
Antonius' fleet, with all their martial crew.  
There did our drowned anchors make us stay,  
Within the jaws of dangers tyranny:  
There, we discovered by the flying day,  
The agents of our threatened misery.  
Who can express the horror of that night,  
When darkness lent her robes to monster fear?  
And heavens black mantle banishing the light,  
Made every thing in ugly form appear.  
Until Aurora, with fair purple flowers,  
Like loving spouse, had strawed Titan's way:  
Whose glorious beams, began to guild the towers,  
As joyful post, of pleasure-bringing day.  
Then did loud Martial music charm a sleep,  
Each languishing conceit, in doubtful breast:  
And new borne comfort, now began to creep,  
In every mind, with causeless fear oppressed.  
Then, pride of honour, made us scorn our foes:  
And courage added wings to our desire.  
To present fight, we all ourselves dispose:  
With bloody showers, to quench incensed ire.  
But ere our armies, had their charge fulfilled,  
Ere weapons, had our inward rage expressed:  
Lo where Octavia, comes into the field,  
Twixt both our armies, she herself addressed.  
Where with the Nectar of her eloquence,  
With words that mought relent indurate frost:  
With majesty, and beauty's influence,  
She stays our Captains, and affronts each host.  
O how I see that wonder-breeding face!  
O how I hear those hart-enchaining words!  
O face! o words! that merit highest grace!  
Immortal sure, base earth none such affords,  
No woman's weapon blinds her princely eye;  
No woman's weakness, her tongue's passage stays:  
Like one, that did both death, and fate defy,  
Minerva-like she stands, and thus she says.  
Hear will I bide, and this same breast oppose  
To all your weapons, and whose wicked hand,  
Shall first begin t'assail or strike his foes,  
Shall strike this heart, and break this vital band.  
No bloody deed, Octavia's eyes shall gain,  
A witness of your loathed cruelty:  
But through this body shall the first be slain,  
That in this battle, is compelled to die.  
If honour, virtue, worth, or piety,  
Live in your minds, which bear such lofty names:  
Return your weapons, and here quietly,  
With reason, quench the force, of angry flames.  
Else, let some bloody executioner,  
First rob this jealous tomb, of loathed life:  
And then, no longer need you to defer,  
The issue, of your more than mortal strife.  
Much more she said, which none but she can say,  
And with her sugared speech, so much prevailed,  
That like Medusa's marbled creatures, they  
Amazed stood, so was their fury quailed.  
Look how that trydent sceptre bearing king,  
His oft rebelling subjects, doth suppress,  
And with a sudden beck in order bring,  
Their disproportion, with a quiet peace;  
When that the pride, of some truce-wanting storm,  
Doth summon up their treason-working power;  
Now gracing terror, with huge mountains form,  
Now with steep whirlpool, seeking to devour:  
So stood the Emperors, with her words amazed,  
Her words, which seemed the mirror of her deed.  
As men enchanted so on her they gazed,  
And in her face, new lectures gan to reed.  
But when she saw, her words did take effect,  
Then powered she forth the quintessence of wit:  
And never did her enterprise neglect,  
Till both the Emperors bewitched with it;  
Not only, did forget all former hate,  
But even there, before Octavia's face,  
A league of friendship they did consummate,  
And lovingly each other did embrace.  
O what a joyful sight, 'twas to behold  
A dangerous fight, turned to a dainty feast.  
To see how friends salute each other could,  
That but even now, each other did detest.  
There did both army's sport in great delight,  
And interchangeably their loves expressè:  
As captives, foiled without blood, wound or fight;  
They praise the conquest, and the victor bless  
Then did Antonius, for Octavia's sake,  
Give unto Caesar twenty Brygantines':  
Which Caesar did in courteous manner take,  
And in requital of his kind designs,  
Did twice five hundred armed soldiers, give  
To Anthony: and quickly one mought find,  
The sparks of emulation made them strive,  
Who mought do most, to please Octavia's mind.   Gem. 

O noble deed, deserving highest praise,  
Well worthy to outlive all memory:  
Life saving Empress, how thy wisdom stays,  
Even swarms of souls, from Pluto's tyranny,  
But why did not Antonius, in like sort  
Return to Room, to pay delight her due.   Tit. 

He presently towards Parthia did resort,  
Against their King the wars for to renew.  
And recommending all his own affairs,  
His wife, his children, and what else was dear,  
To Caesar's best disposing: he repairs,  
To Syria, and intends to winter there.   Gem. 

Room thou that keep'st, the pearl that doth include,  
heavens dearest treasure, in earth's finest frame:  
Be never so ungrateful, to obtrude  
Night-blacke oblivion, to her noble name.   

Camilla.  
Geminus.   

Come Geminus, and unto me relate,  
What made the Empress, altar her intent:  
What did your voyage thus abbreviate,  
And all your expectations prevent.  
Fame (bad concealer of our close intents)  
Said, that the Empress would to Syria go:  
To see Antonius, who himself abscentes,  
But your return, doth show it was not so.   Gem. 

Madame, when Aeolus had once conveyed  
Our moving houses, unto that same place,  
Where noble Cecrops, the foundations laid,  
Which are the Grecian confines chiefest grace:  
There, long before we could approach the gates  
Of that fair City, we encountered were,  
With people of all ages, and estates,  
Who in their hands, did boughs of Laurel bear.  
Some on their knees, with joy, and wonder filled,  
Salute the Empress: some rich gifts present.  
Some strawed the way with flowers, and some distilled  
Their sweet perfumes, along the fields we went.  
Thus to the City were we guarded strait,  
Where for our coming, all the states await.  
There were our eyes, invited to behold  
Most sumptuous shows, with many pleasing sights:  
There did we hear, their learned tongues unfold.  
The muse's skill, with ravishing delights,  
Their loud applause, which pierced the very skies,  
Extolled Octavia past the reach of fame:  
And silent Echo, wakened with their cries,  
Taught all the neighbour hills, to bless her name.  
Thus frankly did two days themselves bestow,  
To gratify our entertainment there:  
Whiles Antony, who as it seemed did know  
Of our approach, and thereof stood in fear:  
Sent Niger, unto Athens, with all speed,  
Who to Octavia letters did convey:  
Requiring her no further to proceed,  
But for his coming in that place to stay.  
For thither meant he shortly to repair,  
And therefore would not, she should undertake  
So long a journey, which mought much impair  
Her health, and quiet, bootless for his sake.  
She, half suspecting (as there was good cause)  
That this was but a practice of delay:  
Although unwilling, yet she made a pause,  
As one that knew not how to disobey.  
But finding all his words to want effect,  
And seeing nothing mought his mind recall:  
Such things, she doth unto him strait direct,  
As she had brought, to pleasure him withal.  
Which was, two thousand chosen men at arms:  
Great store of horses, wont to win their price;  
Much armour, to defend themselves from harms,  
As richly wrought, as cunning could devise;  
Gifts, to reward his best-deseruing friends;  
A sum of money for his soldiers pay;  
And briefly all her care, and study bends,  
To save his waning honour, from decay.  
But when she saw, nought mought his thoughts recline  
Unkind, saith she, senseless of thine own shame,  
I'll be myself, since thou wilt not be mine:  
Thus she concluded, and away we came.   Cam. 

O peerless paragon! O natures pride!  
Fair Cabinet, where wisdoms treasure lies,  
Earth's glory, and the heavens beloved bride,  
Rich seat of honour, virtues paradise.  
Most noble Empress, praise of women kind,  
Whose faith endures the rage of fortune's flame:  
Whose constant truth, and truly virtuous mind,  
Scorns smallest touch of iust-deserued blame.  
How natural, and undivided, are  
The sparks of honour, in a noble heart:  
How industry, and wit, may not compare,  
With that true touch, our birthright doth impart.  
Live virtuous Empress, mirror of our age,  
Though chance discharge whole volleys of reproach;  
With fortitude withstand proud fortunes rage,  
Let not despair, near thy sweet thoughts encroach.  
Time must needs turn thy mourning unto joy,  
For true delight from hence his spring doth take:  
When we with patience suffer sharp annoy,  
Not for our merits, but for virtues sake.   

Chorus.  

heavens, hear poor earth complain,  
How we, your frowns do bear:  
When all things else rejoice,  
joy scorns with us to dwell.  
And reasons self can tell,  
Each mirth discovering voice,  
Assures our judging ear,  
How all things else want pain:  
Scence-following creatures know  
No cause, why to lament,  
In them, remorse doth sow,  
No seeds of discontent.  
We see, and know, but want our bliss:  
Unperfect nature causeth this.  
Yea nature most unkind,  
Contriver of our fall:  
Gins our life with tears,  
And ends the same with woe.  
grief (pleasures mortal foe)  
Confounds our hope with fears:  
And sowers our sweet with gall.  
This Tyrant of the mind:  
By reason, wit, or skill,  
Can never be withstood:  
These aggravate our ill,  
By showing what was good.  
And want of that torments us most:  
Whose worth appears in being lost.   

Were nature falsely named  
A stepdame to mankind,  
That sex, which we account  
Unperfect, weak, and frail,  
Can not in worth prevail:  
And men so far surmount.  
We should Octavia find,  
In some sort to be blamed.  
She wins immortal fame,  
Whiles he who should excel:  
Dishonoured hath his name,  
And by his weakness fell.  
For double shame he doth deserve,  
Who being guide doth soon serve.   

And Lord Antonius, thou  
Thrice woman conquered man:  
Shall not thy heart repine,  
Their triumphs to adorn?  
Octavia's virtues scorn,  
That wanton life of thine:  
And Cleopatra can,  
Command thy ghost even now.  
And feign would I refrain,  
From Fuluiaes' stately name:  
Which doth thy manhood slain,  
And makes thee blush for shame.  
In this one thing, yet happy mayst thou be:  
They Princess are, that triumph over thee.   

Dwell in fames living breath,  
T'eternitie resign'de,  
Ye fair Mars-conquering wights:  
And fear not Lethe's flood,  
Your virtues always bud,  
Your story, honour writes,  
And Phoenixlike you find,  
A new life in your death.  
Arm but your Angel-soules,  
With perfect virtues shield,  
That Thanatos controls,  
And makes Erynnis yield,  
Then shall the heavens your worth descry:  
Earth, sing your praise, and so will 1     

Actus secundus.  

Octavia.  
Byllius.   

OThrice, and four times, happy messenger,  
Hast thou from Parthia made return of late?  
Canst thou declare the issue of the war,  
And make me know, Antonius happy state?  
What caused my Lord in Syria make such stay,  
Since he 'gainst Parthia did his forces bend?  
When doth he mean, towards Room to take his ways  
And to those wars, impose a final end?  
Unkind he is: not so, but distant far,  
And his great trouble, much my good impairs:  
Else would he not mine ears so long time bar,  
From much expected news of his affairs.   Byl. 

Madame, these eyes have seen what hath been done  
In Syria, Parthia, and each other place;  
I present was, when Lord Antonius, won  
Eighteen great battles, in a little space.  
I often saw, when mischief, in the field  
Had all her force against my Lord brought forth:  
How he with valour, made even fortune yield,  
And chance, await on well approved worth.  
I was in Media, when Phraortes slew  
Great Tatianus, fight for my Lord:  
I saw when he our engines from us drew,  
And put ten thousand Romans', to the sword.  
I was in presence, when a sudden fear.  
In blackest horror of the darkest night,  
So much astonished all that present were,  
With shrieking cries that mought even stones affright:  
That Antony, with fear of treason moved,  
Made Ramnus humbly swear upon his knee,  
To strike that head, that head so much beloved,  
From of his shoulders, when he once should see,  
unevitable danger, to lay hold,  
Upon himself; yet could not all this, quail  
His haughty courage, but as uncontroulde,  
He still proceeds, his stoutest foes t'assail.  
And having now, summed with the Parthian blood,  
The largest scores, of wrongs we did sustain,  
Thence to retire, he now hath thought it good:  
And for a time at Blanckbourg to remain.  
Blanckbourg a City near to Sydon placed,  
Unto the which our whole Camp did resort,  
There he intends to stay, and not in haste  
To visit Room, as most of them report.   Oct. 
O what should move my Lord thus long to stay?  Byl. 
another tongue mought better that bewray.  Octa. 
What dost thou know more the thou hast yet said?  Byl. 
Madam no more.  Oct. 

Why then am I dismayed?  
Why do I see thy sorrow-clouded brow,  
Seem to conceal I know not what annoy?  
Say Byllius whence those troubled looks may grow?  
Is my Antonius safe? doth he enjoy  
That body free from hurt, wound or disease?  
Doth he yet live and draw his vital breath?  
Speak, quickly speak, truth cannot me displease,  
Where now suspicion wounds as deep as death.   Byl. 

It cannot be but that your grace doth know,  
For what can be concealed from Prince's ear?  
And further speech mought seeds of discord sow,  
Between your highness and my Lord I fear.   Octa. 

O how delay torments a doubtful mind.  
I know, no, he procures I may not hear  
Of any thing from thence, whereby I find,  
Although unknown yet double cause of fear.  
Then banish doubt, and see thou plainly tell,  
What strange occasion doth enforce his stay?  
What can Antonius princely mind compel,  
In foreign coasts to make so long delay?   Byl. 

Madame, the cause that made him to remain  
In Syria, so long time when as we went  
Towards Parthia, is the same that doth detain,  
His highness now and thus your grace prevent.   Octa. 

Am I an Empress still thus disobeyed?  
And dost thou dare to dally with me still?  
I first inquired, what him in Syria staid.  
Why dost thou fear to tell the worst of ill.   Byl. 

If this likewise be hidden from your grace,  
In humble sort a pardon I beseech:  
That high displeasure 'gainst me take not place,  
For what shall be disclosed by my speech.   Octa. 
I pardon all, so long as all be true.  Byl. 

Who doth delude let sharp death be his due.  
Then if you list the truth to understand,  
The truth is this: that fond Egyptian Queen,  
Queen Cleopatra doth your will withstand,  
And him detains, who else had present been.   Octa. 
By force?  Byl. 

O no, worlds could not him constrain  
To stay this long in any place by force:  
But his affection is the loving chain,  
That from your highness doth his mind divorce.   Octa. 

What chilling fear doth stream along these veins?  
What frozen terror makes me thus to quake?  
What monstrous grief, what horror, thus constrains  
My stiving heart, his lodging to forsake?  
Tell me, from what conceit may this be guest?   Byl. 
They live together, who knows not the rest.  Octa. 
I must believe it sore against my will.  Byl. 
Hardly we credit what imports our ill.  Octa. 
But slow belief from wisdom doth proceed.  Byl. 
But mortal wounds of present cure have need.  Oct. 
Some fond report hath made thee falsely deem.  Byl. 

