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 LITTERAEHISTOEISCHE FOESCHUNGEN. 
 
 HERAUSGEGEBEN V r ON 
 DR. JOSEF SCHICK, U nd DK M. Frh. v. WALDBERG, 
 
 0. o. PROFESSOR AN DER UNIVERSITAT a. o. PROFESSOR AN DER UNIVERSITAT 
 
 MUNCHEN. HEIDELBERG. 
 
 III. HEFT. 
 
 THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE'S 
 
 ANTONIE. 
 
 EDITED WITH INTEODUCTION 
 
 BY 
 
 BOSTON, MASS. U. S. A. 
 
 WEIMAR. 
 
 VERLAG VON EMIL FELBER. 
 1897. 
 
 Ladenpreis 3, M.; Subtiht'iptionspi'eis 2,VO M.
 
 Ankiindigung. 
 
 Litterarhistorische Forschungen. 
 
 Herausgegeben 
 
 von 
 
 Dr. Joseph Schick, 
 
 o. 6. Professor an der Universitat Miinchenj 
 und 
 
 Dr. M. Freiherr v. Waldberg. 
 
 a. o. Professor an der Universitat Heidelberg. 
 
 Die W L. F." sollen eine Sammelstelle fiir Arbeiten aus 
 dem Grebiete der Litteraturgeschichte sein , die durch 
 ihren Umfang von der Veroffentlichung in Fachzeitschriften 
 ausgeschlossen sind, aber ihres wissenschaftlichen Wertes wegen 
 eine weitere Verbreitung beanspruchen dtirfen. In erster Reihe 
 sind Untersuchungen zur germanischen und vergleiche n- 
 den Litteraturgeschichte in Aussicht genommen , doch 
 sollen auch gelegentlich Forschungen tiber romanische Littera- 
 turen, Veroffentlichung von Texten, Urkundenpublikationen sowie 
 methodologische Abhandlungen willkommen sein. Neben den 
 Arbeiten der Fachgenossen, die den Herausgebern zum Abdruck 
 anvertraut werden, sollen besonders die von letzteren angeregten 
 und geforderten Untersuchungen jiingerer Forscher in sorg- 
 samer Auswahl zur Veroffentlichung gelangen. 
 
 Fortsetzung Seite 3.
 
 I TTTUP \ P 
 L1J MAJ 
 
 FOKSCHUNGE N. 
 
 HERAUSGEGEBEN 
 
 vox 
 
 Dr. JOSEF SCHK K, UM, Dr. M. Frlir. v. \VALDBERG, 
 
 o. ii. PROFESSOR AN HER UXIVERSITAT a. o. PROFESSOR AX DEU UXIVERSITAT 
 
 3OTHEX. HEIDELBERG. 
 
 III. HEFT. 
 
 ALICE LUCE. 
 THE COl'XTESS OF PEMBROKE'S AXTOXIE. 
 
 WEIMAR 
 
 VEELAG VON EMIL FELBEK. 
 1897.
 
 COUXTESS OF PEMBROKE'S 
 
 ANTONIE. 
 
 EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 ALICE LUCE 
 
 BOSTON, MASS. U. S A. 
 
 WEIMAR. 
 
 YERLAG YON EMIL FELBER. 
 1897.
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 TO D R . ANNA KUHNOW.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS, 
 
 L 
 
 1. Life of Lady Pembroke .............. 1 
 
 2. Lady Pembroke in the Estimation of her Contemporaries . 7 
 
 >; 3. The Reediting of the Arcadia ........... IB 
 
 4. Original Poems ................. 22 
 
 5. Translation of the Psalms ............ 24 
 
 6. Discourse of Life and Death ............ 27 
 
 PART II. 
 
 7. Garnier's Marc Antoiiie ............. 31 
 
 $ 8. The Seneca Type in Antoine ........... 35 
 
 9. Lady Pembroke's Translation ........... 39 
 
 10. The Influence of Lady Pembroke's Antonie ...... 47 
 
 Concluding' Remarks ............ .... 51 
 
 Text of the Play ....... ... 53 
 
 Word-list ......... 120
 
 PART I. 
 
 1. Life of Lady Pembroke. 
 
 The importance of Lady Pembroke's Antonic in the 
 literary history of the sixteenth century, and the influence 
 which it exercised upon a small circle of poets can best be 
 made clear after a brief consideration of her life, of her 
 position in a circle which included some of the most brilliant 
 minds of the age, and of her literary work aside from 
 Antonie. 
 
 Prolonged search in all available sources has yielded 
 little that throws new light upon the long-dimmed story 
 of Mary Sidney, afterwards Countess of Pembroke. Although 
 evidently the friend of so many, she has left no letters 
 of any value to a biographer. In all the Sidney litera- 
 ture, there is no record in personal letters of her devoted 
 friendship with her brother Philip, or of that keen sym- 
 pathy with his literary tastes to which we owe the Ar- 
 cadia. 
 
 Mary Sidney's father was Sir Henry Sidney, 1 ) born of 
 
 ') The Pedigree of Sir Philip Sidney, Compiled by Robert Cooke, 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke. 1
 
 au ancient though not noble family, one of the chief gen- 
 tlemen of the bed-chamber to King Edward, and later Lord 
 President of AYales and of Ireland. Her mother. 1 ) one of 
 the daughters of the Duke of Northumberland, seems to 
 have added to the talents of the Dudleys, the high moral 
 and religious principle to which few of that gifted but un- 
 principled family could lay claim. 
 
 No record '-') can as yet be found of the date and place 
 of Mary Sidney's birth. There was probably but a few 
 years difference between her age and that of her brother 
 Philip (1554). who was the oldest of the seven children. 
 As Sir Henry Sidney seems to have been living in retire- 
 ment at Penshurst about this time, it is probable that she 
 was born there. 
 
 Hjer earliest childhood was spent at Penshurst. and 
 later, when her father, in 1560. was appointed Lord Pre- 
 sident of Wales, at Ludlow Castle. During these 3'ears, the 
 gifted brother and sister laid the foundation of that devoted 
 attachment which has since been so often celebrated in 
 verse. 3 ) Sir Henry Sidney was often absent for long 
 
 Clarenoeux Kino- of Arms. Copied from the Original Eoll in the posses- 
 sion of Alexander Nesbitt, London. 186!). 
 
 For the life of Sir Henry Sidney see : - 
 
 State Papers, Domestic Series. Elizabeth, Vol. 159, 1. 
 
 Brewer and Bullen's Calendar, pp. 334 360. 
 
 Collins' Letters and Memorials of State, London, 1746. Vol. I. 
 
 Holinshed's Chronicle (ed. 1586) 3. pp. 1548 1554. 
 
 *) For the life of Lady Sidney see: 
 
 Holinshed's Chronicle 3. p. 1553. 
 
 Carew State Papers, 359. 
 
 Collins' Letters and Memorials of State, Vol. I, p. 66. 
 
 State Papers, Domestic Series. Eliz. 86. 33. 
 
 -) Through the kindness of the Hon. Mary Sidney, and of the 
 Earl of Pembroke, the records at Penshurst and Wilton have been- 
 carefully searched, but to no purpose. The records of the Herald's 
 College also give no clue as to her date. 
 
