CERTAIN SMALL POEMS LATELY PRINTED: with the Tragedy of Philotas.  
Written by SAMVEL DANIEL.  Carmen amat, quisquis carmine digna gerit. 
AT LONDON Printed by G. Elder for Simon Waterson. 1605.   

To the right Honourable and most virtuous Lady, the Lady Margaret Countess of Cumberland.  
ALthough the meaner sort (whose thoughts are placed  
As in another region, far below  
The Sphere of greatness) cannot rightly taste  
What touch it hath, nor right her passions know:  
Yet have I here adventured to bestow  
Words upon grief, as my griefs comprehend,  
And made this great afflicted Lady show  
Out of my feelings, what she might have penned.  
And here the same, I bring forth, to attend  
Upon thy reverent name, to live with thee  
Most virtuous Lady, that vouchsaf'st to lend  
Ear to my notes, and comfort unto me,  
That one day may thy own fair virtues spread  
Being Secretary now, but to the dead.   

The Argument.  
Upon the second agreement (the first being broken through jealousy of a disproportion of eminency) between the Triumuiri Octavius Caesar, Marcus Antonius, and Lepidus: Octavia the sister of Octavius Caesar, was married to Antonius, as a link to combine that which never yet, the greatest strength of nature, or any power of nearest respect could long hold together, who made but the instrument of others ends, and delivered up as an Hostage to serve the opportunity of advantages, met not with that integrity she brought: but as highly preferred to affliction encountered with all the grievances that beaten upon the misery of greatness, exposed to stand betwixt the divers tending humours of unquiet parties. For Antony having yet upon him the fetters of AEgipt, laid on by the power of a most incomparable beauty, could admit not new laws into the state of his affection, or dispose of himself being not himself, but as having his heart turned Eastward whither the point of his desires were directed, touched with the strongest allurements that ambition, and a licentious sovereignty could draw a man unto: could not truly descend to the private love of a civil nurtred. Matron, whose entertainment bounded with modesty and the nature of her education, known not to clothe her affections in any other colours than the plain habit of truth: wherein she ever suited all her actions● and used all her best ornaments of honesty, to win the good liking of him that held her but as a Curtain drawn between him and Octavius to shadow his other purposes withal; which the sharp sight of an equally jealous ambition could soon pierce into, & as easily look thorough and over blood and nature as he to abuse it: And therefore to prevent his aspiring, he arms his forces either to reduce Antony to the rank of his estate, or else to disrank him out of state and al. When Octavia by the employment of Antony (as being not yet ready to put his fortune to her trial) throws herself, great with child, and a● big with sorrow, into the travail of a most laboursome reconciliation: taking her journey from the farthest part of Greece to found Octavius, with whom her care and tears were so good agents that they effected their Commission beyond all expectation, and for that time quite disarmed their wrath, which yet long could not hold so. For Antonius falling into the relapse of his former disease, watching his opportunity got over again into Egypt, where he so forgot himself, that he quite put of his own nature, and wholly become a prey to his pleasures, as if he had wound himself out of the respect of Country, blood & alliance, which gave to Octavia the cause of much affliction, and to me the Argument of this letter.   

A Letter sent from Octavia to her husband Marcus Antonius into Egypt.  

1  
TO thee (yet dear) though most disloyal Lord,  
Whom impious love keeps in a barbarous land,  
Thy wronged wife Octavia sends word  
Of th'unkind wounds received by thy hand,  
Great Antony, o let thy eyes afford  
But to permit thy heart to understand  
The hurt thou dost, and do but read her tears  
That still is thy though thou will't not be hers.   

2  
Although perhaps, these my complaints may come  
Whilst thou in th'arms of that incestuous Qeeene  
The stain of Egypt, and the shame of Rome  
Shalt dallying sit, and blush to have them seen:  
Whilst proud disdainful she, guessing from whom  
The message came, and what the cause hath been,  
Will scorning say, says, this comes from your Deer,  
Now sir you must be shent for staying here.   

3  
From her indeed it comes, delicious dame,  
(Thou-babes royal Concubine, and Queen of lust)  
Whose arms yet pure, whose breasts are voided of blame,  
And whose most lawful flame proves thy unjust:  
'tis she that sends the message of thy shame,  
And his untruth that hath betrayed her trust:  
Pardon, dear lord, from her these sorrows are  
Whose bed brings neither infamy nor war.   

4  
And therefore hear her words, that too too much  
Hath herded the wrongs committed by thy shame;  
Although at first my trust in thee was such  
As it held out against the strongest fame;  
My heart would never let in once a touch  
Of lest belief, till all confirmed the same:  
That I was almost last that would believe  
Because I know me first that most must grieve.   

5  
How often have poor abused I took part  
With falsehood only for to make thee true?  
How often have I argued against my heart  
Not suffering it to know that which it known?  
And for I would not have thee what thou art  
I made myself, unto myself untrue:  
So much my love laboured against thy Sin  
To shut our fear which yet kept fear within:   

6  
For I could never think th'aspiring mind  
Of worthy and victorious Antony,  
Can be by such a Siren so declined,  
As to be trained a prey to Luxury:  
I could not think my Lord would be s● unkind  
As to despise his Children, Rome and me:  
But o how soon are they deceived that trust  
And more their shame, that willbe so unjust.   

7  
But now that certain same hath open laid  
Thy new relapse, and strange revolt from me,  
Truth hath quite beaten all my hopes away  
and made the passage of my sorrows free:  
For now poor heart, there's nothing in the way  
Remains to stand betwixt despair and thee;  
All is thrown down, there comes not succours new  
It is most true, my Lord is most untrue.   

8  
And now I may with shame enough pull in  
The colours I advanced in his grace  
For that subduing power, that him did win  
Hath lost me too, the honour of my face:  
Yet why should I bearing not part of sin  
Bear such a mighty part of his disgrace?  
Yes though it be not mine, it is of mine;  
And his renown being clipsed, mine cannot shine,   

9  
Which makes me as I do, hid from the eye  
Of the misiudging vulgar that will deem,  
That sure there was in me some reason why  
Which made thee thus, my bed to disesteem:  
So that alas poor undeserving I  
A cause of thy unclean deserts shall seem,  
Though lust takes never joy in what is true,  
But still leaves known delights to seek out new.   

10  
And yet my brother Caesar laboured  
To have me leave thy house, and live more free,  
But God forbidden, Octavia should be led  
To leave to live in thy, though left by thee  
The pledges here of thy forsaken bed,  
Are still the objects that remember me  
What Antony was once, although false now,  
And is my Lord, though he neglect his vow.   

11  
These walls that here do keep me out of sight  
Shall keep me all unspotted unto thee,  
And testify that I will do thee right,  
I'll never stain thy house, though thou shame me:  
The now sad Chamber of my once delight  
Shall be the temple of my piety  
Sacred unto the faith I reverence,  
Where I will pay my tears for thy offence.   

12  
Although my youth, thy absence, and this wrong  
Might draw my blood to forfeit unto shame,  
Nor need I frustrate my delights so long  
That have such means to carry so the same,  
Since that the face of greatness is so strong  
As it dissolves suspect, and bears out blame,  
Having all secret helps that long thereto  
That seldom wants there aught but will to do:   

13  
Which yet to do, ere lust this heart shall frame  
Earth swallow me alive, hell rap me hence:  
Shall I because despised contemn my shame,  
And add disgrace to others impudence?  
What can my power but give more power to fame?  
Greatness must make it great incontinence;  
Chambers are false, the bed and all will tell,  
Not door keeps in their shame that do not well.   

14  
Hath greatness aught peculiar else alone  
But to stand fair and bright above the base?  
What doth divide the cottage from the throne,  
If vice shall lay both level with disgrace?  
For if uncleanness make them but all one  
What privilege ha●h honour by his place?  
What though our sins go brave and better clad,  
They are as those in rags as base as bad.   

15  
I know not how, but wrongfully I know  
Hath undiscerning custom placed our kind  
Under desert, and set us far below  
The reputation to our sex assigned;  
Charging our wrong reputed weakness, how  
We are unconstant, fickle, false, unkind:  
And though our life with thousand proofs shows not  
Yet since strength says it, weakness must be so.   

16  
Unequal partage to b'allowed not share  
Of power to do of life's best benefit;  
But stand as if we interdicted were  
Of virtue, action, liberty and might:  
Must you have all, and not vouchsafe to spare  
Our weakness any interest of delight?  
Is there not portion left for us at all,  
But sufferance, sorrow, ignorance and thrall?   

17  
Thrice happy you in whom it is not fault,  
To know, to speak, to do, and to be wise:  
Whose words have credit, and whose deeds though nought  
Must yet be made to seem far otherwise:  
You can be only herded whilst we are taught  
To hold our peace, and not to exercise  
The powers of our best parts, because your parts  
Have with our freedom robbed us of our hearts,   

18  
We in this prison of ourselves confined  
Mu here shut up with our own passions live  
Turned in upon us, and denied to found  
The vent of outward means that might relieve:  
That they alone must take up all our mind;  
And not room left us, but to think and grieve,  
Yet often our narrowed thoughts look more direct  
Than your lose wisdoms born with wild neglect.   

19  
For should we too (as God forbidden we should)  
Carry not better hand on our desires  
Than your strength doth; what interest could  
Our wronged patience pay you for your hires?  
What mixture of strange generations would  
Succeed the fortunes of uncertain Sires?  
What foul confusion in your blood and race  
To your immortal shame, and our disgrace?   

20  
What? are there bars for us, not bounds for you?  
Must levity stand sure, though firmness fall?  
And are you privileged to be untrue,  
And we not grant to be dispensed withal?  
Must we inviolable keep your due,  
Both to your love, and to your falsehood thrall?  
Whilst you have stretched your lust unto your will  
As if your strength were licensed to do ill.   

21  
OH if you be more strong than be more just  
Clear this suspicion, make not the world to doubt,  
Whether in strong, or weak be better trust,  
If frailry, or else valour be more stout:  
And if we have shut in our hearts from lust  
Let not your bad example let them out,  
Think that there is like ●eeling in our blood,  
If you will have us good, be you than good.   

22  
Is it that love doth take not true delight  
In what it hath, but still in what it would,  
Which draws you on to do us this unright,  
Whilst fear in us of losing what we hold  
Keeps us in still to you, that set us light,  
So that what you unties, doth us enfold?  
Than love 'tis thou that dost confounded us so  
To make our truth the occasion of our wo.   

23  
Distressed woman kind that either must  
For loving lose your loves, or get neglect;  
Whilst wantoness are more cared for than the just  
And falsehood cheerisht, faith without respect:  
Better she fares in whom is lesser trust,  
And more is loved that is in more suspect.  
Which (pardon me) shows not great strength of mind  
To be most there's, that use you most unkind.   

24  
Yet well it fit● for that sin ever must  
Be tortured with the rack of his own frame,  
For he that holds not faith shall found not trust:  
But sowing wrong is sure to reap the same:  
How can he look to have his measure just  
That fills deceit, and reckons not of shame,  
And being not pleased with what he ●ath in lo●  
Shall ever pine for that which he hath not?   

25  
Yet if thou couldst not love, thou mightst have seemed  
Though to have seemed had likewise been unjust:  
Yet so much are lean shows of us esteemed  
That often they feed, though not suffice our trust,  
Because our nature grieveth to be deemed  
To be so wronged, although we be and must.  
And it's some ease yet to be kindly used  
In outward show, though secretly abused.   

26  
But woe to her, that both in show despised.  
And in effect disgraced and left forlorn,  
For whom not comforts are to be devised,  
Nor not new hopes can evermore, be born:  
OH Antony, could it not have sufficed  
That I was thy, but must be made her scorn  
That envies all our blood, and doth divide  
Thee from thyself, only to serve her pride?   

27  
What fault have I committed that should make  
So great dislike of me and of my love?  
Or doth thy fault but an occasion take  
For to dislike what most doth it reprove?  
Because the conscience gladly would mistake  
Her own misdeeds which she would feign remove,  
And they that are unwilling to amend  
Will take offence because they will offend.   

28  
Or having run beyond all pardon quite  
They fly and join with sin as wholly his,  
Making it now their side their part, their right,  
And to turn back would show t'have done amiss:  
For now they think not to be opposite  
To what obraides their fault, were wickedness:  
So much doth folly thrust them into blame  
That even to leave of shame, they count it shame.   

29  
Which do not thou dear Lord, for I do not  
Pu●su● thy fault, but sue for thy return  
Back to thyself, whom thou hast both forgot  
With me, poor me, that doth not spite but mourn.  
And if thou couldst as well amend thy blot  
As I forgive, these plaints had been forborn:  
And thou shouldst be the same unto my heart  
Which once thou were, not that which now thou art.   

30  
Though deep doth sit the hard recovering smart  
Of that last wound (which God grant be the last)  
And more doth touch that tender feeling part  
Of my sad soul, than all th'vnkindnes past:  
And Antony I appeal to thy own heart,  
(If th'h●rt which once was thy thou yet still hast)  
To judge if ever woman that did live  
Had juster cause, than wretched I, to grieve.   

31  
For coming unto Athens as I did,  
Weary and weak with ●oyle, and all distressed,  
After I had with sorrow compassed  
A hard consent, to grant me that request:  
And how my travail was considered  
And all my care, and cost, thyself knows best:  
That wouldst not move one foot from lust for me  
That had left all was dear to come to thee:   

32  
For first what great ado had I to win.  
My offended brother Caesar's backward will?  
And prayed, and wept, and cried to stay the sin  
Of civil rancour rising twixt you still:  
For in what ●as● shall wretched I be in,  
Set betwixt both to share with both your ill?  
My blood said I with either of you goes,  
Who ever win, I shall be sure to loose.   

33  
For what shame should such mighty people get  
For two weak women's cause to disagree?  
Nay what shall I that shall be deemed to set  
Th'inkindled fire, seeming inflamed for me?  
OH if I be the motive of this heat  
Let these unguilty hands the quenchers be,  
And let me trudge to mediate an accord  
The Agent twixt my brother and my Lord   

34  
With prayers, vows and tears, with urging hard  
I wrung from him a slender grant at last,  
And with the rich provisions I prepaid  
For thy (intended Parthian war) made haste  
Weighing not how my poor weak body fared,  
But all the tedious difficulties passed:  
And came to Athens; whence I Niger sent  
To show thee of my coming and intent.   

35  
Whereof when he had made relation:  
I was commanded to approach not near?  
Than sent I back to know what should be done  
With th'horse, and men, and money I had there:  
Whereat perhaps when some remorse begun  
To touch thy soul, to think yet what we were.  
Th'Inchanters strait steps twixt thy heart & the  
And intercepts all thoughts that came of me.   

36  
She arms her tears, the engines of deceit  
And all her battery, to oppose my love;  
And bring thy coming grace to a retreat  
The power of all her subtlety to prove:  
Now pale and faint she languishes, and strait  
Seems in a sound unable more to move:  
Whilst her instructed followers ply thy ears.  
with forged passions, mixed with feigned tears.   

37.  
Hard-hearted lord: say they, how canst thou see  
This mighty Queen a creature so divine,  
Lie thus distressed, and languishing for thee  
And only wretched but for being thy?  
Whilst base Octavia must entitled be  
Thy wife, and she esteemed thy concubine:  
Advance thy heart, raise it unto his right  
And let a sceptre base passions quit:   

38  
Thus they assail thy nature's weakest side  
And work upon th'advantage of thy mind,  
Knowing where judgement stood least fortified  
And how t'encounter folly in her kind:  
But yet the while OH what dost thou abide,  
Who in thyself such wrestling thoughts dost find?  
In what confused case is thy soul in  
Racked betwixt pity, sorrow, shame and sin?   

39  
I cannot tell but sure I dare believe  
My travails needs must some compassion move:  
For not such lock to blood could nature give  
To shut out pity, though it shut out love:  
Conscience must leave a little way to grieve  
To let in horror coming to reprove,  
The guilt of thy offence that caused the same,  
For deepest wounds the hand, of our own shame.   

40  
Never have unjust pleasures been compleet  
In joys entire, but still fear kept the door  
And held back something from that full of sweet  
To interfowre unsure delights the more:  
For never did all circumstances meet  
With those desires which were conceived before  
Something must still be left to check our sin,  
And give a touch of what should not have been.   

41  
Wretched mankind, wherefore hath nature made  
The lawful vndelightfull, th'vniust shame?  
As if our pleasure only were forbade,  
But to give fire to lust, t'ad greater flame;  
Or else but as ordained more to lad  
Our heart with passions to confounded the same,  
Which though it be, yet add not worse to ill,  
Do, as the best men do, bond thy own william   

42  
Redeem thyself, a●d now at length make peace  
With thy divided heart oppressed with toil:  
Break up this war, this breast dissension cease,  
Thy passions to thy passions reconcile:  
I do not only seek my good t'increase,  
But thy own ease, and liberty the while:  
Thee in the circuit of thyself confine.  
And be thy own, and than thou will't be mine.   

