 | Cornelia |  |
ACTVS TERTIVS.
Cornelia.Chorus.
The cheerefull Cock (the sad nights comforter,)
Wayting vpon the rysing of the Sunne,
Doth sing to see how Cynthia shrinks her horne,
While Clitie takes her progresse to the East.
Where wringing wet with drops of siluer dew,
Her wonted teares of loue she doth renew.
The wandring Swallow with her broken song,
The Country-wench vnto her worke awakes;
While Citherea sighing walks to seeke
Her murdred loue, trans-form'd into a Rose.
Whom (though she see) to crop she kindly feares;
But (kissing) sighes, and dewes hym with her teares.
Sweet teares of loue, remembrancers to tyme.
Tyme past with me that am to teares conuerted,
Whose mournfull passions, dull the mornings ioyes.
Whose sweeter sleepes, are turnd to fearefull dreames.
And whose first fortunes, (fild with all distresse,)
Afford no hope of future happinesse.
But what disastrous or hard accident,
Hath bath'd your blubbred eyes in bitter teares?
That thus consort me in my myserie.
Why doe you beate your brests? why mourne you so?
It grieues me that I know not why you grieue.
Chorus.
O poore Cornelia, haue not we good cause,
For former wrongs to furnish vs with teares?
Cornelia.
O but I feare that Fortune seekes new flawes,
And stil (vnsatisfide) more hatred beares.
Chorus.
Wherein can Fortune further iniure vs,
Now we haue lost our conquered libertie,
Our Common-wealth, our Empyre, and our honors,
Vnder thys cruell Tarquins tyrannie?
Vnder his outrage now are all our goods,
Where scattered they runne by Land and Sea
(Lyke exil'd vs) from fertill Italy,
To proudest Spayne, or poorest Getulie.
Cornelia.
And will the heauens that haue so oft defended
Our Romaine walls, from fury of fierce kings,
Not (once againe) returne our Senators,
That from the Lybique playnes, and Spanish fields,
With feareles harts do guard our Romaine hopes?
Will they not once againe encourage them,
To fill our fields with blood of enemies.
And bring from Affrique to our Capitoll,
Then home-borne houshold gods, and ye good spirits,
To whom in doubtfull things we seeke accesse,
By whom our family, hath beene adorn'd,
And graced with the name of Affrican.
Doe ye vouchsafe that thys victorious title,
Be not expired in Cornelias blood;
And that my Father now (in th'Affrique wars)
The selfe-same style by conquest may continue.
But wretched that I am, alas I feare.
Chorus.
What feare you Madam?
Cornelia.
That the frowning heauens,
Oppose themselues against vs in theyr wrath.
Chorus.
Our losse (I hope) hath satis-fide theyr ire.
Cornelia.
O no, our losse lyfts Cæsars fortunes hyer.
Chorus.
Fortune is fickle.
Cornelia.
But hath fayld him neuer.
Chorus.
The more vnlike she should continue euer.
My fearefull dreames doe my despairs redouble.
Chorus.
Why suffer you vayne dreames your heade to trouble?
Cornelia.
Who is not troubled with strange visions?
Chorus.
That of our spyrit are but illusions.
Cornelia.
God graunt these dreames, to good effect bee brought.
Chorus.
We dreame by night what we by day haue thought.
Cornelia.
The silent Night that long had soiurned,
Now gan to cast her sable mantle off,
And now the sleepie Waine-man softly droue,
His slow-pac'd Teeme, that long had traueled.
When (like a slumber, if you tearme it so)
A dulnes, that disposeth vs to rest,
Gan close the windowes of my watchfull eyes,
Already tyerd and loaden with my teares.
And loe (me thought) came glyding by my bed,
The ghost of Pompey, with a ghastly looke;
All pale and brawne-falne, not in tryumph borne,
Amongst the conquering Romans as we vs'de,
When he (enthroniz'd,) at his feete beheld
But all amaz'd, with fearefull hollow eyes,
Hys hayre and beard, deform'd with blood and sweat,
Casting a thyn course lynsel ore hys shoulders,
That (torne in peeces) trayl'd vpon the ground.