 3 ) For a picture of that life in Penshurst see: - 
 
 The Works of Ben Jonson, edited by Gifford, Vol. I. p. 680 sqq.
 
 periods in Ireland, and although most solicitous a ) for the 
 welfare of his children, their training must have fallen 
 largely to the care of their mother. Highly born, care- 
 fully trained in the polite learning of her time, her in- 
 fluence upon the character and subsequent career of her 
 son and daughter can hardly be overestimated. Years 
 after, Sir Philip Sidney, in the midst of his hopeless love 
 for Stella wrote to his father: "I find 2 ) my only light with 
 my mother." 
 
 In these years Mary Jaid the foundation of that tho- 
 rough scholarship :! ) which she afterwards showed in her 
 literary work. 
 
 The first separation of the brother and sister came in 
 1564. when Philip was sent to Shrewsbury School. The 
 next year, Sir Henry Sidney was appointed Lord Deputy 
 
 ') See his letter to Philip Sidney while at Shrewsbury School, in 
 Sidneiana, printed for the Roxburghe Club. 1837. 
 
 *) A. Collins, Letters and Memorials of State, London, 1746. Vol. I. 
 p. 247. 
 
 *) Udall, in his preface to John, partly translated by Princess 
 Mary, partly by Rev. F. Malet, D. D., gives an interesting picture of 
 the education which women of rank received in that day. 
 
 "But nowe in this most gracious and blisseful tyme of knowledge, 
 in whiche it hath pleased almightye God to revele and shewe abrode 
 the lyght of his moste holye ghospell: what a numbre is there of 
 noble women (especially here in this realme of Englande) yea and howe 
 many in the years of tender vyrginitee, not only as well seen and as 
 familiarlye trade in the Latine and Greeke tounges as in theyr owne 
 mother language: but also both in all kindes of prophane litterature 
 and liberall artes, exactly studied and exercised and in the holy Scrip- 
 tures and Theologie so ripe, that they are able aptely cunnyngly and 
 with much grace eyther to indicate or translate into the vulgare toungue, 
 for the publique instruction and edifying of the unlearned multitude 
 - It is nowe no newes in Englande to see young damisels in 
 noble houses and in the Courtes of Princes, in stede of cardes and 
 other instrumentes of idle trifleying, to have continually in their handes 
 eyther Psalmes, Omelies and other devoute meditations, or elles Paules 
 Epistles or some booke of holye Scripture ma tiers: and as familiarlye 
 
 1*
 
 of Ireland and removed thither with his family. The story 
 of the following 1 years, told in the letters of Sir Henry 
 Sidney, gives a pathetic picture of a patriot keenly suffer- 
 ing under the ingratitude of his queen. When he returned, 
 worn out in body, having spent his fortune in her service, 
 her reward for the discharge of his difficult task was a 
 proposal to raise him to the peerage. Lady Sidney's 1 ) 
 letter to Lord Burghley, begging that, owing to their po- 
 verty, this title may not be forced upon him, gives a touch- 
 ing picture of the hardships of the family. 
 
 These severe trials at home must have had great in- 
 fluence upon the yet unformed character of young Mary 
 Sidney. That gentle sympathy with all poverty and suffer- 
 ing, which formed the crowning grace of her after-life, 
 had perhaps been wanting but for this keen pressure of 
 early trial. 
 
 In 1568, Lady Sidney celebrated Christmas at Hampton 
 Court, and there Mary must have attracted the special 
 notice of Elizabeth ; for in 1575, in a letter 2 ) of condolence 
 to Sir Henry Sidney on the death of his daughter Ambrosia, 
 the Queen adds : "God hath left unto you the comfort of 
 
 one daughter of very good hope , whom if you will 
 
 send her unto us before Easter assure yourself that 
 
 we will have a special care of her." 
 
 Of her life at court, history gives us no record, but we 
 may fairly conclude that one whose beauty and learning 
 were afterwards celebrated by some of the most famous 
 men of her time, was not lost sight of even in that brilliant 
 company. 
 
 both to reade or reason therof in Greeke, Latine, Frenche. or Italian, 
 as in Englishe." 
 
 ') State Paper Office Mss. May 2, 1572. 
 
 Domestic Series, Elizabeth, 86. 33. 
 
 2 ) State Paper Office Mss. Domestic Series, Elizabeth, Warrant 
 Book. Vol. I. p. 83.
 
 In 1576 ] ) she Avas betrothed to Henry Herbert, Earl 
 of Pembroke. Sir Henry Sidney in a letter '-') dated Feb. 
 4. 1576. to the Earl of Leicester, who. owing to the poverty 
 of the Sidneys, was obliged to furnish the marriage b ) dowry, 
 writes: - 
 
 "If he (God) and all the powers on earth would give 
 me my choice of a husband for her. I would choose the 
 Earl of Pembroke." Dec. 7. 1577, the Earl acknowledges 
 the receipt 4 ) of a thousand pounds, "part of the dowry of 
 Mary now my wife.'' so the marriage must have taken 
 place in this year, for in Dec. 1577. the Earl of Leicester 
 was at Wilton. "Making 5 ) merry with his nephew the Earl 
 of Pembroke.'' 
 
 The following years 6 ) were spent at Baynard Castle, in 
 London, or at Ramsbury in Wiltshire, or at Wilton. 7 ) the 
 Earl of Pembroke's patrimonial estate. In these homes 
 they exercised their munificence towards needy and unfortu- 
 nate literati ; perhaps even towards Shakspere himself who 
 was soon to enter upon his stage career, and whose theatre, 
 the Globe, was on the bank of the river opposite Baynard 
 Castle. 
 
 Their first child William, third Earl of Pembroke, was 
 
 *) There is no record in Nichols' Progresses of Elizabeth that Lady 
 Pembroke accompanied the Queen upon a royal progress in 1575. as 
 stated in the Diet, of Nat. Biography. 
 
 2 ) A. Collins, Letters and Memorials of State. Vol. I. p. 88. 
 
 *) Carew Mss. Letter of May 19, 1577. 
 
 4 ) Brit. Mus. Add. Mss. 15, 552. 
 
 6 ) State Papers Addenda, 15661579, p. 523. 
 
 ") This probable course of Lady Pembroke's life during some of 
 these years, may be traced in the Letters of Lord Pembroke. Harleian Mss. 
 (British Mus.) 6994, folio 82, 203; 6995, folio 8, 12. 41,47; 6996, folio 60; 
 6997, folio 180. 
 
 7 ) For a description of the beauties of Wilton House in the days 
 of Lady Pembroke, see Aubrey's Natural History of Wiltshire, London, 
 1847, p. 83.
 
 born in 1580. and in the same year. Sir Philip Sidney, in 
 disfavor at court for his opposition to the Queen's Spanish 
 match, visited his sister at AYilton and Ivy Church, and 
 there began his Arcadia. It is probable that their joint 
 translation of the Psalms was also begun at this time. In 
 1584. her second son Philip, later Karl of Montgomery, was 
 born, and a few years later a daughter Anne, who died 
 young. In 1586. she lost within six months her father 
 (5 May), mother (11 Aug.). and idolized brother Philip 
 (17 Oct.). The years immediately following seem to have 
 been devoted to literary work. In 1601 ') her hus- 
 band died. 
 
