University of Virginia Library

Act. 4.

Scene 1.

Adrastus,
Croesus, Chorus.
Can Heaven behold one stand to staine these times,
Yet to the Stygian streames not headlong hurld?
And can th'arth beare one burden'd with such crimes,
As may provoke the wrath of all the world?
Why sends not Iove, to have my course confin'd,
A death-denouncing flash of rumbling Thunder?
Else (roaring terrour) clouds of circling winde,
By violence to teare me all a sunder?
What corner yet unknowne from men remoov'd,
Both burn'd with rage, and freezing in despayre,
Shall I goe now possesse, to be approv'd,
Where none but monsters like my selfe repaire?
I'le goe indeede whom all the world detests,
Who have no intrest in the fields of blisse,
And barbarize amongst the brutish beasts,
Where Tigers rage, Toades spue, and Serpents hisse:
But though in some vast Zone, I finde a field,
Where melancholy might a monarch be,
Whilst silent deserts not one person yeeld
To shrinke for horrour, when beholding me;
Yet of my deeds which all the world doe tell,
This cannot raze the still proclaimed Scroule,
Since in my brest I beare about my hell,
And cannot scape the terrours of my soule.
Those fearfull Monsters of confus'd aspects,
Chimæra, Gorgon, Hydra, Pluto's Apes,
Which in the world wrought wonderfull effects,
And borrow'd from th'infernall shades their shapes,
Their devillish formes which did the world amaze,
Not halfe so monstrous as my selfe I finde,
When on mine owne deformities I gaze,
Amid'st blacke depths of a polluted minde;
No, but my minde untainted still remaines,
My thoughts in this delict have had no part,
Which but by accident this foule fact staines,
My hands had no commission from my heart;
Yet, whether it was fortune, or my fate,
Or some Hel-hag, that did direct my arme,
The Lydians plague, I have undone this State,
And am the instrument of all their harme:
Then mountaines fall, and bruise me by your rounds,
Your heights may hide me from the wrath of Heaven;
But this not needes, since mee my fault confounds:
With my offence no torment can be eaven.
Ah! of what desert shall I now make choice,
To flie the count'nance of an angry King?
I know the venging sword of Crœsus voice,
To wound my soule, hostes of rebukes doth bring;
The patterne of distresse, I'le stand alone,
A memorable monster of mishap;
For, though Pandora's plagues were all in one,
All were too few, so vile a wretch to trap.

Cho.
O how the king is mov'd at Atis death!
His face the portrait of a passion beares,
With bended eyes, crost armes, and quivering breath,
His Princely robe he desperately teares;
Loe, with a silent pittie-pleading looke,
Which shewes with sorrow mixt a high disdaine,
He (whilst his soule seemes to dissolve in smoke)
Straies twixt the corpes, and him who hath it slaine.

Crœ.
Thou ruthlesse tyrant ruine of my blisse,
And didst thou so disguise thy devillish nature,
To recompence my curtesies with this?
Ah cruell wretch, abominable creature!
Thy Tigrish mind what wit could well detect,
In mortall brests so great barbarity?
What froward Sprite could but such spight suspect,
In hospitality hostility?
Did I revive thee when thy hopes were dead,
When as thy life thy parents had not spar'd?
And having heap'd such favours on thy head,
Is this? Is this?

Chor.
He would say the reward.

Adrast.
I grant what you alledge and more is true;
I have unto the height of hatred runne:
A blood-stain'd wretch, who merit not to view
The rolling Circles, nor the Rayie Sunne;
No kind of art I purpose now to use,
To colour this my crime, which might seeme lesse,
Whilst painted with a pitifull excuse:
No, it is worse then words can well expresse;
Nor goe I thus to aggravate my crime,
And damne my selfe to be absolv'd by others,
No, no, such Rhetoricke comes out of time.
I'le not survive his death, as earst my brothers.
O! had that high disaster kill'd me straight,
(As then indeed I di'd from all delight)
I had not groan'd, charg'd with this inward weight,
But slept with shadowes in eternall night:
Yet must I die, at last (though late) growne wise,
This in my mind most discontentment breedes,
A thousand torturing deaths cannot suffice,
To plague condignely for so haynous deeds.
If that revenge th'Elysian Guests delights,
The tombe of Atis shall exhaust my blood:
No fitter offering for infernall sprites,
Then one in whom they raign'd, while as he stood:
The furies oft in me infus'd their Rage,
And in my bosome did their Serpents place,
Whose indignation labouring to asswage,
Huge hellish horrours spoil'd my thoughts of peace.

