THE Tragedy of Cleopatra.  
AEtas prima canat veneres postrema tumultus.  
1594.   

To the Right Honourable, the Lady Mary, Countess of Pembroke.  

Lo here the work the which she did impose,  
Who only doth predominate my Muse:  
The star of wonder, which my labours chose  
To guide their way in all the course I use.  
she, whose clear brightness doth alone infuse  
Strength to my thoughts, and makes me what I am,  
Called up my spirits from out their low repose,  
To sing of state, and tragic notes to frame.   

ay, who (contented with an humble song.)  
Made music to myself that pleased me best,  
And only told of DELIA, and her wrong,  
And praised her eyes, and plained mine own unrest:  
(A text from whence my Muse had not digressed.)  
Madam, had not thy well graced Anthony,  
(Who all alone having remained long,)  
Required his Cleopatra's company.   

Who if she here do so appear in act,  
That for his Queen & Love he scarce will know her,  
Finding how much she of herself hath lacked,  
And missed that glory wherein I should show her,  
In majesty debased, in courage lower;  
Yet lightning thou by thy sweet favouring eyes,  
My dark defects which from her spirit detract,  
He yet may guess it's she; which will suffice.   

And I hereafter, in another kind,  
More fitting to the nature of my vain,  
May (peradventure) better please thy mind,  
And higher notes in sweeter music strain:  
Seeing that thou so graciously dost deign.  
To countenance my song and cherish me.  
I must so work posterity may find  
How much I did contend to honour thee.   

Now when so many pens (like Spears) are charged,  
To chase away this tyrant of the North:  
Gross Barbarism, whose power grown far enlarged,  
Was lately by thy valiant Brother's worth,  
First found, encountered, and provoked forth:  
Whose onset made the rest audacious,  
Whereby they likewise have so well discharged,  
Upon that hideous Beast encroaching thus.   

And now must I with that poor strength I have,  
Resist so foul a foe in what I may:  
And arm against oblivion and the grave,  
That else in darkness carries all away,  
And makes of all our honours but a prey.  
So that if by my pen procure I shall  
But to defend me, and my name to save,  
Then though I die, I cannot yet die all;   

But still the better part of me will live,  
Decked and adorned with thy sacred name,  
Although thyself dost far more glory give  
Unto thyself, than I can by the same.  
Who dost with thine own hand a Bulwark frame  
Against these Monsters, (enemies of honour,)  
Which evermore shall so defend thy Fame,  
That Time nor they, shall never pray upon her.   

Those Hymns that thou dost consecrate to heaven,  
Which Israel's Singer to his God did frame:  
Unto thy voice eternity hath given,  
And makes thee dear to him from whence they came.  
In them must rest thy ever reverent name,  
So long as Zion's GOD remaineth honoured;  
And till confusion hath all zeal bereaven,  
And murdered Faith, and Temples ruined.   

By this, (Great Lady,) thou must then be known,  
When Wilton lies low leveled with the ground:  
And this is that which thou mayst call thine own,  
Which sacrilegious time cannot confound;  
Here thou surviv'st thyself, here thou are found  
Of late succeeding ages, fresh in fame:  
This Monument cannot be overthrown,  
Where, in eternal Brass remains thy Name.   

O that the Ocean did not bound our style  
Within these strict and narrow limits so:  
But that the melody of our sweet I'll,  
Might now be heard to Tiber, Arne, and Po.  
That they might know how far Thames doth outgo  
The music of Declined italy:  
And listening to our songs another while,  
Might learn of thee, their notes to purify.   

O why may not some after-coming hand,  
Unlock these limits, open our confines:  
And break asunder this imprisoning band,  
T'enlarge our spirits, and publish our designs;  
Planting our Roses on the Apenines?  
And teach to Rhine, to Loire, and Rhodanus,  
Our accents, and the wonders of our Land,  
That they might all admire and honour us.   

Whereby great Sidney & our SPENCER might,  
With those Po-singers being equalled,  
Enchant the world with such a sweet delight,  
That their eternal songs (for ever read,)  
May show what great Eliza's reign hath bred.  
What music in the kingdom of her peace.  
Hath now been made to her, and by her might,  
Whereby her glorious fame shall never cease.   

But if that Fortune doth deny us this,  
Than Neptune, lock up with thy Ocean key,  
This treasure to ourselves, and let them miss  
Of so sweet riches: as unworthy they  
To taste the great delights that we enjoy.  
And let our harmony so pleasing grown,  
Content ourselves, whose error ever is,  
Strange notes to like, and disesteem our own.   

But, whither do my vows transport me now,  
Without the compass of my course enjoined?  
Alas, what honour can a voice so low  
As this of mine, expect hereby to find?  
But, (Madam,) this doth animate my mind,  
That favoured by the Worthies of our Land,  
My lines are liked; the which may make me grow,  
In time to take a greater task in hand.    

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: & sent Proculeius to use all diligence to bring her unto him: For that he though 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 her: 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 send 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 Aspics 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.  
Cesario 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 Ptolemy's to be wholly extinct, & the flourishing rich Kingdom of Egypt utterly overthrown and subdued.   

The Scene supposed Alexandria.  

