 | Pompey the Great |  |
Act Fifth
Scene First.
Cornelia, Philip.Cornel.
Am I awake, or does some Dream obtrude
These borrow'd Shapes my Fancy to delude?
Eyes may I trust you? do I Philip see,
Or my Fond wishes make me think 'tis he?
To my Dead Lord, are his last Honours paid,
And in this Urn his Noble Ashes laid?
These borrow'd Shapes my Fancy to delude?
Eyes may I trust you? do I Philip see,
Or my Fond wishes make me think 'tis he?
To my Dead Lord, are his last Honours paid,
And in this Urn his Noble Ashes laid?
Sad, but dear Object, though thou hast possest
With restless Passions my afflicted Breast,
Expect no Tears, (our feebler Sexes arms)
My Cares have no Divertion by those Charms,
They whose weak Grief has leisure to Complain,
May hope that way t'Extenuate their pain;
With restless Passions my afflicted Breast,
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My Cares have no Divertion by those Charms,
They whose weak Grief has leisure to Complain,
May hope that way t'Extenuate their pain;
But all the Gods to witness here I call,
These Ashes too, which are above them all
With me, 'tis just, this Heart they rule alone,
To which such Tyrants all the rest are grown.
These Ashes too, which are above them all
With me, 'tis just, this Heart they rule alone,
To which such Tyrants all the rest are grown.
By you then Sacred Reliques here I Vow
(The Highest powers I acknowledge now)
To let no Time, nor other Mean abate
My just Revenge, and too well grounded Hate;
Thy Pompey, Rome, by Ægypts King betraid,
To Cæsar here a Sacrifice was made,
And I thy Walls will never see again,
Till Priest and God be on his Altar slain.
And you dear Ashes aid my just design,
Imprint it deep within this Breast of mine,
And in each Heart, of what I feel, inspire
The like at least, if not so great desire.
But tell me Philip, by what happy way
Could'st thou this Duty to thy Master pay?
To thy Assistance what good Angel came,
Helping to Light the Poor but Pious Flame?
(The Highest powers I acknowledge now)
To let no Time, nor other Mean abate
My just Revenge, and too well grounded Hate;
Thy Pompey, Rome, by Ægypts King betraid,
To Cæsar here a Sacrifice was made,
And I thy Walls will never see again,
Till Priest and God be on his Altar slain.
And you dear Ashes aid my just design,
Imprint it deep within this Breast of mine,
And in each Heart, of what I feel, inspire
The like at least, if not so great desire.
But tell me Philip, by what happy way
Could'st thou this Duty to thy Master pay?
To thy Assistance what good Angel came,
Helping to Light the Poor but Pious Flame?
Phil.
Smeard with his Blood, less sensible than he,
And wanting Breath to curse their Cruelty,
Madam, at length I bent my Doubtfull course,
Where the Rough Winds the Waves on Shore did force,
Long did I search in Vain, at last hard by
A Pank of Sand, the loved Corps I spy;
Now it ee'n toucht the Shore, and now again
The wanton Billows threw it to the main,
Thus still he seem'd to be the sport of Fate,
Not freed by Death from Fortunes constant hate;
I staid no longer, but leapt in and bore
The sacred Reliques in my Arms a Shore;
Hard by some pieces of a Wrack there lay,
Such as chance only offer'd in my way,
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The time and place might have afforded less,
And now the Body scarce had felt the Flame,
When to my pious Cares a Partner came;
Cordus a Roman from the Town does stray,
And the kind Heav'n guided his steps that way;
The Headless Trunk when once he did but view,
By the sad marks he straight great Pompey knew;
His Eyes then full of Tears, O thou, he crys,
Whom Fate hath Destind to so high a Prize,
Instead of Punishment which thou mayst fear,
Honour attends thee, and Reward is near;
Cæsar arriv'd does to the World proclame,
Himself Revenger of that sacred Name,
To which in silence thou dost here direct,
The mournfull Tribute of thy last respect;
Cornelia too forc't to this fatal Land,
Thou maist present these Ashes to her Hand,
With Reverence such, the Victor does her treat,
None but the Gods can claim respect so great.