Crœ.
I find (poore wretch!) when I have search'd, and seene
The fatall meanes which did inflict this wound,
That not thy malice, but my fault hath beene,
Of that which grieves us both the reall ground.
“Whilst barely with a superficiall wit,
“Wee weigh the out-side of such strange events,
“If but the mediate meanes our judgements hit,
“We seeke not the first cause, that much contents:
“But when prodigious accidents fall out,
“Though they amaze our mindes, and so they must,
“The cause of all comes from our selfe no doubt:
“Ah! man hath err'd; the Heavens are always Iust:
In judgement now whilst entring with my soule,
(Those partiall thoughts which flatterd me declin'd)
Loe, marking of past wrongs the burd'nous scroule,
Free from false colours, which did mocke my minde:
O! then I see how heaven in plagues exceedes,
Whilst vengeance due save ruine nought can end;
Thus once the Gods must ballance worldlings deedes,
Both what we did, and what we did intend?
Sonne, Sonne, my faults procured have thy fall,
For, guilty of thy blood, I gave the wound
Which gave thee death, and whose remembrance shall
My life each day with many deaths confound.
Of Iove injust the Statutes I contemne,
And if I were confronted with the Gods,
Their providence (as partiall) would condemne,
Who in such sorte doe exercise their rods.
He thus now kill'd, with life to let me goe,
May breed reproch to all the pow'rs divine:
But ah! they knew no death could grieve me soe,
As that, which through his heart was aim'd at mine;
Now all the world those deities may despise,
Which strike the guiltlesse, and the guilty spare;
Cease haplesse man to plague thy selfe thus wise,
I pardon thee, and pittie thy despaire.

Adrast.
O rigorous judgement! O outragious fate!
Must I suruive the funeralls of my fame:
All things which I behold, vpbraide my state,
Too many monuments of one mans shame;
All (and none more then I) my deeds detest,
Yet some waile want of friends, and I of foes,
To purge the world of such a dangerous pest,
(Which still contagious) must taint hearts with woes;
To wound this brest where all hells hosts do raigne,
Seiz'd with just feare none dare a hand forth stretch,
Else this base charge (as odious) doe disdaine,
To deale with Death in favour of a wretch;
Or must I yet (till more detested) stand,
And fill the world with horrour of my name?
What further mischiefe can require my hand?
Must it ingrave on others graves my shame?
Or would some bastard thought lifes cause debate,
Which in the blasted field of comfort gleanes?
No, no, in spite of Heaven I'le force my fate,
“One, when resolv'd to die, cannot want meanes:
Proud Tyrant Death, and must thou make it strange,
To wrap my wearied soule in further strife?
Vnlesse my courage with my fortune change,
(Though nothing else) I can command my life;
But this (ay me!) all hope of helpe devowres;
What gaines my soule by death in those sad times;
If potent still in all her wonted pow'rs,
Shee must remember of my odious crimes?
What though un-bodied she the world forsake,
Yet from her knowledge cannot be divorc'd?
This will but vexe her at the shadowie lake,
Till even to grone the God of Ghosts be forc'd,
But welcome death, and would the Gods I had
Lesse famous, or more fortunately liv'd;
Then knowne if good, and kept obscure if bad;
Of comfort quite I had not beene depriv'd;
Ah! have I liv'd to see my Lady die?
And die for me, whose faith shee never prov'd?
Ah! have I liv'd (unnaturall I) to be
My brothers murtherer, who me dearely lov'd?
Ah! have I liv'd with my owne hands to kill
A gallant Prince committed to my charge?
And doe I gaze on the dead bodie still,
And in his fathers sight my shame enlarge?
Ah! have I liv'd whilst men my deeds doe scan,
To be the obiect of contempt and hate?
Of all abhorr'd as a most monstrous man,
Since thought a Traitouror (farre worse) ingrate?
Yet with my blood I'le wash away this staine,
Which griefe to you, to me disgrace hath brought,
Would God my name from mindes night raz'd remaine,
To make my life as an unacted thought;
Brave Atis now I come to pleade for grace,
Although thou frown'st on my affrighted Ghost,
And to revenge thy wrong this wound embrace;
Thus, thus, I toile to gaine the Stygian coast.

