[Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral to which is added A Discourse of Life] [by John Tutchin] |
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CLEOPATRA TO ANTHONY. |
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 | [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral |  |
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CLEOPATRA TO ANTHONY.
The ARGUMENT.
Anthony having lost most of his Men and Arms, is like to be overcome by Cæsar: Ventidius promises his Parthian Army, consisting of Twelve Legions. The Souldiers refuse to fight, because, they say, they only fight for Cleopatra; who was the Cause of Anthony's losing so many Battles. Anthony, drawn by the Importunity of Ventidius, and the Necessity of repairing his Honour on One side; and obliged to stay by the Charms and Soothing of Cleopatra on the Other, is doubtful whether he shall submit to Love or Honour: Resolves, at last, to regain his former Trophies; and gives out, he is going to fight Cæsar. Cleopatra hearing this ill News, sends him the following Letter.
Leave harmless Combats, Love's tumultuous Jarrs?
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On Beds of Steel, than Cleopatra's Breast?
A greater Bliss, my Mars, it cannot be,
To Fight with Cæsar, than to Toy with Me.
But why should I my Counsel thus afford
(My Discontented, and my Angry Lord)
To You? Yet sure, in Justice, you should view
Your dearest Mistress, bid one kind Adieu.
Did you but know the Fears that vex my Mind,
You would, my Lord, you would, you would be kind.
Pensive I lie, depress'd by Ominous Fate;
And all the Ills on the Unhappy wait.
I know Ventidius frowns, and says, That I
Am the Contriver of your Destiny.
I counsel'd you to fight at Sea; you did:
I from the Fight a frightful Woman fled.
Oh! had I been a Man, a Heart like Yours,
I never then had fled from Cæsar's Powers.
I grant all this; yet challenge you to tell,
Did you e're know a Woman love so well?
To me, when Young, my Nurse would often say,
Thy tender Limbs are made for Love and Play.
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And handsom Ladies still presumptuous are:
But my Presumption, surely, none can blame;
Or term my Loving an Ambitious Flame.
No Magick Spells, or Philtre's do I prove,
By which Medea got her Jason's Love.
Our softest Joys no Hydra Serpents yield;
You, with rough Bulls, ne're plough the Flinty Field.
'Tis to my Eyes my fatal Conquest's due;
'Twere they perswaded, and they charmed you.
Yours fixt on Mine for ever seem'd to Live;
Then you were kind, and easie to forgive.
I value not your Wealth, nor your Disdain;
Only return the Love I gave, again.
The Rabble say, I with your Foes accord;
Betray your Country, and betray my Lord:
Witness, ye Gods! how I have kept my Vows;
My plighted Oaths, and all my Faith allows!
Witness ye Scenes of Joy, that we have seen,
That I am True, and still have Constant been!
True to your Bed; Why then should perjur'd Fate
Perswade you, I am false unto the State?
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They to Love's Oracles should pay their due,
And to their Lords be Constant still, and True.
Fie, Anthony! Are these your Vows? You swore
By your dead Sire, whose Image then you bore;
You swore, you did, that I should bear the sway;
Your Heart was mine, and Me you would obey.
Ventidius flatters you with Hopes of Fame;
And says, From War you'll raise a lasting Name:
Bids you take noble War for rusty Peace,
And Fields of Honour for Inglorious Ease:
Feel Juno's Rage, and Jove's important Ire;
His bluest Thunder, and his palest Fire.
But yet, How light does Fame and Honour prove,
Put in the Ballance with immortal Love?
Love, at whose Altars mighty Monarchs fall;
And tender Love ought to bear sway in all.
Let Souldiers Fight, and Tyrants Kings subdue,
And greatly strutt amongst the Martial Crew:
In Conquer'd Fields their Monuments may raise,
And write in Bloody Letters all their Praise:
Heav'ns grant us Peace, and crown with Mirth our Days.
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Than that already you have got, a Queen:
And were I not a Queen, I could despise
Your gawdy Shows, and Roman Gallantries.
I to my Native Splendor could repeat;
For Pageant Pomp does still attend the Great.
'Tis Love that makes me act the Things I do;
Makes me demean my self, to look on You.
I (when in Ægypt) had a Thousand Eyes
Were constant Slaves; for You I all despise.
When I upon the Silver-Cydnos Row'd,
You on the Shoar, How solemnly you bow'd?
I mark't your Motion to the Neighbouring Grove:
It seem'd distracted, all confus'd with Love.
With longing Eyes upon the Shoar you stand,
And press, among the Crowd, to see me land.
I entertain'd your Passion, Lov'd you too;
And, Heaven knows, advanc'd more than my due:
I cherish't all your Love 'twixt Hope and Fear;
For Cleopatra then was Cæsar's Dear:
Yet leaving him, to your Embraces run;
And fondly sought the way to be undone.
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Your self to Dangers, and to Death expose:
Your plighted Oaths, and Faith you bear away;
If Love won't do, then I command you, stay.
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