This said, he runs while still the Corps does burn
Back to the Town, and with him brought this Urn,
Where of your Hero now inclos'd doth lie
All that was Mortal, or knew how to Dye.
Cornel.
Such Piety, what e're my Fortune be,
The Gods can never Unrewarded see.
Phil.
Scarce had I entred, when i'th' Crowded street
An Armed Rout I in disorder meet
Hasting unto the Gate, at which their King
Expected was some Greater strength to bring;
Each thinks, though safe, the Roman Sword he feels,
And makes no step, but Cæsar's at his Heels,
He Reeking in their Blood, was in a round
Of Armed Troops, and with his Legions Crown'd,
I'th' midst, Photinus by his Sentence stands,
Yielding his hated Head to th'Hangmans hands,
As soon as in his sight I did appear,
He knew me straight, and bid me to draw near,
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And to his Listning Audience thus spoke,
Ye Reliques of a Hero, whose great Fame
I scarce can Equal with a Conquerours name,
See how the Traitor does to Justice pay
Life, which from you his Treachery took away,
Receive this Sacrifice, and then expect
The Altars we e're long to you erect,
Where greater Victims shall be offer'd. Friend
Thee to Cornelia with this Gift I send,
To her griev'd Heart carry this weak allay,
While to her full Revenge I make my way.
He left me with a Sigh, and having first
Kissed the Urn, bequeath'd it to my trust.
Cornel.
Alas, 'tis no intolerable pain
They feel, who for a Rivals loss complain;
Well may he spend a Sigh upon this Urn,
Whose restless fears to softer pity turn;
Well may he run to his Revenge with haste,
When his own Danger spurrs him on as fast,
Since the Concern he puts on for our Fate,
Both gains him Glory, and secures his State:
But Cæsar's Noble, nor will I suspect
What Grief and Envy justly might Object.
His Rivals Death has ended all their strife,
And this false King conspires against his Life;
His peril Arms him now, and all that's done
On Honours score must not Confus'dly run;
Love too's ingag'd, and Cleopatra draw;
The Sword that seems to favour Pompeys cause;
So many Interests in this Action joyn,
I need not think, that he considers mine;
Yet I'le perswade my Self he Fights for me,
Because I'de do no less, if I were he,
For noble Minds must on themselves reflect,
Their guess at others Meaning to direct.
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Scene the Second.
Cleopatra, Cornelia, Philip, Charmion.Cleop.
I come not here, to interrupt the Course
Of those just Tears your powerfull Griefs inforce;
Madam, I can no more than you neglect
What this Urn justly may from me expect;
Your Hero's Reliques by a pious hand
Restor'd, this duty too from me Command;
Be pleas'd t'admit to these his Funeral Rites
A fellow Mourner whom true Grief invites,
And had my Power been equal to my Will,
This bewail'd Hero had been Living still,
I had preserv'd the Owner of your Heart,
If cruel Heav'n had let me play my part;
Yet if the sight of what it now does send
Could for a while your Sadder thoughts suspend,
If by Revenge your Sorrows might decrease,
I bring you News that cannot fail to please,
If yet you know it not, Photinus's Head.
Cornel.
Yes, Princess, I have heard the Traitor's Dead.
Cleop.
His hastned Suffering makes the more amends.
Cornel.
Perhaps to you, who in that meet your ends.
Cleop.
Wish't for Success to all must pleasant be.
Cornel.
Where Interests differ how can Thoughts agree?
If false Achillas the same Course should run,
Your Vengeance ends when mine is scarce begun.
I Blush to think that to my Hero's Shade,
So poor a Sacrifice as that is made:
No, if in order my Revenge succeed,
Till Cæsar's turn, your Ptolomey must bleed.
I know that Cæsar by your Love inclin'd,
To save him though unworthy has design'd,
But the just Gods will make his Labour vain,
For one deserving neither Life, nor Reign,
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That both may perish by each others Sword;
Then joy once more might be a welcome Guest,
VVhich else for ever is forbid this Breast;
But if my Bolder wishes fly too high,
May your King bleed, if only one must Dye.
Cleop.
The Gods not always give what we expect.
Cornel.
Yet by the Cause we hope for the Effect,
And seldome 'tis the Guilty miss their due.
