University of Virginia Library

Sound alarum then flames of fire.
Enter Discord.
Hearke how the Romaine drums sound bloud & death,
And Mars high mounted on his Thracian Steede:
Runs madding through Pharsalias purple fieldes.
The earth that's wont to be a Tombe for Men
It's now entomb'd with Carkases of Men.
The Heauen appal'd to see such hideous sights,
For feare puts out her euer burning lights.
The Gods amaz'd (as once in Titans war,)
Do doubt and feare, which boades this deadly iar.
The starrs do tremble, and forsake their course,
The Beare doth hide her in forbidden Sea,
Feare makes Bootes swiften her slowe pace,
Pale is Orion, Atlas gins to quake,
And his vnwildy burthen to forsake.
Cæsars keene Falchion, through the Aduerse rankes,
For his sterne Master hewes a passage out,
Through troupes & troonkes, & steele, & standing blood:
He whose proud Trophies whileom Asia field,
And conquered Pontus, singe his lasting praise.
Great Pompey; Great, while Fortune did him raise,
Nowe vailes the glory of his vanting plumes
And to the ground casts of his high hang'd lookes.
You gentle Heauens. O execute your wrath
On vile mortality, that hath scornd your powers.
You night borne Sisters to whose haires are ty'd
In Adamantine Chaines both Gods and Men
Winde on your webbe of mischiefe and of plagues,
And if, O starres you haue an influence:
That may confounde this high erected heape
Downe powre it; Vomit out your worst of ills
Let Rome, growne proud, with her vnconquered strength,
Perish and conquered Be with her owne strength:
And win all powers to disioyne and breake,
Consume, confound, dissolue, and discipate
What Lawes, Armes and Pride hath raised vp.

Enter Titinius
Tit.
The day is lost our hope and honours lost,
The glory of the Romaine name is lost,
The liberty and common weale is lost,
The Gods that whileom heard the Romaine state,
And Quirinus, whose strong puissant arme,
Did shild the tops and turrets of proud Rome,
Do now conspire to wracke the gallant Ship,
Euen in the harbor of her wished greatnesse.
And her gay streamers and faire wauering sayles,
With which the wanton wind was wont to play,
To drowne with Billows of orewhelming woes.

Enter Brutus.
Bru.
The Foe preuayles, Brutus, thou striuest in vaine.
Many a soule to day is sent to Hell,
And many a galant haue I don to death,
In Pharsalias bleeding Earth: the world can tell,
How litle Brutus praizd this puffe of breath,
If losse of that my countries weale might gaine,
But Heauens and the immortall Gods decreed:
That Rome in highest of her fortunes pich,
In top of souerainty and imperiall swaye.
By her owne height should worke her owne decay.

Enter Pompey
Pom.
Where may I fly into some desert place,
Some vncouth, vnfrequented craggy rocke,
Where as my name and state was neuer heard.
I slie the Batle because here I see,
My friends lye bleeding in Pharsalias earth.
Which do remember me what earst I was,
Who brought such troopes of soldiars to the fielde,
And of so many thousand had command:
My flight a heauy memory doth renew,
Which tels me I was wont to stay and winne.
But now a souldier of my scatred traine:
Offered me seruice and did call me Lord,
O then I thought whome rising Sunne saw high,
Descending he beheld my misery:
Flie to the holow roote of some steepe rocke,
And in that flinty habitation hide,
Thy wofull face: from face and view of men.
Yet that will tell me this, if naught beside:
Pompey was neuer wont his head to hide.
Flie where thou wilt, thou bearst about thee smart,
Shame at thy heeles and greefe lies at thy heart.