I shun report, and lightly it esteem,  
But this I saw, when we to Syria came,  
Antonius strait to Cleopatra sent,  
A messenger Fonteius was his name:  
Whose swiftness did even haste itself prevent.  
More, than we knew not, but within short space  
Came Cleopatra royally attended,  
And met directly at th'appointed place,  
Which for their stay they had before pretended.  
There did they sport a time in great excess  
Of all delights which any eye hath seen,  
And there Antonius his great love t'express  
Did frankly give to this Egyptian queen,  
Phoenicia, Cyprus and Cylicia,  
Part of Arabia where those people dwell  
Called Nabatheians, part of Syria:  
And finding that she could prevail so well  
With Antony, she further did proceed,  
And begged part of that land we jewry call.  
From whence mought be transported at her need,  
True balm, for to preserve her grace withal.  
This done, my Lord, towards Parthia took his way,  
Which we with fire and sword did waste and burn,  
But in those confines did not long time stay,  
But back again to Blanckbourge we return.  
From whence, a post was speedily addressed,  
For to conduct this Cleopatra thither:  
She kindly condescends to his request,  
Thus there they met, and there they live together.   Octa. 

O what hart-piercing grief doth them torment,  
That are thus counterchecked with rivalles love?  
What worlds of horror do themselves present,  
Unto their minds that do like passions prove?  
O jealousy, when truth once takes thy part,  
What mercy-wanting tyrant so severe?  
What Sylla, what Charibdis, can impart  
But half those horrors which in thee appear?  
Poor Pluto, why do we thy rigour dread?  
All torments are contained within my breast:  
Allecto doth whole troops of furies lead  
Within my soul, with endless grief oppressed.  
O deserts, now you deserts are indeed:  
Your commonwealths are couched within my heart,  
Within my heart, all ravening beasts do feed:  
And with mad fury, still increase my smart.  
O grief, I feel the worst that thou canst do.  
I taste the powerful force of mischiefs pride.  
I prove the worst that chance can put me to.  
The deepest wound of fortune I abide.  
But stay Octavia, if this be a lie:  
If thy dear Lord do constant yet remain,  
Whom dost thou wrong, is it not Antony?  
O fault too great, recall it back again.  
Canst thou be so unkind, nay so unjust,  
To censure, judge, condemn without a cause?  
Shall flying tales make thee so much mistrust,  
Him bound to thee by Gods, and nature's laws?  
O traitor passion, if thou couldst subdue  
Thy sovereign reason, what ill tragedies  
Wouldst thou soon act, but jealousy adieu,  
My Lord is constant, and these are but lies.  
Did not he swear on that our nuptial day,  
By all the sacred rights we holy deem,  
By those immortal powers which we obey,  
By all things else which dearly we esteem,  
By his right hand, by this our wedding ring,  
By all that mought a perfect truth intend:  
One time, one day, one hour; should surely bring,  
His life, and love unto a final end.  
Did not he say, the stars from heaven should fall,  
The fishes should upon the mountains range,  
And Tiber should his flowing streams recall:  
Before his love should ever think on change.  
But what of this? these are but only words,  
And so are those which do his faith impeach.  
O poor Octavia, how thy state affords,  
Nought but despair to stand within thy reach.  
The seat of truth is in our secret hearts,  
Not in the tongue, which falsehood oft imparts.  
Hast back then Tiber to thy fountains head,  
Descend ye stars, and this base earth adorn,  
Let Neptune's people on these hills be fed,  
For Antony is fled, false, and forsworn.  
But 'tis not so, my Antony is true:  
His honour will not let him basely fall,  
Octavies name will faithful love renew.  
His Innate virtue will his mind recall.  
As fear of torment holds the wicked in:  
So virtues love makes good men loathe their sin.   Byl. 

Madam, I cannot force you to believe  
That which I speak, but that I speak is true,  
I knew too well it would your highness grieve,  
And would be loath your sorrows to tenew;  
But would to God that all my words were lies,  
So my disgrace mought work your sweet content;  
Would this my soul mought be the sacrifice,  
To reconcile his love thus fond bend.  
O virtue, thou that didst my good assure,  
Arm now my soul against proud fortunes might:  
Without thy succour I may not endure,  
But this strong tempest will destroy me quite.  
O sacred lamp, pure virtues living flame,  
That never fails sweet comfort to impart:  
I feel thy power and glory in the same,  
I hear thee say in closet of my heart,  
Octauta, live, and show thyself a Queen,  
Tread thou my path, make constancy thy guide;  
Let no base fear within thy mind be seen,  
Let thine own foot into no error slide;  
Make thine own thoughts no witness of thy miss;  
Let thine own conscience know no cause of blame;  
A bulwark strong, a brazen wall this is,  
That will resist, both sorrow, grief and shame.  
Antonius' fall, his own disgrace procures,  
His is the fault, and on his head shall fall,  
The storm of mischiefs deep-revenging showers:  
When thine own worth, in heaven shall thee install.  
His is the fault, but what? mine is the wrong.  
The error his, but I endure the smart;  
O virtue, if thou be so passing strong,  
Yet once again remove this from my heart.  
Why, virtue grieves but at his own disgrace,  
And minds distressed, with patience doth relieve:  
With wisdoms light it still directs his pace,  
And cannot fall and therefore cannot grieve.  
Well grief, I feel that thou art grief indeed,  
But patience is a prince and must not yield:  
O sacred virtue help me at my need;  
Repulse my foes with thy all mastering shield.  
But what, I must not here stand and lament,  
Thy deeds Octauta, must approve thy worth:  
'tis wisdom, must these injuries prevent,  
I will no more excuse thy wrongs henceforth.  
I'll seek by all means thee to reconcile,  
And in my thoughts revenge shall find no place,  
But if thou needs wilt work a thing so vile,  
To seek my ruin and thine own disgrace,  
If nothing can prevail, I'll make it seen,  
Thou wrong'st an Empress, and a Roman queen.   

julia.  
Camilla.  
Syluia.   

O dear Camilla, what a woeful sight,  
'Tis to behold the Empress doleful state?  
Though others burdens in our eyes seem light:  
Death in my heart, her grief doth intimate.  
O what exceeding pity 'tis to see,  
Such noble virtues nursed in wisdoms breast:  
Snared in the trap of humane misery,  
By others baseness thus to be distressed.   Cam. 

Madame, the case is pitiful indeed,  
And such as may relent a flinty heart:  
A patiented mind, must stand her grace instead,  
Till time and wisdom, may his love convert.   jul. 
But who dares tell a Prince he goes aside?  Cam. 
His conscience best, if wisdom were his guide.  jul. 
But they are great and may do what they will.  Cam. 
Great if much good: not great if they do ill.  jul. 
But we must yield to what the Prince will have.  Cam. 
He is no Prince, that is affection's slave.  jul. 
Be what he will his power is over-stronge.  Cam. 

heavens will not suffer sin to flourish long.  
And sure who list but to behold the end,  
Shall see Antonius dearly buy his lust:  
They never prosper long that lewdly spend  
Their granted time, for God is not unjust.   Syl. 

Well, let them talk of virtue, those that list,  
Of patience, justice and of constancy;  
For me, I think the Empress sure hath missed,  
The only way to cure this malady.  
Buy living fame that list, with pinching pain,  
And starve themselves with feeding fond conceit:  
Were I Octavia I would entertain  
His double dealing, with as fine a sleight.  
I would nor weep, nor wail, but soon return  
Upon his head the wrongs he doth pretend:  
I would compel him spite of him to learn,  
It were no jest a woman to offend.  
He feels not now the grief that makes her smart:  
But I know what would touch him to the heart.   jul. 

What force, what wit, can Antony compel,  
Now to forego his late ill-placed love?   Syl. 

One nail you see another will expel,  
When nothing else can force the same to move.  
Should lie that swims in streams of sweet content,  
Make his delight the agent of my pain?  
No, no, he rather were a precedent,  
How to inquire him with the like again.  
Had I been touched with sense of inward grief,  
When such like chances had be-fallen me,  
Or at their leisure hoped for relief,  
When I myself, mought best myself set free:  
I had been dead for many years ago,  
Or must have lived in endless misery,  
But I take order not to perish so,  
He shall care little, that cares less than I.   Cam. 

But doth not Syluia blush to disannul,  
Her own good name, her faith, and constancy:  
Doth not she fear, the wrath of heaven to pull  
Upon her head, for such impiety?   Syl. 

The wrath of heaven, why no, the heavens are just,  
And justice yields a man his due desert:  
Then sith I do no injury, I trust  
Not I, but he, for both our faults shall smart.  
And for my faith and constancy, no doubt  
I'll deal for that as well as others shall:  
But 'tis most strange to see you go about,  
To praise the thing that works all women's fall.  
Why constancy is that which marreth all.  
A weak conceit which cannot wrongs resist,  
A chain it is which binds ourselves in thrall,  
And gives men scope to use us as they list,  
For when they know that you will constant bide,  
Small is their care, how often they do slide.  
O if you would but mark the little map  
Of my poor world, how in times swift career  
I manage fortune, and with wit entrap  
A thousand such as hold these courses dear;  
Then would you say you want the art of love,  
For I fear nothing less than such relapse,  
The frowardness which I in men approve,  
Most troubles me for fear of after claps.  
And Lord, you cannot govern one alone,  
When I have many subject to my beck:  
I always pleasant, you still making moan,  
You full of fear, they dread my frowning check.  
Nor do I marvel, for this union breeds  
A loathing sure, by nature unto things:  
And constancy the mind with quiet feeds,  
And settled quiet soon corruption brings.  
Thus first we loath, and then we strait ways hate,  
When to one object we intend our mind:  
But I with choice do still renew the state,  
Of fainting love, and still new pleasures find.  
Look how a Bee amongst the verdant fields,  
From divers flowers extracts the pleasant thyme,  
Which well compounded, one sweet matter yields:  
So do I spend my pleasure-tasting time.  
I seek not grains of gold in barren ground,  
Nor hope for fruit, when harvest is once past:  
I like not where affection is not found,  
If any fall, I fly from him as fast.  
And surely who will taste the sweet of love,  
Must not be tied unto one poor conceit:  
One cannot work or half his practice prove,  
Upon one mind which will be dulled strait.  
But there must be an emulation placed,  
'mongst favourites as spur of swift desire:  
By letting one still see another graced,  
As though the on's deserts did so require.  
Two at a time I seldom entertain,  
Nor one alone, but always if I might,  
Whiles any one to court me I detain,  
Some other of the crew should be in sight:  
Who mought behold, how frankly I bestow,  
Both smiles; and favours, where it pleased me;  
They thinking this from his deserts to grow,  
Will strive for to deserve as well as he.  
Thus I abound with store of proffered love,  
With vowed faith, with presents and what not:  
When in the end one fortune all must prove,  
And all these favours must be clean forgot.   Cam. 

But will not all thy servants thee forsake,  
To see a rival such high favour gain?   Syl. 

If any jealous fool a surfeit take,  
Then thus with art I bring him on amain.  
Some extraordinary favour falls  
On him unwares, which may new fire his mind:  
Or else some trusty agent him recalls,  
In secret manner thereunto assigned;  
Who tells him (as of friendship) I admire  
His discontent, and my unkindness blame;  
How I do oftentimes of him inquire,  
And still a sigh awaits upon his name.  
This way I seldom fail, till at the last,  
In folly's lap affection hath him lulled.  
From whence with fresh desire he flies as fast,  
As if (poor fool) his wings had near been pulled.   jul. 

But sith thy mind can never be so free,  
But that affection will on thee lay hold:  
That being partial, me thinks should be  
A cause, that others love would soon wax cold.   Syl. 

Affection, no, I know not such a thought,  
That were a way to make myself a slave;  
I hate subjection and will near be brought,  
What now I give, at others hands to crave.   jul, 

But yet I know some one above the rest  
Is most beloved, but that you list to jest.   Syl. 

I love one most? I favour, love, and grace,  
Most every one, whiles he in presence is:  
But being gone, look who comes next in place,  
He's next my heart, my course is always this.  
And if that any chance to fall away,  
Shall loss of him thus vex me at the heart?  
No grief, I never mean to be thy prey,  
My care and he together shall departed.   Cam. 

Of straying, falling, and I wots not what,  
So many words hath Syluia spent in vain:  
That time, and truth, and purpose are forgot,  
To Antony let us return again.  
We speak not of thy suitors, we complain  
Of his untruth, that second unto none,  
In faithlessness: of duty should remain,  
For ever constant unto one alone.  
Of his untruth, who hath his honour stained,  
By base defiling of his marriage bed:  
Who being vowed, and by oath detained,  
Is false for sworn, seduced and fond fled.   Syl. 

Why all is one, no wedlock can compel,  
No law, no fear, no reason can constrain  
Our minds, whiles we in nature's castles dwell,  
The pleasing course of nature to refrain.  
Nature itself doth most delight in change,  
The heavens, by motion do their music make:  
Their lights by divers ways and courses range;  
And some of them new forms do always take.  
Their working power is never always one,  
And time itself least constant is of all:  
This earth we see and all that lives thereon,  
Without new change, into destruction fall.  
Nay what is more, the life of all these things,  
Their essence, and perfection, doth consist  
In this same change, which to all creatures brings  
That pleasure, which in life may not be mist.  
Sith then all creatures are so highly blessed,  
To taste the sweet of life in often change:  
If we which are the princes of the rest,  
Should want the same me thinks 'twere very strange.  
For proof hereof, I need not to unfold:  
Such far fetched secrets, sense will make it plain.  
What pleasure hath the eye, when you behold  
One only object: is't not rather pain?  
What sweet delight doth charm the listening ear,  
When only one tune it doth apprehend?  
In taste and smell, like loathing doth appear,  
Whose evidence, no wit can reprehend.  
Since nature then hath framed for the eye,  
Such sundry colours to delight the same;  
And for the ear such strange variety,  
Of sweetest tunes, which do our music frame;  
Such divers meats, to please the dainty taste;  
So many savours to delight that sense;  
Each other part, with divers pleasures graced;  
Lest want of change mought haply breed offence.  
What, shall the heart the master of the rest,  
Be more restrained than any savage beast?  
Shall not the heart, on whom all those depend,  
Have greater scope than any of them all,  
To taste the pleasure of each pleasing friend?  
Faith mine hath had, and so it ever shall.   Cam. 

Peace wicked woman, nay foul monster peace  
Whose very steps defile the guiltless earth:  
Stain of thy sex, thy poisoned speech surcease,  
That hath from sin, and wickedness, his birth.  
Is't not too much to glory in thy sin,  
Lewd creature, that hast overlived all shame?  
Imbouldning others to persist therein,  
When thou thyself shouldst shun and fly the same;  
But thou must make the heavens a precedent,  
For thy misdeeds, which on thy head will power,  
Eternal vengeance, unless thou repent,  
And stay the force of mischiefs dreadful shower.  
These moving things are constant in their kind,  
Unto the end for which they were ordained:  
Not mutable like thy ungodly mind,  
Whose very thoughts with wickedness are stained.  
Our scences their peculiar objects have,  
Whose store, and number, doth unto us show,  
How reverently we should ourselves behave,  
Towards him whose bounty did the same bestow.  
O Chastity bright virtues sacred flame,  
Be never woman lovely wanting thee.  
Be never woman wronged adorned with thee.  
Be all disgraced that merit not thy name.  
Come julia, we have tarried here too long.  
Sylvia adieu in faith I wish thee well,  
No honest mind I think will do thee wrong.  
'tis punishment enough to hang in hell.   