43  
I know my pitied love, doth aggravate  
Envy and wrath for these wrongs offered:  
And that my sufferings add with my estate  
Coals in thy bosom, hatred on thy head:  
Yet is not that, my, fault, but my hard fate,  
Who rather wish to have been unpitied  
Of all but thee, than that my love should be  
Hurtful to him that is so dear to me.   

44  
Cannot the busy world let me alone  
To bear alone the burden of my grief,  
But they must intermeddle with my moan  
And seek t'offend me with unsought relief?  
Whilst my afflictions laboured to move none  
But only thee; must pity play the thief,  
To steal so many hearts to hurt my heart,  
And move a part against my dearest part,?   

45  
Yet all this shall not prejudice my Lord  
If yet he will but make return at last,  
His sight shall raze out of the sad record  
Of my enrolled grief all that is past;  
And I will not so much as once afford  
Place for a thought to think I was disgraced:  
And pity shall bring back again with me  
Th'offended hearts that have forsaken thee,   

46  
And therefore come dear lord, lest longer stay  
Do arm against thee all the powers of spite.  
And thou be made at last the woeful pray  
Of full enkindled wrath, and ruined quite:  
But what presaging thought of blood doth stay  
My trembling hand, and doth my soul affright?  
What horror do I see, prepared t'attend  
Th'event of this? what end unless thou end?   

47  
With what strange forms and shadows ominous  
Did my last sleep, my grieved soul entertain?  
I dreamt, yet o, dreams are but frivolous,  
And yet I'll tell it, and God grant it vain.  
Me thought a mighty Hippopotamus 
A Sea Horse.   
From Nilus floating, thrusts into the main,  
Upon whose back a wanton Mermaid sat,  
As if she ruled his course and steered his ●ite.   

48  
With whom t'encounter, forth another makes,  
Alike in kind, of strength and power as good:  
At whose ingrappling Neptune's mantle takes  
A purple colour died with streams of blood,  
Whereat, this looker on, amazed forsakes  
Her Champion there, who yet the better stood;  
But seeing her go strait after her he hies  
As if his heart and strength say in her eyes:   

49  
On follows wrath upon disgrace and fear,  
Whereof th'event forsook me with the night,  
But my waked cares, gave me, these shadows were  
Drawn but from darkness to instruct the light,  
These secret figures, nature's message bear  
Of coming woes, where they deciphered right;  
But if as clouds of sleep thou shalt them take,  
Yet credit wrath and spite that are awake.   

50  
Prevent great spirit the tempest that begin,  
If lust and thy ambition have left way  
But to look out, and have not shut all in,  
To stop thy judgement from a true survey  
Of thy estate; and let thy heart within  
Consider in what danger thou dost lay  
Thy life and mine● to leave the good thou hast,  
To follow hopes with shadows overcast,   

51  
Come, come away from wrong, from craft, from toil,  
Possess thy own with right, with truth, with peace;  
Break from these snares, thy judgement unbeguile.  
Free thy own torment, and my grief release.  
But whither an I carried all this while  
Beyond my scope, and know not when to cease?  
Words still with my increasing sorrows grow;  
I know t'have said too much but not enough.  
Wherhfore not more but only I commend  
To thee the heart that's thy, and so I end,   
FINIS.   

THE TRAGEDY of Cleopatra. To the Lady Marie Countisse of Pembroke.  AEtas prima canat veneres postrema tumultus. 

The Argument.  
AFter the death of Antonius, Cleopatra, (living still in the Monument she had caused to be built,) could not, by any means be drawn forth, although Octavius Caesar very earnestly laboured it: and sent Proculeius, to use all diligence to bring her unto him: for that he thought it would be a great Ornament to his Triumphs, to get her alive to Rome. But never would she put herself into the hands of Proculeius, although on a time he found the means, (by a window that was at the top of the Monument) to come down unto he●● where he persuaded her (all he might) to yield herself to Caesar's mercy. Which she, (to be rid of him,) cunningly seemed to grant unto. After that, Octavius in person went to visit her, to whom she excused her offence, laying all the fault upon the greatness, and fear she had of Antonius, and withal, seemed very tractable, and willing to be disposed of by him.  
Whereupon Octavius, (thinking himself sure) resolved presently to sand her away to Rome. Whereof, Dolabella, a favourite of Caesar's, (and one that was grown into some good liking of her) having certified her, she makes her humble petition to Caesar, that he would suffer her to sacrifice to the ghost of Antonius: which being granted her, she was brought unto his sepulchre, where, after her rites performed, she returned to the monument, and there dined with great magnificence. And in dinner time, came there one in the habit of a countryman, with a basket of Figs unto her, who (unsuspected) was suffered to carry them in. And in that Basket (among the Figs) were conveyed the Aspickes wherewith she did herself to death. Dinner being ended, she dispatched Letters to Caesar, containing great lamentations● with an earnest supplication, that she might be entombed with Antonius. Whereupon Caesar knowing what she intended, sent presently with all speed, Messengers to have prevented her death, which notwithstanding, before they came, was dispatched.  
Caesario her son, which she had by julius Caesar (conveyed before unto India, out of the danger of the wars) was about the same time of her death, murdered at Rhodes: trained thither by the falsehood of his Tutor, corrupted by Caesar. And so, hereby came the race of the Prolomies' to be wholly extinct, and the flourishing rich kingdom of Egypt utterly overthrown and subdued.   

THE TRAGEDY of Cleopatra.  

The Scene supposed Alexandria.  

THE ACTORS  
Cleopatra.  
Octavius Caesar.  
Proculeius.  
Dolabella.  
Titius, servant to dolabella.  
two Philosophers. 

Arius  
Philostratus.    
Seleucus, secretary to Cleopatra.  
Rodon, tutor to Caesario.  
Nuntius.  
The Chorus, all Egyptians.    

ACTUS PRIMUS.  Cleopatra. 

YET do I live, and yet doth breath extend  
My life beyond my life? not can my grave  
Shut up my griefs, to make my end my end?  
Will yet confusion have more than I have?  
Is th'honour, wonder, glory, pomp, and all  
Of Cleopatra dead, and she not dead?  
Have I outlived myself, and seen the fall  
Of all upon me, and not ruined?  
Can yet these eyes endure the ghastly look  
Of Desolations dark and ugly face,  
Want but on Fortune's fairest side to look,  
Where naught was but applause, but smiles, & grace?  
While on his shoulders all my rest relied  
On whom the Bu● than of ●●' ambition lay,  
My Atlas, and supporter of my pride  
That did the world of all my glory sway,  
Who now thrown down, disgraced, confounded lies  
Crushed with the weight of Shame and Infamy,  
Following th'unlucky party of mine eyes,  
The trains of lust and imbecility.  
Whereby my dissolution is become  
The grave of Egypt and the wrack of all;  
My unforeseeing weakness must int●●ome  
My Country's fame, and glory with my fall.  
Now who would think that I were she who late  
With all the ornaments on earth enriched,  
Environed with delights, compassed with state,  
Glittering in pomp that h●●s and eyes bewitched;  
Should thus distressed, cast down from of that height  
Levelled with low disgraced calamity,  
Under the weight of such affliction sigh,  
Reduced unto th'extr●●amest misery   

An I the woman whose inu●n●ue pride,  
Adorned like Isis, sco●●d mortality?  
Is't I would have my frailty so belied,  
That flattery could persuade I was no● I  
Well, than I see, they but delude that praise us,  
Greatness is mock, prosperity betray us:  
And we are but ourselves, although this cloud  
Of interposed smoke makes us seem more:  
These spreading parts of pomp whereof we're plourd.  
Are not our parts, but parts of others store.  
Witness these gallant fortune following trains,  
These Summer Swallows of felicity  
Go with the heat: of all, see what remains,  
This monument, two maids, and wretched I  
And I t'adorn their triumphs an reserved  
A captive, kept to honour others spoils,  
Whom Caesar labours so to have preserved  
And seeks to entertain my life with wiles.  
But Caesar, it is more than thou canst do,  
Promise', flatter, threaten extremity.  
Employ thy wits and all thy force thereto,  
I have both hands, and will, and I can die.  
Though thou, of both my country and my crown,  
Of power, of means and all dost quite bereave me●  
Though thou hast wholly Egypt made thy owne●  
Yet hast thou left me that which will deceive thee.  
That courage with my blood and birth innated,  
Admired of all the earth as thou art now,  
Can never be so abjectly abated  
To be thy slave that ruled as good as thou.  
Think Caesar, I that lived and reigned a Queen.  
Do scorn to buy my life at such a rate,  
That I should underneath myself be seen,  
Basely enduring to survive my state:  
That Rome should see my scepter-bearing hands  
Behind me bond, and glory in my tears,  
That I should pass whereas Octavia stands,  
To view my misery that purchased he●ss.  
Not, I disdain that head which wore a crown,  
Should stoop to rake up that which others give;  
I must not be, unless I be mine owne●  
'tis sweet to die when we are forced to live.  
Nor had I staid behind my s●lfe this space,  
Nor paid such interest for this borrowed breath,  
But that hereby I seek to purchase grace●  
For my distressed scede after my death●  
Its that which doth my dearest blood control,  
That's it alas detains me from my to●●be,  
While Nature brings to contradict my soul  
The argument of mine unhappy womb.   

You luckless issue of an woeful mother,  
The wretched pledges of a wanton bed,  
You Kings designed, must subjects live ●o other;  
Or else, I fear, scarce live, when I an dead.  
It is for you I temporize with Caesar,  
And stay this while to mediate your safety:  
For you I feign content and soothe his pleasure,  
Calamity herein hath made me crafty.  
But this is but to try what may be done,  
For come what will, this stands I must ●ie free,  
And die myself vncaptiu'd and unwon.  
Blood, Children, Nature, all must pardon me.  
My soul yields Honour up the victories  
And I must be a Queen, forget a mother,  
Though mother would I be, were I not I:  
And Queen would not be now, could I be other.   

But what know I if th'heavens have decreed,  
And that the sins of Egypt have deserved  
The Ptolemy's should fail and none succeed,  
And that my weakness was thereto reserved  
That I should bring confusion to my stare,  
And fill the measure of iniquity,  
luxuriousness in me should raise the rate  
Of lose and ill-dispensed liberty.  
If it be so, than what need these delays?  
Since I was made the means of misery:  
Why should I strive but to make death my praise,  
That had my life but for my infamy?  
And let me writ in letters of my blood  
A fit memorial for the times to come,  
To be example to such Princes good  
As please themselves, and care not what become.   

And Antony although the world takes note  
That my defects have only ruined thee:  
And my ambitious practices are thought  
The motive and the cause of all to be:  
Yet God thou knowest this stain is wrongly laid  
Upon my soul, whom ill success makes ill:  
And my condemned misfortune hath not aid  
Against proud luck that argues what it william  
I have not means to undeceive their minds,  
But to bring in the witness of my blood.  
To testify the faith and love that binds  
My equal shame, to fall with whom I stood.  
Defects I grant I had, but this was worst,  
That being the first to fall I died not first.   

Though I perhaps could lighten mine own side  
With some excuse of my constrained case  
Drawn down with pow●e: but that were to divide  
My shame: to stand alone in my disgrace.  
To clear me so, would show m●'affectionss nought  
And make th'excuse more heinous than the fall.  
Since if I should ou● errors disunite,  
I should confounded afflictions only rest,  
That from stern death even steals a sad delight  
To die with friends or with the like distressed.  
And since we took of either such firm hold  
In th'ouerwhelming seas of fortune cast.  
What power should be of power to reunfold  
The adames of our affections locked so fast.  
For grappling in the ocean of our pride,  
We sunke●adh others greatness both together:  
And both made shipwreck of our fame beside,  
Both wrought a like destruction unto either:  
And therefore I an bond to sacrifice  
To death and thee, the life that doth reproue'me:  
Our like distress I feel doth simpathi●e,  
And even affliction makes me truly love thee,  
Which Antony, I must confess my fault  
I never did sincerely until now,  
Now I protest I do, now an I taught  
In death to love, in life that known not how.  
For whilst my glory in her greatness stood,  
And that I see my state, and known my beauty:  
Saw how the world admired me, how they wooed,  
I than thought all men must love me of duty:  
And I love none; for my lascivious Court,  
Fertile in ever fresh and new-choise pleasure,  
Afforded me so bountiful disport,  
That I to stay on Love had never leisure:  
My vagabond desire's not limits sound.  
For lust is endless, pleasure hath not bound.  
Thou-babes coming from the strictness of thy City.  
And this lose pomp of monarches never learnest,  
enured to wars, in women's wiles unwitty,  
Whilst others feigned, thou fellest to love in earnest;  
Not knowing how we like them best that hover,  
And make lest reckoning of a doting lover.   

And yet thou cam'st but in my beauty's wain,  
When new appearing wrinkles of declining  
Wrought with the hand of years, seemed to detain  
My grace's light, as now but dimly shining  
Even in the confines of mine age, when I  
Failing of what I was, and was but thus;  
When such as we do deem in jealousy  
That men love for themselves, and not for us.  
Than, and but thus, thou didst love most sincerely  
OH Antony (who best deservest it better)  
This Autumn of my beauty bought so dearly,  
For which in more than death, I stand thy debtor.  
Which I will pay thee with so true a mind,  
(Casting up all these deep accounts of mine)  
That both our souls, and all the world shall found  
All reckonings cleared, betwixt my love and thy.   

But to the end I may prevent proud Caesar,  
Who doth so eagerly my life importune,  
I must prevail me of this little leisure,  
Seeming to suit my mind unto my fortune;  
Thereby with more convenience to provide  
For what my death and honour best shall fit:  
An yielding base content must wary hid  
My last design till I accomplish it,  
That hereby yet the world shall see that I,  
Although unwise to live, had wit to die.   Exit CHORUS. 

BEhold what furies still  
Torment their tortured breast,  
Who by their doing ill,  
Have wrought the worlds unrest.  
Which when being most distressed,  
Yet more to vex their spirit,  
The hideous face of sin.  
(In forms they must detest)  
Stands ever in their sight.  
Their conscience still within  
Th'eternal alarm is  
That ever-barking dog that calls upon their miss.   

Not means at all to hid  
Man from himself can find:  
Not way to start aside  
Out from the hell of mind.  
But in himself confined,  
He still seas sin before:  
And winged-footed pain,  
That swiftly comes behind,  
The which is evermore,  
The sure and certain gain  
Impiety doth get,  
And wanton lose respect, that doth itself forget.   

And Cleopatra now,  
Well seas the dangerous way  
She took, and cared not● how,  
Which led her to decay.   

And likewise makes us pay  
For her disordered lust,  
The interest of our blood:  
Or live a servile prey,  
Under a hand unjust,  
As others shall think good.  
This hath her riot won  
And thus she hath her state herself and us undone.   

Now every mouth can tell,  
What close was muttered:  
How that she did not well,  
To take the course she did.   

For now is nothing hide,  
Of what fear did restrain,  
Not secret closely done,  
But now is uttered.  
The text is made most plain  
That flattery glossed upon,  
The bed of sin revealed,  
And all the luxury that shame would have concealed.   

The scene is broken down,  
And all uncovered lies,  
The purple actors known  
Scarce men, whom men despise.   

The complots of the wise,  
Prove imperfections smoke:  
And all what wonder gave  
To pleasure-gazing eyes,  
Lies scattered, dashed, all broken.  
Thus much beguiled have  
Poor unconsiderate wights,  
These momentary pleasures● fugitive delights.    

ACTUS SECUNDUS.  Caesar. Proculeius. 

KIngdoms I see we win, we conquer Climates,  
Yet cannot vanquish hearts, nor force obedience,  
Affections kept in close-concealed limits.  
Stand far without the reach of sword or violence,  
Who forced do pay us duty, pay not love:  
Free is the heart, the temple of the mind,  
The Sanctuary sacred from above,  
Where nature keeps the keys that lose and bind.  
Not mortal hand force open can that door,  
So close shut up, and locked to all mankind:  
I see man's bodies only ours, not more,  
The rest, another's right, that rules the mind.   

Behold, my forces vanquished have this Land,  
Subdued that strong Competitor of mine:  
All Egypt yields to my all-conqu'ring hand,  
And all their treasure and themselves resign,  
Only this Queen, that hath lost all this all.  
To whom is nothing left except a mind:  
Cannot into a thought of yielding fall,  
To be disposed as Chance hath her assigned.  
But Proculei, what hope doth she now give,  
Will she be brought to condescend to live?   Proc. 

My Lord, what time being sent from you to try  
To win her forth al●●e (if that I might)  
From out the Monument, where woefully  
She lives enclosed in most afflicted plight:  
Not way I found, not means how to surprise her,  
But through a gra●e at th'entry of the place  
Standing to treat, I laboured to advise her,  
To come to Caesar, and to sue for grace.  
She said she craved not life, but leave to die,  
Yet for her children, prayed they might inherit,  
That Caesar would vouchsafe (in clemency)  
To pity them, though she deserved not merit.  
So leaving her for than; and since of late,  
With Gallus sent to try an other time,  
The whilst he entertains her at the grate,  
I found the means up to the Tomb to climb.  
Where, in descending in the closest wise,  
And silent manner as I could contrive:  
Her woman me descried, and out she cries,  
Poor Cleopatra, thou art ta'en alive.  
With that the Queen ●aught from her side her knife,  
And even in act to stab her martyred breast,  
I stepped with speed, and held, and saved her life,  
And forth her trembling hand the shoulder-blade did wrist.  
Ah Cleopatra, why shouldst thou, (said I)  
Both injury thyself and Caesar so?  
Bar him the honour of his victory,  
Who ever deals most mildly with his foe?  
Live, and rely on him, whose mercy will  
To thy submission always ready be.   