Cleop.
Though Gods have Justice, they have Mercy too
Cornel.
Yet by the Course they have begun to Chuse,
'Tis not their Clemency they mean to use.
Cleop.
Though Angry once, they often Milder grow.
Cornel.
Our wishes only our Concernment show.
An injur'd VViddow may have other Thoughts,
Than a kind Sister for a Brothers faults;
But when 'tis known what Blood is spilt, you'l see
VVhose Prayers are Juster, and with Heav'n agree.
Here comes Achoreus.
Scene the Third.
Cornelia, Cleopatra, Philip, Charmion, Achoreus.Cleop.
Alas, in's Looks I see
Th'unlucky marks of some ill Angury;
Speak good Achoreus, but without disguise,
Banish my Fears, or else my Joy surprize.
Acho.
VVhen Cæsar first the Horrid Treason knew—
Cleop.
Ah! 'tis not that which I expect from you;
I know he Barricadoed up the Vault,
Through which they hop't to have their Succours brought,
There 'gainst Photinus all his Force he drew,
VVho found the Recompence to Treason due.
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Escapes with ease at the abandon'd Gate,
Him the King follows, whilst Antonius Lands,
To joyn with Cæsar all the Roman Bands;
I doubt not but they've Fought, and by this time
Achillas is Rewarded for his Crime.
Acho.
Madam, Success still waits on Cæsar's Sword.
Cleop.
That's not the business, has he kept his Word?
And is my Brother safe?
Acho.
All he could do
He has perform'd.
Cleop.
That's all I wish to know.
Madam, you see the Gods my Pray'rs have heard.
Cornel.
The Punishment deserv'd, is but Deferr'd.
Cleop.
That now he's Sav'd, declares Heav'n is appeas'd.
Acho.
At least he had been, if himself had pleas'd.
Cleop.
Thy doubtfull Words still hold me in suspence;
Explane at last their ill Agreeing Sense.
Acho.
Neither your Vows, nor Cæsars, and your Care,
Were Arms enough against his High despair;
Madam, he's Dead, yet all those Glories wait
Upon him that can Crown a Princes fate,
Nearer his fall his Virtue more revives,
Changing his Own for many Roman Lives;
To his brave Charge Antonius 'gan to yield,
And our disordered Troops scarce kept the Field,
When Cæsar comes, whose presence never fails
Of doubtfull Chance to turn the Tottering Scales;
There at his Masters feet Achillas fell
The Traitor ne're deserv'd to Dye so well.
Were Arms enough against his High despair;
Madam, he's Dead, yet all those Glories wait
Upon him that can Crown a Princes fate,
Nearer his fall his Virtue more revives,
Changing his Own for many Roman Lives;
To his brave Charge Antonius 'gan to yield,
And our disordered Troops scarce kept the Field,
When Cæsar comes, whose presence never fails
Of doubtfull Chance to turn the Tottering Scales;
There at his Masters feet Achillas fell
The Traitor ne're deserv'd to Dye so well.
Ah! too weak Providence, which cannot free
The Bed of Honour from Adultery,
Cæsar crys out aloud to save the King,
Words which instead of Comfort Terrour bring;
For he suspects that from Design they came,
To keep him for a Scaffolds publique shame,
His swelling Heart with this mistake abus'd,
Seeks for that Death, which every where's refus'd:
Our Ranks he peirces through and through, and shows
What Valour can, when to Despair it grows;
His Bravest men lay Breathless on the ground,
And he himself was now Incompass'd round;
Wearied at length, and out of Breath, he spies
A Vessel near the Shore and thither flies,
After their King the People press so fast,
The Bark o'recharged perishes at last;
Dying in Arms new Glory he receives,
To you a Crown, to Cæsar Conquest leaves,
Who on the place Proclames you Ægyts Queen;
Yet in his Face strange marks of Grief are seen,
He mourns his Fall, though none of his did touch
The Life wherein you are concern'd so much:
But here he comes, who better can relate
His Sense of that Unhappy Princes Fate.
