Classic Poem

[Act. 3.]

M. Antonius. Lucilius.

M. Ant.

Lucil , sole comfort of my bitter case,
The only trust, the only hope I have,
In last despaire: Ah! is not this the daie
That death should me of life and love bereave?
What waite I for that have no refuge left,
But am sole remnant of my fortune left?
All leave me, flie me: none, no not of them
Which of my greatnes greatest good receiv'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 ground.
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 love, more deare then life to me
Lu. Beleeve it not: Too high a heart she beares,
Too Princelie thoughts. Ant. Too wise a head she weare
Too much enflam'd with greatnes, evermore
Gaping for our great Empires goverment.
Lu. So long time you her constant love have tri'de.
Ant. But still with me good fortune did abide.
Lu. Her changed love what token makes you know?
An. Pelusium lost, and Actian overthrow,
Both by her fraud: my well appointed fleet,
And trustie Souldiors in my quarell arm'd,
Whom she, false she, instede of my defence,
Came to persuade, to yelde them to my foe:
Such honor Thyre done, such welcome given,
Their long close talkes I neither knew, nor would,
And treacherouse wrong Alexas hath me done,
Witnes too well her perjur'd love to me.
But you O Gods (if any faith regarde)
With sharpe revenge her faithles change reward.
Lu. The dole she made upon our overthrow,
Her Realme given up for refuge to our men,
Her poore attire when she devoutly kept
The solemne day of her nativitie,
Againe the cost, and prodigall expence
Shew'd when she did your birth day celebrate,
Do plaine enough her heart unfained prove,
Equally toucht, you loving, as you love.
Ant. Well; be her love to me or false, or true,
Once in my soule a cureles wound I feele.
I love, nay burne in fire of her love:
Each day, each night her Image haunts my minde,
Her selfe my dreames: 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 jealouse 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:
Nor 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 feavers 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. Leave of this love, that thus renewes your woe.
Ant. I do my best, but ah! can not do so.
Lu. Thinke how you have so brave a captaine bene,
And now are by this vaine affection falne.
Ant. The ceasles thought of my felicitie
Plunges me more in this adversitie.
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 unto 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 never 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 unkle, unkinde 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 us, by us twise put to flight,
But by my sole conduct: for all the time
Cæsar heart-sicke with feare and feaver laie.
Who knowes it not? and how by every one
Fame of the fact was giv'n to me alone
There sprang the love, the never changing love,
Wherin my hart hath since to yours bene bound:
There was it, my Lucil , you Brutus sav'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 upon 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 love, in spite of fortunes blastes
But if of any God my voice be heard,
And be not vainely scatt'red in the heav'ns,
Such goodnes shall not glorilesse be loste,
But comming ages still therof shall boste.
Lu. Men in their frendship ever should be one,
And never ought with fickle Fortune shake,
Which still removes, nor will, nor knowes the way,
Her rowling bowle in one sure state to staie.
Wherfore we ought as borrow'd things receive
The goods light she lends us 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 never failing hoste:
So bearing saile when favouring windes do blowe,
As frowning Tempests may us least dismaie
When they on us do fall: not over-glad
With good estate, nor over-griev'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 heavie lie, no hope can them relieve.
There rests no more, but that with cruell blade
For lingring death a hastie waie be made.
Lu. Cæsar , as heire unto his Fathers state:
So will his Fathers goodnes imitate,
To youwarde: whome he know's allied in bloud,
Allied in mariage, ruling equallie
Th'Empire with him, and with him making warre
Have purg'd the earth of Cæsars murtherers.
You into portions parted have the world
Even like coheir's their heritages parte:
And now with one accord so many yeares
In quiet peace doth have your charges rul'd
Ant. Bloud and alliance nothing do prevaile
To coole the thirst of hote ambitious breasts:
The sonne his Father hardly can endure,
Brother his brother, in one common Realme
So fervent this desier to commaund:
Such jealousie it kindleth in our hearts.
Sooner will men permit another should
Love her they love, then weare the Crowne they weare.
All lawes it breakes, turns all things upsidedowne:
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 joyne
The East with west, and both at once do rule:
Why should he not permitt you peaceablie
Discharg'd of charge and Empires dignitie,
Private to live reading Philosophie ,
In learned Greece, Spaine, Asia , anie lande?
Ant. Never will he his Empire thinke assur'de
While in this world Marke Antonie shall live
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 overfill'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 unto 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 advaunce
Baselie affraid to trie so praisefull chaunce.
This makes me plaine, makes me my selfe accuse,
Fortune in this hir spitefull force doth use
'Gainst my gray hayres: in this unhappie I
Repine at heav'ns in my happes pittiles
A man, a woman both in might and minde,
In Marses schole who never lesson learn'd,
Should me repulse, chafe, overthrow, destroie,
Me of such fame, bring to so lowe an ebbe?
Alcides bloud, who from my infancie
With happie prowesse crowned have my praise.
