University of Virginia Library

Actus secundus.

Octauia.
Byllius.
O thrice, and foure times, happie messenger,
Hast thou from Parthia made returne of late?
Canst thou declare the issue of the warre,
And make me knowe, Antonius happie state?
What causd my Lorde in Syria make such staye,
Since he gainst Parthia did his forces bende?
When doth he meane, to'ards Roome to take his way?
And to those warres, impose a finall end?
Vnkinde he is: not so, but distant farre,
And his great trouble, much my good impayres:
Els would he not mine eares so long time barre,
From much expected newes of his affayres.

Byl.
Madame, these eyes haue seene what hath bin done
In Syria, Parthia, and each other place;
I present was, when Lord Antonius, wonne
Eighteene great battles, in a little space.
I often sawe, when mischiefe, in the fielde
Had all hir force against my Lorde brought forthe:
How he with vallor, made euen fortune yeelde,
And chance, awaight on well approued worthe.
I was in Media, when Phraortes slue
Great Tatianus, fighting for my Lorde:
I sawe when he our engins from vs drew,
And put ten thousand Romaines, to the swoord.
I was in presence, when a sodaine feare.
In blackest horrour of the darkest night,
So much astonisht all that present were,
With shriking cries that mought euen stones affright:
That Antony, with feare of treason mooued,
Made Ramnus humbly sweare vpon his knee,
To strike that head, that head so much beloued,
From of his shoulders, when he once should see,
Vneuitable danger, to lay holde,
Vpon himselfe; yet could not all this, quaile
His haughty courage, but as vncontroulde,
He still proceedes, his stoutest foes t'assaile.
And hauing now, sum'd with the Parthian blood,
The largest scores, of wrongs we did sustaine,
Thence to retyre, he now hath thought it good:
And for a time at Blanckbourg to remaine.
Blanckbourg a Citty neere to Sydon plac'd,
Vnto the which our whole Campe did resorte,
There he entends to stay, and not in haste
To visite Roome, as most of them report.

Oct.
O what should moue my Lord thus long to stay?

Byl.
An others tung mought better yt bewray.

Octa.
What dost thou know more thē thou hast yet said?

Byl.
Madame no more.

Oct.
Why thē am I dismaide?
Why doe I see thy sorrow-clowded brow,
Seeme to conceale I know not what annoy?
Say Byllius whence those troubled lookes may grow?
Is my Antonius safe? doth he enioy
That body free from hurt, wound or disease?
Doth he yet liue and draw his vitall breath?
Speake, quickly speake, truth cannot me displease,
Where now suspition wounds as deepe as death.

Byl.
It cannot be but that your grace doth know,
For what can be conceal'd from Princes eare?
And further speech mought seedes of discord sow,
Betweene your highnes and my Lord I feare.

Octa.
O how delay torments a doubtfull minde.
I know, no, he procures I may not heare
Of any thing from thence, whereby I finde,
Although vnknowne yet double cause of feare.
Then banish doubt, and see thou plainely tell,
What strange occasion doth enforce his stay?
What can Antonius princely minde compell,
In forraine coastes to make so long delay?

Byl.
Madame, the cause that made him to remaine
In Syria, so long time when as we went
To'ards Parthia, is the same that doth detaine,
His highnesse now and thus your grace preuent.

Octa.
Am I an Empresse still thus disobay'd?
And dost thou dare to dally with me still?
I first enquir'd, what him in Syriæ staide.
Why dost thou feare to tell the worst of ill.

Byl.
If this likewise be hidden from your grace,
In humble sort a pardon I beseech:
That high displeasure gainst me take not place,
For what shall be disclosed by my speech.

Octa.
I pardon all, so long as all be true.

Byl.
Who doth delude let sharp death be his due.
Then if you list the truth to vnderstand,
The truth is this: that fond Ægiptian Queene,
Queene Cleopatra doth your will withstand,
And him detaines, who els had present been.

Octa.
By force?

Byl.
O no, worlds could not him constraine
To stay this long in any place by force:
But his affection is the louing chayne,
That from your highnesse dooth his minde diuorce.

