Chapter II: Part 2

But with what exercise soeuer we passe the time, behold old age vnwares to vs coms vpon vs: which whether we thrust our selues into the prease of men, or hide vs somewhere out of the way, neuer failes to find vs out. Euery man makes accompt in that age to rest himselfe of all his trauailes without further care, but to keepe himselfe at ease and in health. And see contrariwise in this age, there is nothing but an after taste of all the fore going euils: and most commonly a plentifull haruest of all such vices as in the whole course of their life, hath held and possessed them. There you haue the vnabilitie and weakenesse of infancie, and (which is worse) many times accompanied with authoritie: there you are payed for the excesse and riotousnes of youth, with gowts, palsies, and such like diseases, which take from you limme after limme with extreame paine and torment. There you are recompenced for the trauailes of mind, the watchings and cares of manhoode, with losse of sight, losse of hearing, and all the sences one after another, except onely the sence of paine. Not one parte in vs but death takes in gage to be assured of vs, as of bad pay-maisters, which infinitely feare their dayes of payment. Nothing in vs which will not by and by bee dead: and neuerthelesse our vices yet liue in vs, and not onely liue, but in despite of nature daily growe yoong againe. The couetous man hath one foote in his graue, and is yet burieng his money: meaning belike to finde it againe another day. The ambitious in his will ordaineth vnprofitable pompes for his funeralles, making his vice to liue and triumph after his death. The riotous no longer able to daunce on his feete, daunceth with his shoulders, all vices hauing lefte him, and hee not yet able to leaue them. The childe wisheth for youth: and this man laments it. The yong man liueth in hope of the future, and this feeles the euill present, laments the false pleasures past, and sees for the time to come nothing to hope for. More foolish then the childe, in bewailing the time he cannot recall, and not remembring the euill hee had therein: and more wretched then the yongman, in that after a wretched life not able, but wretchedly to die, he sees on all sides but matter of dispaire. As for him, who from his youth hath vndertaken to combate against the flesh, and against the world: who hath taken so great paines to mortifie himselfe and leaue the worlde before his time: who besides those ordinarie euilles findes himselfe vexed with this great and incurable disease of olde age, and feeles notwithstanding his flesh howe weake soeuer, stronger oftentimes then his spirite: what good I pray can hee haue but onlie herein: that hee sees his death at hand, that hee sees his combate finished, that he sees himselfe readie to departe by death out of this loathsome prison, wherein all his life time hee hath beene racked and tormented? I will not heere speake of the infinite euilles wherewith men in all ages are annoyed, as losse of friendes and parents, banishments, exiles, disgraces, and such others, common and ordinarie in the world: one complayning of loosing his children, an other of hauing them: one making sorrow for his wifes death, an other for her life, one finding faulte, that hee is too high in Courte, an other, that hee is not high enough. The worlde is so full of euilles, that to write them all, woulde require an other worlde as great as it selfe. Sufficeth, that if the most happie in mens opinions doe counterpoize his happs with his mishaps, he shall iudge himselfe vnhappy: and hee iudge him happy, who had he beene set three dayes in his place, would giue it ouer to him that came next: yea, sooner then hee, who shall consider in all the goodes that euer hee hath had the euilles hee hath endured to get them, and hauing them to retaine and keepe them (I speake of the pleasures that may be kept, and not of those that wither in a moment) wil iudge of himselfe, and by himselfe, that the keeping it selfe of the greatest felicitie in this worlde, is full of vnhappinesse and infelicitie. Conclude then, that Childhoode is but a foolish simplicitie, Youth, a vaine heate, Manhoode, a painefull carefulnesse, and Olde-age, a noysome languishing: that our playes are but teares, our pleasures, feuers of the minde, our goodes, rackes, and torments, our honors, heauy vanities, our rest, vnrest: that passing from age to age is but passing from euill to euill, and from the lesse vnto the greater: and that alwayes it is but one waue driuing on an other, vntill we be arriued at the Hauen of death. Conclude I say, that life is but a wishing for the future, and a bewailing of the past: a loathing of what wee haue tasted, and a longing for that wee haue not tasted, a vaine memorie of the state past, and a doubtfull expectation of the state to come: finally, that in all our life there is nothing certaine, nothing assured, but the certaintie and vncertaintie of death. Behold, now comes Death vnto vs: Behold her, whose approch we so much feare. We are now to c[on]sider whether she be such as wee are made beleeue: and whether we ought so greatly to flie her, as commonly wee do. Wee are afraide of her: but like little children of a vizarde, or of the Images of _Hecate_. Wee haue her in horror: but because wee conceiue her not such as she is, but ougly, terrible, and hideous: such as it pleaseth the Painters to represent vnto vs on a wall. Wee flie before her: but it is because foretaken with such vaine imaginations, wee giue not our selues leisure to marke her. But staie wee, stande wee stedfast, looke wee her in the face: wee shall finde her quite other then shee is painted vs: and altogether of other countenaunce then our miserable life. Death makes an ende of this life. This life is a perpetuall misery and tempest: Death then is the issue of our miseries and entraunce of the porte where wee shall ride in safetie from all windes. And shoulde wee feare that which withdraweth vs from misery, or which drawes vs into our Hauen? Yea but you will say, it is a payne to die. Admit it bee: so is there in curing of a wounde. Such is the worlde, that one euill can not bee cured but by an other, to heale a contusion, must bee made an incision. You will say, there is difficultie in the passage: So is there no Hauen, no Porte, whereinto the entraunce is not straite and combersome. No good thing is to be bought in this worlde with other then the coyne of labour and paine. The entraunce indeede is hard, if our selues make it harde, comming thither with a tormented spirite, a troubled minde, a wauering and irresolute thought. But bring wee quietnesse of mind, constancie, and full resolution, wee shall not finde anie daunger or difficultie at all. Yet what is the paine that death brings vs? Nay, what can shee doe with those paines wee feele? Wee accuse her of all the euilles wee abide in ending our life, and consider not howe manie more greeuous woundes or sickenesses wee haue endured without death: or howe many more vehement paines wee haue suffered in this life, in the which wee called euen her to our succour. All the paines our life yeeldes vs at the last houre wee impute to Death: not marking that life begunne and continued in all sortes of paine, must also necessarily ende in paine. Not marking (I saie) that it is the remainder of our life, not death, that tormenteth vs: the ende of our nauigation that paines vs, not the Hauen wee are to enter: which is nothing else but a safegarde against all windes. Wee complayne of Death, where wee shoulde complayne of life: as if one hauyng beene long sicke, and beginning to bee well, shoulde accuse his health of his last paynes, and not the reliques of his disease. Tell mee, what is it else to bee dead, but to bee no more liuing in the worlde? Absolutelie and simplie not to bee in the worlde, is it anie payne? Did wee then feele any paine, when as yet wee were not? Haue wee euer more resemblaunce of Death, then when wee sleepe? Or euer more rest then at that time? Now if this be no paine, why accuse we Death of the paines our life giues vs at our departure? Vnlesse also we wil fondly accuse the time when as yet we were not, of the paines we felt at our birth? If the comming in be with teares, is it wonder that such be the going out? If the beginning of our being, be the beginning of our paine, is it maruell that such be the ending? But if our not being in times past hath bene without payne, and all this being contrarywise full of paine: whome should we by reason accuse of the last paines, the not being to come, or the remnant of this present being? We thinke we dye not, but when we yeeld vp our last gaspe. But if we marke well, we dye euery day, euery houre, euery moment. We apprehend death as a thing vnvsuall to vs: and yet haue nothing so common in vs. Our liuing is but continuall dyeng: looke how much we liue, we dye: how much we encrease, our life decreases. We enter not a step into life, but we enter a step into death. Who hath liued a third part of his yeares, hath a third part of himselfe dead. Who halfe his yeares, is already half dead. Of our life, all the time past is dead, the present liues and dies at once, and the future likewise shall dye. The past is no more, the future is not yet, the present is, and no more is. Briefely, this whole life is but a death: it is as a candle lighted in our bodies: in one the winde makes it melt away, in an other blowes it cleane out, many times ere it be halfe burned: in others it endureth to the ende. Howsoeuer it be, looke how much it shineth, so much it burneth: her shining is her burning: her light a vanishing smoke: her last fire, hir last wike, and her last drop of moisture. So is it in the life of man, life and death in man is all one. If we call the last breath death, so must we all the rest: all proceeding from one place, and all in one manner. One only difference there is betweene this life, and that we call death: that during the one, we haue alwayes wherof to dye: and after the other, there remaineth only wherof to liue. In summe, euen he that thinketh death simply to be the ende of man, ought not to feare it: in asmuch as who desireth to liue longer, desireth to die longer: and who feareth soone to die, feareth (to speake properlie) lest he may not longer die.