THE ACTORS.  
CLEOPATRA.  
OCTAVIUS  
CAESAR.  
PROCULEIUS.  
DOLABELLA.  
TITIUS, servant to DOLABELLA.  
ARIUS.— two Philosophers. PHILOSTRATUS.  
SELEUCUS. Secretary to CLEOPATRA.  
RODON. Tutor to CAESARIO.  
NVNTIVS.  
The CHORUS. all Egyptians.    

ACTVS PRIMVS.  

CLEOPATRA.   
YET do I live, and yet doth breath possess  
This hateful prison of a loathsome soul:  
Can no calamity, nor no distress  
Break heart and all, and end a life so soul?  
Can Cleopatra live, and with these eyes  
Behold the dearest of her life bereft her?  
Ah, can she entertain the least surmise  
Of any hope, that hath but horror left her?  
Why should I linger longer griefs to try?  
These eyes that saw what honour earth could give me,  
Do now behold the worst of misery:  
The greatest wrack whereto Fortune could drive me  
He on whose shoulders all my rest relied,  
On whom the burden of my ambition lay:  
The Atlas and the Champion of my pride,  
That did the world of my whole fortune sway;  
Lies fallen, confounded, dead in shame and dolours,  
Following th'unlucky party of my love.  
Th' Ensign of mine eyes, th'unhappy colours,  
That him to mischief, me to ruin drove.  
And now the model made of misery,  
Scorn to the world, borne but for Fortune's foil,  
My lusts have framed a Tomb for me to lie,  
Even in the ashes of my country's spoil.  
Ah, who would think that I were she who late,  
Clad with the glory of the world's chief riches,  
Admired of all the earth, and wondered at,  
Glittering in pomp that heart and eye bewitches:  
Should thus distressed, cast down from of that height  
Levelled with low disgraced calamity,  
Under the weight of such affliction sigh,  
Reduced unto th'extremest misery.  
Am I the woman, whose inventive pride,  
(Adorned like Isis,) scorned mortality?  
be't I that left my sense so without guide,  
That flattery would not let him know 'twas I?  
Ah, now I see, they scarce tell truth, that praise us,  
Crowns are beguiled, prosperity betrays us.  
What is become of all that stately train,  
Those troops that won't attend prosperity?  
See what is left, what number doth remain,  
A tomb, two maids, and miserable I.  
And I t'adorn their triumphs, am reserved  
A captive kept to beautify their spoils:  
Whom Caesar labours, so to have preserved,  
And seeks to entertain my life with wiles.  
No Caesar no, it is not thou canst do it.  
Promise, flatter, threaten extremity,  
Employ thy wits, and all thy force unto it,  
I have both hands, and will, and I can die.  
Though thou of Country, kingdom, & my Crown,  
Though thou of all my glory dost bereave me,  
Though thou hast all my Egypt as thine own,  
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:  
Cannot by threats be vulgarly abated,  
To be thy slave, that ruled as good as thou.  
Consider Caesar that I am a Queen,  
And scorn the baseness of a servile thought:  
The world and thou, dost know what I have been,  
And never think I can be so low brought,  
The Rome should see my scepter-bearing hands,  
Behind me bound, and glory in my tears.  
That I should pass, whereas Octavia stands  
To view my misery, that purchased hers.  
No, I disdain that head that wore a Crown,  
Should stoop to take up that which others give:  
I must not be, unless I be mine own.  
'tis sweet to die when we are forced to live.  
Nor had I troubled now the world thus long,  
And been indebted for this little breath,  
But that I fear, Caesar would offer wrong  
To my distressed seed after my death.  
'tis that which doth my dearest blood control.  
'tis that (alas) detains me from my Tomb,  
Whilst Nature brings to contradict my soul,  
The argument of mine unhappy womb.  
O luckless issue of a woeful Mother,  
Th' ungodly pledges of a wanton bed;  
You Kings designed, must now be slaves to other,  
Or else not be (I fear) when I am dead.  
It is for you I temporize with Caesar,  
And live this while for to procure your safety.  
For you I fain content, and sooth his pleasure,  
Calamity herein hath made me crafty.  
But 'tis not long, I'll see what may be done,  
And come what will, this stands, I must die free.  
I'll be myself, my thoughts do rest thereon,  
Blood, children, nature, all must pardon me.  
My soul yields honour up the victory,  
And I must be a Queen, forget a mother:  
Yet mother would I be, were I not I,  
And Queen would I not now be, were I other.  
But what know I, if th'heavens have decreed,  
And that the sins of Egypt have deserved,  
The Ptolemies should fail, and none succeed,  
And that my weakness was thereto reserved.  
That I should bring confusion to my state,  
And fill the measure of iniquity:  
Licentiousness in me should end her date,  
Begun in ill-dispensed liberty.  
If so it be, and that my heedless ways,  
Have this so great a dissolation raised,  
Yet let a glorious end conclude my days,  
Though life were bad, my death may yet be praised,  
That I may write in letters of my blood,  
A fit memorial for the times to come:  
To be example to such Princes good  
That please themselves, and care not what become.  
And Anthony, because the world doth know,  
That my misfortune hath procured thine,  
And my improvidence brought thee follow,  
To lose thy glory, and to ruin mine:  
By grappling in the Ocean of our pride,  
To sink each other's greatness both together,  
Both equal shipwreck of our states t'abide,  
And like destruction to procure to either:  
If I should now (our common fault) survive,  
Than all the world must hate me if I do it,  
Sith both our errors did occasion give,  
And both our faults have brought us both unto it.  
I being first enamoured with thy greatness,  
Thou with my vanity bewitched wholly:  
And both betrayed with th'outward pleasant sweetness,  
The one ambition spoiled, th'other folly.  
For which, thou hast already duly paid,  
The statute of thy errors dearest forfeit:  
Whereby thy gotten credit was decayed,  
Procured thee by thy wanton deadly surfeit.  
And next is my turn, now to sacrifice  
To Death, and thee, the life that doth reprove me,  
Our like distress I feel doth sympathize,  
And even affliction makes me truly love thee.  
Which Anthony, (I must confess my fault,)  
I never did sincerely until now;  
Now I protest I do, now am I taught,  
In death to love, in life that knew not how.  
For whilst my glory in that greatness stood,  
And that I saw my state, and knew my beauty,  
Saw how the world admired me, how they wood,  
I then thought all men, must love me of duty,  
And I love none: for my lascivious Court,  
(Fertile in ever-fresh and new-choice pleasure,)  
Afforded me so bountiful disport,  
That I to think on love had never leisure.  
My vagabond desires no limits found,  
For lust is endless, pleasure hath no bound.  
Thou, coming from the strictness of thy City,  
The wanton pomp of Courts yet never learnedst:  
enured to wars, in woman's wiles unwitty,  
Whilst others feigned, thou fellest to love in earnest.  
Not knowing women like them best that hover,  
And make least reckoning of a doting Lover.  
And yet thou earn'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.  
Then, and but thus, thou didst love most sincerely,  
(O Anthony,) that best deserved'st 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 most faithful zeal,  
And that ere long, no Caesar shall detain me;  
My death, my love and courage shall reveal,  
The which is all the world hath left t'unstain me.  
And to the end I may deceive best, Caesar,  
Who doth so eagerly my life importune,  
I must prevail me of this little leisure,  
Seeming to suit my mind unto my fortune.  
Whereby I may the better me provide,  
Of what my death and honour best shall fit:  
A seeming base content, must wary hide  
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 world's unrest.  
Which when being most distressed,  
Yet more to vex their spirit,  
The hideous face of sin,  
(In forms they most detest)  
Stands ever in their sight.  
Their Conscience still within,  
th'eternal 'larum is,  
That ever-barking dog that calls upon their miss.   

