A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay; and Antonius by Garnier Part 9

_Er._ Her face is frozen.

_Ch._ Madame for G.o.ds loue Leaue vs not thus: bidd vs yet first farwell.

Alas! wepe ouer _Antonie_: Let not His bodie be without due rites entomb'de.

_Cl._ Ah, ah.

_Char._ Madame.

_Cle._ Ay me!

_Cl._ How fainte she is?

_Cl._ My Sisters, holde me vp. How wretched I, How cursed am! and was ther euer one By Fortunes hate into more dolours throwne?

Ah, weeping _Niobe_, although thy hart Beholdes itselfe enwrap'd in causefull woe For thy dead children, that a senceless rocke With griefe become, on _Sipylus_ thou stand'st In endles teares: yet didst thou neuer feele The weights of griefe that on my heart do lie.

Thy Children thou, mine I poore soule haue lost, And lost their Father, more then them I waile, Lost this faire realme; yet me the heauens wrathe Into a Stone not yet transformed hath.

_Phaetons_ sisters, daughters of the Sunne, Which waile your brother falne into the streames Of stately _Po_: the G.o.ds vpon the bankes Your bodies to banke-louing Alders turn'd.

For me, I sigh, I ceasles wepe, and waile, And heauen pittiles laughes at my woe, Reuiues, renewes it still: and in the ende (Oh crueltie!) doth death for comfort lende.

Die _Cleopatra_ then, no longer stay From _Antonie_, who thee at _Styx_ attends: Goe ioine thy Ghost with his, and sobbe no more Without his loue within these tombes enclos'd.

_Eras._ Alas! yet let vs wepe, lest sodaine death From him our teares, and those last duties take Vnto his tombe we owe. _Ch._ Ah let vs wepe While moisture lasts, then die before his feete.

_Cl._ who furnish will mine eies with streaming teares My boiling anguish worthilie to waile, Waile thee _Antonie_, _Antonie_ my heart?

Alas, how much I weeping liquor want!

Yet haue mine eies quite drawne their Conduits drie By long beweeping my disastred harmes.

Now reason is that from my side they sucke First vitall moisture, then the vitall bloud.

Then let the bloud from my sad eies out flowe, And smoking yet with thine in mixture growe.

Moist it, and heate it newe, and neuer stopp, All watring thee, while yet remaines one dropp.

_Cha._ _Antonie_ take our teares: this is the last Of all the duties we to thee can yelde, Before we die.

_Er._ These sacred obsequies Take _Antony_, and take them in good parte.

_Cl._ O G.o.ddesse thou whom _Cyprus_ doth adore, _Venus_ of _Paphos_, bent to worke vs harme For olde _Iulus_ broode, if thou take care Of _Caesar_, why of vs tak'st thou no care?

_Antonie_ did descend, as well as he, From thine own Sonne by long enchained line: And might haue rul'd by one and self same fate, True _Troian_ bloud, the statelie _Romain_ state.

_Antonie_, poore _Antonie_, my deare soule, Now but a blocke, the bootie of a tombe, Thy life, thy heate is lost, thy coullor gone, And hideous palenes on thy face hath seaz'd.

Thy eies, two Sunnes, the lodging place of loue, Which yet for tents to warlike _Mars_ did serue, Lock'd vp in lidds (as faire daies cherefull light Which darknesse flies) do winking hide in night.

_Antonie_ by our true loues I thee beseche, And by our hearts swete sparks haue sett on fire, Our holy mariage, and the tender ruthe Of our deare babes, knot of our amitie: My dolefull voice thy eare let entertaine, And take me with thee to the h.e.l.lish plaine, Thy wife, thy frend: heare _Antonie_, o heare My sobbing sighes, if here thou be, or there.

Liued thus long, the winged race of yeares Ended I haue as _Destinie_ decreed, Flourish'd and raign'd, and taken iust reuenge Of him who me both hated and despisde.

Happie, alas too happie! if of _Rome_ Only the fleete had hither neuer come.

And now of me an Image great shall goe Vnder the earth to bury there my woe.

What say I? where am I? o _Cleopatra_, Poore _Cleopatra_, griefe thy reason reaues.

No, no, most happie in this happles case, To die with thee, and dieng thee embrace: My bodie ioynde with thine, my mouth with thine, My mouth, whose moisture burning sighes haue dried: To be in one selfe tombe, and one selfe chest, And wrapt with thee in one selfe sheete to rest.

The sharpest torment in my heart I feele Is that I staie from thee, my heart, this while.

Die will I straight now, now streight will I die, And streight with thee a wandring shade will be, Vnder the _Cypres_ trees thou haunt'st alone, Where brookes of h.e.l.l do falling seeme to mone.

But yet I stay, and yet thee ouerliue, That ere I die due rites I may thee giue.

A thousand sobbes I from my brest will teare, With thousand plaints thy funeralles adorne: My haire shall serue for thy oblations, My boiling teares for thy effusions, Mine eies thy fire: for out of them the flame (Which burnt thy heart on me enamour'd) came.

Wepe my companions, wepe, and from your eies Raine downe on him of teares a brinish streame.

Mine can no more, consumed by the coales Which from my breast, as from a furnace, rise.

Martir your b.r.e.a.s.t.s with multiplied blowes, With violent hands teare of your hanging haire, Outrage your face: alas! why should we seeke (Since now we die) our beawties more to kepe?

I spent in teares, not able more to spende, But kisse him now, what rests me more to doe?

Then lett me kisse you, you faire eies, my light, Front seate of honor, face most fierce, most faire!

O neck, o armes, o hands, o breast where death (Oh mischief) comes to choake vp vitall breath.

A thousand kisses, thousand thousand more Let you my mouth for honors farewell giue: That in this office weake my limmes may growe, Fainting on you, and fourth my soule may flowe.

At Ramsburie. 26. of Nouember.

1590.