Tit.
But see Titinius where two warriers stand,
Casting their eyes downe to the cheareles earthe:
Alasse to soone I know them for to bee
Pompey and Brutus, who like Aiax stand,
When as forsooke of Fortune mong'st his foes,
Greife stopt his breath nor could he speake his woes,

Pom.
Accursed Pompey, loe thou art descried.
But stay; they are thy friends that thou behouldest,
O rather had I now haue met my foes:
Whose daggers poynts might straight haue piercd my woes
Then thus to haue my friends behold my shame.
Reproch is death to him that liu'd in Fame,

Bru.
Brutus Cast vp thy discontented looke:
And see two Princes thy two noble friends,
Who though it greeues me that I thus them see,
Yet ioy I to bee seene they liung be.
He speakes vnto them.
Let not the change of this successes fight,
(O noble Lords,) dismay these daunteles mindes,
Which the faire vertue not blind chance doth rule,
Cæsar not vs subdued hath, but Rome,
And in that fight twas best be ouerthrowne.
Thinke that the Conqueror hath won but smale,
Whose victory is but his Countries fal,

Pom.
O Noble Brutus, can I liue and see,
My Souldiars dead, my friends lie slaine in field,
My hopes cast downe, mine Honors ouerthrowne,
My Country subiect to a Tirants rule,
My foe triumphing and my selfe forlorne.
Oh had I perished in that prosperous warre
Euen in mine Honors height, that happy day,
When Mithridates fall did rayse my fame:
Then had I gonne with Honor to my graue.
But Pompey was by envious heauens reseru'd,
Captiue to followe Cæsars Chariot wheeles
Riding in triumph to the Capitol:
And Rome oft grac'd with Trophies of my fame,
Shall now resound the blemish of my name.

Bru.
Oh what disgrace can taunt this worthinesse,
Of which remaine such liuing monuments
Ingrauen in the eyes and hearts of men.
Although the oppression of distressed Rome
And our owne ouerthrow, might well drawe forth,
Distilling teares from faynting cowards eyes,
Yet should no weake effeminate passion sease
Vpon that man, the greatnesse of whose minde
And not his Fortune made him term'd the Great.

Pom.
Oh I did neuer tast mine Honours sweete
Nor now can iudge of this my sharpest sowre.
Fifty eight yeares in Fortunes sweete soft lap
Haue I beene luld a sleepe with pleasant ioyes,
Me hath she dandled in her foulding Armes,
And fed my hopes with prosperous euentes:
Shee Crownd my Cradle with successe and Honour,
And shall disgrace a waite my haples Hearse?
Was I a youth with Palme and Lawrell girt,
And now an ould man shall I waite my fall?
Oh when I thinke but on my triumphs past,
The Consul-ships and Honours I haue borne;
The fame and feare where in great Pompey liu'd,
Then doth my grieued Soule informe me this,
My fall augmented by my former bisse.

Bru.
Why do we vse of vertues strength to vant,
If euery crosse a Noble mind can daunt,
Wee talke of courage, then, is courage knowne,
When with mishap our state is ouerthrowne:
Neuer let him a Souldiers Title beare.
Wihch in the cheefest brunt doth shrinke and feare,
Thy former haps did Men thy vertue shew,
But now that fayles them which thy vertue knew,
Nor thinke this conquest shalbe Pompeys fall:
Or that Pharsalia shall thine honour bury,
Egipt shalbe vnpeopled for thine ayde.
And Cole-black Libians, shall manure the grounde
In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men.

Pom.
O second hope of sad oppressed Rome,
In whome the ancient Brutus vertue shines,
That purchast first the Romaine liberty,
Let me imbrace thee: liue victorious youth,
When death and angry fates shall call me hence,
To free thy country from a Tyrants yoke.
My harder fortune, and more cruell starrs.
Enuied to me so great a happines.
Do not prolong my life with vaine false hopes,
To deepe dispaire and sorrow I am vow'd:
Do not remououe me from that setled thought,
With hope of friends or ayde of Ptolomey,
Egipt and Libia at choyse I haue.
But onely which of them Ile make my graue.

Tit.
Tis but discomfort which misgreeues thee this,
Greefe by dispaire seemes greater then it is.

Bru.
Tis womannish to wayle and mone our greefe.
By Industrie do wise men seeke releefe,
If that our casting do fall out a misse,
Our cunning play must then correct the dice.

