Certaine small poems lately printed with the tragedie of Philotas. Written by Samuel Daniel.

A Letter sent from Octauia to her husband Marcus An∣tonius into AEgypt.

1

TO thee (yet deere) though most disloyall Lord, Whom impious loue keeps in a barbarous land, Thy wronged wife Octauia sendeth word Of th'vnkind wounds receiued by thy hand, Great Antony, ô let thine eyes afford But to permit thy heart to vnderstand The hurt thou dost, and do but read her teares That still is thine though thou wilt not be hers.

2

Although perhaps, these my complaints may come Whilst thou in th'armes of that incestious Qeeene The staine of Aegypt, and the shame of Rome Shalt dallying sit, and blush to haue them seene: Whilst proud disdainfull she, gessing from whome The message came, and what the cause hath beene, Will scorning say, saith, this comes from your Deere, Now sir you must be shent for staying heere.

3

From her indeed it comes, delitious dame, (Thou royall Concubine, and Queene of lust) Whose armes yet pure, whose brests are void of blame, And whose most lawfull flame proues thine vniust:

Tis she that sends the message of thy shame, And his vntruth that hath betraid her trust: Pardon, deare lord, from her these sorrows are Whose bed brings neither infamie nor warre.

4

And therefore heare her words, that too too much Hath heard the wronges committed by thy shame; Although at first my trust in thee was such As it held out against the strongest fame; My heart would neuer let in once a touch Of least beliefe, till all confirmd the same: That I was almost last that would belieue Because I know mee first that most must grieue.

5

How oft haue poore abused I tooke parte With falshood onely for to make thee true? How oft haue I argued against my heart Not suffring it to know that which it knew? And for I would not haue thee what thou arte I made my selfe, vnto my selfe vntrue: So much my loue labourd against thy Sinne To shut our feare which yet kept feare within:

6

For I could neuer thinke th'aspiring mind Of worthy and victorious Antonie, Could be by such a Syren so declinde, As to be traind a pray to Luxury: I could not thinke my Lord would be s•• vnkind As to despise his Children, Rome and me: But ô how soone are they deceiued that trust And more their shame, that wilbe so vniust.

7

But now that certaine same hath open laid Thy new relaps, and strange reuolt from mee, Truth hath quite beaten all my hopes away and made the passage of my sorrows free: For now poore hart, there's nothing in the way Remaines to stand betwixt despaire and thee; All is throwne downe, there comes no succors newe It is most true, my Lord is most vntrue.

8

And now I may with shame inough pull in The colours I aduanced in his grace For that subduing powre, that him did win Hath lost me too, the honour of my face: Yet why should I bearing no part of sinne Beare such a mightie part of his disgrace? Yes though it be not mine, it is of mine; And his renowne being clips'd, mine cannot shine,

9

Which makes me as I do, hide from the eie Of the misiudging vulger that will deeme, That sure there was in me some reason why Which made thee thus, my bed to disesteeme: So that alas poore vndeseruing I A cause of thy vncleane deserts shall seeme, Though lust takes neuer ioy in what is t••ue, But still leaues known delights to seeke out new.

10

And yet my brother Caesar laboured To haue me leaue thy house, and liue more free, But God forbid, Octauia should be led

To leaue to liue in thine, though left by thee The pledges here of thy forsaken bed, Are still the obiects that remember me What Antony was once, although false now, And is my Lord, though he neglect his vow.

11

These walles that here do keepe me out of sight Shall keepe me all vnspotted vnto thee, And testifie that I will do thee right, Ile neuer staine thy house, though thou shame me: The now sad Chamber of my once delight Shall be the temple of my pietie Sacred vnto the faith I reuerence, Where I will pay my teares for thy offence.

12

Although my youth, thy absence, and this wrong Might draw my bloud to forfeit vnto shame, Nor need I frustrate my delights so long That haue such meanes to carry so the same, Since that the face of greatnesse is so strong As it dissolues suspect, and beares out blame, Hauing all secret helps that long thereto That seldome wants there ought but will to do:

13

Which yet to do, ere lust this heart shall frame Earth swallow me aliue, hell rap me hence: Shall I because despisd contemne my shame, And add disgrace to others impudence? What can my powre but giue more powre to fame? Greatnesse must make it great incontinence; Chambers are false, the bed and all will tell,

No doore keepes in their shame that do not well.

