Chapter 7

_Cæs._ Right as some Pallace, or some stately tower, Which ouer-lookes the neighbour buildings round In scorning wise, and to the Starres vp growes, Which in short time his owne weight ouerthrowes. What monstrous pride, nay what impietie Incen'st him onward to the Gods disgrace? When his two children, _Cleopatras_ bratts, To _Phæbe_ and her brother he compar'd, _Latonas_ race, causing them to be call'd The Sunne and Moone? Is not this folie right? And is not this the Gods to make his foes? And is not this himself to worke his woes?

_Agr._ In like proud sort he caus'd his head to leese The Iewish king _Antigonus_, to haue His Realme for balme, that _Cleopatra_ lou'd, As though on him he had some treason prou'd.

_Cæs._ _Lydia_ to her, and _Siria_ he gaue, _Cyprus_ of golde, _Arabia_ rich of smelles: And to his children more _Cilicia_, _Parth's_, _Medes_, _Armenia_, _Phænicia_: The kings of kings proclaiming them to be, By his owne worde, as by a sound decree.

_Agr._ What? Robbing his owne countrie of her due Triumph'd he not in _Alexandria_, Of _Artabasus_ the _Armenian_ King, Who yelded on his periur'd word to him?

_Cæs._ Nay, neuer _Rome_ more iniuries receiu'd, Since thou, ô _Romulus_, by flight of birds with happy hand the _Romain_ walles did'st build, Then _Antonies_ fond loues to it hath done. Nor euer warre more holie, nor more iust, Nor vndertaken with more hard constraint, Then is this warre: which were it not, our state Within small time all dignitie should loose: Though I lament (thou Sunne my witnes art; And thou great _Ioue_) that it so deadly proues: That _Romain_ bloud should in such plentie flowe, Watring the fields and pastures where we goe. What _Carthage_ in olde hatred obstinate, What _Gaule_ still barking at our rising state, What rebell _Samnite_, what fierce _Pyrrhus_ power, What cruell _Mithridate_, what _Parth_ hath wrought Such woe to _Rome_: whose common wealth he had, (Had he bene victor) into _Egipt_ brought.

_Agr._ Surely the Gods, which haue this Cittie built Stedfast to stand as long as time endures, Which kepe the Capitoll, of vs take care, And care will take of those shall after come, Haue made you victor, that you might redresse Their honor growne by passed mischieues lesse.

_Cæs._ The seelie man when all the Greekish Sea His fleete had hidd, in hope me sure to drowne, Me battaile gaue: where fortune, in my stede, Repulsing him his forces disaraied. Him selfe tooke flight, soone as his loue he saw All wanne through feare with full sailes flie away. His men, though lost, whome none did now direct, With courage fought fast grappled shipp with shipp, Charging, resisting, as their oares would serue, With darts, with swords, with Pikes, with fierie flames. So that the darkned night her starrie vaile Vpon the bloudie sea had ouer-spred, Whilst yet they held: and hardlie, hardlie then They fell to flieng on the wauie plaine. All full of Souldiors ouerwhelm'd with waues: The aire throughout with cries and grones did sound: The Sea did blush with bloud: the neighbor shores Groned, so they with shipwracks pestred were, And floting bodies left for pleasing foode To birds, and beasts, and fishes of the sea. You know it well _Agrippa_.

_Ag._ Mete it was The _Romain_ Empire so should ruled be, As heau'n is rul'd: which turning ouer vs, All vnder things by his example turnes. Now as of heau'n one onely Lord we know: One onely Lord should rule this earth below. When one self pow're is common made to two, Their duties they nor suffer will, nor doe. In quarell still, in doubt, in hate, in feare; Meane while the people all the smart do beare.

_Cæs._ Then to the ende none, while my daies endure, Seeking to raise himselfe may succours finde, We must with bloud marke this our victorie, For iust example to all memorie. Murther we must, vntill not one we leaue, Which may hereafter vs of rest bereaue.

_Ag._ Marke it with murthers? who of that can like?

_Cæ._ Murthers must vse, who doth assurance seeke.

_Ag._ Assurance call you enemies to make?

_Cæs._ I make no such, but such away I take.

_Ag._ Nothing so much as rigour doth displease.

_Cæs._ Nothing so much doth make me liue at ease.

_Ag._ What ease to him that feared is of all?

_Cæ._ Feared to be, and see his foes to fall.

_Ag._ Commonly feare doth brede and nourish hate.

_Cæ._ Hate without pow'r comes comonly too late.