But vnto vs brought vp in a more holy schoole, death is a farre other thing: neither neede we as the Pagans of consolations against death: but that death serue vs, as a consolation against all sorts of affliction: so that we must not only strengthen our selues, as they, not to feare it, but accustome ourselues to hope for it. For vnto vs it is not a departing fr[om] pain & euil, but an accesse vnto all good: not the end of life, but the end of death, & the beginning of life. Better, saith _Salomon_, is the day of death, then the day of birth, and why? because it is not to vs a last day, but the dawning of an euerlasting day. No more shall we haue in that glorious light, either sorow for the past, or expectation of the future: for all shall be there present vnto vs, and that present shall neuer more passe. No more shal we powre out our selues in vaine & painfull pleasures: for we shal be filled with true & substantiall pleasures. No more shal we paine our selues in heaping togither these exhalati[on]s of the earth: for the heauens shall be ours, and this masse of earth, which euer drawes vs towards the earth, shalbe buried in the earth. No more shal we ouerwearie our selues with mounting from degree to degree, and from honor to honor: for we shall highlie be raysed aboue all heights of the world; and from on high laugh at the folly of all those we once admired, who fight together for a point, and as litle childr[en] for lesse then an apple. No more to be brief shal we haue combates in our selues: for our flesh shall be dead, and our spirit in full life: our passion buried, and our reason in perfect libertie. Our soule deliuered out of this foule & filthie prison, where, by long continuing it is growen into an habite of crookednes, shall againe draw her owne breath, recognize her ancient dwelling, and againe remember her former glory & dignity. This flesh my frend which thou feelest, this body which thou touchest is not man: Man is from heauen: heauen is his countrie and his aire. That he is in his body, is but by way of exile & confinement. Man in deed is soule and spirit: Man is rather of celestiall and diuine qualitie, wherin is nothing grosse nor materiall. This body such as now it is, is but the barke & shell of the soule: which must necessarily be broken, if we will be hatched: if we will indeed liue & see the light. We haue it semes, some life, and some sence in vs: but are so croked and contracted, that we cannot so much as stretch out our wings, much lesse take our flight towards heauen, vntill we be disburthened of this earthlie burthen. We looke, but through false spectacles: we haue eyes but ouergrowen with pearles: we thinke we see, but it is in a dreame, wherin we see nothing but deceit. All that we haue, and all that we know is but abuse and vanitie. Death only can restore vs both life and light: and we thinke (so blockish we are) that she comes to robbe vs of them. We say we are Christians: that we beleeue after this mortall, a life immortall: that death is but a separation of the body and soule: and that the soule returnes to his happie abode, there to ioy in God, who only is all good: that at the last day it shall againe take the body, which shal no more be subiect to corrupti[on]. With these goodly discourses we fill all our bookes: and in the meane while, wh[en] it comes to the point, the very name of death as the horriblest thing in the world makes vs quake & tremble. If we beleue as we speak, what is that we feare? to be happy? to be at our ease? to be more content in a mom[en]t, then we might be in the longest mortal life that might be? or must not we of force confesse, that we beleue it but in part? that all we haue is but words? that all our discourses, as of these hardie trencher knights, are but vaunting and vanitie? Some you shall see, that wil say: I know well that I passe out of this life into a better: I make no doubt of it: only I feare the midway step, that I am to step ouer. Weak harted creatures! they wil kill th[em]selues to get their miserable liuing: suffer infinite paines, and infinite wounds at another mans pleasure: passe infinit deaths without dying, for things of nought, for things that perish, and perchance make them perish with them. But when they haue but one pace to passe to be at rest, not for a day, but for euer: not an indifferent rest, but such as mans minde cannot comprehende: they tremble, their harts faile them, they are affrayde: and yet the ground of their harme is nothing but feare. Let them neuer tell me, they apprehend the paine: it is but an abuse: a purpose to conceale the litle faith they haue. No, no, they would rather languish of the goute, the sciatica, any disease whatsoeuer: then dye one sweete death with the least paine possible: rather pininglie dye limme after limme, outliuing as it were, all their sences, motions, and actions, then speedily dye, immediatly to liue for euer. Let them tell me no more that they would in this world learne to liue: for euery one is therevnto sufficiently instructed in himselfe, and not one but is cunning in the trade. Nay rather they should learne in this world to dye: and once to dye well, dye dayly in themselues: so prepared, as if the ende of euery dayes worke, were the ende of our life. Now contrarywise there is nothing to their eares more offensiue, then to heare of death. Senseless people! we abandon our life to the ordinarie hazards of warre, for seauen franks pay: are formost in an assault, for a litle bootie: goe into places, whence there is no hope of returning, with danger many times both of bodies and soules. But to free vs from all hazards, to winne things inestimable, to enter an eternall life, we faint in the passage of one pace, wherein is no difficultie, but in opinion: yea we so faint, that were it not of force we must passe, and that God in despite of vs will doe vs a good turne, hardly should we finde in all the world one, how vnhappy or wretched soeuer, that would euer passe. Another will say, had I liued till 50. or 60. yeares, I should haue bin contented: I should not haue cared to liue longer: but to dye so yong is no reason, I should haue knowen the world before I had left it. Simple soule! in this world there is neither young nor olde. The longest age in comparison of all that is past, or all that is to come, is nothing: and when thou hast liued to the age thou now desirest, all the past will be nothing: thou wilt still gape, for that is to come. The past will yeeld thee but sorrowe, the future but expectation, the present no contentment. As ready thou wilt then be to redemaund longer respite, as before. Thou fliest thy creditor from moneth to moneth, and time to time, as readie to pay the last daye, as the first: thou seekest but to be acquitted. Thou hast tasted all which the world esteemeth pleasures: not one of them is new vnto thee. By drinking oftener, thou shalt be neuer awhit the more satisfyed: for the body thou cariest, like the bored paile of _Danaus_ daughters, will neuer be full. Thou mayst sooner weare it out, then weary thy selfe with vsing, or rather abusing it. Thou crauest long life to cast it away, to spend it on worthles delights, to mispend it on vanities. Thou art couetous in desiring, and prodigall in spending. Say not thou findest fault with the Court, or the Pallace: but that thou desirest longer to serue the commonwealth, to serue thy countrie, to serue God. He that set thee on worke knowes vntill what day, and what houre, thou shouldest be at it: he well knowes how to direct his worke. Should he leaue thee there longer, perchance thou wouldest marre all. But if he will pay thee liberally for thy labour, as much for halfe a dayes worke, as for a whole: as much for hauing wrought till noone, as for hauing borne all the heate of the day: art thou not so much the more to thanke and prayse him? but if thou examine thine owne conscience, thou lamentest not the cause of the widdow, and the orphan, which thou hast left depending in iudgement: not the dutie of a sonne, of a father, or of a frend, which thou pretendest thou wouldest performe: not the ambassage for the common wealth, which thou wert euen ready to vndertake: not the seruice thou desirest to doe vnto God, who knowes much better howe to serue himselfe of thee, then thou of thy selfe. It is thy houses and gardens thou lamentest, thy imperfect plottes and purposes, thy life (as thou thinkest) imperfect: which by no dayes, nor yeares, nor ages, might be perfected: and yet thy selfe mightst perfect in a moment, couldest thou but thinke in good earnest, that where it ende it skilles not, so that it end well.