No means at all to hide  
Man from himself can find:  
No way to start aside  
Out from the hell of mind.  
But in himself confined,  
He still sees sin before:  
And winged-footed pain,  
That swiftly comes behind,  
The which is ever more,  
The sure and certain gain  
Impiety doth get,  
And wanton loose respect, that doth itself forget.   

And CLEOPATRA now,  
Well sees the dangerous way  
She took, and cared not bow,  
Which led her to decay.  
And likewise makes us pay  
For her disordered lust,  
Th' interest of our blood:  
Or live a servile prey,  
Under a band 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 hid,  
Of what fear did restrain.  
No 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 broke.  
Thus much beguiled have  
Poor unconsider at wights,  
These momentary pleasures, fugitive delights.     

ACTVS SECVNDVS.  

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.  
No mortal hand force open can that door,  
So close shut up, and locked to all mankind:  
I see men's bodies only ours, no 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-conquering 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 alive, (if that I might)  
From out the Monument, where woefully  
She lives enclosed in most afflicted plight;  
No way I found, no means how to surprise her,  
But through a Grate 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 no merit.  
So leaving her for then; and since of late,  
With Gallus sent to try another 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 raught 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 blade did wrest.  
Ah Cleopatra, why should'st 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 confused and misery.  
Her proud grieved eyes, held sorrow and disdain,  
State and distress warring within her soul:  
Dying ambition dispossessed her reign,  
So base affliction seemed to control.  
Like as a burning Lamp, whose liquour spent  
With intermitted flames, when dead you deem it,  
Sends forth a dying flash, 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 nought,)  
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  
Words of command conjoined wish 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 living?  
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 no covert where to stand  
Free from the storm of pride, be't safe nowhere?  
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, if he could content him:  
And let him now with his desires make even,  
And leave me to this horror, to lamenting.  
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.  
No other crown I seek, no 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 no respect, nor no regard at all,  
Can aught with nature or with blood dispense:  
Then be it so, if needs it must be so.  
There stays and shrinks 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 off all vain fears:  
No 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 herewithal, craved also that she might  
Perform her last rites 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,  
Left her for then, seeming in better rest.  Caes. 
But dost thou think she will remain so still?  Pro. 
I think, and do assure myself she will.  Caes. 
Ah, private men found not the hearts of Princes,  
Whose actions oft bear contrary pretences.  Pro. 
Why, 'tis her safety for to yield to thee.  Caes. 
But 'tis more honour for her to die free.  Pro. 
She may thereby procure her children's good.  Caes. 
PRINCE's respect their honour more than blood.  Pro. 
Can Princes power dispense with nature then?  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 tamed.  
A private man may yield, and care not how,  
But greater hearts will break before they bow.  
And sure I think sh'will never condescend,  
To live to grace our spoils with her disgrace:  
But yet let still a wary watch 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.  
Then something else thou find'st beside,  
To draw him still from thought to thought:  
When in the end all proves but nought.  
Farther from rest he finds him than,  
Then at the first when he began.   