Pom.
Well if it needs must bee then let me goe,
Flying for ayde vnto my forrayne friends,
And sue and bow, where earst I did command.
He that goeth seeking of a Tirant aide,
Though free he went, a seruant then is made.
Take we our last farwell, then though with paine,
Heere three do part that ne're shall meet againe.

Exit Pompey at on dore, Titinius at another. Brutus alone.

SCENA 2.

Enter Cæsar
Cæs.
Follow your chase, and let your light-foote steedes
Flying as swift as did that winged horse
That with strong fethered Pinions cloue the Ayre,
Or'take the coward flight of your base foe.

Bru.
Do not with-drawe thy mortall woundring blade,
But sheath it Cæsar in my wounded heart:
Let not that heart that did thy Country wound
Feare to lay Brutus bleeding on the ground.
Thy fatall stroke of death shall more mee glad,
Then all thy proud and Pompous victories;
My funerall Cypresse, then thy Lawrell Crowne,
My mournefull Beere shall winne more Praise and Fame
Then thy triumphing Sun-bright Chariot.
Heere in these fatall fieldes let Brutus die,
And beare so many Romaines company.

Cæsa.
T'was not 'gainst thee this fatall blade was drawne
Which can no more pierce Brutus tender sides
Then mine owne heart, or ought then heart more deere,
For all the wronges thou didst, or strokes thou gau'st
Cæsar on thee will take no worse reuenge,
Then bid thee still commande him and his state:
True setled loue can neere bee turn'd to hate.

Brut.
To what a pitch would this mans vertues sore,
Did not ambition clog his mounting fame,
Cæsar thy sword hath all blisse from me taine
And giuest me life where best were to be slaine.
O thou hast robd me of my chiefest ioy,
And seek'st to please me with a babish toye.
Exit Brutus.

Cæs.
Cæsar Pharsalia doth thy conquest sound
Ioues welcom messenger faire Victory,
Hath Crown'd thy temples with victorious bay.
And Io ioyfull, Io doth she sing
And through the world thy lasting prayses ring.
But yet amidst thy gratefull melody
I heare a hoarse, and heauy dulfull voyce,
Of my deare Country crying, that to day
My Glorious triumphs worke her owne decay.
In which how many fatall strokes I gaue,
So many woundes her tender brest receiu'd.
Heere lyeth one that's boucher'd by his Sire
And heere the Sonne was his old Fathers death,
Both slew vnknowing, both vnknowne are slaine,
O that ambition should such mischiefe worke
Or meane Men die for great mens proud desire.

SCENA 3.

Enter Anthony, Dolobella, Lord and others.
An.
From sad Pharsalia blushing al with bloud,
From deaths pale triumphes, Pompey ouerthrowne,
Romains in forraine soyles, brething their last,
Reuenge, stange wars and dreadfull stratagems,
Wee come to set the Lawrell on thy head
And fill thy eares with triumphs and with ioyes.

Dolo.
As when that Hector from the Gracian campe
With spoiles of slaughtered Argians return'd,
The Troyan youths with crownes of conquering palme:
The Phrigian Virgins with faire flowry wrethes
Welcom'd the hope, and pride of Ilium,
So for thy victory and conquering actes
Wee bring faire wreths of Honor & renowne,
Which shall enternally thy head adorne.

Lord.
Now hath thy sword made passage for thy selfe,
To wade in bloud of them that sought thy death,
The ambitious riuall of thine Honors high,
Whose mightinesse earst made him to be feard
Now flies and is enforc'd to giue thee place.
Whil'st thou remainst the conquering Hercules
Triumphing in thy spoyles and victories.

Cæs.
When Phæbus left faire Thetis watery couch,
And peeping forth from out the goulden gate
Of his bright pallace saw our battle rank'd:
Oft did hee seeke to turne his fiery steedes,
Oft hid his face, and shund such tragick sights.
What stranger passest euer by this cost
Thee this accursed soyle distainde with blood
Not Christall riuers, are to quench thy thirst.
For goaring streames, their riuers cleerenesse staines:
Heere are no hils wherewith to feede thine eyes,
But heaped hils of mangled Carkases,
Heere are no birdes to please thee with their notes:
But rauenous Vultures, and night Rauens horse.