14

Hath greatnesse ought peculiar else alone But to stand faire and bright aboue the base? What doth deuide the cottage from the throne, If vice shall lay both leuell with disgrace? For if vncleannesse make them but all one What priuiledge ha••h honor by his place? What though our sinnes go braue and better clad, They are as those in rags as base as bad.

15

I know not how, but wrongfully I know Hath vndiscerning custome plac'd our kind Vnder desert, and set vs farre below The reputation to our sexe assign'd; Charging our wrong reputed weakenes, how We are vnconstant, fickle, false, vnkinde: And though our life with thousand proofs shewes no Yet since strength saies it, weaknes must be so.

16

Vnequall partage to b'allow'd no share Of power to do of lifes best benefite; But stand as if we interdicted were Of vertue, action, libertie and might: Must you haue all, and not vouchsafe to spare Our weaknes any intrest of delight? Is there no portion left for vs at all, But sufferance, sorrow, ignorance and thrall?

17

Thrice happy you in whom it is no fault, To know, to speake, to do, and to be wise:

Whose words haue credit, and whose deeds though naught Must yet be made to seeme far otherwise: You can be onely heard whilst we are taught To hold our peace, and not to exercise The powers of our best parts, because your parts Haue with our freedome robb'd vs of our hearts,

18

We in this prison of our selues confin'd Must here shut vp with our own passions liue Turn'd in vpon vs, and denied to find The vent of outward means that might relieue: That they alone must take vp all our mind; And no roome left vs, but to thinke and grieue, Yet oft our narrowed thoughts looke more direct Then your loose wisdoms borne with wild neglect.

19

For should we too (as God forbid we should) Carry no better hand on our desires Then your strength doth; what int'rest could Our wronged patience paie you for your hires? What mixture of strange generations would Succeed the fortunes of vncertaine Sires? What foule confusion in your blood and race To your immortall shame, and our disgrace?

20

What? are there bars for vs, no bounds for you? Must leuitie stand sure, though firmnes fall? And are you priuiledg'd to be vntrue, And we no grant to be dispens'd withall? Must we inuiolable keepe your due, Both to your loue, and to your falshood thrall?

Whilst you haue stretch'd your lust vnto your will As if your strength were licenc'd to do ill.

21

O if you be more strong then be more iust Cleere this suspition, make not the world to doubt, Whether in strong, or weake be better trust, If frailry, or else valour be more stout: And if we haue shut in our hearts from lust Let not your bad example let them out, Thinke that there is like ••eeling in our bloud, If you will haue vs good, be you then good.

22

Is it that loue doth take no true delight In what it hath, but still in what it would, Which drawes you on to do vs this vnright, Whilst feare in vs of loosing what we hold Keepes vs in still to you, that set vs light, So that what you vnties, doth vs infold? Then loue tis thou that dost confound vs so To make our truth the occasion of our wo.

23

Distressed woman kind that either must For louing loose your loues, or get neglect; Whilst wantons are more car'd for then the iust And falshood cheerisht, faith without respect: Better she fares in whom is lesser trust, And more is lou'd that is in more suspect. Which (pardon me) shews no great strength of minde To be most theirs, that vse you most vnkinde.

24

Yet well it fit•• for that sinne euer must Be tortur'd with the racke of his owne frame,

For he that holds no faith shall find no trust: But sowing wrong is sure to reape the same: How can he looke to haue his measure iust That fils deceipt, and reckons not of shame, And being not pleas'd with what he ••ath in lo•• Shall euer pine for that which he hath not?

25

Yet if thou couldst not loue, thou mightst haue seem'd Though to haue seem'd had likewise beene vniust: Yet so much are leane shewes of vs esteem'd That oft they feed, though not suffice our trust, Because our nature grieueth to be deem'd To be so wrong'd, although we be and must. And i'ts some ease yet to be kindly vs'd In outward shew, though secretly abus'd.