 The Royal Progresses and State Mss. contain brief 
 records of her occasional appearance at court during the 
 following years, of her entertainment 2 ) of the King and 
 Queen at Wilton, in 1603, of the grant to her of Houghton 
 Conquest, in 1615. b} T James I., of her illness and two years' 3 ) 
 stay at Spa. 1616 1617, of her death 4 ) at Aldersgate St.j 
 London, Sept. 25, 1621, and of her burial in great pomp 
 beside her husband, in Salisbury Church. 
 
 Very tew of her manuscript letters have been preser- 
 ved, though Osborne mentions having seen "incomparable 
 letters of hers." Of her letter to the Lord Treasurer in 
 behalf of her brother Robert, Rowland White writes, 5 ) "I 
 never read anything that could express an earnest desire 
 like unto this." In Collier's Bibliographical and Critical 
 Account vol. I. p. XXXI, there is an interesting letter 6 ) 
 
 *) See Chamberlain's Letters, temp. Eliz. p. 100: 
 'The Earl died a fortnight since leaving his lady as bare as he 
 could, bestowing all on the young Earl, even to her jewels." 
 
 2 ) Nichols' Progresses of King James I. Vol. I, p. 254. 
 
 3 ) State Papers. Domestic Series, 161118, p. 427. 
 
 4 ) State Papers, Domestic Series, 16191623, pp. 298299. 
 
 5 ) Sidney Papers, Letter of Jan. 14, 1597. 
 
 6 ) State Papers, Domestic Series, 1597. Letter of Aug. 16, on 
 p. 489. According to Mr. Tyler, this letter helps to prove that the
 
 from Lady Pembroke to Lord Burghley. referring 1 to the 
 proposed marriage of her son with his daughter Bridget. 
 There are no letters at Wilton or Penshurst. Those in the 
 British Museum 1 ) add no facts of importance to her "bio- 
 graphy. 
 
 The most beautiful portrait of Lady Pembroke is that 
 by Gheerardts at Penshurst. which has been very well re- 
 produced in Jusserand's English Novel in the Time of Shak- 
 spere. and in Tyler's Sonnets. It much resembles the 
 youthful portraits of Sir Philip Sidney. Prefixed to Trip- 
 hook's version of the Psalms is an engraving by Simon 
 Pass, 1618. representing her when no longer young, but 
 with a face full of strength and character. 
 
 2. Lady Pembroke in the Estimation of her 
 Contemporaries. 
 
 The best biography of Lady Pembroke is to be read in 
 the fifty odd volumes of Grosart's Edition of Elizabethan 
 authors. These works of her contemporaries show her to 
 us as the patroness of struggling talent, and the admired 
 friend of some of the best minds of that day. In his Wits -) 
 Trenchmour (1597) Nicholas Breton gives us a picture of 
 the circle of w r hich she was the centre, and of the home 
 in which so many needy literati found help. 
 
 sonnets of Shakspere, urging marriage upon his young friend, were 
 written to William Herbert. Sonnets of Shakspere, ed. by Thomas Tyler. 
 London, 1890. 
 
 x ) They are the following: 
 
 Add. Mss. 15, 203, p. 151 and 152. 
 
 Add. Mss. 12, 503, p. 39. 
 
 Add. Mss. 12, 506, letter 221. 
 
 Bright Mss. 15, 232. 
 
 2 ) The Complete Works of Nicholas Breton, edited by A. Grosart. 
 London, 1879, Vol. II, p. 18.
 
 "It was my greatest happiness, that of this world I 
 ever founde, to light into the courtlike home of a right 
 worth}' honorable Lady .... In her eye was the seate of 
 pittie. in her hart the honour of A'ertue. and in her hand 
 the bounty of discretion; to see her countenance the com- 
 fortlesse, argued a divine spirit, to hear her speak, which 
 was never idle, prooved an oracle of wit. to beholde her 
 presence, might speak of a miracle in nature; to be short. 
 
 except Plato I knew no such philosopher She doth 
 
 all things as she did them not. and useth the world as she 
 esteemed it not ; Honour is her servant. A'ertue is her love, 
 Truth is her studie. and Meditation is her exercise; yet 
 is she affable, with such curtesie as whines honor in hu- 
 militie .... Her house beeing in a maner a kind of 
 little Court, her Lorde in place of no meane commaund. 
 her person no lesse then worthily and honourablie attended, 
 as well with Gentlewomen of excellent spirits, as divers 
 Gentlemen of fine cariage: .... a house richly garnished, 
 honor kindly entertained, vertue highly esteemed, service 
 
 well rewarded, and the poore blessedl}' relieved Ever 
 
 since .... if I (Breton) have come among men. it hath 
 been like a Faire of rude people, compared to the sweet 
 company of that house ; if in the company of women, like 
 a meeting of Gossips, in respect of the gracious spirits of 
 the sweete creatures of that little paradice." 
 
 To her he dedicated "The Pilgrimage to Paradise, l ) 
 ioined with the Countess of Pembrooke's Love" (1592), to 
 which he prefixed a letter to the gentlemen students and 
 scholars of Oxford, declaring he had written this "only to 
 show fourth her praise"; also "Auspicante Jehova, Maries 
 Exercise" (1597) ; "The Ravisht Soule and Blessed Weeper" 
 (1601), and "The 2 ) Countess of Pembrook's Passion." 
 
 ') Breton ed. Grosart Vol. 1, Pilgrimage to Paradise p. 4sqq. In 
 the Diet. Nat. Biog. by a misprint quoted "coyned" etc. 
 
 2 ) First printed by Halliwell Phillips in a volume: "A Brief
 
 Another poet. who. while yet young, had gained the 
 notice of Lady Pembroke and been admitted to the charmed 
 circle at AYilton. was Samuel Daniel. In his Defence of 
 Rhyme, addressed to Philip Herbert. Earl of Pembroke, we 
 get a glimpse of his position from (probably) 1585 onward. 
 In defending his love of rhyme, he thus acknowledges his 
 obligations to his patron's mother: 1 ) - - "Having been first 
 encouraged and framed thereunto by your most worthy and 
 honorable mother, and received the first notion for the 
 formal ordering of these compositions at Wilton, which I 
 must ever acknowledge to have been my best school." 
 
 In mai\v of his poems. -) he pays glowing homage to Lady 
 Pembroke, and to her influence in the dedicatory sonnets 
 and epistles prefixed to Sonnets :! ) to Delia. Cleopatra. 4 ) and 
 Civile Warres. :V ) 
 
 John Davies of Hereford acknowledges his literary ob- 
 ligations to her and her family by declaring: ; "I am not 
 so much mine ox-ne as i/onrx." He celebrates her praise in 
 two sonnets. 7 ) and again in the epistle dedicatory to his 
 Muses Sacrifice. 8 ) and in his Worthy Persons. 9 ) he declares 
 in an epigram: 
 
 Description of the Ancient and Modern Mss. preserved in the Public 
 Library, Plymouth". London. 1853. Later by a curious mistake it was 
 attributed to Lady Pembroke's authorship, and highly praised by 
 Dr. George Mac Donald in his Antiphon. 
 
 ') Samuel Daniel, Complete Works in verse and prose, ed. by 
 A. Grosart, London, 1885. Memorial Introduction, XVI sqq. 
 