And (gnashing of his teeth) vnlockt his iawes,
Which (slyghtly couer'd with a scarce-seene skyn,)
Thys solemne tale, he sadly did begin.
Sleep'st thou Cornelia? sleepst thou gentle wife,
And seest thy Fathers misery and mine?
Wake deerest sweete, and (ore our Sepulchers)
In pitty show thy latest loue to vs.
Such hap (as ours) attendeth on my sonnes,
The selfe-fame foe and fortune following them.
Send Sextus ouer to some forraine Nation,
Farre from the common hazard of the warrs;
That (being yet sau'd) he may attempt no more,
To venge the valure that is tryde before.
He sayd. And suddainly a trembling horror,
A chyl-cold shyuering (setled in my vaines)
Brake vp my slumber; When I opte my lyps
Three times to cry, but could nor cry, nor speake.
I mou'd mine head, and flonge abroade mine armes
To entertaine him, but his airie spirit,
Beguiled mine embrasements, and (vnkind)
Left me embracing nothing but the wind.
Come visite thee in the Elisian shades?
O deerest life; or when shall sweetest death,
Dissolue the fatall trouble of my daies,
And blesse me with my Pompeys company?
But may my father (O extreame mishap)
And such a number of braue regiments,
Made of so many expert Souldiours,
That lou'd our liberty and follow'd him,
Be so discomfited? O would it were but an illusion.
Cho.
Madam neuer feare.
Nor let a senceles Idol of the nyght,
Encrease a more then needfull feare in you.
Cor.
My feare proceeds not of an idle dreame,
For t'is a trueth that hath astonisht me.
I saw great Pompey, and I heard hym speake;
And thinking to embrace him, opte mine armes,
When drousy sleep that wak'd mee at vnwares,
Dyd with hys flight vnclose my feareful eyes
So suddainly, that yet mee thinks I see him.
Howbe-it I cannot tuch him, for he slides
More swiftly from mee then the Ocean glydes.
Chorus.
“These are vaine thoughts, or melancholie showes,
“That wont to haunt and trace by cloistred tombes:
“To pensiue mindes deceiued, (wyth theyr shadowes)
“They counterfet the dead in voyce and figure;
“Deuining of our future miseries.
“For when our soule the body hath disgaged,
“It seeks the common passage of the dead,
“Downe by the fearefull gates of Acheron.
“Where when it is by Aeacus adiudg'd,
“It eyther turneth to the Stygian Lake,
“Or staies for euer in th'Elisian fields;
“And ne're returneth to the Corse interd;
“To walke by night, or make the wise afeard.
“None but ineuitable conquering Death,
“Descends to hell, with hope to rise againe;
“For ghosts of men are lockt in fiery gates,
“Fast-guarded by a fell remorceles Monster.
“And therefore thinke not it was Pompeys spryte,
“But some false Dæmon that beguild your sight.
Cicero.
Then O worlds Queene, O towne that didst extend
Thy conquering armes beyond the Ocean,
And throngdst thy conquests from the Lybian shores
Downe to the Scithian swift-foote feareles Porters,
Thou art embas'd; and at this instant yeeld'st
Thy proud necke to a miserable yoke.
Rome thou art tam'd, & th'earth dewd with thy bloode
The force of heauen exceeds thy former strength.
For thou that wont'st to tame and conquer all,
Art conquer'd now with an eternall fall.
Now shalt thou march (thy hands fast bound behind thee)
Thy head hung downe, thy cheeks with teares besprent,
Before the victor; Whyle thy rebell sonne,
With crowned front tryumphing followes thee.
Thy brauest Captaines, whose coragious harts
(Ioyn'd with the right) did re-enforce our hopes,
Now murdred lye for Foule to feede vpon.
Petreus, Cato, and Scipio are slaine,
And Iuba that amongst the Mores did raigne.
