 | Cornelia |  |
ACTVS QVINTVS.
The Messenger. Cornelia. Chorus.Messenger.
Vnhappy man, amongst so many wracks
As I haue suffred both by Land and Sea,
That scorneful destinie denyes my death.
Oft haue I seene the ends of mightier men,
Whose coates of steel base Death hath stolne into.
And in thys direful warre before mine eyes,
And endles numbers filling by my side,
Nor those ignoble, but the noblest Lords.
Mongst whom aboue the rest that moues me most,
Scipio (my deerest Maister) is deceas'd.
And Death that sees the Nobles blood so rife,
Full-gorged triumphes, and disdaines my lyfe.
Corn.
We are vndone.
Chor.
Scipio hath lost the day.
But hope the best, and harken to his newes.
Corn.
O cruell fortune.
Mess.
These mis-fortues yet
must I report to sad Cornelia.
Whose ceaseles griefe (which I am sorry for)
Will a grauate my former misery.
Corn.
Wretch that I am, why leaue I not the world?
Or wherefore am I not already dead?
O world, O wretch.
Chor.
Is this th'vndaunted hart
that is required in extremities?
Be more confirmd. And Madam, let not griefe
abuse your wisdom lyke a vulgar wit.
Haply the newes is better then the noyse,
Let's heare him speake.
Corn.
O no, for all is lost.
Farwell deere Father.
Hee is sau'd perhaps.
Mess.
Me thinks I heare my Maisters daughter speake.
What sighes, what sobs, what plaints, what passions
haue we endurde Cornelia for your sake?
Corn.
Where is thine Emperor?
Mess.
Where our Captaines are.
Where are our Legions? Where our men at Armes?
Or where so many of our Romaine soules?
The earth, the sea, the vultures and the Crowes,
Lyons and Beares are theyr best Sepulchers.
Corn.
O miserable.
Chor.
Now I see the heauens,
are heapt with rage and horror gainst this house.
Corn.
O earth, why op'st thou not?
Chor.
Why waile you so?
Assure your selfe that Scipio brauely dyed,
And such a death excels a seruile life.
Say Messenger,
The manner of his end
will haply comfort this your discontent.
Corn.
Discourse the manner of his hard mishap,
And what disastrous accident did breake,
So many people bent so much to fight.
Messenger.
Cæsar, that wisely knewe his souldiers harts,
And their desire to be approou'd in Armes,
And therefore (faintly skyrmishing) in craft,
Lamely they fought, to draw vs further on.
Oft (to prouoke our warie wel-taught troopes)
He would attempt the entrance on our barrs.
Nay, euen our Trenches, to our great disgrace,
And call our souldiers cowards to theyr face.
But when he saw his wiles nor bitter words,
Could draw our Captaines to endanger vs,
Coasting along and following by the foote,
He thought to tyre and wearie vs fro thence.
And got hys willing hosts to march by night,
With heauy Armor on theyr hardned backs,
Downe to the Sea-side; Where before faire Tapsus,
He made his Pyoners (poore weary soules)
The selfe-same day, to dig and cast new Trenches,
And plant strong Barricades. Where he (encampt)
Resolu'd by force to hold vs hard at work.
Scipio, no sooner heard of his designes,
But being afeard to loose so fit a place,
Marcht on the suddaine to the selfe-same Cittie.
Where few men might doe much, which made him see
Of what importance such a Towne would be.
The fields are spred, and as a houshold Campe
Of creeping Emmets, in a Countrey Farme,
That come to forrage when the cold begins:
Couer the earth so thicke, as scarce we tread
But we shall see a thousand of them dead.
Euen so our battails scattred on the sands,
Dyd scoure the plaines in pursuite of the foe.
One while at Tapsus we begin t'entrench,
To ease our Army if it should retyre.
Another while we softly fally foorth.
And wakefull Cæsar that doth watch our being,
(When he perceiues vs marching o're the plaine,)
Doth leape for gladnes. And (to murder vow'd)
Runnes to the Tent for feare we should be gone,
And quickly claps his rustie Armour on.
For true it is, that Cæsar brought at first,
An hoste of men to Affrique, meanely Arm'd,
But such as had braue spirits, and (combatting)
Had powre and wit to make a wretch a King.