_Ag._ A feared Prince hath oft his death desir'd.

_Cæ._ A Prince not fear'd hath oft his wrong conspir'de.

_Ag._ No guard so sure, no forte so strong doth proue, No such defence, as is the peoples loue.

_Cæs._ Nought more vnsure more weak, more like the winde, Then _Peoples_ fauor still to chaunge enclinde.

_Ag._ Good Gods! what loue to gracious Prince men beare!

_Cæs._ What honor to the Prince that is seuere!

_Ag._ Nought more diuine then is _Benignitie_.

_Cæ._ Nought likes the _Gods_ as doth _Seueritie_.

_Ag._ _Gods_ all forgiue.

_Cæ._ On faults they paines do laie.

_Ag._ And giue their goods.

_Cæ._ Oft times they take away.

_Ag._ They wreake them not, ô _Cæsar_, at each time That by our sinnes they are to wrathe prouok'd. Neither must you (beleue, I humblie praie) Your victorie with crueltie defile. The Gods it gaue, it must not be abus'd, But to the good of all men mildlie vs'd, And they be thank'd: that hauing giu'n you grace To raigne alone, and rule this earthlie masse, They may hence-forward hold it still in rest, All scattred power vnited in one brest.

_Cæ._ But what is he, that breathles comes so fast, Approaching vs, and going in such hast?

_Ag._ He semes affraid: and vnder his arme I (But much I erre) a bloudie sworde espie.

_Cæs._ I long to vnderstand what it may be.

_Ag._ He hither comes: it's best we stay and see.

_Dirce._ What good God now my voice will reenforce, That tell I may to rocks, and hilles, and woods, To waues of sea, which dash vpon the shore, To earth, to heau'n, the woefull newes I bring?

_Ag._ What sodaine chaunce thee towards vs hath brought?

_Dir._ A lamentable chance. O wrath of heau'ns! O Gods too pittiles!

_Cæs._ What monstrous happ Wilt thou recount?

_Dir._ Alas too hard mishapp! When I but dreame of what mine eies beheld, My hart doth freeze, my limmes do quiuering quake, I senceles stand, my brest with tempest tost Killes in my throte my wordes, ere fully borne. Dead, dead he is: be sure of what I say, This murthering sword hath made the man away.

_Cæs._ Alas my heart doth cleaue, pittie me rackes, My breast doth pant to heare this dolefull tale. Is _Antonie_ then dead? To death, alas! I am the cause despaire him so compelld. But souldiour of his death the maner showe, And how he did this liuing light forgoe.

_Dir._ When _Antonie_ no hope remaining saw How warre he might, or how agreement make, Saw him betraid by all his men of warre In euery fight as well by sea, as lande; That not content to yeld them to their foes They also came against himselfe to fight: Alone in Court he gan himself torment, Accuse the Queene, himselfe of hir lament, Call'd hir vntrue and traytresse, as who fought To yeld him vp she could no more defend: That in the harmes which for hir sake he bare, As in his blisfull state, she might not share. But she againe, who much his furie fear'd, Gatt to the Tombes, darke horrors dwelling place: Made lock the doores, and pull the hearses downe. Then fell shee wretched, with hir selfe to fight. A thousand plaints, a thousand sobbes she cast From hir weake brest which to the bones was torne, Of women hir the most vnhappie call'd, Who by hir loue, hir woefull loue, had lost Hir realme, hir life, and more, the loue of him, Who while he was, was all hir woes support. But that she faultles was she did inuoke For witnes heau'n, and aire, and earth, and sea. Then sent him worde, she was no more aliue, But lay inclosed dead within hir Tombe. This he beleeu'd; and fell to sigh and grone, And crost his armes, then thus began to mone.

_Cæs._ Poore hopeles man!

