University of Virginia Library

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.