University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Sisigambis,
Statira, Regina Statira virgo.
O dismall day detested be thy light,
And would the Gods (but Gods neglect our case)
The world were wrapt in a Cymmerian Night,
That no proud eye might gaze on our disgrace.
Why did the Heavens reserve my feeble age
To make my burden more, when strength grows lesse?
Could nothing but my harmes their wrath asswage,
Thus offred up on th'Altar of distresse?
Ah! have I spent my youth in pompe, and pleasure,
And had my spring-time grac'd with pleasant flowres
That th'Autumne which should reape the Sommers treasure
Might be distempred with such stormy showres?
And did smooth calmes and Sunne-shines for a space,
Make all my voyage through the world a sport,
That I should fall when neere to end my race,
(And toss'd with stormes) even perish at my port?
Yet for all this, were I expos'd alone,
The wretched object of Ioves thund'ring armes,
I should not thinke I had just cause to mone,
When I but wail'd mine owne, not others harmes;
Ah me! on those whom more then life I love
The state-disturbing blasts of Fortune fall,
Yet each of them some severall losse doth move,
But I in anguish beare a part with all:
I suffred when I saw Oxatres slaine,
My loving Sonne, and most entirely lov'd;
I dy'd in Darius, when he try'd in vaine
What Fates would do, yet still their hatred prov'd;
The heavens to plague me more, yet make me breath,
O rigour rare! what tortures rack my breast?
Who feele the sowre; but not the sweet of death,
Still cours'd, not kill'd, lest that should breed me rest;
Yet, Iove, if this may dis-enflame thine ire,
Let all thy lightning light upon my head,
To be consum'd with a celestiall fire,
Some comfort were, since that I must be dead.

Sta. Reg.
Leave mother those complaints, as fit for me,
Who still must grieve my friends, and grace my foes:
Whose fortune is so wretched still to be,
That all the world may wonder at my woes.
Loe, that deare Lord and treasure of my thought,
Whose presence I my Paradise esteem'd,
To such a precipice is headlong brought,
That he from ruine cannot be redeem'd;
Ah! on what prop can I repose my trust,
When of his state I first the greatnesse ponder?
Next, how his Diademe (drencht in the dust)
Was Fortunes Trophee, and all Asia's wonder?
He whose imperious speech the world respected,
And as an Oracle had in regard,
He vanquish'd now, and with contempt neglected,
(Even as a supplicant) can scarce be heard;
And yet I know this more doth grieve his soule
Then all the harme which happ'ned to his state,
His pow'r ov'r me that any can controull,
Who (as his Idoll) was ador'd of late;
Shall he (pure quintessence of my best part)
Then onely testifie the love he beares?
No, by mine eyes I will distill my heart,
And for his sake dissolve my selfe in teares;
Would God my breast might still transparant be,
That as through Crystall all might marke my minde,
And of my loyall thoughts the secrets see,
Whose great affection cannot be confin'd.
This prisons worst hath bounded but mine eyes,
And banish'd them the object of their joy,
My fiery heart well wing'd with fancies flyes,
And where thou go'st dost still thy steps convoy;
Deare, whil'st thou dost enjoy this common ayre,
Those who me captive thinke, do grosly erre:
For whil'st thou liv'st, how can thy Queene despaire,
Whom thou to soule, and Scepter, dost preferre;
Yet flatter I my selfe who am accurst?
Of those mishaps which make my thoughts to stray,
The memory may serve to make me burst,
Ah, ah, I faint, I feele my sprits decay.

Sis.
Help, help, alas, alas the Empresse falls.

Stat. Vir.
O day of darknesse! what a world of woes?

Sis.
This heavy sight my panting heart appals:
Heaven, earth, and all, are now become our foes.

Stat. Vir.
No creature hath more cause to mone then I,
Whose Fathers Fortune oft afflicts mine eares,
Whil'st I my mothers misery must spie,
So that of both my breast the burden beares.

Stat. Reg.
What inhumane humanity is this,
With such a cruell pitie to oppresse,
To bring pale ghosts back from the fields of blisse,
Yet to be plung'd in th'ocean of distresse?
O unkinde kindnesse that by saving slayes,
And would with lovelesse love, my love controull?
Ah! of this braving Sunne the loathsome rayes
Do cleare mine eyes, but to confound my soule.

Sis.
Deare daughter, strive your passions to restraine,
Lest that the torrent of your griefe grow such,
That both it carry you where horrours raigne;
And him o're-whelme for whom you mourn so much;
No doubt but he, if we rest captives thus
Disdaining those indignities of ours,
To venge himselfe in reobtaining us,
Will hazard all his orientall pow'rs;
But ah, what comfort can a wretch afford,
Whose care-worne breast the worst of woe containes?
Yet though my heart would faine impugne my word,
I hopelesse speake of hope, to ease her paines.