26

But wo to her, that both in shew despis'd. And in effect disgrac'd and left forlorne, For whom no comforts are to be deuis'd, Nor no new hopes can euermore, be borne: O Antony, could it not haue suffiz'd That I was thine, but must be made her skorne That enuies all our bloud, and doth deuide Thee from thy selfe, onely to serue her pride?

27

What fault haue I committed that should make So great dislike of me and of my loue? Or doth thy fault but an occasion take For to dislike what most doth it reproue? Because the conscience gladly would mistake Her own misdeedes which she would faine remoue,

And they that are vnwilling to amend Will take offence because they will offend.

28

Or hauing run beyond all pardon quite They flie and ioyne with sin as wholy his, Making it now their side their part, their right, And to turne backe would shew t'haue done amisse: For now they thinke not to be opposite To what obraides their fault, were wickednesse: So much doth folly thrust them into blame That euen to leaue off shame, they count it shame.

29

Which do not thou deere Lord, for I do not Pu••su•• thy fault, but sue for thy retourne Backe to thy selfe, whom thou hast both forgot With me, poore me, that doth not spight but mourne. And if thou couldst as well amend thy blot As I forgiue, these plaints had beene forborne: And thou shouldst be the same vnto my hart Which once thou were, not that which now thou art.

30

Though deepe doth sit the hard recouering smart Of that last wound (which God grant be the last) And more doth touch that tender feeling part Of my sad soule, then all th'vnkindnes past: And Antony I appeale to thine own hart, (If th'h••rt which once was thine thou yet still hast) To iudge if euer woman that did liue Had iuster cause, then wretched I, to grieue.

31

For comming vnto Athens as I did,

Wearie and weake with ••oyle, and all distrest, After I had with sorrow compassed A hard consent, to graunt me that request: And how my trauaile was considered And all my care, and cost, thy selfe knowes best: That wouldst not moue one foot from lust for me That had left all was deere to come to thee:

32

For first what great ado had I to win. My offended brother Caesars backward will? And praid, and wept, and cride to stay the sinne Of ciuill rancor rising twixt you still: For in what ••as•• shall wretched I be in, Set betwixt both to share with both your ill? My blood said I with either of you goes, Who euer win, I shall be sure to lose.

33

For what shame should such mighty persons get For two weake womens cause to disagree? Nay what shall I that shall be deem'd to set Th'inkindled fire, seeming inflam'd for me? O if I be the motiue of this heate Let these vnguilty hands the quenchers bee, And let me trudge to mediate an accord The Agent twixt my brother and my Lord.

34

With praiers, vowes and teares, with vrging hard I wrung from him a slender grant at last, And with the rich prouisions I prepaid For thy (intended Parthian war) made hast Weighing not how my poore weake body far'd,

But all the tedious difficulties past: And came to Athens; whence I Niger sent To shew thee of my comming and intent.

35

Whereof when he had made relation: I was commanded to approch no neare? Then sent I backe to know what should de done With th'horse, and men, and monie I had there: Whereat perhaps when some remorse begun To touch thy soule, to thinke yet what we were. Th'Inchanters straight steps twixt thy hart & the And intercepts all thoughts that came of mee.

36

She armes her teares, the ingins of deceit And all her battery, to oppose my loue; And bring thy comming grace to a retrait The powre of all her subtilty to proue: Now pale and faint she languishes, and straight Seemes in a sound vnable more to moue: Whilst her instructed followers plie thine eares. with forged passions, mixt with fained teares.

37.

Hard-harted lord: say they, how canst thou see This mighty Queene a creature so diuine, Lie thus distrest, and languishing for thee And onely wretched but for being thine? Whilst base Octauia must intitled bee Thy wife, and she esteem'd thy concubine: Aduance thy heart, raise it vnto his right And let a seepter baser passions quit:

38

Thus they assaile thy natures weakest side And worke vpon th'aduantage of thy mind, Knowing where iudgment stood least fortified And how t'incounter folly in her kinde: But yet the while O what dost thou abide, Who in thy selfe such wrastling thoughts dost finde? In what confused case is thy soule in Rackt betwixt pitie, sorrow, shame and sin?

39

I cannot tell but sure I dare beleeue My trauailes needs must some cōpassion moue: For no such locke to bloud could nature giue To shut out pitie, though it shut out loue: Conscience must leaue a little way to grieue To let in horror comming to reproue, The guilt of thy offence that caus'd the same, For deepest woūds the hand, of our owne shame.