 8 ) The beautiful sonnet "To M. P." prefixed to the rare copy of 
 "Delia", in the library of the Duke of Devonshire . has been proved by 
 Grosart not to refer, as was long supposed, to Lady Pembroke. 
 
 Daniel, ed. Grosart. Vol. I. p. XVIII. 
 
 3 ) Daniel, ed. Grosart, Vol. I. p. 35. 
 
 *) Ib. Vol. HI. p. 23. 
 
 6 ) Ib. Vol. II. p. 6. 
 
 ) Davies, ed. Grosart, Vol. I. p. 97. 
 
 *) Ib. Vol. II. p. 3839. 
 
 8 ) Ib. Vol. II. p. 4. 
 
 ) Ib. Vol. II. p. 63.
 
 10 
 
 "1 am lire. 
 
 That (many-re .Kate) was, is, and still will be. 
 The triton of your praise." 
 
 The malicious Gabriel Harvey also obtained her friend- 
 ship, possibly as the Mend of her brother and of Spenser. 
 She is the gentlewoman who took his part, as he tells us, 
 in his quarrel with Tho. Nashe, \) the date of which is 
 fixed by his sonnet - ) declaring- her championship to be "the 
 mightiest miracle of '93." She is extolled by Harvey through 
 many pages of nauseous flattery. :! ) 
 
 Another of her literary proteges was Abraham Fraunce, 
 who has celebrated her praises in long-winded verse. To 
 her he dedicated his Arcadian Rhetorik, ') the Countess of 
 Pembroke's Emanuel, *) the Countess of Pembroke's Ivy- 
 Church, ) with its third part. "Amyntas Dale (1592), 7 ) where 
 the glories of the "peareles Pembrokiana" are sung through 
 many tedious pages, by "Your honors most affectionate 
 A. Fraunce." 
 
 Thomas Moffat, another pensioner at Wilton, de- 
 scribes her as one ''who never yet on meanest scholler 
 frowned." 8 ) 
 
 J ) Lady Pembroke may possibly have espoused Harvey's cause in 
 order to punish Nashe for his unauthorized publication of Astrophel, 
 in 1591. 
 
 -) Harvey, ed. Grosart, Vol. I. p. 29596. 
 
 3 ) Harvey, ed. Grosart, London, 1884, 85. Vol. I. pp. 276 sqq. ; Vol. II. 
 pp. 16, 2634, 319, 32027, 329. 
 
 4 ) Bodleian, Malone Collection, 514. 
 
 5 ) The Countess of Pembroke's Emanuel, ed. Grosart, London, 
 1870. 
 
 ) Brit. Mus. C. 34. c. 35. 
 
 7 ) Grosart's Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies Library. Vol. III. 
 See also Koeppel in Anglia XI , 11 sqq. : ''Englische Tassoiiber- 
 setzungen" etc. 
 
 8 ) "The Silkwormes and their Flies": lively described in verse by 
 T. M. London, 1599. p. 75.
 
 11 . 
 
 Thomas Howell also belonged to this circle, for in de- 
 dicating' to her his poem Devises (1581) he declares it to 
 have been written "at ydle times in your house." 1 ) 
 
 Thomas \Yatson dedicates to her his ..Amintae Gaudia," 
 London, 1592. in a long- Latin eulogy, in which she is 
 praised as the sister of Sidney, the patroness of poets, and 
 a votary of the Muses. 
 
 Nathaniel Baxter, in the dedication of Ourania, a ) extols 
 her as one 
 
 'Whom all the world admires 
 For virtuous life, and prudent modesties. 
 Rare are her yifts. full of Sydneiau fires. ;< 
 
 Kobert Newton dedicates to her his Eusebia :! ) . and 
 Thomas Morley his Canzonets. 4 ) to which he begs her to 
 "vouchsafe her heavenly voice." 
 
 To her Spenser dedicated his Ruins of Time , 5 ) "as to 
 one whome it most special! ie concerneth; and to whome I 
 acknowledge myselfe bounden by manie singular favours 
 and great graces." 
 
 Even Shakspere may have come within the circle of her 
 patronage, for the first folio of the plays is dedicated to her 
 sons, "the most noble and incomparable pair of brethren," 
 who had "prosequuted" the plays "and their author living 
 with so much favor." 
 
 According to Mr. Tyler 6 ), the first one hundred and 
 twenty six of Shakspere's Sonnets are also dedicated to 
 William Herbert. 
 
 ') The Poems of Thomas Howell, ed. by Grosart, London, 1879, 
 p. 165. 
 
 *) Sir Philip Sidney's Ourania, that is Eiidimion's Soug and 
 Tragedie, Containing all Philosophic, written by N. B. London, 1606. 
 
 *) The Countess of Montgomeries Eusebia, London, 1620. 
 
 4 ) Brit. Mas. Add. Mss. 23,625. 
 
 5 ) Spenser, ed. Grosart, Vol. III. p. 9. 
 
 ) Shakspere's Sonnets, ed. by Tho. Tyler, London, 1890, p. off.
 
 Xor does she lack the praise of those who were not 
 dependent on her bounty or suitors for her favour. Her 
 beauty and intellect were celebrated by Rudyerd J ) in the 
 famous lines on her picture: 
 
 "Here, though the lustre of her youth ho spent. 
 Are curious steps to see where beauty went. 
 And for the wonders in her mind that dwell, 
 It lyes not in the power of pens to tell. 
 But could she hut bequeath them when she dyes. 
 She might enrich her sex liy legacies." 
 
 If Mr. Tylers theory be true that the "Mr. W. H." 
 of 8hakspere's sonnets is William Herbert, whom Da- 
 vison -) calls a '"noble son unto a peerless mother," then 
 Shakspere has also praised Lady Pembroke's beauty in his 
 third sonnet: - 
 
 "Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
 Gives hack the lovely April of her prime. " 
 
 Her resemblance to her brother, both in mental gifts 
 and personal appearance, and the ideal friendship existing 
 between the two, were often celebrated in verse. Thomas 
 Nash, in dedicating' to her the edition of Astrophel and 
 Stella in 1591, says: "In thee .... the Laurel Garlande 
 which thy Brother so bravely advanst on his lance is still 
 kept green in the Temple of Pallas." 
 
 Dray ton, in his Pandora, 3 ) thus sings of the friendship 
 between the tw r o: 
 
 l } Collier's Bibliographical and Critical Account vol. II. p. 147. 
 Poems written by the Right honorable William Earl of Pembroke and 
 Benjamin Rudier, Knight, London, 1660. 
 
 2 ) Francis Davison , A Poetical Rhapsodie, London, 1602 . in the 
 dedicatory Sonnet. 
 
 3 ) Eclogue 6, Pandora (Michael Drayton, ed. by J. P. Collier, Esq. 
 Printed for the Roxburghe Club. London. 1856. p. 97 sqq.).
 
 "Sister she sometime to that Shepard was. 
 Who yet for piping never had his peere. 
 Elphin that did all other swaines surpasse. 
 To whom she was of living things most dear. 
 And on his deathbed, by his latest will. 
 To her bequeath'd the secrets of his skill." 
 
 Henry Lok. in Extra Sonnets. J ) thus compares her to 
 Sidney: 
 
 "Your name, your matche. your vertues. honour game, 
 
 But uot the least, that pregnancie of spright. 
 
 Whereby you equall honor do attain. 
 