Anto.
What meanes great Cæsar, droopes our generall,
Or melts in womanish compassion:
To see Pharsalias fieldes to change their hewe
And siluer streames be turn'd to lakes of blood?
Why Cæsar oft hath sacrific'd in France,
Millions of Soules, to Plutoes grisly dames:
And made the changed coloured Rhene to blush,
To beare his bloody burthen to the sea.
And when as thou in mayden Albion shore
The Romaine, Ægle brauely didst aduance,
No hand payd greater tribute vnto death,
No heart with more couragious Noble fire
And hope, did burne with glorious great intent.
And now shall passion base that Noble minde,
And weake euents that courrage ouercome?
Let Pompey proud, and Pompeys Complices
Die on our swords, that did enuie our liues,
Let pale Tysiphone be cloyd with bloud:
And snaky furies quench their longing thirst,
And Cæsar liue to glory in their end.

Cæs.
They say when as the younger Affrican,
Beheld the mighty Carthage wofull fall:
And sawe her stately Towers to smoke from farre,
He wept, and princely teares ran downe his cheekes,
Let pity then and true compassion,
Moue vs to rue no traterous Carthage fall,
No barbarous periurd enemies decay,
But Rome our natiue Country, haples Rome,
Whose bowe's to vngently we haue peerc'd,
Faire pride of Europe, Mistresse of the world,
Cradle of vertues, nurse of true renowne,
Whome Ioue hath plac'd in top of seauen hils:
That thou the lower worldes seauen climes mightst rule.
Thee the proud Parthian and the cole-black Moore,
The sterne Tartarian, borne to manage armes,
Doth feare and tremble at thy Maiesty.
And yet I bred and fostered in thy lappe,
Durst striue to ouerthrowe thy Capitol:
And thy high Turrets lay as low as hell.

Dolo.
O Rome, and haue the powers of Heauen decreed,
When as thy fame did reach vnto the Skie,
And the wide Ocean was thy Empires boundes,
And thou enricht with spoyles of all the world,
Was waxen proud with peace and soueraine raigne:
That Ciuill warres should loose what Forraine won,
And peace his ioyes, be turn'd to luckles broyles.

Lord.
O Pompey, cursed cause of ciuill warre,
Which of those hel-borne sterne Eumenides:
Inflam'd thy minde with such ambitious fire,
As nought could quench it but thy Countries bloud.

Dolo.
But this no while thy valour doth destayne,
Which found'st vnsought for cause of ciuill broyles,
And fatall fuell which this fire enflamd.

Anto.
Let then his death set period to this strife,
Which was begun by his ambitious life.

Cæs.
The flying Pompey to Larissa hastes,
And by Thessalian Temple shapes his course:
Where faire Peneus tumbles vp his waues,
Him weele pursue as fast as he vs flies,
Nor he though garded with Numidian horse,
Nor ayded with the vnresisted powre:
The Meroe, or seauen mouth'd Nile can yeeld:
No not all Affrick arm'd in his defence
Shall serue to shrowd him from my fatall sworde.

Exit.

SC. 4.

