 | Cornelia |  |
ACTVS SECVNDVS.
Cornelia.Cicero.
And wil ye needs bedew my dead-grown ioyes,
And nourish sorrow with eternal teares?
O eyes, and will yee (cause I cannot dry
Your ceaselesse springs) not suffer me to die?
Then make the blood fro forth my branch-like vaines,
Lyke weeping Riuers trickle by your vaults;
And spunge my bodies heate of moisture so,
As my displeased soule may shunne my hart.
Heauens let me dye, and let the Destinies,
Admit me passage to th'infernall Lake;
That my poore ghost, may rest where powerfull fate,
In Deaths sad kingdom hath my husband lodg'd.
Fayne would I die, but darksome vgly Death,
With-holds his darte, and in disdaine doth flye me,
Malitiously knowing that hels horror,
Is mylder then mine endles discontent.
And that if Death vpon my life should seaze,
The payne supposed would procure mine ease.
Of dead-sad Night, where sinnes doe maske vnseene:
You that amongst the darksome mansions
Of pyning ghosts, twixt sighes, and sobs and teares,
Do exercise your mirthlesse Empory.
Yee gods (at whose arbitrament all stand,)
Dislodge my soule, and keepe it with your selues,
For I am more then halfe your prysoner.
My noble husbands (more then noble soules,)
Already wander vnder your commaunds.
O then shall wretched I, that am but one,
(Yet once both theyrs,) suruiue now they are gone?
Alas thou shouldst, thou shouldst Cornelia,
Haue broke the sacred thred that tyde thee heere,
When as thy husband Crassus (in his flowre)
Did first beare Armes, and bare away my loue.
And not (as thou hast done) goe break the bands,
By calling Hymen once more back againe.
Lesse haples, and more worthily thou might'st,
Haue made thine auncesters and thee renound:
If (like a royall Dame) with faith fast kept,
Thou with thy former husbands death hadst slept.
But partiall Fortune, and the powerful Fates,
That at their pleasures wield our purposes,
Bewitcht my life, and did beguile my loue.
Pompey, the fame that ranne of thy frayle honors,
T'attend thy mercy in this morneful state?
Alas and here-withall, what holpe it thee,
That euen in all the corners of the earth,
Thy wandring glory, was so greatly knowne?
And the Rome saw thee while thou tryumph'dst thrice
O're three parts of the world that thou hadst yok'd?
That Neptune weltring on the windie playnes,
Escapt not free fro thy victorious hands?
Since thy hard hap, since thy fierce destinie,
(Enuious of all thine honors) gaue thee mee.
By whom the former course of thy faire deeds,
Might (with a byting brydle) bee restraind;
By whom the glorie of thy conquests got,
Might die disgrac'd with mine unhappines.
O haples wife, thus ominous to all,
Worse then Megera, worse then any plague.
What foule infernall, or what stranger hell,
Hence-forth wilt thou inhabite, where thy hap,
None others hopes, with mischiefe may entrap.
Cicero.
What end (O race of Scipio,) will the Fates
Afford your teares? Will that day neuer come
That your desastrous griefes shall turne to ioy,
And we haue time to burie our annoy?
Ne're shall I see that day, for Heauen and Time,
Haue faild in power to calme my passion.
Nor can they (should they pittie my complaints)
Once ease my life, but with the pangs of death.
Cicero.
“The wide worlds accidents are apt to change.
“And tickle Fortune staies not in a place.
“But (like the Clowdes) continuallie doth range,
“Or like the Sunne that hath the Night in chace.
“Then as the Heauens (by whom our hopes are guided)
“Doe coast the Earth with an eternall course,
“We must not thinke a miserie betided,
“Will neuer cease, but still grow worse and worse.
“When The Winter's past, then comes the spring,
“Whom Sommers pride (with sultrie heate) pursues;
“To whom mylde Autumne doth earths treasure bring,
“The sweetest season that the wife can chuse.
“Heauens influence was nere so constant yet,
“In good or bad as to continue it.
When I was young, I saw against poore Sylla,
Proud Cynna, Marius, and Carbo flesh'd,
So long, till they gan tiranize the Towne,
And spilt such store of blood in euery street,
As there were none but dead-men to be seene.
Within a while, I saw how Fortune plaid,
From my first husband stole my faithles griefe.
But if (as some belieue) in heauen or hell,
Be heauenly powers, or infernall spirits,
That care to be aueng'd of Louers othes;
Oathes made in marriage, and after broke.
Those powers, those spirits (mou'd with my light faith,)
Are now displeas'd with Pompey and my selfe.