 To that extinguisht lamj) of heavenly light, 
 
 Who now no doubt doth shine midst angels bright: 
 
 While your t'aire starre makes clear our darkened sky. 
 
 He Heaven's; Earth's comfort you are and delight. 
 
 Whose more than mortall gifts you do apply. 
 
 To serve their Giver and your guider's grace 
 
 Whose share in this my work hath greatest place." 
 
 Beautifully has this resemblance been sung by Spenser 
 in the sonnet 2 ) affixed to the Faery Queene and dedicated 
 "To the right honorable and most vertuous Lady, the 
 Countess of Pembroke:" 
 
 "Remembrance of that most Heroike Spirit, 
 The hevens pride, the glory of our daies. 
 Which now triumpheth through immortal! merit 
 Of his brave vertues crownd with lasting baies, 
 Of hevenlie blis and everlasting praies; 
 Who first my Muse did lift out of the flore. 
 To sing his sweet delights in lowlie laies, 
 Bids me most noble Lady to adore 
 His goodly image living evermore 
 In the divine resemblance of your face, 
 Which with your vertues ye embellish more, 
 And native beauty deck with heavenlie grace." 
 
 *) Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies Library, ed. by Grosart, 
 Vol. II. p. 374. 
 
 *) Spenser, ed. Grosart, Vol. VIII. p. 336. Also again in Astrophel. 
 Spenser, ed. Grosart, Vol. IV. p. 221, 1. 211214.
 
 14 
 
 Her intellectual endowments were frequently and some- 
 times extravagantly praised. Meres ] ) calls her "learned 
 Mary, the honorable Countess of Pembroke, the noble sister 
 
 of Sir Philip Sidney very liberal unto poets, besides 
 
 she is herself a most delicate poet." 
 
 Fitzgeoffrey, 2 ) in a Latin epigram, celebrates her .as 
 "Pallas et Euphrosyne. Calliope, atq: Venus." 
 
 Stradling, :: ) in another long Latin epigram, praises her 
 gifts and talents, and Holland 4 ) calls her "Musarum Reli- 
 gionis d'- Doctrinae decus <(' praesidium." 
 
 Her books were praised by William Clarke , ') by Dr. 
 Donne, 6 ) by Daniel, 7 ) and Churchyard 8 ) declares: 
 
 "She enjoys the wise Minerva's wit. 
 And sets to school our poets everywhere. 
 The Miises nine and all the Graces three. 
 In Pembroke's books and verses you shall see." 
 
 Barnabee Barnes, 9 ) who belonged to the rare circle of 
 Sidney's friends, celebrates her as the 
 
 "Pride of our English Ladies never match'te, 
 Great favorer of Phoebus and of spring, 
 In whom even Phoebus is most flourishing, 
 Muses chief comfort, of the muses hatch'te.'' 
 
 *) Francis Meres, Wits Treasury, London, 1598, p. 284. 
 
 2 ) Occasional Issues of Unique or very rare Books, ed. by A. Grosart. 
 Vol. 16. Introd. p. 18. liber III. pp. 1078. 
 
 s ) Sir John Stradling, Epigrammatum . . . Libri Quatuor, Lon- 
 don, 1607. 
 
 Liber secundus, p. 68. 
 
 *) Henry Holland, Heroologia Anglica, London, 1620, Vol. III. 
 p. 116. 
 
 6 ) Polimanteia, ed. Grosart, p. 45. 
 
 6 ) Complete poems of John Donne, ed. Grosart, Vol. II. p. 4. 
 
 ') Daniel, ed. Grosart, Vol. I. p. 255. 
 Vol. HI. p. 26. 
 
 8 ) A Pleasant Conceite, by Tho. Churchyard. 
 
 9 ) Poems by Barnabee Barnes, ed. Grosart, p. 21&
 
 15 
 
 Spenser, in "Colin Clout's come home again", sings of 
 her as 
 
 "Urania, .sister untu Astrofell. 
 
 In whose brave mind, as in a golden cofer. 
 
 All heavenly gifts and riches looked are. 
 
 More rich than pearles of Ind or gold of Opher. 
 
 And in her sex more wonderfull and rare." 1 ) 
 
 She is probably the Countess of * * * , whose mind and 
 character are praised by Ben Jonson, 2 ) in his epigram in 
 "Underwoods", but the epitaph so long attributed to him has 
 been found in the manuscript :! ) poems of William Browne. 
 a great favorite of the Earl of Pembroke, and there seems 
 to be no doubt that it was written by him. 4 ) From the dif- 
 ference in quality between the two stanzas, the epitaph has 
 been thought to be the work of two diiferent authors. But 
 the same difference in quality occurs in Browne's long 
 elegy 5 ) on Lady Pembroke, where we find such doggerel 
 as - 
 
 "Let men forget 
 
 To count their ages from the Plague of Sweat. 
 
 From Eighty eight, the Powder Plot, or when 
 
 Men were afraid to talk of it again, 
 
 And in their numeration, he it said. 
 
 Thus old was I, when such a Teare was shed. 
 
 And when that other fell, a comet rose 
 
 And all the world took notice of my AVOCS" 
 
 ') Colin Clout's come Home Againe, Spenser, ed. Grosart, Vol. IV. 
 p. 52, 1. 489495. 
 
 *) The Works of Ben Jonson. ed. by Wm. Gifford, London, 1851. 
 p. 711. 
 
 s ) Brit. Mus. Lansdowue Mss. 777. 
 
 4 ) For arguments as to Browne's authorship see Notes and Queries, 
 Series I. Vol. 3. p. 262, 207, 413, 455. Series V. Vol. 3. p. 226. In a 
 recent article in the Academy 1896, II, 432, E. K. Chambers clinches 
 the matter by his conclusive arguments. 
 
 *) The Poems of William Browne of Tavistock: ed. by Gordon 
 Goodwin, London, 1894. Vol. II. p. 249, 1. 17 sqq.; p. 253, 1. 125 sqq.
 
 16 
 
 occurring- in the same poem with such beautiful lines 
 as these: - 
 
 "Vet (could I choose) I would not any knewe 
 That thou wert lost but as a pearle of dewe, 
 Which in a gentle Evening- mildly cold 
 Fallne in the Bosom of a Marigold, 
 Is in her golden leaves shut up all night, 
 And seen again when next we see the light." 
 
 But the most beautiful praise of Lady Pembroke will 
 ever be the first verse of the epitaph : *) - 
 
 'Underneath this sable Herse, 
 Lyes the subject of all verse; 
 Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; 
 Death, ere thou hast slain another, 
 Faire and Learn'd, and good as she, 
 Tvrae shall throw a dart at thee." 
 
 3. The Reediting of the Arcadia. 
 
 Before passing to Lady Pembroke's original literary 
 productions, let us consider the nature of her work in the 
 revision of Sidney's Arcadia. 
 
 The first edition of the Arcadia made by William 
 Ponsonby in 1590, without the consent and against the 
 wishes 2 ) of Sidney's friends, so dissatisfied Lady Pembroke, 
 that in 1593 a second edition appeared in folio form, 
 reedited under her personal supervision. The nature of 
 this supervision was stated in the publisher's preface as 
 follows: 
 
 J ) Brit. Mus. Lansdowne Mss. 777. 
 