Enter Cato.
Ca.
O where is banish'd liberty exil'd,
To Affrick deserts or to Scythia rockes,
Or whereas siluer streaming Tanais is?
Happy is India and Arabia blest,
And all the bordering regions vpon Nile
That neuer knew the name of Liberty,
But we that boast of Brutes and Colatins,
And glory we expeld proud Tarquins name,
Do greeue to loose, that we so long haue held.
Why reckon we our yeares by Consuls names:
And so long ruld in freedon, now to serue?
They lie that say in Heauen there is a powre
That for to wracke the sinnes of guilty men,
Holds in his hand a fierce three-forked dart.
Why would he throw them downe on Oéta mount
Or wound the vnderringing Rhodope,
And not rayne showers of his dead-doing dartes,
Furor in flame, and Sulphures smothering heate
Vpon the wicked and accurs'd armes
That cruell Romains 'gainst their Country beare.
Rome ware thy fall: those prodigies foretould,
When angry heauens did powre downe showers of blood
And fatall Comets in the heauens did blase,
And all the Statues in the Temple blast,
Did weepe the losse of Romaine liberty.
Then if the Gods haue destined thine end,
Yet as a Mother hauing lost her Sonne,
Cato shall waite vpon thy tragick hearse,
And neuer leaue thy cold and bloodles corse.
Ile tune a sad and dol-full funerall song,
Still crying on lost liberties sweete name,
Thy sacred ashes will I wash with teares,
And thus lament my Countries obsequies.

SC. 5.

Enter Pompey and Cornelia.
Cor.
O cruel Pompey whether wilt thou flye,
And leaue thy poore Cornelia thus forlorne,
Is't our bad fortune or thy cruell will
That still it seuers in extremity.
O let me go with thee, and die with thee,
Nothing shall thy Cornelia grieuous thinke
That shee endures for her sweete Pompeys sake.

Pom.
Tis for thy weale and safty of thy life,
Whose safty I preferre before the world,
Because I loue thee more then all the world,
That thou (sweete loue) should'st heere remaine behinde
Till proofe assureth Ptolomyes doubted faith.

Cor.
O deerest, what shall I my safty call,
That which is thrust in dangers harmefull mouth?
Lookes not the thing so bad with such a name,
Call it my death, my base, my wo, my hell,
That which indangers my sweete Pompeys life.

Pom.
It is no danger (gentle loue) at all,
Tis but thy feare that doth it so miscall.

Cor.
Ist bee no danger let me go with thee,
And of thy safty a partaker bee,
Alas why would'st thou leaue mee thus alone:
Thinkst thou I cannot follow thee by Land
That thus haue followed thee ouer raging Seas,
Or do I varie in inconstant hopes:
O but thinke you my pleasure luckles is
And I haue made thee more vnfortunate.
Tis I, tis I, haue caus'd this ouerthrow,
Tis my accursed starres that boade this ill,
And those mis-fortunes to my princely loue,
Reuenge thee Pompey, on this wicked brat,
And end my woes by ending of my life,

Pom.
What meanes my loue to aggrauate my griefe,
And torture my enough tormented Soule,
With greater greuance then Pharsalian losse?
Thy rented hayre doth rent my heart in twayne,
And these fayr Seas, that raine downe showers of tears,
Do melt my soule in liqued streames of sorrow.
If that in Ægipt any daunger bee,
Then let my death procure thy sweet liues safety.

Cor.
Can I bee safe and Pompey in distresse,
Or may Cornelia suruiue they death,
What daunger euer happens to my Soule,
What daunger eke shall happen to my life,
Nor Libians quick-sands, nor the barking gulfe,
Or gaping Scylla shall this Vnion part,
But still Ile chayne thee in my twining armes,
And if I cannot liue Ile die with thee.

Pom.
O how thy loue doth ease my greeued minde,
Which beares a burthen heauier then the Heauens,
Vnder the which steele-shouldred Atlas grones.
But now thy loue doth hurt thy selfe and me,
And thy to ardent strong affection,
Hinders my setled resolution.
Then by this loue, and by these christall eyes,
More bright then are the Lamps of Ioues high house,
Let me in this (I feare) my last request.
Not to indanger thy beloued life,
But in this ship remayne, and here awaite,
How Fortune dealeth with our doubtfull State,

Cor.
Not so perswaded as coniurd sweete loue,
By thy commanding meeke petition.
I cannot say I yeeld, yet am constraind,
This neuer meeting parting to permit,
Then go deere loue, yet stay a little while,
Some what I am shure, tis more I haue to say,
Nay nothing now but Heauens guide thy steps.
Yet let me speake, why should we part so soone,
Why is my talke tedious? may be tis the last.
Do women leaue their husbands in such hast,