Well, forth to field they marched all at once,
Except some fewe that stayd to guard the Trench.
Them Cæsar soone and subt'ly sets in ranke.
And euery Regiment (warn'd with a worde
Brauely to fight for honor of the day.)
He showes that auncient souldiers need not feare,
Them that they had so oft disordered.
Them that already dream'd of death or flight.
That tyer'd, would nere hold out, if once they see
Meane-while our Emperor (at all poynts arm'd)
Whose siluer hayres and honorable front,
Were (warlike) lockt within a plumed caske,
In one hand held his Targe of steele embost,
And in the other graspt his Coutelas:
And with a cheerefull looke surueigh'd the Campe.
Exhorting them to charge, and fight like men,
And to endure what ere betyded them.
For now (quoth he) is come that happie day,
Wherein our Countrey shall approue our loue.
Braue Romains know, this is the day and houre,
That we must all liue free, or friendly die.
For my part (being an auncient Senator,)
An Emperor and Consul, I disdaine
The world should see me to become a slaue.
I'le eyther conquer, or this sword you see,
(Which brightly shone) shall make an end of me.
We fight not we like thieues, for others wealth.
We fight not we t'enlarge our skant confines.
To purchase fame to our posterities,
By stuffing of our tropheies in their houses.
But t'is for publique freedom that we fight,
For Rome we fight, and those that fled for feare.
Nay more, we fight for safetie of our lyues,
Our goods, our honors, and our auncient lawes.
(Due to the victor) thereon ruminate.
Thinke how this day the honorable Dames,
With blubbred eyes, and handes to heauen vprear'd,
Sit inuocating for vs to the Gods,
That they will blesse our holy purposes.
Me thinks I see poore Rome in horror clad,
And aged Senators in sad discourse,
Mourne for our sorrowes and theyr seruitude.
Me thinks I see them (while lamenting thus)
Theyr harts and eyes lye houering ouer vs.
On then braue men, my fellowes and Romes friends,
To shew vs worthy of our auncestors:
And let vs fight with courage and conceite,
That we may rest the Maisters of the field:
That this braue Tyrant valiantly beset,
May perrish in the presse before our faces.
And that his troopes (as tucht wyth lightning flames)
May by our horse, in heapes be ouer-throwne,
And he (blood-thirsting) wallow in his owne.
Thys sayd; His Army crying all at once,
With ioyfull tokens did applaude his speeches.
VVhose swift shrill noyse did pierce into the clowdes,
Lyke Northern windes that beate the horred Alpes.
The clattring Armour buskling as they paced,
Ronge through the Forrests with a frightfull noyse,
When (like a tempest rais'd with whire-winds rage,)
They ranne at euer-each other hand and foote.
Where-with the dust, as with a darksome clowde,
Arose, and ouer-shadowed horse and man.
The Darts and Arrowes on theyr Armour glaunced,
And with theyr fall the trembling earth was shaken.
The ayre (that thickned with theyr thundring cryes,)
With pale wanne clowdes discoloured the Sunne.
The fire in sparks fro forth theyr Armour flew,
And with a duskish yellow, chokt the heauens.
The battels lockt, (with bristle-poynted speares)
Doe at the halfe pyke freely charge each other,
And dash together like two lustie Bulls,
That (iealous of some Heyfar in the Heard,)
Runne head to head, and (sullen) wil not yeeld,
Till dead or fled, the one forsake the field.
The shyuered Launces (ratling in the ayre,)
Fly forth as thicke as moates about the Sunne:
When with theyr swords (flesht with the former fight,)
They hewe their Armour, and they cleaue their casks,
Till streames of blood, like Riuers fill the Downes.
That being infected with the stench thereof
Surcloyes the ground, and of a Champant Land,
Makes it a Quagmire, where (kneedeepe) they stand.
Blood-thirstie Discord, with her snakie hayre,
Runnes crosse the Squadrons with a smokie brand:
And with her murdring whip encourageth
The ouer-forward hands, to bloode and death.
Bellona fiered with a quenchles rage,
Runnes vp and downe, and in the thickest throng,
Cuts, casts the ground, and madding makes a poole,
Which in her rage, free passage doth afford,
That with our blood she may annoynt her sword.