 3 ) See: Letter of Lord Brooke to Sir Francis Walsingham, 
 urging that steps be taken to prevent the printing of the Arcadia, 
 notice of such an intention having been given him by "one ponsonby, 
 a booke bynder in poles churchyard." State Papers, letter endorsed 
 Nov. 1586.
 
 17 
 
 "The disfigured face, gentle Reader, wherewith this 
 worke not long since appeared to the common view, moved 
 that noble Lady to whose Honour it was consecrated, to 
 whose protection it was committed, to take in hand the 
 wiping away of those spottes wherewith the beauties 
 thereof were unworthely blemished. But as often repairing 
 a ruinous house, the mending of some old part occasioneth 
 the making of some new; so here her honorable labor 
 begun in correcting the faults, ended in supplying the 
 defects; by the view of what was ill done, guided to the 
 consideration of what was not done. Which part with what 
 advise entered into, with what accesse it hath been passed 
 through, most by her doing, all by her directing, if they 
 may be intreated not to define, which are unfurnisht of 
 means to discerne, the rest it is hoped will favorably cen- 
 sure. But this they shall for their better satisfaction 
 understand, that though they find not here what might be 
 expected, they may find neverthelesse as much as was 
 intended, the conclusion, not the perfection of Arcadia, and 
 that no further than the Author's owne writings or known 
 
 determinations could direct But however it is, 
 
 it is now by more than one interest The Countesse of 
 Pembroke's Arcadia, done as it was, for her, as it is, by 
 her. Neither shall these paines bee the last ') (if no 
 unexpected accident cut off her determination) which the 
 everlasting love of her excellent brother will make her 
 consecrate to his memory." 
 
 This preface has been the cause of many misstate- 
 ments. The opening sentence has been interpreted to mean 
 that much in the quarto has not been reprinted in the 
 folio, 2 ) and the subsequent sentences have been thought to 
 
 *) This refers to Certaine Sonnets, Astrophel and Stella, and the 
 1 it-fence of Poetrie, which were added to the third edition, in 1598. 
 
 *) The Diet, of Nat. Biog. states that "She divided the work into 
 live books instead of three, and rewrote certain portions." 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke. 2
 
 is 
 
 prove that Lady Pembroke wrote certain portions of the 
 Arcadia. ' ) although it is expressly stated that the additions 
 were made "no further than the Author's owne writings or 
 known determinations could direct." 
 
 A comparison 2 ) of the quarto of 1590 :; j with the folio 
 of 1598. 4 ) shows the changes which she made to have been 
 of the following nature. :> ) The quarto has been enlarged 
 by the addition of fifty seven pages of text in the third 
 book, and by a fourth book of forty pages, and a fifth book 
 likewise of forty pages. Hut it is expressly stated that 
 
 r ) See Main 1'riswell. The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia. With 
 notes and introductory essay. London. 18(i7. in which the "Arcadian 
 undergrowth due chiefly to Lady Pembroke" has been cleared away 
 leaving' a remarkable product. 
 
 -) At the time the following comparison was made, from the original 
 editions in the British Museum . the author was in ignorance of the 
 work of Dr. Oskar Sommer. to which her attention has since beeii called. 
 The results vary but slightly from those of Dr. Sommer. 
 
 *) The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, London. 1590. Quarto. 
 British Museum. C. 30. d. 22. 
 
 4 ) The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, London 1598. folio. Brit 
 Mus. C. 40. k. 5. 
 
 There is no copy of the edition of 1593 in the British Museum 
 01- in the Bodleian. There is a copy in the Britwell Library and also 
 one in the Cambridge Univ. Library. 
 
 s j In the Catalogue of the Mss. of the University Library, Cam- 
 bridge, Vol. III. p. 559. is a description of one of the Mss. of the Ar- 
 cadia, showing in what condition the work was left by its Author: 
 
 "The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, by Sir Philip Sidney. On 
 208 leaves, numbered, with about 48 lines in a page, dated 1584. The 
 first edition was printed in 1590. This is an unfinished copy ; blanks are 
 left for most of the proper names in the latter part of the volume, those 
 in the former part being inserted in a careful Italic hand. Most of the 
 verses, and all the Eclogues, are omitted, spaces being left for the 
 verses left out, and some of those inserted being written in a peculiarly 
 ornate style of calligraphy. The arrangement is that of the first edition, 
 excepting the division into chapters, which is omitted. The Ms. breaks 
 off at fol. 350 a. line 30, 1 st edition." 
 
 This is not an autograph Ms. The date is merely written in the 
 margin. Its signature is K k. 1. 5.
 
 19 
 
 what is added is Sidney's work, for at the close of the in- 
 complete paragraph with which the quarto ends. "Wherat 
 ashamed as never having done so much before in his 
 
 life " is written in the folio edition, p. 333: "How 
 
 this combate ended .... is altogether unknown. What 
 afterwards chaunced out of the author's owne writings and 
 conceits has been supplied as followeth." Nor is there in 
 the text thus supplied in the folio any marked difference 
 of thought or style, to indicate that Lady Pembroke has 
 substituted her own authorship for Sidney's. 
 
 This conclusion is still further confirmed by the 
 changes made in that part of the folio which had already 
 been printed in the quarto. A comparison of the two 
 shows that except for some orthographical changes, possibly 
 the work of the compositor, the prose text of the quarto is 
 reprinted in the folio. 
 
 In the quarto there is a note by the overseer of the 
 print, stating that the divisions into chapters and the 
 summaries preceding them are his and not Sidney's. 
 These divisions and summaries are omitted in the folio. 
 
 The principal changes have been made in the poetical 
 parts. The note by the overseer of the print in the 
 quarto states that he distributed the eclogues at the end 
 of the various books. In the folio, the eclogues have 
 been differently placed ; sometimes others have been sub- 
 stituted in the folio for those of the quarto, and a number 
 of new poems have been added in the folio. 
 
 The text of the poems common to the two editions is, 
 except for the change of an occasional line or phrase, alike 
 in quarto and folio. The most important change is in the 
 dialogue in Book I where the name Thyrsis has been sub- 
 stituted in the folio for Lalus of the quarto, and where 
 there are very considerable variations in the last stanzas. 
 The correspondences and differences in the poetical parts of 
 the two editions are in detail as follows: 
 
 In Book I the poems agree in quarto and folio as far 
 
 2*
 
 20 
 
 as the dialogue in the first eclogues. Here the name 
 
 Thyrsis has been substituted in the folio for Lalus of the 
 
 quarto, and a number of changes made in the last stanzas 
 
 of the dialogue. As these changes are the most extensive 
 
 which Lady Pembroke has made in any part of the poetical 
 
 text, they are here added in detail. 
 
 Quar. Let cro\ves pick out mine eyes which saw too much. 
 
 Fol. Which too much saw. 
 
 Quar. If still her mind be such. 
 
 Fol. If she still hate loves laiv. 
 
 Quar. My earthy moulde will melte in watrie teares. 
 
 Fol. My earthy moulde doth melte in watrie teares. 
 
 Quar. .So doth my life within itselfe dissolve. 
 
 Fol. Thus doth raj life within itselfe dissolve. 
 
 Quar. That I am like a flower. 
 
 Fol. That 1 grow like the beast. 
 
 Quar. New plucked from the place where it did breed. 
 