With that (as all amazed) she held her still,  
Twixt majesty confuzed and misery.  
Her proud grieved eyes, held sorrow and disdain,  
State and distress warring within her soul:  
Dying ambition disposlest her reign,  
So base affliction seemed to control.  
Like as a burning Lamp, whose liquor spent  
With intermitted flames, when dead you deem it,  
Sends forth a dying slash, as discontent,  
That so the matter fails that should redeem it:  
So she (in spite) to see her low-brought state,  
When all her hopes were now consumed to naught)  
Scorns yet to make an abject league with Fate,  
Or once descend into a servile thought.  
Th'imperious tongue unused to beseech,  
Authority confounds with prayers so  
That words of power conjoined with humble speech,  
show'd she would live, yet scorned to pray her foe.   

Ah, what hath Caesar here to do, said she,  
In confines of the dead in darkness lying?  
Will he not grant our sepulchres be free,  
But violate the privilege of dying?  
What, must he stretch forth his ambitious hand  
Into the right of Death, and force us here?  
Hath Misery not covert where to stand  
Free from the storm of Pride, is't safe not where?  
Cannot my land, my gold, my crown suffice,  
And all what I held dear, to him made common,  
But that he must in this sort tyrannize,  
Th'afflicted body of an woeful woman?  
Tell him, my frailty, and the gods have given  
Sufficient glory, could he be content:  
And let him now with his desires make even,  
And leave me to this horror, to lament.  
Now he hath taken all away from me,  
What must he take me from myself by force?  
Ah, let him yet (in mercy) leave me free  
The kingdom of this poor distressed corpse.  
Not other crownel seek, not other good.  
Yet wish that Caesar would vouchsafe this grace,  
To favour the poor offspring of my blood.  
Confused issue, yet of Roman race.  
If blood and name be links of love in Princes,  
Not spurs of hate; my poor Caesario may  
Find favour notwithstanding mine offences,  
And Caesar's blood, may Caesar's raging stay.  
But if that with the torrent of my fall,  
All must be rapt with furious violence,  
And not respect, nor not regard at all,  
Can aught with nature or with blood dispense:  
Than be it so, if needs it must be so.  
There stays and shrinckes in horror of her state:  
When I began to mitigate her woe,  
And thy great mercies unto her relate;  
Wishing her not despair, but rather come  
And sue for grace● and shake of idle fears:  
Not doubt she should obtain as gentle doom  
As she desired, both for herself and hers.  
And so with much ado, (well pacified  
Seeming to be) she show'd content to live,  
Saying she was resolved thy doom t'abide,  
And to accept what favour thou wouldst give,  
And here withal craved also that she might  
Perform her last●●teses to her lost beloved.  
To sacrifice to him that wrought her plight:  
And that she might not be by force removed.  
I granting from thy part this her request,  
L●●● her for than, seeming in better rest.   Caes. 
But dost thou think she will remain so still?  Pro. 
I think, and do assure myself she william  Caes. 
Ah, private men sound not the hearts of Princes,  
Whose purposes bear contrary pretences.  Pro. 
Why 'tis her safety to come yield to thee.  Caes. 
But 'tis more honour for her to die free.  Pro. 
She may thereby procure her children's good.  Caes. 
Princes are not allied unto their blood.  Pro. 
Can Princes power dispense with nature than?  Caes. 
To be a Prince, is more than be a man  Pro. 
There's none but have in time persuaded been,  Caes, 
And so might she too, were she not a Queen.  Pro. 
divers respects will force her be reclaimed.  Caes. 
Princes (like Lions) never will be ●amed  
A private man may yield and care not how,  
But greater hearts will break before they bow.  
And sure I think she'll never condescend,  
To live to grace our spoils with her disgrace:  
But yet let still a wary troop attend,  
To guard her person, and to watch the place.  
And look that none with her come to confer:  
Shortly myself will go to visit her.  CHORUS. 

OPINION, how dost thou molest  
Th'affected mind of restless man?  
Who following thee never can,  
Nor ever shall attain to rest,  
For getting what thou sayst is best,  
Yet lo, that best he finds far wide  
Of what thou promisedst before:  
For in the same he looked for more,  
Which proves but small when once 'tis tried  
Than something else thou findest beside.  
To draw him still from thought to thought,  
When in the end all proves but naught.  
Farther from rest he finds him than,  
Than at the first when he begun.   

OH malcontent seducing guest,  
Contriver of our greatest woes:  
Which born of wind, and fed with shows.  
Dost nurse thyself in thy unrest.  
judging ungotten things the best,  
Or what thou in conceit desig'nst,  
And all things in the world dost deem,  
Not as they are, but as they seem:  
Which shows, their state thou ill rain'st,  
And liv'st to come, in present pinest.  
For what thou hast, thou still dost lack:  
OH minds tormentor, body's wrack,  
Vain promiser of that sweet rest,  
Which never any yet possessed.   

If we unto ambition tend,  
Than dost thou draw our weakness on,  
With vain imagination  
Of that which never hath an end.  
Or if that lust we apprehended,  
How doth that pleasant plague infested?  
OH what strange forms of luxury,  
Thou-babes straight dost cast t'entice us by?  
And tell'st us that is ever best,  
Which we have never yet possessed.  
And that more pleasure rests beside,  
In something that we have not tried.  
And when the sanse likewise is had,  
Than all is one, and all is bad.   

This Antony can say is true,  
And Cleopatra knows 'tis so,  
By th'experience of their woe.  
She can say, she never known  
But that lust found pleasures new,  
And was never satisfied:  
He can say by proof of toil,  
Ambition is a Vulture vile,  
That feeds upon the heart of pride:  
And finds not rest when all is tried.  
For worlds cannot confine the one,  
Th'other, lists and bounds hath none.  
And both subvert the mind, the state,  
Procure destruction, envy, hate.   

And now when all this is proved vain,  
Yet Opinion leaves not here,  
But sticks to Cleopatra near,  
Persuading now, how she shall gain  
Honour by death's and fame attain.  
And what a shame it were to live,  
Her kingdom lost, her Lover dead:  
And so with this persuasion led,  
Despair doth such a courage give,  
That naught else can her mind relieve,  
Nor yet divert her from that thought:  
To this conclusion all is brought:  
This is that rest this vain world lends,  
To end in death that all things ends.    

ACTUS TERTIUS.  
Philostratus. Arius. 

HOw deeply Arius an I bond to thee,  
That savedst from death this wretched life of mine:  
Obtaining Caesar's gentle grace for me,  
When I of all helps else despaired but thy?  
Although I see in such a woeful state.  
Life is not that which should be much desired  
Sigh all our glories come to end their date,  
Our Country's honour and our own expired  
Now that the hand of wrath hath ouer-gone us.  
We live but as i● th'arms of our dead mother,  
With blood under our feet, ruin upon us,  
And in a Land most wretched of all other,  
When yet we reckon life our dearest good.  
And so we live, we care not how we live:  
So deep we feel impressed in our blood,  
That touch which Nature with our breath did give.  
And yet what blasts of words hath Learning found,  
To blow against the fear of death and dying?  
What comforts vnsicke eloquence can sound,  
And yet all fails us in the point of trying.  
For whilst we reason with the breath of safety,  
Without the compass of destruction living,  
What precepts show we than what courage lofty  
In taxing others fears in council giving?  
When all this air of sweet-contrived words  
Proves but weak armour to defend the heart.  
For when this life, pale Fear and Terror boards,  
Where are our precepts than, where is our art?  
OH who is he that from himself can turn,  
That bears about the body of a man?  
Who doth not toil and labour to adjourn  
The day of death, by any means he can?  
All this I speak to th'end myself t'excuse,  
For my base begging of a servile breath,  
Wherein I grant myself much to abuse,  
So shamefully to seek t'avoid my death.   Arius. 

Philostratus, that self s●me care to live,  
Possesseth all alike, and grieve not than,  
Nature doth us not more than others give:  
Though we speak more than men, we are but men.  
And yet (in truth) these miseries to see,  
Wherein we stand in most extreme distress:  
Might to ourselves sufficient motives be  
To loathe this life, and weigh our death the less:  
For never any age hath better taught,  
What feeble footing pride and greatness hath.  
How 'improvident prosperity is caught.  
And clean confounded in the day of wrath.  
See how dismayed Confusion keeps those streets.  
That naught but mirth and music late resounded,  
How nothing with our eic but horror meets,  
Our state, our wealth, our pride and all confounded.  
Yet what weak sight did not discern from far  
This black-arising tempest, all confounding?  
Who did not see we should be what we are,  
When pride and riot grew to such abounding.  
When dissolute impiety possessed  
Th'unrespective minds of prince and people:  
When insolent Security found rest  
In wanton thoughts, which lust and ease made feeble.  
Than when unwary Peace with fatfed pleasure:  
New-fresh muented riots still detected.  
Purchased with all the Ptolemy's rich treasure,  
Our laws, our gods, our mysteries neglected.  
Who see not how this confluence of vice,  
This inundation of disorders, must  
At length of force pay back the bloody price  
Of sad destruction, (a reward for lust)  
OH thou and I have herded, and read, and known  
Of like proud states, as woefully encumbered.  
And framed by them, examples for our own:  
Which now among examples must be numbered.  
For this decree a law from high is given,  
An ancient Canon, of eternal date,  
In Consistory of the stars of heaven,  
Entered the Book of unavoided Fate:  
That not state can in heigh of happiness.  
In the'exaltation of their glory stand:  
But thither once arrived declining less,  
Ruin themselves, or fall by others hand.  
Thus doth the ever-changing course of things  
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning:  
And that same day that highest glory brings,  
Brings us unto the point of back-returning:  
For senseless sensuality, doth ever  
Accompany felicity and greatness.  
A fatal witch, whose charms do leave us never  
Till we leave all in sorrow for our sweetness;  
When yet ourselves must be the cause we fall,  
Although the same be first decreed on high:  
Our errors still must bear the blame of all,  
This must it be: earth, ask not heaven why.   

Yet mighty men with wary jealous hand,  
Strive to cut of all obstacles of fear:  
All whatsoever seems but to withstand  
Their least conceit of quiet held so ●eere:  
And so entrench themselves with blood with crimes,  
With all injustice as their fears dispose:  
Yet for all this we see, how oftentimes  
The means they work to keep are means to loose,  
And sure I cannot see, how this can stand  
With great Augustus' glory and his honour,  
T'extinguish the succession of our land,  
For her offence that pulled the wars upon her,   Phi. 
Must all her issue be confounded now?  Ari. 
Yea all that from the roots of kings did grow,  Phi. 
And sweet Caesario sprung of Caesar's blood?  Ari. 
Plurality of Caesar's are not good.  Phi. 
Alas, what hurt procures his feeble arm?  Ari. 
Not for it doth, but that it may do harm.  Phi. 
Than when it offers hurt, repress the same.  Ari. 
'tis best to quench a spark before it flame.  Phi. 
'tis inhuman, an innocent to kill.  Ari. 

Such innocents' seldom remain so still.  
And sure his death may best procure our peace,  
Competitors the subject dearly buys:  
And so that our affliction may surcease,  
Let great men be the people's sacrifice.   

But see where Caesar comes himself to try  
And work the mind of our distressed Queen  
With some deluding hope: whereby  
She might be drawn to have her fortune seen.  
But yet I trust, Rome will not see that face  
(That quelled her champions) blush in base disgrace,    

SCENA SECUNDA.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Selucus, Dolabella. Caesar. 

What Cleopatra, dost thou doubt so much  
Of Caesar's mercy, that thou hidest thy face?  
Or dost thou think, thy offences can be such,  
That they surmount the measure of our grace?   Cle. 

OH Caesar, not for that I fly thy sight  
My soul this sad retire of sorrow choose:  
But that m'oppressed thoughts abhorring light  
Like best in darkness, my disgrace t'enclose.  
And here to these close limits of despair,  
This solitary horror where I bide:  
Caesar, I thought not Roman should repair,  
Moore after him, who here oppressed died.  
Yet now, here at thy conquering feet I lie,  
Poor captive soul, that never thought to bow:  
Whose happy foot of rule and Majesty  
Stood late on that same ground thou standest now.   Caes. 

Rise Queen, none but thyself is cause of all,  
And yet, would all were but thy own alone:  
That others ruin had not with thy fall  
Brought Rome her sorrows, to my triumphs moon.  
For breaking of the league of love and blood,  
Thou-babes makest my winning joy again unpleasing:  
Sith th'eye of griefs look not into our good,  
But thor'w the horror of our own blood shedding.  
And all, we must attribute unto thee.   Cle. 

To me? Caesar, what should a woman do  
Oppressed with greatness? what was it for me  
To contradict my Lord, being bend thereto?  
I was by love, by fear by weakness, made  
An instrument to such designs as these.  
For when the Lord of all the Orient bade,  
Who but obeyed? who was not glad to please?  
And how could I withdraw my succouring hand  
From him that had my heart, and what was mine?  
The interest of my faith in straightest band,  
My love to his most firmly did combine.   Caes. 

Love? ah not not, it was th'innated hatred  
That thou and thy haste ever born our people:  
That made thee seek all means to have us scattered,  
To disunite our strength, and make us feeble.  
And therefore did that breast nurse our dissension,  
With hope t'exalt thyself, t'augment thy state:  
To pray upon the wrack of our contention,  
And (with the rest our foes,) to joy thereat.   Cleo: 

OH Caesar, see how easy 'tis t'accuse  
Whom Fortune hath made faulty by their fall,  
The wretched conquered may not resuse  
The titles of reproach he's charged withal.  
The conquering cause hath right, wherein thou art,  
The vanquished still is judged the worse part.  
Which part is mine, because I lost my part.  
Not lesser than the portion of a Crown.  
Enough for me, alas was needed art  
To gain by others, but to keep mine own?  
But here let weaker powers note what it is,  
To neighbour great Competitors too near,  
If we take part, we often do perish thus,  
If neutral bide, both parties we must fear.  
Alas, what shall the forced partakers do,  
When following none, yet must they perish too?  
But Caesar, sith thy right and cause is such,  
Be not a heavy weight upon calamity:  
Depress not the afflicted overmuch,  
The chiefest glory is the Victor's lenity.  
Th'inheritance of mercy from him take,  
Of whom thou hast thy fortune● and thy name:  
Great Caesar me a Queen at first did make,  
And let not Caesar now confounded the same,  
Read here these lines which still I keep with me,  
The witness of his love and favours ever:  
And God forbidden this should be said of thee,  
That Caesar wronged the favoured of Caesar.  
For look what I have been to Antony  
Think thou the same I might have been to thee.  
And here I do present thee with the note  
Of all the treasure, all the jewels rate  
That Egypt hath in many ages got;  
And look what Cleopatra hath, is there.   Seleu. 
Nay there's not all set down within that roll,  
I know some things she hath reserved apart.  Cle. 
What vile ungrateful wretch, darest tho● control  
Thy Queen and sovereign, caitive as thou art.  Caes. 
Hold, hold; a poor revenge can work so feeble hands  Cle. 

Ah Caesar, what a great indignity  
Is this, that here my vassal subject stands  
TO accuse me to my Lord of trecher●e?  
If I reserved some certain women's toys,  
Alas it was not for myself (God knows,)  
Poor miserable soul, that little joys  
In trifling ornaments in outward shows.  
But what I kept, I kept to make my way  
Unto thy Livia and Octavius grace,  
That thereby in compassion moved, they  
Might mediate thy favour in my case.   Caes. 

Well Cleopatra, fear not, thou shalt find  
What favour thou desirest, or canst expect:  
For Caesar never yet was found but kind  
To such as yield, and can themselves subject.  
And therefore give thou comfort to thy mind,  
Relieve thy soul thus overcharged with care,  
How well I will entreat thee thou shalt found,  
So soon as some affairs dispatched are.  
Till when farewell. Cl. Thanks thrice renowned Caesar,  
Poor Cleopatra rests thy own for ●uer.   Dol. 

Not marvel Caesar though our greatest spirits,  
Have to the power of such act arming beauty  
Been brought to yield the honour of their merits:  
Forgetting all respect of other duty.  
Than whilst the glory of her youth remained  
The wondering object to each wanton eye':  
Before her full of sweet (with sorrow waned,)  
Came to the period of this misery.  
If still, even in the midst of death and horror  
Such beauty shines, thorough clouds of age & sorrow,  
If even those sweet decay seem to plead for her,  
Which from affliction moving graces borrow:  
If in calamity she could thus move,  
What could she do adorned with youth and love?  
What could she do than, when as spreading wide  
The pomp of beauty, in her glory dight?  
When armed with wonder, she could use beside,  
Th'ingines of her love, Hope and Delight?   