Chorus.  

GReat guide of this same golden flame,  
Which days and times divideth.  
Whose beauty ever is the same,  
And always one abideth.  
Why hast thou such a monster made,  
which always thus rebelleth:  
And with new torments doth invade,  
The heart wherein it dwelleth.  
Affection is the savage beast,  
Which always us annoyeth:  
And never lets us live in rest,  
But still our good destroyeth.   

Affections power who can suppress  
And master when it sinneth:  
Of worthy praise deserves no less,  
Then he that kingdoms winneth.  
Were Antony a Prince indeed,  
That base affection scorned:  
Him to bemoan we should not need,  
With vicious life deformed.  
But this seducing virtues foe,  
In whom all pleasure shineth:  
Doth all our scences overthrow,  
and reason undermineth.   

Who doth not joy, when from his neck,  
The yoke of bondage slideth:  
And wish to live without the check,  
Of him that others guideth?  
Yet what more hard, then to observe,  
In such licentious pleasure:  
The golden mean, which doth not serve,  
From sacred virtues measure:  
Who know, and see, the way of sin  
Beset with dangers many:  
Yet still persist and walk therein,  
As negligent as any.   

The mind with deepest wisdom fraught,  
That mischiefs hand escheweth:  
And envies craft doth bring to nought,  
Affections force subdueth.  
The haughty heart with courage bold,  
That deaths pale face despiseth:  
The Prince which scorns to be controlled;  
Affections power surpriseth.  
And having made itself a king,  
Our mind with error feedeth:  
Till we ourselves effect the thing,  
Which our destruction breedeth.   

The path of error, is so graced,  
With sweetest seeming pleasures:  
As if delight had therein placed,  
The store house of her treasures.  
But who to prove the same are bend,  
In sinful maze included:  
In vain at last will sure repent,  
with shameful end deluded.  
Where virtues little beaten ways,  
with divers troubles cumbered:  
Direct our steps, unto true joys,  
Amongst the Angels numbered.     

Actus tertius.  

Octavia.  
Caesar.   

OFearce desire, the spring of sighs and tears,  
Relieved with want, impoverished with store,  
Nursed with vain hopes, and said with doubtful fears,  
Whose force withstood, increaseth more and more.  
How doth thy pride thus torture my poor heart,  
Whiles I for bodies shadows entertain:  
And in the harvest of most high desert,  
Do reap no fruit, but scorn and deep disdain.  
No fierce Hyrcanian forest doth possess,  
So wild a Tiger, nor no Libyan coast,  
Hath ever known a greedy Lioness,  
Robbed of the pray which she affected most,  
So beyond measure full of furious Ire,  
As is the mind robbed of his chief desire.  
O destinies, that draw the golden twine,  
Which doth conduct the never-tyred post,  
Why have you lest unclosed these eyes of mine,  
To see the field of all mine honour lost?  
In vain I sought a while, to cure the wound  
With balm of hope, drawn from a constant mind,  
But now the truth is manifestly found:  
I hear, I see, I know, I feel, I find,  
The shameful wrong, the scorn and high disdain  
Which faithless he most falsely doth pretend,  
To power on me whiles from despair in vain,  
With constant hope, my weakness I defend,  
O torment, worse than deaths most bitter gall:  
Worse than is found in that infernal place;  
To see another glory in my fall;  
To see another proud with my disgrace.  
Why dost thou stay, distressed Octavia die.  
Dead to all joys let death thy torments end,  
Who gave thee life, the same doth now deny:  
And to another his affection bend.  
Another doth thy interest enjoy:  
And yet thou livest, and yet thou dost delay,  
To calm with death the tempest of annoy,  
When to disgrace thy life doth thee betray.  
Die dead Octavia. What? and basely die?  
Shall I sit down and yield myself to shame?  
Shall I content myself with wrongs? not●….  
Revenge Octavia, or thou art too blame.  
Die never unrevenged of such a wrong.  
My power is such that I may well prevail.  
And rather than I will endure it long,  
With fire and sword I will you both assail.  
My nature doth abhor to be thus used,  
My heart doth scorn such monstrous injury:  
My birth, my state, disdain to be abused,  
And I will deeply score thy perjury.  
Then grief give place a while unto disdain.  
Mild pity, make thee wings and fly away:  
And death, withdraw thy hasty hand again,  
Whiles with advantage I their debts repay.  
How now Octavia, whither wilt thou fly?  
Not what thou mayst, but do thou what is just:  
Shall these same hands attempt impiety?  
I may, I can, I will, I ought, I must,  
Revenge this high disgrace, this Caesar will,  
Birth, nature, reason, all require the same.  
Yet virtue will not have me to do ill.  
Yield, all things yield, to virtues sacred name.  
Howthen? even thus, with patience make thee strong,  
The heavens are just, let them revenge thy wrong.  
Cruel to me, selfe-wronging Antony,  
Thy folly shall not make Octavia sin:  
I'll be as true in virtuous constancy,  
As thou art false and infamous therein.  
I'll be as famous for a virtuous wife,  
As thou notorious for so lewd a life.   Caesar. 

As is a sweet pearl dropping silver shower,  
Which some mild cloud down from the shady skies  
Upon the parched flowery fields doth power:  
Such is Octavia's sight to Caesar's eyes.  
Hath jasons travail gained the golden fleece,  
Or hath Octavia failed of her intent?  
Is Antony within the bounds of Greece,  
Or doth he stay at Blanckbourg malcontent?   Oct. 

O Caesar, how my now distracted mind  
Unites itself to render worthy thanks:  
But woe is me, no way, no means I find,  
No hope to hide Antonius lustful pranks.  
I him besought, by all that words might say,  
By this same ring that knit the Gordian knot:  
By all the rights passed on our wedding day,  
But all in vain, for all is now forgot.  
Look how some proud hard hearted mighty rock,  
Which makes the sea a mirror for his face,  
Repell's the waters with a churlish stroke,  
Which mildly strive his body to embrace:  
So his indurate mind rejects my words,  
And rudely makes me and my hopes forlorn,  
His flinty heart nought but repulse affords,  
And my deserts return me nought but scorn.   Caesar. 

Were not Octavia precious in my sight,  
Whose will withstood what I did most desire:  
The bloody lines had not been now to wright,  
Of such revenge as his lewd deeds require.  
But worthy branch of brave octavius line,  
In Caesar's thoughts live and predominate:  
Yours is my kingdom and what else is mine,  
Myself, my sceptre and my royal state.  
Then sith I ever granted your request,  
And let you prove all means his love to win:  
Since you and we in vain have done our best,  
To stay his foot out of the sink of sin;  
Now for my sake, if I may aught prevail,  
For dead Octavius never stained worth:  
For dear Anchariaes' love, and your avail,  
Excuse no more his faithlessness henceforth,  
Yield but to this, live here and banish care,  
Forget his name that traytor-like is fled:  
Live like a Queen, remember who you are,  
And let me rouse him from his Lemen bed.  
Leave you this house of his, and what is his,  
Stand of yourself since he intends your fall:  
Dishonour not your name with others miss,  
If love cannot recall him terror shall.   Oct. 

Dishonour not my name! O Caesar no,  
My misery is not of that degree:  
Wrought by my folly or forced by my foe,  
Which mought attribute that disgrace to me.  
'tis pain, and grief, to bear and suffer wrong,  
But shame and sin to him that doth the same:  
True patience can mildly suffer long,  
Where rage and fury do our lives defame.  
'tis fortitude which scorns the force of wrong,  
And temperance not to be moved withal:  
'tis constancy makes us continue strong,  
And wisdoms work to free ourselves from thrall.  
But I am wronged you say, and 'tis base fear.  
Without revenge to suffer injury:  
Its cowardice unworthy wrongs to bear,  
And madness to give way to treachery,  
Well then, revenge, but what? Octavia's wrong,  
Of whom? of Antony. And who is he?  
Ah my dear Lord, that will return ere long,  
And hate his fall, and be most true to me.  
If not, I'll then revenge, but how? with death?  
He is myself, his grief procures my pain.  
With spoil and loss? O no that were not good,  
By certain loss to hope for doubtful gain.  
How then 〈◊〉 be false as he is most untrue.  
One wound doth not an others balm procure.  
Flame is not quenched with flame, but both renew,  
A double force not easy to endure.  
Whence springs revenge? from malice and disdain:  
Then speak not of it, for it is in vain.  
Earth open first thine undivided jaws,  
And swallow me in thine infernal womb:  
Ear willingly I serve from virtues laws,  
Truth my loves childbed was, truth be his tomb.   Caef. 

Were Antony as loyal in his love,  
As he is false forsworn, and fond bend:  
Then would I think it reason to approve,  
And highly praise your virtuous intent.  
But sith he willingly doth you forsake,  
And wilfully persistes to do us wrong:  
High honour doth require our swords to take,  
Most just revenge, which we may not prolong.   Oct. 

His falsehood doth not malice raise in me,  
But rather shows how frail man's nature is:  
An argument which bids me careful be,  
Lest I myself should like wise do amiss.   Caes. 

Can my persuasions then no whit prevail?  
Can my request no thought of yielding find?  
Can you esteem of him whose truth doth fail?  
There are few women of Octavia's mind.   Octa. 

Too few I grant, and therefore am I such,  
And though alone, yet will persever still:  
We imitate the multitude too much,  
Most do, as do the most, and most do ill.  
The number of the virtuous is so small,  
That few delight to tread that loanely way:  
But wisdoms heirs are jealous of their fall;  
And think it shameful all should go astray.  
A virtuous act seems strange in some men's sight,  
Because they seldom saw the like before,  
But noble minds are careful of the right,  
And others errors make them fear the more.  
How sencelesly we sleep in folly's bed,  
How few there are indeed, how all would seem  
Wise, honest, just, how fond are we led,  
To use that lest which we do most esteem?  
Then ought a prince to fear much more than any:  
Lest his fault be a precedent to many.   Caes. 
And is it virtue then to be misused?  Octa. 
To give no cause why we should be abused.  Caes. 
Do but consent, I'll act and bear the blame.  Octa. 
To give consent to sin, is sin & shame.  Caes. 
And is it sin to punish lewdness then?  Octa. 
Sin to exult upon repentant men.  Caes. 
But he persists in hateful treachery.  Oct. 
True love may spring from pardoned injury.  Cae. 
How may they love, whom worlds of distance part?  Octa. 
He is not far that's lodged within the heart.  Cae. 
But time, and absence, will consume all love.  Oct. 
Sooner the heart, which doth those passions prove.  Caes. 
Not so, no mortal dart near love is found.  Oct. 
But we are mortal which endure the wound.  Caes. 
Yet leave this house, if not his love deny.  Oct. 
First let this soul out of his lodging fly.  Caes. 

Can nature than no privilege obtain?  
Are his deserts in such abundant store?  
Must all I do be fruitless and in vain?  
Antonius be your guide, I say no more.   Oct. 

If that my words so much offend your mind,  
O silent death, thou my best refuge art:  
O break my heart, for Caesar is unkind,  
In silent grief, O break my wounded heart.   Caes. 

What in a trance? O sister, sister dear,  
Light of my life, dear model of my soul:  
Hurt not yourself, O banish needless fear,  
Woe, woe, to me, that did you thus control:  
O dear Octavia, I spoke but to prove,  
How far your thoughts were bend with jealousy;  
To see if malice had exiled your love,  
To find how you esteemed of Antony.   Oct. 

O Caesar more beloved than these same eyes,  
More than the light which glads my tired life:  
Do not my truly loving mind despise,  
Kill not my heart with this your factious strife.  
Alas 'tis not his house that I respect,  
His wealth, or trypartite high regiment:  
I would the world's great treasury neglect,  
Rather than hazard Caesar's discontent.  
'tis not affection that enchains my mind,  
Or partial love that makes my faith so strong:  
Too well alas myself abused I find,  
And this my heart too sensible of wrong.  
And what is worse, this wrong so full of scorn,  
As mought incense the mildest mind alive:  
To see my Lord a graceless Queen suborn;  
And my dishonour carelessly contrive.  
Nay worse than that, if worse then that may be,  
No creature ever felt the like disgrace:  
Each wronged wight may hope for remedy,  
My shameful story nothing may deface.  
For if my Lord would cure this wound again:  
Yet woe is me, the scar will still remain.  
In these respects, perhaps I could be brought,  
To strike revenge as deep as any could:  
I want no means whereby it mought be wrought,  
For many thousands wish it if I would.  
And what is more, myself can scarcely let:  
But Caesar's sword for me would pay the debt.  
But when I find in closet of my heart,  
How I have pawned my faith to Antony,  
How I have vowed that nought but death should part  
From him my love, and my fidelity.  
When that I see the vulgar people's eyes,  
Make my designs the pattern of their deeds:  
How with my thoughts they strive to sympathize,  
And how my miss their certain error breeds.  
When that I find how my departure were,  
The opening of a gate to congruential wars:  
Then Atlas-like I am constrained to bear,  
A hated hell though not the happy stars.  
I'll rather die then witness with these eyes,  
In mortal wounds and bloody lines enrolled,  
The argument of my calamities,  
Whom proud mischance, unjustly thus controwled.  
Shall never two such noble Emperors,  
Their dearest lives adventure for my sake:  
Shall never for my sake such mighty powers,  
The doubtful chance of battle undertake.  
Shall never tongue recount Octavia's error,  
An instance of his faithless perjury  
I'll rather die the world unspotted mirror,  
And with my faith surmount his injury.   Caes. 

Well sister, than I see that constancy  
Is sometimes seated in a woman's breast:  
Your strange designs even from your infancy,  
Can never without wonder be expressed.   Oct. 

I know not what you think of woman kind,  
That they are faithless and unconstant ever:  
For me, I think all women strive to find  
The perfect good, and therein to persever.  
Even as a Torch, or Sulphur powdered light,  
Whiles any nourishment maintains his flame,  
Fails not to burn, and burning shineth bright,  
Till art obscure, or force put out the same:  
Such is the mind in woman's breast contained,  
With the true zeal of virtues love inflamed,  
We may be dead, but living never stained,  
We may be wronged, but never rightly blamed.   Caes. 

Well, for yourself proceed as you think best:  
Time and the heavens, must see these wrongs redressed.   

Caesar.  
Titius.  
Plancus.   

