Chapter III: Part 3

_Cl._ Do I depriue them? no, it's dest'nies might.

_Ch._ Do you not them not depriue of heritage,
That giue them vp to aduersaries handes,
A man forsaken fearing to forsake,
Whome such huge numbers hold enuironned?
T' abandon one gainst whome the frowning world
Banded with _Cæsar_ makes conspiring warre.

_Cl._ The lesse ought I to leaue him lest of all.
_A frend in most distresse should most assist._
If that when _Antonie_ great and glorious
His legions led to drinke _Euphrates_ streames,
So many Kings in traine redoubting him;
In triumph rais'd as high as highest heaun;
Lord-like disposing as him pleased best,
The wealth of _Greece_, the wealth of_Asia_:
In that faire fortune had I him exchaung'd
For _Cæsar_, then, men would haue counted me
Faithles, vnconstant, light: but now the storme,
And blustring tempest driuing on his face,
Readie to drowne, _Alas_! what would they saie?
What would himselfe in _Plutos_ mansion saie?
If I, whome alwaies more then life he lou'de,
If I, who am his heart, who was his hope,
Leaue him, forsake him (and perhaps in vaine)
Weakly to please who him hath ouerthrowne?
Not light, vnconstant, faithlesse should I be,
But vile, forsworne, of treachrous crueltie.

_Ch._ Crueltie to shunne, you selfe-cruell are.

_Cl._ Selfe-cruell him from crueltie to spare.

_Ch._ Our first affection to our selfe is due.

_Cl._ He is my selfe.

_Ch._ Next it extendes vnto
Our children, frends, and to our countrie soile.
And you for some respect of wiuelie loue,
(Albee scarce wiuelie) loose your natiue land,
Your children, frends, and (which is more) your life,
With so strong charmes doth loue bewitch our witts:
So fast in vs this fire once kindled flames.
Yet if his harme by yours redresse might haue,

_Cl._ With mine it may be clos'de in darksome graue.

_Ch._ And that, as _Alcest_ to hir selfe vnkinde,
You might exempt him from the lawes of death.
But he is sure to die: and now his sworde
Alreadie moisted is in his warme bloude,
Helples for any succour you can bring
Against deaths stinge, which he must shortlie feele.
Then let your loue be like the loue of olde
Which _Carian_ Queene did nourish in hir heart
Of hir Mausolus: builde for him a tombe
Whose statelinesse a wonder new may make.
Let him, let him haue sumtuouse funeralles:
Let graue thereon the horror of his fights:
Let earth be buri'd with vnburied heaps.
Frame ther _Pharsaly_, and discoulour'd stream's
Of depe _Enipeus_: frame the grassie plaine,
Which lodg'd his campe at siege of _Mutina_.
Make all his combats, and couragiouse acts:
And yearly plaies to his praise institute:
Honor his memorie: with doubled care
Breed and bring vp the children of you both
In _Cæsars_ grace: who as a noble Prince
Will leaue them Lords of this most gloriouse realme.

_Cl._ What shame were that? ah Gods! what infamie!
With _Antonie_ in his good happs to share,
And ouerliue him dead: deeming enough
To shed some teares vpon a widdowe tombe?
The after-liuers iustly might report
That I him onlie for his empire lou'd,
And high estate: and that in hard estate
I for another did him lewdlie leaue?
Like to those birds wafted with wandring wings
From foraine lands in spring-time here arriue:
And liue with vs so long as Somers heate,
And their foode lasts, then seke another soile.
And as we see with ceaslesse fluttering
Flocking of seelly flies a brownish cloud
To vintag'd wine yet working in the tonne,
Not parting thence while they swete liquor taste:
After, as smoke, all vanish in the aire,
And of the swarme not one so much appeare.

_Eras._ By this sharp death what profit can you winne?

_Cl._ I neither gaine, nor profit seke therein.

_Er._ What praise shall you of after-ages gett?

_Cl._ Nor praise, nor glory in my cares are sett.

_Er._ What other end ought you respect, then this?

_Cl._ My only ende my onely dutie is.

_Er._ your dutie must vpon some good be founded.

_Cl._ On vertue it, the onlie good, is grounded.

_Er._ What is that _vertue_?

_Cl._ That which vs beseemes.

_Er._ Outrage our selues? who that beseeming deemes?

_Cl._ Finish I will my sorowes dieng thus.

_Er._ Minish you will your glories doing thus.

_Cl._ Good frends I praie you seeke not to reuoke
My fix'd intent of folowing _Antonie_.
I will die. I will die: must not his life,
His life and death by mine be folowed?
Meane while, deare sisters, liue: and while you liue,
Doe often honor to our loued Tombes.
Straw them with flowrs: and sometimes happelie
The tender thought of _Antonie_ your Lorde
And me poore soule to teares shall you inuite,
And our true loues your dolefull voice commend.

