Part 7 (1/2)

_Ag._ A feared Prince hath oft his death desir'd.

_Cae._ A Prince not fear'd hath oft his wrong conspir'de.

_Ag._ No guard so sure, no forte so strong doth proue, No such defence, as is the peoples loue.

_Caes._ Nought more vnsure more weak, more like the winde, Then _Peoples_ fauor still to chaunge enclinde.

_Ag._ Good G.o.ds! what loue to gracious Prince men beare!

_Caes._ What honor to the Prince that is seuere!

_Ag._ Nought more diuine then is _Benignitie_.

_Cae._ Nought likes the _G.o.ds_ as doth _Seueritie_.

_Ag._ _G.o.ds_ all forgiue.

_Cae._ On faults they paines do laie.

_Ag._ And giue their goods.

_Cae._ Oft times they take away.

_Ag._ They wreake them not, o _Caesar_, at each time That by our sinnes they are to wrathe prouok'd.

Neither must you (beleue, I humblie praie) Your victorie with crueltie defile.

The G.o.ds it gaue, it must not be abus'd, But to the good of all men mildlie vs'd, And they be thank'd: that hauing giu'n you grace To raigne alone, and rule this earthlie ma.s.se, They may hence-forward hold it still in rest, All scattred power vnited in one brest.

_Cae._ But what is he, that breathles comes so fast, Approaching vs, and going in such hast?

_Ag._ He semes affraid: and vnder his arme I (But much I erre) a bloudie sworde espie.

_Caes._ I long to vnderstand what it may be.

_Ag._ He hither comes: it's best we stay and see.

_Dirce._ What good G.o.d now my voice will reenforce, That tell I may to rocks, and hilles, and woods, To waues of sea, which dash vpon the sh.o.r.e, To earth, to heau'n, the woefull newes I bring?

_Ag._ What sodaine chaunce thee towards vs hath brought?

_Dir._ A lamentable chance. O wrath of heau'ns!

O G.o.ds too pittiles!

_Caes._ What monstrous happ Wilt thou recount?

_Dir._ Alas too hard mishapp!

When I but dreame of what mine eies beheld, My hart doth freeze, my limmes do quiuering quake, I senceles stand, my brest with tempest tost Killes in my throte my wordes, ere fully borne.

Dead, dead he is: be sure of what I say, This murthering sword hath made the man away.

_Caes._ Alas my heart doth cleaue, pittie me rackes, My breast doth pant to heare this dolefull tale.

Is _Antonie_ then dead? To death, alas!

I am the cause despaire him so compelld.

But souldiour of his death the maner showe, And how he did this liuing light forgoe.

_Dir._ When _Antonie_ no hope remaining saw How warre he might, or how agreement make, Saw him betraid by all his men of warre In euery fight as well by sea, as lande; That not content to yeld them to their foes They also came against himselfe to fight: Alone in Court he gan himself torment, Accuse the Queene, himselfe of hir lament, Call'd hir vntrue and traytresse, as who fought To yeld him vp she could no more defend: That in the harmes which for hir sake he bare, As in his blisfull state, she might not share.

But she againe, who much his furie fear'd, Gatt to the Tombes, darke horrors dwelling place: Made lock the doores, and pull the hea.r.s.es downe.

Then fell shee wretched, with hir selfe to fight.

A thousand plaints, a thousand sobbes she cast From hir weake brest which to the bones was torne, Of women hir the most vnhappie call'd, Who by hir loue, hir woefull loue, had lost Hir realme, hir life, and more, the loue of him, Who while he was, was all hir woes support.

But that she faultles was she did inuoke For witnes heau'n, and aire, and earth, and sea.