University of Virginia Library

Actus Quintus.

Iulia. Geminus. Camilla.
[Iul.]
Hath Geminus beheld th'Ægyptian Queene,
The auctor of the troubled worlds distresse?
Hast thou hir guifts and rare perfections seene,
That makes Antonius scences thus digresse?
Tell vs, is she so admirable faire,
That Italy hath none which may come nigh hir?
Doth she all beauties else so much impaire,
Or els indeed, dooth partiall fame be lye hir?
Haue those hir eyes so rare an influence,
To houlde and captiuate mens sences so,
That foyling wit, and reasons best defence,
They rauished, must needs themselues forgoe?

Gem.
I know not what may seem faire in your sight,
Because some like what others discommend:
But for my selfe, and if I iudge aright,
Speaking of Cleopatra as a frend.
The fairest thing that in her may be seene:
Is, that she is a Ladie and a Queene.
Madame, that sun-burnt coast, yeelds not a face
Which with the Romain beauties may compare:
There mought be found a thousand in this place;
Whose naturall perfections are more rare.

Iul.
How passing strange it seemes that Antony,
Should leaue the paragon of natures pride:
And follow hir whose shamefull luxurie,
Dooth make the world his folly to deride.
Whence should it spring that such a thing should be?
Is this his solly, or the heauens decree?

Cam.
His fault no doubt, & crosseth natures lawes.

Iul.
And I thinke not, for nature is the cause.
By nature we are moou'd, nay forst to loue:
And being forst, can we resist the same?
The powerfull hand of heauen we wretches prooue:
Who strike the stroke, and poore we, beare the blame.

Cam.
Loue sure, frō nature tooke his birth by right,
But loue of what?

Iul.
Of beautie loues delight.

Cam.
And what is beautie?

Iul.
first say what is loue?

Cam.
Loue's a desire of what doth liking moue.

Iul.
Desire doth spring, frō what we wish, and want,
Dooth loose himselfe in winning of his saint:
Enioying dooth that humor quite supplant,
And therefore cannot this loues nature paint.
If loue were a desire, as you do guesse,
Sith none desires that which he doth enioy,
We could not loue the thing we do possesse:
For why, enioying, would our loue destroy.
But this is false, and you haue iudg'd amisse.

Cam.
Speak you the truth, whose iudgment better is.

Iul.
I thinke this loue a deepe affection sure,
Wrought by th'instinct of natures hidden might,
Which in our hearts an vnion doth procure,
With that which perfect seemes vnto our sight.
Such is that loue which in vs doth arise,
When such a beautie we do chaunce to see:
As with our nature best doth simpathize,
Which nature, faultie is, and not poore we.

Cam.
Wel, what is beauty?

Iul.
that which liketh best.

Cam.
Which liketh whō?

Iul.
Some one aboue ye rest.

Cam.
Why? some do like what others disalowe.
Some loue, what others hate: and few there are
In whom a like affection doth growe,
Of any one thing, though the same be rare.
Were beautie then such as you heere do name,
One thing should be, and not be beautifull,
One thing should be, and yet not be the same:
And that me thinkes were strange and wonderfull.
I rather thinke these outward beauties growe,
From iust proportion and right symmetrie:
Of these same guifts which nature doth bestow,
Vpon vs all in our natiuitie.

Iul.
Indeed we see a mixture farre more fine
In some, then others, wrought by natures frame:
To whom the praise of beautie we assigne,
Yet do not all alike affect the same.
Now, if this were the obiect of our loue,
We all should like some one that were most faire:
Who should alone most deepe affection mooue,
Whil's vulgar minds mought drown in deep despaire.
But as no woman easily can endure,
To be depriu'd of beauties louely praise:
So is there none so much deformed sure,
That in some minds, affection doth not raise.
Ther's none so faire whose beautie all respect,
Although we were enforst it should be so:
Some nothing faire, whom we must needs affect,
Though reason, wit, and all the world say no.

Cam.
And what should be the cause of all this same?

Iul.
I thinke because we lodge in natures frame.
Look how the Loadstone draws nought els but steele
Though mettals far more pretious are about it:
Yet this as his fit subiect seemes to feele
His power attractiue, and mooues not without it,
Or as in diuerse instruments we see,
When any one doth strike a tuned string:
The rest which with the same in concord be,
Will shew a motion to that sencelesse thing;
VVhen all the other neither stirre nor playe,
Although perhaps more musicall then they:
So are our minds, in spight of reasons nay,
Strain'd with the bent of natures sympathie:
VVhose powerfull force, no wit, no arte, can stay.
And if you aske a farther reason why:
In these two things, but shew the cause of both:
And then ile tell you why we loue, and loathe.
Now, if the power of nature be so strong
That euen sencelesse things yeeld therevnto:
O why should we endure so great a wrong,
To beare the blame of that which others doe.
What liuing man can ceasse himselfe to be,
And yet as possible as to refraine,
From that whereto our nature dooth agree:
And spight of vs, doth vs thereto constraine.
Who can be angry with the sencelesse steele,
For cleauing vnto this hard-harted thing?
Or blame that which can neither heare, nor feele,
For moouing to the other sounding string.
If these may be excusd by natures lawes:
O how much more should we be free from blame,
Within whose tender hearts affection drawes,
Such deepe caractars leading to the same.