Great peers that strive with wisdoms sacred fame,  
To over live all humane memory:  
Show me, for what intent you hither came,  
What caused you to revoult from Antony?   Tit. 

By our access we nothing else intend,  
But humbly to beseech your majesty:  
Under your gracious favour to defend,  
Our wronged selves from hateful injury.  
Proud Cleopatra, Egypt's crafty Queen,  
Rules Antony, and wrongs she cares not where:  
So insolent her late attempts have been,  
As no pride-scorning Roman heart can bear.  
She is become our Queen and governor,  
And we whose courage fears the force of no man:  
By servile baseness of our Emperor,  
Must be content to stoop unto a woman.   Caes. 

What Angel Queen rules those Nyleian coasts,  
Whose beauty can so overrule men's minds:  
What goddess can command the man that boasts  
To equal julius, in his high designs.   Plan. 

If in those gifts, by nature we enjoy,  
Unto Octavia's sacred majesty,  
She be but comparable any way:  
Be never Romans' so disgraced as we.  
But for her artificial ornaments,  
For pomp, for pride, for superfluity,  
For all excess that folly represents:  
She doth exceed the height of vanity.  
Her sunne-burnt beauty cannot please his sight,  
That hath a mind with any reason fraught:  
But 'tis her siren tongue that doth delight,  
Her crafty Cyrces' wit which hath him caught.  
As when from Athens, Niger made return,  
And did relate the Empress intent,  
Which he of purpose had in charge to learn:  
And did her princely gifts to him present.  
And further did with truth discovering words,  
Octavia's well deserved praises frame:  
An argument which to that Queen affords,  
A furious blast to raise a jealous flame.  
Then did she nothing unattempted leave,  
That art mought frame, or wit mought well devise  
Which mought his mind, of reason quite bereave:  
And thus she strait began to Syrenize.  
She pines her body with the want of food,  
That she mought seem to languish for his sake:  
And by her gestures would be understood,  
How from his absence she her death should take.  
Her deep lamenting looks fixed in his face,  
In silent terms present an earnest suit:  
As who should say, O pity my hard case,  
Whom violence of passion maketh mute.  
Then would she stand of purpose in his way,  
In any place where he should passage make:  
And there as though unwilling to bewray,  
What bitter grief she inwardly did take:  
Down from her eyes distills a Crystal tide,  
Which at his coming she would dry again,  
And suddenly would turn her head a side,  
As though unwilling to reveal her pain,  
Thus in his presence ravished with joy,  
She smiles, and shows, what mirth she can devise:  
But in his absence drowned with annoy,  
She seems to take her life from those his eyes.  
Then Meeremaid-like his scences she invades,  
With sweetest nectar of a sugared tongue:  
Unto her will, she ever him persuades,  
The force of her words witchcraft is so strong.  
Then came the kennel of her flattering crew,  
Who largely paint the story of her death,  
Like feed Attorneys they her suit renew,  
And hunt Antonius' spirits out of breath.  
Wherewith assailed, he like a man enchanted,  
To make her know she need not to misdoubt him:  
Or like to one with some mad fury haunted,  
Assembleth all the people round about him.  
In that fair City royallized by fame,  
By that great Macedonian monarch builded:  
Of whom it took beginning, birth and name;  
Where on a high Tribunal seat which yielded,  
A large prospect, were placed too chairs of gold;  
One for himself, another for her grace,  
And humbler seats which mought her children hold,  
Of such like metal, in the self same place.  
There he established Cleopatra, Queen  
Of Egypt, Cyprus, and of Lydia:  
And that his bounty mought the more beseen,  
He joined thereto the lower Syria.  
Caesarion, heir apparent to her grace  
Was constituted King of those same lands.  
His own two sons by her were there in place,  
Attended with great troops of martial bands.  
These two, the mighty Kings of Kings he called,  
And to the eldest gave Armenia,  
The country Media, and forthwith installed  
Him regent of the Kingdom Parthia.  
To Ptolemy he gave Phoenicia,  
And all the terrytories there adjoining:  
The upper Syria, and Cilicia,  
Unto them both peculiar guards assigning.  
A Median gown the elder of them ware,  
And all th' Armenian soldiers so instructed:  
Accomplishing the charge they had before,  
About him came and thence they him conducted.  
In Macedonian robes the other stands,  
In distance from his brother little space:  
About him came the Macedonian bands,  
And guarded safe his person from the place.  
These things proclaimed, the trumpets loudest voice,  
Unto all people's ears forthwith imparted,  
Whereat some frown, some murmur, some rejoice,  
Whiles he, with his immortal queen departed.   Caes. 
Immortal? why you said she was not such.  Pla. 
Not she, but her attire did claim thus much.  Cae. 
Was her attire so admirable then?  Pla. 

Scorning the baseness of us mortal men.  
Clad like the Goddess Isis she did go:  
Then what hard heart would not have thought her so   Caes. 

When that Appollodorus on his back,  
A flockbed did to julius Caesar bring:  
With thongs of leather trust up like a sack;  
As though there had been need of such a thing,  
Where was the Goddess when this came to pass?   Pla. 
She, noble she, was riding on her Ass.  Caes. 

When Antony about the streets doth run,  
Listening at each man's window in the night:  
To hear what in the house is said or done,  
And with straying noises passengers affright.  
Where is this Goddess then so highly blessed?   Pla. 
She ambles after to laugh at the jest.  Cae 

And shall our state maintain their hateful pride?  
Shall bleeding Room procure their wanton peace?  
'tis time we should a remedy provide,  
And their ambition speedily suppress.   

Chorus.  

WHat guilded baits of sin,  
Do still procure our miss:  
And seek our souls to win,  
From their intended bliss?  
Even nature's self doth draw,  
And force us still to slide:  
And violate the law,  
Which reason makes our guide.  
Of pleasures we allow,  
Which do our thraldom bring:  
When starveling virtue now,  
Is scarcely judged a thing;  
The one a poor conceit, the other proved a King.   

If that it be so sweet,  
To tread the path of sin:  
And so exceeding meet,  
We should not walk therein;  
O nature most unkind,  
That proves weak reasons foe:  
O reason too too blind,  
That crosseth nature so.  
Three mal-seducing foes,  
Conduct false errors train:  
Misleading most of those,  
Which virtues praise would gain.  
Whose force unless we foil, we labour all in vain.   

Th'examples of the most,  
Which most do take least care,  
To anchor on the coast,  
Where sacred virtues are.  
Sweet Syrenyzing tongues,  
In flattery most expert:  
Whose ill persuading songs,  
Our scences do pervert.  
And men's injurious deeds,  
Do cause us to digress:  
Our error fury breeds,  
When wrongs our minds oppress.  
These treason working mates, still work our great distress.   

Examples make us bold.  
To tread the doubtful way,  
Which we before were told,  
Would lead us quite a stray.  
Persuasions kindly move,  
And win us to dpe ill:  
Whose poison when we prove,  
We poisoned, love it still.  
But injury more strong,  
Doth fiercely us incite:  
By suffering to do wrong,  
Forgetful of the right,  
All these thrice virtuous Queen, assail thee with their might.   

Who can vile deeds despise,  
And flattering tongues neclect:  
With malice temporize,  
As wisdom doth direct.  
Give him the laurel crown,  
Triumphant victors wear:  
The titles of renown,  
Which virtues monarch bear.  
And thou most glorious queen,  
These traitor foes repel:  
That virtue may be seen,  
In that your sex to dwell.  
And bravely vaunt thy worth where he most basely fel.     

Actus quartus.  

Octavia.  
Maecenas.  
Agrippa.  
Caesar.   

YOu haughty Lords, that bury death and fate,  
In living monuments of lofty fame:  
Whose worthy praise doth claim the boundless date,  
wherewith eternity doth blaze her name.  
'Gainst whom raise you these forces in such haste?  
'Gainst whom lead you this danger threatening power?  
Doth hateful Hannibal your confines waste?  
Or Brennus' sword your lives seek to devour:  
No no my Lords, this your concealed design,  
Resounding Echoes of most strange debate:  
With tragic tidings filled these ears of mine,  
That poured on me the storm of all your hate.  
Never since princely hand of Syluias' son,  
laid the foundations of these stately towers:  
Did sharp mischance so much eclipse the sun,  
Of our good fortune, with such fatal lours.  
But if that wisdom ever found a place,  
Within your souls, which beautifies your praise:  
Now show the same, and save from high disgrace,  
Our bleeding honour, and death breathing joys.  
You know how blood maintains the life of wars,  
As doubtful as dear bought the victory:  
Man's destiny is chained by unknown stars,  
To happy joys or mournful misery.  
If you triumph, you conquer not your foes,  
But neighbours, kinsfolks and your dearest friends:  
Whose wounds bleed shame, and deep hart-piercing woes,  
Instead of conquest this is your amends.  
But if my Lord obtain the laurel wreath,  
And fortune smile on him with like success:  
What fatal tempests, furious rage will breathe,  
From his heart's cave, yourselves may easily guess.  
You know when touch of honour wings his mind,  
What lion thoughts tire on his haughty soul.  
Where wronged valour reigns 'tis hard to find,  
Such pity as may honours pride coutroule.  
Then sith your course to lose yourselves is bend,  
To lose your lives or purchase living shame:  
Let wisdoms eyes, blind errors faults prevent.  
With ease a spark, with pain is quenched a flame.  
Be advocates for me to Caesar's grace,  
And stop in time the current of his hate:  
Let gentle pity in your minds find place,  
When swords have pleaded, words will come too late.  
You know my fortune ever hath been such,  
As dazzled envies eyes with honours shine:  
But since Antonius hath augmented much,  
This sovereignty, and great estate of mine;  
Since nature, fortune, birth and majesty,  
In fields of glory stir up civil wars,  
Which of them most should raise my dignity,  
And lift mine honour nearest to the stars;  
Since these two Emperors whose princely hands,  
Do sway the sceptre of the Roman state:  
The one my brother, linked in nature's bands,  
The other is my spouse and loving mate;  
Since heavens themselves did in my life provide,  
To show the map of their felicities:  
This Room my Lords and all the world beside,  
Make me the object of their wondering eyes.  
Thus I that was more happy than the rest,  
And did excel in glory and renown:  
With more than most disgrace shall be suppressed,  
No fall like his that falleth from a crown.  
And that which nature grants the meanest wight,  
They cannot lose which have the conquest won:  
Yet with this strange Dylemma works my spite,  
Who s'euer win Octavia is undone.  
Great Empress, this bright sun can witness well,  
So can these heavens before whose powers I stand:  
That 'gainst our minds Caesar doth us compel,  
This enterprise you see, to take in hand.  
But for myself, and if the case be such,  
That but report is auctor of this jar:  
If Caesar's honour may be free from touch  
Of any stain, relinquishing the war.  
I'll do my best, and what I may persuade,  
To lay down arms, wherein if I prevail:  
A perfect league of friendship shall be made,  
That may the fury of this tempest quail.  
And pardon me (dear sovereign) though my speech  
Include exceptions in this doubtful wise:  
I may not Caesar move, nor him beseech,  
What may his majesty disroyallize.  
This said, behold my hand, my sword, my soul,  
Hear humbly prostrate at your princely feet:  
What you command let none dare to control,  
This Caesar will and this we think most meet,   Arg. 

Madam; your speech I think doth not extend,  
To the disparagement of your own blood:  
And sooner shall my life have final end,  
Then I refuse to do your highness good.  
Though last my speech, yet second unto none  
Is my desire, t'effectuate your will:  
But lo where Caesar comes himself alone,  
Arm we our tongues with words, our words with skill.   Caes. 

Fair issue of renowned octavius race,  
My second self, Rooms glorious Empress:  
Behold us all assembled here in place,  
To work your safety and your wrongs redress.  
Your Lord Antonius (as we hear) doth threat,  
To power sharp storms of deep revenging Ire,  
Upon our heads: and make th' imperial seat  
His sole possession, ere he hence retire.  
But let him know, though finely he pretend,  
To guild injustice with a Prince's name:  
Though he triumph in words, yet ere I end,  
What he gins, he may repent the same.   Oct 

My gracious Lord, high words do but increase  
The flame of valour in incensed minds:  
Leave arms my Lord, and let us treat of peace:  
Who best doth speed in war, small safety finds,  
Full well the world your noble worth hath known,  
Let not new dangers needless trophies raise.  
Let not th'effect of hateful deeds be shown,  
Against my Lord who may deserve your praise.   Caes. 

Shall he be praised that is become our foe,  
Stain of our name, foil of the Roman state:  
A servile man, contriver of our woe,  
And from all honour doth degenerate?  
Nay what is more, 'tis said he doth pretend,  
To work our ruin, and our fatal end.   Octa. 

Can foul suspicion then, and false report,  
In wisdoms confines hold so large a place:  
That it can foil our reason in such sort,  
To fly the good, and work his own disgrace?  
The ancient Romans' want to draw their sword,  
To purchase honour, of their stoutest foes:  
But you whose grounds are vain surmised words,  
By seeking honour, shall your honours lose.  
Fame hath two wings, the one of false report:  
The other hath some plumes of verity;  
Why then should doubtful rumour, raise a fort  
Of mortal hate, against my Lord and me.  
Suppose he raised as you have done, a power:  
He to defend, not to offend his friend,  
The heavens forbidden that any fatal hour,  
Should your proceed turn t'vnhappy end.  
Unhappy no, he never falls amiss,  
That foils his foe before his final end:  
High honour, not long life, the treasure is,  
Which noble minds without respect defend.   Oct. 
The prize of honour is not always blood.  Cae. 
'tis honour all whose end imports our good.  Oct. 
O wretched state where men make haste to die.  Cae. 
True valour feels nor grief nor misery.  Oct. 
He is your brother, be not then unkind.  Cae. 
justice, not pity, fits a Prince's mind.  Oct. 
He hath done nothing, spare an innocent.  Cae. 
He doth too much that bears a false intent.  Oct. 
You both are strong and both will buy it dear.  Cae. 
I armed with justice, know not how to fear.  Oct. 

O Caesar shall my heart be made a stage,  
For you to play a bloody tragedy?  
Shall fierce misfortune, breathing spiteful rage,  
Make me vicegerent of all misery?  
If both of you misled in errors maze,  
Do seek revenge of misconceived wrongs,  
For your own sakes out of your fancies raze,  
The spots of malice grafted with your tongues.  
But if mischance have offered disgrace,  
To either party: O let me entreat,  
That for my sake, kind pardon may deface,  
A fault so small, with breath of words made great.   Caes 

Bright lamp of virtue, honours living flame,  
Whosoever win, you can no loss sustain:  
Whom partial fortune list to crown with fame,  
His be the day, the triumph and the gain.  
The victor must be either your own Lord,  
Or else your brother, who will both consent,  
To try their fortunes with the dint of sword.  
But shield you as the world's chief ornament.  
If both we fall, (which hap the heavens forbidden)  
All that survive, are subject to your will.  
Your birth, your state, your virtues are not hid:  
But known, and loved, and will be honoured still.  
no ear so deaf which hath not heard your name;  
Whose ears have heard, their minds your worth admire  
Whose minds admire, their heart's love doth inflame,  
And wins them subject to your own desire.  
No perils threaten you, you need not fear.   Octa. 
But many you, and I their burden bear.  Caes. 
'tis reason I, none else my griefs sustain.  Octa. 

