Act. 4

Cæsar. Agrippa. Dircetus the Messenger

Cæsar.

You ever-living 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 have; which do set downe
Of Empires by your destinied decree
The force, age, time, and subject to no chaunge
Chaunge all, reserving nothing in one state:
You have advaunst, as high as thundring heav'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, captiv'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 Jove: bestowing by my worde
Happes and mishappes, as Fortunes King and Lord.
No Towne there is, but up my Image settes,
But sacrifice to me doth dayly make:
Whither where Phœbus joyne his morning steedes,
Or where the night them weary entertaines,
Or where the heat the Garamants doth scorche,
Or where 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 heav'nly powers on earth have 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 loves and plaies.
All Asias forces into one he drewe,
And forth he sett upon the azur'd waves
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 love,
Have justly wrought his wrack: who thought he helde
(By overweening) Fortune in his hand
Of us 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 heav'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 Jove with burning anger chaf'd,
Disbraind with him Gyges and Briareus ,
Blunting his darts upon 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 over-lookes the neighbour buildings round
In scorning wise, and to the Starres up growes,
Which in short time his owne weight overthrowes.
What monstrous pride, nay what impietie
Incenst 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 Jewish king Antigonus , to have
His Realme for balme, that Cleopatra lov'd,
As though on him he had some treason prov'd.
Cæs. Lydia to her, and Siria he gave,
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 perjur'd word to him?
Cæs. Nay, never Rome more injuries receiv'd,
Since thou, ô Romulus , by flight of birds
with happy hand the Romain walles did'st build,
Then Antonies fond loves to it hath done
Nor ever warre more holie, nor more just,
Nor undertaken 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 Jove ) that it so deadly proves:
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 have this Cittie built
Stedfast to stand as long as time endures,
Which kepe the Capitoll, of us take care,
And care will take of those shall after come,
Have made you victor, that you might redresse
Their honor growne by passed mischieves lesse
Cæs. The seelie man when all the Greekish Sea
His fleete had hidd, in hope me sure to drowne,
Me battaile gave: where fortune, in my stede,
Repulsing him his forces disaraied.
Him selfe tooke flight, soone as his love 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 serve,
With darts, with swords, with Pikes, and fierie flames.
So that the darkned night her starrie vaile
Upon the bloudie sea had over-spred,
Whilst yet they held: and hardlie, hardlie then
They fell to flieng on the wavie plaine.
All full of Souldiors overwhelm'd with waves:
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 heav'n is rul'd: which turning over us,
All under things by his example turnes
Now as of heav'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 just example to all memorie.
Murther we must, untill not one we leave,
Which may hereafter us of rest bereave.
Ag. Marke it with murthers? who of that can like?
Cæ. Murthers must use, 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 live 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 prove,
No such defence, as is the peoples love.
Cæs. Nought more unsure more weak, more like the winde,
Then Peoples favor still to chaunge enclinde.
Ag. Good Gods! what love to gracious Prince men beare!
Cæs. What honor to the Prince that is severe!
Ag. Nought more divine then is Benignitie .
Cæ. Nought likes the Gods as doth Severitie .
Ag. Gods all forgive. Cæ. On faults they paines do laie.
Ag. And give 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 provok'd.
Neither must you (beleve, I humblie praie)
Your victorie with crueltie defile.
The Gods it gave, it must not be abus'd,
But to the good of all men mildlie us'd,
And they be thank'd: that having giv'n you grace
To raigne alone, and rule this earthlie masse,
They may hence-forward hold it still in rest,
All scattred power united in one brest.
Cæ. But what is he, that breathles comes so fast,
Approching us, and going in such hast?
Ag. He semes affraid: and under his arme I
(But much I erre) a bloudie sworde espie
Cæs. I long to understand 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 waves of sea, which dash upon the shore,
To earth, to heav'n, the woefull newes I bring?
Ag. What sodaine chaunce thee towards us hath brought?
Dir. A lamentable chance. O wrath of heav'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 quivering 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 cleave, 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 living 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 every 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 untrue and traytresse, as who sought
To yeld him up 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 unhappie call'd,
Who by hir love, hir woefull love, had lost
Hir realme, hir life, and more, the love of him,
Who while he was, was all hir woes support.
But that she faultles was she did invoke
For witnes heav'n, and aire, and earth, and sea
Then sent him worde, she was no more alive,
But lay inclosed dead within hir Tombe.
This he beleev'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 live?
Sone as with sighes he had these words upclos'd,
His armor he unlaste, 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 us conjoyne:
I grieve, 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 up 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 reviv'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 us all to haste his lingr'ing death:
But no man willing, each himselfe withdrew.
Then fell he new to crie and vexe himselfe,
Untill 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 even rapt with Joy
Knowing she liv'd, prai'd us him to convey
Unto his Ladie. Then upon our armes
We bare him to the Tombe, but entred not.
For she, who feared captive 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 helpe the corps she rais'd,
And by strong armes into hir windowe drew.
So pittifull a sight was never sene.
Little and little Antonie was pull'd,
Now breathing death: his beard was all unkempt,
His face and brest all bathed in his bloud
So hideous yet, and dieng as he was,
His eies half-clos'd uppon the Queene he cast:
Held up 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 uprais'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 never 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 ever 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 rivers stream'd;
The sonne his sire saw in his bosome slaine,
The sire his sonne: the husband reft of breath
In his wives 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 up 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 have 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 envie.
Enter the towne, give thankes unto the Gods.
Cæs. I cannot but his tearefull chaunce lament,
Although not I, but his owne pride the cause,
And unchaste love 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 Jewells to deface,
You to defraud, hir funerall to grace.
Sende then to hir, and let some meane be us'd
With some devise so holde hir still alive,
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 untill our going hence:
That by hir presence beautified may be
The glorious triumph Rome prepares for me.