Now to end well this life, is onely to ende it willingly: following with full consent the will and direction of God, and not suffering vs to be drawen by the necessetie of destenie. To end it willingly, we must hope, and not feare death. To hope for it, we must certainely looke after this life, for a better life. To looke for that, wee must feare God: whome whoso well feareth, feareth indeede nothing in this worlde, and hopes for all things in the other. To one well resolued in these points death can be but sweete and agreeable: knowing that through it hee is to enter into a place of all ioyes. The griefe that may be therein shall bee allaied with sweetnes: the sufferance of ill, swallowed in the confidence of good: the sting of Death it selfe shall bee dead, which is nothing else but Feare. Nay, I wil say more, not onely all the euilles conceiued in death shall be to him nothing: but he shall euen scorne all the mishappes men redoubt in this life, and laugh at all these terrors. For I pray what can he feare, whose death is his hope? Thinke we to banish him his country? He knows he hath a country other-where, whence wee cannot banish him: and that all these countries are but Innes, out of which he must part at the wil of his hoste. To put him in prison? a more straite prison he cannot haue, then his owne body, more filthy, more darke, more full of rackes and torments. To kill him and take him out of the worlde? that is it he hopes for: that is it with all his heart he aspires vnto. By fire, by sworde, by famine, by sickenesse: within three yeeres, within three dayes, within three houres, all is one to him: all is one at what gate, or at what time he passe out of this miserable life. For his businesses are euer ended, his affaires all dispatched, and by what way he shall go out, by the same hee shall enter into a most happie and euerlasting life. Men can threaten him but death, and death is all he promiseth himselfe: the worst they can doe, is, to make him die, and that is the best hee hopes for. The threatnings of tyrants are to him promises, the swordes of his greatest enemies drawne in his fauor: forasmuch as he knowes that threatning him death, they threaten him life: and the most mortall woundes can make him but immortall. Who feares God, feares not death: and who feares it not, feares not the worst of this life.