Pom.
More faithfull, then that layre deflowred dame,
That sacrifizde her selfe to Chastety,
And far more louing then the Charian Queene,
That dranke her Husbands neuer sundred heart.
If that I dye, yet will it glad my soule,
Which then shall feede on those Elisian ioyes,
That in the sacred Temple of thy breast.
My liuing memory shall shrined bee.
But if that enuious fates should call thee hence,
And Death with pale and meager looke vsurpe,
Vpon those rosiate lips, and Currall cheekes,
Then Ayre be turnde, to poyson to infect me,
Earth gape and swallow him that Heauens hate,
Consume me Fire with thy deuouring flames,
Or Water drowne, who else would melt in teares.
But liue, liue happy still in safety liue,
Who safety onely to my life can giue.

Exit.
Cor.
O he is gon, go hie thee after him,
My vow forbids, yet still my care is with thee,
My cryes shall wake the siluer Moone by night,
And with my teares I will salute the Morne.
No day shall passe with out my dayly plaints,
No houre without my prayers for thy returne.
My minde misgiues mee Pompey is betrayd.
O Ægypt do not rob me of my loue.
Why beareth Ptolomy so sterne a looke?
O do not staine thy childish yeares with blood:
Whil'st Pompey florished in his Fortunes pride,
Ægypt and Ptolomy were faine to serue
And shue for grace to my distressed Lord
But little bootes it, to record he was,
To be is onely that which Men respect,
Go poore Cornelia wander by the shore
And see the waters raging Billowes swell,
And beare with fury gainst the craggy rockes,
To that compare thy strong tempestuous griefe.
Which fiercely rage th'in thy feeble heart,
Sorrow shuts vp the passage of thy breath:
And dries the teares that pitty faine would shed,
This onely therefore this will I still crie,
Let Pompey liue although Cornelia die.

Exit.

SCENA 6.

Enter Cæsar, Cleopatra, Dolobella, Lord and others
Cæs.
Thy sad complaints fayre Lady cannot chuse,
But mooue a heart though made of Adamant,
And draw to yeeld vnto thy powerfull plaint,
I will replant thee in the Ægiptian Throne
And all thy wrongs shall Cæsars vallor right,
Ile pull thy crowne from the vsurpers head,
And make the Conquered Ptolomey to stoope,
And feare by force to wrong a mayden Queene.

Cleo.
Looke as the Earth at her great loues approch,
When goulden tressed fayre Hipperions Sonne
With those life-lending beames salutes his Spouse,
Doth then cast of her moorning widdowes weeds,
And calleth her handmayde, forth her flowery fayre,
To cloth her in the beauty of the spring,
And of fayre primroses, and sweet violets,
To make gay Garlonds for to crowne her head.
So hath your presence, welcome and fayre sight,
That glads the world, comforts poore Ægipts Queene,
Who begs for succor of that conquering hand,
That as Ioues Scepter this our world doth sway.

Dolo.
Who would refuse to ayde so fayre a Queene.

Lord.
Base bee the mind, that for so sweet a fayre,
Would not aduenture more then Perseus did,
When as he freed the faire Andromeda.

Cæsar.
O how those louely Tyranizing eyes,
The Graces beautious habitation,
Where sweet desire, dartes woundring shafts of loue:
Consume my heart with inward burning heate,
Not onely Ægipt but all Africa,
Will I subiect to Cleopatras name.
Thy rule shall stretch from vnknowne Zanziber,
Vnto those Sandes where high erected poastes.
Of great Alcides, do vp hold his name,
The sunne burnt Indians, from the east shall bring:
Their pretious store of pure refined gould,
The laboring worme shall weaue the Africke twiste,
And to exceed the pompe of Persian Queene,
The Sea shall pay the tribute of his pearles,
For to adorne thy goulden yellow lockes,
Which in their curled knots, my thoughts do hold,
Thoughtes captiud to thy beauties conquering power.

