Chapter 2

_Pom._ Where may I fly into some desert place, Some vncouth, vnfrequented craggy rocke, Where as my name and state was neuer heard. I flie the Batle because here I see, My friends lye bleeding in _Pharsalias_ earth. Which do remember me what earst I was, Who brought such troopes of soldiars to the fielde, And of so many thousand had command: My flight a heauy memory doth renew, 70 Which tels me I was wont to stay and winne. But now a souldier of my scatred traine: Offered me seruice and did call me Lord, O then I thought whome rising Sunne saw high, Descending he beheld my misery: Flie to the holow roote of some steepe rocke, And in that flinty habitation hide, Thy wofull face: from face and view of men. Yet that will tell me this, if naught beside: _Pompey_ was neuer wont his head to hide 80 Flie where thou wilt, thou bearst about thee smart, Shame at thy heeles and greefe lies at thy heart. _Tit._ But see _Titinius_ where two warriers stand, Casting their eyes downe to the cheareles earthe: Alasse to soone I know them for to bee _Pompey_ and _Brutus_, who like _Aiax_ stand, When as forsooke of Fortune mong'st his foes, Greife stopt his breath nor could he speake his woes, _Pom._ Accursed _Pompey_, loe thou art descried. But stay; they are thy friends that thou behouldest, 90 O rather had I now haue met my foes: Whose daggers poynts might straight haue piercd my woes Then thus to haue my friends behold my shame. Reproch is death to him that liu'd in Fame, _Bru._ _Brutus_ Cast vp thy discontented looke: And see two Princes thy two noble friends, Who though it greeues me that I thus them see, Yet ioy I to bee seene they liuing be. _He speakes vnto them._ Let not the change of this succesles fight, (O noble Lords,) dismay these daunteles mindes, 100 Which the faire vertue not blind chance doth rule, _Cæsar_ not vs subdued hath, but _Rome_, And in that fight twas best be ouerthrowne. Thinke that the Conqueror hath won but smale, Whose victory is but his Countries fal, _Pom._ O Noble _Brutus_, can I liue and see, My Souldiars dead, my friends lie slaine in field, My hopes cast downe, mine Honors ouerthrowne, My Country subiect to a Tirants rule, My foe triumphing and my selfe forlorne. 110 Oh had I perished in that prosperous warre Euen in mine Honors height, that happy day, When _Mithridates_ fall did rayse my fame: Then had I gonne with Honor to my graue. But _Pompey_ was by envious heauens reseru'd, Captiue to followe _Cæsars_ Chariot wheeles Riding in triumph to the Capitol: And _Rome_ oft grac'd with Trophies of my fame, Shall now resound the blemish of my name. _Bru._ Oh what disgrace can taunt this worthinesse, 120 Of which remaine such liuing monuments Ingrauen in the eyes and hearts of men. Although the oppression of distressed _Rome_ And our owne ouerthrow, might well drawe forth, Distilling teares from faynting cowards eyes, Yet should no weake effeminate passion sease Vpon that man, the greatnesse of whose minde And not his Fortune made him term'd the Great. _Pom._ Oh I did neuer tast mine Honours sweete Nor now can iudge of this my sharpest sowre. 130 Fifty eight yeares in Fortunes sweete soft lap Haue I beene luld a sleepe with pleasant ioyes, Me hath she dandled in her foulding Armes, And fed my hopes with prosperous euentes: Shee Crownd my Cradle with successe and Honour, And shall disgrace a waite my haples Hearse? Was I a youth with Palme and Lawrell girt, And now an ould man shall I waite my fall? Oh when I thinke but on my triumphs past, The Consul-ships and Honours I haue borne; 140 The fame and feare where in great _Pompey_ liu'd, Then doth my grieued Soule informe me this, My fall augmented by my former bisse. _Bru._ Why do we vse of vertues strength to vant, If euery crosse a Noble mind can daunt, Wee talke of courage, then, is courage knowne, When with mishap our state is ouerthrowne: Neuer let him a Souldiers Title beare. Wihch in the cheefest brunt doth shrinke and feare, Thy former haps did Men thy vertue shew, 150 But now that fayles them which thy vertue knew, Nor thinke this conquest shalbe _Pompeys_ fall: Or that _Pharsalia_ shall thine honour bury, _Egipt_ shalbe vnpeopled for thine ayde. And Cole-black _Libians_, shall manure the grounde In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men. _Pom._ O second hope of sad oppressed _Rome_, In whome the ancient _Brutus_ vertue shines, That purchast first the _Romaine_ liberty, Let me imbrace thee: liue victorious youth, 160 When death and angry fates shall call me hence, To free thy country from a Tyrants yoke. My harder fortune, and more cruell starrs. Enuied to me so great a happines. Do not prolong my life with vaine false hopes, To deepe dispaire and sorrow I am vow'd: Do not remououe me from that setled thought, With hope of friends or ayde of _Ptolomey_, _Egipt_ and _Libia_ at choyse I haue. But onely which of them Ile make my graue. 170 _Tit._ Tis but discomfort which misgreeues thee this, Greefe by dispaire seemes greater then it is, _Bru._ Tis womannish to wayle and mone our greefe, By Industrie do wise men seeke releefe, If that our casting do fall out a misse, Our cunning play must then correct the dice. _Pom._ Well if it needs must bee then let me goe, Flying for ayde vnto my forrayne friends, And sue and bow, where earst I did command. He that goeth seeking of a Tirant aide, 180 Though free he went, a seruant then is made. Take we our last farwell, then though with paine, Heere three do part that ne're shall meet againe.