Nowe you whom both the gods and Fortunes grace,
Hath sau'd from danger in these furious broyles,
Forbeare to tempt the enemy againe,
For feare you feele a third calamitie.
Cæsar is like a brightlie flaming blaze
That fiercely burnes a house already fired;
And ceaseles lanching out on euerie side,
Consumes the more, the more you seeke to quench it,
Still darting sparcles, till it finde a trayne
To seaze vpon, and then it flames amaine.
The men, the Ships, wher-with poore Rome affronts him,
All powreles, giue proud Cæsars wrath free passage.
Nought can resist him, all the powre we raise,
T'is thou (O Rome) that nurc'd his insolence.
T'is thou (O Rome) that gau'st him first the sword
Which murdrer-like against thy selfe he drawes:
And violates both God and Natures lawes.
Lyke morrall Esops mysled Country swaine,
That fownd a Serpent pyning in the snowe,
And full of foolish pitty tooke it vp,
And kindly layd it by his houshold fire,
Till (waxen warme) it nimbly gan to styr,
And stung to death the foole that fostred her.
O gods that once had care of these our walls,
And feareles kept vs from th'assault of foes.
Great Iupiter, to whom our Capitol
So many Oxen yeerely sacrafiz'd.
Minerua, Stator, and stoute Thracian Mars,
Father to good Quirinus our first founder.
To what intent haue ye preseru'd our Towne?
This statelie Towne so often hazarded,
Against the Samnites, Sabins, and fierce Latins?
Why from once footing in our Fortresses,
Haue yee repeld the lustie warlike Gaules?
Why from Molossus and false Hanibal,
Haue yee reseru'd the noble Romulists?
Or why from Catlins lewde conspiracies,
Preseru'd yee Rome by my preuention?
Into the bondage where (enthrald) we pine?
To serue (no stranger, but amongst vs) one
That with blind frenzie buildeth vp his throne?
But it in vs be any vigor resting,
If yet our harts retaine one drop of blood,
Cæsar thou shalt not vaunt thy conquest long,
Nor longer hold vs in this seruitude.
Nor shalt thou bathe thee longer in our blood.
For I diuine that thou must vomit it,
Like to a Curre that Carrion hath deuour'd,
And cannot rest vntill his mawe be scour'd.
Think'st thou to signiorize, or be the King
Of such a number, nobler then thy selfe?
Or think'st thou Romains beare such bastard harts,
To let thy tyrannie be vnreueng'd?
No, for mee thinks I see the shame, the griefe,
The rage, the hatred that they haue conceiu'd:
And many a Romaine sword already drawne,
T'enlarge the libertie that thou vsurpst.
And thy dismembred body (stab'd and torne,)
Dragd through the streets, disdained to bee borne.
Phillip.
Cornelia.
Amongst the rest of mine extreame mishaps,
I finde my fortune not the least in this,
Both in his life and at hys latest houre.
Pompey the great, whom I haue honored,
With true deuotion both aliue and dead.
One selfe-same shyp containd vs when I saw
The murdring Egiptians bereaue his lyfe;
And when the man that had afright the earth,
Did homage to it with his deerest blood.
O're whom I shed full many a bitter teare,
And did performe hys obsequies with sighes:
And on the strond vpon the Riuer side,
(Where to my sighes the waters seem'd to turne)
I woaue a Coffyn for his corse of Seggs,
That with the winde dyd waue like bannerets.
And layd his body to be burn'd thereon.
Which when it was consum'd I kindly tooke,
And sadly cloz'd within an earthen Vrne
The ashie reliques of his haples bones.
Which hauing scapt the rage of wind and Sea,
I bring to faire Cornelia to interr
Within his Elders Tombe that honoured her.
Cornelia.
Ayh-me, what see I?
Phil.
Pompeys tender bones,
which (in extreames) an earthen. Vrne containeth.
Corn.
O sweet, deere, deplorable cynders,
O myserable woman, lyuing dying.
Why liu'st thou toyl'd, that (dead) mightst lye at rest?
O faithles hands that vnder cloake of loue,
Did entertaine him, to torment him so.
