A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay; and Antonius by Garnier Part 4

_Diom._ I will obey your will.

_Cl._ So the desert The G.o.ds repay of thy true faithfull heart.

_Diomed._

And is't not pittie, G.o.ds, ah G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 workmans.h.i.+p 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 emba.s.sadors 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 a.s.sure.

_Vnhappy he, in whome selfe-succour lies,_ _Yet self-forsaken wanting succour dies._

Chorus.

O swete fertile land, wherin _Phaebus_ 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 _aethiops_ 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 sk.u.mme, 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 pa.s.se, Drawing plots for trees and gra.s.se With a thousand turn's and crookes.

Whome all weary of their way Thy throats which in widenesse pa.s.se 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 Mult.i.tudes 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 groud.

_Ant._ Yet nought afflicts me, nothing killes me so, As that I so my _Cleopatra_ see Practize with _Caesar_, 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 G.o.ds (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 _Caesar_ 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.