A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay; and Antonius by Garnier Part 8

_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.

_Caesar._ Let _Proculeius_ goe, And fede with hope hir soule disconsolate.

a.s.sure hir so, that we may wholie gett Into our hands hir treasure and hir selfe.

For this of all things most I doe desire To kepe hir safe vntill our going hence: That by hir presence beautified may be The glorious triumph _Rome_ prepares for me.

Chorus of Romaine _Souldiors_.

Shall euer ciuile hate gnaw and deuour our state?

Shall neuer we this blade, Our bloud hath bloudie made, Lay downe? these armes downe lay As robes we weare alway?

But as from age to age, So pa.s.se from rage to rage?

Our hands shall we not rest To bath in our owne brest?

And shall thick in each land Our wretched trophees stand, To tell posteritie, What madd Impietie Our stonie stomakes ledd Against the place vs bredd?

Then still must heauen view The plagues that vs pursue: And euery where descrie Heaps of vs scattred lie, Making the straunger plaines Fatt with our bleeding raines, Proud that on them their graue So manie legions haue.

And with our fleshes still _Neptune_ his fishes fill And dronke with bloud from blue The sea take blus.h.i.+ng hue: As iuice of _Tyrian_ sh.e.l.l, When clarified well To wolle of finest fields A purple glosse it yelds.

But since the rule of _Rome_, To one mans hand is come, Who gouernes without mate Hir now vnited state, Late iointlie rulde by three Enuieng mutuallie, Whose triple yoke much woe On _Latines_ necks did throwe: I hope the cause of iarre, And of this bloudie warre, And deadlie discord gone By what we last haue done: Our banks shall cherish now The branchie pale-hew'd bow Of _Oliue_, _Pallas_ praise, In stede of barraine bayes.

And that his temple dore, Which bloudie _Mars_ before Held open, now at last Olde _Ia.n.u.s_ shall make fast: And rust the sword consume, And spoild of wauing plume, The vseles morion shall On crooke hang by the wall.

At least if warre returne It shall not here soiourne, To kill vs with those armes Were forg'd for others harmes: But haue their pointes addrest, Against the _Germaines_ brest, The _Parthians_ fayned flight, The _Biscaines_ martiall might.

Olde Memorie doth there Painted on forhead weare Our Fathers praise: thence torne Our triumphes baies haue worne: Therby our matchles _Rome_ Whilome of Shepeheards come Rais'd to this greatnes stands, The Queene of forraine lands.

Which now euen seemes to face The heau'ns, her glories place: Nought resting vnder Skies That dares affront her eies.

So that she needes but feare The weapons _Ioue_ doth beare, Who angrie at one blowe May her quite ouerthrowe.

Act. 5.

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

_Cleop._

O cruell Fortune! o accursed lott!

O plaguy loue! o most detested brand!

O wretched ioyes! o beauties miserable!

O deadlie state! o deadly roialtie!

O hatefull life! o Queene most lamentable!

O _Antonie_ by my fault buriable!

O h.e.l.lish worke of heau'n! alas! the wrath Of all the G.o.ds at once on vs is falne.

Vnhappie Queene! o would I in this world The wandring light of day had neuer sene?

Alas! of mine the plague and poison I The crowne haue lost my ancestors me left, This Realme I haue to straungers subiect made, And robd my children of their heritage.

Yet this is nought (alas!) vnto the price Of you deare husband, whome my snares entrap'd: Of you, whom I haue plagu'd, whom I haue made With bloudie hand a guest of mouldie Tombe: Of you, whome I destroid, of you, deare Lord, Whome I of Empire, honor, life haue spoil'd.

O hurtfull woman! and can I yet liue, Yet longer liue in this Ghost-haunted tombe?

Can I yet breathe! can yet in such annoy, Yet can my Soule within this bodie dwell?

O Sisters you that spinne the thredes of death!

O _Styx_! o _Phlegethon_! you brookes of h.e.l.l!

O Impes of _Night_!

_Euph._ Liue for your childrens sake: Let not your death of kingdome them depriue.

Alas what shall they do? who will haue care?

Who will preserue this royall race of yours?

Who pittie take? euen now me seemes I see These little soules to seruile bondage falne, And borne in triumph.

_Cl._ Ah most miserable!

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

_Cl._ Ah G.o.ds what pittie more!

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

_Cl._ Neuer on vs, good G.o.ds, such mischiefe sende.

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

_Cl._ Rather a thousand deaths.

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

_Cl._ Ah my heart breaks. By shadie bankes of h.e.l.l, By fieldes wheron the lonely Ghosts do treade, By my soule, and the soule of _Antonie_ I you beseche, _Euphron_, of them haue care.

Be their good Father, let your wisedome lett That they fall not into this Tyrants handes.

Rather conduct them where their freezed locks Black _aethiopes_ to neighbour Sunne do shewe; On wauie _Ocean_ at the waters will; On barraine cliffes of snowie _Caucasus_; To Tigers swift, to Lions, and to Beares; And rather, rather vnto euery coaste, To eu'rie land and sea: for nought I feare As rage of him, whose thirst no bloud can quench.

Adieu deare children, children deare adieu: Good _Isis_ you to place of safetie guide, Farre from our foes, where you your liues may leade In free estate deuoid of seruile dread.

Remember not, my children, you were borne Of such a Princelie race: remember not So manie braue Kings which haue _Egipt_ rul'de In right descent your ancestors haue bene: That this great _Antonie_ your Father was, _Hercules_ bloud, and more then he in praise.

For your high courage such remembrance will, Seing your fall with burning rages fill.

Who knowes if that your hands false _Destinie_ The Scepters promis'd of imperiouse _Rome_, In stede of them shall crooked shepehookes beare, Needles or forkes, or guide the carte, or plough?

Ah learne t' endure: your birth and high estate Forget, my babes, and bend to force of fate.

Farwell, my babes, farwell, my hart is clos'de With pitie and paine, my self with death enclos'de, My breath doth faile. Farwell for euermore, Your Sire and me you shall see neuer more.

Farwell swete care, farwell.

_Chil._ Madame Adieu.

_Cl._ Ah this voice killes me. Ah good G.o.ds! I swounde.

I can no more, I die.

_Eras._ Madame, alas!

And will you yeld to woe? Ah speake to vs.

_Eup._ Come children.

_Chil._ We come.

_Eup._ Follow we our chaunce.

The G.o.ds shall guide vs.

_Char._ O too cruell lott!

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