Stat. Reg.
Plagu'd with what is, what may be never pause,
Since we must hold our griefe our greatest good,
And do not feed false hopes, for we have cause
Even to sigh out our souls, and weep our bloud.

Sis.
I waile my Sonne.

Stat. Reg.
And I my husbands fall.

Stat. Vir.
I waile my Father, and in him us all.

Sis.
No woe like mine, mine cannot be releev'd,
I waile his woe who should my woe asswage,
Who lives by me, by whom I should have liv'd,
Sport of my youth, and pillar of mine age.

Stat. Reg.
No woe like mine, who for my Mate mourne here,
For love of whom, I had all others left;
But what a Mate? my selfe, or one more deare,
Yet from my selfe, my selfe by force am reft.

Stat. Vir.
No woe like mine, who born a Monarchs childe,
Hop'd by my birth of Fortunes best to boast,
Yet are my hopes even at the height beguil'd,
And what I hop'd in most, hath harm'd me most.

Sis.
I mourne for him who in my wombe was form'd.

Stat. Reg.
I mourn for him in whom love me transform'd.

Stat. Vir.
I mourn for him who did give forme to me.

Sis.
Shall I no more in him my Image see?

Stat. Reg.
Ah! shall I never in his joy rejoyce?

Stat. Vir.
Ah! shall I never heare his chearfull voyce?

Sis.
Would God my ruine might his ransome be.

Stat. Reg.
Would God my life my lifes life might set free.

Stat. Vir.
Would God the life he gave him life might give.

Sis.
Must those gray haires my Sonnes greene youth survive?

Stat. Reg.
Lest twise made dye, I'le first prevent his fall.

Stat. Vir.
Shall I live last to suffer for you all?

Sis.
But whil'st our wretched state we justly mone,
We may lament this Infant too a space,
Who in mishap inferiour were to none,
If he could apprehend his Tragicke case.

Stat. Reg.
O then how can my heart but bursted be,
Whom Nature moves most to bemone his harmes?
I thinke the hosts of heaven I thund'ring see
On me, my husband, and him in my armes:
Deare Image of my selfe, in whom I live,
Thy shape not shames the greatnesse of thy Sire,
But of thy birth cleare evidence doth give,
Thy sowre-sweet sight addes coals to my desire.
Thou who should'st comfort most, torment'st thou me?
Huge hosts of passions now my soule assembles;
O how I grieve, and yet am glad to see
Thee, though not him, whom thy sweet face resembles!
Go beare this Babe from hence, a wound too deep
Hath pierc'd me with compassion of his part,
Yet let him stay, I joy to heare him weep;
This mothers passion melts my bursting heart;
Of many woes this last is not the least,
That unbegun thy glory thus must end:
Thy Fortunes Sunne (my Sonne) set in the East,
Whil'st all the world thy rising did attend;
Ah! must this Innocent taste of mishap,
Whose tender age cannot discerne his state,
And thus be plagu'd, yea, in his Nurses lap,
Inherit woe by birth? ah cruell fate!
If thou could'st hope, what great hopes hast thou lost
Who art defrauded of so high a Throne?
Ah! in thy cradle must I see thee crost
Whom I design'd so great when we were gone?
Yet happie haplesse childe, who can'st not know
From whence the fountaine of our sorrow flows,
Nor what it is that men call high, or low,
Nor on what thorne the rose of honour grows.
Yet hast thou felt the pricke before the smell;
Is this the benefit thy birth-right brings,
A captive here in misery to dwell?
Then better not be borne, nor come of Kings.
O! what a noise is this that thus affrights?
I thinke of teares the torrent to restraine,
(Since soules when sad a just complaint delights)
They still would plague, yet stop me to complaine;
Or is it one who doth lament our case,
And is (a rare thing) in affliction kinde?
Who would behold how we can death embrace!
Death soveraigne physicke for a troubled minde.

Sis.
By many signes we may our selves assure
T'is Alexander whom we long'd not for.

Stat. Reg.
What? ah I die, and must mine eyes endure
That hatefull object which I most abhorre?

Sis.
Spare, spare such speeches now, lest all go wrong,
We are environ'd with outragious hosts;
Those who are weake must yeeld unto the strong:
For, Victors rage when as the vanquish'd bosts;
I will entreat him too, not for my selfe
(Age bows my body to embrace pale death)
But that you yet may shunne this wrackfull shelfe,
Whose youth and beauty worthy are of breath.