 Fol. Which beares the bit a weaker force did guide. 
 
 Quar. Life showing dead indeed. 
 
 Fol. Yet patient must abide. 
 
 Quar. Such force hath love above poore Nature's power. 
 
 Fol. Such weight it hath which once is full possest. 
 
 Quar. That I grow like a shade. 
 
 Fol. That I become a vision. 
 
 Quar. Which being nought seems somewhat to the eyen. 
 
 Fol. Which hath in others head his only being. 
 
 Quar. While that one body shine. 
 
 Fol. And lives in fancie seing. 
 
 Quar. Oh he is mard that is for others made. 
 
 Fol. wretched state of man in selfe division. 
 
 Quar. Which thought doth marre my piping declaration. 
 
 Fol. well thou sayest: a feeling declaration. 
 
 Quar. Thinking how it hath mard my shepheards trade. 
 
 Fol. Thy tongue hath made of Cupids deepe incision. 
 
 Quar. Now my hoarse voice doth faile this occupation. 
 
 Fol. But now hoarse voice doth faile this occupation. 
 
 Quar. Of singing take to thee the reputation. 
 
 Fol. Of singing thou hast got the reputation. 
 
 Quar. Now friend of mine : I yield to thy habilitie. 
 
 Fol. Good Thyrsis mine: I yield to thy habilitie. 
 
 Quar. My soule doth seeke another estimation. 
 
 Fol. My heart doth seeke another estimation.
 
 21 
 
 The next prose paragraph and poem "As 1 my little 
 flocke on Ister banke''. quarto p. 90 93. occurs in folio 
 Book III. p. 384 88. The prose paragraph and following 
 dialogue between Geron and Histor. quarto p. 93 95. occurs 
 folio Book III. p. 38890. The poem, "Fortune. Nature. 
 Love long have contended about me", is wanting in the 
 quarto, but found in the folio p. 78. The remaining poems 
 agree till the dialogue between Strephon and Klaius. quarto 
 p. 9597. which occurs folio Book II. p. 240242. The 
 last dialogue and the poem "A shepheard's tale no height 
 of stile desires." folio p. 77 95, is wanting in the quarto. 
 
 In Book II. the poems are alike as far as the second 
 eclogues, quarto 23437, folio 215 J9. Here the quarto 
 has a dialogue between Nico and Darus. the folio a dialogue 
 between Strephon and Klaius (already noted as found in 
 quarto. Book I. p. 95). Then follow in the quarto another 
 prose paragraph and a part of the whole folio dialogue 
 between Strephon and Klaius. The prose paragraph is much 
 shorter in the folio, but the dialogue is common to both. 
 The Eclogues conclude in the quarto with another prose 
 paragraph and a poem. "Philisides, words and an Echo." 
 The folio also contains this poem ''Philisides" etc. and five 
 additional poems not found in the quarto, viz: A dialogue 
 between Geron and Philisides, a dialogue between Geron 
 and Mastix, and three poems, "My muse wliat ailes this 
 ardour", "Keason tell me thy mind if there be reason", and 
 "0 sweet words, the delight of solitarinesse". 
 
 In Book III., the poems correspond until quarto p. 311, 
 where space is left for the epitaph, which is supplied folio 
 p. 294. The last poem, "Since to death is gone the shep- 
 herd", quarto p. 346348. occurs folio Book IV. p. 427430. 
 Tbe quarto ends on page 360 of the folio. 
 
 A statement in detail of all the variations of the two 
 editions belongs to the text criticism of the Arcadia, and 
 lies without the province of this investigation, which has 
 only sought to show r that Lady Pembroke's work, in re-
 
 22 
 
 editing the Arcadia, consisted in a rearrangement of its poe- 
 tical parts, in some few omissions and variations, and in 
 additions made from Sidney's writing's, and that there is 
 no ground for claiming- her independent authorship for 
 any part of the work. 
 
 4. Original Poems. 
 
 Of Lady Pembroke's original compositions, we have 
 only two pastoral poems. We cannot believe that this list 
 represents the entire creative activity of a woman whose 
 gifts of mind were praised by some of the best spirits of 
 her age. The poets 1 ) of that day did not write for the 
 general public, but for their own pleasure and that of their 
 friends, and often had the greatest aversion to appearing 
 in print. Probably much of her work -) has been lost, or 
 was printed anonymously in some of the poetical miscellanies 
 of that day, but the two poems known to be hers are too 
 scanty a basis of comparison for proving her authorship of 
 anonymous work. 
 
 Both poems are upon favorite themes of the Elizabethan 
 pastoral, a lament for the death of Sidney and a eulogy 
 of the Queen. 
 
 The elegy bears the title, "The Doleful Lay of Clorinda," 8 ) 
 from the name given by Spenser to the shepherdess who 
 sings it. It was first published in Spenser's Astrophel, 
 which appeared as an appendix to Colin Clout's Come Home 
 
 1 ) G. Saintsbury, A History of Elizabethan Literature, London 
 1887, p. 2. 
 
 2 ) Harvey, in ''Pierces Supererogation'', says of her "And what if 
 she can publish more works iu a moneth than Nash hath published in 
 his whole life; or the pregnantest of our inspired Heliconists can 
 equall?'' Harvey, ed. Grosart, Vol. II. p. 321. 
 
 3 ) The name of the warlike heroine in Tasso's Gerusaleinme 
 Liberata. Spenser knew Tasso very well, cp. Koeppel in Anglia XI. 
 p. 341 sqq.
 
 Again in 1595. The poem bears no date, but Spenser's 
 prefatory epistle is dated "From my house of Kilcolman. 
 the 27 of December. 1591": so the elegy probabl}* belongs 
 within the five years succeeding Sidney's death. Spenser 
 introduces Lady Pembroke's poem as follows : - 1 ) 
 
 "And first his sister that Clorinda hiyht. 
 That gentlest shepherdess that lives this day. 
 And most resembling both in shape and spright 
 Her brother deare. began this doleful lay. 
 Which lest I niarre the sweetnesse of the vearse. 
 In sort as she it snug 1 will rehearse." 
 
 In spite of Spenser's praise, the "sweetness of the 
 vearse" is hard to find. The eleg}' is unworthy of the sub- 
 ject, a tribute to the heart rather than to the head of the 
 author, an evidence of her deep affection rather than of her 
 poetical imagination. '-) 
 
 Astrea, a pastoral dialogue in praise of Elizabeth, was 
 first published in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody in 1602, ;! ) 
 under the title : ..A Dialogue between two shepheards. Thenot 
 and Piers, in praise of Astrea, made by the excellent Lady, 
 the Lady Mary. Countess of Pembrook. at theQueenesMaiesties 
 being at her house at - - Anno 15 .'' There is no record 
 of any such visit of the Queen at Wilton. Sir Rowland 
 White, 4 ) in a letter to Sir Robert Sidney. Xonsuch. August 8, 
 1600. speaks of the Queen's intended progress into North 
 Wiltshire. Possibly the poem was written in anticipation 
 of the expected visit, and the date and place left blank to 
 be filled in later. 
 
 ') Spenser, ed. Grosart, Vol. IV. p. 221, 11. 211214. 
 