Daughter of Marvel beauty OH see how  
Thou-babes canst disgracing sorrows sweetly grace.  
What power thou showest in a distressed brow,  
That makest affliction fair, giv'st tears their grace.  
What can untressed locks, can torn rend hair,  
A weeping eye, a waiilng face be fair?  
I see than, artless feature can content,  
And that true beauty needs not ornament,   Caes. 

What in passion a Dolabella? what take heed:  
Let others fresh examples be thy warning:  
What mischiefs these, so idle humours breed,  
Whilst error keeps us from a true discerning.  
Indeed I see she laboured to impart  
Her sweetest graces in her saddest cheer:  
Presuming on the face that known the art  
To move with what aspect so e'er it were.  
But all in vain, she takes her aim amiss.  
The ground and mark her level much deceives:  
Time now hath altered all, for neither is  
She as she was, nor we as she conceives.  
And therefore now leave he● unto her sadness  
Folly in youth is sin, in age, 'tis madness.   

And for my part, I seek but t'entertain  
In her some feeding hope to draw her forth,  
The greatest Trophy that my travail ● gain,  
●●to bring home a prizal of such worth.  
A●● now, sith that she seems so well content.  
To be disposed by us, without more stay  
She with her children shall to Rome be fent,  
Whilst I by Syria thither take my way.   CHORUS. 

OH Fearful frowning Nemesis,  
Daughter of justice, most severe,  
That art the world's great arbitress,  
And Queen of causes reigning here:  
Whose swift-sure hand is ever near  
Eternal justice, righting wrong:  
Who never yet deferrest long  
The prowds decay, the weaks redress:  
But through thy power every where,  
Dost raze the great, and raise the less.  
The less made great dost ruin too,  
To show the earth what heaven can do.   

Thou-babes from darke-clos'd eternity,  
From thy black cloudy hidden seat,  
The world's disorders dost descry:  
Which when they swell so proudly great,  
Reversing th'order nature set,  
Thou-babes giv'st thy all confounding doom,  
Which none can know before it come.  
Th'inevitable destiny,  
Which neither wit nor strength can let,  
Fast chained unto necessity,  
In mortal things doth order so,  
Th'alternate course of weal or wo.   

OH how the powers of heaven do play  
With travailed mortality:  
And doth their weakness still betray,  
In their best prosperity?  
When being lifted up so high,  
They look beyond themselves so far,  
That to themselves they take not care;  
Whilst swift confusion down doth lay,  
Their late proud mounting vanity:  
Bringing their glory to decay,  
And with the ruin of their fall,  
Extinguish people, state and all.   

But is it justice that all we  
The innocent poor multitude,  
For great man's faults should punished be,  
And to destruction thus pursued?  
OH why should th'heavens us include,  
Within the compass of their fall,  
Who of themselves procured all?  
Or do the gods in close decree,  
Occasion take how to extrude  
Man from the earth with cruelty?  
Ah not, the gods are ever just,  
Our faults excuse their rigour must.   

This is the period Fate set down,  
To Egypt's fat prosperity:  
Which now unto her greatest grown,  
Must perish thus, by course must die,  
And some must be the causers why  
This revolution must be wrought:  
As born to bring their state to naught:  
To change the people and the crown,  
And purge the world's iniquity:  
Which vice so far hath over grown.  
As we, so they that treat us thus,  
Must one day perish like to us.     

ACTUS QVARTUS.  Seleucus. Rodon. Sel. 

FRiend Rodon never in a better bower,  
Can I have met thee than even now I do,  
Having affliction in the greatest power  
Upon my soul, and none to tell it too.  
For 'tis some ease our sorrows to reveal,  
If they to whom we shall impart our woes  
Seem but to feel a part of what we feel:  
And meet us with a sigh but at a close.   Rod. 

And never (friend Seleuchus) found'st thou one  
That better could bear such a part with thee:  
Who by his own, knows others cares to moan,  
And can, in like accord of grief, agreed.  
And therefore tell th'oppression of thy heart,  
Tell to an ear prepared and tuned to care:  
And I will likewise unto thee impart  
As sad a tale as what thou shalt declare.  
So shall we both our mournful plaints combine,  
I'll wail thy state, and thou shalt pity mine.   Cel. 

Well than, thou knowest how I have lived in grace  
With Cleopatra, and esteemed in Court  
As one of Council, and of chiefest place,  
And ever held my credit in that sort.  
Till now in this confusion of our state,  
When thinking to have used a mean to climb,  
And fled the wretched, flown unto the great,  
(Following the fortune of the present time,)  
An come to be cast down and ruined clean;  
And in the course of mine own plot undone.  
For having all the secrets of the Queen  
Revealed to Caesar, to have favour won.  
My treachery is quited with disgrace,  
My falsehood loathed, and not without great reason.  
Though good for him, yet Princes in this case  
Do hate the Traitor, though they love the treason.  
For how could he imagine I would be  
Faithful to him, being false unto mine own?  
And false to such a bounteous Queen as she.  
That had me raised and made mine honour known.  
He see 'twas not for zeal to him I bore,  
But for base fear, or mine own state to settle.  
Weakness is false, and faith in Cowards rare,  
Fear finds out shifts, timidity is subtle.  
And therefore scorned of him, scorned of mine own.  
Hateful to all that look into my state:  
Despised Seleucus now is only grown  
The mark of infamy, that is pointed at.   Rod. 

'tis much thou sayst, and OH too much to feel,  
And I do grieve and do lament thy fall:  
But yet all this which thou dost here reveal,  
Compared with mine, will make thy seem but small.  
Although my fault be in the self-same kind,  
Yet in degree far greater, far more hateful;  
Mine sprung of mischief, thy from feeble mind,  
I stained with blood, thou only but ungrateful.  
For unto me did Cleopatra giust  
The best and dearest treasure of her blood,  
Lovely Caesario, whom she would have live  
Free from the dangers wherein Egypt stood.  
And unto me with him this charge she gave,  
Here Rodon, take, convey from out this coast,  
This precious Gem, the chiefest that I have,  
The jewel of any soul I value most.  
Guide him to India, lead him far from hence,  
Safeguard him where secure he may remain,  
Till better fortune call him back from thence,  
And Egypt's peace be reconciled again.  
For this is he that may our hopes bring back;  
(The rising Sun of our declining state:)  
These be the hands that may restore our wrack,  
And raise the broken ruins made of late.  
He may give limits to the boundless pride  
Of fierce Octavius, and abate his might:  
Great julius of● spring, he may come to guide  
The Empire of the world, ●s his by right.   

OH how he seems the model of his Sire?  
OH how I gaze my Caesar in his face?  
Such was his gate, so did his looks aspire;  
Such was his threatening brow, such was his grace.  
High shouldered, and his forehead even as high.  
And OH, (if he had not been born so late.)  
He might have ruled the world's great Monarchy.  
And now have been the Champion of our state.   

Than unto him, OH my dear Son (she says,)  
Son of my youth, fly hence, OH fly, be go,  
Reserve thyself, ordained for better days,  
For much thou hast to ground thy hopes upon.  
Leave me (thy woeful Mother) to endure  
The fury of this tempest here alone,  
Who cares not for herself, so thou be sure,  
Thou-babes mayst revenge, when others can but moon:  
Rodon will see thee safe, Rodon will guide  
Thee and thy ways, thou shalt not need to fear.  
Rodon (My faithful servant) will provide  
What shall be best for the, take thou not care.  
And OH good Rodon, look well to his youth,  
The ways are long, and dangers every where.  
I urge it not that I do doubt thy truth,  
Mothers will cast the worst, and always fear.  
The absent danger greater still appears,  
Less fears he, who is near the thing he fears.  
And OH, I know nor what presaging thought  
My spirit suggests of luckless bad event:  
But yet it may be 'tis but Love doth dote,  
Or idle shadows with my fears present,  
But yet the memory of mine own fate  
Makes me fear his. And yet why should I fear  
His fortune may recover better state,  
And he may come in pomp to govern here.  
But yet I doubt the Genius of our race  
By some malignant spirit comes overthrown:  
Our blood must be extinct, in my disgrace,  
Egypt must have not more Kings of their own,  
Than let him stay, and let us fall together,  
Sith it is fore-decreed that we must all?  
Yet who knows what may come? let him go thither.  
What Merchant i● one vessel ventures all?  
Let us d●uide our stars. Go, go my son,  
Let not the fate of Egypt find thee here:  
Try if so be thy destiny can shun  
The common wrack of us by being there.  
But who is he found'st ever yet defence  
Against the heavens, or hide him any where?  
Than what need I to sand thee so far hence  
To seek thy death that mayst as well die here?  
And here die with thy mother, die in rest,  
Not traveling to what will come to thee.  
Why should we leave our blood unto the East,  
When Egypt may a Tomb sufficient be?   

OH my divided soul, what shall I do?  
Whereon shall now my resolution rest?  
What were I best resolve to yield unto,  
When both are bad, how shall I know the best?  
Stay, I may hap so work with Caesar now,  
That he may yield him to restore thy right.  
Go: Caesar never will consent that thou  
So near in blood, shalt be so great in might.  
Than take him Rodon, go my son, farewell.  
But stay there's something else that I would say:  
Yet nothing now, but OH god speed thee well,  
Jest saving more, that more may make thee stay.  
Yet let me speak: It may be 'tis the last,  
That ever I shall speak to thee my son,  
Do Mothers use to part in such post hast?  
What, must I end when I have scarce begun?  
Ah not (dear heart) 'tis not such slender twine  
Where with the knot is tied twixt thee and me,  
That blood within thy veins came out of mine,  
Parting from thee I part from part of me:  
And therefore I must speak. Yet what? OH son.   

Here more she would, when more she could not say,  
Sorrow rebounding back whence it begun,  
Filled up the passage, and quite stopped the way:  
When sweet Caesario with a princely spirit,  
(Though comfortless himself) did comfort give,  
With mildest words persuading her to bear it.  
And as for him, she should not need to grieve.  
And I (with protestations of my part.)  
Sworn by that faith, (which sworn I did deceive)  
That I would use all care, all wit and art  
To see him safe; And so we took our leave.  
Scarce had we travailed to our iurnie● end,  
When Caesar having knowledge of our way,  
His Agents after us with speed doth sand  
To labour me Caesario to betray.  
Who with rewards and promises so large,  
Assailed me than, that I grew soon content  
And back to Rhodes did reconvey my charge,  
Pretending that Octavius for him sent,  
To make him King of Egypt presently.   

And thither come, seeing himself betrayed.  
And in the hands of death through treachery,  
Wailing his state, thus to himself he said.  
Lo here brought back by subtle train to death  
Betrayed by Tutor's faith, or traitors rather  
My fault my blood, and mine offence my birth,  
For being son of such a mighty Father.   

From India, (whither sent by mother's care,  
To be reserved from Egypt's common wrack,)  
To Rhodes, (so long the arms of tyrants are,)  
I an by Caesar's subtle reach brought back:  
Hear to be made th'oblation for his fears,  
Who doubts the poor revenge these hands may do him  
Respecting neither blood, nor youth, nor years,  
Or how small safety can my death be to him.   

And is this all the good of being born great?  
Than wretched greatness proud rich misery,  
Pompous distress, glittering calamity.  
Is it for this th'ambitious Fathers sweated,  
To purchase blood and death for them and there's?  
I● this the issue that their glories get,  
So leave a sure destruction to their heirs?  
OH how much better had it been for me,  
From low descent, derived of humble birth,  
T'have eat the sweet sour bread of poverty,  
And drunk of Nilus' streams in Nilus' earth.  
Under the covering of some quiet Cottage,  
Free from the wrath of heaven, secure in mind,  
Untouched when sad events of princess' dottage  
Confounds what ever mighty it doth find.  
Out of the way of greatness, whose condition  
Is to have all made clear, and all thing plain  
Between them and the mark of their ambition,  
That nothing let, the full sight of their reign  
Where nothing stands, that stands not in submission;  
Where greatness must all in itself contain.  
King's will be alone, Competitors must down,  
Near death he stands, that stands to near a Crown.   

Such is my case, for Caesar will have all.  
My blood must feal th'assurance of his state:  
Yet ah weak state that blood assure him shall,  
Whose wrong full shedding, gods and men do hate.  
Injustice never escapes unpunished still,  
Though men revenge not, yet the heavens william   

And thou Augustus that with bloody hand,  
Cut'st of succession from another's race,  
Mayst found the heavens thy vows so to withstand,  
That others may deprive thy in like case  
When thou mayst see thy proud contentious bed  
Yielding thee none of thy that may inherit:  
Subvert thy blood, place others in their stead,  
To pay this thy injustice her due merit.   

If it be true (as who can that deny  
Which sacred Priests of Memphis do foresay)  
Some of the offspring yet of Antony.  
Shall all the rule of this whole Empire sway;  
And than Augustus, what is it thou gainest  
By poor Antillus' blood, or this of mine?  
Nothing but this thy victory thou, stainest,  
And pullest the wrath of heaven on thee and thy.  
In vain doth man contend against the star's,  
For that he seeks to make, his wisdom mars.  
Yet in the meantime we whom Fates reserve,  
The bloody sacrifices of ambition  
We feel the smart what ever they deserve,  
And we endure the present times condition.  
The justice of the heavens revenging thus,  
Doth only satisfy itself, not us.   

Yet 'tis a pleasing comfort that doth ease  
Affliction in so great extremity.  
To think their dike destruction shall appease  
Our ghosts, who did procure our misery.  
But dead we are, uncertain what shall be,  
And living, we are sure to feel the wrong:  
Our certain ruin we ourselves do see.  
They joy the while, and we know not how long.  
But yet Caesarie, thou must die content,  
For men will moon, and God revenge th'innocent.  
Thus he complained, and thus thou hea'rst my shame,   S●l. 
But how hath Caesar now rewarded thee?  Rod. 

As he hath thee. And I expect the same,  
As fallen to Theodor to fall to me:  
For he (one of my coat) having betrayed  
The young Antillus' son of Anthony,  
And at his death from of his neck conveyed  
A jewel: which being ask●, he did deny:  
Caesar occasion took to hung him straight.  
Such instruments with Princes live not long.  
Although they need such actors of deceit,  
Yet still our sight seems to upbraid their wrong;  
And therefore we must needs this danger run,  
And in the net of our own guile be caught:  
We must not live to brag what we have done.  
For what is done, must not appear their fault.  
But here comes Cleopatra, Woeful Queen,  
And our shame will not that we should be seen.   Exeunt. Cleopatra. 

WHat hath my face yet power to win a Lover?  
Can this torn remnant serve to grace me so,  
That it can Caesar's secret plots discover  
What he intends with me and mine to do?  
Why than poor Beauty thou hast done thy last,  
And best good service thou couldst do unto me.  
For now the time of death revealed thou hast,  
Which in my life didst serve but to undo me.   

Hear Dolabella far forsooth in love,  
Writes, how that Caesar means forthwith, to sand  
Both me and mine, th'air of Rome to prove:  
There his Triumphant Chariot to attend.  
I thank the man, both for his love and letter;  
The one comes fit to warn me thus before,  
But for th'other, I must die his debtor,  
For Cleopatra now can love not more.   

But having leave, I must go take my leave  
And last farewell of my dead Anthony:  
Whose dearly honoured tomb must here receive  
This sacrifice, the last before I die   

OH sacred ever-memorable stone,  
That hast without my tears, within my flame,  
Receive th'oblation of the woefull'st moan  
That ever yet from sad affliction came.  
And you dear relics of my Lord and Love,  
(The sweetest parcels of the faithfullest liver,)  
OH let not impious hand dare to remove  
You out from hence, but rest you here for ever.  
Let Egypt now give peace unto you dead,  
That living gave you trouble and turmoil:  
Sleep quiet in this everlasting bed,  
In foreign land preferred before your soil,  
And OH, if that the spirits of men remain  
After their bodies; and do never die,  
Than hear thy ghost, thy captive spouse complain,  
And be attentive to her misery.  
But if that laboursome mortality  
Found this sweet error, only to confine  
The curious search of idle vanity,  
That would the depth of darkness undermine:  
Or rather to give rest unto the thought  
Of wretched man, with th'after-coming joy  
Of those conceived fields whereon we dote,  
To pacify the present world's annoy:  
Than do I speak but only to the air:  
But 'tis not so, my Anthony doth hear:  
His everliving ghost attends my prayer,  
And I do know his hovering spirit is near.  
And I will speak, and pray, and mourn to thee,  
OH pure immortal love that deign'st to hear:  
I feel thou answerest my credulity  
With touch of comfort, finding none elsewhere.  
Thou-babes knowest these hands entombed thee here of late,  
Free and unforced, which now must servile be,  
Reserved for bands to grace proud Caesar's state,  
Who seeks in me to triumph over thee.  
OH if in life we could not severed be,  
Shall death divide our bodies now a sunder?  
Must thy in Egypt, mine in Italy,  
Be kept the Monuments of Fortune's wonder?  
If any powers be there whereas thou art,  
(Sith our own country gods betray our case,)  
OH work they may their gracious help impart,  
To save thy woeful wife from such disgrace.  
Do not permit she shouted in triumph show  
The blush of her reproach, joined with thy shame  
But (rather) let that hate full tyrant know,  
That thou and I had power t'avoid the same.  
But what do I spend breath and idle wind.  
In vain invoking a conceived aid?  
Why do I not myself occasion find  
To break the bounds wherein myself an staid?  
Words are for them that can complain and live,  
Whose melting hearts composed of base frame,  
Can to their sorrows, time and leisure give,  
But Cleopatra may not do the same.  
Not Antony, thy love requires more:  
A lingering death, with thee deserves not merit,  
I must myself force open wide a door  
To let out life, and so unhouse my spirit.  
These hands must break the prison of my soul  
To come to thee, there to enjoy like state,  
As doth the long-pent solitary Fowl.  
That hath escaped her cage, and found her mate,  
This sacrifice to sacrifice my life,  
Is that true incense that doth best beseem:  
These rites may serve a life-desiring wife,  
Who doing them, t'have done enough doth deem.  
My-hart-bloud should the purple flowers have been,  
Which here upon thy Tomb to thee are offered.  
Not smoke but dying breath should here been seen,  
And this it had been too, had I been suffered.  
But what have I save these bore silly hands?  
And these weak fingers are not iron-poynted:  
They cannot pierce with them which stands  
And I of all means else an disappointed.  
But yet I must some way endeavour how  
To come unto thee, whatsoe'er I do.  
OH Death, art thou sohard to come by now,  
That we must pray, entreat, and seek thee too?  
But I will find thee wheresoe'er thou lie.  
For who can stay a mind resolved to die?   