Cam.
Is beautie then, sole obiect of our loue?

Iul.
That which seems so, doth our affection moue.

Cam.
I euer thought that vertue had been best.

Iul.
We praise that most, but yet esteeme it least.

Ca.
Why disesternd, whose worth is so wel knowne.

Iul.
To shew that vice the world hath ouergrowne.

Ca.
The name is often hard in each mans mouth.

Iul.
The thing more rare then Eagles in the south.

Ca.
The thing contemnd can we the name esteeme?

Iul.
Yes all that are not such as all would seeme.
But sith this is the beautie of the minde,
And nothing fits our naturall discourse:
Let vs excuses for Antonius finde,
And to our former purpose haue recourse.

Cam.
No Iulia, no, your haruest is too long,
For such a simple croppe as you receiue:
You may not thus persist the truth to wrong,
And with your wit, the world seeke to deceiue.
But Lord how willing are we to inuent,
And finde out couerts to obscure our sinne:
As though to hide the same, and not repent,
Could vs preserue from being drownd therein.
Tis true, that nature did these buildings frame.
And true, that they to natures power are thrall.
And true, that imperfections foyle the same.
And true, that we by natures weaknesse fall.
And this is true, that God vnnatured all,
And gaue vs wisdome to suppresse our will:
He gaue vs perfect reason to recall,
Affections scoutes from following what is ill.
Why we are men: and this same sparke diuine,
Our trouping thoughts should marshall in such wise,
That no affect from reason should decline,
Nor rebell passion in our hearts arise.
Th'instinct of nature, which doth all things moue,
Bids loue whereas you like without regarde:
But pietie saith, where tis lawfull loue,
Or els hell torments shall be your rewarde.

Octauia.
Antonyes children.
And is it true, is Antony vnkinde?
Hath this new loue, of faith and troath bereft him?
Can fonde affection so obscure his minde,
That not one sparke of honor should be left him?
Can he so far forget his owne good name,
As to dishonor all that are about him?
Ah can he not without a further blame,
Permit them dye that cannot liue without him?
Come poore companions of my misery,
The issue of the faithlest man aliue:
Support the burthen of his trecherie,
Whose base reuoult, our ruine doth contriue.
Come poore beholders of your mothers fall,
Whose innocence mought greater pittie moue:
Your impious father doth despise vs all,
Forsaken we, must other fortunes proue.
Come poore attendants of a falling state,
Whose silent sadnesse doth my greefe renue:
Yet be you all much more vnfortunate,
Ere any seedes of leawdnesse rest in you.
Come let vs goe, and leaue this loanly place,
Your fathers dying loue bequeaths you hence:
O flye this house, as from your owne disgrace,
Tis his commaund you should be banishtt hence,
Dead Fuluia, how can thy imperious ghoast
Endure to see thine Orphants thus oppressed?
Yet of mine honor though his loue be lost,
Whiles I suruiue, they shall not be distressed.
O Antony, borne of no gentle Syre,
Some cruell Caucasus did thee beget:
Euen scencelesse things thy scencelesnesse admire,
And seeme to feele, what thou seemst to forget.
Oft haue I seene these stones with pitty moued,
Sheed dropping teares, lamenting my disgrace:
When in thy heart where most it most behoued,
No kinde remorse could euer finde a place.
More milde then thee, I finde each cruell beast,
For they but giue a smale-time lasting death:
With endlesse greefe, my soule thou dost molest,
Which euer killing, neuer stops my breath.
O failing piller of my falling state!
O fading flower of vertues fairest field!
O why shouldst thou so much degenerate,
And honors byrth-right to dishonor yeeld.
Yeeld to dishonour all that deare bought wealth,
Which earthly kings doth in heauens kingdom place.
Let thy mindes treasure fall away by stealth,
By stealth contriue and worke thine owne disgrace.
O Erecina that my Lord did know,
As thy fonde boye shootes shaftes of swift desire:
So mightie Ioue, sharpe thunder-boults doth throwe,
Confounding such as from his lawes retyre.
He nurst in sinne, sees not his owne disgrace,
Augmenting still, our sorrow and his shame:
That greatnesse hides the danger from his face,
But yet my care is doubled with the same.
The greedie Wolfe, and cruell rauening beare,
Toucht with th'extremitie of hungrie paine,
The guiltlesse cattle furiously do teare:
And being fed, from crueltie refraine.
But tyranizing greefe prayes on the heart,
And cloyed with sighes and teares doth stil perseuer:
His raging furie nothing may diuert,
But still, still fed, is satisfied neuer.
O happie he, a thousand times and more,
Whose quiet thoughts so milde a calme do gaine:
That neither hope can force from safeties shore,
Nor deepe despaire can sincke on mischiefes maine.
But maiestie, and honour, for these too,
Shalbe the onely obiects of mine eye:
What vertue saith is iust, that will I doe,
Thus I resolue to liue, thus will I dye.