By this reckoning, you will tell me death is a thing to be wished for: and to passe from so much euill, to so much good, a man shoulde as it seemeth cast away his life. Surely, I feare not, that for any good wee expect, we will hasten one step the faster: though the spirite aspire, the body it drawes with it, withdrawes it euer sufficiently towardes the earth. Yet is it not that I conclude. We must seeke to mortifie our flesh in vs, and to cast the world out of vs: but to cast our selues out of the world is in no sort permitted vs. The Christian ought willingly to depart out of this life but not cowardly to runne away. The Christian is ordained by God to fight therein: and cannot leaue his place without incurring reproch and infamie. But if it please the grand Captaine to recall him, let him take the retrait in good part, and with good will obey it. For hee is not borne for himselfe, but for God: of whome he holdes his life at farme, as his tenant at will, to yield him the profites. It is in the landlord to take it from him, not in him to surrender it, when a conceit takes him. Diest thou yong? praise God as the mariner that hath had a good winde, soone to bring him to the Porte. Diest thou olde? praise him likewise, for if thou hast had lesse winde, it may be thou hast also had lesse waues. But thinke not at thy pleasure to go faster or softer: for the winde is not in thy power, and in steede of taking the shortest way to the Hauen, thou maiest happily suffer shipwracke. God calleth home from his worke, one in the morning, an other at noone, and an other at night. One he exerciseth til the first sweate, another he sunne-burneth, another he rosteth and drieth throughly. But of all his he leaues not one without, but brings them all to rest, and giues them all their hire, euery one in his time. Who leaues his worke before God call him, looses it: and who importunes him before the time, looses his reward. We must rest vs in his will, who in the middest of our troubles sets vs at rest.

To ende, we ought neither to hate this life for the toiles therein, for it is slouth and cowardise: nor loue it for the delights, which is follie and vanitie: but serue vs of it, to serue God in it, who after it shall place vs in true quietnesse, and replenish vs with pleasures whiche shall neuer more perish. Neyther ought we to flye death, for it is childish to feare it: and in flieng from it, wee meete it. Much lesse to seeke it, for that is temeritie: nor euery one that would die, can die. As much despaire in the one, as cowardise in the other: in neither any kinde of magnanimitie. It is enough that we constantly and continually waite for her comming, that shee may neuer finde vs vnprouided. For as there is nothing more certaine then death, so is there nothing more vncertaine then the houre of death, knowen onlie to God, the onlie Author of life and death, to whom wee all ought endeuour both to liue and die.

_Die to liue,_
_Liue to die._

The 13. of May 1590.

At Wilton.

* * * * *
* * * *

[Transcriber's Note:

The play was printed in Italic type, with Roman for emphasis.
For this e-text, only the _emphasis_ is shown.

Acts 1 and 3 are unlabeled in the text. Act 1 can only be Antony's
soliloquy, with following Chorus, but Act 3 is ambiguous. Between
Act 2 and Act 4 are:
(scene) Cleopatra. Eras. Charmion. Diomede.
(soliloquy): Diomed.
Chorus
(scene) M. Antonius. Lucilius.
Chorus
Structurally the play seems to have six Acts, but Act 4 and Act 5 are
each labeled as such.]

[Decoration]

The Argument.

After the ouerthrowe of _Brutus_ and _Cassius_, the libertie of _Rome_ being now vtterly oppressed, and the Empire setled in the hands of _Octauius Cæsar_ and _Marcus Antonius_, (who for knitting a straiter bonde of amitie betweene them, had taken to wife _Octauia_ the sister of _Cæsar_) _Antonius_ vndertooke a iourney against the Parthians, with intent to regaine on them the honor wonne by them from the Romains, at the discomfiture and slaughter of _Crassus_. But comming in his iourney into Siria, the places renewed in his remembrance the long intermitted loue of _Cleopatra_ Queene of Aegipt: who before time had both in Cilicia and at Alexandria, entertained him with all the exquisite delightes and sumptuous pleasures, which a great Prince and voluptuous Louer could to the vttermost desire. Whereupon omitting his enterprice, he made his returne to Alexandria, againe falling to his former loues, without any regard of his vertuous wife _Octauia_, by whom neuertheles he had excellent Children. This occasion _Octauius_ tooke of taking armes against him: and preparing a mighty fleet, encountred him at Actium, who also had assembled to that place a great number of Gallies of his own, besides 60. which _Cleopatra_ brought with her from Aegipt. But at the very beginning of the battell _Cleopatra_ with all her Gallies betooke her to flight, which _Antony_ seeing could not but follow; by his departure leauing to _Octauius_ the greatest victorye which in any Sea Battell hath beene heard off. Which he not negligent to pursue, followes them the next spring, and besiedgeth them within Alexandria, where _Antony_ finding all that he trusted to faile him, beginneth to growe iealouse and to suspect _Cleopatra_. She thereupon enclosed her selfe with two of her women in a monument she had before caused to be built, thence sends him woord she was dead: which he beleeuing for truth, gaue himselfe with his Swoord a deadly wound: but died not vntill a messenger came from _Cleopatra_ to haue him brought to her to the tombe. Which she not daring to open least she should be made a prisoner to the _Romaines_, and carried in _Cæsars_ triumph, cast downe a corde from an high window, by the which (her women helping her) she trussed vp _Antonius_ halfe dead, and so got him into the monument. The Stage supposed Alexandria: the Chorus, first Egiptians, and after Romane Souldiors. The Historie to be read at large in _Plutarch_ in the life of _Antonius_.

The Actors.