Octa.
What chilling feare doth streame along these vains?
What frozen terror makes me thus to quake?
What monstrous greefe, what horror, thus constrains
My stiuing hart, his lodging to forsake?
Tell me, from what conceipt may this be guest?

Byl.
They liue together, who knowes not the rest.

Octa.
I must beleeue it sore against my will.

Byl.
Hardly we credit what imports our ill.

Octa.
But slow beleefe from wisdome doth proceed.

Byl.
But mortall wounds of present cure haue need.

Oct.
Some fond report hath made thee falsly deeme.

Byl.
I shunne report, and lightly it esteeme,
But this I sawe, when we to Syria came,
Antonius straight to Cleopatra sent,
A messenger Fonteius was his name:
Whose swiftnes did euen hast it selfe preuent.
More, then we knew not, but within short space
Came Cleopatra royally attended,
And met directly at th'appointed place,
Which for their stay they had before pretended.
There did they sporte a time in great excesse
Of all delights which any eye hath seene,
And there Antonius his great loue t'expresse
Did frankely giue to this Ægyptian queene,
Phœnicia, Cyprus and Cylicia,
Part of Arabia where those people dwell
Cald Nabatheians, part of Syria:
And finding that she could preuaile so well
With Antony, she further did proceed,
And begd part of that land we Iewry call.
From whence mought be transported at hir neede,
True balme, for to preserue hir grace withall.
This done, my Lord, to'ards Parthia tooke his way,
Which we with fier and sworde did waste and burne,
But in those confines did not long time stay,
But backe againe to Blanckbourge we returne.
From whence, a poste was speedily addrest,
For to conduct this Cleopatra thither:
She kindly condiscends to his request,
Thus there they met, and there they liue togither.

Octa.
O what hart-piercing greefe doth thē tormēt,
That are thus countercheckt with riualles loue?
What worlds of horror do themselues present,
Vnto their mindes that do like passions proue?
O Ielousie, when truthe once takes thy part,
What mercy-wanting tyrant so seuere?
What Sylla, what Charibdis, can impart
But halfe those horrors which in thee appeare?
Poore Pluto, why do we thy rigour dread?
All torments are containde within my brest:
Alecto doth whole troupes of furies leade
Within my soule, with endlesse greefe opprest.
O deserts, now you deserts are indeed:
Your common-wealths are coucht within my hart,
Within my hart, all rauening beasts do feede:
And with mad furie, still encrease my smart.
O greefe, I feele the worst that thou canst doe.
I taste the powerfull force of mischiefes pride.
I proue the worst that chance can put me to.
The deepest wound of fortune I abide.
But staye Octauia, if this be a lye:
If thy deare Lord do constant yet remaine,
Whom doost thou wrong, is it not Antony?
O fault too great, recall it back againe.
Canst thou be so vnkinde, nay so vniust,
To censure, iudge, condemne without a cause?
Shall flying tales make thee so much mistrust,
Him bound to thee by Gods, and natures lawes?
O traytor passion, if thou couldst subdue
Thy soueraigne reason, what ill tragedies
Wouldst thou soone acte, but Ielousie adieu,
My Lord is constant, and these are but lyes.
Did not he sweare on that our nuptiall day,
By all the sacred rights we holy deeme,
By those immortall powers which we obaye,
By all things els which dearly we esteem.
By his right hand, by this our wedding ring,
By all that mought a perfect truthe entend:
One time, one day, one houre; should surely bring,
His life, and loue vnto a finall end.
Did not he say, the starres from heauen should fall.
The fishes should vpon the mountaines range,
And Tyber should his flowing streames recall:
Before his loue should euer thinke on change.
But what of this? these are but onely words,
And so are those which do his faith impeache.
O poore Octauia, how thy state affordes,
Nought but despaire to stand within thy reache.
The seate of truthe is in our secret harts,
Not in the tongue, which falsehood oft imparts.
Hast back then Tyber to thy fountaines head,
Descend ye starres, and this base earth adorne,
Let Neptunes people on these hilles be fed,
For Antony is fled, false, and forsworne.
But tis not so, my Antony is true:
His honor will not let him basely fall.
Octauies name will faithfull loue renew.
His Innate vertue will his minde recall.
As feare of torment houlds the wicked in:
So vertues loue makes good men loath their sinne.