_Ch._ And thinke you Madame, we from you will part?
Thinke you alone to feele deaths ougly darte?
Thinke you to leaue vs? and that the same sunne
Shall see at once you dead, and vs aliue?
Weele die with you: and _Clotho_ pittilesse
Shall vs with you in hellish boate imbarque.

_Cl._ Ah liue, I praie you: this disastred woe
Which racks my heart, alone to me belonges:
My lott longs not to you: seruants to be
No shame, no harme to you, as is to me.
Liue sisters, liue, and seing his suspect
Hath causlesse me in sea of sorowes drown'd,
And that I can not liue, if so I would,
Nor yet would leaue this life, if so I could,
Without, his loue: procure me, _Diomed_,
That gainst poore me he be no more incensd.
Wrest out of his conceit that harmfull doubt,
That since his wracke he hath of me conceiu'd
Though wrong conceiu'd: witnesse you reuerent Gods,
Barking _Anubis_, _Apis_ bellowing.
Tell him, my soule burning, impatient,
Forlorne with loue of him, for certaine seale
Of her true loialtie my corpse hath left,
T' encrease of dead the number numberlesse.
Go then, and if as yet he me bewaile,
If yet for me his heart one sign fourth breathe
Blest shall I be: and farre with more content
Depart this world, where so I me torment.
Meane season vs let this sadd tombe enclose,
Attending here till death conclude our woes.

_Diom._ I will obey your will.

_Cl._ So the desert
The Gods repay of thy true faithfull heart.

_Diomed._

And is't not pittie, Gods, ah Gods of heau'n!
To see from loue such hatefull frutes to spring?
And is't not pittie that this firebrand so
Laies waste the trophes of _Philippi_ fieldes?
Where are those swete allurements, those swete lookes,
Which Gods themselues right hart-sicke would haue made?
What doth that beautie, rarest guift of heau'n,
Wonder of earth? Alas! what doe those eies?
And that swete voice all _Asia_ vnderstoode,
And sunburnt _Afrike_ wide in deserts spred?
Is their force dead? haue they no further power?
Can not by them _Octauius_ be supriz'd?
Alas! if _Ioue_ in middst of all his ire,
With thunderbolt in hand some land to plague,
Had cast his eies on my Queene, out of hande
His plaguing bolte had falne out of his hande:
Fire of his wrathe into vaine smoke should turne,
And other fire within his brest should burne.
Nought liues so faire. Nature by such a worke
Her selfe, should seme, in workmanship hath past.
She is all heau'nlie: neuer any man
But seing hir was rauish'd with her sight.
The Allablaster couering of hir face,
The corall coullor hir two lipps engraines,
Her beamie eies, two Sunnes of this our world,
Of hir faire haire the fine and flaming golde,
Her braue streight stature, and hir winning partes
Are nothing else but fiers, fetters, dartes.
Yet this is nothing th'e'nchaunting skilles
Of her celestiall Sp'rite, hir training speache,
Her grace, hir Maiestie, and forcing voice,
Whither she it with fingers speach consorte,
Or hearing sceptred kings embassadors
Answer to eache in his owne language make.
Yet now at nede she aides hir not at all
With all these beauties, so hir sorowe stings.
Darkned with woe hir only studie is
To wepe, to sigh, to seke for lonelines.
Careles of all, hir haire disordred hangs:
Hir charming eies whence murthring looks did flie,
Now riuers grown', whose wellspring anguish is,
Do trickling wash the marble of hir face.
Hir faire discouer'd brest with sobbing swolne
Selfe cruell she still martireth with blowes,
Alas! It's our ill happ, for if hir teares
She would conuert into hir louing charmes,
To make a conquest of the conqueror,
(As well shee might, would she hir force imploie)
She should vs saftie from these ills procure,
Hir crowne to hir, and to hir race assure.
_Vnhappy he, in whome selfe-succour lies,_
_Yet self-forsaken wanting succour dies._

Chorus.