And now I go to work th'effect indeed,  
I'll never sand more words or sights to thee:  
I'll bring my soul myself, and that with speed,  
Myself will bring my soul to Antony.  
Come go my maids, my fortunes sole attenders,  
That minister to misery and sorrow:  
Your Mistress you unto your freedom renders.  
And Will discharge your charge yet ere to morrow.   

And now by this, I think the man I sent,  
Is near returned that brings me my dispatch.  
God grant his cunning sort to good event,  
And that his skill may well beguile my watch:  
So shall I eat disgrace, leave to be sorry,  
Fly to my love, scape my foe, free my soul;  
So shall I act the last of life with glory,  
Die like a Queen, and rest without control.   Exit. CHORUS. 

Mysterious Egypt, wonder breeder,  
Strict Religions strange observer,  
State-orderer zeal, the best rule-keeper,  
Fostering still in temperate fervour:  
OH how cam'st thou to loose so wholly  
all religion, law and order?  
And thus become the most unholy  
of all Lands, that Nilus' border?  
How could confused Disorder enter  
where stern Law sat so severely?  
How dared weak lust and riot venture  
th'eye of justice looking nearly?  
Can not those means that made thee great  
Be still the means to keep thy state?   

Ah not, the course of things requires  
change and alteration ever:  
That stayed continuance man desires,  
th'vnconstant world yieldeth never.  
We in our counsels must be blinded,  
And not see what doth import us:  
And often times the thing least minded  
is the thing that most must hurt us.  
Yet they that have the stern in guiding,  
'tis their fault that should prevent it,  
Who when they see their Country sliding,  
for their private are contented.  
We imitate the greater powers,  
The Prince's manners fashion ours.   

Th'example of their light regarding,  
vulgar looseness much incenses:  
Vice uncontrolled, grows wide enlarging,  
Kings small faults be great offences.  
And this hath set the window open  
unto licence, lust, and riot:  
This way confusion first found broken,  
whereby entered our disquiet,  
Those laws that old Sesostris founded,  
and the Ptolemy's observed,  
Hereby first came to be confounded,  
which our state so long preserved.  
The wanton luxury of Court.  
Did form the people of like sort.   

For all (respecting private pleasure,)  
universally consenting  
To abuse their time their treasure,  
in their own delights contenting:  
And future dangers naught respecting,  
whereby, (OH how easy matter  
Made this so general neglecting,  
confused weakness to discatter?)  
Caesar found th'effect true tried,  
in his easy entrance making:  
Who at the sight of arms, deseryed  
all our people, all forsaking.  
For riot (worse than war,) so sore  
Had wasted all our strength before.   

And thus is Egypt servile rendered  
to the insolent destroyer:  
And all their sumptuous treasure tendered,  
all her wealth that did betray her,  
Which poison (OH if heaven be rightful,)  
may so far infect their senses,  
That Egypt's pleasures so delightful,  
may breed them the like offences.  
And Romans learn our way of weakness,  
be instructed in our vices:  
That our spoils may spoil your greatness,  
overcome with our devises.  
Fill full your hands, and carry home  
Enough from us to ruin Rome.    

ACTUS QVINTUS.  
Dolabella. Titius. Dol. 

COme tell me Titius every circumstance  
How Cleopatra did receive my news:  
Tell every look, each gesture, countenance,  
That she did in my Letters reading use.   Tit. 

I shall my Lord, so far as I could note,  
Or my conceit observe in any wise.  
It was the time when as she having got  
Leave to her Dearest dead to sacrifice;  
And now was issuing out the monument  
With odours, incense, garlands in her hand,  
When I approached (as one from Caesar sent,)  
And did her close, thy message t'understand.   

She turns her back, and with her takes me in,  
Reads in thy lines thy strange unlooked for tale:  
And reads, and smiles, and stays, and doth begin  
Again to read, than blushed, and than was pale.  
And having ended with a sigh, refolds  
Thy Letter up: and with a fixed eye,  
(Which steadfast her imagination holds)  
She mused a while, standing confusedly:  
At length. Ah friend, says she) tell thy good Lord,  
How dear I hold his pitying of my case:  
That out of his sweet nature can afford  
A miserable woman so much grace.  
Tell him how much my heavy soul doth grieve;  
Merciless Caesar should so deal with me:  
Pray him that he would all the counsel give,  
That might divert him from such cruelty.  
As for my love, say Antony hath all,  
Say that my heart is go into the grave  
With him, in whom it rests and ever shall:  
I have it not myself, not cannot have.  
Yet tell him, he shall more command of me  
Than any, whosoever living can.  
He that so friendly shows himself to be  
A right kind Roman, and a Gentleman.  
Although his Nation (fatal unto me,)  
Have had mine age a spoil, my youth a pray,  
Yet his affection must accepted be,  
That favours one distressed in her decay.   

Ah. he was worthy than to have been loved,  
Of Cleopatra while her glory lasted;  
Before she had declining fortune proved,  
Or seen her honour wracked, her flower thus blasted.  
Now there is nothing left her but disgrace,  
Nothing but her affliction that can move,  
Tell Dolabella, one that's in her case.  
(Poor soul) needs rather pity now than love.  
But shortly shall thy Lord hear more of me.  
And ending so her speech, not longer staid,  
But hasted to the tomb of Antony,  
And this was all she did, and all she said.   Dol. 

Ah sweet distressed Lady. What hard heart  
Can choose but pity thee, and love thee too?  
Thy worthiness, the state where in thou art  
Requires both, and both I vow to do.  
Although ambition let's not Caesar see  
The wrong he doth thy majesty and sweetness.  
Which makes him now exact so much of thee,  
To add unto himself to grace his greatness,  
He knows thou canst not hurt procure us now,  
Sith all thy strength is seized into our hands:  
Nor sears he that, but rather labours how  
He might show Rome so great a Queen in bands:  
That our great Ladies (envying thee so much  
That stained them all, and held them in such wonder,)  
Might joy to see thee, and thy fortune such,  
Thereby extolling him that brought thee under,  
But I will seek to stay it what I may;  
I an but one, yet one that Caesar loves,  
And OH if now I could do more than pray,  
Than shouldst thou know how far affection moves,  
But what my power and prayer may prevail,  
I'll join them both, to hinder thy disgrace:  
And even this present day I will not fail  
To do my best with Caesar in this case.   Tit. 

And sir, even now herself hath letters sent.  
I met her messenger as I came hither,  
With a dispatch as he to Caesar went,  
But know not what imports her sending thither.  
Yet this he told, how Cleopatra late  
Was come from sacrifice. How richly clad  
Was served to dinner in most sumptuous state,  
With all the bravest ornaments she had.  
How having dined, she writes, and sends away  
Him straight to Caesar, and commanded than  
All should departed the Tomb, and none to stay  
But her two maids, and one Poor countryman.   Dol. 

Why than I know she sends t'have audience now,  
And means t'experience what her state can do:  
To see it majesty will make him bow  
To what affliction could not move him too.  
And OH, if now she could but bring a view  
Of that fresh beauty she in youth possessed  
(The argument wherewith she overthrew  
The wit of julius Caesar, and the rest,)  
Than happily Augustus might relent.  
Whilst powerful Love, (far stronger than ambition)  
Might work in him, a mind to be content  
To condescend unto her small petition  
But being as she is, yet doth she merit  
To be respected for her having been,  
The wonder of her kind, of so rare spirit,  
A glorious Lady, and a mighty Queen.  
And now, but by a little weakness ●alling  
To do that which perhaps sh'was forced to do:  
Alas, an error past, is passed recalling,  
Take away weakness, and take women too.  
But now I go● to be thy advocate,  
Sweet Cleopatra, now ●le use mine art.  
Thy presence will me greatly animate,  
Thy face will teach my tongue, thy love my heart.    

SCENA SECUNDA.  Nuntius. 

AN I ordained the careful Messenger,  
And sad news-bringer of the strangest death,  
Which self hand did upon itself infer,  
To free a captive soul from servile breath?  
Must I the lamentable wonder show,  
Which all the world may grieve and marvel at?  
The rarest form of death on earth below,  
That ever pity, glory, wonder got.   Cho. 

What news bringst thou, can Egypt yet yield more,  
Of sorrow than it hath? what can it add  
Unto th'already overflowing store  
Of sad affliction, matter yet more sad?  
Have we not seen our worst calamity?  
Is there behind yet something of distress  
Unknown? if there be greater misery  
Relate it, that we do not wail the less.  
Tell us what so it be, and tell at first,  
For sorrow ever longs to hear her worst.   Nu. 

Well than, the strangest thing relate I will,  
That ever eye of mortal man hath seen.   

I (as you know) even from my youth, have still  
Attended on the person of the Queen:  
And ever in all fortunes good or ill,  
With her as one of chiefest trust have been.  
And now in these so great extremities,  
That ever could to majesty be fall,  
I did my best in what I could devise,  
And left her not, till now she left us all.   Cho. 
What is she go. Hath Caesar forced her so?  Nun. 
Yea, she is go, and hath deceived him too.  Cho. 
What, fled to India; to go found her son?  Nun. 
Not, not to India, but to find her son.  Cho. 
Why them there's hope she may her state recover  Nun. 
Her state? nay rather honour, and her Lover.  Cho. 
Her Lover? him she cannot have again.  Nun. 
Well, him she hath, with him she doth remain  Cho. 
Why them she's dead Is''tso? why speakest not thou  Nun. 

You guess aright, and I will tell you how.  
When she perceived all hope was clean bereft,  
That Caesar meant to sand her straight away,  
And see not means of reconcilement left,  
Work what she could, she could not work to stay:  
She calls me to her, and she thus begun.  
OH thou, whose trust hath ever been the same,  
And one in all my fortunes, faithful man,  
Alone conten● t'attend disgrace and shame.  
Thou-babes, whom the fearful ruin of my fall,  
Never deterred to leave calamity:  
As did those others smooth state-pleasers all,  
Who followed but my fortune, and not me.  
'tis thou must do a service for thy Queen,  
Wherein thy faith and skill must do their best:  
Thy honest care and davy shall be seen,  
Performing this, more than in all the rest.  
For all what thou hast done, may die with thee,  
Although 'tis pity that such faith should die.  
But this shall evermore remembered be,  
A rare example to posterity.  
And look how long as Cleopatra shall  
In after ages live in memory.  
So long shall thy clear same endure withal,  
And therefore thou must not my suit deny  
Nor contradict my william For what I will  
I an resolved and this now must it be:  
Go found me out with all thy art and skill  
Two Aspics, and convey them close to me.  
I have a work to do with them in hand,  
Inquire not what, for thou shalt soon see what,  
If th'heavens do not my disseigns withstand,  
But do thy charge, and let me shifted with that.   

Being thus conjured by her t'whom I had vowed  
My true perpetual service, forth I went,  
Devising how my close attempt to shroud,  
So that there might not art my art prevent.  
And so disguised in habit as you see,  
Having found out the thing for which I went,  
I soon returned again, and brought with me  
The Aspics, in a basket closely penned.  
Which I had filled with Figs, and leaves upon.  
And coming to the guard that kept the door,  
What hast thou there? said they, and looked thereon.  
Seeing the figs, they deemed of nothing more,  
But said, they were the fairest they had seen.  
Taste some, said I, for they are good and pleasant.  
Not, not, said they, go bear them to thy Queen,  
Thinking me some poor man that brought a present.  
Well, in I went, wherebrighter than the Sun,  
Glittering in all her pompous rich array,  
Great Cleopatra sat, as if sh'had won  
Caesar, and all the world beside this day:  
Even as she was when on thy crystal streams.  
Clear Cydnos she did show what earth could show.  
When Asia all ama'zd in wonder deems  
Venus from heaven was come on earth below,  
Even as she went at first to meet her Love,  
So goes she now at last again to found him.  
But that first, did her greatness only prove,  
This last her love, that could not live behind him.  
Yet as she sat, the doubt of my good speed,  
Detracts much from the sweetness of her look:  
Cheer-marrer Care, did than such passions breed,  
That made her eye bewray the grief she took.  
But she not sooner seas me in the place,  
But straight her sorrow-clouded brow she clears,  
Lightning a smile from out a stormy face.  
Which all her tempest-beaten senses cheers.   

Look how a strayed perplexed traveler,  
When chasd by thieves, and even at point of ●●king,  
Descrying suddenly some town not far,  
Or some unlooked for aid to him-warde making;  
Cheers up his tired spirits, thrusts forth his strength  
To meet that good, that comes in so good hour:  
Such was her joy perceiving now at length,  
Her honour was t'escape so proud a power.  
Forth from her seat she hastes to meet the present,  
And as one overjoyed, she caught it straight.  
And with a smiling cheer in action pleasant,  
Looking among the figs, finds the deceit.  
And seeing there the ugly venomous beast,  
Nothing dismayed, she fayes and views it well,  
At length th'extremest of her passion ceased,  
When she begun with words her joy to tell.   

OH rarest beast (says she) that Africa breeds,  
How dearly welcome art thou unto me?  
The fearest creature that fair Nilus feeds  
Me thinks I see, in now beholding thee.  
What though the ever-erring world doth deem  
That angered Nature framed thee bu● in spite?  
Little they know what they of light esteem,  
That never learned the wonder of thy might.  
Better than Death, Death's office thou dischargest.  
That with on● gentle touch canst free our breath:  
And in a pleasing sleep our soul enlargest,  
Making ourselves not privy to our death,  
If Nature erred, OH than how happy e●●or,  
Thinking to make thee worst, she made the best:  
Sith thou best freest us from our lives worst terror,  
In sweetly bringing; souls to quiet rest.  
When that inexorable Monster Death  
That follows Fortune, fly's the poor distressed,  
Tortures our bodies ere he takes our breath,  
And loads with pains th'already weak oppressed.  
How often have I begged prayed. entreated him  
To take my life, which he would never do,  
And when he comes, he comes so ugly grim,  
Attended on with hideous torments to.  
Therefore come thou, of wonders wonder chief  
That open canst with such a● easiekey  
The door of life, come gentle cunning thief,  
That from ourselves so stealest ourselves away.  
Well did our Priests discern something divine  
Shadowed in thee, and therefore first they did  
Offerings and worships due to thee assign,  
In whom they found such mysteries were hide.  
Comparing thy swift motion to the Sun,  
That movest without the instruments that move:  
And never waxing old, but always one,  
Dost therein a divinity approve.  
And therefore too, the rather unto thee  
In zeal I make the offering of my blood,  
Calamity confirming now in me  
A sure belief that piety makes good.  
Which happy men neglect, or hold ambiguous,  
And only the afflicted are religious.   