Cho.
Loe, how he wounds himselfe despising paine,
With leaden lights, weake legs, and head declin'd,
The bodie beates the ground, as in disdaine,
That of her members one hath prov'd unkind;
The fainting hand falles trembling from the Sword,
With this selfe slaughtering blow for shame grown red,
Which straight the blood pursues, with vengeance stor'd,
To drowne the same with the same floods it shed;
Who of those parties can the combat show,
Where both but one, one both strooke and sustain'd?
Or who triumphs for this most strange o'rethrow,
Where as the victor lost, the vanquish'd gain'd?

Crœ.
Curs'd eyes, what suddaine change hath drown'd your lights,
And made your mirthfull objects mournefull now?
Ye that were still inur'd to stately sights,
Since seated under an imperiall brow,
Ah! clouded now with vapours drawn from cares,
Are low throwne down amid'st a hell of griefe,
And have no prospect, but my soules despaires,
Of all the furies which afflict me, chiefe.
O dead Adrastus, I absolve thy Ghost,
Whose hand (I see) some destiny did charme,
Thou (hated by the heavens) wast to thy cost
A casuall actour, not intending harme,
No doubt some angry God hath laid this snare,
And whilst thy purpose was the Boare to kill,
Did intercept thy shaft amidst the Aire,
And threw it at my Sonne, against thy will,
Ah! Sonne, must I be witnesse of thy death,
Who view thee thus by violence to bleede,
And yet want one on whom to poure my wrath,
To take just vengeance for so vile a deede?
This wretch, whose guiltlesse minde hath clear'd his hand,
Loe, for his errour griev'd, unforc'd doth fall,
And not as one who did in danger stand:
For still he liv'd till I forgave him all.
Thus have I but the heavens on whom I may
Blast forth the tempest of a troubled minde;
And in my soules distresse I grieve to say,
That greater favour I deserv'd to finde.

Scene 1.

Sandanis,
Croesus.
Why spend you (Sir) with sighes that Princely breath,
Whence Soveraignty authority should take?
“O weake revenge for one when wrong'd by death,
“To yeeld him homage prostrated in blacke!
That Tyrant pale (so hatefull unto us)
Whose fatall shaft so great a griefe hath bred,
Where he triumphs should you reare trophees thus,
And weare his livery, as his captive led?
No, though he might this outward blisse o'rethrow,
And you (save you) of all things else might spoile,
Yet whilst of one, who yeelds, no signe you show,
You are victorious, and he gets the foile;
Those floods of sorrow, which would drown your soule,
In brests more base might better be excus'd,
Since wanting sprite their passions to controule,
As from their birth still to subjection us'd.
But you, in whom high thoughts by nature grow,
To this decay, how is your vertue come?
I blush to see my Soveraigne brought so low,
And Majestie by misery o'recome;
Nor doe I thus to make you stupid strive,
As one unnaturall, wanting sense to smart,
“No, none a Prince of kindnesse can deprive,
“The honour'd badge of an Heroicke heart.
“That pow'r supreme, by which great States doe stand,
“Affections order should, but not undoe;
And I could wish you might your selfe command,
Which though you may not well, yet seeme to doe.

Crœ.
I will not here rehearse, enlarging woes,
On what just reasons now my griefe I ground,
But still will entertaine my comforts foes,
Whilst many a thousand thoughts my soule doe wound;
What pensive pensill ever limm'd aright
The sad conceipts of soule-consuming griefe?
Ah! words are weake to shew the swelling height
Of th'inward anguish desperate of reliefe,
“Though many monarchs jealously despise
“The rising Sunne that their declining staines,
And hate the Heyre who by their fall must rise,
As griev'd to heare of death, or others raignes;
My love to Atis otherwise appear'd,
Whome, whilst for him I did my cares engage,
I as a Father lov'd, as king not fear'd,
The comfort not th'encombrance of mine age;
And had he me (as reason would) surviv'd,
Who glanc'd, and vanish'd like to lightning flashes,
Then death could me not have of life depriv'd,
Whilst such a Phœnix had reviv'd my ashes.