O swete fertile land, wherin
_Phæbus_ did with breath inspire
Man who men did first begin,
Formed first of _Nilus_ mire.
Whence of _Artes_ the eldest kindes,
Earthes most heauenly ornament,
Were as from their fountaine sent,
To enlight our mistie mindes.
Whose grosse sprite from endles time,
As in darkned prison pente,
Neuer did to knowledg clime.
Wher the _Nile_, our father good,
Father-like doth neuer misse
Yearely vs to bring such food,
As to life required is:
Visiting each yeare this plaine,
And with fatt slime cou'ring it,
Which his seauen mouthes do spitt,
As the season comes againe.
Making therby greatest growe
Busie reapers ioyfull paine,
When his flouds do highest flowe.
Wandring Prince of riuers thou,
Honor of the _Æthiops_ lande,
Of a Lord and master now
Thou a slaue in awe must stand.
Now of _Tiber_ which is spred
Lesse in force, and lesse in fame
Reuerence thou must the name,
Whome all other riuers dread,
For his children swolne in pride,
Who by conquest seeke to treade
Round this earth on euery side.
Now thou must begin to sende
Tribute of thy watrie store,
As Sea pathes thy stepps shall bende,
Yearely presents more and more.
Thy fatt skumme, our frutefull corne,
Pill'd from hence with theeuish hands
All vncloth'd shall leaue our lands
Into foraine Countrie borne.
Which puft vp with such a pray
Shall therby the praise adorne
Of that scepter _Rome_ doth sway.
Nought thee helps thy hornes to hide
Farre from hence in vnknowne grounds,
That thy waters wander wide,
Yearely breaking bankes, and bounds.
And that thy Skie-coullor'd brookes
Through a hundred peoples passe,
Drawing plots for trees and grasse
With a thousand turn's and crookes.
Whome all weary of their way
Thy throats which in widenesse passe
Powre into their Mother Sea.
Nought so happie haplesse life
"In this worlde as freedome findes:
"Nought wherin more sparkes are rife
"To inflame couragious mindes.
"But if force must vs enforce
"Nedes a yoke to vndergoe,
"Vnder foraine yoke to goe
"Still it proues a bondage worse.
"And doubled subiection
"See we shall, and feele, and knowe
"Subiect to a stranger growne.
From hence forward for a King,
whose first being from this place
Should his brest by nature bring
Care of Countrie to embrace,
We at surly face must quake
Of some _Romaine_ madly bent:
Who, our terrour to augment,
His _Proconsuls_ axe will shake.
Driuing with our Kings from hence
Our establish'd gouerment,
Iustice sworde, and Lawes defence.
Nothing worldly of such might
But more mightie _Destinie_,
By swift _Times_ vnbridled flight,
Makes in ende his ende to see.
Euery thing _Time_ ouerthrowes,
Nought to ende doth stedfast staie:
His great sithe mowes all away
As the stalke of tender rose.
Onlie Immortalitie
Of the Heau'ns doth it oppose
Gainst his powerfull _Deitie_.
One daie there will come a daie
Which shall quaile thy fortunes flower,
And thee ruinde low shall laie
In some barbarous Princes power.
When the pittie-wanting fire
Shall, O _Rome_, thy beauties burne,
And to humble ashes turne
Thy proud wealth, and rich attire,
Those guilt roofes which turretwise,
Iustly making Enuie mourne,
Threaten now to pearce Skies.
As thy forces fill each land
Haruests making here and there,
Reaping all with rauening hand
They finde growing any where:
From each land so to thy fall
Multitudes repaire shall make,
From the common spoile to take
What to each mans share maie fall.
Fingred all thou shalt beholde:
No iote left for tokens sake
That thou wert so great of olde.
Like vnto the auncient _Troie_
Whence deriu'de thy founders be,
Conqu'ring foe shall thee enioie,
And a burning praie in thee.
For within this turning ball
This we see, and see each daie:
All things fixed ends do staie,
Ends to first beginnings fall.
And that nought, how strong or strange,
Chaungles doth endure alwaie,
But endureth fatall change.

_M. Antonius._ _Lucilius._

_M. Ant._

_Lucil_, sole comfort of my bitter case,
The only trust, the only hope I haue,
In last despaire: Ah! is not this the daie
That death should me of life and loue bereaue?
What waite I for that haue no refuge left,
But am sole remnant of my fortune left?
All leaue me, flie me: none, no not of them
Which of my greatnes greatest good receiu'd,
Stands with my fall: they seeme as now asham'de
That heretofore they did me ought regarde:
They draw them back, shewing they folow'd me,
Not to partake my harm's, but coozen me.

_Lu._ In this our world nothing is stedfast found,
In vaine he hopes, who here his hopes doth gro[un]d.

_Ant._ Yet nought afflicts me, nothing killes me so,
As that I so my _Cleopatra_ see
Practize with _Cæsar_, and to him transport
My flame, her loue, more deare then life to me.

_Lu._ Beleeue it not: Too high a heart she beares,
Too Princelie thoughts.

_Ant._ Too wise a head she weare
Too much enflam'd with greatnes, euermore
Gaping for our great Empires gouerment.

_Lu._ So long time you her constant loue haue tri'de.

_Ant._ But still with me good fortune did abide.