Byl.
Madam, I cannot force you to beleeue
That which I speake, but that I speake is true,
I knew too well it would your highnesse greeue,
And would be lothe your sorrowes to renew;
But would to God that all my words were lyes,
So my disgrace mought worke your sweete content;
Would this my soule mought be the sacrifice,
To reconcile his loue thus fondly bent.
O vertue, thou that didst my good assure,
Arme now my soule against proude fortunes might:
Without thy succour I may not endure,
But this strong tempest will destroy me quite.
O sacred lampe, pure vertues liuing flame,
That neuer failes sweet comfort to impart:
I feele thy power and glory in the same,
I heare thee say in closset of my heart,
Octauia, liue, and shew thy selfe a Queene,
Tread thou my path, make constancy thy guide;
Let no base feare within thy minde be seene,
Let thine owne foote into no errour slide;
Make thine owne thoughts no witnes of thy misse;
Let thine owne conscience know no cause of blame;
A bulwarke stronge, a brazen wall this is,
That will resist, both sorrow, griefe and shame.
Antonius fall, his owne disgrace procures,
His is the fault, and on his head shall fall,
The storme of mischiefes deep-reuenging showers:
When thine own worth, in heauen shal thee enstall.
His is the fault, but what? mine is the wronge.
The errour his, but I endure the smart;
O vertue, if thou be so passing stronge,
Yet once againe remooue this from my heart.
Why, vertue grieues but at his owne disgrace,
And mindes distrest, with patience doth relieue:
With wisedomes light it stil directs his pace,
And cannot fall and therefore cannot grieue.
Well griefe, I feele that thou art griefe indeed,
But patience is a prince and must not yeeld:
O sacred vertue help me at my need;
Repulse my foes with thy all mastering shield.
But what, I must not heere stand and lament,
Thy deeds Octauia, must approoue thy worth:
Tis wisedome, must these iniuries preuent,
I will no more excuse thy wrongs hencefoorth.
Ile seeke by all meanes thee to reconcile,
And in my thoughts reuenge shall finde no place,
But if thou needes wilt worke a thing so vile,
To seeke my ruine and thine owne disgrace,
If nothing can preuaile, Ile make it seene,
Thou wrongst an Empresse, and a Romaine queene.

Iulia.
Camilla. Syluia.
O deare Camilla, what a wofull sight,
Ti's to beholde the Empresse dolefull state?
Though others burthens in our eyes seeme light:
Death in my heart, her griefe doth intimate.
O what exceeding pitty t'is to see,
Such noble vertues nurst in wisedomes brest:
Snar'd in the trap of humaine misery,
By others basenes thus to be distrest.

Cam.
Madame, the case is pittifull indeed,
And such as may relent a flinty heart:
A patient minde, must stand her grace insteed,
Till time and wisedome, may his loue conuert.

Iul.
But who dares tell a Prince he goes aside?

Cam.
His conscience best, if wisdome were his guide.

Iul.
But they are great and may do what they will.

Cam.
Great if much good: not great if they do ill.

Iul.
But we must yeeld to what the Prince will haue.

Cam.
He is no Prince, that is affections slaue.

Iul.
Be what he will his power is ouer-stronge.

Cam.
Heauens will not suffer sin to florish long.
And sure who list but to beholde the end,
Shall see Antonius dearely buy his lust:
They neuer prosper long that leawdly spend
Their granted time, for God is not vniust.

Syl.
Well, let them talke of vertue, those that list,
Of patience, iustice and of constancie;
For me, I thinke the Empresse sure hath mist,
The onely way to cure this maladie.
Buy liuing fame that list, with pinching paine,
And starue them selues with feeding fond conceipt:
Were I Octauia I would entertaine
His double dealing, with as fine a sleight.
I would nor weep, nor waile, but soone returne
Vpon his head the wrongs he doth pretend:
I would compel him spite of him to learne,
It were no iest a woman to offend.
He feeles not now the griefe that makes her smart:
But I know what would touch him to the heart.

Iul.
What force, what wit, can Antony compell,
Now to forgoe his late ill-placed loue?