San.
Let not those woes ecclipse your vertues light.

Crœ.
“Ah! Rage and griefe must once be at a height.

San.
Strive of your sorrowes (Sir) to stop the source.

Crœ.
These salt eye-floods must flow, and have their course.

San.
That is not kingly.

Crœ.
And yet it's kindly,
“Where passions domineere, they governe blindly.

San.
Such woefull plaints can not repaire your state.

Crœ.
“Vnhappie soules at least may waile their fate,
“The meanest comfort that you can returne,
“Is in calamity a leave to mourne.

San.
what Stoicke strange, who most precise appeares,
Could that youths death with tearelesse eyes behold,
In all perfections ripe, though greene in yeares,
A hoarie judgement under lockes of gold?
No, no man lives, but must lament to see
The worlds chiefe hope even in the blossome choak'd,
“But men cannot controll the Heavens decree,
“And what is done, can never be revok'd.
Let not this losse with griefe torment you more;
Of which a part with you your Country beares:
If wailing could your ruin'd state restore,
Soules charg'd with griefe should saile in Seas of teares;
Lest all our comfort dash against one shelfe,
And his untimely death but hasten yours,
Have pitty of your people, spare your selfe,
If not to your own use, yet unto ours.

Crœ.
When Sandanis I first thy faith did finde,
Thou div'd so deepely in my bosome then,
That since thou still (entrusted with my minde)
Didst know what I conceal'd from other men:
Behold I goe to open up to you,
(Chiefe treasurer of all my secrets still)
What high designe my Thoughts are hatching now,
A physicke in some sort to ease my ill;
This may unto my soule yeeld some reliefe,
And for displeasures past may much content,
Or else must purchase partners in my griefe,
If not for me, yet with me to lament.

San.
This benefit must binde me with the rest
To serve your Majestie, and hold you deere,
And I'le be free with you, yet I protest,
That what I friendly speake, you freely heare.

Crœ.
Since that it hath not pleas'd the heavenly pow'rs,
That of my off-spring I might comfort claime,
Yet lest the ravenous course of flying how'rs
Should make a prey of my respected name,
I would engender such a generous broode,
That the un-borne might know how I have liv'd,
And this no doubt would doe my Ghost great good,
By famous victories to be reviv'd:
I hope to soare with fames Immortall wings,
Vnlesse my high-bent thoughts themselves deceave,
That having acted admirable things,
I death may scorne, triumphing o're the grave;
Yet have I not so setled my conceipt,
That all opinions are to be despis'd;
“A good advice can never come too late;
This is the purpose that I have devis'd:
Some Scythian Shepheards in a high disdaine,
As trusted fame yet constantly relates,
To plague some Medes with horrour and with paine,
Did entertaine them with prodigions meates,
And to content their more then Tigrish wishes,
They with the Infants flesh, the Parents fed,
Who not suspecting such pollute dishes,
Did in their bowels bury whom they bred.
Then after this abhominable crime,
They fled with haste unto my fathers Court,
And (first informers courting trust in time)
Did as they pleas'd, of what was past report;
Whil'st they (save what them help'd) all things suppress'd,
Milde pitty pleading for afflictions part,
His generous minde still tend'ring the distress'd,
Was wonne to them by this deceiving Art.

“San.
Oft men of Iudges thence have parties gone,
“Where both their eares were patent but to one.

Crœ.
Then Cyaxare, Monarch of the Medes,
To prosecute those fugitives to death,
In indignation of my fathers deeds,
Did bragge them both with all the words of wrath;
My father thinking that his Court should be
A Sanctuary supplicants to save,
Did levie men to make the world then see,
In spite of pow'r that weakenesse help should have.
Thus mortall warres on every side proclaim'd,
With mutuall trouble did continue long,
Till both the Armies by Bellona tam'd,
Did irke to venge, or to maintaine a wrong:
It chanc'd whil'st peace was at the highest dearth,
That all their forces did with fury fight,
A sudden darknesse curtain'd up the earth,
And did by violence displace the light.
I thinke the Sunne for Phaeton look't sad,
Else blush'd (reflecting bloud) like them he saw:
For (as when wrong'd of old) with griefe gone mad,
He from the world his chariot did with-draw;
Yet Ignorance, which doth confusion breed,
By wresting natures course, found cause of feares,
Which errour did so happily succeed,
That it a concord wrought, and truce from teares;
Then straight there was a perfect peace begunne,
And that it might more constantly indure,
Astyages the King of Media's sonne,
To be his Queene my sister did procure.