_Lu._ Her changed loue what token makes you know?

_An._ _Pelusium_ lost, and _Actian_ ouerthrow,
Both by her fraud: my well appointed fleet,
And trustie Souldiors in my quarell arm'd,
Whom she, false she, in stede of my defence,
Came to persuade, to yelde them to my foe:
Such honor _Thyre_ done, such welcome giuen,
Their long close talkes I neither knew, nor would,
And treacherouse wrong _Alexas_ hath me done,
Witnes too well her periur'd loue to me.
But you O Gods (if any faith regarde)
With sharpe reuenge her faithles change reward.

_Lu._ The dole she made vpon our ouerthrow,
Her Realme giuen vp for refuge to our men,
Her poore attire when she deuoutly kept
The solemne day of her natiuitie,
Againe the cost, and prodigall expence
Shew'd when she did your birth day celebrate,
Do plaine enough her heart vnfained proue,
Equally toucht, you louing, as you loue.

_Ant._ Well; be her loue to me or false, or true,
Once in my soule a cureles wound I feele.
I loue, nay burne in fire of her loue:
Each day, each night her Image haunts my minde,
Her selfe my dreams: and still I tired am,
And still I am with burning pincers nipt.
Extreame my harme: yet sweeter to my sence
Then boiling Torch of iealouse torments fire:
This grief, nay rage, in me such sturre doth kepe,
And thornes me still, both when I wake and slepe.
Take _Cæsar_ conquest, take my goods, take he
Th'onor to be Lord of the earth alone,
My Sonnes, my life bent headlong to mishapps:
No force, so not my _Cleopatra_ take.
So foolish I, I can not her forget,
Though better were I banisht her my thought.
Like to the sicke, whose throte the feauers fire
Hath vehemently with thirstie drouth enflam'd,
Drinkes still, albee the drinke he still desires
Be nothing else but fewell to his flame:
He can not rule himselfe: his health's respect
Yeldeth to his distempred stomackes heate.

_Lu._ Leaue of this loue, that thus renewes your woe.

_Ant._ I do my best, but ah! can not do so.

_Lu._ Thinke how you haue so braue a captaine bene,
And now are by this vaine affection falne.

_Ant._ The ceasles thought of my felicitie
Plunges me more in this aduersitie._
For nothing so a man in ill torments,
As who to him his good state represents.
_This makes my rack, my anguish, and my woe
Equall vnto the hellish passions growe,
When I to minde my happie puisance call
Which erst I had by warlike conquest wonne,
And that good fortune which me neuer left,
Which hard disastre now hath me bereft.
With terror tremble all the world I made
At my sole worde, as Rushes in the streames
At waters will: I conquer'd Italie,
I conquer'd _Rome_, that Nations so redoubt.
I bare (meane while besieging _Mutina_)
Two Consuls armies for my ruine brought,
Bath'd in their bloud, by their deaths witnessing
My force and skill in matters Martiall.
To wreake thy vnkle, vnkinde _Cæsar_, I
With bloud of enemies the bankes embru'd
Of stain'd _Enipeus_, hindering his course
Stopped with heapes of piled carcases:
When _Cassius_ and _Brutus_ ill betide
Marcht against vs, by vs twise put to flight,
But by my sole conduct: for all the time
_Cæsar_ heart-sicke with feare and feauer laie.
Who knowes it not? and how by euery one
Fame of the fact was giu'n to me alone.
There sprang the loue, the neuer changing loue,
Wherein my hart hath since to yours bene bound:
There was it, my _Lucil_, you _Brutus_ sau'de,
And for your _Brutus_ _Antonie_ you found.
Better my happ in gaining such a frende,
Then in subduing such an enemie.
Now former vertue dead doth me forsake,
Fortune engulfes me in extreame distresse:
She turnes from me her smiling countenance,
Casting on me mishapp vpon mishapp,
Left and betraide of thousand thousand frends,
Once of my sute, but you _Lucil_ are left,
Remaining to me stedfast as a tower
In holy loue, in spite of fortunes blastes.
But if of any God my voice be heard,
And be not vainely scatt'red in the heau'ns,
Such goodnes shall not glorilesse be loste,
But comming ages still therof shall boste.

_Lu._ Men in their frendship euer should be one,
And neuer ought with fickle Fortune shake,
Which still remoues, nor will, nor knowes the way,
Her rowling bowle in one sure state to staie.
Wherfore we ought as borrow'd things receiue
The goods light she lends vs to pay againe:
Not holde them sure, nor on them builde our hopes
As one such goods as cannot faile, and fall:
But thinke againe, nothing is dureable,
Vertue except, our neuer failing hoste:
So bearing saile when fauouring windes do blowe,
As frowning Tempests may vs least dismaie
When they on vs do fall: not ouer-glad
With good estate, nor ouer-grieu'd with bad.
Resist mishap.