_Dir._ What dost thou more attend? Ah _Antonie_! why dost thou death deferre? Since _Fortune_ thy professed enimie, Hath made to die, who only made thee liue? Sone as with sighes he had these words vp clos'd, His armor he vnlaste, and cast it of, Then all disarm'd he thus againe did say: My Queene, my heart, the grief that now I feele, Is not that I your eies, my Sunne, do loose, For soone againe one Tombe shal vs conioyne: I grieue, whom men so valorouse did deeme, Should now, then you, of lesser valor seeme. So said, forthwith he _Eros_ to him call'd, _Eros_ his man; summond him on his faith To kill him at his nede. He tooke the sworde, And at that instant stab'd therwith his breast, And ending life fell dead before his fete. O _Eros_ thankes (quoth _Antonie_) for this Most noble acte, who pow'rles me to kill, On thee hast done, what I on mee should doe. Of speaking thus he scarce had made an ende, And taken vp the bloudie sword from ground, But he his bodie piers'd; and of redd bloud A gushing fountaine all the chamber fill'd. He staggred at the blowe, his face grew pale, And on a couche all feeble downe he fell, Swounding with anguish: deadly cold him tooke, As if his soule had then his lodging left. But he reuiu'd, and marking all our eies Bathed in teares, and how our breasts we beatt For pittie, anguish, and for bitter griefe, To see him plong'd in extreame wretchednes: He prai'd vs all to haste his lingr'ing death: But no man willing, each himselfe withdrew. Then fell he new to crie and vexe himselfe, Vntill a man from _Cleopatra_ came, Who said from hir he had commaundement To bring him to hir to the monument. The poore soule at these words euen rapt with Ioy Knowing she liu'd, prai'd vs him to conuey Vnto his Ladie. Then vpon our armes We bare him to the Tombe, but entred not. For she, who feared captiue to be made, And that she should to _Rome_ in triumph goe, Kept close the gate: but from a window high Cast downe a corde, wherin he was impackt. Then by hir womens helpt the corps she rais'd, And by strong armes into hir windowe drew. So pittifull a sight was neuer sene. Little and little _Antonie_ was pull'd, Now breathing death: his beard was all vnkempt, His face and brest all bathed in his bloud. So hideous yet, and dieng as he was, His eies half-clos'd vppon the Queene he cast: Held vp his hands, and holpe himself to raise, But still with weakenes back his bodie fell. The miserable ladie with moist eies, With haire which careles on hir forhead hong, With brest which blowes had bloudilie benumb'd, With stooping head, and bodie down-ward bent, Enlast hir in the corde, and with all force This life-dead man couragiously vprais'de. The bloud with paine into hir face did flowe, Hir sinewes stiff, her selfe did breathles growe. The people which beneath in flocks beheld, Assisted her with gesture, speech, desire: Cri'de and incourag'd her, and in their soules Did sweate, and labor, no white lesse then shee. Who neuer tir'd in labor, held so long Helpt by hir women, and hir constant heart, That _Antonie_ was drawne into the tombe, And ther (I thinke) of dead augments the summe. The Cittie all to teares and sighes is turn'd, To plaints and outcries horrible to heare: Men, women, children, hoary-headed age Do all pell mell in house and strete lament, Scratching their faces, tearing of their haire, Wringing their hands, and martyring their brests. Extreame their dole: and greater misery In sacked townes can hardlie euer be. Not if the fire had scal'de the highest towers: That all things were of force and murther full; That in the streets the bloud in riuers stream'd; That sonne his sire saw in his bosome slaine, The sire his sonne: the husband reft of breath In his wiues armes, who furious runnes to death. Now my brest wounded with their piteouse plaints I left their towne, and tooke with me this sworde, Which I tooke vp at what time _Antonie_ Was from his chamber caried to the tombe: And brought it you, to make his death more plaine, And that therby my words may credite gaine.

_Cæs._ Ah Gods what cruell happ! poore _Antonie_, Alas hast thou this sword so long time borne Against thy foe, that in the ende it should Of thee his Lord the cursed murthr'er be? _O Death_ how I bewaile thee! we (alas!) So many warres haue ended, brothers, frends, Companions, coozens, equalls in estate: And must it now to kill thee be my fate?

_Ag._ Why trouble you your selfe with bootles griefe? For _Antonie_ why spend you teares in vaine? Why darken you with dole your victorie? Me seemes your self your glorie do enuie. Enter the towne, giue thankes vnto the Gods.

_Cæs._ I cannot but his tearefull chaunce lament, Although not I, but his owne pride the cause, And vnchaste loue of this _Ægyptian_.

_Agr._ But best we sought into the tombe to gett, Lest shee consume in this amazed case So much rich treasure, with which happelie Despaire in death may make hir feed the fire: Suffring the flames hir Iewells to deface, You to defraud, hir funerall to grace. Sende then to hir, and let some meane be vs'd With some deuise so holde hir still aliue, Some faire large promises: and let them marke Whither they may by some fine conning slight Enter the tombes.

_Cæsar._ Let _Proculeius_ goe, And fede with hope hir soule disconsolate. Assure hir so, that we may wholie gett Into our hands hir treasure and hir selfe. For this of all things most I doe desire To kepe hir safe vntill our going hence: That by hir presence beautified may be The glorious triumph _Rome_ prepares for me.