Where nature forceth, reason is but vain.  
And therefore Caesar here I thee beseech,  
By these same scepter-bearing hands of mine:  
By these same tears, true witness of my speech;  
By that same princely port and grace of thine;  
By all the love thou bearest to Acciaes' ghost,  
By all the rights that loving minds hold dear;  
Lay arms aside dismiss this puissant host,  
Let friendly truce release my mind of fear.  
If not, i'll drown my life in these same tears,  
And tire with plaints the Pandionian birds:  
tire th' Halciones, with grief that bears  
To high a strain, for highest climbing words.  
I'll make the sun for pity clothe his steeds  
In sorrows livery, and disdain your sight:  
Force niggard Pluto with my woeful deeds,  
To entertain my souls disgraced flight.  
Else will I fly and shroud my face from shame,  
Where Pyndus hides his head amongst the stars:  
Or where ambitious Othris, wanting flame  
Of heavenly lamps, the clouds swift motion bars.  
Aught will I do, before these eyes behold  
Death's visage painted in that princely face:  
Before i'll see captivity, lay hold  
On those fair limbs, which merit highest grace.  
Before i'll see their bloody weapons drink,  
The nectar of thy life, or ivory stained,  
With ugly gore: O let me never think,  
Or hope till then, to have this life maintained.  
Before that time, death is a welcome guest  
To my lives lodging: and O sisters dear,  
If ever pity dwelled in direful breast,  
Draw not my thread till that news pierce mine ear.  
How oft when sleep invites my drowsy eye,  
With nature's curtain to repel the light:  
And hide my mind from sorrows tyranny,  
Under the darkness of the silent night?  
Shall thy pale ghost defiled with deaths foul hand,  
Stand in my sight, as in the clearest day:  
And fury-like armed with black fiery brand;  
Affright my mind and chase dead sleep away?  
Which being gone, fierce sorrows cruel claws,  
Seize on my waking thoughts like tigers fell:  
And gripe my heart with sharp tormenting paws,  
That thousand times deaths rigour doth excel.   Caes. 

O perfect virtue gracing woman kind,  
Invincible Octavia cease to plain:  
O had Antonius half so good a mind,  
No discord could betwixt us two remain.  
My Lords what think you, how may we proceed?  
High honour cries revenge upon our foes:  
And yet Octavia crossing this our deed.  
Cannot resolve which of us she would lose.   Agr. 

I think it is a brave and Princely thing,  
With fire and sword to ruinated our foes:  
But greater glory is it for a King,  
To save his subjects from wars common woes.  
'tis wisdom noble Caesar, must advance  
Our state beyond the reach of fortune's arm:  
Not fierce revenge which works effects by chance,  
And glories most when most it worketh harm.  
And valour, such as doth contemn all fear,  
And gild our acts with honour and renown:  
With gentle clemency, our deeds endear,  
And mount with virtue where chance throws us down.   Mecoe. 

The rarest thing a Prince's fame to raise,  
Is to excel those that are excellent:  
All other to surmount in virtues praise,  
And be his kingdoms chiefest ornament.  
Make quiet peace within his coasts remain,  
And secure those that live in great distress:  
From bloody slaughter ever to refrain,  
With time, and wisdom, passions rage's suppress.  
These are the wings directing virtues flight.  
This is the fuel feeding honours flame.  
This is the path that leads to heaven aright.  
and sun-bright beams that gild brave Caesar's name.   Caes. 

Pity my Lords, is often like a mask,  
That hides our eyes from seeing what is just:  
Inviting any t'undertake the task,  
To work our woes and execute their lust.  
For to neclect the course we have begun,  
Were to betray ourselves unto our foes:  
Where keeping strong though no exploit be done,  
Yet gaining nothing, nothing shall we lose.  
Why youare ill informed of Antony,  
And his attempts exceed your knowledge far:  
I fear me when you know as much as I,  
You'll plead as fast to prosecute the war.  
But see a stranger hasts into our sight,  
With further news, and if I judge a right.   Byl. 

Thrice noble Caesar, hither am I sent,  
Having in charge from great Mark Antony:  
Th'embassage of his pleasure to present,  
Before Octavia and thy majesty.  
First he commands Octavia to departed,  
Out of his house, and leave all that is his:  
The reason why, he list not to impart,  
It must suffice that such his pleasure is.  
He likewise will, thy highness knowledge take,  
How much he scorns thou shouldst his will withstād  
And thereof means with fire and sword to make,  
A perfect demonstration out of hand.   Caes. 

Will Antony our confines then invade,  
With Civil wars, contriver of our woe?  
Great reason preparation should be made,  
For to withstand so puissant a foe.   Byl. 

Five hundredth sail of warlike ships he brings,  
Wherewith the froathing Ocean he scours:  
And in his army are eight foreign Kings,  
Eight Kings in person with their mighty powers.  
A hundred thousand well armed foot, are led  
Under Canidius their chief general:  
Twelve thousand horse most strongly furnished,  
All these are known, and known these are not all.   Caes. 

How now my Lords, is this think you a time,  
To talk of clemency? or of delay?  
Is not this mischief in his chiefest prime,  
Before we could the speedy spring bewray?  
What saith Octavia to these tidings strange,  
Are our conjectures upon falsehood grounded?  
Can this suffice your settled thoughts to change?  
Are not our lives with mischiefs Ocean bounded?   Octa. 

Had I so many tongues to paint my woes,  
As ever silent night had shining eyes:  
Yet could not all their eloquence disclose,  
The throws of grief which do my mind surprise.  
But would to God, this world of misery,  
Mought presently be trebled unto me:  
So that from imminent calamity,  
My dearest brother Caesar mought be free.  
For me, long since I well discerned the storm,  
And sought by all means how I mought prevent it:  
But sith no wit can Antony reform,  
O 'tis not I, but he, that will repent it.  
I feared the stroke before I felt the wound,  
But now resolved the worst of chance to bide:  
True fortitude doth in my soul abound,  
My honour scorns the height of fortune's pride.  
The worst that can befall me is but death:  
And O how sweet is his lives sacrifice,  
On virtues altar that expires his breath,  
And in the arms of innocency dies.  
They only fear, and only wretched are,  
From whose bad lives stained with impiety:  
Their dying fame doth to the world declare,  
Most shameful stories of foul infamy.  
But those that know not, let them learn in me:  
That virtuous minds can never wretched be.   Caes. 

My Lords, I will ye presently proclaim  
Mark Antony, a foe unto our state:  
That all his sovereignties ye strait reclaim,  
And all his dignities annihilate.  
We will not see the Roman Empires shine,  
By any servile mind to be defamed:  
To manage steel our nature doth incline,  
Of women's wanton toys we are ashamed.  
And therefore with such haste, as may be-fit,  
A matter that imports our dearest blood:  
we'll meet Antonius, if the heavens permit,  
And what we say, there will we make it good.  
Adieu Octavia, and yourself prepare  
To run what course of fortune I approve:  
If happy stars to us allotted are,  
I'll never be forgetful of your love.   Oct. 

Honour attend thy steps, and till I see,  
The period of my world's declining state:  
I'll never to myself a traitor be,  
But seek the means to stay your mortal hate.   

Chorus.  

EArth-ruling heavenly powers,  
Great joves' immortal mates:  
That from your Crystal bowers,  
Direct all mortal states,  
And us like Actors do dispose:  
To play what parts you list t'impose.  
Must we, poor we, consent  
To call you ever just?  
Though you our heart's torment,  
Even after your own lust?  
And for each drop of hoped joy:  
power down whole tempests of annoy.   

And that which is much more,  
Look what we best do deem:  
Doth vex our minds more sore,  
Then that we least esteem.  
And that which nature saith is best:  
By trial yields us smallest rest.  
Who doth not wish, to wear  
The terror breeding crown:  
And direful sceptre bear,  
As badge of high renown?  
Yet who more justly do complain:  
That they the brunt of woes sustain.   

Stand who so list for me,  
In highest slippery place:  
Though great their glory be,  
Yet greater their disgrace.  
And who so subject to mischance:  
As those whom fortune doth advance.  
These base earth-creeping mates,  
Proud envy never spies:  
When at the greatest states,  
Her poisoned quiver flies.  
Each tempest doth turmoil the seas:  
When little lakes have quiet ease.   

Not those that are bedight,  
With burnished glistering gold,  
Whose pomp doth steal our sight,  
With wonder to behold:  
Taste smallest sweet without much gall:  
Nor find true joys within their call.  
This did the heavens impose,  
Not that they are unjust:  
But for to punish those,  
Who glory in their lust.  
And our misdeeds procure us still:  
To seek our good amongst much ill.   

A monster honour is,  
Whose eyes are virtues flame:  
His face contempt of this,  
Which we pale death do name.  
His Lion heart nought else doth fear:  
But crowing cock of shame to hear.  
His wings are high desires,  
His feet of justice frame:  
Food dangerous aspires,  
His seat immortal fame.  
Only the train of envies plumes,  
With others growth itself consumes.     

Actus Quintus.  

julia.  
Geminus.  
Camilla.   

HAth Geminus beheld th'Aegyptian Queen,  
The auctor of the troubled world's distress?  
Hast thou her gifts and rare perfections seen,  
That makes Antonius scences thus digress?  
Tell us, is she so admirable fair,  
That Italy hath none which may come nigh her?  
Doth she all beauties else so much impair,  
Or else indeed, doth partial fame be lie her?  
Have those her eyes so rare an influence,  
To hold and captivate men's senses so,  
That foiling wit, and reasons best defence,  
They ravished, must needs themselves forego?   Gem. 

I know not what may seem fair in your sight,  
Because some like what others discommend:  
But for myself, and if I judge aright,  
Speaking of Cleopatra as a friend.  
The fairest thing that in her may be seen:  
Is, that she is a Lady and a Queen.  
Madame, that sunburnt coast, yields not a face  
Which with the Roman beauties may compare:  
There mought be found a thousand in this place;  
Whose natural perfections are more rare.   jul. 

How passing strange it seems that Antony,  
Should leave the paragon of nature's pride:  
And follow her whose shameful luxury,  
Doth make the world his folly to deride.  
Whence should it spring that such a thing should be?  
Is this his folly, or the heavens decree?   Cam. 
His fault no doubt, & crosseth natures laws.  jul. 

And I think not, for nature is the cause.  
By nature we are moved, nay forced to love:  
And being forced, can we resist the same?  
The powerful hand of heaven we wretches prove:  
Who strike the stroke, and poor we, bear the blame.   Cam. 

love sure, from nature took his birth by right,  
But love of what?   jul. 
Of beauty loves delight.  Cam. 
And what is beauty?  jul. 
first say what is love?  Cam. 
love's a desire of what doth liking move.  jul. 

Desire doth spring, from what we wish, and want,  
Doth lose himself in winning of his saint:  
Enjoying doth that humour quite supplant,  
And therefore cannot this loves nature paint.  
If love were a desire, as you do guess,  
Sith none desires that which he doth enjoy,  
We could not love the thing we do possess:  
For why, enjoying, would our love destroy.  
But this is false, and you have judged amiss.   Cam. 
Speak you the truth, whose judgement better is.  jul. 

I think this love a deep affection sure,  
Wrought by th'instinct of nature's hidden might,  
Which in our hearts an union doth procure,  
With that which perfect seems unto our sight.  
Such is that love which in us doth arise,  
When such a beauty we do chance to see:  
As with our nature best doth sympathize,  
Which nature, faulty is, and not poor we.   Cam. 
Well, what is beauty?  Iu. 
that which liketh best.  Cam. 
Which liketh whom?  jul. 
Some one above the rest.  Cam. 

Why? some do like what others disallow.  
Some love, what others hate: and few there are  
In whom a like affection doth grow,  
Of any one thing, though the same be rare.  
Were beauty then such as you here do name,  
One thing should be, and not be beautiful,  
One thing should be, and yet not be the same:  
And that me thinks were strange and wonderful.  
I rather think these outward beauties grow,  
From just proportion and right symmetry:  
Of these same gifts which nature doth bestow,  
Upon us all in our nativity.   jul. 

Indeed we see a mixture far more fine  
In some, than others, wrought by nature's frame:  
To whom the praise of beauty we ascribe,  
Yet do not all alike affect the same.  
Now, if this were the object of our love,  
We all should like some one that were most fair:  
Who should alone most deep affection move,  
Whil's vulgar minds mought drown in deep despair.  
But as no woman easily can endure,  
To be deprived of beauties lovely praise:  
So is there none so much deformed sure,  
That in some minds, affection doth not raise.  
there's none so fair whose beauty all respect,  
Although we were enforced it should be so:  
Some nothing fair, whom we must needs affect,  
Though reason, wit, and all the world say no.   Cam. 
And what should be the cause of all this same?  jul. 

I think because we lodge in nature's frame.  
Look how the Loadstone draws nought else but steel  
Though metals far more precious are about it:  
Yet this as his fit subject seems to feel  
His power attractive, and moves not without it,  
Or as in diverse instruments we see,  
When any one doth strike a tuned string:  
The rest which with the same in concord be,  
Will show a motion to that senseless thing;  
When all the other neither stir nor play,  
Although perhaps more musical than they:  
So are our minds, in spite of reasons nay,  
Strained with the bent of nature's sympathy:  
Whose powerful force, no wit, no art, can stay.  
And if you ask a farther reason why:  
In these two things, but show the cause of both:  
And then i'll tell you why we love, and loath.  
Now, if the power of nature be so strong  
That even senseless things yield thereunto:  
O why should we endure so great a wrong,  
To bear the blame of that which others do.  
What living man can cease himself to be,  
And yet as possible as to refrain,  
From that whereto our nature doth agree:  
And spite of us, doth us thereto constrain.  
Who can be angry with the senseless steel,  
For cleaving unto this hard-hearted thing?  
Or blame that which can neither hear, nor feel,  
For moving to the other sounding string.  
If these may be excused by nature's laws:  
O how much more should we be free from blame,  
Within whose tender hearts affection draws,  
Such deep caractars' leading to the same.   Cam. 
Is beauty then, sole object of our love?  jul. 
That which seems so, doth our affection move.  Cam. 
I ever thought that virtue had been best.  jul. 
We praise that most, but yet esteem it least.  Ca 
Why disestemd, whose worth is so well known.  jul. 
To show that vice the world hath overgrown.  Ca 
The name is often hard in each man's mouth.  jul. 
The thing more rare than Eagles in the south.  Ca 
The thing contemned can we the name esteem?  jul. 

