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

ACTVS SECVNDVS.

Caesar. Proculeius.

KIngdoms I see we winne, we conquere Climates, Yet cannot vanquish hearts, nor force obedience, Affections kept in close-concealed limits. Stand farre without the reach of sworde or violence, Who forc'd do pay vs dutie, pay not loue: Free is the heart, the temple of the minde, The Sanctuarie sacred from aboue, Where nature keeps the keyes that loose and bind. No mortall hand force open can that doore, So close shut vp, and lockt to all mankind: I see mens bodies onely ours, no more, The rest, anothers right, that rules the minde.

Behold, my forces vanquisht haue this Land, Subdu'd that strong Competitor of mine: All Egypt yeelds to my all-conqu'ring hand, And all their treasure and themselues resigne, Onely this Queene, that hath lost all this all. To whom is nothing left except a minde: Cannot into a thought of yeelding fall, To be dispos'd as Chance hath her assign'd. But Proculei, what hope doth she now giue, Will shee be brought to condiscend to liue?

Proc.

My Lord, what time being sent from you to try To win her forth al••••e (if that I might) From out the Monument, where wo••ully She liues inclos'd in most afflicted plight: No way I found, no meanes how to surprize her, But through a gra••e at th'entry of the place Standing to treat, I labour'd to aduise her, To come to Caesar, and to sue for grace. She said she crau'd not life, but leaue to die, Yet for her children, pray'd they might inherite, That Caesar would vouchsafe (in clemencie) To pittie them, though she deseru'd no merite. So leauing her for then; and since of late, With Gallus sent to trie an other time, The whilst he entertaines her at the grate, I found the meanes vp to the Tombe to clime. Where, in descending in the closest wise, And silent manner as I could contriue: Her woman me descri'd, and out she cries, Poore Cleopatra, thou art tane aliue. With that the Queene ••aught from her side her knife,

And euen in act to stab her martred brest, I stept with speed, and held, and sau'd her life, And forth her trembling hand the blade did wrest. Ah Cleopatra, why shouldst thou, (said I) Both iniurie thy selfe and Caesar so? Barre him the honour of his victorie, Who euer deales most mildly with his foe? Liue, and relie on him, whose mercy will To thy submission alwayes ready be.

With that (as all amaz'd) she held her still, Twixt maiestie confuz'd and miserie. Her proud grieu'd eyes, held sorrow and disdaine, State and distresse warring within her soule: Dying ambition disposlest her raigne, So base affliction seemed to controule. Like as a burning Lampe, whose liquor spent With intermitted flames, when dead you deeme it, Sends forth a dying slash, as discontent, That so the matter failes that should redeeme it: So she (in spight) to see her low-brought state, When all her hopes were now consum'd to nought) Scornes yet to make an abiect league with Fate, Or once descend into a seruile thought. Th'imperious tongue vnused to beseech, Authoritie confounds with prayers so That words of powre conioyn'd with humble speech, Shew'd she would liue, yet scorn'd to pray her foe.

Ah, what hath Caesar heere to do, said she, In confines of the dead in darknesse lying? Will he not grant our sepulchres be free, But violate the priuiledge of dying?

What, must he stretch foorth his ambitious hand Into the right of Death, and force vs heere? Hath Miserie no couert where to stand Free from the storme of Pride, is't safe no where? Cannot my land, my golde, my crowne suffice, And all what I held deere, to him made common, But that he must in this sort tyrannize, Th'afflicted body of an wofull woman? Tell him, my frailetie, and the gods haue giuen Sufficient glory, could he be content: And let him now with his desires make euen, And leaue me to this horror, to lament. Now he hath taken all away from mee, What must he take me from my selfe by force? Ah, let him yet (in mercie) leaue me free The kingdome of this poore distressed corse. No other crownel seeke, no other good. Yet wish that Caesar would vouchsafe this grace, To fauour the poore of-spring of my bloud. Confused issue, yet of Romane race. If bloud and name be linckes of loue in Princes, Not spurres of hate; my poore Caesario may Finde fauour notwithstanding mine offences, And Caesars bloud, may Caesars raging stay. But if that with the torrent of my fall, All must be rapt with furious violence, And no respect, nor no regard at all, Can aught with nature or with bloud dispence: Then be it so, if needs it must be so. There staies and shrinckes in horror of her state: When I beganne to mittigate her woe,