_Ant._ Alas! it is too stronge.
Mishappes oft times are by some comfort borne:
But these, ay me! whose weights oppresse my hart,
Too heauie lie, no hope can them relieue.
There rests no more, but that with cruell blade
For lingring death a hastie waie be made.

_Lu._ _Cæsar_, as heire vnto his Fathers state:
So will his Fathers goodnes imitate,
To you warde: whome he know's allied in bloud,
Allied in mariage, ruling equallie
Th' Empire with him, and with him making warre
Haue purg'd the earth of _Cæsars_ murtherers.
You into portions parted haue the world
Euen like coheir's their heritages parte:
And now with one accord so many yeares
In quiet peace both haue your charges rul'd.

_Ant._ Bloud and alliance nothing do preuaile
To coole the thirst of hote ambitious breasts:
The sonne his Father hardly can endure,
Brother his brother, in one common Realme.
So feruent this desier to commaund:
Such iealousie it kindleth in our hearts._
Sooner will men permit another should
Loue her they loue, then weare the Crowne they weare.
_All lawes it breakes, turns all things vpside downe:
Amitie, kindred, nought so holie is
But it defiles. A monarchie to gaine
None cares which way, so he maie it obtaine.

_Lu._ Suppose he Monarch be and that this world
No more acknowledg sundrie Emperours.
That _Rome_ him onelie feare, and that he ioyne
The East with west, and both at once do rule:
Why should he not permitt you peaceablie
Discharg'd of charge and Empires dignitie,
Priuate to liue reading _Philosophie_,
In learned _Greece_, _Spaine_, _Asia_, anie lande?

_Ant._ Neuer will he his Empire thinke assur'de
While in this world _Marke Antonie_ shall liue._
Sleeples Suspicion, Pale distrust, colde feare
Alwaies to princes companie do beare
Bred of Reports: reports which night and day
Perpetuall guests from Court go not away.

_Lu._ He hath not slaine your brother _Lucius_,
Nor shortned hath the age of _Lepidus_,
Albeit both into his hands were falne,
And he with wrath against them both enflam'd.
Yet one, as Lord in quiet rest doth beare
The greatest sway in great _Iberia_.
The other with his gentle Prince retaines
Of highest Priest the sacred dignitie.

_Ant._ He feares not them, their feeble force he knowes.

_Lu._ He feares no vanquisht ouerfill'd with woes.

_Ant._ Fortune may chaunge againe,

_L._ A down-cast foe
Can hardlie rise, which once is brought so lowe.

_Ant._ All that I can, is done: for last assay
(When all means fail'd) I to entreatie fell,
(Ah coward creature!) whence againe repulst
Of combate I vnto him proffer made:
Though he in prime, and I by feeble age
Mightily weakned both in force and skill.
Yet could not he his coward heart aduaunce
Baselie affraid to trie so praisefull chaunce.
This makes me plaine, makes me my selfe accuse,
Fortune in this hir spitefull force doth vse
'Gainst my gray hayres: in this vnhappie I
Repine at heau'ns in my happes pittiles.
A man, a woman both in might and minde,
In _Marses_ schole who neuer lesson learn'd,
Should me repulse, chase, ouerthrow, destroie,
Me of such fame, bring to so lowe an ebbe?
_Alcides_ bloud, who from my infancie
With happie prowesse crowned haue my praise.
Witnesse thou _Gaule_ vnus'd to seruile yoke,
Thou valiant _Spaine_, you fields of _Thessalie_
With millions of mourning cries bewail'd,
Twise watred now with bloude of _Italie_.

_Lu._ witnesse may _Afrique_, and of conquer'd world
All fower quarters witnesses may be.
For in what part of earth inhabited,
Hungrie of praise haue you not ensignes spredd?