Chorus of Romaine _Souldiors_.

Shall euer ciuile hate gnaw and deuour our state? Shall neuer we this blade, Our bloud hath bloudie made, Lay downe? these armes downe lay As robes we weare alway? But as from age to age, So passe from rage to rage? Our hands shall we not rest To bath in our owne brest? And shall thick in each land Our wretched trophees stand, To tell posteritie, What madd Impietie Our stonie stomakes ledd Against the place vs bredd? Then still must heauen view The plagues that vs pursue: And euery where descrie Heaps of vs scattred lie, Making the straunger plaines Fatt with our bleeding raines, Proud that on them their graue So manie legions haue. And with our fleshes still _Neptune_ his fishes fill And dronke with bloud from blue The sea take blushing hue: As iuice of _Tyrian_ shell, When clarified well To wolle of finest fields A purple glosse it yelds. But since the rule of _Rome_, To one mans hand is come, Who gouernes without mate Hir now vnited state, Late iointlie rulde by three Enuieng mutuallie, Whose triple yoke much woe On _Latines_ necks did throwe: I hope the cause of iarre, And of this bloudie warre, And deadlie discord gone By what we last haue done: Our banks shall cherish now The branchie pale-hew'd bow Of _Oliue_, _Pallas_ praise, In stede of barraine bayes. And that his temple dore, Which bloudie _Mars_ before Held open, now at last Olde _Ianus_ shall make fast: And rust the sword consume, And spoild of wauing plume, The vseles morion shall On crooke hang by the wall. At least if warre returne It shall not here soiourne, To kill vs with those armes Were forg'd for others harmes: But haue their pointes addrest, Against the _Germaines_ brest, The _Parthians_ fayned flight, The _Biscaines_ martiall might. Olde Memorie doth there Painted on forhead weare Our Fathers praise: thence torne Our triumphes baies haue worne: Therby our matchles _Rome_ Whilome of Shepeheards come Rais'd to this greatnes stands, The Queene of forraine lands. Which now euen seemes to face The heau'ns, her glories place: Nought resting vnder Skies That dares affront her eies. So that she needes but feare The weapons _Ioue_ doth beare, Who angrie at one blowe May her quite ouerthrowe.

Act. 5.

_Cleopatra._ _Euphron._ _Children of Cleopatra._ _Charmion._ _Eras._

_Cleop._

O cruell Fortune! ô accursed lott! O plaguy loue! ô most detested brand! O wretched ioyes! ô beauties miserable! O deadlie state! ô deadly roialtie! O hatefull life! ô Queene most lamentable! O _Antonie_ by my fault buriable! O hellish worke of heau'n! alas! the wrath Of all the Gods at once on vs is falne. Vnhappie Queene! ô would I in this world The wandring light of day had neuer sene? Alas! of mine the plague and poison I The crowne haue lost my ancestors me left, This Realme I haue to straungers subiect made, And robd my children of their heritage. Yet this is nought (alas!) vnto the price Of you deare husband, whome my snares entrap'd: Of you, whom I haue plagu'd, whom I haue made With bloudie hand a guest of mouldie Tombe: Of you, whome I destroid, of you, deare Lord, Whome I of Empire, honor, life haue spoil'd. O hurtfull woman! and can I yet liue, Yet longer liue in this Ghost-haunted tombe? Can I yet breathe! can yet in such annoy, Yet can my Soule within this bodie dwell? O Sisters you that spinne the thredes of death! O _Styx_! ô _Phlegethon_! you brookes of hell! O Impes of _Night_!

_Euph._ Liue for your childrens sake: Let not your death of kingdome them depriue. Alas what shall they do? who will haue care? Who will preserue this royall race of yours? Who pittie take? euen now me seemes I see These little soules to seruile bondage falne, And borne in triumph.

_Cl._ Ah most miserable!

_Euph._ Their tender armes with cursed corde fast bound At their weake backs.

_Cl._ Ah Gods what pittie more!

_Eph._ Their seelie necks to ground with weaknesse bend.

_Cl._ Neuer on vs, good Gods, such mischiefe sende.

_Euph._ And pointed at with fingers as they go.

_Cl._ Rather a thousand deaths.

_Euph._ Lastly his knife Some cruell caytiue in their bloud embrue.