Now we of our side, vrge them to retreate,
And nowe before them, we retyre as fast.
As on the Alpes the sharpe Nor-North-east wind,
Shaking a Pynetree with theyr greatest powre,
One while the top doth almost touch the earth,
And then it riseth with a counterbuffe.
So did the Armies presse and charge each other,
With selfe-same courage, worth and weapons to;
And prodigall of life for libertie,
With burning hate let each at other flie.
Thryce did the Cornets of the souldiers (cleerd,)
Turne to the Standerd to be newe supplyde;
And thrice the best of both was faine to breathe.
And thrice recomforted they brauely ranne,
And fought as freshly as they first beganne.
Like two fierce Lyons fighting in a Desart,
To winne the loue of some faire Lyonesse,
And proou'd each others force sufficient,
Passant regardant softly they retyre.
Theyr iawbones dy'd with foming froth and blood.
Their lungs like spunges, ramm'd within their sides,
Theyr tongues discouerd, and theyr tailes long trailing.
Till iealous rage (engendered with rest,)
Returnes them sharper set then at the first;
And makes them couple when they see theyr prize,
With bristled backs, and fire-sparkling eyes,
Tyll tyer'd or conquer'd, one submits or flyes.
Cæsar, whose kinglike lookes like day-bright starrs,
Both comfort and encourage his to fight,
Marcht through the battaile (laying still about him.)
And subt'ly markt whose hand was happiest.
Who nicely did but dyp his speare in blood,
And who more roughly smear'd it to his fiste.
Who (staggering) fell with euery feeble wound,
And who (more strongly) pac'd it through the thickest,
Him he enflam'd, and spur'd, and fild with horror.
As when Alecto in the lowest hell,
Doth breathe new heate within Orestes brest,
Till out-ward rage with inward griefe begins,
A fresh remembrance of our former sins.
For then (as if prouokt with pricking goades,)
Theyr warlike Armies, (fast lockt foote to foote,)
They fiercely open both Battalions.
Cleaue, breake, and raging tempest-like o're-turne,
What e're makes head to meet them in this humor.
Our men at Armes (in briefe) begin to flye.
And neither prayers, intreatie, nor example
Of any of theyr leaders left aliue,
Had powre to stay them in this strange carrier.
Stragling, as in the faire Calabrian fields,
VVhen Wolues for hunger ranging fro the wood,
Make forth amongst the flock, that scattered flyes
Before the Shepheard, that resistles lyes.
Corn.
O cruell fortune.
Mess.
None resisting now,
the field was fild with all confusion,
of murder, death, and direfull massacres.
The feeble bands that yet were left entyre,
Had more desire to sleepe then seeke for spoyle.
No place was free from sorrow, euery where
Lay Armed men, ore-troden with theyr horses.
Dismembred bodies drowning in theyr blood,
And wretched heapes lie mourning of theyr maimes.
VVhose blood, as from a spunge, or bunche of Grapes
Crusht in a VVine-presse, gusheth out so fast,
As with the sight doth make the sound agast.
And on the earth theyr braines lye trembling.
Here one new wounded, helps another dying.
Here lay an arme, and there a leg lay shiuer'd.
Here horse and man (o're-turnd) for mercy cryde,
With hands exstended to the merciles.
That stopt theyr eares, and would not heare a word,
But put them all (remorceles) to the sword.
He that had hap to scape, doth helpe a fresh,
To re-enforce the side wheron he seru'd.
But seeing that there the murdring Enemie,
Pesle-mesle, pursued them like a storme of hayle,
They gan retyre where Iuba was encampt;
But there had Cæsar eftsoones tyranniz'd.
So that dispayring to defend themselues,
They layd aside theyr Armour, and at last,
Offred to yeeld vnto the enemy.
Whose stony hart, that nere dyd Romaine good,
VVould melt with nothing but theyr deerest blood.
And Scipio my Father,
when he beheld
His people so discomfited and scorn'd.
When he perceiu'd the labour profitles,
To seeke by new encouraging his men,
To come vpon them with a fresh alarme.