_An._ Thou know'st rich _Ægypt_ (_Ægypt_ of my deeds
Faire and foule subiect) _Ægypt_ ah! thou know'st
How I behau'd me fighting for thy kinge,
When I regainde him his rebellious Realme.
Against his foes in battaile shewing force,
And after fight in victorie remorse.
Yet if to bring my glorie to the ground,
Fortune had made me ouerthrowne by one
Of greater force, of better skill then I;
One of those Captaines feared so of olde,
_Camill_, _Marcellus_, worthy _Scipio_,
This late great _Cæsar_, honor of our state,
Or that great _Pompei_ aged growne in armes;
That after haruest of a world of men
Made in a hundred battailes, fights, assaults,
My bodie thorow pearst with push of pike
Had vomited my bloud, in bloud my life,
In midd'st of millions felowes in my fall:
The lesse hir wrong, the lesse should my woe:
Nor she should paine, nor I complain me so.
No, no, wheras I should haue died in armes,
And vanquisht oft new armies should haue arm'd,
New battailes giuen, and rather lost with me
All this whole world submitted vnto me:
A man who neuer saw enlaced pikes
With bristled pointes against his stomake bent,
Who feares the field, and hides him cowardly
Dead at the verie noise the souldiors make.
His vertue, fraude, deceit, malicious guile,
His armes the arts that false _Vlisses_ vs'de,
Knowne at Modena, wher the _Consuls_ both
Death-wounded were, and wounded by his men
To gett their armie, warre with it to make
Against his faith, against his countrie soile.
Of _Lepidus_, which to his succours came,
To honor whome he was by dutie bounde;
The Empire he vsurpt: corrupting first
With baites and bribes the most part of his men.
Yet me hath ouercome, and made his pray,
And state of _Rome_, with me hath ouercome.
Strange! one disordred act at _Actium_
The earth subdu'de, my glorie hath obscur'd.
For since, as one whome heauens wrath attaints,
With furie caught, and more then furious
Vex'd with my euills, I neuer more had care
My armies lost, or lost name to repaire:
I did no more resist.

_Lu._ All warres affaires,
But battailes most, daily haue their successe
Now good, now ill: and though that fortune haue
Great force and power in euery worldlie thing,
Rule all, do all, haue all things fast enchaind
Vnto the circle of hir turning wheele:
Yet seemes it more then any practise else
She doth frequent _Ballonas_ bloudie trade:
And that hir fauour, wauering as the wind,
Hir greatest power therin doth oftnest shewe.
Whence growes, we dailie see, who in their youth
Gatt honor ther, do loose it in their age,
Vanquisht by some lesse warlike then themselues:
Whome yet a meaner man shall ouerthrowe.
Hir vse is not to lende vs still her hande,
But sometimes headlong back a gaine to throwe,
When by hir fauor she hath vs extolld
Vnto the topp of highest happines.

_Ant._ well ought I curse within my grieued soule,
Lamenting daie and night, this sencelesse loue,
Whereby my faire entising foe entrap'd
My hedelesse _Reason_, could no more escape.
It was not fortunes euer chaunging face,
It was not Dest'nies chaungles violence
Forg'd my mishap. Alas! who doth not know
They make, nor marre, nor any thing can doe.
Fortune, which men so feare, adore, detest,
Is but a chaunce whose cause vnknow'n doth rest.
Although oft times the cause is well perceiu'd,
But not th'effect the fame that was conceiu'd.
_Pleasure_, nought else, the plague of this our life,
Our life which still a thousand plagues pursue,
Alone hath me this strange disastre spunne,
Falne from a souldior to a Chamberer,
Careles of vertue, careles of all praise.
Nay, as the fatted swine in filthy mire
With glutted heart I wallow'd in delights,
All thoughts of honor troden vnder foote.
So I me lost: for finding this swete cupp
Pleasing my tast, vnwise I drunke my fill,
And through the swetenes of that poisons power
By stepps I draue my former witts astraie.
I made my frends, offended me forsake,
I holpe my foes against my selfe to rise.
I robd my subiects, and for followers
I saw my selfe besett with flatterers.
Mine idle armes faire wrought with spiders worke,
My scattred men without their ensignes strai'd:
_Cæsar_ meane while who neuer would haue dar'de
To cope with me, me sodainlie despis'de,
Tooke hart to fight, and hop'de for victorie
On one so gone, who glorie had forgone.

_Lu._ Enchaunting pleasure; _Venus_ swete delights
Weaken our bodies, ouer-cloud our sprights,
Trouble our reason, from our harts out chase
All holie vertues lodging in their place.
Like as the cunning fisher takes the fishe
By traitor baite wherby the hooke is hidde:
So _Pleasure_ serues to vice in steede of foode
To baite our soules theron too licourishe.
This poison deadlie is alike to all,
But on great kings doth greatest outrage worke,
Taking the Roiall scepters from their hands,
Thenceforward to be by some straunger borne:
While that their people charg'd with heauy loades
Their flatt'rers pill, and suck their mary drie,
Not ru'lde but left to great men as a pray,
While this fonde Prince himselfe in pleasur's drowns:
Who heares nought, sees nought, doth nought of a king,
Seming himselfe against himselfe conspirde.
Then equall Iustice wandreth banished,
And in hir seat sitts greedie Tyrannie.
Confus'd disorder troubleth all estates,
Crimes without feare and outrages are done.
Then mutinous _Rebellion_ shewes hir face,
Now hid with this, and now with that pretence,
Prouoking enimies, which on each side
Enter at ease, and make them Lords of all.
The hurtfull workes of pleasure here behold.