Syl.
One nayle you see another will expel,
When nothing els can force the same to mooue.
Should lie that swims in streames of sweet content,
Make his delight the agent of my paine?
No, no, he rather were a president,
How to requite him with the like againe.
Had I bin toucht with seence of inward greefe,
When such like chances had be-fallen me,
Or at their leisure hoped for reliefe,
When I my selfe, mought best my selfe set free:
I had bin dead for many yeares agoe,
Or must haue liued in endlesse misery,
But I take order not to perish so,
He shall care little, that cares lesse then I.

Cam.
But doth not Syluia blush to disanull,
Hir owne good name, hir faith, and constancie:
Doth not she feare, the wrath of heauen to pull
Vpon hir head, for such impietie?

Syl.
The wrath of heauen, why no, the heauens are iust,
And Iustice yeeldes a man his due desert:
Then sithe I do no iniurie, I trust
Not I, but he, for both our faults shall smart.
And for my faithe and constancie, no doubt
Ile deale for that as well as others shall:
But tis most strange to see you go about,
To praise the thing that workes all womens fall.
Why constancie is that which marreth all.
A weake conceipt which cannot wrongs resist,
A chaine it is which bindes our selues in thrall,
And giues men scope to vse vs as they list,
For when they know that you will constant bide,
Small is their care, how often they do slide.
O if you would but marke the little mappe
Of my poore world, how in times swift careere
I manage fortune, and with wit entrap
A thousand such as hould these courses deare;
Then would you say you want the arte of loue,
For I feare nothing lesse then such relaps,
The forwardnesse which I in men approoue,
Most troubles me for feare of after claps.
And Lord, you cannot gouerne one alone,
When I haue many subiect to my beck:
I alwayes pleasant, you still making mone,
You full of feare, they dread my frowning check.
Nor do I maruaile, for this vnion breedes
A loathing sure, by nature vnto things:
And constancie the minde with quiet seedes,
And setled quiet soone corruption brings.
Thus first we loathe, and then we straight waies hate,
When to one obiect we entend our minde:
But I with choice do still renew the state,
Of fainting loue, and still new pleasures finde.
Looke how a Bee amongst the verdant fields,
From diuers flowers extracts the pleasant thyme,
Which well compounded, one sweet matter yeelds:
So do I spend my pleasure-tasting time.
I seeke not graines of gould in barraine ground,
Nor hope for fruite, when haruest is once past:
I like not where affection is not found,
If any fall, I flye from him as fast.
And surely who will taste the sweet of loue,
Must not be tyed vnto one poore conceipt:
One cannot worke or halfe his practise prooue,
Vpon one minde which will be dulled straight.
But there must be an emulation plac'd,
Mongst fauourites as spur of swift desire:
By letting one still see another grac'd,
As though the on's deserts did so require.
Two at a time I seldome entertaine,
Nor one alone, but alwaies if I might,
Whiles any one to court me I detaine,
Some other of the crew should be in sight:
Who mought behold, how frankly I bestow,
Both smiles; and fauours, where it pleased me,
They thinking this from his deserts to grow,
Will striue for to deserue as well as he.
Thus I abound with store of proferred loue,
With vowed faith, with presents and what not:
When in the end one fortune all must prooue,
And all these fauours must be cleane forgot.

Cam.
But will not all thy seruants thee forsake,
To see a ryuall such high fauour gaine?

Syl.
If any iealious foole a surfeite take,
Then thus with arte I bring him on amaine.
Some extraordinary fauour falles
On him vnwares, which may new fire his minde:
Or els some trusty agent him recalles,
In secret manner thereunto assign'd;
Who tels him (as of friendship) I admire
His discontent, and my vnkindnesse blame;
How I doe oftentimes of him enquire,
And still a sigh awaites vpon his name.
This way I seldon faile, till at the last,
In follies lap affection hath him lull'd.
From whence with fresh desire he flyes as fast,
As if (poore foole) his wings had nere been pull'd.

Iul.
But sith thy minde can neuer be so free,
But that affection will on thee lay holde:
That being partiall, me thinkes should be
A cause, that others loue would soone waxe cold.