And when he saw the enemies pursuite,
And lay them leuell with the charged earth,
Lyke eares of Corne with rage of windie showres,
Their battailes scattred, and their Ensignes taken.
And (to conclude) his men dismayd to see,
The passage choakt with bodies of the dead;
(Incessantly lamenting th'extreame losse,
And souspirable death of so braue souldiers.)
He spurrs his horse, and (breaking through the presse)
Trots to the Hauen, where his ships he finds,
And hopeles trusteth to the trustles windes.
Now had he thought to haue ariu'd in Spayne,
To raise newe forces, and returne to field.
But as one mischiefe drawes another on,
A suddaine tempest takes him by the way,
And casts him vp neere to the Coasts of Hyppon.
Where th'aduerse Nauie sent to scoure the seas,
Did hourely keepe their ordinary course;
Where seeing himselfe at anchor slightly shipt,
Besieg'd, betraide by winde, by land, by sea,
(All raging mad to rig his better Vessels,
The little while this naual conflict lasted,)
Behold his owne was fiercely set vpon.
Which being sore beaten, till it brake agen,
Ended the liues of his best fighting men.
Before the foe, and in theyr Captaines presence
Dye brauely, with their fauchins in their fists.
Then Scipio (that saw his ships through-galled,
And by the foe fulfild with fire and blood,
His people put to sword, Sea, Earth and Hell,
And Heauen it selfe coniur'd to iniure him,)
Stepts to the Poope, and with a princely visage
Looking vpon his weapon dide with blood,
Sighing he sets it to his brest, and said:
Since all our hopes are by the Gods beguil'd,
What refuge now remaines for my distresse,
But thee my deerest nere-deceiuing sword?
Yea, thee my latest fortunes firmest hope.
By whom I am assurde this hap to haue,
That being free borne, I shall not die a slaue.
Scarce had he said, but cruelly resolu'd,
He wrencht it to the pommel through his sides,
That fro the wound the smoky blood ran bubling,
VVhere-with he staggred; And I stept to him
To haue embrac'd him. But he (beeing afraid
T'attend the mercy of his murdring foe,
That stil pursued him and opprest his ships,)
Crawld to the Deck, and lyfe with death to ease,
Headlong he threw himselfe into the seas.
O cruell Gods, O heauen, O direfull Fates,
O radiant Sunne that slightly guildst our dayes,
O night starrs, full of infelicities,
O triple titled Heccat Queene and Goddesse,
Bereaue my lyfe, or lyuing strangle me.
Confound me quick, or let me sinck to hell.
Thrust me fro forth the world, that mongst the spirits
Th'infernall Lakes may ring with my laments.
O miserable, desolate, distresful wretch,
Worne with mishaps, yet in mishaps abounding.
What shall I doe, or whether shall I flye
To venge this out-rage, or reuenge my wrongs?
Come wrathfull Furies with your Ebon locks,
And feede your selues with mine enflamed blood.
Ixions torment, Sysiph's roling stone,
And th'Eagle tyering on Prometheus,
Be my eternall tasks; That th'extreame fire,
Within my hart, may from my hart retyre.
I suffer more, more sorrowes I endure,
Then all the Captiues in th'infernall Court.
O troubled Fate, O fatall misery,
That vnprouoked, deal'st so partiallie.
Or wherein could mine innocence offend you,
When (being but young) I lost my first loue Crassus?
Or wherein did I merrite so much wrong,
To see my second husband Pompey slayne?
But mongst the rest, what horrible offence,
What hatefull thing (vnthought of) haue I done,
That in the midst of this my mournfull state,
Nought but my Fathers death could expiate?
Thy death deere Scipio, Romes eternall losse,
Whose hopefull life preseru'd our happines.
Whose siluer haires encouraged the weake.
Whose resolutions did confirme the rest.
Whose ende, sith it hath ended all my ioyes,
O heauens at least permit, of all these plagues,
That I may finish the Catastrophe.
Sith in this widdow-hood, of all my hopes
I cannot looke for further happines.
For both my husbands and my Father gone,
VVhat haue I els to wreak your wrath vpon.
Now as for happy thee, to whom sweet Death,
Hath giuen blessed rest for lifes bereauing,
O enuious Iulia, in thy iealous hart
Venge not thy wrong vpon Cornelia.