_Exit Pompey at on dore, Titinius at another. Brutus alone_

ACTVS I. SCENA 2.

_Enter Cæsar_

_Cæs._ Follow your chase, and let your light-foote steedes Flying as swift as did that winged horse That with strong fethered _Pinions_ cloue the Ayre, 190 Or'take the coward flight of your base foe. _Bru._ Do not with-drawe thy mortall woundring blade, But sheath it _Cæsar_ in my wounded heart: Let not that heart that did thy Country wound Feare to lay _Brutus_ bleeding on the ground. Thy fatall stroke of death shall more mee glad, Then all thy proud and Pompous victories; My funerall Cypresse, then thy Lawrell Crowne, My mournefull Beere shall winne more Praise and Fame Then thy triumphing Sun-bright Chariot. 200 Heere in these fatall fieldes let _Brutus_ die, And beare so many Romaines company. _Cæsa._ T'was not 'gainst thee this fatall blade was drawne Which can no more pierce _Brutus_ tender sides Then mine owne heart, or ought then heart more deere, For all the wronges thou didst, or strokes thou gau'st _Cæsar_ on thee will take no worse reuenge, Then bid thee still commande him and his state: True setled loue can neere bee turn'd to hate. _Brut._ To what a pitch would this mans vertues sore, 210 Did not ambition clog his mounting fame, _Cæsar_ thy sword hath all blisse from me taine And giuest me life where best were to be slaine. O thou hast robd me of my chiefest ioy, And seek'st to please me with a babish toye. _Exit Brutus._ _Cæs._ _Cæsar Pharsalia_ doth thy conquest sound _Ioues_ welcom messenger faire Victory, Hath Crown'd thy temples with victorious bay, And Io ioyfull, Io doth she sing And through the world thy lasting prayses ring. 220 But yet amidst thy gratefull melody I heare a hoarse, and heauy dolfull voyce, Of my deare Country crying, that to day My Glorious triumphs worke her owne decay. In which how many fatall strokes I gaue, So many woundes her tender brest receiu'd. Heere lyeth one that's boucher'd by his Sire And heere the Sonne was his old Fathers death, Both slew vnknowing, both vnknowne are slaine, O that ambition should such mischiefe worke 230 Or meane Men die for great mens proud desire.

ACTVS 1. SCENA 3.