“San.
A deadly rancor reconcil'd againe,
“With consanguinity would seal'd remaine.

Crœ.
He, since his fathers age-worne course expir'd,
Hath rul'd his people free from bloud or strife,
Till now a Viper hath his death conspir'd,
Who from his loynes extracted had his life;
I meane this Cyrus, (base Cambysos brood,)
Who by a Bitch, nurst with the Country swaines,
(No signe observ'd importing Princely bloud:)
The doggish nature of his Nurse retaines.
He came against his Grand-father to field,
And unexpected with a mighty pow'r,
His forces forc'd, did force himselfe to yeeld,
Who (captive kept) now waites for death each houre.
That you may marke how great my int'rest is,
This ruthfull story I did largely touch;
Those circumstances shew that shame of his
Doth from our glory derogate too much;
Dare any Prince presume to trouble thus
One whom our kingdomes favour should defend?
In strict affinity combin'd with us,
Yet not regarded for so great a friend.
This with some joy doth smooth my stormy minde,
Whil'st I for Medes against the Persians goe,
I hope that both by brave effects shall finde
How kinde a friend I prove, how fierce a foe.

“San.
Though natures law you car'd not to transgresse,
“Nor this your wrong'd ally would not repaire;
“Yet the regard to Monarchs in distresse,
“Should move the mighty with a mutuall care;
“Those terrours too which thunder in your eare,
“I thinke the Lydians will not well allow:
“For when the Cedar falles, the Oake may feare,
“That which o'rethrowes the Medes may trouble you.
“And when a neighbours house they burning view,
“Then their owne dangers men may apprehend;
“It better is with others to pursue,
“Then be when but alone, forc'd to defend.
“Ah! this is but the out-side of your course,
“A dangerous ambush which ambition plants:
“There may come Rivers raging from this source,
“To drown your state, whil'st such high thoughts nought daunts;
“I know those new-borne monsters of your minde
“Have arm'd your ravish'd heart with faire conceits,
“Yet may those wonders which you have divin'd,
“Prove traiterous projects, painted for deceits;
“And (pardon Sir) it is not good to be
“Too rashly stout, nor curiously wise,
“Lest that you leave that which we certaine see,
“And not attaine to that which you devise.

Crœ.
I grant indeed (this very few shall know)
Though I professe but to relieve my friend,
My thoughts conceive, as successe best may show,
And not without great cause, a greater end:
You see how fortune nought but change affects,
Some are reproach'd, that others may be prais'd,
And every age brings forth some strange effects,
“Some men must fall, that others may be rais'd:
I doubt not, you have heard who was the first,
For warring with the world, whom fame revives,
Who had of soveraignty, so great a thirst,
That it could not be quench'd with thousands lives:
Even he who first obtain'd the name of Iove,
And rests reputed for his glorious acts,
The most imperious of the pow'rs above,
Who vowes and offerings of the world exacts;
He all his time in state did terrour breath,
Borne to acquaint the world with warre and dearth,
Whil'st fertile still in misery and death,
Two fatall furies that afflict the earth;
Yet since his course (the worlds first plague) was past,
When his proud race had many ages raign'd,
That Empire too did perish at the last,
And what it lost, by martiall Medes was gain'd;
This was the cause of that great kingdomes fall;
A Prince who could not judge of Princely parts,
With losse of Scepter, honour, life, and all,
To buy base joyes, sold all his Subjects hearts;
To that disastred Monarchies decay,
Th' aspiring Persians purpose to succeed:
But I intend their lofty course to stay,
And that in time, ere that it throughly speed;
The Persians once the Lydians force must prove,
And O! who knowes but that it is ordain'd
At the tribunall of the States above,
That I should raigne where famous Ninus raign'd?
This all the hoste of heaven oft-times foretels,
To this the Gods of Greece my minde have mov'd,
And he that in Arabia's desart dwels,
By his response this enterprise approv'd.