_Antonius_.
_Cleopatra_.
_Eras_ and } _Cleopatras_ women.
_Charmion_. }
_Philostratus_ a Philosopher.
_Lucilius_.
_Diomede_ Secretary to _Cleopatra_.
_Octauius Cæsar._
_Agrippa_.
_Euphron_, teacher of _Cleopatras_ children.
_Children_ of _Cleopatra_.
_Dircetus_ the Messenger.

[Decoration]

_Antonius._

Since cruell Heau'ns against me obstinate,
Since all mishappes of the round engin doe
Conspire my harme: since men, since powers diuine,
Aire, earth, and Sea are all iniurious:
And that my Queene her self, in whome I liu'd,
The Idoll of my hart, doth me pursue;
It's meete I dye. For her haue I forgone
My Country, _Cæsar_ vnto warre prouok'd
(For iust reuenge of Sisters wrong my wife,
Who mou'de my Queene (ay me!) to iealousie)
For loue of her, in her allurements caught
Abandon'd life, I honor haue despisde,
Disdain'd my freends, and of the statelye Rome
Despoilde the Empire of her best attire,
Contemn'd that power that made me so much fear'd,
A slaue become vnto her feeble face.
O cruell, traitres, woman most vnkinde,
Thou dost, forsworne, my loue and life betraie:
And giu'st me vp to ragefull enemie,
Which soone (ô foole!) will plague thy periurye.
Yelded _Pelusium_ on this Countries shore,
Yelded thou hast my Shippes and men of warre,
That nought remaines (so destitute am I)
But these same armes which on my back I weare.
Thou should'st haue had them too, and me vnarm'de
Yeelded to _Cæsar_ naked of defence.
Which while I beare let _Cæsar_ neuer thinke
Triumph of me shall his proud chariot grace
Not think with me his glory to adorne,
On me aliue to vse his victorie.
Thou only _Cleopatra_ triumph hast,
Thou only hast my freedome seruile made,
Thou only hast me vanquisht: not by force
(For forste I cannot be) but by sweete baites
Of thy eyes graces, which did gaine so fast
vpon my libertie, that nought remain'd.
None els hencefoorth, but thou my dearest Queene,
Shall glorie in commaunding _Antonie_.
Haue _Cæsar_ fortune and the Gods his freends,
To him haue Ioue and fatall sisters giuen
The Scepter of the earth: he neuer shall
Subiect my life to his obedience.
But when that Death, my glad refuge, shall haue
Bounded the course of my vnstedfast life,
And frosen corps vnder a marble colde
Within tombes bosome widdowe of my soule:
Then at his will let him it subiect make:
Then what he will let _Cæsar_ doo with me:
Make me limme after limme be rent: make me
My buriall take in sides of _Thracian_ wolfe.
Poore _Antonie_! alas what was the day,
The daies of losse that gained thee thy loue!
Wretch _Antony_! since then _Mægæra_ pale
With Snakie haires enchain'd thy miserie.
The fire thee burnt was neuer _Cupids_ fire
(For Cupid beares not such a mortall brand)
It was some furies torch, _Orestes_ torche,
which sometimes burnt his mother-murdering soule
(When wandring madde, rage boiling in his bloud,
He fled his fault which folow'd as he fled)
kindled within his bones by shadow pale
Of mother slaine return'd from Stygian lake.
_Antony_, poore _Antony_! since that daie
Thy olde good hap did farre from thee retire.
Thy vertue dead: thy glory made aliue
So ofte by martiall deeds is gone in smoke:
Since then the _Baies_ so well thy forehead knewe
To Venus mirtles yeelded haue their place:
Trumpets to pipes: field tents to courtly bowers:
Launces and Pikes to daunces and to feastes.
Since then, ô wretch! in stead of bloudy warres
Thou shouldst haue made vpon the Parthian Kings
For Romain honor filde by _Crassus_ foile,
Thou threw'st thy Curiace off, and fearfull healme,
With coward courage vnto _Ægipts_ Queen
In haste to runne, about her necke to hang
Languishing in her armes thy Idoll made:
In summe giuen vp to _Cleopatras_ eies.
Thou breakest at length from thence, as one encharm'd
Breakes from th'enchaunter that him strongly helde.
For thy first reason (spoyling of their force
the poisned cuppes of thy faire Sorceres)
Recur'd thy sprite: and then on euery side
Thou mad'st againe the earth with Souldiours swarme.
All Asia hidde: Euphrates bankes do tremble
To see at once so many Romanes there
Breath horror, rage, and with a threatning eye
In mighty squadrons crosse his swelling streames.
Nought seene but horse, and fier sparkling armes:
Nought heard but hideous noise of muttring troupes.
The _Parth_, the _Mede_, abandoning their goods
Hide them for feare in hilles of _Hircanie_,
Redoubting thee. Then willing to besiege
The great _Phraate_ head of _Media_,
Thou campedst at her walles with vaine assault,
Thy engins fit (mishap!) not thither brought.
So long thou stai'st, so long thou doost thee rest,
So long thy loue with such things nourished
Reframes, reformes it selfe and stealingly
Retakes his force and rebecomes more great.
For of thy Queene the lookes, the grace, the woords,
Sweetenes, alurements, amorous delights,
Entred againe thy soule, and day and night,
In watch, in sleepe, her Image follow'd thee:
Not dreaming but of her, repenting still
That thou for warre hadst such a Goddes left.
Thou car'st no more for _Parth_, nor _Parthian_ bow,
Sallies, assaults, encounters, shocks, alarmes,
For diches, rampiers, wards, entrenched grounds:
Thy only care is sight of _Nilus_ streames,
Sight of that face whose guilefull semblant doth
(Wandring in thee) infect thy tainted hart.
Her absence thee besottes: each hower, each hower
Of staie, to thee impatient seemes an age.
Enough of conquest, praise thou deem'st enough,
If soone enough the bristled fieldes thou see
Of fruitfull _Ægipt_, and the stranger floud
Thy Queenes faire eyes (another _Pharos_) lights.
Returned loe, dishonoured, despisde,
In wanton loue a woman thee misleades
Sunke in foule sinke: meane while respecting nought
Thy wife _Octauia_ and her tender babes,
Of whom the long contempt against thee whets
The sword of _Cæsar_ now thy Lord become.
Lost thy great Empire, all those goodly townes
Reuerenc'd thy name as rebells now thee leaue:
Rise against thee, and to the ensignes flocke
Of conqu'ring _Cæsar_, who enwalles thee round
Cag'd in thy holde, scarse maister of thy selfe,
Late maister of so many nations.
Yet, yet, which is of grief extreamest grief,
Which is yet of mischiefe highest mischiefe,
It's _Cleopatra_ alas! alas, it's she,
It's she augments the torment of thy paine,
Betraies thy loue, thy life alas! betraies,
_Cæsar_ to please, whose grace she seekes to gaine:
With thought her Crowne to saue, and fortune make
Onely thy foe which common ought haue beene.
If her I alwaies lou'd, and the first flame
Of her heart-killing loue shall burne me last:
Iustly complaine I she disloyall is,
Nor constant is, euen as I constant am,
To comfort my mishap, despising me
No more, then when the heauens fauour'd me.
_But ah! by nature women wau'ring are,_
_Each moment changing and rechanging mindes._
_Vnwise, who blinde in them, thinkes loyaltie_
_Euer to finde in beauties company._