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

If we unto ambition tend,  
Then dost thou draw our weakness on,  
With vain imagination  
Of that which never hath an end.  
Or if that lust we apprehend,  
How doth that pleasant plague infest?  
O what strange forms of luxury,  
Thou 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 same likewise is had,  
Then all is one, and all is bad.   

This Anthony can say is true,  
And Cleopatra knows 'tis so,  
By th'experience of their woe.  
She can say, she never knew  
But that just 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 no 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, 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 nought 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 thing ends.     

ACTVS TERTIVS.  


PHILOSTRATUS.  
ARIUS.   
HOW deeply Arius am I bound 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 thine?  
Although I see in such a woeful state,  
Life is not that which should be much desired:  
Sith all our glories come to end their date,  
Our country's honour and our own expired.  
Now that the hand of wrath hath overgone us,  
Living (as 'twere) in 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 unsick 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 then, what courage lofty  
In taxing others fears in counsel 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 then, where is our art?  
O 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 t'abuse,  
So shamefully to seek t'avoid my death.  Arius. 
Philostratus, that self same care to live,  
Possesseth all alike, and grieve not then  
Nature doth us no 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 loath 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 nought but mirth & Music late resounded,  
How nothing with our eye but horror meets,  
Our state, our wealth, our pride & 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 such a people:  
When insolent Security found rest  
In wanton thoughts, with lust and ease made feeble.  
Then when unwary peace with fat-fed pleasure,  
New-fresh invented riots still detected,  
Purchased with all the Ptolemy's rich treasure,  
Our laws, our Gods, our mysteries neglected.  
Who saw 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.)  
O thou and I have heard, 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 no state can in height of happiness,  
In th'exaltation of their glory stand:  
But thither once arrived, declining less,  
Ruin themselves, or fall by others' hand.  
Thus doth the everchanging 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 off all obstacles of fear:  
All whatsoever seems but to withstand  
Their least conceit of quiet, held so dear;  
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 lose.  
And sure I cannot see, how this can stand  
With great Augustus' safety and his honour,  
To cut off all succession from our land,  
For her offence that pulled the wars upon her.  Phi. 
Why must her issue pay the price of that?  Ari. 
The price is life that they are rated at.  Phi. 
Caesario to, issued of Caesar's blood?  Ari. 
Plurality of Caesars are not good.  Phi. 
Alas what hurt procures his feeble arm?  Ari. 
Not for it doth, but that it may do harm.  Phi. 
Then when it offers hurt, repress the same,  Ari. 
'tis best to quench a spark before it flame.  Phi. 
'tis in human, 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,  
To apprehend some falsed hope: whereby  
She might be drawn to have her fortune seen.  
But yet I think, Rome will not see that face  
(That quell her champions,) blush in base disgrace.   

SCENA. secunda.  

CAESAR,  
CLEOPATRA,  
SELEUCUS,  
DOLABELLA.   Caes. 
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?  Cleo. 
O Caesar, not for that I fly thy fight  
My soul this sad retire of sorrow chose:  
But that my '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 no Roman should repair,  
More 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 thine own alone:  
That others ruin had not with thy fall  
Brought Rome her sorrows, to my triumphs moan.  
For breaking off the league of love and blood.  
Thou mak'st my winning joy a gain unpleasing:  
Sith th'eye of grief must look into our good,  
Thorough the horror of our own bloodshedding.  
And all, we must attribute unto thee.  Cleo. 
To me? Caesar what should a woman do  
Oppressed with greatness? What was it for me  
To contradict my Lord, being bent 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, or what was mine?  
Th'interest of my faith in straightest band,  
My love to his most firmly did combine.  Caes. 
Love? alas no, it was th'innated hatred  
That thou and thine haste ever borne our people:  
That made thee seek all means to have us scattered,  
To disunite our strength, and makers 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. 
O Caesar, see how easy 'tis t'accuse  
Whom fortune hath made faulty by their fall,  
The wretched conquered may not refuse  
The titles of reproach he's charged withal.  
The conquering cause hath right, wherein thou art,  
The vanquished, still is judged the worser part.  
Which part is mine, because I lost my part.  
No lesser than the portion of a Crown.  
Enough for me, alas what 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 oft 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 to?  
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 confound the same.  
read here these lines which still I keep with me,  
The witness of his love and favours ever:  
And God forbid this should be said of thee,  
That Caesar wronged the favoured of Caesar.  
For look what I have been to Anthony,  
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 rare  
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 a part.  Cle. 
What vile ungrateful wretch, dar'st thou control  
Thy Queen & sovereign? caitiff as thou art.  Caes. 
Hold, hold, a poor revenge can work so feeble  Cle. 
Ah Caesar, what a great indignity hands.  
Is this, that here my vassal subject stands,  
T' accuse me to my Lord of treachery?  
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 octavia's 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 desir'st, 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 find,  
So soon as some affairs dispatched are.  
Till when farewell. Cl. Thanks thrice-renowned Caesar,  
Poor Cleopatra rests thine own for ever.  Dol. 
No marvel Caesar though our greatest spirits,  
Have to the power of such a charming beauty,  
Been brought to yield the honour of their merits:  
Forgetting all respect of other duty.  
Then 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 decays 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 & love?  
What could she do then, whenas spreading wide  
The pomp of beauty, in her glory dight?  
When armed with wonder, she could use beside,  
Th' engines of her love, Hope and Delight?  
Beauty daughter of Marvel, o see how  
Thou canst disgracing sorrows sweetly grace?  
What power thou show'st in a distressed brow,  
That mak'st affliction fair, giv'st tears their grace.  
What can untressed locks, can torn rent hair,  
A weeping eye, a wailing face be fair?  
I see then, artless feature can content,  
And that true beauty needs no ornament.  Caes. 
What in a passion 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 saw she laboured to impart  
Her sweetest graces in her saddest cheer:  
Presuming on the face that knew 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, 'twere best she left such badness,  
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 travails gain,  
Is to bring home a prizal of such worth.  
And now, sith that she seems so well content  
To be disposed by us, without more stay  
She with her children shall to Rome be sent,  
Whilst I by Syria thither take my way.   