And here I sacrifice these arms to Death,  
That Lust late dedicated to Delights:  
Offering up for my last, this last of breath,  
The compliment of my loves dearest rites,  
With that she bears her arm, and offer makes  
To touch her death, yet at the touch with draws,  
And seeming more to speak, occasion takes,  
Willing to die, and willing too to pause.  
Look how a mother at her sons departing  
For some far voyage bend to get him fame,  
Doth entertain him with an idle pa●ling  
And still doth speak, and still speaks but the same;  
Now bids farewell, and now recalls him back,  
Tells what was told, and bids again farewell,  
And yet again recalls; for still doth lack  
Something that Love would feign and cannot tell.  
Pleased he should go, yet cannot let him go.  
So she, although she known there was not way  
But this, yet this she could not handle so  
But she must show that life desired delay.  
Feign would she entertain the time as now.  
And now would feign that Death would seize upon her,  
Whilst I might see presented in her brow,  
The doubtful combat tried twixt Life and honour.  
Life bringing Legions of fresh hopes with her,  
Armed with the proof of time, which yields we say  
Comfort and help, to such as do refer  
All unto him, and can admit delay.  
But Honour scorning Life, lo forth leads he  
Clear Immorralitie armed all in flames:  
Through whose bright shining rays of glory, she  
Might see how base was life that her defames.  
Besides she see whole armies of reproaches,  
And base Disgraces, Furies fearful, sad,  
Marching therewith, and Shame that still encroaches  
Upon her face, in blushing colours clad.  
Which representments seeing, far worse than death  
She deemed to yield to Life, and therefore choose  
To tender all to Honour, heart and breath:  
And that with speed, lest that her inward foes  
False flesh and blood, joining with life and hope,  
Should mutiny against her resolution.  
And to the end she would not give them scope,  
She presently proceeds to th'execution.  
And sharply blaming of her rebel powers,  
False flesh (says she) and what dost thou conspire  
With Caesar too, as thou wert none of ours,  
To work my shame, and hinder my desire?  
Will't thou retain in closure of thy veins,  
That enemy base life, to let my good?  
Not, know there is a greater power constrains  
Than can be counterchekt with fearful blood.  
For to the mind that's great, nothing seems great●  
And seeing death to be the last of woes,  
And life lasting disgrace, which I shall get,  
What do I loose, that have but life to loose?   

This having said, strengthened in her own heart.  
And union of herself, senses in one  
Charging together, she performs that part  
That hath so great a part of glory won,  
And so receives the deadly poisoning touch;  
That touch that tried the gold of her love, pure,  
And hath confirmed her honour to be such,  
As must a wonder to all worlds endure.  
Now not an yielding shrink or touch of fear,  
Consented to bewray lest sense of pain:  
But still in one same sweet vnalired cheer,  
Her honour did her dying thoughts retain.   

Well, now this work is done (says she) here ends  
This act of Life, that part the Fares assigned:  
What glory of disgraces this world lends,  
Both have I had, and both I leave behind.  
And now o earth, the Theatre where I  
Have acted this, witness I die vnforst.  
Witness my soul parts free to Antony,  
And now proud Tyrant Caesar do thy worst.   

This said, she stays, and makes a sudden pause,  
As if to feel w●●●her the poison wrought:  
Or rather else the working might be cause  
That made her stay, and entertained her thought.  
For in that instant I might well perceive  
The drowsy humour in her falling brow:  
And how each power, each part oppressed did leave  
Their former office, and did senseless grow.  
Look how a new plucked branch against the Sun,  
Declines his fading leaves in feeble sort;  
So her disjoined ioyntures as undone,  
Let fall her weak dissolved limbs support.  
Yet lo that face the wonder of her life,  
Retains in death, a grace that graceth death,  
Colour so lively, cheer so lovely rise,  
That none would think such beauty could want breath.  
And in that cheer th'impression of a smile,  
Did seem to show she scorned Death and Caesar,  
As glorying that she could them both beguile,  
And telling Death how much her death did please her  
Wonder it was to see how soon she went,  
She went with such a will, and did so haste it,  
That sure I think she did her pain prevent,  
Foregoing pain, or staying not to taste it,  
And senseless, in her sinking down she wries  
The Diadem which on her head she wore,  
Which Charmion (poor weak feeble maid) espies,  
And hastes to right it as it was before.  
For Eras now was dead, and Charmion too  
Even at the point, for both would imitate  
Their Mistress glory, striving like to do.  
But Charmion would in this exceed her mate,  
For she would have this honour to be last,  
That should adorn that head that must be seen  
To wear that Crown in death, which life held fast,  
That all the world might know she died a Queen,  
And as she stood setting it fitly on,  
Lo, in rush Caesar's messengers in haste,  
Thinking to have prevented what was done.  
But yet they came too late, for all was passed.  
For there they found stretched on a bed of gold,  
Dead Cleopatra, and that proudly dead,  
In all the rich attire procure she could,  
And dying Charmion trimming of her head,  
And Eras at her feet, dead in like case.  
Charmion, is this well done? said one of them.  
Yea, well said she, and her that from the race  
Of so great Kings descends, doth best become.  
And with that word, yields to, her faithful breath,  
To pass th'assurance of her love with death.   Cho. 
But how known Caesar of her close intents  Nun. 

By Letters which before to him she sent.  
For when she had procured this means to die,  
She writes, and earnestly entreats, she might  
Be buried in one Tomb with Antony,  
Whereby than Caesar guessed all went not right.  
And forthwith sends, yet ere the message came  
She was dispatched, he crossed in his intent.  
Her providence had ordered so the same,  
That she was sure none should her plot prevent.   CHORUS. 

THen thus we have beheld  
Th'accomplishment of woes  
The full of ruin and  
The worst of worst of ills:  
And seen all hope expelled,  
That ever sweet repose  
Shall repossess the Land,  
That Desolation fills,  
And where Ambition spills  
With uncontrolled hand,  
All th'issue of all those  
That so long rule have held:  
To make us not more us,  
But clean confounded us thus.   

And canst OH Nilus thou,  
Father of floods endure,  
That yellow Tiber should  
With sandy streams rule thee?  
Will't thou be pleased to bow  
To him those feet so pure,  
Whose unknown head we hold  
A power divine to be?  
Thou-babes that didst ever see  
Thy free banks uncontrolled,  
Live under thy own care:  
Ah will't thou bear it now?  
And now will't yield thy streams  
A prey to other Reams?   

Draw back thy waters flow  
To thy concealed head:  
Rocks strangle up thy waves,  
Stop Cataracts thy fall.  
And turn thy courses so,  
That sandy Deserts dead,  
(The world of dust that craves  
To swallow thee up all,  
May drink so much as shall  
Revive from vasty graves  
A living green which spread  
Far flourishing, may grow  
On that wide face of Death,  
Where nothing now draws breath,   

Fatten some people there,  
Even as thou us hast done,  
With plenty's wanton store,  
And feeble luxury:  
And them as us prepare  
Fit for the day of moan  
Respected not before.  
Leave levelled Egypt dry,  
A barren prey to lie,  
Wasted for evermore,  
Of plenty's yielding none  
To recompense the care  
Of Victor's greedy lust,  
And bring forth naught but dust.   

And so OH leave to be,  
Sith thou art what thou art:  
Let not our race possess  
Th'inheritance of shame,  
The fee of sin, that we  
Have left them for their part:  
The yoke of whose distress  
Must still upbraid our blame,  
Telling from whom it came,  
Our weight of wantonness  
Lies heavy on their heart,  
Who never-more shall see  
The glory of that worth  
They left, who brought us forth.   

OH thou allseeing light,  
High Precedent of heaven,  
You magistrates the stars  
Of that eternal Court  
Of Providence and Right  
Are these the bounds have given  
Th'vntranspassable bars,  
That limit pride so short,  
Is greatness of this sort,  
That greatness greatness mars,  
And wracks itself, self driven  
On Rocks of her own might?  
Doth Order order so  
Disorders ouer-thro?     
FINIS.    

THE COMPLAINT of ROSAMOND.  

OUT from the horror of Infernal deeps,  
My poor afflicted ghost comes here to plain it,  
Attended with my shame that never sleeps,  
The spot wherewith my kind & youth did stain it.  
My body found a grave where to contain it.  
A sheet could hid my face, but not my sin,  
For Fame finds never tomb t'enclose it in.   

And which is worse, my soul is now denied,  
Her transport to the sweet Elysian rest,  
The joyful bliss for ghosts repurified,  
The ever-springing Gardens of the blessed:  
Charon denies me waftage with the rest.  
And says, my soul can never pass the River,  
Till lovers sighs on earth shall it deliver.   

So shall I never pass; for how should I  
Procure this sacrifice among the living?  
Time hath long since worn out the memory  
Both of my life, and lives unjust depriving,  
Sorrow for me is dead for ay reviving:  
Rosamond hath little left her but her name,  
And that disgraced for time hath wronged the same.   

Not muse, suggests the pity of my case,  
Each pen doth overpass my just complaint,  
Whilst others are preferred, though far more base:  
Shore's wife is graced, and passes for a Saint;  
Her Legend justifies her foul attaint,  
Her wel-told tale did such compassion found,  
That she is passed, and I an left behind.   

Which seen with grief, my miserable ghost,  
(Whilom invested in so fair a vail,  
Which whilst it lived, was honoured of the most,  
And being dead gives matter to bewail,)  
Comes to solicit thee, (since others fail,)  
To take this task, and in thy woeful song  
To form my case, and register my wrong.   

Although I know thy just lamenting Muse.  
Toiled in th'affliction of thy own distress,  
In others cares hath little time to use,  
And therefore mayst esteem of mine the less:  
Yet as thy hopes attend happy redress,  
Thy joys depending on a woman's grace,  
So move thy mind a woeful woman's case.   

DHLIA may hap to deign to read our story,  
And offer up her sigh among the rest.  
Who●e merit would suffice for both our glory,  
Whereby thou mightst be graced and I be blessed;  
That indulgence would profit me the best.  
Such power she hath by whom thy youth is led,  
To joy the living, and to bless the dead.   

So I (through beauty) made the woefull'st wight,  
By beauty might have comfort after death:  
That dying fairest, by the fairest might  
Found life above on earth, and rest beneath.  
She that can bless us with one happy breath,  
Give comfort to thy Muse to do her best,  
That thereby thou mayst joy, and I might rest   

Thus said: forth with moved with a tender care,  
And pity, (which myself could never found,)  
What she desired, my Muse deigned to declare,  
And therefore, willed her boldly tell her mind.  
And I (more willing) took this charge assigned,  
Because her griefs were worthy to be known,  
And telling hers, might hap forget mine own.   

Than writ (quoth she) the ruin of my youth,  
Report the downfall of my slippy st●te,  
Of all my life revaile the simple truth,  
To teach to others what I learned too late.  
Exemplify my frailty, tell how Fate  
Keeps in eternal dark our fortunes hidden,  
And ere they come, to know them 'tis forbidden.   

For Whilst the Sunshine of my fortune lasted,  
I joyed the happiest warmth, the sweetest hea●e:  
That ever yet imperious beauty tasted,  
I had what glory ever flesh could get:  
But this fair morning had a shameful set.  
Disgrace darkt honour, sin did cloud my brow,  
As note the sequel, and I'll tell thee how.   

The blood I stained, was good and of the best,  
My b●th had honour, and my beauty fame:  
Nature and Fortune joined to make me blessed,  
Had I had grace t'have known to use the same.  
My education show'd from whence I came,  
And all concurd to make me happy furst,  
That so great hap might make me more accursed,   

Happy lived I whilst parents eye did guide  
The indiscretion of my feeble ways,  
And country home kept me from being eide,  
Where best unknown I spent my sweetest days:  
Till that my friends mine honour seek to raise  
To higher place, which greater credit yields.  
Deeming such beauty was unfit for fields.   

From Country than to Court I was preferred,  
From calm to storms, from shore into the deeps:  
There where I perished, where my youth first erred,  
There where I lost the flower which honour keeps,  
There where the worse thrives, the better weeps;  
Aye me (poor wench) on that unhappy shelf,  
I grounded me, and cast away myself.   

There whereas frail and tender Beauty stands,  
With all assaulting powers environed;  
Having but prayers and weak feeble hands  
To hold their honours Fort unvanquished;  
There where to stand, and be unconquered,  
Is to b'above the nature of our kind,  
That cannot long for pity be unkind.   

For thither comed, when years had armed my youth,  
With rarest proof of beauty ever seen:  
When my reviving eye had learned the truth,  
That it had power to make the winter green,  
And flower affections whereas none had been;  
Soon could I teach my brow to tyrannize,  
And make the world do homage to mine eyes.   

For age I see, (though years with cold conceit,  
Congealed their thoughts against a warm des●e,)  
Yet sigh their want, and look at such a bait;  
I see how youth was wax before the fire;  
I see by stealth, I framed my look a lyre,  
Yet well perceived, how Fortune made me than  
The envy of my sex, and wonder unto men.   

Look how a Comet at the first appearing,  
Draws all man's eyes with wonder to behold it:  
Or as the saddest tale at sudden hearing,  
Makes silent listening unto him that told it,  
So did my speech when Rubies did unfold it:  
So did the blazing of my blush appear,  
T'amaze the world, that holds such sights so dear.   

Ah beauty Siren, fair enchanting good,  
Sweet silent rhetoric of persuading eyes:  
Dumb eloquence, whose power doth move the blood  
Moore than the words, or wisdom of the wise:  
Still harmony, whose diapason lies  
Within a brow, the ●oy which passions move.  
To ravish sense, and play a world in love.   

What might I than not do whose power was such?  
What cannot women do that know their power?  
What women knows it not (I fear too much)  
How bliss or bale lies in their laugh or lower?  
Whilst they enjoy their happy blooming flower,  
Whilst nature decks them in their best attires  
Of youth and beauty which the world admires.   

Such one was I, my beauty was mine own,  
Not borrowed blush which bank-rot beau●leses seek:  
That newfound shame, a fin to us unknown,  
Th'adulterate beauty of a falsed cheek:  
wild stain to honour, and to women eke,  
Seeing that time our f●ding must detect.  
Thus with defect to cover our defect.   

Implety of times, Chastities abator,  
Falsehood, wherein thyself thy self deniest:  
Treason to counterfeit the seal of Nature,  
The stamp of heaven, impressed by the highest.  
Disgrace unto the world, to whom thou liest.  
Idol unto thyself, shame to the wise,  
And all that honour thee idolatrise.   

far was that sin from us whose age was pure,  
When simple beauty was accounted best,  
The time when women had not other lure  
But modesty, pure cheeks, a virtuous breast.  
This was the pomp wherewith my youth was blessed.  
These were the weapons which mine honour wone.  
In all the conflicts which mine eyes begun.   

Which were not small, I wrought on not mean● oblect,  
A Crown was at my feet, Sceptres obeyed me,  
Whom Fortune made my King, Love made my subject,  
Who did command the Land, most humbly prayed me,  
Henry the second, that so highly weighed me.  
Found well (by proof) the privilege of beauty,  
That it had power to countermand all duty.   

For after all his victories in France,  
And all the triumphs of his honour won:  
Unmatched; by sword, was vanquished by a glance.  
And hotter wars within his breast begun.  
Wars, whom whole legions of desires drawn on:  
Against all which, my chastity contends  
With force of honour, which my shame defends.   

Not armour might be found that could defend,  
Transpearcing rays of crystal pointed eyes:  
Not stratagem, not reason could amend,  
Not not his age; (yet old men should be wise.)  
But shows deceive, outward appearance lies.  
Let none for seeming so, think Saints of others,  
For all are men, and all have sucked their mothers.   

Who would have thought a Monarch would have eves  
Obeyed his handmaid of so mean estate:  
Vulture ambition feeding on his liver,  
Age having worn his pleasures out of date,  
But hap comes never, or it comes too late.  
For such a dainty which his youth found not,  
Unto his feeble age did chance a lot.   

Ah Fortune, never absolutely good,  
For that some cross still counter-checks our luck:  
As here behold th'incomparible blood,  
Of age and youth was that whereon we stuck:  
Whose loathing, we from nature's breasts do suck,  
As opposite to what our blood requires,  
For equal age, doth equal like desires.   

But mighty men, in highest honour sitting,  
Naught but applause and pleasure can behold:  
Soothed in their liking, careless what is fitting,  
May not be suffered once to think they're old:  
Not trusting what they see, but what is told.  
Miserable fortune to forget so far  
The state of flesh, and what our frailties are.   

Yet must I needs excuse so great defect  
For drinking of the Lethe of mine eyes,  
he's forced forget himself, and all respect  
Of majesty, whereon his state relies:  
And now of loves, and pleasures must devise.  
For thus reviv'd again he serves and su'th,  
And seeks all means to undermine my youth.   

Which never by assault he could recover,  
So well encamped in strength of chaste desires:  
My cleane-arm'd thoughts repelld an unchaste lover.  
The Crown that could command what it requires,  
I lesser prized than Chastities attires.  
Th'vnstayned vail, which innocents' adorns,  
Th'vngathred Rose, defended with the thrones.   

And safe mine honour stood, till that in truth,  
One of my sex, of place, and nature bad,  
Was set in ambush to entrap my youth.  
One in the habit of our frailty clad,  
One who the liu'ry of like weakness had.  
A seeming Matron, yet a sinful monster,  
As by her words the chaster sort may construe.   

She set upon me with the smoothest speech  
That Court and Age could cunningly devise,  
Th'one authentic, made her fit to teach,  
The other learned her how to subtelise.  
Both were enough to cirumvent the wise.  
A document that well might teach the sage,  
That there's not trust in youth, nor hope in age.   

Daughter (said she) behold thy happy chance,  
That hast the lot cast down into thy lap.  
Whereby thou mayst thy honour great advance,  
Whilst thou (unhappy) will't not see thy hap:  
Such fond respect thy youth doth so inwrap,  
T'oppose thyself against thy own good fortune,  
That points thee out, and seems thee to importune.   