Geminus.
Byllius. Octauia.
And are you sure that Antony is slaine?
May we beleeue that this report is true?

Byl.
Why should you wish me to recount againe,
The story that doth double greefe renue?
O had you but discouered with your eyes,
The face of woe in all that present were:
Or heard their dolefull noyse and shriking cryes,
You would haue cause to greeue and not to feare.

Oct.
What tragick tidings bring these wofull wights,
That ring such peales of horror in mine eares?
What vnknowne cause your martiall hearts affrights?
What silent greefe in your sadde lookes appeares?

Byl.
Did but our words import the sound of woe,
To wound your eares withall were double sinne:
But sithe your highnesse will, it should be so,
And that your safetie is contain'd therein;
We will not from your grace conceale the same;
And though we should, yet time will open all.
From Ægipts common woes I lately came,
And did bewaile Antonius wilfull fall.

Oct.
Is Antony ore'throwne?

Byl.
Yes all is lost.
His power and forces wholy are decayed:
He is deceiued by hir he loued most,
By Cleopatra shamefully betrayed.
And she that taught him first to swim in sinne:
Was euen the first that drown'd his life therein.

Oct.
Ah, by what meanes did she my Lord abuse?

Byl.
By such a meanes as leawd offenders vse.
For when the warres at first pretended were,
And that Antonius with him would not take hir:
Shee fearing least hir selfe not being there,
He haply mought be moued to forsake hir.
Shee fees Canidius our cheefe Generall,
Him to perswade, that she mought present be:
He sues, obtaines, and we embarked all,
Make ioyfull hast our wofull end to see.
For whiles our powers of equall forces were;
And neither side could disaduantage spye:
Like one that knew a secret cause of feare,
Out of the armie she began to flye.
Loe, how no greatnesse can our conscience free,
From inward horror of our wicked deeds:
For that same better part of vs doth see,
A greater power whose Iustice terrour breeds.
But he, whose thoughts were to hir lookes enchained,
Although the armie did no losse sustaine,
As though for hir he had the world disdayned:
Forsakes them all, and after flyes amaine.
Whose causelesse feare so much dismaid the hoast,
Who scorn'd to fight for him which runne away:
That with small hurt, the battle there was lost,
And Cæsar had the honor of the day.
The Legions, thus depriued of a guide,
Themselues to Cæsars clemencie submit:
Antonius basenesse they do all deride,
And thinke a chamber were for him more fit.
But Lyon-harted Cæsar still proceeds,
His strength is doubled, weakened is his foe:
Vnto Pelusium hastely he speedes,
These fugitiues may not escape him so.
There lay Antonius nauie in the rode,
Who yeelded when Augustus fleet was seene:
And likewise shewed how Antony abode,
At Alexandria with this fearfull Queene,
Who seeing thus himselfe depriued of ayde,
Cryes out that Cleopatra hath betrayed him:
She whether guiltie, or perhaps affraid,
That frō hir slaughter nothing could haue staid him;
Flies from his sight, and falsely sends him word,
That she (drownd in despaire) hir selfe had slaine:
Wherwith enrag'd, he takes a bloudie sword,
And breathing out these speeches all in vaine;
O Cleopatra princesse of my heart;
And art thou dead? lo dying I adore thee:
This more then death, doth now procure my smart,
That wanting courage, I went not before thee;
With that, yet warme death-couloured instrument,
In his faire brest he did the gate set ope,
Which to the earth, his bloudlesse lims hath sent:
His dying soule vp to the heauens I hope.
And is he dead?

Byl.
His better part yet liueth,
But to his corps a tombe sweet quiet giueth

Octa.
O poore Promethius, now I feele thy paines,
Greefes greedie vulture feedes vpon my heart:
Vpon my head a shower of mischiefe raines,
And all the heauens conclude to worke my smart.
O my Antonius, O my Lord, my Lord:
O that Octauia had been slaine for thee;
O that the heauens would vnto me afford,
That this my bloud mought thy liues ransome be.
Mine was the wound thou gauest that noble brest,
That purple streame extracted from my heart:
In my deepe passions is thy death exprest,
Thou feltst the stroke, but I endure the smart,
And O that greefe did not thus stop my breath,
And all my words dissolue in showers of teares,
That I mought worthily lament thy death:
And Catadupa-like, dull all mens eares.
Vnhappy world, the pilgrimage of paine,
The stage where mischiefe actes a dyreful part:
What hast thou had, what dost thou now containe,
Which but a thought of pleasures mought impart.
Not one care-wanting houre my life hath tasted:
But from the very instant of my birth,
Vncessant woes my tyred heart haue wasted,
And my poore thoughts are ignorant of mirth.
Looke how one waue, another still pursueth,
When some great tempest holds their troups in chase:
Or as one houre an others losse reneweth;
Or posting day supplyes anothers place;
So do the billows of affliction beate me,
And hand in hand the stormes of mischiefe goe;
Successiue cares with vtter ruine threate me;
Griefe is enchain'd with griefe, and woe with woe,
Yet must I beare it with a patient minde:
For why the heauens haue this to me assign'd.

Chorus.