_An._ The wolfe is not so hurtfull to the folde,
Frost to the grapes, to ripened fruits the raine:
As pleasure is to Princes full of paine.

_Lu._ Ther nedes no proofe, but by th' _Assirian_ kinge,
On whome that Monster woefull wrack did bring.

_An._ Ther nedes no proofe, but by vnhappie I,
Who lost my empire, honor, life therby.

_Lu._ Yet hath this ill so much the greater force,
As scarcelie anie do against it stand:
No, not the Demy-gods the olde world knew,
Who all subdu'de, could _Pleasures_ power subdue.
Great _Hercules_, _Hercules_ once that was
Wonder of earth and heau'n, matchles in might,
Who _Anteus_, _Lycus_, _Geryon_ ouercame,
Who drew from hell the triple-headed dogg,
Who _Hydra_ kill'd, vanquishd _Achelous_,
Who heauens weight on his strong shoulders bare:
Did he not vnder _Pleasures_ burthen bow?
Did he not Captiue to this passion yelde,
When by his Captiue, so he was enflam'de,
As now your selfe in _Cleopatra_ burne?
Slept in hir lapp, hir bosome kist and kiste,
With base vnsemelie seruice bought her loue,
Spinning at distaffe, and with sinewy hand
Winding on spindles threde, in maides attire?
His conqu'ring clubbe at rest on wal did hang:
His bow vnstringd he bent not as he vs'de:
Vpon his shafts the weauing spiders spunne:
And his hard cloake the freating mothes did pierce.
The monsters free and fearles all the time
Throughout the world the people did torment,
And more and more encreasing daie by day
Scorn'd his weake heart become a mistresse plaie.

_An._ In onelie this like _Hercules_ am I,
In this I proue me of his lignage right:
In this himselfe, his deedes I shew in this,
In this, nought else, my ancestor he is.
But go we: die I must, and with braue ende
Conclusion make of all foregoing harmes:
Die, die I must: I must a noble death,
A glorious death vnto my succor call:
I must deface the shame of time abus'd,
I must adorne the wanton loues I vs'de
With some couragiouse act: that my last daie
By mine owne hand my spotts may wash away.
Come deare _Lucill_: alas! why wepe you thus!
This mortall lot is common to vs all.
We must all die, each doth in homage owe
Vnto that God that shar'd the Realmes belowe.
Ah sigh no more: alas: appeace your woes,
For by your griefe my griefe more eager growes.

Chorus.

Alas, with what tormenting fire.
Vs martireth this blinde desire
To staie our life from flieng!
How ceasleslie our minds doth rack,
How heauie lies vpon our back
This dastard feare of dieng!
_Death_ rather healthfull succor giues,
_Death_ rather all mishappes relieues
That life vpon vs throweth:
And euer to vs doth vnclose
The doore, wherby from curelesse woes
Our wearie soule out goeth.
What Goddesse else more milde then shee
To burie all our paine can be,
What remedie more pleasing?
Our pained hearts when dolor stings,
And nothing rest, or respite brings,
What help haue we more easing?
_Hope_ which to vs doth comfort giue,
And doth or fainting hearts reuiue,
Hath not such force in anguish:
For promising a vaine reliefe
She oft vs failes in midst of griefe,
And helples letts vs languish.
But Death who call on her at nede
Doth neuer with vaine semblant feed,
But when them sorow paineth,
So riddes their soules of all distresse
Whose heauie weight did them oppresse,
That not one griefe remaineth.
Who feareles and with courage bolde
Can _Acherons_ black face beholde,
Which muddie water beareth:
And crossing ouer, in the way
Is not amaz'd at Perruque gray
Olde rustie _Charon_ weareth:
Who voide of dread can looke vpon
The dreadfull shades that rome alone,
On bankes where sound no voices:
Whom with her fire-brands and her Snakes
No whit afraide _Alecto_ makes,
Nor triple-barking noyses:
Who freely can himselfe dispose
Of that last hower which all must close,
And leaue this life at pleasure:
This noble freedome more esteemes,
And in his hart more precious deemes,
Then Crowne and kingly treasure.
The waues which _Boreas_ blasts turmoile
And cause with foaming furie boile,
Make not his heart to tremble:
Nor brutish broile, when with strong head
A rebell people madly ledde
Against their Lords assemble:
Nor fearfull face of Tirant wood,
Who breaths but threats, and drinks but bloud,
No, nor the hand which thunder,
The hand of _Ioue_ which thunder beares,
And ribbs of rocks in sunder teares,
Teares mountains sides in sunder:
Nor bloudie _Marses_ butchering bands,
Whose lightnings desert laie the lands
whome dustie cloudes do couer:
From of whose armour sun-beames flie,
And vnder them make quaking lie
The plaines wheron they houer:
Nor yet the cruell murth'ring blade
Warme in the moistie bowells made
of people pell mell dieng
In some great Cittie put to sack
By sauage Tirant brought to wrack,
At his colde mercie lieng.
How abiect him, how base think I,
Who wanting courage can not dye
When need him therto calleth?
From whom the dagger drawne to kill
The curelesse griefes that vexe him still
For feare and faintnes falleth?
O _Antonie_ with thy deare mate
Both in misfortunes fortunate!
Whose thoughts to death aspiring
Shall you protect from victors rage,
Who on each side doth you encage,
To triumph much desiring.
That _Cæsar_ may you not offend
Nought else but Death can you defend,
which his weake force derideth,
And all in this round earth containd,
Powr'les on them whom once enchaind
_Auernus_ prison hideth:
Where great _Psammetiques_ ghost doth rest,
Not with infernall paine possest,
But in swete fields detained:
And olde _Amasis_ soule likewise,
And all our famous _Ptolemies_
That whilome on vs raigned.