The Bed of Honour from Adultery,
Cæsar crys out aloud to save the King,
Words which instead of Comfort Terrour bring;
For he suspects that from Design they came,
To keep him for a Scaffolds publique shame,
His swelling Heart with this mistake abus'd,
Seeks for that Death, which every where's refus'd:
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What Valour can, when to Despair it grows;
His Bravest men lay Breathless on the ground,
And he himself was now Incompass'd round;
Wearied at length, and out of Breath, he spies
A Vessel near the Shore and thither flies,
After their King the People press so fast,
The Bark o'recharged perishes at last;
Dying in Arms new Glory he receives,
To you a Crown, to Cæsar Conquest leaves,
Who on the place Proclames you Ægyts Queen;
Yet in his Face strange marks of Grief are seen,
He mourns his Fall, though none of his did touch
The Life wherein you are concern'd so much:
But here he comes, who better can relate
His Sense of that Unhappy Princes Fate.
Scene the Fourth.
Cæsar, Cornelia, Cleopatra, Achoreus, &c.Cornel.
Cæsar my Voyage now no more Retard,
The Traitors have receiv'd their full Reward,
Their King against thy Will has suffer'd too,
And my Revenge has nothing here to do;
This barbarous Shore let me no longer View,
Where every Object does my Grief renew,
And with fresh Horrour to my Fancy shows,
The Tragick Scene of my unequall'd Woes;
The Rabble Court thee with their Servile noise,
And thy new Triumph all their Throats imploys,
But what I suffer worse than all the rest,
I am Oblig'd by him, I most Detest;
From this Affront 'tis time to set me free,
And let my Hatred act with Liberty,
Only one favour I may still receive,
And that is all which Honour gives me leave,
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To add to what Expects it in this Urn.
Cæsar.
'Tis fit I should the Head to you restore,
Since you may Claim it on so just a score;
But first let's all the Sacred Rites attend,
Which peacefull Ghosts unto Elizium send;
A stately Pile your Hand and mine shall Light,
Which may the Meanness of the first requite,
And in an Urn more fit for their repose,
The Ashes thus United wee'l inclose,
So shall his quiet Spirit rest in peace,
And by our Pious cares all Passion cease.
This Hand which once my Sword against him Drew,
Shall Build the Altars to his Virtue due,
On which as to the Gods wee'l Incense pay,
And Honours he deserves as well as they;
Let us both this from your Impatience gain,
And for those Duties one Day more obtain,
That done, y' are free, go when you please away,
And this your Treasure to great Rome Convey.
Cornel.
No Cæsar, though I know these Ashes be
As dear to Rome, as they are dear to me,
'Tis only thy Defeat can bring us home,
Without that Triumph we will ne're see Rome;
Over thy Grave our Passage thither lies,
We have no Country, untill Cæsar Dyes,
I am for Africk, where the Warr's begun,
By Cato, Scipio, and my Pompey's Son;
To these King Juba has his Forces sent,
And Fortune her Injustice may repent,
The Reliques of Pharsalia there you'l find,
Another World against your Arms combind;
My self will bring these Ashes to the Field,
And my just Tears shall their Assistance yield,
From Rank to Rank thus Arm'd about I'le go,
And every step shall haste thy Overthrow;
The Souldiers then may lay their Eagles by,
This Urn shall lead them on to Victory,
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And in their Souls a deep Impression make.
To give him his last Honours you pretend,
Honours indeed which on your Self descend,
I must Assist, the Victor I obey,
But never hope to move my Heart this way;
My Helpless loss admits of no relief,
My Hate must be as endless as my Grief,
That and my Life an Equal course shall run,
And end Persuing what I have Begun.
Cæsar.
Nature her Ignorance has here confest,
To place this Spirit in a Womans Breast.
Cornel.
Yet as a Roman I must needs confess,
My Hate prevails not to Esteem thee less,
At once I Praise thee and thy Life persue,
That to thy Virtue, this my Honour due;
Once set at Liberty, I'le use my Art,
T'engage both Men and Gods to take my part,
Those Gods who when our Cause was lately tryd,
So Partial seem'd against the Juster side;
Those Gods that let their Thunder idle lye,
When they saw Pompey for his Country Dye,
In time we hope their Errour they may see,
And to the VVorld repair that Injury;
But though they never mend the Fault they made,
I have a Zeal which does not want their Aid,
And to Destroy thee, if no means prevail,
Here's Cleopatra that can never fail.