CHORUS.  

O 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-deserrest long  
The prouds' decay, the weaks redress.  
But through thy power everywhere,  
Dost raze the great, and raise the less.  
The less made great, dost ruin to,  
To show the earth what heaven can do.   

Thou from dark-closed 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 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 woe.   

O low the powers of heaven do play  
With travailed mortality:  
And doth their weakness still betray,  
In their best prosperity.  
When being listed up so high,  
They look beyond themselves so far,  
That to themselves they take no 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  
Th'innocent poor multitude,  
For great men's faults should punished be,  
And to destruction thus pursued.  
O why should th'heavens us include,  
Within the compass of their sall,  
Who of themselves procured all?  
Or do the Gods (in close) decree,  
Occasion take how to extrude  
Man from the earth with cruelty?  
Ah no, the Gods are ever just,  
Our faults excuse their rigor 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 borne to bring their state to nought.  
To change the people and the crown,  
And purge the world's iniquity:  
Which vice so far hath overgrown.  
As we, so they that treat us thus,  
Must one day perish like to us.     

ACTVS QVARTVS.  

SELEUCUS.  
RODON.   Sel. 
Never friend Rodon in a better hour,  
Could I have met thee then e'en now I do  
Having affliction in the greatest power  
Upon my soul, and none to tell it to.  
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 Seleucus) 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 agree.  
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.  Sel. 
Well then, thou know'st how I have lived in grace  
With Cleopatra, and esteemed in Court  
As one of Counsel, 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,)  
Am 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 Cesar, to have savour 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 saw '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's pointed at.  Rod. 
'tis much thou sayst, and o 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 thine seem but small.  
Although my fault be in the self-same kind,  
Yet in degree far greater, far more hateful;  
Mine sprung of mischief, thine from feeble mind,  
I stained with blood, thou only but ungrateful.  
For unto me did Cleopatra give  
The best and dearest treasure of her blood.  
Lovely Casario, whom she would should 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 my 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 offspring, he may come to guide  
The Empire of the world, as his by right.  
O how he seems the model of his Sire?  
O 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 o, (if he had not been borne so late,)  
He might have ruled the world's great Monarchy,  
And now have been the Champion of our state.  
Then unto him, o my dear Son, (she says,)  
Son of my youth, fly hence, o fly, be gone:  
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 mayst revenge, when others can but moan.  
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 thee, take thou no care.  
And o 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,  
Mother's will cast the worst, and always fear.  
The absent danger greater still appears,  
Less fears he, who is near the thing he fears.  
And o, I know not what presaging thought  
My spirit suggests of luckless bad event:  
But yet it may be 'tis but love doth dote,  
Or idle shadows which 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 no more Kings of their own.  
Then let him stay, and let us fall together,  
Sith it is fore-decreed that we must fall.  
Yet who knows what may come? let him go thither,  
What Merchant in one Vessel venters all?  
Let us divide 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 ever yet defence  
Against the heavens, or hid him anywhere?  
Then what need I to send thee so far hence  
To seek thy death that mayst as well die here?  
And here die with thy mother, die in rest,  
Not travailing to what will come to thee.  
Why should we leave our blood unto the East,  
When Egypt may a Tom be sufficient be?  
O 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.  
Then take him Roden, go my son farewell.  
But stay; there's something else that I would say:  
Yet nothing now, but o God speed thee well,  
lest saying 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 Mother's use to part in such post-haste?  
What, must I end when I have scarce begun?  
Ah no (dear heart,) 'tis no such slender twine  
Wherewith 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? O 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 sprite,  
(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,)  
Swore 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 journeys end,  
When Caesar having knowledge of our way,  
His Agents after us with speed doth send  
To labour me, Caesario to betray.  
Who-with rewards, and promises so large.  
Assailed me then, 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 am by Caesar's subtle reach brought back.  
Here to be made th' oblation for his fears, (him:  
Who doubts the poor revenge these hands may do  
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 borne great?  
Then wretched greatness, proud rich misery,  
Pompous distress, glittering calamity.  
Is it for this th'ambitious Fathers sweat,  
To purchase blood and death for them and theirs?  
Is this the issue that their glories get,  
To leave a sure destruction to their heirs?  
O how far better had it been for me,  
From low descent, derived of humble birth,  
To' have eat the sweet-sour bread of poverty,  
And drunk of Nilus' stream in Nilus' earth:  
Under the covering of some quiet Cottage,  
Free from the wrath of heaven, secure in mind,  
Untouched when sad events of PRINCE's dotage,  
Confounds whatever mighty it doth find.  
And not t'have stood in their way, whose condition,  
Is to have all made dear, 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 too near a Crown.  
Such is my case, for Caesar will have all:  
My blood must seal th'assurance of his state:  
Yet ah weak state that blood assure him shall,  
Whose wrongful shedding, Gods and men do hate.  
Injustice never scapes unpunished still,  
Though men revenge not, yet the heavens will.  
And thou Augustus that with bloody hand,  
cut'st off succession from another's race,  
mayst find the heavens thy vows so to withstand.  
That others may deprive thine in like case.  
When thou mayst see thy proud contentious bed  
Yielding thee none of thine 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 Anthony,  
Shall all the rule of this whole Empire sway.  
And then 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 thine.  
In vain doth man contend against the stars,  
For what he seeks to make, his wisdom mars.  
Yet in the meantime we whom Fates reserve,  
The bloody sacrifices of ambition,  
We feel the smart whatever they deserve,  
And we endure the present Time's condition.  
The justice of the heavens revenging thus,  
Doth only sacrifice itself, not us.  
Yet 'tis a pleasing comfort that doth ease  
Affliction in so great extremity.  
To think their like 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 Caesario, thou must die content,  
For men will moan, & God revenge th'innocent.  
Thus he complain'd, & thus thou hear'st my shame.  Sel. 
But how hath Caesar now rewarded thee?  Rod. 
As he hath thee. And I expect the same  
As fell 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 asked, he did deny:  
Caesar occasion took to hang him straight.  
Such instruments with Princes live not long.  
Although they need us, (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 bray 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 then 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.   