And doe with ciuill discord (furthering it)
Vntye the bands, that sacred Hymen knyt.
Els onely I, am cause of both theyr wraths,
And of the sinne that ceeleth vp thine eyes;
Thyne eyes (O deplorable Pompey) I am shee,
I am that plague, that sacks thy house and thee.
For t'is not heauen, nor Crassus (cause hee sees
That I am thine) in iealosie pursues vs.
No, t'is a secrete crosse, and vnknowne thing,
That I receiu'd, from heauen at my birth,
That I should heape misfortunes on theyr head,
Whom once I had receiu'd in marriage bed.
Then yee the noble Romulists that rest,
Hence-forth forbeare to seeke my murdring loue,
And let theyr double losse that held me deere,
Byd you beware for feare you be beguild.
Ye may be ritch and great in Fortunes grace,
And all your hopes with hap may be effected,
Clowdes of aduersitie will couer you.
So (pestilently) fraught with change of plagues,
Is mine infected bosome from my youth.
Like poyson that (once lighting in the body)
No sooner tutcheth then it taints the blood;
One while the hart, another while the liuer,
(According to th'encountring passages)
Nor spareth it what purely feeds the hart,
More then the most infected filthiest part.
Pompey what holpe it thee, (say deerest life,)
Tell mee what holpe thy warlike valiant minde
T'encounter with the least of my mishaps?
What holpe it thee that vnder thy commaund
Thou saw'st the trembling earth with horror mazed?
Or (where the sunne forsakes th'Ocean sea,)
Or (watereth his Coursers in the West)
T'haue made thy name be farre mor fam'd and feard,
Then Summers thunder to the silly Heard?
What holpe it, that thou saw'st when thou wert young,
Thy Helmet deckt with coronets of Bayes?
So many enemies in battaile ranged?
Beate backe like flyes before a storme of hayle?
T'haue lookt a-skance and see so many Kings
To lay their Crownes and Scepters at thy feete?
Who lost theyr liues, and power at once by one,
That (to reuenge himselfe) did (with his blade)
Commit more murther then Rome euer made.
Yet Sylla, shaking tyrannie aside,
Return'd due honors to our Common-wealth,
Which peaceably retain'd her auncient state,
Growne great without the strife of Cittizens.
Till thys ambitious Tyrants time, that toyld
To stoope the world, and Rome to his desires.
But flattring Chaunce that trayn'd his first designes,
May change her lookes, and giue the Tyrant ouer,
Leauing our Cittie, where so long agoe,
Heauens did theyr fauors lauishly bestow.
Cornelia.
T'is true, the Heauens (at least-wise if they please)
May giue poore Rome her former libertie.
But (though they would,) I know they cannot giue
A second life to Pompey, that is slaine.
Cicero.
Mourne not for Pompey, Pompey could not die
A better death, then for his Countries weale.
For oft he search't amongst the fierce allarms,
But (wishing) could not find so faire an end;
Till fraught with yeeres, and honor both at once,
Hee gaue his bodie (as a Barricade)
Brauely he died, and (haplie) takes it ill,
That (enuious) we repine at heauens will.
Cornelia.
Alas, my sorrow would be so much lesse,
If he had died (his fauchin in his fist.)
Had hee amidst huge troopes of Armed men
Beene wounded, by another any waie,
It would haue calmed many of my sighes.
For why, t'haue seene his noble Roman blood
Mixt with his enemies, had done him good.
But hee is dead, (O heauens) not dead in fight,
With pike in hand vpon a Forte besieg'd
Defending of a breach, but basely slaine:
Slaine trayterouslie, without assault in warre.
Yea, slaine he is, and bitter chaunce decreed
To haue me there, to see this bloody deed.
I saw him, I was there, and in mine armes
He almost felt the poygnard when he fell.
Whearat, my blood stopt in my stragling vaines,
Mine haire grew bristled, like a thornie groue:
My voyce lay hid, halfe dead within my throate.
My frightfull hart (stund in my stone-cold breast)
Faintlie redoubled eu'ry feeble stroke.
My spirite (chained with impatient rage,)
Did rauing striue to breake the prison ope,
In solitary Lethes sleepie tyde.
Thrice (to absent me from thys hatefull light,)
I would haue plund'd my body in the Sea.
And thrice detaind, with dolefull shreeks and cryes,
(With armes to heauen vprea'd) I gan exclaime
And bellow forth against the Gods themselues,
A bedroll of outragious blasphemies.