Chorus of Romaine

Souldiors

Shall ever civile bate
gnaw and devour our state?
Shall never we this blade,
Our bloud hath bloudie made,
Lay downe? these armes downe lay
As robes we weare alway?
But as from age to age,
So passe from rage to rage?
Our hands shall we not rest
To bath in our owne brest?
And shall thick in each land
Our wretched trophees stand,
To tell posteritie,
What madd Impietie
Our stonie stomakes ledd
Against the place us bredd?
Then still must heaven view
The plagues that us pursue:
And every where descrie
Heaps of us scattred lie,
Making the straunger plaines
Fatt with our bleeding raines,
Proud that on them their grave
So manie legions have.
And with our fleshes still
Neptune his fishes fill
And dronke with bloud from blue
The sea take blushing hue:
As juice of Tyrian shell,
When clarified well
To wolle of finest fields
A purple glosse it yelds.
But since the rule of Rome
To one mans hand is come,
Who governes without mate
Hir now united state,
Late jointlie rulde by three
Envieng mutuallie,
Whose triple yoke much woe
On Latines necks did throwe:
I hope the cause of jarre,
And of this bloudie warre,
And deadlie discord gone
By what we last have done:
Our banks shall cherish now
The branchie pale-hew'd bow
Of Olive, Pallas praise,
In stede of barraine bayes
And that his temple dore,
Which bloudie Mars before
Held open, now at last
Olde Janus shall make fast:
And rust the sword consume,
And spoild of waving plume,
The useles morion shall
On crooke hang by the wall.
At least if warre returne
It shall not here sojourne,
To kill us with those armes
Were forg'd for others harmes:
But have their pointes addrest,
Against the Germains 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 have worne:
Therby our matchles Rome
Whilome of Shepeheards come
Rais'd to this greatnes stands,
The Queene of forraine lands.
Which now even seemes to face
The heav'ns, her glories place:
Nought resting under Skies
That dares affront her eies.
So that she needes but feare
The weapons Jove doth beare,
Who angrie at one blowe
May her quite overthrowe