O barbarous, inhumaine, hatefull traytors,
Thys your disloyall dealing hath defam'd
Your King, and his inhospitable seate,
Of the extreamest and most odious cryme,
That gainst the heauens might bee imagined.
For yee haue basely broke the Law of Armes,
And out-rag'd ouer an afflicted soule;
Murdred a man that did submit himselfe,
And iniur'd him that euer vs'd you kindly.
For which misdeed, be Egipt pestered,
With battaile, famine, and perpetuall plagues.
Let Aspies, Serpents, Snakes, and Lybian Beares,
Tygers, and Lyons, breed with you for euer.
And let fayre Nylus (wont to nurse your Corne)
Couer your Land with Toades and Crocadils,
That may infect, deuoure and murder you.
Els earth make way, and hell receiue them quicke.
A hatefull race, mongst whom there dooth abide
All treason, luxurie, and homicide.
Phillip.
Cease these laments.
Corn.
I doe but what I ought
to mourne his death:
Phil.
Alas that profits nought.
Will heauen let treason be vnpunished?
Phil.
Heauens will performe what they haue promised.
Cor.
I feare the heauens will not heare our prayer.
Phil.
The plaints of men opprest, doe pierce the ayre.
Cor.
Yet Cæsar liueth still.
Phil.
“Due punishment
“Succeedes not alwaies after an offence.
“For oftentimes t'is for our chastisement
“That heauen doth with wicked men dispence.
“That when they list, they may with vsurie,
“For all misdeeds pay home the penaltie.
Cor.
This is the hope that feeds my haples daies,
Els had my life beene long agoe expired.
I trust the gods that see our hourely wrongs,
Will fire his shamefull bodie with their flames.
Except some man (resolued) shall conclude,
With Cæsars death to end our seruitude.
Els (god to fore) my selfe may liue to see,
His tired corse lye toyling in his blood:
Gor'd wit a thousand stabs, and round about,
The wronged people leape for inward ioy.
And then come Murder, then come vglie Death,
The Lethe open thine infernall Lake,
Ile downe with ioy: because before I died,
Mine eyes haue seene what I in hart desir'd.
Pompey may not reuiue, (and Pompey dead)
Let me but see the murdrer murdered.
Cæsar bewail'd his death.
Corn.
His death hee mournd,
whom while hee lyu'd, to lyue lyke him hee scorne.
Phil.
Hee punished his murdrers.
Corn.
Who murdred hym
but hee that followd Pompey with the sword?
He murdred Pompey that pursu'd his death,
And cast the plot to catch him in the trap.
He that of his departure tooke the spoyle,
Whose fell ambition (founded first in blood)
By nought but Pompeys lyfe could be with-stood.
Phil.
Photis and false Achillas he beheadded.
Corn.
That was, because that Pompey being theyr freend,
they had determin'd once of Cæsars end.
Phil.
What got he by his death?
Cor.
Supremacie.
Phil.
Yet Cæsar speakes of Pompey honourablie.
Corn.
Words are but winde, nor meant he what he spoke.
Phil.
He will not let his statues be broke.
Cor.
By which disguise (what ere he doth pretend)
His owne from beeing broke he doth defend.
And by the traynes where-with he vs allures,
His owne estate more firmely he assures.
Phil.
He tooke no pleasure in his death you see.
Corn.
Because hymselfe of life did not bereaue him.
Phil.
Nay, he was mou'd with former amitie.
He neuer trusted him but to deceiue him.
But, had he lou'd him with a loue vnfained,
Yet had it beene a vaine and trustlesse league;
“For there is nothing in the soule of man
“So firmely grounded, as can qualifie,
“Th'inextinguible thyrst of signiorie.
“Not heauens feare, nor Countries sacred loue,
“Not auncient lawes, nor nuptiall chast desire,
“Respect of blood, or (that which most should moue,)
“The inward zeale that Nature doth require:
“All these, nor any thing we can deuise,
“Can stoope the hart resolu'd to tyrannize.