But sacred ghost, appease thine ire, and see
O see mine anguish; Haplie seeing it,
T'will moue compassion in thee of my paines:
And vrge thee (if thy hart be not of flynt,
Or drunck with rigor,) to repent thy selfe;
That thou enflam'dst so cruell a reuenge
In Cæsars hart, vpon so slight a cause.
And mad'st him raise so many mournfull Tombes,
Because thy husband did reuiue the lights
Of thy forsaken bed; (Vnworthely)
Opposing of thy freatfull ielosie,
Gainst his mishap, as it my helpe had bin,
Or as if second marriage were a sin.
VVas neuer Citty where calamitie,
Hath soiour'd with such sorrow as in this.
VVas neuer state wherein the people stood
So careles of their conquered libertie,
And careful of anothers tiranny.
O Gods, that earst of Carthage tooke some care,
Which by our Fathers (pittiles) was spoyl'd.
When thwarting Destinie, at Affrique walls
Did topside turuey turne their Common-wealth.
VVhen forcefull weapons fiercely tooke away,
Their souldiers (sent to nourish vp those warrs.)
VVhen (fierd) their golden Pallaces fell downe.
And sacred Temples quenchlesly enflam'd.
Now is our haples time of hopes expired.
Then satis-fie your selues with this reuenge,
Content to count the ghosts of those great Captains,
Which (conquered) perisht by the Romaine swords.
The Hannons, the Amilears, Asdrubals,
Especially, that proudest Hanniball,
That made the fayre Thrasymene so dezart.
For euen those fields that mour'd to beare their bodies,
Now (loaden) groane to feele the Romaine corses.
Theyr earth we purple ore, and on theyr Tombes
We heape our bodies, equalling theyr ruine.
And as a Scipio did reuerse theyr powre,
They haue a Scipio to reuenge them on.
Weepe therefore Roman Dames, and from henceforth,
Valing your Cristall eyes to your faire bosoms,
Raine showres of greefe vpon your Rose-like cheeks,
And dewe your selues with springtides of your teares.
Weepe Ladies weepe, and with your reeking sighes,
Thicken the passage of the purest clowdes,
And presse the ayre with your continuall plaints.
Beate at your Iuorie breasts, and let your robes
(Defac'd and rent) be witnes of your sorrowes.
And let your haire that wont be wreath'd in tresses,
Careles of Arte, or rich accoustrements.
That with the gold and pearle we vs'd before,
Our mournfull habits may be deckt no more.
Alas what shall I doe? O deere companions,
Shall I, O shall I liue in these laments?
Widdowed of all my hopes, my haps, my husbands,
And last, not least, bereft of my best Father;
And of the ioyes mine auncestors enioy'd,
When they enioy'd their liues and libertie.
And must I liue to see great Pompeys house,
(A house of honour and antiquitie)
Vsurpt in wrong by lawlesse Anthony?
Shall I behold the sumptuous ornaments,
(Which both the world and Fortune heapt on him,)
Adorne and grace his graceles Enemy?
Or see the wealth that Pompey gain'd in warre,
Sold at a pike, and borne away by strangers?
Dye, rather die Cornelia; And (to spare
Thy worthles life that yet must one day perrish,)
Let not those Captains vainlie lie inter'd,
Or Cæsar triumph in thine infamie,
That wert the wife to th'one, and th'others daughter.
But if I die before I haue emtomb'd,
My drowned Father in some Sepulcher,
Shall his poore wandring lymbs lie stil tormented,
Tost with the salte waues of the wasteful Seas?
No louely Father, and my deerest husband,
Cornelia must liue, (though life she hateth)
To make your Tombes, & mourne vpon your hearses.
VVhere (languishing,) my famous faithful teares
May trickling bathe your generous sweet cynders.
And afterward (both wanting strength and moysture,
Fulfilling with my latest sighes and gasps,
The happie vessels that enclose your bones,)
I will surrender my surcharged life.
And (when my soule Earths pryson shall forgoe,)
Encrease the number of the ghosts be-low.
Non prosunt Domino quæ prosunt omnibus; Artes.
Tho: Kyd.
| Cornelia | |