Here Dolabella far forsooth in love,  
Writes, how that Caesar means forthwith, to send  
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;  
Th'one comes fit to warn me thus before,  
But for th'other, I must die his debtor,  
For Cleopatra now can love no more.   

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

O 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,)  
O let no 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 o, if that the spirits of men remain  
After their bodies, and do never die,  
Then 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.  
If it be so, why speak I then to th'air?  
But 'tis not so, my Anthony doth hear:  
His everliving ghost attends my prayer,  
And I do know his hovering sprite is near.  
And I will speak, and pray, and mourn to thee,  
O pure immortal love that deign'st to hear:  
I feel thou answer'st my credulity  
With touch of comfort, finding none elsewhere.  
Thou know'st 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.  
O if in life we could not severed be,  
Shall Death divide our bodies now asunder?  
Must thine in Egypt, mine in italy,  
Be kept the Monuments of Fortune's wonder?  
If any powers be there where as thou art,  
(Sith our own Country Gods betray our case,)  
O work they may their gracious help impart,  
To save thy woeful wife from such disgrace.  
Do not permit she should in triumph show  
The blush of her reproach, joined with thy shame:  
But (rather) let that hateful 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 am stayed?  
Words are for them that can complain and live,  
Whose melting hearts composed of baser frame,  
Can to their sorrows time and leisure give,  
But Cleopatra may not do the same.  
No Anthony, thy love requireth more.  
A lingering death, with thee deserves no 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 Foul,  
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 heart blood should the purple flowers have been,  
Which here upon thy Tomb to thee are offered,  
No smoke but dying breath should here been seen,  
And this it had been to, had I been suffered.  
But what have I save these bare hands to do it?  
And these weak fingers are not iron-pointed:  
They cannot pierce the flesh being put unto it,  
And I of all means else am disappointed.  
But yet I must a way and means seek, how  
To come unto thee, whatsoe'er I do.  
O Death, art thou so hard 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 in deed,  
I'll never send more words or sighs to thee:  
I'll bring my soul myself, and that with speed,  
myself will bring my soul to Anthony.  
Come go my Maids, my fortune's sole attenders,  
That minister to misery and sorrow:  
Your Mistress you unto your freedom renders,  
And quits you from all charge yet ere tomorrow.   

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 shun disgrace, leave to be sorry,  
Fly to my love, scape my foe, free my soul;  
So shall I act the last act of my 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 fervour:  
O how cam'st thou to lose so wholly all religion, law and order?  
And thus become the most unholy of all Lands that Nylus' border?  
How could confused Disorder enter where stern Law sat so severely?  
How durst weak lust and riot venture th' eye of justice looking nearly?  
Could not those means that made thee great, Be still the means to keep thy state?   