_Enter Anthony, Dolobella, Lord and others._

_An._ From sad _Pharsalia_ blushing al with bloud, From deaths pale triumphes, _Pompey_ ouerthrowne, _Romains_ in forraine soyles, brething their last, Reuenge, stange wars and dreadfull stratagems, Wee come to set the Lawrell on thy head And fill thy eares with triumphs and with ioyes. _Dolo._ As when that _Hector_ from the _Grecian_ campe 240 With spoiles of slaughtered _Argians_ return'd, The _Troyan_ youths with crownes of conquering palme: The _Phrigian_ Virgins with faire flowry wrethes Welcom'd the hope, and pride of _Ilium_, So for thy victory and conquering actes Wee bring faire wreths of Honor & renowne, Which shall enternally thy head adorne. _Lord._ Now hath thy sword made passage for thy selfe, To wade in bloud of them that sought thy death, The ambitious riuall of thine Honors high, 250 Whose mightinesse earst made him to be feard Now flies and is enforc'd to giue thee place. Whil'st thou remainst the conquering _Hercules_ Triumphing in thy spoyles and victories. _Cæs._ When _Phoebus_ left faire _Thetis_ watery couch, And peeping forth from out the goulden gate Of his bright pallace, saw our battle rank'd: Oft did hee seeke to turne his fiery steedes, Oft hid his face, and shund such tragick sights What stranger passest euer by this cost 260 Thee this accursed soyle distainde with blood Not Christall riuers, are to quench thy thirst. For goaring streames, their riuers cleerenesse staines: Heere are no hils wherewith to feede thine eyes, But heaped hils of mangled Carkases, Heere are no birdes to please thee with their notes: But rauenous Vultures, and night Rauens horse. _Anto._ What meanes great _Cæsar_, droopes our generall, Or melts in womanish compassion: To see _Pharsalias_ fieldes to change their hewe 270 And siluer streames be turn'd to lakes of blood? Why _Cæsar_ oft hath sacrific'd in _France_, Millions of Soules, to _Plutoes_ grisly dames: And made the changed coloured _Rhene_ to blush, To beare his bloody burthen to the sea. And when as thou in mayden _Albion_ shore The _Romaine_, Ægle brauely didst aduance, No hand payd greater tribute vnto death, No heart with more couragious Noble fire And hope, did burne with glorious great intent. 280 And now shall passion base that Noble minde, And weake euents that courrage ouercome? Let _Pompey_ proud, and _Pompeys_ Complices Die on our swords, that did enuie our liues, Let pale _Tysiphone_ be cloyd with bloud: And snaky furies quench their longing thirst, And _Cæsar_ liue to glory in their end. _Cæs._ They say when as the younger _Affrican_, Beheld the mighty Carthage wofull fall: And sawe her stately Towers to smoke from farre, 290 He wept, and princely teares ran downe his cheekes, Let pity then and true compassion, Moue vs to rue no traterous _Carthage_ fall, No barbarous periurd enemies decay, But _Rome_ our natiue Country, haples _Rome_, Whose bowels to vngently we haue peerc'd, Faire pride of _Europe_, Mistresse of the world, Cradle of vertues, nurse of true renowne, Whome _Ioue_ hath plac'd in top of seauen hils: That thou the lower worldes seauen climes mightst rule. 300 Thee the proud _Parthian_ and the cole-black _Moore_, The sterne _Tartarian_, borne to manage armes, Doth feare and tremble at thy Maiesty. And yet I bred and fostered in thy lappe, Durst striue to ouerthrowe thy Capitol: And thy high Turrets lay as low as hell. _Dolo._ O _Rome_, and haue the powers of Heauen decreed, When as thy fame did reach vnto the Skie, And the wide _Ocean_ was thy Empires boundes, And thou enricht with spoyles of all the world, 310 Was waxen proud with peace and soueraine raigne: That Ciuill warres should loose what Forraine won, And peace his ioyes, be turn'd to luckles broyles. _Lord._ O _Pompey_, cursed cause of ciuill warre, Which of those hel-borne sterne _Eumenides_: Inflam'd thy minde with such ambitious fire, As nought could quench it but thy Countries bloud. _Dolo._ But this no while thy valour doth destayne, Which found'st vnsought for cause of ciuill broyles, And fatall fuell which this fire enflamd. 320 _Anto._ Let then his death set period to this strife, Which was begun by his ambitious life. _Cæs._ The flying _Pompey_ to _Larissa_ hastes, And by _Thessalian_ Temple shapes his course: Where faire _Peneus_ tumbles vp his waues, Him weele pursue as fast as he vs flies, Nor he though garded with _Numidian_ horse, Nor ayded with the vnresisted powre: The _Meroe_, or seauen mouth'd Nile can yeeld: No not all _Affrick_ arm'd in his defence 330 Shall serue to shrowd him from my fatall sworde. _Exit._