Dost thou not see● how that thy King (thy jove)  
Lightens forth glory on thy dark estate:  
And showers down gold and treasure from above.  
Whilst thou dost shut thy lap against thy fate?  
Fie sondling fie, thou will't repent too late  
The error of thy youth; that canst not see  
What is the fortune that doth follow thee.   

Thou-babes must not think thy flower can always flourish,  
And that thy beauty will be still admired:  
But that those rays which all these flames do nourish,  
canceled with Time, will have their date expired,  
And men will scorn what now is so desired.  
Our frailties doom is written in the flowers,  
Which flourish now, and fade ere many hours.   

Read in my face the ruins of my youth,  
The wrack of years upon my aged brow;  
I have been fair (I must confess the truth)  
And stood upon as nice respects as thou;  
I lost my time, and I repent it now.  
But were I to begin my youth again,  
I would redeem the time I spent in vain.   

But thou hast years, and privilege to use them,  
Thy privilege doth bear Beauties great seal:  
Besides, the law of Nature doth excuse them,  
To whom thy youth may have a just appeal.  
Esteem not Fame more than thou dost thy weal.  
Fame (whereof the world seems to make such choice)  
Is but an Echo, and an idle voice,   

Than why should this respect of honour bond us,  
In th'imaginary lists of reputation?  
Titles which cold severity hath found us,  
Breath of the vulgar, foe to recreation:  
Ages opinion, Customs outworn fashion,  
Pleasure's plague, beauty's scourge, hell to the fair,  
To leave the sweet, for Castles in the air.   

Pleasure i● felt, opinion but conceived,  
Honour, a thing without us, not our own:  
Whereof we see how many are bereaved,  
Which should have reaped the glory they had sown  
And many have it, yet unworthy, known.  
So breaches his blast this many-headed beast,  
Whereof the wisest have esteemed lest.   

The subtle Citty-women, better learned,  
Esteem them chaste enough that best seem so:  
Who though they sport, it shall not be discerned,  
Their face bewrays not what their bodies do;  
'tis wary walking that doth safeliest go.  
With show of virtue, as the cunning knows.  
Babes are beguiled with sweets, & më with sho,   

Than use thy talent youth shall be thy warrant,  
And let not honour from thy sports detract:  
Thou-babes must not fond think thyself transparent,  
That those who see thy face can judge thy fact,  
Let her have shame that cannot closely act.  
And seem the chaste, which is the chiefest art,  
For what we seem each see, none knows out heart.   

The mighty, who can with such sins dispense,  
In steed of shame do honours great bestow:  
A worthy Author doth redeem th'offence,  
And makes the scarlet sin as white as snow,  
The Majesty that doth descend so low,  
Is not defiled but pure remains therein,  
And being sacred, sanctifies the sin,   

What, dost thou stand on this, that he is old?  
Thy beauty hath the more to work upon.  
Thy pleasure's want shall be supplied with gold,  
Cold age dotes most when heat of youth is go:  
Enticing words prevail with such a one.  
Alluring shows most deep impression strikes  
For age is prove to credit what it likes.   

Hear interrupt, she leaves me in a doubt,  
When lo begun the combat in my blood,  
See'ing my weak youth environed round about,  
The ground uncertain where my reasons stood;  
Small my defence to make my party good,  
Against such powers which were so surely laid,  
To overthrow a poor unskilful Maid.   

Treason was in my bones, myself conspiring,  
To fallen myself to lust, my soul to sin:  
Pure-blushing shame was even upon retiring,  
Leaving the sacred hold it gloried in.  
Honour lay prostrate for my flesh to win,  
When cleaner thoughts my weakness 'gan vpbray  
Against myself, and shame did force me say;   

Ah Rosamond, what doth thy flesh prepare?  
Destruction to thy days, death to thy fame,  
Will't thou betray that honour held with care,  
T'entomb with black reproach a spotted name?  
Leaving thy blush the colours of thy shame?  
Opening thy feet to sin, thy soul to lust,  
Graceless to lay thy glory in the dust?   

Nay, first let th'earth gape wide to swallow thee,  
And shut thee up in bosom with her dead,  
E'er Serpent tempt thee taste forbidden Tree,  
Or feel the warmth of an unlawful bed;  
Suffering thyself by lust to be misled;  
So to disgrace thyself and grieve thy heirs,  
That Cli●●ords' race should scorn thee one of there's.   

Never wish longer to enjoy the air,  
Than that thou breathest the breath of chastity:  
Longer than thou preseru'st thy soul as fair  
As is thy face, free from impu●itie.  
Thy face, that makes th'admir'd in every eye,  
Where Natures care such rarities inroule,  
Which used amiss, may serve to damn thy soul.   

But what? he is my King and may constrain me,  
Whether I yield or not, I live diffamed.  
The world will think authority did gain me,  
I shall be judged his Love, and so be shamed.  
We see the fair condem'nd, that never gamed.  
And if I yield, 'tis honourable shame,  
If no●, I live disgraced, yet thought the same.   

What way is left thee than (unhappy maid,)  
Whereby thy spotless foot, may wander out  
This dreadful danger, which thou seest is laid,  
Wherein thy shame doth compass thee about?  
Thy simple years cannot resolve this doubt.  
Thy youth can never guide thy foot so even,  
But (in despite) some scandal will be given.   

Thus stood I balanced equally precise,  
Till my frail flesh did weigh me down to sin;  
Till world and pleasure made me partialize,  
And glittering pomp my vanity did win,  
When to excuse my fault my lusts begin.  
And impious thoughts alleged this wanton clause,  
That though I sinned, my sin had honest cause.   

So well the golden balls cast down before me,  
Can entertain my course, hinder my way:  
Whereat my reckless youth stooping to store me,  
Lost me the goal, the glory, and the day.  
Pleasure had set my well schooled thoughts to play,  
And bade me use the virtue of mine eyes,  
For sweetly it fits the fair to wantonise.   

Thus wrought to sin, soon was I trained from Court,  
T'a solitary Grange, there to attend  
The time the King should thither make resort,  
Where he loves long desired work should end.  
Thither he daily messages doth sand,  
With costly jewels (Orators of Love,)  
Which (ah too well men know) do women move.   

The day before the night of my defeature,  
He greets me with a Casket richly wrought;  
So rare, that Art did seem to strive with Nature,  
T'express the cunning worke-mens curious thought●  
The mystery whereof I prying sought,  
And found engraven on the lid above,  
Amymone, how she with Neptune strove.   

Amymone, old Danaus' fairest Daughter,  
As she was fetching water all alone  
At Lerna: whereas Neptune came and caught her,  
From whom she strived and struggled to be go,  
Beating the ay●e with cries and piteous moan:  
But all in vain, with him she's forced to go,  
'tis shame that men should use poor maidens so.   

There might I see described how she lay,  
At those proud feet, not satisfied with prayer:  
Wailing her heavy hap, cursing the day,  
In act so piteous to express despair.  
And by how much more grieved, so much more fair.  
Her tears upon her cheeks (poor careful girl,)  
Did seem against the Sun crystal and pearl.   

Whose pure clear streams, (which lo so fair appears)  
Wrought hotter flames, (OH miracle of love.)  
That kindles fire in water, heat in tears,  
And makes neglected beauty mightier prove,  
Teaching afflicted eyes affects to move;  
To show that nothing ill becomes the fair,  
But cruelty, which yields unto not prayer.   

This having viewed, and therewith something moved,  
Figured I found within the other squares,  
Transformed Io, joves' dearly loved,  
In her affliction how she strangely fares.  
Strangely distressed (OH beauty, born to cares,)  
Turned to a Heiffer, kept with jealous eyes,  
Always in danger of her hateful spies.   

These precedents presented to my view,  
Wherein the presage of my fall was shown,  
Might have fore-warn'd me well what would ensue,  
And others harms have made me eat mine own.  
But fate is not prevented, though foreknown.  
For that must hap, decreed by heavenly powers,  
Who work our fall, yet make the fault still ours.   

Witness the world, wherein is nothing riser,  
Than miseries unkend before they come:  
Who can the characters of chance decipher,  
Written in clouds of our concealed doom?  
Which though perhaps have been revealed to some,  
Yet that so doubtful, (as success did prove them,)  
That men must know they have the heu'ns above ●●   

I see the sin wherein my foot was entering,  
I see how that dishonour did attend it,  
I see the shame whereon my flesh was venturing,  
Yet had I not the virtue to defend it.  
So weak is sense when error hath condemned it.  
We see what's good, and thereto we consent,  
But yet we choose the worst, and soon repent.   

And now I come to tell the worst of illness,  
Now draws the date of mine affliction near.  
Now when the dark had wrapped up all in stillness,  
And dreadful black had dispossessed the clear,  
Comed was the night, (mother of sleep and fear;)  
Who with her sable-mantle friendly covers,  
The sweet-stolne sports, of joyful meeting Lovers.   

When lo, I joyed my Lover, not my Love,  
And felt the hand of lust most undesired:  
Enforced th'vnprooued bitter sweet to prove,  
Which yields not mutual pleasure when 'tis hired.  
love's not constrained, nor yet of due required.  
judge they who are unfortunately wed,  
What 'tis to come unto a loathed bed.   

But soon his age received his short contenting,  
And sleep sealed up his languishing desires:  
When he turns to his rest, I to repenting,  
Into myself my waking thought retires:  
My nakedness had proved my senses liars.  
Now opened were mine eyes to look therein,  
For first we taste the fruit, than see our sin.   

Now did I found myself vnparadis'd,  
From those pure fields of my so clean beginning:  
Now I perceived how ill I was advised,  
My flesh 'gan loath the new-felt touch of sinning,  
Shame leaves us by degrees, not at first winning.  
For nature cheques a new offence with loathing,  
But use of sin doth make it seem as nothing.   

And use of sin did work in me a boldness,  
And love in him, incorporates such ze●le,  
That jealousy increased with age's coldness,  
Fearing to lose the joy of all his weal.  
Or doubting time his stealth might else reveale●  
he's driven to devise some subtle way,  
How he might safeliest keep so rich a prey.   

A stately Palace he forthwith did build,  
Whose, intricate innumerable ways,  
With such confused errors so beguiled  
Th'vnguided entrers with uncertain strayes●  
And doubtful turn kept them in delays,  
With bootless labour leading them about,  
Able to find not way, nor in, nor out.   

Within the closed bosom of which frame,  
That served a Centre to that goodly Round:  
Were lodgings, with a Garden to the same,  
With sweetest flowers that e'er adorned the ground.  
And all the pleasures that delight hath found,  
T'intertaine the sense of wanton eyes,  
Fuel of love, from whence lusts flame arise.   

Hear I enclosed from all the world asunder,  
The Mino aure of shame kept for disgrace,  
The Monster of misfortune th'ages wonder,  
Lived cloistered in so desolate a case:  
None but the King might come into the place,  
Wi●h certain Maids that did attend my need,  
And he himself came guided by a thread.   

OH ●ealousie, daughter of Hate and Love,  
Most way ward issue of a gentle fire;  
Fostered with fears thy father's joys t'improve,  
Mirth-marring Monster born a subtle liar;  
Hateful unto thyself, flying thy own desire:  
Feeding upon suspect that doth renew thee,  
Happy were Lovers if they never known thee.   

Thou-babes hast a thousand gates thou interest by,  
Condemning trembling passions to our heart:  
Hundred eyed Argus, everwaking Spy.  
Pale Hag, infernal Fury, pleasures smart,  
Envious observer, prying in every part:  
Suspicious, fearful, gazing still about thee,  
OH would to God that love could be without thee.   

Thou-babes didst deprive (through false suggesting fear,)  
Him of content, and me of liberty:  
The only good that women hold so dear,  
And turnst my freedom to captivity,  
First made a prisoner ere an enemy.  
Enioynd the ransom of my bodies shame,  
Which though I paid, could not redeem the same,   

What greater torment ever could have been,  
Than to enforce the fair to live retired?  
For what is beauty if it be not seen?  
Or what is't to beseene, unless admired?  
And though admired unless in love desired?  
Never were cheeks of Roses, locks of Amber,  
Ordained to live imprisoned in a Chamber.   

Nature created Beauty for the view,  
(Like as the fire for heat, the Sun for light:)  
The fair do hold this privilege as due  
By ancient Charter, to live most in sight,  
And she that is debarred it, hath not right.  
In vain our friends from this, do us dehort,  
For Beauty will be where is most resort.   

Witness the fairest streets that Thames doth visit,  
The wondrous concourse of the glitt'ring Fair:  
For what rare woman decked with, beauty is it,  
That thither covets not to make repair?  
The solitary Country may not stay her.  
Here is the centre of all Beauties best,  
Excepting DELIA, left t'adorn the West.   

Here doth the curious with judicial eyes,  
Contemplate Beauty gloriously atri●ed.  
And herein all our chiefest glory lies,  
To live where we are praised and most desired.  
OH how we joy to see ourselves admired,  
Whilst niggardly our favours we discover.  
We love to be beloved, yet scorn the Lover.   

Yet would to God my foot had never moved  
From country safety, from the fields of rest:  
To know the danger to be highly loved,  
And live in pomp to brave among the best,  
Happy for me, better had I been blessed,  
If I unluckily had never strayed,  
But lived at home a happy country maid,   

Whose unaffected innocency thinks  
Not guileful fraud, as doth the Courtly liver:  
She's decks with truth, the River where she drinks  
Doth serve her for her glass, her council giver:  
She loves sincerely, and is loved ever.  
Her days are peace, and so she ends her breath.  
(True life that knows not what's to die till death.)   

So should I never have been registered,  
In the black book of the unfortunate:  
Nor had my name enrolled with Maids misled,  
Which bought their pleasures at so high a rate.  
Nor had I taught (through my unhappy fate,)  
This lesson (which myself learned with expense)  
How most it hurts that most delights the sense:   

Shame follows sin, disgrace is duly given;  
Impiety will out, never so closely done;  
Not walls can hid us from the eye of heaven,  
For shame must end what wickedness begun;  
Forth breaks reproach when we least think thereon,  
And this is ever proper unto Courts,  
That nothing can be done, but fame reports.   

Fame doth explore what lies most secret hidden,  
Entering the closet of the Palace dweller:  
Abroad revealing what is most forbidden:  
Of truth and falsehood both an equal teller.  
'tis not a guard can serve for to expel her.  
The sword of justice cannot cut her wings,  
Nor stop her mouth from vtt'ring secret things.   

And this our stealth she could not long conceal,  
From her whom such a forfeit most concerned:  
The wronged Queen, who could so closely deal,  
That she the whole of all our practice learned,  
And watched a time when lest it was discerned,  
In absence of the King, to wreak her wrong,  
With such revenge as she desired long.   

The Labyrinth she entered by that thread.  
That served a conduct to my absent Lord,  
Jest there by chance, reserved for such a deed,  
Where she surprised me whom she so abhorred.  
Enraged with madness, scarce she speaks a word,  
But fly's with eager fury to my face,  
Offering me most unwomanly disgrace.   

Look how a Tigress that hath lost her whelp,  
Runs fiercely raging through the woods astray:  
And seeing herself deprived of hope or help,  
Doth furiously assault what's in her way,  
To satisfy her wrath, (not for a pray;)  
So fallen she on me in outrageous wise,  
As could Disdain and jealousy devise.   

And after all her vile reproaches used,  
She forced me ●ake the poison she had brought,  
To end the life that had her so abused,  
And free her fears, and ease her jealous thought.  
Not cruelty her wrath would leave unwrought,  
Not spiteful act that to Revenge is common;  
Not beast being fiercer than a jealous woman.   

Here take (says she) thou impudent unclean,  
Base graceless strumpet, take this next your heart;  
Your lovesick heart, that over charged hath been  
With Pleasure's surfeit, must be purged with Arte.  
This potion hath a power that will conuart  
To nought, those humours that oppress you so.  
And (Girl) I'll see you take it ere I go.   

What stand you now amazed retire you back?  
Tremble you (minion?) come dispatch with speed:  
There is not help, your Champion now you lack.  
And all these tears you shed will nothing steed:  
Those dainty fingers needs must do the deed.  
Take it or I will drench you else by force,  
And trifle not, left that I use you worse.   

Having this bloody doom from hellish breath,  
My woeful eyes on every side I cast:  
Rigour about me, in my hand my death,  
Presenting me the horror of my last:  
All hope of pity and of comfort past.  
Not means, not power, not forces to contend,  
My trembling hands must give myself my end.   

Those hands that beauty's ministers had been,  
They must give death that me adorned of late,  
That mouth that newly gave consent to sin,  
Must now receive destruction in thereat,  
That body which my lust did violate,  
Must sacrifice itself t'appease the wrong.  
(So short is pleasure glory lasts not long.)   

And she not sooner see I had it taken,  
But forth she rushes, (proud with victory,)  
And leaves m'alone, of all the world forsaken,  
Except of Death, which she had left with me.  
(Death and myself alone together be.)  
To whom she did her full revenge refer.  
O poor weak conquest both for him and her.   