Yes all that are not such as all would seem.  
But sith this is the beauty of the mind,  
And nothing fits our natural discourse:  
Let us excuses for Antonius find,  
And to our former purpose have recourse.   Cam. 

No julta, no, your harvest is too long,  
For such a simple crop as you receive:  
You may not thus persist the truth to wrong,  
And with your wit, the world seek to deceive.  
But Lord how willing are we to invent,  
And find out coverts to obscure our sin:  
As though to hide the same, and not repent,  
Can us preserve from being drowned therein.  
'tis true, that nature did these buildings frame.  
And true, that they to nature's power are thrall.  
And true, that imperfections foil the same.  
And true, that we by nature's weakness fall.  
And this is true, that God unnatured all,  
And gave us wisdom to suppress our will:  
He gave us perfect reason to recall,  
Affections scouts from following what is ill.  
Why we are men: and this same spark divine,  
Our trooping thoughts should marshal in such wise,  
That no affect from reason should decline,  
Nor rebel passion in our hearts arise.  
Th'instinct of nature, which doth all things move,  
Bids love whereas you like without regard:  
But piety saith, where 'tis lawful love,  
Or else hell torments shall be your reward.   

Octavia.  
Antony's children.   

And is it true, is Antony unkind?  
Hath this new love, of faith and troth bereft him?  
Can fond affection so obscure his mind,  
That not one spark of honour should be left him?  
Can he so far forget his own good name,  
As to dishonour all that are about him?  
Ah can he not without a further blame,  
Permit them die that cannot live without him?  
Come poor companions of my misery,  
The issue of the faithlest man alive:  
Support the burden of his treachery,  
Whose base revoult, our ruin doth contrive.  
Come poor beholders of your mother's fall,  
Whose innocence mought greater pity move:  
Your impious father doth despise us all,  
Forsaken we, must other fortunes prove.  
Come poor attendants of a falling state,  
Whose silent sadness doth my grief renew:  
Yet be you all much more unfortunate,  
Ere any seeds of lewdness rest in you.  
Come let us go, and leave this lonely place,  
Your father's dying love bequeathes you hence:  
O 〈◊〉 this house, as from your own disgrace,  
'tis his command you should be banishtt hence.  
Dead Fulvia, how can thy imperious ghost  
Endure to see thine Orphans thus oppressed?  
Yet of mine honour though his love be lost,  
Whiles I survive, they shall not be distressed.  
O Antony, borne of no gentle Sire,  
Some cruel Caucasus did thee beget:  
Even senseless things thy scencelesnesse admire,  
And seem to feel, what thou seemest to forget.  
Oft have I seen. these stones with pity moved,  
she'd dropping tears, lamenting my disgrace:  
When in thy heart where most it most behoved,  
No kind remorse could ever find a place.  
More mild than thee, I find each cruel beast,  
For they but give a smale-time lasting death:  
With endless grief, my soul thou dost molest,  
Which ever killing, never steps my breath.  
O failing pillar of my falling state!  
O fading flower of virtues fairest field!  
O why shouldst thou so much degenerate,  
And honours birthright to dishonour yield.  
Yield to dishonour all that dear bought wealth,  
Which earthly kings doth in heavens kingdom place.  
Let thy minds treasure fall away by stealth.  
By stealth contrive and work thine own disgrace.  
O Erecina that my Lord did know,  
As thy fond boy shoots shafts of swift desire:  
So mighty jove, sharp thunderbolts doth throw,  
Confounding such as from his laws retire.  
He nursed in sin, sees not his own disgrace,  
Augmenting still, our sorrow and his shame:  
That greatness hides the danger from his face,  
But yet my care is doubled with the same.  
The greedy Wolf, and cruel ravening bear,  
Touched with th'extremity of hungry pain,  
The guiltless cattle furiously do tear:  
And being fed, from cruelty resraine.  
But tyrannizing grief prays on the heart,  
And cloyed with sighs and tears doth still persever:  
His raging fury nothing may divert,  
But still, still fed, is satisfied never.  
O happy he, a thousand times and more,  
Whose quiet thoughts so mild a calm do gain:  
That neither hope can force from safety's shore,  
Nor deep despair can sink on mischiefs main.  
But majesty, and honour, for these too,  
shallbe the only objects of mine eye:  
What virtue faith is just, that will I do,  
Thus I resolve to live, thus will I die.   

Geminus.  
Byllius.  
Octavia.   

And are you sure that Antony is slain?  
May we believe that this report is true?   Byl. 

Why should you wish me to recount again,  
The story that doth double grief renew?  
O had you but discovered with your eyes,  
The face of woe in all that present were:  
Or heard their doleful noise and shrieking cries,  
You would have cause to grieve and not to fear.   Oct. 

What tragic tidings bring these woeful wights,  
That ring such peals of horror in mine ears?  
What unknown cause your martial heart's affrights?  
What silent grief in your sad looks appears?   Byl. 

Did but our words import the sound of woe,  
To wound your ears withal were double sin:  
But sith your highness will, it should be so,  
And that your safety is contained therein;  
We will not from your grace conceal the same;  
And though we should, yet time will open all.  
From Egypt's common woes I lately came,  
And did bewail Antonius wilful fall.   Oct. 
Is Antony o'erthrown?  Byl. 

Yes all is lost.  
His power and forces wholly are decayed:  
He is deceived by her he loved most,  
By Cleopatra shamefully betrayed.  
And she that taught him first to swim in sin:  
Was even the first that drowned his life therein.   Oct. 
Ah, by what means did she my Lord abuse?  Byl. 

By such a means as lewd offenders use.  
For when the wars at first pretended were,  
And that Antonius with him would not take her:  
She fearing least herself not being there,  
He haply mought be moved to forsake her.  
She sees Canidius our chief General,  
Him to persuade, that she mought present be:  
He sues, obtains, and we embarked all,  
Make joyful hast our woeful end to see.  
For whiles our powers of equal forces were,  
And neither side could disadvantage spy:  
Like one that knew a secret cause of fear,  
Out of the army she began to fly.  
Lo, how no greatness can our conscience free,  
From inward horror of our wicked deeds:  
For that same better part of us doth see,  
A greater power whose justice terror breeds.  
But he, whose thoughts were to her looks enchained,  
Although the army did not loss sustain,  
As though for her he had the world disdained:  
Forsakes them all, and after flies amain.  
Whose causeless fear so much dismayed the host,  
Who scorned to fight for him which run away:  
That with small hurt, the battle there was lost,  
And Caesar had the honour of the day.  
The Legions, thus deprived of a guide,  
Themselves to Caesar's clemency submit:  
Antonius baseness they do all deride,  
And think a chamber were for him more fit.  
But Lion-hearted Caesar still proceeds,  
His strength is doubled, weakened is his foe:  
Unto Pelusium hastily he speeds,  
These fugitives may not escape him so.  
There lay Antonius' navy in the road,  
Who yielded when Augustus' fleet was seen:  
And likewise showed how Antony abode,  
At Alexandria with this fearful Queen,  
Who seeing thus himself deprived of aid,  
Cries out that Cleopatra hath betrayed him:  
She whether guilty, or perhaps afraid,  
That from her slaughter nothing could have stayed him;  
Flies from his sight, and falsely sends him word,  
That she (drowned in despair) herself had slain:  
Wherewith enraged, he takes a bloody sword,  
And breathing out these speeches all in vain;  
O Cleopatra princess of my heart;  
And art thou dead? lo dying I adore thee:  
This more than death, doth now procure my smart,  
That wanting courage, I went not before thee;  
With that, yet warm death-couloured instrument,  
In his fair breast he did the gate set open,  
Which to the earth, his bloodless limbs hath sent:  
His dying soul up to the heavens I hope.  
And is he dead?   Byl. 

His better part yet liveth,  
But to his corpse a tomb sweet quiet giveth   Octa. 

O poor Promethius, now I feel thy pains,  
Griefs greedy vulture feeds upon my heart:  
Upon my head a shower of mischief rains,  
And all the heavens conclude to work my smart.  
O my Antonius, O my Lord, my Lord:  
O that Octavia had been slain for thee;  
O that the heavens would unto me afford,  
That this my blood mought thy lives ransom be.  
Mine was the wound thou gavest that noble breast,  
That purple stream extracted from my heart:  
In my deep passions is thy death expressed,  
Thou feltst the stroke, but I endure the smart,  
And O that grief did not thus stop my breath,  
And all my words dissolve in showers of tears,  
That I mought worthily lament thy death:  
And Catadupa-like, dull all men's ears.  
Unhappy world, the pilgrimage of pain,  
The stage where mischief acts a dyreful part:  
What hast thou had, what dost thou now contain,  
Which but a thought of pleasures mought impart.  
Not one care-wanting hour my life hath tasted:  
But from the very instant of my birth,  
Uncessant woes my tired heart have wasted,  
And my poor thoughts are ignorant of mirth.  
Look how one wave, another still pursueth,  
When some great tempest holds their troops in chase:  
Or as one hour an others loss reneweth;  
Or posting day supplies another's place;  
So do the billows of affliction beat me,  
And hand in hand the storms of mischief go;  
Successive cares with utter ruin threat me;  
Grief is enchained with grief, and woe with woe,  
Yet must I bear it with a patiented mind:  
For why the heavens have this to me assigned.   

Chorus.  

IN exorable fates,  
That on both high and low,  
Your equal rigour show:  
Correcting all estates,  
and stately minds suppressing.  
Your favour none may win,  
No cloak or faults can hide:  
But needs we must abide,  
The punishment of sin,  
And hope for no releasing.  
No greatness may withstand,  
No words can pity move:  
But we must all approve,  
The vigour of your hand:  
Great joves' decrees expressing.   

Great joves' decrees, which some,  
Fate, fortune, chance, do name:  
Are not indeed the same,  
But heavens eternal doom,  
Our witless steps directing,  
Their speech exceeds our skill,  
Their words pierce not our ears:  
But in our life appears,  
The legent of their will:  
Our errors miss correcting.  
Then let the greatest know,  
Dole on their ruin feeds:  
Whiles they obscure vile deeds,  
Under a glorious show;  
The vulgar sort infecting.   

Octavia still distressed,  
Doth not to us declare,  
How they most wretched are,  
Who are with grief oppressed:  
But shows what heaven requireth.  
How through affliction great,  
Great troubles and annoy:  
We find the doubtful way,  
That leads to virtues seat:  
Which wisdoms self desireth.  
In fairest crystal stone,  
Let men her trophies show:  
That all the world may know,  
Hear liveth such a one,  
As virtues height asspireth.   

Sharp grief and sweet delight,  
Are Giants to approve:  
If aught may us remove,  
And turn us from the right,  
Thence double error springeth.  
The weakest wrought his fall,  
Whiles that Octavia true:  
The other did subdue.  
And purchased therewithal:  
That fame her honour singeth.  
A monument most rare,  
Of pure Arabian gold,  
The highest worth t'unfold,  
Let art for her prepare:  
Who time in triumph bringeth.   

Time shall endear thy name,  
With honours breath make sweet:  
The garland is most meet,  
For such as win the same;  
Thy virtue best deserved.  
Whiles any spark of worth,  
Doth lodge in woman's breast:  
Thy praise among the rest,  
Be evermore henceforth,  
In noblest minds preserved:  
Of Diamonds most pure,  
A tomb let Angels frame:  
And there engrave her name,  
For evermore t'endure,  
T'eternity reserved.   
L'aqua non temo del'eterno oblio.    
FINIS.   

To the honourable, virtuous, and excellent: Mistress Mary Thin.  
WOrthy of all the titles of honour, that nature, virtue, wisdom and worth, may bestow on their worthiest, & most favoured possessors: having lately extracted the memory of Octavia out of the ashes of oblivion: my thoughts continuing (perhaps longer than was fit) the current of that stream, have made some idle hours convert themselves into the missive Epistles between the virtuous Octavia and the licentious Antony, wherein although my slender skill, hath no way been answerable to the height of your noble conceit, that the sight of them mought breed you the least content: yet since they are done (presuming upon your accustomed Clemency) I humbly submit them to your favourable censure. If you therefore who are the mother, or (under your correction, to say better, the murderer) if concealing may be called a murder,) of such excellent, & virtuous knowledges and perfections, as are able to register a vulgar mind in the famous rolls of never-ending eternity, will allow the mean and humble conceits of others: your honour shallbe advanced to the highest pitch of their possibility. If you will esteem the small portion of judgement in other men, the excellency whereof you will not acknowledge in yourself: their industry shall never cease, to wing your fame, till it have towered beyond the reach of death, and oblivion. Accept therefore I beseech you the memorial of this virtuous Empress: that your worthiness may endear these worthless lines; these lines record her memory, her memory advance your glory; your glory purchase all wished felicity, and your high felicities, ever increase till time give place unto eternity.  
Humbly yours, S. B.   

The Argument.  
Octavia seeing the long stay of her husband Mark Antony with Cleopatra the Egyptian queen: And finding by often trial, that nothing mought prevail to recall his obstinate mind from her unlawful love: Intended a voyage to visit him herself in person. But in in the way she received letters from him, requiring her not to approach or come near him, but to make her stay at Athens (where she was at that time) for that he meant without longer delay there to come unto her. She expecting his promise (as at all other times) in vain: and finding herself frustrate of all hope to attain her desire: writeth unto him (as it may be supposed) to this effect.   

Octavia to Antonius.  