Ah no, the course of things requireth change and alteration ever:  
That same continuance man desireth, th' unconstant world yieldeth never.  
we in our counsels must be blinded, and not see what doth import us:  
And oftentimes 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,  
For oft they seeing their Country sliding, take their ease, as though contented.  
we imitate the greater powers,  
The PRINCE's manners fashion ours.   

Th'example of their light regarding, vulgar looseness much incences:  
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 Zoroaster 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 nought respecting, whereby, (O how easy matter  
Made this so general neglecting,  
Confused weakness to disaster?)  
Caesar found th' effect true tried, in his easy entrance making:  
Who at the sight of arms, descried 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 (O if heavens 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 devices.  
Fill full your hands, and carry home Enough from us to ruin Rome.     

ACTVS 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 whenas 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, then blushed, and then 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, (saith 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 Anthony hath all,  
Say that my heart is gone into the grave  
With him, in whom it rests and ever shall:  
I have it not myself, nor cannot have.  
Yet tell him, he shall more command of me  
Then 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 prey,  
Yet his affection must accepted be,  
That favours one distressed in such decay.  
Ah, he was worthy then to have been loved,  
Of Cleopatra whiles her glory lasted;  
Before she had declining fortune proved,  
Or scene her honour wracked, her flower 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 then love.  
But shortly shall thy Lord hear more of me.  
And ending so her speech, no longer stayed,  
But hasted to the Tomb of Anthony.  
And this was all she did, and all she said.  Dol. 
Ah sweet distressed Lady. What hard heart  
Could choose but pity thee, and love thee too?  
Thy worthiness, the state wherein thou art  
Requireth both, and both I vow to do.  
Although ambition lets not Caesar see  
The wrong he doth thy Majesty and sweetness,  
Which makes him now exact so much of thee,  
To add unto his pride, to grace his greatness.  
He knows thou canst no hurt procure us now,  
Sith all thy strength is ceased into our hands:  
Nor fears 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, & 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 am but one, yet one that Caesar loves,  
And o if now I could do more than pray,  
Then 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 knows 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 depart the Tomb, and none to stay  
But her two maids, and one poor Countryman.  Dol. 
Why then I know, she sends t'have audience now,  
And means t'experience what her state can do:  
To see if Majesty will make him bow  
To what affliction could not move him to.  
And o, 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,)  
Then happily Augustus might relent,  
Whilst powerful Love, (far stronger than ambition)  
Might work in him, a mind to be content  
To grant her asking, in the best condition.  
But being as she is, yet doth she merit  
To be respected, for what she hath been:  
The wonder of her kind, of rarest spirit,  
A glorious Lady, and a mighty Queen.  
And now, but by a little weakness falling  
To do that which perhaps sh'was forced to do:  
Alas, an error past, is past recalling,  
Take away weakness, and take women too.  
But now I go to be thy Advocate,  
Sweet Cleopatra, now I'll use mine art.  
Thy presence will me greatly animate,  
Thy face will teach my tongue, thy love my heart.   

SCENA secunda.  