ACT. I. SC. 4. {SN _Act I sc. ii_}

_Enter Cato._

_Ca._ O where is banish'd liberty exil'd, To _Affrick_ deserts or to _Scythia_ rockes, Or whereas siluer streaming _Tanais_ is? Happy is _India_ and _Arabia_ blest, And all the bordering regions vpon _Nile_ That neuer knew the name of Liberty, But we that boast of _Brutes_ and _Colatins_, 340 And glory we expeld proud _Tarquins_ name, Do greeue to loose, that we so long haue held. Why reckon we our yeares by Consuls names: And so long ruld in freedon, now to serue? They lie that say in Heauen there is a powre That for to wracke the sinnes of guilty men, Holds in his hand a fierce three-forked dart. Why would he throw them downe on _Oéta_ mount Or wound the vnderringing _Rhodope_, And not rayne showers of his dead-doing dartes, 350 Furor in flame, and Sulphures smothering heate Vpon the wicked and accurs'd armes That cruell _Romains_ 'gainst their Country beare. _Rome_ ware thy fall: those prodigies foretould, When angry heauens did powre downe showers of blood And fatall _Comets_ in the heauens did blase, And all the Statues in the Temple blast, Did weepe the losse of _Romaine_ liberty. Then if the Gods haue destined thine end, Yet as a Mother hauing lost her Sonne, 360 _Cato_ shall waite vpon thy tragick hearse, And neuer leaue thy cold and bloodles corse. Ile tune a sad and dol-full funerall song, Still crying on lost liberties sweete name, Thy sacred ashes will I wash with teares, And thus lament my Countries obsequies.