Till (griefe to heare, and hell for me to speake,)
My woes waxt stronger, and my selfe grew weake.
Thus day and night I toyle in discontent,
And sleeping wake, when sleepe it selfe that rydes
Vpon the mysts, scarce moysteneth mine eyes.
Sorrow consumes mee, and in steed of rest,
With folded armes I sadly sitte and weepe.
And if I winck, it is for feare to see,
The fearefull dreames effects that trouble mee.
O heauens, what shall I doe? alas must I,
Must I my selfe, be murderer of my selfe?
Must I my selfe be forc'd to ope the way,
Whereat my soule in wounds may sally forth?
Cicero.
Madam, you must not thus transpose your selfe.
VVe see your sorrow, but who sorrowes not?
The griefe is common. And I muse, besides
The seruitude that causeth all our cares,
Besides the losse of good men dead and gone,
What one he is that in this broile hath bin
And mourneth not for some man of his kin?
Cornelia.
If all the world were in the like distresse,
My sorrow yet would neuer seeme the lesse.
Cicero.
“O, but men beare mis-fortunes with more ease,
“The more indifferently that they fall,
“And nothing more (in vprores) men can please,
“Then when they see their woes not worst of all.
Cornelia.
“Our friendes mis-fortune dooth increase our owne.
Cicero.
“But ours of others will not be acknowne.
Cornelia.
“Yet one mans sorrow will another tutch.
Cicero.
“I when himselfe will entertaine none such.
Cornelia.
“Anothers teares, draw teares fro forth our eyes.
Cicero.
“And choyce of streames the greatest Riuer dryes.
Cornelia.
VVhen sand within a VVhirle-poole lyes vnwet,
Cicero.
What boote your teares, or what auailes your sorrow
Against th'ineuitable dart of Death?
Thinke you to moue with lamentable plaints
Persiphone, or Plutos gastlie spirits,
To make him liue that's locked in his tombe,
And wandreth in the Center of the earth?
“No, no, Cornelia, Caron takes not paine,
“To ferry those that must be fetcht againe.
Cornelia.
Proserpina indeed neglects my plaints,
And hell it selfe is deafe to my laments;
Vnprofitably should I waste my teares,
If ouer Pompey I should weepe to death;
With hope to haue him be reuiu'd by them.
Weeping auailes not, therefore doe I weepe.
Great losses, greatly are to be depror'd,
The losse is great that cannot be restor'd.
Cicero.
“Nought is immortall vnderneath the Sunne,
“All things are subiect to Deaths tiranny:
“Both Clownes & Kings one selfe-same course must run
“And what-soeuer liues, is sure to die.
Then wherefore mourne you for your husbands death
Sith being a man, he was ordain'd to die?
No more then wretched we their death could scape.
Braue Scipio, your famous auncestor,
That Romes high worth to Affrique did extend;
And those two Scipios (that in person fought,
Before the fearefull Carthagenian walls,)
Both brothers, and both warrs fierce lightning fiers;
Are they not dead? Yes, and their death (our dearth)
Hath hid them both embowel'd in the earth.
And those great Citties, whose foundations reacht
From deepest hell, and with their tops tucht heauen:
Whose loftie Towers, (like thorny-pointed speares)
Whose Temples, Pallaces, and walls embost,
In power and force, and fiercenes, seem'd to threat
The tyred world, that trembled with their waight;
In one daies space (to our eternall mones)
Haue we not seene them turn'd to heapes of stones?
Carthage can witnes, and thou heauens hand-work
Faire Ilium, razed by the conquering Greekes;
Whose auncient beautie, worth and weapons, seem'd
Sufficient t'haue tam'd the Mermidons.
“But whatso'ere hath been begun, must end.
“Death (haply that our willingnes doth see)
“With brandisht dart, doth make the passage free;
“And timeles doth our soules to Pluto send.
Would Death had steept his date in Lerna-s blood,
That I were drown'd in the Tartarean deepes.
I am an offring fit for Acheron.
A match more equall neuer could be made,
Then I, and Pompey, in th'Elisian shade.
Cicero.
“Death's alwaies ready, and our time is knowne
“To be at heauens dispose, and not our owne.
Cornelia.
Can wee be ouer-hastie to good hap?
Cicero.
What good expect wee in a fiery gap?
Cornelia.
To scape the feares that followes Fortunes glaunces.
Cicero.
“A noble minde doth neuer feare mischaunces.
Cornelia.
“A noble minde disdaineth seruitude.
Cicero.
Can bondage true nobility exclude?
Cornelia.