NOw when these lines (mine own dear Lord)  
Shall first approach thy sight,  
(These lines which sorrow, fear and love  
Compelled my hand to write)  
First but behold the writer's name,  
Which doth thine eyes await,  
(Her name as full of constant truth,  
As thou of false deceit)  
And see if any memory,  
Of her do yet remain,  
If not, reject it from thine eyes,  
To read it were but vain.  
From thence (if shame will thee permit)  
Proceed unto the rest:  
It is not much to view my deed,  
Tough thou do me detest.  
When true relation (woe is me  
That I must call it true)  
Of thy most odious faithlessness,  
First came unto my view:  
Even as a man with sudden stroke,  
Of thunders mighty force,  
Which for a time both life and sense,  
From body doth divorce,  
Bereft of motion, stands amazed  
With terror of the blow;  
And though alive, yet cannot tell  
Where he do live or no:  
So stood I sencelesly appalled,  
With horror of the thing,  
Which now alas, too well I find,  
Doth my destruction bring.  
How feign I would not have believed,  
That thou shouldst faithless be:  
How feign I would have made myself,  
A liar false for thee.  
But thou art gone, fled and forsworn,  
And nought may thee recall:  
Thou livest secure and tak'st no care,  
What may poor me befall.  
O deep dissembling faithless man,  
That dost me thus beguile:  
S'daine not of her thou lovedst once,  
To hear the truth a while.  
Was it for this thou sheddest those tears,  
O Crocodile un kind,  
When lastly thou didst part from me,  
With show of constant mind?  
Did not those showering eyes assure  
A never-changing love?  
Did not that perjured lying tongue,  
Their evidence approve?  
Did not those folded arms, embrace  
This body now despised?  
And that dissembling heart relent,  
With too much love surprised?  
O dear Octauta (didst thou say)  
Though we must parted be:  
But for a time, yet that small time  
Seems thousand year to me.  
When I from thee shallbe removed,  
From all joys I shall part:  
Yet farthest when I am removed,  
With thee shall rest my heart.  
Then sweet take thou no care for me,  
But sighs and tears neclect:  
And shortly if the heaven permit,  
My safe return expect.  
Hear would I have replied feign,  
When grief me tongue did stay:  
And all my words dissolved to tears,  
Whiles thou didst part away.  
Shall I expect him that intends,  
To see me never, then?  
O deep deceit! o fraud! o guile!  
O vain dissembling men!  
What honour, worth, or honesty,  
In him what pity were,  
That being mine without remorse,  
Can these abuses hear?  
But thou thyself, my Lord, to be  
The agent of my pain:  
O how can words but make thee know,  
The grief that I sustain?  
The golden pillars of thy youth,  
Did promise unto me:  
The building of ensuing age,  
Should better furnished be.  
How mought I but conceive, what cause  
Mought thee hereto compel:  
Unless myself have been the same,  
In loving thee too well.  
What beauty, pleasure, wealth or wit,  
So rare doth Nilus breed?  
But Tiber may therewith compare,  
If not the same exceed  
Some fond affection hath bewitched,  
Thy Princely mind I fear:  
O that I could my doubtful thoughts,  
From such suspicion clear.  
What is there no more power, or force,  
In virtues sacred shield:  
But noble minds must basely fall,  
And to affection yield?  
Or was this sweet eare-pleasing word,  
But placed on thy tongue?  
And never planted in thy heart,  
Still nursed with poison strong.  
No such inordinate affects,  
In virtuous minds have place:  
True noble hearts can not endure,  
So mighty a disgrace.  
He is no prince that subject is,  
And subject unto sin:  
But slave-borne witches, they are called,  
Which do delight therein.  
Vain, foolish, blind, unpure,  
Dishonest, idle minds,  
Unlawful love, to vile desires,  
With fond affection binds.  
This is the hand, which doth the reins  
Of modesty undo:  
And nothing is so base or vile,  
Which it persuades not to.  
The mortal foe of reasons good,  
Th'inventor of deceit:  
The plague infecter of the mind,  
The deadly poisoned bait.  
The furious-tempsst-breathing breath,  
To every quiet mind:  
The map of mischief, where the world  
nought else but grief can find.  
The noble Scipio, whom the world  
So highly doth adore:  
Can not be conquered by this foe,  
And honoured was therefore.  
'tis greater shame, to him that should  
Correct another's miss:  
To merit well deserved blame,  
Then to him that subject is.  
'tis greater glory to defend,  
Or selves from errors great:  
Then by supplanting other men,  
To gain a Princely seat.  
Then suffer not thyself alive,  
To be entombed in shame:  
Remember how thy former deeds,  
Deserve immortal fame:  
Procure not to thy golden day  
Of life, an evening dark.  
Within the haven of repose.  
Drown not thy conquering bark.  
Though this licentious life of thine,  
Sweet pleasures seem to bring:  
A bitter sweet thou shalt it find,  
Which flows from such a spring.  
But Egypt's fertile soil, perhaps  
Thy greedy thoughts doth hold:  
Alured with th'abundant store,  
Of minde-bewitching gold.  
If virtue, honour and renown,  
Be of a smaller prize:  
Then misers food which thou esteemest,  
Thou mayst us well despise,  
But if more worth remain in them,  
Than thou couldst ever see:  
Then Antony thou art not him,  
I took thee for to be.  
O basest mind that ever lived,  
And bore so brave a name:  
To fly the silver streams of worth,  
And base in filthy shame.  
O that thou couldst so leave thyself  
A while that thou mought'st find:  
How hatefully the world doth scorn,  
The baseness of thy mind.  
How feign I would not now believe,  
That thou so object art:  
To sell thyself for store of earth,  
Which can no worth impart.  
The basest thought that any mind,  
Upon the earth may have:  
Is servilely to make itself,  
To any thing a slave.  
And by how much the thing more vile,  
Which doth our liking move:  
By so much more, more object he,  
Which there with is in love.  
Then base earth creeping mind adieu,  
Since this is thy delight:  
I blame thee not though thou do blush,  
At noble honours sight.  
Had julius Caesar loved gold,  
More than a noble name:  
He never had been royallized,  
By such immortal fame.  
The Macedonian monarch, whom  
Eternity shall praise:  
Disdain' d that any golden steps,  
His glorious name should raise.  
But Midas purchased endless shame,  
By being as thou art:  
And Croesus for his store of gold,  
Had store of bitter smart.  
The gods for this do plague us men,  
We men each other hate:  
From hence, as from a fountain, spring,  
Strife, murders, and debate.  
O senseless mind of foolish man,  
Which sees not what it hath:  
But wanting in excessive store,  
Continues errors path.  
Thou shalt not need such store of wealth,  
Thy waftage for to pay:  
When thy offending soul to hell,  
Old Charon shall convey.  
O seek thy wealth in virtues mines,  
If thou true joys wilt find:  
All other things vuconstant are,  
And lighter than the wind.  
But wanton lust procures thy fall,  
And works my world of woe:  
An enemy of honest minds,  
Rare virtues common foe.  
What plague infernal worse than this,  
Whose poisoned bait doth gain:  
Both to the body and the soul,  
An everlasting pain.  
What multitudes of souls are lost?  
What Cities overthrown?  
What Kingdoms by licentious lust,  
With ruin overgrown?  
Let deep lamenting Greece, declare  
Th'effect of hateful lust:  
Or that which once was called Troy,  
Now nothing else but dust.  
And had not women had the wit,  
The danger to repel:  
The Sabines swords had made us feel,  
The smart thereof too well.  
O let the bleeding memories,  
Of many in like case,  
Be dreadful motives to thy mind,  
To leave this wicked race.  
How canst thou censure others miss,  
And yet not see thine own:  
Can wisdom joy at others joys,  
And see itself o'erthrown?  
O since the cause of this effect,  
Is so exceeding ill:  
The horror of the thing itself,  
With terror mought thee fill.  
Who soever with the like offence,  
His body hath defiled:  
Of virtues dearest ornaments,  
His soul was first despoiled.  
Of honour, worth, and fortitude,  
He lost the sacred name:  
And like a coward did subject  
Himself to sin and shame.  
He days, and nights, hath wholly spent  
In drunkenness and play:  
By folly, and by negligence,  
Hath wrought his whole decay.  
Or else these cousin-germaine sins,  
He haply did connect:  
Base slothfulness, and luxury,  
Which work the same effect.  
O fly inordinate delights,  
Each pleasure hath his pain:  
And he that stained is with sin,  
Cannot be clean again.  
Let Deniz torn untombed corpse,  
Sufficiently declare,  
How this same loathsome vice doth make  
Her best attendants far.  
Dost thou not know, the sages teach,  
A man should never do:  
The thing that wicked is and vile,  
Nor yet consent thereto?  
Though warily he did foresee,  
It mought escape the light:  
And be most secretly concealed,  
And hid from all men's sight?  
How far thou art (which shouldst excel)  
From being excellent:  
Do but behold and view thyself,  
By this their precedent.  
Who publicly hast sold thyself  
Unto eternal shame:  
And like a senseless blinded man,  
Perseuer'st in the same.  
Or have some other pleasures strange,  
Estranged thy mind from me?  
For (as men say) in that same court,  
Great store of pleasures be,  
We want not here our true delights,  
But if we had less store,  
Of wanton sports: thou oughtest not  
To shame thyself therefore.  
Our pleasures here, may satisfy  
And please each virtuous mind:  
And he no spark of virtue hath,  
Which other seeks to find.  
Alluring pleasure, stain of life,  
Sour mischiefs sweetest root:  
By it, all noble thoughts and deeds,  
Are trodden under foot,  
A mind corrupting monster vile,  
A mal-seducing guest,  
Nurse of repentance, pain, and grief,  
Depriver of sweet rest;  
Prince-haunting fiend, sweet poisoned bait,  
False thief of happy bliss;  
Who seems a guide to hoped joys,  
But leads us still amiss.  
Do but recount with wisdoms eyes,  
Those pleasures which are past,  
And see what pleasure, profit, gain,  
They yield thee now at last.  
So when thy ill spent granted time,  
His course hath fully run:  
Then shalt thou find thy pleasures fled,  
Hope's vain, thyself undone.  
Learn to take pleasure in such things,  
Whence true joys may arise:  
Thou canst not do more like a prince,  
Then vain things to despise.  
Bring not thyself, thy house, thy queen,  
Unto eternal shame:  
In being much more than thyself,  
And far less than thy name.  
Let no delight, make thee forget,  
What best befits thy state:  
He is no Prince, which his affects  
Cannot predominate.  
Who for his pleasure poison drinks,  
Though mixed with things most sweet:  
Should have a name by my consent,  
For such a man more meet.  
Or dost thou here dislike perhaps,  
That Delia bears such sway:  
And sacred virtues holy rights,  
Have made thee fly away.  
Is chastity so loathsome then  
Unto a wanton ear:  
That beauty is no beauty, where  
Such chaste desires appear?  
Can looseness, which the wise dispraise,  
So please a noble mind:  
That true nobility contemned,  
Sole pleasures there they find?  
Then must I needs displease indeed,  
And know not what to say:  
For why the swine do most delight,  
The most defiled pray.  
The silver fish, by nature do  
The purest streams delight:  
The stately Falcon, midst the clouds,  
Directs her towering flight.  
The Eagles seldom sit in dales,  
But perch on highest hills;  
And every thing delights his like,  
And nature's course fulfils.  
But thou less constant than all these,  
Though far more base than they:  
Instead of Crystal streams, dost love  
In puddles vile to play.  
Thou borne by nature to advance  
Thy thoughts to honours height;  
Dost carelessly stoop unto shame,  
And fall with thine own weight.  
Then never think, I think it strange  
That thou art fled from me:  
The heavens forbidden my lowest thoughts,  
Should sympathize with thee.  
But herein thou art wise indeed,  
To hide thyself away:  
And such as never have thee known  
By falsehood to betray.  
For why, assure thyself, all those  
That do thy baseness know:  
Thy faithlessness, and perjury,  
Do much detest thee now.  
The heavens will sharply punish sin,  
And fly where so thou can:  
though for a time they do defer,  
They'll plague the perjured man.  
Then view thyself in glass of truth,  
And be not thus abused:  
No honour ever crowned the man,  
That honesty refused '.  
The nobler is the birth and place,  
From whence thine honour came:  
The more notorious is thy fault,  
If thou debase the same.  
No, 'tis her wit hath thee bewitched,  
Her sweet delighting tongue:  
Which doth enchant thy wondering mind,  
And makes thee stay this long.  
This wit, indeed, were something worth,  
Were wisdom joined thereto:  
Yet not so much, that it should serve  
So many to undo.  
The earth hath not a thing so rare,  
Which wisdom would not fly:  
Yea rather hate and much detest,  
Then purchase shame thereby.  
Who can so love a sporting wit,  
That it procure his fall:  
His kindness may be judged great,  
But sure his wit is small.  
Then let us love base Catiline,  
For wit and noble blood:  
No, loath him rather, for his wit  
Knew never what was good.  
And let us Varro likewise praise,  
For he was witty sure:  
But wicked too, and therefore Rome  
Can not his wit endure.  
The more a man excels in wit,  
And ill employs the same:  
The more do all men him detest,  
That love a virtuous name.  
Though sweetly did the Sirens sing,  
Yet who to them gave ear?  
Their message to th' Ionian deeps,  
He presently did bear.  
Or is it beauty, that doth set  
Thy heart so much on fire:  
And captivate thy senses so,  
That thou canst not retire?  
The rarest beauty of the face,  
Cannot enforce the wise:  
With pain to purchase living shame,  
And better things despise.  
Nor are the fairest always found,  
The best, (as I suppose)  
Some noisome flowers, do seem as fair,  
As doth the fragrant Rose.  
That wonder breeding beauty sure,  
Which thou dost so esteem:  
Shall come to nothing at the last,  
As first it was I deem.  
The Rose and Lyllie cannot long  
Content and please, the sight:  
No golden day could everscape,  
The dark ensuing night.  
Proud time will bury beauty's youth,  
In furrows of decay:  
Wert thou ten thousand times a prince,  
Thou canst not force it stay.  
All these fond pleasures (if fond things  
Deserve so good a name)  
Should not seduce a noble mind,  
To stain itself with shame.  
The time shall come, when all these same,  
Which seem so rich with joy:  
Like tyrants shall torment thy mind,  
And vex thee with annoy.  
When all those honye-tongued mates,  
Can but weep and lament:  
That they by force, must part from thee,  
Whose vital course is spent.  
When all thy greatness must be left,  
To such as shall succeed:  
When sweetest pleasures memory,  
Most dreadful thoughts shall breed;  
When this so much desired Sun,  
Shall but displease thy sight;  
And all things else shall seem to want,  
The taste of sweet delight.  
When all the creatures of the earth,  
Cannot procure thine ease:  
And friends, with showers of vaine-shed tears,  
Cannot thy grief appease.  
When tyrannizing pain, shall stop  
The passage of thy breath:  
And thee compel to swear thyself,  
True servant unto death.  
Then shall one virtuous deed impart  
More pleasure to thy mind:  
Then all the treasures that on earth,  
Ambitious thoughts can find.  
The well-spent time of one short day,  
One hour, one moment then:  
Shall be more sweet, than all the joys  
Amongst us mortal men.  
Then shalt thou find but one refuge,  
Which comfort can retain:  
A guiltless conscience pure and clear,  
From touch of sinful stain.  
Then shall thine inward eyes, behold  
The loathsome path of sin:  
And thy proud heart repine in vain,  
That thou hast walked therein.  
Then shall Octavia's wrongs appear,  
Like monsters to thine eyes:  
And thou shalt curse the time, and day,  
That thou didst me despise.  
Then shall my sighs, and tears, inflame  
A bonfire in thy mind:  
And thou thyself, thyself shalt loath,  
For being thus unkind.  
At thy right hand, my wronged ghost,  
Shall just complaints renew:  
And on thy left, that queen shall show  
What hath been wrought by you.  
Above thy head, thine eyes shall see  
The heavens to justice bend:  
Below thy feet, the pit of hell,  
Ordained for punishment.  
Ah poor Antonius how wilt thou,  
Abhor thy wretched state:  
And most entirely then repent,  
But than 'twill be too late.  
But thou great emperor dost disdain  
Such sharp rebukes to find:  
For piety, and pity both,  
Are strangers to thy mind.  
Thy brave heroic thoughts do scorn  
To stoop to these conceits:  
To humble for such high revolves,  
As honours praise awaits.  
Then great Herculean, worthy prince,  
What Trophies may we raise,  
To equal these thy great designs  
And manifest thy praise?  
Who may enough augment thy fame,  
To answer thy desert:  
Who dost attempt with perjury,  
To break a woman's heart.  
A glory great, a conquest fit,  
For such as faithless be:  
For in thy deeds, the world may view,  
The worth that is in thee  
More than a man thou wouldst be thought,  
And shouldst indeed be so:  
But let thy deeds more manly be,  
Or else that name forego.  
That man which seems a man in show,  
And is not such a one:  
Deserves another name by right,  
For he by right is none.  
O do not think a woman's death,  
Can much endear thy name:  
But think how this unmanly deed,  
Will work thine endless shame.  
What man, that were a man indeed,  
(Much less a Prince) would see,  
His wife, and Queen, a spectacle,  
Of grief and misery?  
Would to the pity of the world,  
And to all wondering eyes,  
My constant loving mind reject:  
And guiltless me despise.  
Would such uncessant streams of tears,  
Draw from these restless springs:  
And load my heart with endless grief,  
Which utter ruin brings.  
But hide thy head and all is well,  
Thy faults cannot be spied:  
No, thou must know the heavens are just,  
And must their sentence bide.  
When all those powers which thou hast wronged,  
Shall punishment require:  
How canst thou wretch be half enough,  
To satisfy their ire?  
How canst thou ever hope to pay  
The forfeit of thy miss:  
When powerful justice shall impose,  
The just revenge of this.  
Which makes me pity more thy state,  
Then grieve at mine own wrong:  
To think how he whom I have loved,  
Shall plagued be ere long.  
Yet know, though I detest thy fault,  
I bear thee no ill will:  
For if Antonius will return,  
He shall be loved still.   To which she received this answer following.  

