Delia and Rosamond augmented Cleopatra by Samuel Daniel.

CLEOPATRA.

WHat, hath my face yet powre to win a Louer? Can this torne remnant serue to grace me so, That it can Caesars secrete plots discouer What he intends with mee and mine to do? VVhy then poore Beautie thou hast doone thy last, And best good seruice thou could'st doe vnto mee. For now the time of death reueal'd thou hast, Which in my life didst serue but to vndoe mee.

Heere Dolabella far forsooth in loue, Writes, how that Caesar meanes forthwith, to send Both mee and mine, th' ayre of Rome to proue: There his Tryumphant Chariot to attend. I thanke the man, both for his loue and letter; Th'one comes fit to warne mee thus before, But for th'other, I must die his debter, For Cleopatra now can loue no more.

But hauing leaue, I must goe take my leaue And last farewell of my dead Anthony: Whose deerely honour'd Tom be must heere receaue This sacrifice, the last before I dye.

O sacred euer-memorable Stone, That hast without my teares, within my flame, Receiue th'oblation of the wofull'st mone That euer yet from sad affliction came. And you deere reliques of my Lord and Loue, (The sweetest parcells of the faithfull'st liuer,) O let no impious hand dare to remoue You out from hence, but rest you heere for euer. Let Egypt now giue peace vnto you dead, That lyuing, gaue you trouble and turmoyle: Sleepe quiet in this euer-lasting bed, In forraine land preferr'd before your soyle. And ô, if that the sp'rits of men remaine After their bodies, and doe neuer die, Then heare thy Ghost thy captiue Spouse complaine, And be attentiue to her misery. But if that laborsome mortalitie, Found this sweet error, onely to confine The curious search of idle vanity, That would the deapth of darknes vndermine: Or rather, to giue rest vnto the thought Of wretched man, with th'after-comming ioy Of those conceiued fieldes whereon we dote, To pacifie the present worlds anoy.

If it be so, why speake I then to th'ayre? But tis not so, my Anthony doth heare: His euer-liuing ghost attends my prayer, And I doe know his houering sp'rite is neere. And I will speake, and pray, and mourne to thee, O pure immortall loue that daign'st to heare: I feele thou aunswer'st my credulitie VVith touch of comfort, finding none elswhere. Thou know'st these hands entomb'd thee heer of late, Free and vnforst, which now must seruile be, Reseru'd for bands to grace proude Caesars state, Who seekes in mee to tryumph ouer thee. O if in life we could not seuerd be, Shall Death deuide our bodies now a sunder? Must thine in Egypt, mine in Italie, Be kept the Monuments of Fortunes wonder? If any powres be there where as thou art, (Sith our owne Country Gods betray our case,) O worke they may theyr gracious helpe impart, To saue thy wofull wife from such disgrace. Doe not permit shee should in tryumph shew The blush of her reproch, ioyn'd with thy shame: But (rather) let that hatefull Tyrant know, That thou and I had powre t'auoyde the same.

But what doe I spend breath and idle winde, In vaine invoking a conceiued ayde? Why doe I not my selfe occasion find To breake the bounds wherein my selfe am stayd? VVords are for them that can complaine and lyue, VVhose melting harts compos'd of baser frame, Can to theyr sorrowes time and leysure gyue, But Cleopatra may not doe the same. No Anthony, thy loue requireth more. A lingring death, with thee deserues no merit, I must my selfe force open wide a dore To let out life, and so vnhouse my spirit. These hands must breake the prison of my soule To come to thee, there to enioy like state, As doth the long-pent solitary Foule, That hath escapt her cage, and found her mate. This Sacrifice to sacrifize my life, Is that true incense that doth best beseeme: These rites may serue a life-desiring wife, Who dooing them, t'haue done enough doth deeme. My hart blood should the purple flowers haue beene, Which heere vpon thy Tombe to thee are offred, No smoake but dying breath should heere been seene, And this it had beene to, had I beene suffred.

But what haue I saue these bare hands to doe it? And these weake fingers are not yron-poynted: They cannot peirce the flesh be'ing put vnto it, And I of all meanes els am disapoynted. But yet I must a way and meanes seeke, how To come vnto thee, what so ere I doo. O Death, art thou so hard to come by now, That wee must pray, intreate, and seeke thee too? But I will finde thee where so ere thou lye, For who can stay a minde resolu'd to die?

And now I goe to worke th'effect in deede, Ile neuer send more words or sighes to thee: Ile bring my soule my selfe, and that with speed, My selfe will bring my soule to Anthony. Come goe my Maydes, my fortunes sole attenders, That minister to misery and sorrow: Your Mistres you vnto your freedom renders, And quits you from all charge yet ere to morrow.

And now by this, I thinke the man I sent, Is neere return'd that brings mee my dispatch. God graunt his cunning sort to good euent, And that his skill may well beguile my watch. So shall I shun disgrace, leaue to be sorie, Fly to my loue, scape my foe, free my soule;

So shall I act the last act of my glory, Dye like a Queene, and rest without controule. Exit.