 | The Tragedie of Cleopatra |  |
SCENA.
Philostratus.
Arius. 2, Philosophers.
Arius.
Phi.
Why must their issue be extinguished?
Ar.
It must: Antillus is already dead.
Ph.
And what Cæsario sprung of Cæsars blood?
Ar.
Pluralitie of Cæsars are not good.
Phi.
Alas, what hurt procures his feeble arme?
Ar.
Not for it doth, but that it may doe harme.
Phi.
Then when it offers hurt represse the same.
Ar.
Men seeke to quench a sparke before it flame.
Ph.
Tis humane an innocent to kill.
Ar.
Such innocents seldome remaine so still.
They thinke his death will farther tumults cease,
Competitors are subiects miseries.
And to the end to purchase publike peace,
Great men are made the pleoples sacrifice.
But see where Cæsar comes himselfe to trie,
And worke the minde of our distressed queene
To apprehend some emptie hope, whereby
Shee may be drawne to haue her fortunes seene.
Though I thinke Rome shall neuer see that face
That queld her Champions, blush, in base disgrace.
Exeunt.
Philostratus.
Arius. 2, Philosophers.
How deeply Arius am I bound to thee
That sau'dst from death this wretched life of mine,
Obtaining Cæsars gentle grace for me,
When I of all help else despaird but thine:
Although I see in such an wofull state,
Life is not that which should be much desir'd,
Since all our glories come to end their date,
Our countries honor, and our owne expir'd:
Now that the hand of wrath hath ouergone vs;
And that we live in th'armes of our dead mother,
With blood vnder our feete, mine vpon vs,
And in a land most wretched of all other.
When yet we reckon life our dearest good,
And so we liue we care not how we liue,
So deepe we feele impressed in our blood
That touch which nature with our breath did giue,
And yet what blasts of words hath learning found
To blow against the feare of death, and dying:
What comforts vnsicke eloquence can sound?
And yet all failes vs in the point of trying.
For whilst we reason with the breath of safetie,
Without the compasse of destruction liuing,
What precepts shew we then, what courage lofetie,
In taxing others feares, in counsell giuing?
When all this aire of sweet contriued words,
Prooues but weake armour to defend the heart,
For when this ship of life pale terror boords,
Where are our precepts then, where is our arte?
O who is he that from himselfe can turne,
That beares about the body of a man?
Who doth not toyle, and labour to adiourne
The day of death by any meanes he can.
That sau'dst from death this wretched life of mine,
Obtaining Cæsars gentle grace for me,
When I of all help else despaird but thine:
Although I see in such an wofull state,
Life is not that which should be much desir'd,
Since all our glories come to end their date,
Our countries honor, and our owne expir'd:
Now that the hand of wrath hath ouergone vs;
And that we live in th'armes of our dead mother,
With blood vnder our feete, mine vpon vs,
And in a land most wretched of all other.
When yet we reckon life our dearest good,
So deepe we feele impressed in our blood
That touch which nature with our breath did giue,
And yet what blasts of words hath learning found
To blow against the feare of death, and dying:
What comforts vnsicke eloquence can sound?
And yet all failes vs in the point of trying.
For whilst we reason with the breath of safetie,
Without the compasse of destruction liuing,
What precepts shew we then, what courage lofetie,
In taxing others feares, in counsell giuing?
When all this aire of sweet contriued words,
Prooues but weake armour to defend the heart,
For when this ship of life pale terror boords,
Where are our precepts then, where is our arte?
O who is he that from himselfe can turne,
That beares about the body of a man?
Who doth not toyle, and labour to adiourne
The day of death by any meanes he can.
All this I speake to th'end my selfe t'excuse,
For my base begging of a seruile breath,
Wherein I my profession did abuse,
So shamefully to seeke t'auoyd my death.
For my base begging of a seruile breath,
Wherein I my profession did abuse,
So shamefully to seeke t'auoyd my death.
Arius.
Philostratus, that same desire to liue,
Possesseth all alike, and grieue not then.
No priuiledge Philosophy doth giue,
Though we speake more then men, we are but men,
And yet in troth these miseries to see,
Wherein we stand in most extreame distresse,
Might to our selues sufficient motiues be,
To loath this life, end weigh our death the lesse,
For neuer age could better testifie,
What feeble footing pride and greatnes hath,
How soone improuident prosperitie,
Comes caught, and ruin'd in the day of wrath.
See how dismaid confusion keepe those streetes,
That nought but mirth and musique late resounded.
How nothing with our eie but horror meetes;
Our state, our wealth, our glory all confounded.
Yet what weake sight did not discerne from farre,
This blacke arising tempest all-confounding?
Who did not see we should be what we are,
When pride and ryot grew to such abounding?
When dissolute impietie possest,
Th'vnrespectiue mindes of prince and people,
When insolent securitie found rest,
In wanton thoughts, with lust, and ease made feeble.
Then when vnwary peace, with fat fed pleasure,
New fresh inuented ryots still detected,
Purchas'd with all the Ptolomies rich treasure,
Our lawes, our gods, our mysteries neglected.