40

Neuer haue vniust pleasures beene compleet In ioyes intire, but still feare kept the dore And held back something from that ful of sweet To interfowre vnsure delights the more: For neuer did all circumstances meete With those desires which were cōceiu'd before Something must still be left to check our sinne, And giue a touch of what should not haue bin.

41

Wretched mankind, wherefore hath nature made The lawfull vndelightfull, th'vniust shame?

As if our pleasure onely were forbade, But to giue fire to lust, t'ad greater flame; Or else but as ordained more to lade Our heart with passions to confound the same, Which though it be, yet ad not worse to ill, Do, as the best men do, bound thine owne will.

42

Redeeme thy selfe, a••d now at length make peace With thy deuided hart opprest with toyle: Breake vp this war, this brest dissention cease, Thy passions to thy passions reconcile: I do not only seeke my good t'increase, But thine owne ease, and liberty the while: Thee in the circuite of thy selfe confine. And be thine owne, and then thou wilt be mine.

43

I know my pittied loue, doth aggrauate Enuy and wrath for these wrongs offered: And that my suffrings adde with my estate Coales in thy bosome, hatred on thy head: Yet is not that, my, fault, but my hard fate, Who rather wish to haue beene vnpitied Of all but thee, then that my loue should be Hurtfull to him that is so deere to me.

44

Cannot the busie world let me alone To beare alone the burthen of my griefe, But they must intermeddle with my mone And seeke t'offend me with vnsought reliefe? Whilst my afflictions labour'd to moue none

But only thee; must pitty play the thiefe, To steale so many harts to hurt my hart, And moue a part against my deerest part,?

45

Yet all this shall not preiudice my Lord If yet he will but make returne at last, His sight shall raze out of the sad record Of my inrowled griefe all that is past; And I will not so much as once affoord Place for a thought to thinke I was disgrac'st: And pity shall bring back againe with me Th'offended harts that haue forsaken thee,

46

And therefore come deere lord, least longer stay Do arme against thee all the powers of spight. And thou bee made at last the wofull pray Of full inkindled wrath, and ruin'd quite: But what presaging thought of bloud doth stay My trembling hand, and doth my soule affright? What horror do I see, prepar'd t'attend Th'euent of this? what end vnlesse thou end?

47

With what strange formes and shadowes ominous Did my last sleepe, my grieu'd soule intertaine? I dreampt, yet ô, dreames are but friuolous, And yet Ile tell it, and God graunt it vaine. Me thought a mighty Hippopotamus* 1.1 From Nilus floting, thrusts into the maine, Vpon whose backe a wanton Mermaid sate, As if she ruld his course and steerd his ••ite.

48

With whom t'incounter, forth another makes, Alike in kind, of strength and powre as good: At whose ingrappling Neptunes mantle takes A purple colour dyde with streames of bloud, Whereat, this looker on, amaz'd forsakes Her Champion there, who yet the better stood; But se'ing her gone straight after her he hies As if his hart and strength laye in her eies:

49

On followes wrath vpon disgrace and feare, Whereof th'euent forsooke me with the night, But my wak'd cares, gaue me, these shadowes were Drawne but from darknes to instruct the light, These secret figures, natures message beare Of comming woes, where they desciphered right; But if as cloudes of sleepe thou shalt them take, Yet credit wrath and spight that are awake.

50

Preuent great spirit the tempest that begin, If lust and thy ambition haue left way But to looke out, and haue not shut all in, To stop thy iudgement from a true suruay Of thy estate; and let thy hart within Consider in what danger thou doost lay Thy life and mine•• to leaue the good thou hast, To follow hopes with shadows ouercast,

51

Come, come away from wrong, from craft, frō toile, Possesse thine owne with right, with truth, with peace;

Breake from these snares, thy iudgment vnbeguile. Free thine owne torment, and my griefe release. But whither am I carried all this while Beyond my scope, and know not when to cease? Words still with my increasing so••owes grow; I know t'haue said too much but not ynow. Wherefore no more but onely I commend To thee the hart that's thine, and so I end,

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  A Sea Horse.