“San.
Thus still in love with what we minde to doe,
“What we affect, we fairest still conceive,
“This feeds our humour, whil'st (selfe-flatterers) loe,
“To shew our wit, we would our selves deceive;
“Vaine hopes so maske all doubts, you cannot spy
“What secret danger this designe doth beare;
“But whil'st well view'd with an indifferent eye,
“There want not grounds, where fore-sight may find feare:
“You unadvis'dly purpose to pursue
“A barbarous people opposite to peace,
“Who but by robbery to their greatnesse grew,
“And would for each light cause, the warres embrace;
“No dainty silkes, dipt in Assyrian dye,
“Doe decke their bodies, to abase their mindes:
“Skinnes reft from beasts them cloath, who danger ply,
“Not mov'd by flattering Sunnes, nor bragging windes;
“They simply feed, and are not griev'd each day,
“With stomackes cloyd, decocting divers meates,
“They fare not as they would, but as they may,
“Of judgement sound, not carried with conceits.
“Those ancient customes which they strictly hold,
“Make all things easie, that they feele no paine,
“This cooles the summers heate, kils winters cold:
“This makes the Rivers dry, the Mountaines plaine.
“They whose ambition poverty did bound,
“Of Lydia's dainties if they once doe taste,
“Will have in hatred straight their barren ground,
“And all our treasures insolently waste;
“To governe such, although that we prevaile,
“You shall but buy vexation with your bloud,
“And doe your selfe, and yours, if fortune faile,
“From Soveraignty (by time secur'd) seclude;
Yea, though this rash desire your judgement blindes,
I for my part must praise the Gods for you,
Who have not yet inspir'd the Persians mindes,
To waste with warre all Lydia long ere now.

Crœ.
Those flames, which burn my brest, must once burst out,
Your counsell for more quiet mindes I leave,
And be you still thought wise, so I prove stout,
I'le conquer more, or lose the thing I have.