Anto.
I marueyle not at that which fables tell,
How rauisht Hellen moued the angry Greeks,
To vndertake eleuen yeares tedious seege,
To re-obtayne a beauty so diuine,
When I beheld thy sweete composed face.
O onely worthy for whose matchles sake,
Another seege, and new warres should arise,
Hector be dragde about the Grecian campe,
And Troy againe consumed with Grecian fire.

Cleo.
Great Prince, what thanks can Cleopatra giue,
Nought haue poore Virgins to requite such good:
My simple selfe and seruice then vouchsafe,
And let the heauens, and he that althings sees.
With equall eyes such merits recompence,
I doe not seeke ambitiously to rule,
And in proud Africa to monarchize.
I onely craue that what my father gaue,
Who in his last be-hest did dying, will,
That I should ioyntly with my brother raigne:

But.
How sweet those words drop from those hunny lips
Which whilst she speakes they still each other kisse.

Cæsa,
Raigne, I, stil raigne in Cæsars conquered thoughts,
There build thy pallace, and thy sun-bright throne:
There sway thy Scepter, and with it beat downe,
Those traiterous thoughts (if any dare aryse:)
That will not yeeld to thy perfection,
To chase thee flying Pompey haue I cut,
The great Ionian, and Egean seas:
And dredeles past the toyling Hellespont,
Famous for amorous Leanders death:
And now by gentle Fortunes so am blest,
As to behold what mazed thoughtes admire:
Heauens wonder, Natures and Earths Ornament,
And gaze vpon these firy sun-bright eyes:
The Heauenly spheares which Loue and Beauty mooue,
These Cheekes where Lillyes and red-roses striue,
For soueraignty, yet both do equall raigne:
The dangling tresses of thy curled haire,
Nets weaud to cach our frayle and wandring thoughts:
Thy beauty shining like proud Phæbus face,
When Ganges glittereth with his radiant beames
He on his goulden trapped Palfreys rides,
That from their nostrels do the morning blow,
Through Heauens great path-way pau'd with shining starres
Thou art the fized pole of my Soules ioy,
Bout which my resteles thoughts are ouer turn'd:
My Cynthia, whose glory neuer waynes,
Guyding the Tide of mine affections:
That with the change of thy imperious lookes,
Dost make my doubtfull ioyes to eb and flowe.

Cleo.
Might all the deedes thy hands had ere achiu'd,
That make thy farre extolled name to sound:
From sun-burnt East vnto the VVestern Iles,
VVhich great Neptunus fouldeth in his armes,
It shall not be the least to seat a Maide,
And inthronize her in her natiue right.

Lord.
VVhat neede you stand disputing on your right,
Or prouing title to the Ægiptian Crowne:
Borne to be Queene and Empresse of the world.

An.
On thy perfection let me euer gaze,
And eyes now learne to treade a louers maze,
Heere may you surfet with delicious store,
The more you see, desire to looke the more:
Vpon her face a garden of delite,
Exceeding far Adonis fayned Bowre,
Heere staind white Lyllies spread their branches faire,
Heere lips send forth sweete Gilly-flowers smell.
And Damasck-rose in her faire cheekes do bud,
VVhile beds of Violets still come betweene
VVith fresh varyety to please the eye,
Nor neede these flowers the heate of Phæbus beames,
They cherisht are by vertue of her eyes.
O that I might but enter in this bowre,
Or once attaine the cropping of the flower.

Cæs.
Now wend we Lords to Alexandria,
Famous for those wide wondred Piramids.
Whose towring tops do seeme to threat the skie,
And make it proud by presence of my loue:
Then Paphian Temples and Cytherian hils,
And sacred Gnidas bonnet vaile to it,
A fayrer saint then Uenus there shall dwell.

Antho.
Led with the lode-starre of her lookes, I go
As crazed Bark is toss'd in trobled Seas,
Vncertaine to ariue in wished port.