Chorus.

The boyling tempest still
Makes not Sea waters fome:
Nor still the Northern blast
Disquiets quiet streames:
Nor who his chest to fill
Sayles to the morning beames,
On waues winde tosseth fast
Still kepes his Ship from home.
Nor _Ioue_ still downe doth cast
Inflam'd with bloudie ire
On man, on tree, on hill,
His darts of thundring fire:
Nor still the heat doth last
On face of parched plaine:
Nor wrinkled colde doth still
On frozen furrowes raigne.
But still as long as we
In this low world remaine,
Mishapps our dayly mates
Our liues do entertaine:
And woes which beare no dates
Still pearch vpon our heads,
None go, but streight will be
Some greater in their Steads.
Nature made vs not free
When first she made vs liue:
When we began to be,
To be began our woe:
Which growing euermore
As dying life dooth growe
Do more and more vs greeue,
And tire vs more and more.
No stay in fading states,
For more to height they retch,
Their fellow miseries
The more to height do stretch.
They clinge euen to the crowne,
And threatning furious wise
From tirannizing pates
Do often pull it downe.
In vaine on waues vntride
to shunne them go we should
To _Scythes_ and _Massagetes_
Who neare the Pole reside:
In vaine to boiling sandes
Which _Phæbus_ battry beates,
For with vs still they would
Cut seas and compasse landes.
The darknes no more sure
To ioyne with heauy night:
The light which guildes the dayes
To follow _Titan_ pure:
No more the shadow light
The body to ensue:
Then wretchednes alwaies
Vs wretches to pursue.
O blest who neuer breath'd,
Or whome with pittie mou'de,
_Death_ from his cradle reau'de,
And swadled in his graue:
And blessed also he
(As curse may blessing haue)
Who low and liuing free
No princes charge hath prou'de.
By stealing sacred fire
_Prometheus_ then vnwise,
Prouoking Gods to ire,
The heape of ills did sturre,
And sicknes pale and colde
Our ende which onward spurre,
To plague our hands too bolde
To filch the wealth of Skies.
In heauens hate since then
Of ill with ill enchain'd
We race of mortall men
full fraught our breasts haue borne:
And thousand thousand woes
Our heau'nly soules now thorne,
Which free before from those
No! earthly passion pain'd.
Warre and warres bitter cheare
Now long time with vs staie,
And feare of hated foe
Still still encreaseth sore:
Our harmes worse dayly growe,
Lesse yesterdaye they were
Then now, and will be more
To morowe then to daye.

Act. 2.

_Philostratus._

What horrible furie, what cruell rage,
O _Ægipt_ so extremely thee torments?
Hast thou the Gods so angred by thy fault?
Hast thou against them some such crime conceiu'd,
That their engrained hand lift vp in threats
They should desire in thy hard bloud to bathe?
And that their burning wrath which nought can quench
Should pittiles on vs still lighten downe?
We are not hew'n out of the monst'rous masse
Of _Giantes_ those, which heauens wrack conspir'd:
_Ixions_ race, false prater of his loues:
Nor yet of him who fained lightnings found:
Nor cruell _Tantalus_, nor bloudie _Atreus_,
Whose cursed banquet for _Thyestes_ plague
Made the beholding Sunne for horrour turne
His backe, and backward from his course returne:
And hastning his wing-footed horses race
Plunge him in sea for shame to hide his face:
While sulleine night vpon the wondring world
For mid-daies light her starrie mantle cast,
But what we be, what euer wickednes
By vs is done, Alas! with what more plagues,
More eager torments could the Gods declare
To heauen and earth that vs they hatefull holde?
With Souldiors, strangers, horrible in armes
Our land is hidde, our people drown'd in teares.
But terror here and horror, nought is seene:
And present death prizing our life each hower.
Hard at our ports and at our porches waites
Our conquering foe: harts faile vs, hopes are dead:
Our Queene laments: and this great Emperour
Sometime (would now they did) whom worlds did feare,
Abandoned, betraid, now mindes no more
But from his euils by hast'ned death to passe.
Come you poore people tir'de with ceasles plaints
With teares and sighes make mournfull sacrifice
On _Isis_ altars: not our selues to saue,
But soften _Cæsar_ and him piteous make
To vs, his pray: that so his lenitie
May change our death into captiuitie.
Strange are the euils the fates on vs haue brought,
O but alas! how farre more strange the cause!
Loue, loue (alas, who euer would haue thought?)
Hath lost this Realme inflamed with his fire.
Loue, playing loue, which men say kindles not
But in soft harts, hath ashes made our townes.
And his sweet shafts, with whose shot none are kill'd,
Which vlcer not, with deaths our lands haue fill'd,
Such was the bloudie, murdring, hellish loue
Possest thy hart faire false guest _Priams_ Sonne,
Fi'ring a brand which after made to burne
The _Troian_ towers by _Græcians_ ruinate.
By this loue, _Priam_, _Hector_, _Troilus_,
_Memnon_, _Deiphobus_, _Glaucus_, thousands mo,
Whome redd _Scamanders_ armor clogged streames
Roll'd into Seas, before their dates are dead.
So plaguie he, so many tempests raiseth
So murdring he, so many Cities raiseth,
When insolent, blinde, lawles, orderles,
With madd delights our sence he entertaines.
All knowing Gods our wracks did vs foretell
By signes in earth, by signes in starry Sphæres:
Which should haue mou'd vs, had not destinie
With too strong hand warped our miserie.
The _Comets_ flaming through the scat'red clouds
With fiery beames, most like vnbroaded haires:
The fearefull dragon whistling at the bankes,
And holie _Apis_ ceaseles bellowing
(As neuer erst) and shedding endles teares:
Bloud raining downe from heau'n in vnknow'n showers:
Our Gods darke faces ouercast with woe,
And dead mens Ghosts appearing in the night.
Yea euen this night while all the Cittie stoode
Opprest with terror, horror, seruile feare,
Deepe silence ouer all: the sounds were heard
Of diuerse songs, and diuers instruments,
Within the voide of aire: and howling noise,
Such as madde _Bacchus_ priests in _Bacchus_ feasts
On _Nisa_ make: and (seem'd) the company,
Our Cittie lost, went to the enemie.
So we forsaken both of Gods and men,
So are we in the mercy of our foes:
And we hencefoorth obedient must become
To lawes of them who haue vs ouercome.