Phil.
I feare your griefes increase with thys discourse.
Corn.
My griefes are such, as hardly can be worse.
Phil.
“Tyme calmeth all things.
Corn.
No tyme quallifies
my dolefull spyrits endles myseries.
My griefe is lyke a Rock, whence (ceaseles) strayne
Fresh springs of water at my weeping eyes:
Still fed by thoughts, lyke floods with winters rayne.
For when to ease th'oppression of my hart,
I breathe an Autumne forth of fiery sighes,
Yet herewithall my passion neither dyes,
Nor dryes the heate the moysture of mine eyes.
Phil.
Can nothing then recure these endlesse teares?
Corn.
Yes, newes of Cæsars death that medcyn beares.
Madam, beware, for should hee heare of thys,
his wrath against you t'will exasperate.
Corn.
I neither stand in feare of him nor his.
Phil.
T'is pollicie to feare a powrefull hate.
Corn.
What can he doe?
Phil.
Madam what cannot men
that haue the powre to doe what pleaseth them?
Corn.
He can doe mee no mischiefe that I dread.
Phil.
Yes, cause your death.
Corn.
Thrise happy were I dead.
Phil.
With rigorous torments.
Corn.
Let him torture mee.
Pull me in peeces, famish, fire mee vp,
Fling mee aliue into a Lyons denn:
There is no death so hard torments mee so,
As his extreame tryumphing in our woe.
But if he will torment me, let him then
Depriue me wholy of the hope of death;
For I had died before the fall of Rome,
And slept with Pompey in the peacefull deepes,
Saue that I lyue in hope to see ere long,
That Cæsars death shall satisfie his wrong.
CHORVS.
“ Fortune in powre imperious,
“Vs'd ore the world and worldlings thus
“to tirannize,
“away shee flies.
“Her feete more swift then is the winde,
“Are more inconstant in their kinde
“then Autumne blasts,
“A womans shape, a womans minde,
“that sildom lasts.
“One while shee bends her angry browe,
“And of no labour will allow.
“Another while,
“She fleres againe, I know not how,
“still to beguile.
“Fickle in our aduersities,
“And fickle when our fortunes rise,
“shee scoffs at vs:
“That (blynd herselfe) can bleare our eyes,
“to trust her thus.
“The Sunne that lends the earth his light,
“Behelde her neuer ouer night
“lye calmely downe,
“But in the morrow following, might
“perceiue her frowne.
“Shee hath not onely power and will,
“T'abuse the vulgar wanting skill,
“but when shee list,
“To Kings and Clownes doth equall ill.
“Mischaunce that euery man abhors,
“And cares for crowned Emperors
“shee doth reserue,
“As for the poorest labourers
“that worke or starue.
“The Merchant that for priuate gaine,
“Doth send his Ships to passe the maine,
“vpon the shore,
“In hope he shall his wish obtaine,
“doth thee adore.
“Vpon the sea, or on the Land,
“VVhere health or wealth, or vines doe stand,
“thou canst doe much,
“And often helpst the helples hande,
“thy power is such.
“And many times (dispos'd to iest)
“Gainst one whose power and cause is best,
“(thy power to try,)
“To him that n'ere put speare in rest
“giu'st victory.
“For so the Lybian Monarchy,
“That with Ausonian blood did die
“our warlike field,
“To one that n'ere got victorie,
“was vrg'd to yeelde.
“That dyd the Latin state defend
“from Cymbrian rage,
“Did proue thy furie in the end
“which nought could swage.
“And Pompey whose dayes haply led,
“So long thou seem'dst t'haue fauoured,
“in vaine t'is sayd
“VVhen the Pharsalian field be led
“implor'd thine ayde.
“Now Cæsar swolne with honors heate,
“Sits signiorizing in her seate,
“and will not see,
“That Fortune can her hopes defeate
“what e're they be.
“From chaunce is nothing franchized.
“And till the time that they are dead,
“is no man blest.
“He onely that no death doth dread,
“doth liue at rest.
| Cornelia | |