Than strait my conscience summons up my sin,  
T'appear before me, in a hideous ●ace;  
Now doth the terror of my soul begin,  
When every corner of that hateful place  
Dictates mine error, and reveals disgrace;  
Whilst I remain oppressed in every part,  
Deoth in my body, horror at my heart.   

Down on my bed my loathsome self I cast,  
The bed that likewise gives in evidence  
Against my soul, and tells I was unchaste,  
Tells I was wanton, tells I followed sense,  
And therefore cast, by guilt of mine offence.  
Must here the right of heaven needs satisfy,  
And where I wanton lay, must wretched die.   

Hear I begun to wail my hard mishap,  
My sudden, strange unlooked for misery.  
Accusing them that did my youth entrap,  
To give me such a fall of infamy.  
And poor distressed Rosamond. (said I,)  
Is this thy glory got, to die forlorn  
In Deserts, where not ear can hear thee mourn●   

Nor any eye of pity to behold  
The woeful end of thy sad tragedy;  
But that thy wrongs unseen, thy tale untold,  
Must here in secret silence buried lie.  
And with thee, thy excuse together die.  
Thy sin eeueal'd, but thy repentance hide,  
Thy shame alive, but dead what thy death did.   

Yet breath out to these walls the breath of moan,  
Tell th'air thy plaints, since men thou canst not tell.  
And though thou perish desolate alone,  
Tell yet thyself, what thyself knows too well:  
V●ter thy grief where with thy soul doth swell.  
And let thy heart pity thy heart's remorse.  
And be thyself the mourner and the corpse.   

Condole thee here, clad all in black despair,  
With silence only, and a dying bed;  
Thou-babes that of late, so flourishing, so fair,  
Didst glorious live, admired and honoured:  
And now from friends, from succour hither led,  
Art made a spoil to lust, to wrath, to death,  
And in disgrace, forced here to yield thy breath.   

Did Nature (for this good) ingeniate,  
To show in thee the glory of her best;  
Framing thy eye the star of thy ill fate.  
Making thy face the foe to spoil the rest?  
OH Beauty, thou an enemy professed  
To Chastity and us that love thee most,  
Without theo how we're loathed, and with thee lost?   

You, you that proud with liberty and beauty,  
(And well may you be proud that you be so,)  
Glitter in Court, loved and observed of duty:  
Would God I might to you but ere I go  
Speak what I feele● to warn you by my woe,  
To keep your feet in cleanly paths of shame,  
That not enticing may divert the same.   

See'ng how against your tender weakness still,  
The strength of wit, of gold, and all is bend:  
And all th'assaults that ever might or skill,  
Can give against a chaste and clean intent:  
Ah let not greatness work you to consent.  
The spot is foul, though by a Monarch made,  
Kings cannot privilege what God forbade.   

Lock up therefore the treasure of your love,  
Under the surest keys of fear and shame:  
And let not powers have power chaste thoughts to move  
To make a lawless entry on your fame.  
Open to those the comfort of your flame,  
Whose equal love shall march with equal pace,  
In those pure ways that lead to not disgrace.   

For see how many discontented beds,  
Our own aspiring, or our Parent's pride  
Have caused, whilst that ambition vainly weds  
Wealth and not love, honour and naught beside:  
Whilst married but to titles, we abide  
As wedded widows, wanting what we have,  
When shadows cannot give us what we crave.   

Or whilst we spend the freshest of our time,  
The sweet of youth in plotting in the air;  
Alas how often we fall, hoping to climb;  
Or whither as unprofitably fair,  
Whilst those decays which are without repair,  
Make us neglected, scorned and reproved.  
(And OH what are we, if we be not loved?)   

Fasten therefore upon occasions fit,  
Jest this, or that, or like disgrace as mine,  
Do overtake your youth to ruin it,  
And cloud with infamy your beauties shine:  
Seeing how many seek to undermine  
The treasury that's vnpossest of any:  
And hard 'tis kept that is desired of many.   

And fly (OH fly) these Bed-brokers unclean,  
(The monsters of our sex, that make a pray  
Of their own kind, by an unkindly mean;  
And even (like Vipers) eating out a way  
Through th'wombe of their own shame, accursed they  
Live by the death of Fame, the gain of sin,  
The filth of lust, uncleanness wallows in.   

As if 'twere not enough that we, (poor we)  
Have weakness, beauty, gold, and men our foes,  
But we must have some of ourselves to be  
Traitors unto ourselves, to join with those?  
Such as our feeble forces do disclose,  
And still betray our cause, our shame our youth,  
To lust, to folly, and to man's untruth?   

Hateful confounders both of blood and laws,  
wild Oraters of shame, that plead delight:  
Ungracious Agents in a wicked cause,  
Factors for darkness, messengers of night,  
Serpents of guile, devils, that do invire  
The wanton taste of that forbidden tree,  
Whose fruit once plucked, will show how foul we be.   

You in the habit of a grave aspect,  
(In credit by the trust of years, (can shoe  
The cunning ways of lust, and can direct  
The fair and wily wantoness how they go,  
Having (youth loathsome selves) your youth spent so.  
And in uncleanness ever have been fed,  
By the revenue of a wanton bed.   

By you, have been the innocent betrayed,  
The blushing fearful, boldened unto sin,  
The wife made subtle, subtle made the maid,  
The husband scorned, dishonoured the kin:  
Parents disgraced, children infamous been.  
Confused our race, and falsi-fied our blood,  
Whilst father's sons possess wrong Fathers good.   

This, and much more, I would have uttered than,  
A testament to be recorded still,  
Signed with my blood, subscribed with Conscience pen,  
To warn the fair and beautiful from ill.  
Though I could wish (by th'example of my will,)  
I had not left this note unto the fair,  
But died intestate to have had not heir.   

But now, the poison spread through all my veins,  
'Gan dispossess my living senses quite:  
And naught respecting death, (the last of pains,)  
Placed his pale colours, (th'ensigne of his might,)  
Upon his new-got spoil before his right;  
Thence chased my soul, setting my day ere noon,  
When I least thought my joys could end so soon.   

And as conveyed t'vntimely funerals,  
My scarce cold corpse not suffered longer stay,  
Behold, the King (by chance) returning, falls  
T'encounter with the same upon the way,  
As he repaired to see his dearest joy.  
Not thinking such a meeting could have been,  
To see his Love, and seeing been unseen,   

judge those whom chance deprives of sweetest treasure,  
What 'tis to loose a thing we hold so dear:  
The best delight, wherein our soul takes pleasure,  
The sweet of life, that penetrates so near.  
What passions feels that heart, enforced to bear  
The deep impression of so strange a sight,  
That ouerwhelmes us, or confounds us quite?   

Amazed he stands, nor voice nor body steers,  
Words had not passage, tears not issue found,  
For sorrow shut up words, wrath kept in tears,  
Confused affects each other do confounded:  
Oppressed with grief, his passions had not bond.  
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;  
For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.   

At length extremity breaks out a way,  
Through which th'imprisned voice with tears attended,  
wails out a sound that sorrows do bewray,  
With arms across, and eyes to heaven bended,  
vapouring our sighs that to the skies ascended.  
Sighs (the poor ease calamity affords,)  
Which serve for speech when sorrow wants words.   

OH heavens) quoth he,) why do mine eyes behold  
The hateful rays of this unhappy sun?  
Why have I light to see my sins controlled,  
With blood of mine own shame thus vildly done?  
How can my sight endure to look thereon?  
Why doth not black eternal darkness hid,  
That from mine eyes, my heart cannot abide?   

What see my life, wherein my soul might joy,  
What had my days, whom trouble's still afflicted,  
But only this, to counterpoise annoy?  
This joy, this hope, which Death hath interdicted;  
This sweet, whose loss hath all distress inflicted:  
This, that did season all my sour of life,  
Vexed still at home with broils, abroad in strife:   

Vexed still at home with broils, abroad in strife,  
Dissension in my blood, jars in my bed:  
Distrust at board, suspecting still my life,  
Spending the night in horror, days in dread:  
(Such life hath Tyrants, and this life I led.)  
These miseries go masked in glittering shows,  
Which wise men see, the vulgar littles knows.   

Thus as these passions do him overwhelm,  
He draws him near my body to behold it.  
And as the Vine married unto the Elm  
With strict embraces, so doth he enfold it.  
And as he in his careful arms doth hold it,  
Viewing the face that now even death commends,  
On senseless lips, million of kisses spends.   

Pitt●full mouth (says he) that living gavest  
The sweetest comfort that my soul could wish:  
OH be it lawful now, that dead thou havest,  
This sorrowing farewell of a dying kisle.  
And you fair eyes, containers of my bliss,  
Motives of love, born to be matched never,  
Entombed in your sweet circles sleep for ever.   

Ah how me thinks I see Death dallying seeks,  
To entertain itself in loves sweet place:  
Decayed Roses of discoloured cheeks,  
Do yet retain deerenotes of former grace:  
And ugly Death sits fair within her face;  
Sweet remnants resting of vermilion read,  
That Death itself doubts whether she be dead.   

Wonder of beauty, o receive these plaints,  
These obsequys, the last that I shall make thee:  
For lo, my soul that now already faints,  
(That loved thee living, dead will not forsake thee,)  
Hastens her speedy course to overtake thee.  
I●e meet my death, and free myself thereby,  
For (ah) what can he do that cannot die?   

Yet ere I die, thus much my soul doth vow,  
Revenge shall sweeten death with ease of mind:  
And I will 'cause posterity shall know,  
How fa●e thou wert above all woman kind,  
And afterages monuments shall find  
Showing thy beauty's title, no● thy name,  
Rose of the world that sweetened so the same.   

This said, though more desirous yet to say,  
(For sorrow is unwilling to give over.)  
He doth repress what grief would else bewray,  
Lest he too much his passions should discover.  
And yet respect scarce bridles such a Lover.  
So far transported that he known not whither,  
For Love and Majesty devil ill together,   

Than were my funerals not long deferred.  
But done with all the rites pomp could devise,  
At Godstow, where my body was interred.  
And richly tombed in honourable wise,  
Where yet as now scarce any note descries  
Unto these times, the memory of me,  
Marble and Brass so little lasting be.   

For those walls which the credulous devout,  
And apt-beleeving ignorant did found;  
With willing zeal, that never called in doubt,  
That Time their works should ever so confounded,  
Lie like confused heaps as under ground.  
And what their ignorance esteemed so holy●  
Our wiser ages do account as folly.   

And were it not thy favourable lines  
Re-edified the wrack of my decay,  
And that thy accents willingly assigns  
Some farther date, and give meelonger days,  
Few in this age had known my Beauties praise.  
But thus renewed, my fame redeems some time,  
Till other ages shall neglect thy rhyme.   

Than when Confusion in her course shall bri●g  
Sad desolation on the times to come:  
When mirthless Thames shall have not Swan to sing,  
All music silent, & the Muse's dumb:  
And yet even than it must be known to some,  
That once they flourished, though not cherished so,  
And Thames had Swans aswell as ever Po,   

But here an end, I may not longer stay.  
I must return t'attend at Stygian flood:  
Yet ere I go, this one word more I pray.  
Tell Delia, now her sight may do me good,  
And will her note the frailty of our blood.  
And if I pass unto th●se happy banks.  
Than she must have her praise, thy pen her thanks.   

So vanquished she, and left me to return  
To prosecute the tenor of my woes:  
Eternal matter for my Muse to mourn,  
But (yet) the world hath herded too much of those,  
My youth such errors must not more disclose.  
I'll hid the rest, and grieve for what hath been,  
Who made me known must make me live unsee●   
FINIS.   

An Ode.  

NOW each creature joys the other,  
passing happy days and hours,  
One Bird reports unto another,  
in the fall of silver showers,  
Whilst the earth (our common mother)  
hath her bosom decked with flowers.   

Whilst the greatest Torch of heaven,  
with bright rays warms Flora's lap,  
Making nights and days both even,  
cheering plants with fresher sap:  
My field of flowers quite bereven,  
wants refresh of better hap.   

Echo, daughter of the Air,  
(babbling guest of Rocks and hills,)  
Knows the name of my fierce Fair,  
and sounds the accents of my ills.  
Each thing pities my despair,  
whilst that she her Lover kills.   

Whilst that she (OH cruel Maid)  
doth me and my love despise,  
My lives flourish is decayed,  
that depended on her eyes:  
But her will must be obeyed,  
and well he ends for love who dies.    

A Pastoral.  

OH Happy golden Age,  
Not for that Rivers ran  
With streams of milk, and honey dropped from treet,  
Not that the earth did gage  
Unto the husbandman  
Her voluntary fruits, free without fees:  
Not for not cold did frieze,  
Nor any cloud beguile,  
Th'eternal flowering Spring  
Wherein lived every thing,  
And whereon th'heavens perpetually did smile,  
Not for not sh●p had brought  
From foreign shores, or wars or wares ill sought.  
But only for that name,  
That Idle name of wind:  
That Idol of deceit, that empty sound  
Called Honour, which become  
The tyrant of the mind:  
And so torment's our Nature without ground,  
Was not yet vainly found:  
Nor yet sad griefs imparts  
Amid the sweet delights  
Of joyful amorous wights.  
Nor were his hard laws known to freeborn hearts.  
But golden laws like these  
Which Nature written. That's lawful which doth please.  
Than among flowers and springs  
Making delightful sport,  
Sat Lovers without conflict, without flame:  
And Nymphs and shepherds sing  
Mixing in wanton sort  
Whisper with Songs, than kisses with the same  
Which from affection came:  
The naked virgin than  
Her Roses fresh reveals,  
Which now her veil conceals.  
The tender Apples in her bosom seen,  
And often in Rivers clear  
The Lovers with their loves consorting were.  
HONOUR, thou first didst close  
The spring of all delight:  
Denying water to the amorous thirst  
Thou-babes taughtest fair eyes to loose  
The glory of their light.  
Restrained from men, and on themselves reversed.  
Thou-babes in a Lawn didst first  
These golden hairs incase,  
Late spread unto the wind:  
Thou-babes mad'st lose grace unkind,  
Gav'st bridle to their words, art to their pace.  
OH Honour it is thou  
That makest that stealth, which love doth free allow.  
It is thy work that brings  
Our griefs, and torments thus:  
But thou fierce Lord of Nature and of Love,  
The quallifier of Kings,  
What dost thou here with us  
That are below thy power, shut from above?  
Go and from us remove,  
Trouble the mighties sleep,  
Let us neglected, base,  
Live still without thy grace,  
And th'use of th'ancient happy ages keep,  
Let's love, this life of ours  
Can make not truce with time that all devours.   

Let's love, the sun doth set, and rise again,  
But when as our short light  
Comes once to set, it makes eternal night.   
FINIS.   

Ulysses and the Siren.  Siren. 

COme worthy Greek, Ulysses come  
Possess these shores with me:  
The winds and Seas are troublesome,  
And here we may be free.  
Here may we sit, and view their toil  
That travail in the deep,  
And joy the day in mirth the while,  
And spend the night in sleep.   Vlis. 

Fair Nymph, if fame, or honour were  
To be attaynd with case  
Than would I come, and rest with thee,  
And leave such toils as these.  
But here it dwells, and here must I  
With danger seek it forth,  
To spend the time luxuriously  
Becomes not men of worth.   Sir Ulysses, 

OH be not deceived  
With that unreall name:  
This honour is a thing conceived,  
And rests on others fame.  
Begotten only to molest  
Our peace, and to beguile  
(The best thing of our life) our rest,  
And give us up to toil.   Vlis. 

Delicious Nymph, suppose there were  
Nor honour, nor report,  
Yet manliness would scorn to wear  
The time in idle sport.  
For toil doth give a better touch,  
To make us feel our joy;  
And case finds tediousness as much  
As labour yields annoyed.   Sir 

Than pleasure likewise seems the shore,  
Whereto tends all your toil,  
Which you forego to make it more,  
And perish often the while.  
Who may disport them diversly,  
Find never tedious day,  
And ease may have variety,  
As well as action may.   Vlis. 

But natures of the noblest frame  
These toils, and dangers please,  
And they take comfort in the same,  
As much as you in ease.  
And with the thought of actions past  
Are recreated still;  
When pleasure leaves a touch at las●,  
To show that it was ill.   Sy. 

That doth opinion only cause,  
That's out of custom bread,  
Which makes us many other laws  
Than ever Nature did.   

Not widows wail for our delights,  
Our sports are without blood,  
The world we see by warlike wights.  
Receives more hurt than good.   Vlis. 

But yet the state of things require  
These motions of unrest,  
And these great Spirits of high desire,  
Seem born to turn them best.  
To purge the mischiefs that increase,  
And all good order mar:  
For often we see a wicked peace  
To be well changed for war.   Sy. 

Well, well Ulysses than I see,  
I shall not have thee here,  
And therefore I will come to thee,  
And take my fortunes there.  
I must be won that cannot win,  
Yet lost were I not won:  
For beauty hath created been,  
T'undo, or be undone.   
FINIS.