_Cl._ Ah my heart breaks. By shadie bankes of hell, By fieldes wheron the lonely Ghosts do treade, By my soule, and the soule of _Antonie_ I you beseche, _Euphron_, of them haue care. Be their good Father, let your wisedome lett That they fall not into this Tyrants handes. Rather conduct them where their freezed locks Black _Æthiopes_ to neighbour Sunne do shewe; On wauie _Ocean_ at the waters will; On barraine cliffes of snowie _Caucasus_; To Tigers swift, to Lions, and to Beares; And rather, rather vnto euery coaste, To eu'rie land and sea: for nought I feare As rage of him, whose thirst no bloud can quench. Adieu deare children, children deare adieu: Good _Isis_ you to place of safetie guide, Farre from our foes, where you your liues may leade In free estate deuoid of seruile dread. Remember not, my children, you were borne Of such a Princelie race: remember not So manie braue Kings which haue _Egipt_ rul'de In right descent your ancestors haue bene: That this great _Antonie_ your Father was, _Hercules_ bloud, and more then he in praise. For your high courage such remembrance will, Seing your fall with burning rages fill. Who knowes if that your hands false _Destinie_ The Scepters promis'd of imperiouse _Rome_, In stede of them shall crooked shepehookes beare, Needles or forkes, or guide the carte, or plough? Ah learne t' endure: your birth and high estate Forget, my babes, and bend to force of fate. Farwell, my babes, farwell, my hart is clos'de With pitie and paine, my self with death enclos'de, My breath doth faile. Farwell for euermore, Your Sire and me you shall see neuer more. Farwell swete care, farwell.

_Chil._ Madame Adieu.

_Cl._ Ah this voice killes me. Ah good Gods! I swounde. I can no more, I die.

_Eras._ Madame, alas! And will you yeld to woe? Ah speake to vs.

_Eup._ Come children.

_Chil._ We come.

_Eup._ Follow we our chaunce. The Gods shall guide vs.

_Char._ O too cruell lott! O too hard chaunce! Sister what shall we do, What shall we do, alas! if murthring darte Of death arriue while that in slumbring swound Half dead she lie with anguish ouergone?

_Er._ Her face is frozen.

_Ch._ Madame for Gods loue Leaue vs not thus: bidd vs yet first farwell. Alas! wepe ouer _Antonie_: Let not His bodie be without due rites entomb'de.

_Cl._ Ah, ah.

_Char._ Madame.

_Cle._ Ay me!

_Cl._ How fainte she is?

_Cl._ My Sisters, holde me vp. How wretched I, How cursed am! and was ther euer one By Fortunes hate into more dolours throwne? Ah, weeping _Niobe_, although thy hart Beholdes itselfe enwrap'd in causefull woe For thy dead children, that a senceless rocke With griefe become, on _Sipylus_ thou stand'st In endles teares: yet didst thou neuer feele The weights of griefe that on my heart do lie. Thy Children thou, mine I poore soule haue lost, And lost their Father, more then them I waile, Lost this faire realme; yet me the heauens wrathe Into a Stone not yet transformed hath. _Phaetons_ sisters, daughters of the Sunne, Which waile your brother falne into the streames Of stately _Po_: the Gods vpon the bankes Your bodies to banke-louing Alders turn'd. For me, I sigh, I ceasles wepe, and waile, And heauen pittiles laughes at my woe, Reuiues, renewes it still: and in the ende (Oh crueltie!) doth death for comfort lende. Die _Cleopatra_ then, no longer stay From _Antonie_, who thee at _Styx_ attends: Goe ioine thy Ghost with his, and sobbe no more Without his loue within these tombes enclos'd.

_Eras._ Alas! yet let vs wepe, lest sodaine death From him our teares, and those last duties take Vnto his tombe we owe. _Ch._ Ah let vs wepe While moisture lasts, then die before his feete.

_Cl._ who furnish will mine eies with streaming teares My boiling anguish worthilie to waile, Waile thee _Antonie_, _Antonie_ my heart? Alas, how much I weeping liquor want! Yet haue mine eies quite drawne their Conduits drie By long beweeping my disastred harmes. Now reason is that from my side they sucke First vitall moisture, then the vitall bloud. Then let the bloud from my sad eies out flowe, And smoking yet with thine in mixture growe. Moist it, and heate it newe, and neuer stopp, All watring thee, while yet remaines one dropp.

_Cha._ _Antonie_ take our teares: this is the last Of all the duties we to thee can yelde, Before we die.

_Er._ These sacred obsequies Take _Antony_, and take them in good parte.