How if I doe, or suffer that I would not?
Cicero.
“True noblesse neuer doth the thing it should not.
Then must I dye.
Cicero.
Yet dying thinke this stil;
“No feare of death should force vs to doe ill.
Cornelia.
If death be such, why is your feare so rife?
Cicero.
My works will shew I neuer feard my life.
Cornelia.
And yet you will not that (in our distresse,)
We aske Deaths ayde to end lifes wretchednes.
Cicero.
“We neither ought to vrge nor aske a thing,
“VVherein we see so much assuraunce lyes.
“But if perhaps some fierce offended King,
“(To fright vs) sette pale death before our eyes,
“To force vs doe that goes against our hart;
“T'were more then base in vs to dread his dart.
“But when for feare of an ensuing ill,
“We seeke to shorten our appointed race,
“Then t'is (for feare) that we our selues doe kill,
“So fond we are to feare the worlds disgrace.
Cornelia.
T'is not for frailtie or faint cowardize,
That men (to shunne mischaunces) seeke for death.
Of certaine courage, gainst incertaine chaunce.
“He that retyres not at the threats of death,
“Is not as are the vulgar, slightly faied.
“For heauen it selfe, nor hels infectious breath,
“The resolute at any time haue stayed.
“And (sooth to say) why feare we when we see,
“The thing we feare, lesse then the feare to be.
Then let me die my libertie to saue,
For t'is a death to lyue a Tyrants slaue.
Cicero.
Daughter, beware how you prouoke the heauens,
Which in our bodies (as a tower of strength)
Haue plac'd our soules, and fortefide the same;
As discreet Princes sette theyr Garrisons,
In strongest places of theyr Prouinces.
“Now, as it is not lawfull for a man,
“At such a Kings departure or decease,
“To leaue the place, and falsefie his faith,
“So in this case, we ought not to surrender
“That deerer part, till heauen it selfe commaund it.
“For as they lent vs life to doe vs pleasure,
“So looke they for returne of such a treasure.
“ What e're the massie Earth hath fraight,
“Or on her nurse-like backe sustaines,
“Vpon the will of Heauen doth waite,
“And doth no more then it ordaynes.
“All fortunes, all felicities,
“Vpon their motion doe depend.
“And from the starres doth still arise,
“Both their beginning and their end.
“The Monarchies that couer all
“This earthly round with Maiestie,
“Haue both theyr rising and theyr fall,
“From heauen and heauens varietie.
“Fraile men, or mans more fraile defence,
“Had neuer power, to practise stayes
“Of this celestiall influence,
“That gouerneth and guides our dayes.
“No clowde but will be ouer-cast.
“And what now florisheth, must fade.
“And that that fades, reuiue at last,
“To florish as it first was made.
“The formes of things doe neuer die,
“because the matter that remaines,
“Reformes another thing thereby,
“That still the former shape retaines.
“(so they with equall pace be aim'd,)
“Showes their beginning by their last,
“which by old nature is new-fram'd.
“So peopled citties that of yore
“were desert fields where none would byde,
“Become forsaken as before,
“yet after are re-edified.
Perceiue we not a petty vaine,
cut from a spring by chaunce or arte,
Engendreth fountaines, whence againe,
those fountaines doe to floods conuart?
Those floods to waues, those waues to seas,
that oft exceede their wonted bounds:
And yet those seas (as heauens please)
returne to springs by vnder-grounds.
Euen so our cittie (in her prime)
prescribing Princes euery thing,
Is now subdu'de by conquering Time:
and liueth subiect to a King.
And yet perhaps the sun-bright crowne,
that now the Tyrans head doth deck,
May turne to Rome with true renoune,
If fortune chaunce but once to check.
The stately walls that once were rear'd,
and by a shephards hands erect,
shall show by whom they were infect.
And once more vniust Tarquins frowne,
(with arrogance and rage enflam'd)
Shall keepe the Romaine valure downe;
and Rome it selfe a while be tam'd.
And chastest Lucrece once againe,
(because her name dishonored stood)
Shall by herselfe be carelesse slaine,
and make a riuer of her blood;
Scorning her soule a seate should builde
within a body, basely seene.
By shameles rape to be defilde,
that earst was cleere as heauens Queene.
But heauens as tyrannie shall yoke
our basterd harts, with seruile thrall;
So grant your plagues (which they prouoke,)
may light vpon them once for all.
And let another Brutus rise,
brauely to fight in Romes defence,
To free our Towne from tyrannie,
and tyrannous proud insolence.
| Cornelia | |