Chorus.

Lament we our mishaps,
Drowne we with teares our woe:
For Lamentable happes
Lamented easie growe:
And much lesse torment bring
Then when they first did spring.
We want that wofull song,
Wherwith wood-musiques Queene
Doth ease her woes, among,
fresh springtimes bushes greene,
On pleasant branche alone
Renewing auntient mone.
We want that monefull sounde,
That pratling _Progne_ makes
On fieldes of _Thracian_ ground,
Or streames of _Thracian_ lakes:
To empt her brest of paine
For _Itys_ by her slaine.
Though _Halcyons_ doo still,
Bewailing _Ceyx_ lot,
The Seas with plainings fill
Which his dead limmes haue got,
Not euer other graue
Then tombe of waues to haue:
And though the birde in death
That most _Meander_ loues
So swetely sighes his breath
When death his fury proues,_
_As almost softs his heart,
And almost blunts his dart:
Yet all the plaints of those,
Nor all their tearfull larmes,
Cannot content our woes,
Nor serue to waile the harmes,
In soule which we, poore we,
To feele enforced be.
Nor they of _Phæbus_ bredd
In teares can doo so well,
They for their brother shedd,
Who into _Padus_ fell,
Rash guide of chariot cleare
Surueiour of the yeare.
Nor she whom heau'nly powers
To weping rocke did turne,
Whose teares distill in showers,
And shew she yet doth mourne.
Where with his toppe to Skies
Mount _Sipylus_ doth rise.
Nor weping drops which flowe
From barke of wounded tree,
That _Myrrhas_ shame do showe
With ours compar'd may be,
To quench her louing fire
Who durst embrace her sire.
Nor all the howlings made
On _Cybels_ sacred hill
By Eunukes of her trade,
Who _Atys_, _Atys_ still
With doubled cries resound,_
_Which _Echo_ makes rebound.
Our plaints no limits stay,
Nor more then doo our woes:
Both infinitely straie
And neither measure knowes.
_In measure let them plaine:_
_Who measur'd griefes sustaine._

_Cleopatra._ _Eras._ _Charmion._ _Diomede._

_Cleopatra._

That I haue thee betraid, deare _Antonie_,
My life, my soule, my Sunne? I had such thought?
That I haue thee betraide my Lord, my King?
That I would breake my vowed faith to thee?
Leaue thee? deceiue thee? yeelde thee to the rage
Of mightie foe? I euer had that hart?
Rather sharpe lightning lighten on my head:
Rather may I to deepest mischiefe fall:
Rather the opened earth deuower me:
Rather fierce _Tigers_ feed them on my flesh:
Rather, ô rather let our _Nilus_ send,
To swallow me quicke, some weeping _Crocodile_.
And didst thou then suppose my royall hart
Had hatcht, thee to ensnare, a faithles loue?
And changing minde, as Fortune changed cheare,
I would weake thee, to winne the stronger, loose?
O wretch! ô caitiue! ô too cruell happe!
And did not I sufficient losse sustaine
Loosing my Realme, loosing my liberty,
My tender of-spring, and the ioyfull light
Of beamy Sunne, and yet, yet loosing more
Thee _Antony_ my care, if I loose not
What yet remain'd? thy loue alas! thy loue,
More deare then Scepter, children, freedome, light.
So ready I to row in _Charons_ barge,
Shall leese the ioy of dying in thy loue:
So the sole comfort of my miserie
To haue one tombe with thee is me bereft.
So I in shady plaines shall plaine alone,
Not (as I hop'd) companion of thy mone,
O height of griefe! _Eras_ why with continuall cries
Your griefull harmes doo you exasperate?
Torment your selfe with murthering complaints?
Straine your weake breast so oft, so vehemently?
Water with teares this faire alablaster?
With sorrowes sting so many beauties wound?
Come of so many Kings want you the hart
Brauely, stoutly, this tempest to resist?

_Cl._ My eu'lls are wholy vsupportable,
No humain force can them withstand, but death.

_Eras._ To him that striues nought is impossible.

_Cl._ In striuing lyes no hope of my mishapps.

_Eras._ All things do yeelde to force of louely face.