Who saw not how this confluence of vice,
This inundation of disorders would
S'ugnlph this state in th'end, that no deuice
Our vtter ouerwhelming could withhold?
O thou, and I, haue heard, and read, and knowne,
Of mighty lands, are wofully incombred,
And fram'd by them examples for our owne,
Which now amongst examples must be numbred.
For this decree a law from hie is giuen,
An ancient Cannon of eternall date,
In Consistorie of the stars of heauen,
Entred the booke of vnauoyded fate:
That no state can in th'height of happines,
In th'exaltation ef their glory stand,
But thither once arriu'd, declining lesse,
Doe wracke themselues, or fall by others hand.
Thus doth th'euerchanging course of things,
Run a perpetuall circle euer turning,
And that same day that highest glory brings,
Brings vs vnto the point of backe returning.
Eor senslesse sensualitie doth euer
Accompanie our loose felicity,
A fatall which, whose charmes doth leaue vs neuer
Till we leaue all confus'd with miserie.
When yet ourselues must be the cause we fall,
Although the same be first decreed on hie,
Our error still must beare the blame of all,
Thus must it be, earth aske not heauen why.
Possesseth all alike, and grieue not then.
No priuiledge Philosophy doth giue,
Though we speake more then men, we are but men,
And yet in troth these miseries to see,
Wherein we stand in most extreame distresse,
Might to our selues sufficient motiues be,
To loath this life, end weigh our death the lesse,
For neuer age could better testifie,
What feeble footing pride and greatnes hath,
How soone improuident prosperitie,
Comes caught, and ruin'd in the day of wrath.
That nought but mirth and musique late resounded.
How nothing with our eie but horror meetes;
Our state, our wealth, our glory all confounded.
Yet what weake sight did not discerne from farre,
This blacke arising tempest all-confounding?
Who did not see we should be what we are,
When pride and ryot grew to such abounding?
When dissolute impietie possest,
Th'vnrespectiue mindes of prince and people,
When insolent securitie found rest,
In wanton thoughts, with lust, and ease made feeble.
Then when vnwary peace, with fat fed pleasure,
New fresh inuented ryots still detected,
Purchas'd with all the Ptolomies rich treasure,
Our lawes, our gods, our mysteries neglected.
Who saw not how this confluence of vice,
This inundation of disorders would
S'ugnlph this state in th'end, that no deuice
Our vtter ouerwhelming could withhold?
O thou, and I, haue heard, and read, and knowne,
Of mighty lands, are wofully incombred,
And fram'd by them examples for our owne,
Which now amongst examples must be numbred.
For this decree a law from hie is giuen,
An ancient Cannon of eternall date,
In Consistorie of the stars of heauen,
Entred the booke of vnauoyded fate:
That no state can in th'height of happines,
In th'exaltation ef their glory stand,
But thither once arriu'd, declining lesse,
Doe wracke themselues, or fall by others hand.
Thus doth th'euerchanging course of things,
Run a perpetuall circle euer turning,
And that same day that highest glory brings,
Eor senslesse sensualitie doth euer
Accompanie our loose felicity,
A fatall which, whose charmes doth leaue vs neuer
Till we leaue all confus'd with miserie.
When yet ourselues must be the cause we fall,
Although the same be first decreed on hie,
Our error still must beare the blame of all,
Thus must it be, earth aske not heauen why.
Yet mightie men, with wary iealous hand,
Striue to cut off all obstacles of feare,
All whatsoeuer seemes but to withstand
Their least conceit of quiet held so deare:
And so intrench themselues with blood, with crimes,
With all iniustice, as their feares dispose,
Yet for all this we see, how oftentimes,
The meanes they worke to keepe, are meanes to lose.
And sure I cannot see how this can lie
With great Augustus safetie and renowne,
T'extinguish thus the race of Antony
And Cleopatra, to confirme his owne.
Striue to cut off all obstacles of feare,
All whatsoeuer seemes but to withstand
Their least conceit of quiet held so deare:
And so intrench themselues with blood, with crimes,
With all iniustice, as their feares dispose,
Yet for all this we see, how oftentimes,
The meanes they worke to keepe, are meanes to lose.
And sure I cannot see how this can lie
With great Augustus safetie and renowne,
T'extinguish thus the race of Antony
And Cleopatra, to confirme his owne.
Phi.
Why must their issue be extinguished?
Ar.
It must: Antillus is already dead.
Ph.
And what Cæsario sprung of Cæsars blood?
Ar.
Pluralitie of Cæsars are not good.
Phi.
Alas, what hurt procures his feeble arme?
Ar.
Not for it doth, but that it may doe harme.
Phi.
Then when it offers hurt represse the same.
Ar.
Men seeke to quench a sparke before it flame.
Ph.
Tis humane an innocent to kill.
Ar.
Such innocents seldome remaine so still.
They thinke his death will farther tumults cease,
Competitors are subiects miseries.
And to the end to purchase publike peace,
Great men are made the pleoples sacrifice.
And worke the minde of our distressed queene
To apprehend some emptie hope, whereby
Shee may be drawne to haue her fortunes seene.
Though I thinke Rome shall neuer see that face
That queld her Champions, blush, in base disgrace.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedie of Cleopatra | |