Syl.
Affection, no, I know not such a thought,
That were a way to make my selfe a slaue:
I hate subiection and will nere be brought,
What now I giue, at others hands to craue.

Iul,
But yet I know some one aboue the rest
Is most belou'd, but that you list to iest.

Syl.
I loue one most? I fauour, loue, and grace,
Most euery one, whiles he in presence is:
But being gone, looke who comes next in place,
He's next my heart, my course is alwaies this.
And if that any chance to fall away,
Shall losse of him thus vexe me at the heart?
No griefe, I neuer meane to be thy pray,
My care and he together shall depart.

Cam.
Of straying, falling, and I wot not what,
So many words hath Syluia spent in vaine:
That time, and truth, and purpose are forgot,
To Antony let vs returne againe.
We speake not of thy sutors, we complaine
Of his vntruth, that second vnto none,
In faithlesnes: of duety should remaine,
For euer constant vnto one alone.
Of his vntruth, who hath his honor stain'd,
By base defiling of his mariage bed:
Who being vowed, and by oath detain'd,
Is false for sworne, seduc'd and fondly fled.

Syl.
Why all is one, no wedlocke can compell,
No law, no feare, no reason can constraine
Our mindes, whiles we in natures castels dwell,
The pleasing course of nature to refraine.
Nature it selfe dooth most delight in change,
The heauens, by motion do their musicke make:
Their lights by diuers waies and courses raunge;
And some of them new formes doe alwaies take.
Their working power is neuer alwaies one,
And time it selfe least constant is of all:
This earth we see and all that liues thereon,
Without new change; into destruction fall.
Nay what is more, the life of all these things,
Their essence, and perfection, doth consist
In this same change, which to all creatures brings
That pleasure, which in life may not be mist.
Sith then all creatures are so highly blest,
To taste the sweet of life in often change:
If we which are the princes of the rest,
Should want the same, me thinks t'were very strange.
For proofe heereof, I need not to vnsold:
Such farre fetcht secrets, scence will make it plaine.
What pleasure hath the eye, when you beholde
One onely obiect: is't not rather paine?
What sweet delight doth charme the listning eare,
When onely one tune it doth apprehend?
In taste and smell, like loathing doth appeare,
Whose euidence, no wit can reprehend.
Since nature then hath framed for the eye,
Such sundrie coulors to delight the same;
And for the eare such strange variety,
Of sweetest tunes, which doe our musicke frame;
Such diuers meates, to please the dainty taste;
So many fauours to delight that sence;
Each other part, with diuers pleasures grac'd;
Least want of change mought haply breed offence.
What, shall the heart the master of the rest,
Be more restrain'd then any sauage beast?
Shall not the heart, on whom all those depend,
Haue greater scope then any of them all,
To taste the pleasure of each pleasing friend?
Faith mine hath had, and so it euer shall.

Cam.
Peace wicked woman, nay foule monster peace
Whose very steps defile the guiltlesse earth:
Staine of thy sexe, thy poisoned speech surcease,
That hath from sinne, and wickednes, his birth.
Is't not too much to glory in thy sinne,
Leawd creature, that hast ouer-liu'd all shame?
Imbouldning others to persist therein,
When thou thy selfe shouldst shun and fly the same;
But thou must make the heauens a president,
For thy misdeedes, which on thy head will power,
Eternall vengeance, vnlesse thou repent,
And stay the force of mischiefes dreadfull shower.
These moouing thinges are constant in their kinde,
Vnto the end for which they were ordain'd:
Not mutable like thy vngodly minde,
Whose very thoughts with wickednes are stain'd.
Our scences their peculiar obiects haue,
Whose store, and number, doth vnto vs shew,
How reuerently we should our selues behaue,
To'ards him whose bounty did the same bestow.
O Chastity bright vertues sacred flame,
Be neuer woman louely wanting thee.
Be neuer woman wrong'd adorn'd with thee.
Be all disgrac'd that merit not thy name.
Come Iulia, we haue taried heere too long.
Syluia adiew in faith I wish thee well,
No honest minde I thinke will doe thee wrong.
T'is punishment enough to hang in hell.

Chorus.