Cœlia.
Ah! am I forc'd out of afflictions store,
For my mindes ease a few sad words to straine?
But yet unlode it now, to lode it more,
I empty but mine eyes to fill againe;
My soule must sound even as my passions strike,
Whil'st sighes and teares would faine afford reliefe;
My brest and eyes are both accurst alike,
The Cabinet of care, the Springs of griefe;
O cruell heaven, fierce starre, unhappy fate,
Too foule injustice of celestiall pow'rs!
Whose high disdaine to me with partiall hate
The comfort of the world (poore world) devoures:
Curst be the day in which I first was borne,
When lying tongues affirm'd I came to light,
A monstrous blasphemy, a mighty scorne,
Since where darke sorrow breeds an endlesse night;
Would God I then had chanc'd this life to leave,
The tombe straight taking what the wombe did give,
Then alwayes buried, changing but the grave,
I had not liv'd to dye, but dy'd to live.
What profited to me my Parents joyes,
VVho with such pompe did solemnize my birth,
Since still my soule must flote amidst annoyes,
So to defray one dramme of tasted mirth?
And it did onely serve to make me know
The height of horrour, threatning to succeed;
I was but rais'd up high, to be brought low,
That short liv'd joyes might endlesse anguish breed;
Whil'st nothing did for my confusion lacke,
All my best deeds did but betray my State,
My vertues too were guilty of my wracke,
And warr'd against me, banded with my fate;
For whil'st my Virgin-yeares with praise I past,
Which did (ah that it did) too much import,
My modest eye told that my minde was chast,
Which gain'd the warrant of the worlds report:
“And all should have a great respect to fame,
“No greater dowry then a spotlesse name.
Faire beauties Goddesse, thou can'st beare record,
My offring never made thine Altar rich;
Lascivious fancies highly I abhorr'd,
Whose free-borne thoughts no folly could bewitch;
Till happily (ah so it seem'd to some)
O but unhappily the end hath prov'd,
All this, and more, to Atis eares did come,
Who straight did like, and after liking lov'd;
He to our eares, his purpose did impart,
Not lip-sicke-lover like, with words farre sought,
Whose tongue was but an agent for his heart.
Yet could not tell the tenth part that it thought;
And lest his travels should have seem'd to tend
My honours fame by fancies to betray,
He brought his wishes to a lawfull end,
And in effect, affection did bewray;
There Iuno, president of wedlockes vow,
And Hymen with his odoriferous cote,
With sacred customes did our love allow,
Whil'st th'ominous Owles no crosses did devote;
The blessing that this marriage did procure,
It was too great to have continued long:
“A thing too vehement cannot endure,
Our joyes farre past the reach of any tongue;
We ever did full satisfaction finde,
Yet with satiety were never cloyd,
But seem'd two bodies, manag'd by one minde,
Such was the happinesse that I enjoy'd;
He lov'd me dearely, I obey'd his will,
Proud of my selfe, because that I was his,
A harmony remain'd betwixt us still,
Who each in th' other plac'd their soules chiefe blisse:
This mov'd th'immortals to a high disdaine,
That thus two worldlings, who of death were heires,
Should in a Paradise of joyes remaine,
Which did exceed, at least did equall theirs;
But chiefly Iuno did despight it most,
Who through a jealousie still jarres with Iove,
That body-prison'd soules of that could boast,
Which she (although heavens Queen) had not above;
Thus even for envy of our rare delights,
The fatall Sisters (by the heavens suborn'd)
Of my soules treasure clos'd the lovely lights,
By which they thought the earth too much adorn'd.
O but he is not dead, he lives in me.
Ah, but I live not: for I dy'd in him:
How can the one without the other be?
If death have set his eyes, mine must looke dimme;
Since to my sight that Sunne no more appear'd,
From whom my beauties borrowed all their rayes:
A long eclipse, that never shall be clear'd,
Hath darkened all the poynts of my sad dayes;
Aye me, I live too long, he dy'd too soone,
Thus still the worst remaine, the best depart,
Of him who told how this curs'd deed was done,
The words (like swords) shall ever wound my heart.
Fierce tyrant death, who in thy wrath did'st take
One halfe of me, and left one halfe behinde:
Take this to thee, or give me th' other backe,
Be wholly cruell, or be no way kinde;
But whil'st I live (beleeve) thou canst not dye,
O! even in spite of death, yet still my choice,
Oft with the inward al-beholding eye,
I thinke I see thee, and I heare thy voyce;
And to content my languishing desire,
To ease my minde, each thing some helpe affords;
Thy fanci'd forme doth oft such faith acquire,
That in all sounds I apprehend thy words:
Then with such thoughts my memory to wound,
I call to minde thy lookes, thy words, thy grace,
Where thou didst haunt, yet I adore the ground,
And where thou stept, O sacred seemes that place!
My solitary walkes, my widow'd bed,
My driry sighes, my sheets oft bath'd with teares,
These shall record what life by me is led,
Since first sad newes breath'd death into mine eares.
Though for more paine, yet spar'd a space by death,
Thee first I lov'd, with thee all love I leave:
For my chast flames, which quench'd were with thy breath,
Can kindle now no more but in thy grave.
By night I wish for day, by day for night,
Yet wish farre more, that none of both might be;
But most of all, that banish'd from the light
I were no more, their constant change to see.
At night whil'st deeply musing of my State,
I goe to summe with sighes my wonted joyes,
An agony then (in a sad conceit)
Doth blot the blubred count with new annoyes;
When Sleep, the brother most resembling death,
Of darkenesse childe, and father unto rest,
Doth bound (though not restraine) confused breath,
That it may vent, but not with words exprest;
Then with my sprite thou dost begin to speake,
With sugred speeches to appease my griefe;
And my bruis'd heart which labour'd long to breake;
Doth in this comfort fain'd, finde some reliefe;
Yea, if our soules remain'd united so,
This late divorce would no way vexe my minde,
But when awaking, it augments my woe.
Whil'st this a dreame, and me a wretch I finde.
If never happy, O thrise happy I!
But happy more had happinesse remain'd,
Yet then excessive joy had made me dye;
Since such delights, what heart could have sustain'd?
Why waste I thus, whil'st vainely I lament,
The pretious treasure of that swift past-time?
Ah, pardon me (deare love) for I repent
My lingring here, my fate, and not my crime:
Since first thy body did enrich the Tombe,
In this spoil'd world, my eye no pleasure sees,
And Atis, Atis, Loe I come, I come,
To be thy mate, amongst the Myrtle trees.

Chorus.