_Act. 4._

_Cæsar._ _Agrippa._ _Dircetus_ the Messenger.

_Cæsar._

_You euer-liuing Gods which all things holde
Within the power of your celestiall hands,
By whom heate, colde, the thunder, and the winde,
The properties of enterchaunging mon'ths
Their course and being haue, which do set downe
Of Empires by your destinied decree
The force, age, time, and subiect to no chaunge
Chaunge all, reseruing nothing in one state:
You haue aduaunst, as high as thundring heau'n
The _Romains_ greatnes by _Bellonas_ might:
Mastring the world with fearfull violence,
Making the world widow of libertie.
Yet at this daie this proud exalted _Rome_
Despoil'd, captiu'd, at one mans will doth bende:
Her Empire mine, her life is in my hand,
As Monarch I both world and _Rome_ commaund;
Do all, can all; fourth my commaund'ment cast
Like thundring fire from one to other Pole
Equall to Ioue: bestowing by my worde
Happes and mishappes, as Fortunes King and Lord.
No Towne there is, but vp my Image settes,
But sacrifice to me doth dayly make:
Whither where _Phæbus_ ioyne his morning steedes,
Or where the night them weary entertaines,
Or where the heat the _Garamants_ doth scorche,
Or where the colde from _Boreas_ breast is blowne:
All _Cæsar_ do both awe and honor beare,
And crowned Kings his verie name do feare.
_Antonie_ knowes it well, for whom not one
Of all the Princes all this earth do rule,
Armes against me: for all redoubt the power
Which heau'nly powers on earth haue made me beare.
_Antonie_, he poore man with fire enflam'de
A womans beauties kindled in his heart,
Rose against me, who longer could not beare
My sisters wrong he did so ill entreat:
Seing her left while that his leud delights
Her husband with his _Cleopatra_ tooke
In _Alexandrie_, where both nights and daies
Their time they pass'd in nought but loues and plaies.
All _Asias_ forces into one he drewe,
And forth he sett vpon the azur'd waues
A thousand and a thousand Shipps, which fill'd
With Souldiors, pikes, with targets, arrowes, darts,
Made _Neptune_ quake, and all the watrie troupes
Of _Glauques_, and _Tritons_ lodg'd at _Actium_.
But mightie Gods, who still the force withstand
Of him, who causles doth another wrong,
In lesse then moments space redus'd to nought
All that proud power by Sea or land he brought.

_Agr._ Presumptuouse pride of high and hawtie sprite,
Voluptuouse care of fonde and foolish loue,
Haue iustly wrought his wrack: who thought he helde
(By ouerweening) Fortune in his hand.
Of vs he made no count, but as to play,
So fearles came our forces to assay.
So sometimes fell to Sonnes of Mother Earth,
Which crawl'd to heau'n warre on the Gods to make,
_Olymp_ on _Pelion_, _Ossa_on _Olymp_,
_Pindus_ on _Ossa_ loading by degrees:
That at hand strokes with mightie clubbes they might
On mossie rocks the Gods make tumble downe:
When mightie _Ioue_ with burning anger chaf'd,
Disbraind with him _Gyges_ and _Briareus_,
Blunting his darts vpon their brused bones.
For no one thing the Gods can lesse abide
In dedes of men, then Arrogance and Pride.
And still the proud, which too much takes in hand,
Shall fowlest fall, where best he thinks to stand.

_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_.