Antonius to Octavia.  

AMongst the monstrous storms of woe,  
Which do my soul surprise:  
Thy direful plaints Octavia, were  
Presented to mine eyes,  
O heavens! how erosly have you set,  
Your still repugnant stars?  
Which crossly, cross my tired life,  
With mortal civil wars.  
I see, and know, that to be true,  
Which thou dost here object:  
I see thou rightly callest that wrong,  
Which I may not correct.  
I find myself engulft in grief,  
Entrapped in mischiefs power:  
Yet cannot I avoid the storm,  
Though it my life devour.  
Of force my heart must condescend,  
To what thou dost require:  
Yet cannot I perform the thing,  
Which is thy chief desire.  
I know the safe, and perfect way,  
Which reason saith is best:  
Yet willingly I follow that,  
Which wisdom liketh least.  
What reason will, that same would I,  
And wisdom would so too:  
But some thing greater than us all,  
Will not consent thereto.  
That time, that day, those looks, those words,  
Are yet fresh in my mind:  
When my departure mutual grief,  
Unto us both assigned.  
Those tears, I yet remember well,  
Whiles I did thee embrace:  
Those settled silent speaking looks,  
Placed in each others face.  
My words which true love did indite,  
And faith confirm the same:  
(For constant truth did at that time,  
Secure my thoughts from blame.)  
My heart was free from thought of change,  
My mind from false intent:  
I scorned a false dissembling word,  
And nought but truth I meant.  
But since mine eyes enriched their sight,  
With Cleopatra's face:  
My thoughts another object found,  
My heart another place.  
Which object so allured my mind,  
With ravishing delight:  
That wanting her, I thought each day,  
An endless tedious night.  
My very thoughts framed all my words,  
To Cleopatra's name:  
Yea, when most great affairs withdrew,  
My fancy from the same:  
Mine eyes were blind, mine ears were deaf,  
My mind did senseless prove:  
But when they saw, heard, or perceived,  
Her face, her name, her love:  
No pleasures could my fancy please,  
No mirth itself endear:  
Wherein th'Idea of her face,  
Did not to me appear.  
What reasons left I vnapproued,  
What counsels force? to break  
The sweet captiving band of love,  
But all I found too weak.  
He is deceived, that thinks to find,  
A countermine in love:  
And woe is me, that speaking this,  
I speak but what I prove.  
Thus I myself the agent made,  
And traitor of my bliss:  
Can never hope to contradict,  
Or to encounter this.  
But though my yielding heart as then,  
Thy true love did detain:  
That deed of mine, a greater power,  
By force revokes again.  
And those truth-telling sages teach,  
That every motion small:  
Is by a greater overcome,  
Or hindered therewithal.  
O then, though reason, reason be,  
Yet must it condescend:  
And yield to that, against whose force  
It cannot us defend.  
And never me so sharply blame,  
As actor of this ill:  
'tis not Antonius, but the heavens,  
Which do withstand thy will.  
And what the heavens do force us to,  
We may not disobey:  
When their decrees are once enrolled,  
O who may then say nay?  
These moving stars which we behold,  
Our minds do rule and guide:  
And look what course they set us in,  
Therein must we abide.  
This spark of reason is not ours,  
But lent us from above.  
The Gods do give and take the same,  
They make us loath and love.  
Then dear, why shouldst thou so upbraid  
And sharply reprehend:  
Thy Antony: for such a fault  
As he may not amend.  
If in my heart I did thee hate,  
Then were I worthy blame:  
But I have ever loved thee well,  
Who well deservedst the same.  
And though I cannot thee afford,  
The dearest of my heart:  
Yet needst thou not thus to complain,  
Who hast so large a part.  
No day, no night, their posting course,  
So speedily could frame:  
But they beheld, my thoughts, return  
Due homage to thy name.  
When bloody terror, danger, death,  
Upon me did lay hold:  
Thy memory reviv'd my mind,  
And made my courage bold.  
No not a thousand fierce assaults,  
And perils many more:  
Can ever force my loving heart,  
Octavia to forego.  
But tyrant love, me from myself,  
And from my Queen doth steal:  
And pardon me though I perhaps,  
Too great a fault reveal.  
And pardon needs, I must obtain,  
If this so much offend:  
For here my love did first begin,  
And here my life must end.  
Hear will I show, I neither am  
Unconstant, nor unkind:  
For Cleopatra whiles I live,  
Shall me most constant find.  
Why am I called an Emperor,  
If I should subject be:  
And be compelled to leave the thing,  
Which most delighteth me?  
No dear Octavia, thy request  
Can never be fulfilled:  
Let Gods be Gods, and Kings be Kings,  
For none but cowards yield.  
Were she as Baucis, when she lodged  
Her unknown greatest guest:  
Were she a Lion, Lybert, Wolf,  
Or some worse savage beast;  
Were she a fury, or what else,  
Whose presence glads my heart,  
And to my ravished captive soul,  
Such sweetness doth impart;  
I would exceed joves' simple gifts,  
And give the machine round,  
And all the treasures, wealth, and store,  
Which therein may be found.  
I would from parents, children, friends,  
My dearest thoughts remove.  
Surrender sceptre, kingdom, crown,  
For to enjoy my love.  
And by my bounty, truth and zeal,  
The erring world should see:  
No base, or servile, scorned thought,  
Had ever place in me.  
I would disdain a monarch should,  
But equal my desire:  
My constant faith should far exceed,  
The height of all aspire.  
They do but blow the coals of hate,  
Which my designs improve:  
If ever fault may pardon get,  
O pardon faulty love.  
I grant, I were a monster vile,  
Unworthy of my life:  
If I should hate, or thee disdain,  
Who wast my spouse and wife.  
But Cleopatra's dearest love,  
In me doth bear such sway:  
That I envy or malice none,  
So I may her enjoy.  
And say not, 'tis a shameful thing  
To love a stranger so:  
For love I must, and love I will,  
Though all the world say no.  
The gods I hope will not be moved,  
Such sharp revenge to take:  
On those which err, but in such faults,  
As they themselves did make.  
Were it dishonour to be kind,  
To those we best esteem:  
Great jove himself could not be free,  
From such disgrace (I deem).  
That monster quelling Hercules,  
Should have been called base:  
When his victorious conquering arm,  
Did Omphale embrace.  
No, I disdain, the bravest mind  
That draws this vital breath,  
Should think me base, who have contemned,  
The very face of death.  
'tis rather base, to be compelled  
To that we fancy least:  
O why am I a Prince, if not  
To do as likes me best?  
Suppose within my settled mind,  
There could be such a thought:  
That to consent to thy request,  
I haply mought be brought.  
Would not the Princess of my soul,  
My Cleopatra, pay  
The largest tribute of her life,  
Her Antony to stay?  
Are not her words, her sighs, her tears,  
Most precious to my heart?  
Doth not her face, her tongue, her wit,  
My soul's delight impart?  
How then can I (unhappy man)  
Myself so well dispose:  
As mought content and please you both,  
Who both yourselves oppose.  
No Hercules can this perform,  
No Sphynx this doubt exclude▪  
Yet thus I fully am resolved,  
And thus I do conclude;  
The knot which cannot be undone,  
In sunder thus I strike:  
Hear will I live, here will I bide,  
And love you both alike.  
Let Caesar fight, Octavia frown,  
Let children wail and weep:  
Thus I resolve, and thus I vow,  
Which vow i'll firmly keep.  
And if your malice, and perhaps  
My fortune, do procure:  
That all my words and deeds, the worst  
Construction must endure:  
My constant truth and mind resolved,  
That worst must needs abide:  
For why from this well grounded love,  
My heart shall never slide.  
Thou all things truly seest indeed,  
But never spyest the wound:  
By which my sweet affecting thoughts,  
Their endless thraldom found.  
By which my prayer-scorning heart,  
Is brought to condescend:  
To which that this my chief desire,  
Mought not too much offend.  
Ask, take, assume all that you list,  
Perform your hearts desire:  
So that you neither her from me.  
Nor me from her require.  
While I my Cleopatra may,  
Between these arms ensold:  
I envy not great Croesus' wealth,  
Nor Midas store of gold.  
But if unevitable fate,  
Her presence should deny:  
Though all the world were mine beside,  
With penury I die.  
Nor let it seem so passing strange,  
That I cannot be moved:  
By thy entreaty to forego,  
The thing so much beloved.  
Through thine own heart, do but behold  
And see how small avail:  
Persuasions, reasons, words, and wit,  
Affections force to quail.  
If none of those can take effect,  
To win thy love from me:  
Why shouldst thou think that from this Queen,  
I can divorced be?  
Sith wisdom then can never show,  
Itself more wisely sure:  
Then to forego that thing with ease.  
Which pain cannot procure.  
Ah strive not thus against the stream,  
But dry thy tears again;  
For to persuade me bootless is,  
To force me is more vain.  
Though all the world should me withstand  
I will not be withheld,  
A Prince dislikes to be gainsaid,  
But scorns to be compelled.  
And it may be (for who can tell,  
What absence may procure)  
That fair Octavia never could,  
So long time chaste endure.  
Ah, can I think in such excess,  
Of liberty and store,  
Of Ceres, Bacchus, and what else,  
May be desired more.  
Amongst so many tedious days,  
And nights, of great disport;  
Amongst such brave heroic Lords,  
As to that Court resort;  
That thy unmoved mind, can be  
So tied to Vesta's rights,  
But that sometimes it will consent,  
To Venus' sweet delights?  
Can that fair face, which in all hearts  
Doth high affection move:  
Resist so many strong attempts,  
As will assault thy love?  
No, no, they are not always true,  
Which do most truly speak:  
If it were so, how then am I,  
More than a woman weak?  
And yet my conscience doth descent,  
And plainly this deny:  
And yet suspicion doth maintain,  
It cannot be a lie.  
O how can he be ever brought,  
To think another true:  
Who through the guilt of his own mind,  
The others life doth view?  
And should I then return to Room,  
Mine honour thus to foil?  
No, rather let me find a tomb,  
In any foreign soil.  
And since thou knowest (O too too well)  
Antonius high disgrace:  
He must provide of all the world,  
Not to behold thy face.  
Thy face the lecture of his miss,  
The mirror of his shame:  
The ever wounding rod, and spur  
Of my eclipsed fame.  
The disproportion of our thoughts,  
Can never well agree:  
Thou still shouldst hate my faithlessness,  
I blush thy truth to see.  
A fault doth never with remorse,  
Our minds so deeply move:  
As when another's guiltless life,  
Our error doth reprove.  
But be it, that from all those doubts,  
I could my mind set free:  
Yet whiles ambitious Caesar lives,  
I may not come to thee.  
Let all the world persuasions use,  
And their best counsel give:  
For me, I never will be drawn,  
In danger's mouth to live.  
I cannot brook, another should,  
Be mightier than I:  
An equal in th'imperial seat,  
My heart doth much envy.  
And who so simple, that will look  
For faith or truth in those:  
Whose faithlessness may hap to gain,  
Whose truth a crown must lose.  
There is no truth in such, whose hearts,  
An Empire do affect:  
Competitors may talk of truth.  
But do all truth neclect.  
And be it, that we could agree  
Which hath been seldom known:  
Yet still in time, from private grudge,  
Such quarrels great have grown.  
Such bloody deeds, such strife, debate,  
Such outrage, murder, death:  
That words, and oaths and all, have proved  
But vain dissembling breath.  
No nature, reason, counsel, wit,  
Ambition can constrain,  
To hold unviolable truth:  
Or conscience to detain.  
Pale fear, mistrust, unlooked for chance,  
And fortunes dyreful frowns:  
Most deep suspect, and swift revenge,  
Attendant are on crowns.  
Not that I dread or stand in fear,  
What Caesar can procure,  
But that this absence better mought,  
My safety assecure.  
And it may hap (for none can tell)  
In time what may be wrought:  
Since unexpected chance, my love  
To Cleopatra brought.  
So happy time; so good an hour,  
For thee may hap to fall:  
Which may my love and fancy, back  
From her again recall.  
In hope whereof, Octavia must  
Her sighs and tears suppress:  
Until Antonius find the means,  
These errors to redress.   
FINIS.   

Errata.  
Act. 2. pag. 3. line 8. for highest read highness.  
Act. 2. pag. 22. line 8. for frowardness read forwardness.  
Act. 5. pag. 4. line 1. for ascribe read assign.  
Epist. 1. pag. 1. line 16. for Tough read Though.   

THE EPILOGUE.  

OUr Play is done, now what your censures are,  
If with, or against Arts industry, the care  
took by the Author (and our pains to pease)  
We know not yet, till judgement give us ease.  
Why should we doubt? this Theatre does appear  
The Music Rome of concord; you being here.  
Let no harsh jarring sound of discord then,  
Echo dislike; claps crown the Tragic Pen.   
FINIS.