_Cl._ My face too louely caus'd my wretched case.
My face hath so entrap'd, so cast vs downe,
That for his conquest _Cæsar_ may it thanke,
Causing that _Antony_ one army lost
The other wholy did to _Cæsar_ yeld.
For not induring (so his amorouse sprite
Was with my beautie fir'de) my shamefull flight,
Soone as he saw from ranke wherein he stoode
In hottest fight, my Gallies making saile:
Forgetfull of his charge (as if his soule
Vnto his Ladies soule had bene enchain'd)
He left his men, who so couragiouslie
Did leaue their liues to gaine him victorie.
And carelesse both of fame and armies losse
My oared Gallies follow'd with his Ships
Companion of my flight, by this base parte
Blasting his former flourishing renowne.

_Eras._ Are you therefore cause of his ouerthrowe?

_Cl._ I am sole cause: I did it, only I.

_Er._ Feare of a woman troubled so his sprite?

_Cl._ Fire of his loue was by my feare enflam'd.

_Er._ And should he then to warre haue ledd a Queene?

_Cl._ Alas! this was not his offence, but mine.
_Antony_ (ay me! who else so braue a chiefe!)
Would not I should haue taken Seas with him:
But would haue left me fearfull woman farre
From common hazard of the doubtfull warre.
O that I had beleu'd! now, now of _Rome_
All the great Empire at our beck should bende.
All should obey, the vagabonding _Scythes_,
The feared _Germains_, back-shooting _Parthians_,
Wandring _Numidians_, _Brittons_ farre remoou'd,
And tawny nations scorched with the Sunne.
But I car'd not: so was my soule possest,
(To my great harme) with burning iealousie:
Fearing least in my absence _Antony_
Should leauing me retake _Octauia_.

_Char._ Such was the rigour of your destinie.

_Cl._ Such was my errour and obstinacie.

_Ch._ But since Gods would not, could you doe withall?

_Cl._ Alwaies from Gods good happs, not harms, do fall.

_Ch._ And haue they not all power on mens affaires?

_Cl._ They neuer bow so lowe, as worldly cares.
But leaue to mortall men to be dispos'd
Freelie on earth what euer mortall is.
If we therin sometimes some faultes commit,
We may them not to their high maiesties,
But to our selues impute; whose passions
Plunge vs each day in all afflictions.
Wherwith when we our soules do thorned feele,
Flatt'ring our selues we say they dest'nies are:
That Gods would haue it so, and that our care
Could not empeach but that it must be so.

_Char._ Things here belowe are in the heau'ns begot,
Before they be in this our worlde borne:
And neuer can our weaknes turne awry
The stailes course of powerfull destenie.
Nought here force, reason, humaine prouidence,
Holie deuotion, noble bloud preuailes:
And Ioue himselfe whose hand doth heauens rule,
Who both to Gods and men as King commaunds,
Who earth (our firme support) with plenty stores,
Moues aire and sea with twinckling of his eie,
Who all can doe, yet neuer can vndoe
What once hath been by their hard laws decreed.
When _Troian_ walles, great _Neptunes_ workmanship,
Enuiron'd were with _Greekes_, and Fortunes whele
Doubtfull ten yeares now to the campe did turne,
And now againe towards the towne return'd:
How many times did force and fury swell
In _Hectors_ veines egging him to the spoile
Of conquer'd foes, which at his blowes did flie,
As fearfull shepe at feared wolues approche:
To saue (in vaine: for why? it would not be)
Pore walles of _Troie_ from aduersaries rage,
Who died them in bloud, and cast to ground
Heap'd them with bloudie burning carcases.
No, Madame, thinke, that if the ancient crowne
Of your progenitors that _Nilus_ rul'd,
Force take from you; the Gods haue will'd it so,
To whome oft times Princes are odiouse.
They haue to euery thing an end ordain'd;
All worldly greatnes by them bounded is;
Some sooner, later some, as they think best:
None their decree is able to infringe.
But, which is more, to vs disastred men
Which subiect are in all things to their will,
Their will is hidd: nor while we liue, we know
How, or how long we must in life remaine.
Yet must we not for that feede on dispaire,
And make vs wretched ere we wretched bee:
But alwaies hope the best, euen to the last,
That from our selues the mischief may not growe.
Then, Madame, helpe your selfe, leaue of in time
_Antonies_ wracke, lest it your wracke procure:
Retire you from him, saue frrom wrathfull rage
Of angry _Cæsar_ both your Realme and you.
You see him lost, so as your amitie
Vnto his euills can yelde no more reliefe.
You see him ruin'd, so as your support
No more hencefourth can him with comfort raise.
With-draw you from the storme: persist not still
To loose your selfe: this royal diademe
Regaine of _Cæsar_.

_Cl._ Soner shining light
Shall leaue the daie, and darknes leaue the night:
Sooner moist currents of tempestuous seas
Shall waue in heauen, and the nightlie troopes
Of starres shall shine within the foming waues,
Then I thee, _Antonie_, Leaue in depe distres.
I am with thee, be it thy worthy soule
Lodge in thy brest, or from that lodging parte
Crossing the ioyles lake to take hir place
In place prepared for men Demy-gods.
Liue, if thee please, if life be lothsome die:
Dead and aliue, _Antonie_, thou shalt see
Thy princesse follow thee, folow, and lament,
Thy wrack, no lesse her owne then was thy weale.

_Char._ What helps his wrack this euer-lasting loue?

_Cl._ Help, or help not, such must, such ought I proue.

_Char._ Ill done to loose your selfe, and to no ende.

_Cl._ How ill thinke you to follow such a frende?

_Char._ But this your loue nought mitigates his paine.

_Cl._ Without this loue I should be inhumaine.

_Char._ Inhumaine he, who his owne death pursues.

_Cl._ Not inhumaine who miseries eschues.

_Ch._ Liue for your sonnes.

_Cl._ Nay for their father die.

_Cha._ Hardhearted mother!

_Cl._ Wife kindhearted I.

_Ch._ Then will you them depriue of royall right?