And thy great mercies vnto her relate; Wishing her not despaire, but rather come And sue for grace•• and shake off idle feares: No doubt she should obtaine as gentle doome As she desir'd, both for her selfe and hers. And so with much adoe, (well pacifide Seeming to be) she shew'd content to liue, Saying she was resolu'd thy doome t'abide, And to accept what fauour thou would'st giue, And here withall crau'd also that shee might Performe her last••••tes to her lost belou'd. To sacrifice to him that wrought her plight: And that she might not be by force remou'd. I granting from thy part this her request, L•••••• her for then, seeming in better rest.

Caes.

But dost thou thinke she will remaine so still?

Pro.

I thinke, and do assure my selfe she will.

Caes.

Ah, priuate men sound not the harts of Princes, Whose purposes beare contrarie pretences.

Pro.

Why tis her safetie to come yeeld to thee.

Caes.

But tis more honour for her to die free.

Pro.

She may thereby procure her childrens good.

Caes.

Princes are not ally'd vnto their blood.

Pro.

Can Princes powre dispence with nature than?

Caes.

To be a Prince, is more then be a man.

Pro.

There's none but haue in time perswaded beene,

Caes,

And so might she too, were she not a Queene.

Pro.

Diuers respects will force her be reclaim'd.

Caes.

Princes (like Lions) neuer will be ••am'd A priuate man may yeeld and care not how, But greater hearts will breake before they bow.

And sure I thinke sh'will neuer condiscend, To liue to grace our spoiles with her disgrace: But yet let still a wary troupe attend, To guard her person, and to watch the place. And looke that none with her come to confer: Shortly my selfe will go to visite her.

CHORVS.

OPINION, how doost thou molest Th'affected minde of restlesse man? Who following thee neuer can, Nor euer shall attaine to rest, For getting what thou saist is best, Yet loe, that best he findes farre wide Of what thou promisedst before: For in the same he lookt for more, Which proues but small when once tis tride Then something else thou find'st beside. To draw him still from thought to thought, When in the end all prooues but nought. Farther from rest he findes him than, Then at the first when he began.

O malecontent seducing guest, Contriuer of our greatest woes: Which borne of winde, and fed with showes. Doost nurse thy selfe in thine vnrest. Iudging vngotten things the best, Or what thou in conceit desig'nst,

And all things in the world dost deeme, Not as they are, but as they seeme: Which shews, their state thou ill design'st, And liu'st to come, in present pin'st. For what thou hast, thou still dost lacke: O mindes tormentor, bodies wracke, Vaine promiser of that sweete rest, Which neuer any yet possest.

If we vnto ambition tend, Then doost thou drawe our weakenesse on, With vaine imagination Of that which neuer hath an end. Or if that lust we apprehend, How doth that pleasant plague infest? O what strange formes of luxurie, Thou strait dost cast t'intice vs by? And tell'st vs that is euer best, Which we haue neuer yet possest. And that more pleasure rests beside, In something that we haue not tride. And when the sanse likewise is had, Then all is one, and all is bad.

This Antony can say is true, And Cleopatra knowes tis so, By th'experience of their woe. She can say, she neuer knew But that lust found pleasures new, And was neuer satisfide: He can say by proofe of toile,

Ambition is a Vulture vile, That feeds vpon the hart of pride: And findes no rest when all is tride. For worlds cannot confine the one, Th'other, lists and bounds hath none. And both subuert the minde, the state, Procure destruction, enuie, hate.

And now when all this is prou'd vaine, Yet Opinion leaues not heere, But sticks to Cleopatra neere, Perswading now, how she shall gaine Honour by death•• and fame attaine. And what a shame it were to liue, Her kingdome lost, her Louer dead: And so with this perswasion led, Dispaire doth such a courage giue, That nought else can her minde relieue, Nor yet diuert her from that thought: To this conclusion all is brought: This is that rest this vaine world lends, To end in death that all things ends.