I see your Flames, and know her Beauties force,
That you already think of a Divorce,
Your Country's Laws under your Feet you'l tread,
To make your way to an Ægyptians Bed,
Then the free Romans shall attempt your Life,
VVithout all Scruple, when a Queen's your VVise.
In your neglected Friends, you'l hope in vain,
VVho in your Blood will wash their Countrys stain.
Keeping your word, Farewell, for in my stay
Your Love and Ruine find the same Delay.
[Exit.
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Scene the Fifth.
Cleopatra, Cæsar, Achoreus, &c.
Rather than Cæsar's Life expos'd shall be
Unto these Dangers for the Love of me,
I'le Sacrifice my Self to his repose,
And Bless that Death, from whence his Safety grows,
Sure in his Memory of a better Life,
Though too Unworthy to have Liv'd his Wife.
Cæsar.
Madam, when only Vain designs are left,
To such high Spirits of all means bereft,
Nothing their Weakness does so well express,
As Aiming high because they can do less;
Kind Heav'n will make these ill Presages vain,
And my unwonted Fortune mock their pain.
To such high Spirits of all means bereft,
Nothing their Weakness does so well express,
As Aiming high because they can do less;
Kind Heav'n will make these ill Presages vain,
And my unwonted Fortune mock their pain.
Ah! Could my Love as easie Conquest find
Over these Tears, and Calm your Troubled mind,
With such a Lover 'tis no small Disgrace,
The worst of Brothers should dispute the place.
Over these Tears, and Calm your Troubled mind,
With such a Lover 'tis no small Disgrace,
The worst of Brothers should dispute the place.
You may have heard with what Unwearied care
I sought to save him from his last Despair,
My Clemency had so Beset him round,
No way t'avoid it, but his Death was found;
Perhaps h' had Conquer'd, could my Arms but know
Resistance such as to my Love you shew:
Success in Vain, why didst thou with me stay,
Since Cleopatra I could not Obey?
Not justly me, but Heav'n you must accuse,
Which to the Guilty pardon does refuge,
Their Cruelty to him Exalts your Fate,
Now the Sole Mistress of th'Ægyptian state.
I sought to save him from his last Despair,
My Clemency had so Beset him round,
No way t'avoid it, but his Death was found;
Perhaps h' had Conquer'd, could my Arms but know
Resistance such as to my Love you shew:
Success in Vain, why didst thou with me stay,
Since Cleopatra I could not Obey?
Not justly me, but Heav'n you must accuse,
Which to the Guilty pardon does refuge,
Their Cruelty to him Exalts your Fate,
Now the Sole Mistress of th'Ægyptian state.
Cleop.
'Tis true, his Death has plac'd me on the Throne,
And that by no Miscarriage of my own.
While among Mortals here, my Lord, we stay,
Some Cloud will still O'recast our brightest Day.
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I must receive the Conquerour with Tears;
His Fate was just my Reason does perswade,
Yet Nature too must be as well Obey'd;
A secret Murmur in my Soul does rise,
If on his empty Throne I cast my Eyes,
T'ascend it then what pleasure can I take,
When my Blood checks me at each step I make?
Acho.
My Lord, at Gate th'impatient people stand,
And with loud Crys to see their Queen demand,
Accusing those as Authors of their Wrong,
Who such a Blessing do Retard so long.
Cæsar.
Madam, let's go, and with the same success
Begin your Empire and their Happiness,
And now I hope amidst their Loud applause,
Your Sighs will cease Drown'd with that welcome Noise;
And let no Image in your Fancy rest,
Of other Wounds than what are in my Breast;
Mean while a Noble strife I see will Reign,
'Twixt your glad Court and my Ambitious train;
Contending who shall there appear most Gay,
And Glory most in this Triumphant Day,
Such just occasion for them both are found,
Pompey Reveng'd, and Cleopatra Crown'd;
These to your Throne, those to his Altars bow,
And I to both Eternal Honours Vow.
FINIS.
| Pompey the Great | |