NVNTIVS.   
AM 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 must grieve and marvel at?  
The rarest form of death in earth below,  
That ever pity, glory, wonder got.  Chor. 
What news bring'st thou, can Egypt yet yield more  
Of sorrow than it hath? what can it add  
To th'already overflowing store  
Of sad affliction, matter yet more sad?  
Have we not seen the worst of our calamity?  
Is there behind yet something of distress  
Unseen, unknown? Tell if that greater misery  
There be, that we wail not that which is less.  
Tell us what so it be, and tell at first,  
For sorrow ever longs to hear her worst.  Nun. 
Well then, 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 befall,  
I did my best in what I could devise,  
And left her not, till now she left us all.  Chor. 
What is she gone. Hath Caesar forced her so?  Nun. 
Yea, she is gone, and hath deceived him to.  Chor. 
What, fled to INDIA, to go find her son?  Nun. 
No, not to INDIA, but to find her son.  Chor. 
Why then there's hope she may her state recover.  Nun. 
Her state? nay rather honour, and her Lover.  Chor. 
Her Lover? him she cannot have again.  Nun. 
Well, him she hath, with him she doth remain.  Cho. 
Why then she's dead. be't so? why speak'st not thou?  Nun. 
You guess aright, and I will tell you how.  
When she perceived all hope was clean bereft her,  
That Caesar meant to send her straight away,  
And saw no means of reconcilement left her,  
Work what she could, she could not work to stay.  
she calls me to her, and she thus began.  
O thou whose trust hath ever been the same  
And one in all my fortunes, faithful man,  
Alone content t'attend disgrace and shame.  
Thou, whom the fearful ruin of my fall,  
Never deterred to leave calamity:  
As did those other 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 duty 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 fame endure withal,  
And therefore thou must not my suit deny;  
Nor contradict my will. For what I will  
I am resolved: and this 'tis thou must do me:  
Go find me out with all thy art and skill  
To aspics, and convey them close unto me.  
I have a work to do with them in hand,  
inquire not what, for thou shalt soon see what,  
If the heavens do not my designs withstand,  
But do thy charge, and let me shift 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 no 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 pent.  
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.  
No, no, said they, go bear them to thy Queen.  
Thinking me some poor man that brought a Present.  
Well, in I went, where brighter than the Sun,  
Glittering in all her pompous rich array,  
Great Cleopatra sat; as if she had won  
Caesar and all the world beside this day.  
even as she was when on thy crystal streams,  
O CYDNOS she did show what earth could show.  
When Asia all amazed 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 find 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 then such passions breed,  
That made her eye bewray the care she took.  
But she no sooner sees 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 travailer,  
When chased by thieves, and even at point of taking,  
Descrying suddenly some town not far,  
Or some unlooked-for aid to himward 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 smile cheer in action pleasant,  
Looking among the figs, finds the deceit.  
And seeing there the ugly venomous beast,  
Nothing dismayed, she stays and views it well.  
At length, th'extremest of her passion ceased,  
When she began with words her joy to tell.  
O rarest Beast (sayth she) that Afrique breeds,  
How dearly welcome art thou unto me?  
The fairest creature that fair Nilus feeds  
methinks I see, in now beholding thee.  
What though the ever-erring world doth deem  
That angered Nature framed thee but in spite:  
Little they know what they so light esteem,  
That never learned the wonder of thy might.  
Better then Death, deaths office thou dischargest,  
That with one gentle touch canst free our breath:  
And in a pleasing sleep our soul enlargest,  
Making ourselves not privy to our death.  
If Nature erred, o then how happy error,  
Thinking to make thee worst, she made thee 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, flies the poor distressed,  
Tortures our bodies ere he takes our breath,  
And loads with pains th'already weak oppressed.  
How oft have I begged, prayed, entreated him  
To take my life, and yet could never get him?  
And when he comes, he comes so ugly grim,  
That who is he (if he could choose) would let him?  
Therefore come thou, of wonders wonder chief,  
That open canst with such an easy key  
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 hid.  
Comparing thy sweet motion to the Sun,  
That movest without the instruments that move:  
And never waxing old, but always one,  
Dost sure thy strange divinity approve.  
And therefore to, 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 complement of my loves dearest rites.  
With that she bares her arm, and offer makes  
To touch her death, yet at the touch withdraws,  
And seeming more to speak, occasion takes,  
Willing to die, and willing to to pause.  
Look how a Mother at her sons departing  
For some far voyage, bent to get him fame,  
Doth entertain him with an idle parling.  
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 knew there was no way  
But this, yet this she could not handle so  
But she must show that life desired delay.  
fain 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 propose 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  
Bright Immortality in shining armour:  
Thorough the rays of whose clear glory, she  
Might see Life's baseness, how much it might harm her.  
Besides, she saw whole Armies of Reproaches,  
And base Disgraces, Furies fearful sad,  
Marching with Life, and Shame that still encroaches  
Upon her face, in bloody colours clad.  
Which representments seeing worse than death  
She deemed to yield to Life, and therefore chose  
To render 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 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, (sayth she,) and what dost thou conspire  
With Caesar to, as thou wert none of ours,  
To work my shame, and hinder my desire?  
Wilt thou retain in closure of thy veins,  
That enemy Base life, to let my good?  
No, know there is a greater power constrains  
Then can be counterchecked 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 lose, that have but life to lose?  
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 least sense of pain:  
But still in one same sweet unaltered cheer,  
Her honour did her dying thoughts retain.  
Well, now this work is done (saith she,) here ends  
This act of life, that part of Fates assigned me:  
What glory or disgrace here this world lends,  
Both have I had, and both I leave behind me.  
And now o Earth, the Theater where I  
Have acted this, witness I die unforced.  
Witness my soul parts free to Anthony,  
And now proud Tyrant Caesar do thy worst.  
This said, she stays, and makes a sudden pause,  
As 'twere to feel whither the poison wrought:  
Or rather else the working might be cause  
That made her stay, as likewise may be 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 jointures 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 rife,  
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 a Crown in death, that life held fast,  
That all the world might know she died a Queen.  
And as she stood setting if 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 too her faithful breath,  
To pass th'assurance of her love with death.  Chor. 
But how knew Caesar of her close intent?  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 Anthony.  
Whereby then 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 Desolations fills,  
And where Ambition spills  
With uncontrolled hand,  
All th'issue of all those,  
That so long rule have held:  
To make us no more us,  
But clean confound us thus.   

And canst O Nilus thou,  
Father of floods endure,  
That yellow Tiber should  
With sandy streams rule thee?  
Wilt thou be pleased to bow  
To him those feet so pure,  
Whose unknown head we hold  
A power divine to be?  
Thou that didst ever see  
Thy free banks uncontrolled  
Live under thine own care:  
Ah wilt thou bear it now?  
And now wilt 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 leveled Egypt dry,  
A barren prey to lie,  
Wasted for evermore.  
Of plenties yielding none  
To recompense the care  
Of Victor's greedy lust,  
And bring forth nought but dust.   

And so O 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 nevermore shall see  
The glory of that worth  
They left who brought us forth.   

O thou all seeing light,  
High precedent of heaven,  
You Magistrates the stars  
Of that eternal court  
Of Providence and Right,  
Are these the bounds youhave given  
Th' untranspassable 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 overthrow?    
FINIS.   

AT LONDON, Printed by james Roberts, and Edward Allde, for Simon Waterson.  
1594.