Pompey :: :: University of Virginia Library

Cornelia with a little Urne in her hand, and Philip.
Cor.
May I believe my Eyes? or does this sight
Delude me, with Chimera's of the Night?
Do I behold The Philip? and didst Thou
Funeral rites to my lov'd Lord allow?
His Ashes does this Urn contain? O view!
At once so terrible and tender too!

Eternal Food of Sorrow and of Hate.
All of Great Pompey that is spar'd by Fate.
Expect not I a Tear to you should pay,
For Great Souls ease their Griefs another way:
Shallow Afflictions by Complaints are fed:
And who laments would fain be Comforted.
But I have sworn by all that we Adore;
And by your self (sad Object) which is more:
(For my griev'd Heart does more to you submit,
Then to those Gods who so ill-guarded it.)
By you I swear it then (Mournful remain,
My only Deity, now he is slain)
That no extinction or decay shall be
In that revenge which must enoble me.
To Cæsar, Ptolomy, by base surprize,
Rome of thy Pompey made a Sacrifice.
And I, thy injur'd walls will never see,
Till Priest, and God, to him shall offer'd be.
Put me in mind, and my just hate sustain,
O Ashes! now my hope as well as Pain.
And to assist me in that great design,
Shed in all Hearts what now is felt by mine.
But thou, who on so infamous a shoar
Gav'st him a flame, so Pious, though so Poor:
Tell me, what God thy Fortune made so great
To pay to such a Hero such a Debt?

Philip.
Cover'd with Blood, and much more dead then he;
When I had curs'd the Royal Treachery,
My wandring Feet were by my grief convey'd,
Where yet the Wind upon the Water plaid:
After long search, I on a Rock did stand,
And saw the headless Trunk approach the Sand:
Where th'angry Wave a pleasure seem'd to take
To cast it off, and then to snatch it back:
I to it leap'd, and thrust it to the banks;
Then gathering a heap of Shipwrack'd Planks,

An hasty, artless Pile, I to him rais'd,
Such as I could, and such as Fortune pleas'd,
'Twas hardly kindled, when Heaven grew so kind
To send me help in what I had design'd.
Codrus, an Ancient Roman, who lives here,
Returning from the City, spy'd me there.
And when he did a headless Carkass view,
By that sad mark alone he Pompey knew.
Then weeping said, O thou who ere thou art
To whom the Gods such honours do impart.
Thy fortune's greater then thou dost believe,
Thou shalt rewards, not Punishments receive.
Cæsar's in Egypt, and Revenge declares,
For him to whom thou pay'st these Pious Cares,
These Ashes to his Widow thou mayst bear
In Alexandria, for now she is there.
By Pompeys Conquerour so entertain'd,
As by a God it would not be disdain'd.
Go on till I return, this said, he went,
And quickly brought me this small Monument:
Then we, betwixt us, into it convey'd,
That Hero's Ashes which the fire had made.

Cor.
With what great Praises should this Act be crown'd!

Philip.
Entring the Town I great disorders found.
A numerous People to the Port did fly,
Which they believ'd the King would fortifie.
The eager Romans fiercely these pursu'd,
Rage in their eyes, their hands wich blood imbrew'd.
When Cæsar with brave Justice did Command,
Photin to perish by a Hang-mans hand.
On me appearing, he vouchsaf'd to look,
And with these words my Masters Ashes took.
Remainders of a Demigod! whose Name
I scarce can equal Conquerour as I am.
Behold guilt punish'd, and till Altars call
For other Victims let these Traytors fall.

Greater shall follow. To the Court go thou,
On Pompey's Widow this from me bestow.
And whilst with it she makes with grief some truce,
Tell her how Cæsar her Revenge pursues.
That great Man, sighing, then from me did turn,
And humbly kissing did restore the Urne.

Cor.
O formal Grief! how easie is that Tear
That's shed for Foes whom we no longer fear!
How soon revenge for others fils that brest
Which to it is by its own danger prest?
And when the Care we take to right the dead
Secures our Life and does our glory spread.
Cæsar is generous 'tis true, but he
By the King wrong'd, and from his Rival free,
Might in an envious mind a doubt revive,
What he would do were Pompey yet alive.
His courage his own safety does provide,
Which does the Beauty of his actions hide.
Love is concern'd in't to, and he does fight
In Pompey's Cause for Cleopatra's Right.
So many Int'rests with my Husband's met,
Might to his Virtue take away my debt.
But as Great Hearts judge by themselves alone,
I choose to guess his honour by my own.
And think we only make his fury such,
Since in his Fortune I should do as much.