ACT. I. SC. 5. {SN _Act I sc. iii_}

_Enter Pompey and Cornelia._

_Cor._ O cruel _Pompey_ whether wilt thou flye, And leaue thy poore _Cornelia_ thus forlorne, 370 Is't our bad fortune or thy cruell will That still it seuers in extremity. O let me go with thee, and die with thee, Nothing shall thy _Cornelia_ grieuous thinke That shee endures for her sweete _Pompeys_ sake. _Pom._ Tis for thy weale and safty of thy life, Whose safty I preferre before the world, Because I loue thee more then all the world, That thou (sweete loue) should'st heere remaine behinde Till proofe assureth _Ptolomyes_ doubted faith. 380 _Cor._ O deerest, what shall I my safty call, That which is thrust in dangers harmefull mouth? Lookes not the thing so bad with such a name, Call it my death, my bale, my wo, my hell, That which indangers my sweete _Pompeys_ life. _Pom._ It is no danger (gentle loue) at all, Tis but thy feare that doth it so miscall. _Cor._ Ift bee no danger let me go with thee, And of thy safty a partaker bee, Alas why would'st thou leaue mee thus alone: 390 Thinkst thou I cannot follow thee by Land That thus haue followed thee ouer raging Seas, Or do I varie in inconstant hopes: O but thinke you my pleasure luckles is And I haue made thee more vnfortunate. Tis I, tis I, haue caus'd this ouerthrow, Tis my accursed starres that boade this ill, And those mis-fortunes to my princely loue, Reuenge thee _Pompey_, on this wicked brat, And end my woes by ending of my life, 400 _Pom._ What meanes my loue to aggrauate my griefe, And torture my enough tormented Soule, With greater greuance then _Pharsalian_ losse? Thy rented hayre doth rent my heart in twayne, And these fayr Seas, that raine downe showers of tears, Do melt my soule in liqued streames of sorrow. If that in _Ægipt_ any daunger bee, Then let my death procure thy sweet liues safety, _Cor._ Can I bee safe and _Pompey_ in distresse, Or may _Cornelia_ suruiue they death, 410 What daunger euer happens to my Soule. What daunger eke shall happen to my life, Nor _Libians_ quick-sands, nor the barking gulfe, Or gaping _Scylla_ shall this Vnion part, But still Ile chayne thee in my twining armes, And if I cannot liue Ile die with thee. _Pom._ O how thy loue doth ease my greeued minde, Which beares a burthen heauier then the Heauens, Vnder the which steele-shouldred Atlas grones But now thy loue doth hurt thy selfe and me, 420 And thy to ardent strong affection, Hinders my setled resolution. Then by this loue, and by these christall eyes, More bright then are the Lamps of _Ioues_ high house, Let me in this (I feare) my last request. Not to indanger thy beloued life, But in this ship remayne, and here awaite, How Fortune dealeth with our doubtfull State, _Cor._ Not so perswaded as coniurd sweete loue, By thy commanding meeke petition. 430 I cannot say I yeeld, yet am constraind, This neuer meeting parting to permit, Then go deere loue, yet stay a little while, Some what I am shure, tis more I haue to say, Nay nothing now but Heauens guide thy steps. Yet let me speake, why should we part so soone, Why is my talke tedious? may be tis the last. Do women leaue their husbands in such hast, _Pom._ More faithfull, then that fayre deflowred dame, That sacrifizde her selfe to Chastety, 440 And far more louing then the _Charian_ Queene, That dranke her Husbands neuer sundred heart. If that I dye, yet will it glad my soule, Which then shall feede on those _Elisian_ ioyes, That in the sacred Temple of thy breast, My liuing memory shall shrined bee. But if that enuious fates should call thee hence, And Death with pale and meager looke vsurpe, Vpon those rosiate lips, and Currall cheekes, Then Ayre be turnde, to poyson to infect me, 450 Earth gape and swallow him that Heauens hate, Consume me Fire with thy deuouring flames, Or Water drowne, who else would melt in teares. But liue, liue happy still, in safety liue, Who safety onely to my life can giue. _Exit._ _Cor._ O he is gon, go hie thee after him, My vow forbids, yet still my care is with thee, My cryes shall wake the siluer Moone by night, And with my teares I will salute the Morne. No day shall passe with out my dayly plaints, 460 No houre without my prayers for thy returne. My minde misgiues mee _Pompey_ is betrayd. O _Ægypt_ do not rob me of my loue. Why beareth _Ptolomy_ so sterne a looke? O do not staine thy childish yeares with blood: Whil'st _Pompey_ florished in his Fortunes pride, _Ægypt_ and _Ptolomy_ were faine to serue And shue for grace to my distressed Lord: But little bootes it, to record he was, To be is onely that which Men respect, 470 Go poore _Cornelia_ wander by the shore And see the waters raging Billowes swell, And beate with fury gainst the craggy rockes, To that compare thy strong tempestuous griefe. Which fiercely rageth in thy feeble heart, Sorrow shuts vp the passage of thy breath: And dries the teares that pitty faine would shed, This onely therefore, this will I still crie, Let _Pompey_ liue although _Cornelia_ die. _Exit._

ACTVS I. SCENA. 6. {SN _Act I sc. iv_}

_Enter Cæsar, Cleopatra, Dolobella, Lord and others_