Witnesse thou Gaule unus'd to servile 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 have you not ensignes spredd?
An. Thou know'st rich Ægypt ( Ægypt of my deeds
Faire and foule subject) Ægypt ah! thou know'st
How I behav'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 overthrowne 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 harvest 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 be my woe:
Nor she should paine, nor I complaine me so.
No, no, wheras I should have died in armes,
And vanquisht oft new armies should have arm'd,
New battailes given, and rather lost with me
All this whole world submitted unto me:
A man who never 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 Ulisses us'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 usurpt: corrupting first
With baites and bribes the most part of his men.
Yet me hath overcome, and made his pray,
And state of Rome , with me hath overcome.
Strange! one disordred act at Actium
The earth subdu'de, my glorie hath obscur'd.
For since, as one whome heavens wrath attaints,
With furie caught, and more then furious
Vex'd with my evills, I never more had care
My armies lost, or lost name to repaire:
I did no more resist. Lu. All warres affaires,
But battailes most, daily have their successe
Now good, now ill: and though that fortune have
Great force and power in every wordlie thing,
Rule all, do all, have all things fast enchaind
Unto the circle of hir turning wheele:
Yet seemes it more then any practise else
She doth frequent Bellonas bloudie trade:
And that hir favour, wavering 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 themselves:
Whome yet a meaner man shall overthrowe
Hir use is not to lende us still her hande,
But sometimes headlong back againe to throwe,
When by hir favor she hath us extolld
Unto the topp of highest happines
Ant. well ought I curse within my grieved soule,
Lamenting daie and night, this sencelesse love,
Whereby my faire entising foe entrap'd
My hedelesse Reason , could no more escape.
It was not fortunes ever 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 unknow'n doth rest
Although oft times the cause is well perceiv'd,
But not th'effect the same that was conceiv'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 under foote
So I me lost: for finding this swete cupp
Pleasing my tast, unwise I drunke my fill,
And through the swetenes of that poisons power
By stepps I drave my former witts astraie
I made my frends, offended me forsake,
I holpe my foes against my selfe to rise.
I robd my subjects, 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 never would have 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, over-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 serves 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 heavy 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 Justice 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,
Provoking 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 unhappie 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 one that was
Wonder of earth and heav'n, matchles in might,
Who Anteus, Lycus, Geryon overcame,
Who drew from hell the triple-headed dogg,
Who Hydra kill'd, vanquishd Achelous ,
Who heavens weight on his strong shoulders bare:
Did he not under Pleasures burthen bow?
Did he not Captive to this passion yelde,
When by his Captive, so he was enflam'de,
As now your selfe in Cleopatra burne?
Slept in hir lapp, hir bosome kist and kiste,
With base unsemelie service bought her love,
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 unstringd he bent not as he us'de:
Upon his shafts the weaving 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 prove me of his lignage right:
In this himselfe, his deedes I shew in this,
In this, nought else, my ancestor he is.
But goe we: die I must, and with brave ende
Conclusion make of all foregoing harmes:
Die, die I must: I must a noble death,
A glorious death unto my succor call:
I must deface the shame of time abus'd,
I must adorne the wanton loves I us'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 us all.
We must all die, each doth in homage owe
Unto 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
Us martireth this blinde desire
To staie our life from flieng!
How ceasleslie our minds doth rack,
How heavie lies upon our back
This dastard feare of dieng!
Death rather healthfull succor gives,
Death rather all mishapps relieves
That life upon us throweth:
And ever to us doth unclose
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 have we more easing?
Hope which to us doth comfort give,
And doth our fainting hearts revive,
Hath not such force in anguish:
For promising a vaine reliefe
She oft us failes in midst of griefe,
And helples letts us languish.
But Death who call on her at nede
Doth never with vaine semblant feed,
But when them sorow paineth,
So riddes their soules of all distresse
Whose heavie 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 over, in the way
Is not amaz'd at Perruque gray
Olde rustie Charon weareth:
Who voide of dread can looke upon
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 leave this life at pleasure:
This noble freedome more esteemes,
And in his hart more precious deemes,
Then Crowne and kingly treasure.
The waves 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 Jove 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 cover:
From of whose armour sun-beames flie,
And under them make quaking lie
The plaines wheron they hover:
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 savage Tirant brought to wrack,
At his colde mercie lieng.
How abject 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
Avernus 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 us raigned