 ? ) Bishop Coxe, Biographical History of Kent, makes an elaborate 
 but fruitless comparison of this elegy with Milton's Lycidas, to show 
 that the latter is an imitation of the former. 
 
 a ) Also in edition of Poetical Rhapsody, 1611. p. 23, and later in 
 Nichols' Progresses of Queen Elizabeth. Vol. III. p. 529 
 
 *) Nichols' Progresses of Queen Elizabeth, Vol. III. p. 529.
 
 24 
 
 Astrea is an example of that exaggerated flattery of 
 Elizabeth, in which the poetry of the period abounds. The 
 dialogue comprises ten stanzas of six lines each. In the 
 first half of each stanza, Thenot extols some virtue of 
 Astrea; in the second half. Piers declares that Thenot's 
 praise is inadequate, and seeks to excel him. The last stanza 
 concludes: 
 
 "Words from conceit doe onely rise. 
 Above conceit her honour flies : 
 But silence, naught can praise her.'' 
 
 The poem is inferior both in form and style to her 
 other work. 
 
 5. Translation of the Psalms. 
 
 The most important literary work of Lad} r Pembroke 
 is to be found in her translations. The zeal in the pursuit 
 of classical study, which characterized the age of Elizabeth, 
 found its most natural outlet in translation. ') A translator 
 of a classical poem was held to rank fully on the level of 
 an original poet, Peele, in the Prologue to his Honour of 
 the Garter (1593). speaks with enthusiasm of "our English 
 Fraunce, a peerless sweet translator of our time," while he 
 ranks Phaer. the translator of the Aeneid (1558), with the 
 greatest names of the past. 
 
 One of the subjects, on which the new learning of the 
 age delighted to exercise its skill, was the translation of parts 
 of the Bible, especially of the Psalms. -) Perhaps the fashion 
 of the day, more probably Sidney's great admiration 3 ) for 
 
 1 ) A. Ward, History of English Drama. Vol. I. p. 105. 
 
 2 ) Elizabeth translated a portion of the Psalms, and also a chorus 
 from Seneca's Hercules. See Anglia Bd. 14, p. 346 sqq. 
 
 s ) See, An Apologie for Poetrie. by Sir Philip. Sidney, Arber's 
 English Reprints, Birmingham, 1868, pp. 2324.
 
 the Psalms, led the brother and sister to begin a joint 
 translation of the Psalter, probably in 1580. during 1 Sidney's 
 long' visit at Wilton. It was finished by Lady Pembroke 
 after her brother's death. It seems to have circulated in 
 many manuscript copies during 1 her life-time, and was prais- 
 ed J ) by the poets of that day, but it is not mentioned in 
 any account of English Psalmody, and slept in unmerited 
 obscurity till republished by Triphook. in 1823. 2 ) The title 
 page of this edition reads: 
 
 The Psalmes of David / translated into / divers and 
 sundry kindes of Verse / More rare and excellent for the / 
 Method and Varietie / than ever yet hath been done in 
 English. Beg-un by / the noble and learned gent. Sir Philip 
 Sidney. Knt, / and finished by the right honorable the 
 Countess of Pembroke his sister Now first printed 
 from / a copy of the Original Manuscript Transcribed 
 by John Da vies of Hereford in the reign of James the 
 first, 1823. 
 
 At the end of the book: 
 
 Chiswick / by C. Whittingham for Robert Triphook 
 23 Old Bond Street. 
 
 The manuscript from which Triphook's version was 
 made was copied, as he tells us in his preface, from the 
 original by John Davies of Hereford, writing-master to 
 Prince Henry. It contains specimens of all the styles of 
 penmanship then in use, especially the Italian style so 
 much in fashion at court, and the great pains bestowed 
 upon the copy would indicate that it was written for the 
 
 ') Poems of Samuel Daniel, ed. by A. Grosart, Vol. III. p. 25 26. 
 
 Poems of John Donne, ed. by A. Grosart, Vol. II. p. 313 15. 
 
 Poems of John Davies, ed. by A. Grosart, Vol. II. p. 4. 
 
 9 ) Selections from this Psalter have also been printed by Sir John 
 Harrington in Nugae Antiquae. Vol. II. p. 6 : by Steele in the Guardian 
 XVIII; in Bishop Butler's Sidneiana; and in Zouch's Memoirs of Sir 
 Philip Sidney.
 
 26 
 
 Prince. This copy, bought at the Bright sale, is now in 
 the library at Penshurst, The readings of this Ms. Triphook 
 further amended by a comparison with a Ms. J ) now in 
 the Bodleian, which was copied by Dr. Samuel Woodford, 
 from the manuscript of a scribe who must have written 
 under the personal supervision of Sir Philip Sidney, as there 
 are occasional alterations in Sidney's own handwriting. 
 The Psalms from Ps. 88 to verse 22 of Ps. 102. are here 
 wanting, and also from Ps. 131 to the end. In the 
 margin, Dr. Woodford has written after Ps. 43: "Hitherto Sir 
 Philip Sidney;" showing that he is the author of the first 
 forty three only. This is still further confirmed by a letter *) 
 of Lord Brooke to Sir Francis Walsingham. where, among 
 the other literary remains of Sidney, he mentions "about 
 forty of the psalms." 
 
 There is another manuscript of the Psalms in Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, and there are two in the British Museum, 
 Add. Mss. 12,047, and Add. Mss. 12,048. For the descrip- 
 tion and critical collation of these manuscripts, see Sidney, 
 ed. Grosart, Vol. Ill, p. 72 sqq. 
 
 In thought, style, and versification, Lady Pembroke's 
 part of the Psalter is much superior to Sidney's. These 
 poems have the stiffness characteristic of the religious poetry 
 of that day, but the translation is faithful to the thought 
 of the original, and full of melody and poetic spirit. Most 
 of the stanzas are of five or six lines and the verse is iambic 
 or trochaic. The great variety and intricacy of some of 
 these arrangements, the differences as to the number of feet 
 in the lines, and the alternations of rhyme in the different 
 groups, suggest that this Psalter was intended to be set to 
 music. 3 ) 
 
 J ) Bawlinson, Poet. 25. 
 
 2 ) Letter of Lord Brooke preserved in the State Papers, endorsed 
 November, 1586. 
 
 s ) In Ms. 12,047 in Brit. Mus. the psalms are not in their order,
 
 27 
 
 One of the most ingenious arrangements is that of 
 Ps. 55, which has only three rhyming words, through seventy 
 two lines. There are six stanzas, each composed of four 
 triplets, with the rhyme sequence abc c b a : a c b - 
 b c a. The first and sixth stanzas begin and close with a ; 
 the second and fifth with b; the third and fourth with c. 
 Psalms 100 and 150 are properly sonnets of fourteen lines 
 each. Psalm 101 has the intricate rhyme sequence aba. 
 c d c, b e b. d f d. e g e, f a f, g h g. a h a. The best 
 work of Lady Pembroke is to be found in these psalms. 
 
 (j. Discourse of Life and Death. 
 
 In May, 1590, Lady Pembroke completed a translation 
 of "Le Excellent Discours de la Vie et de la MortJ' from the 
 French of Du Plessis Mornay (1549 1623), the profound 
 politician and controversialist, one of the most eminent 
 members of the Protestant party at the end of the sixteenth 
 century, and the intimate 1 ) friend of Sir Philip Sidney. In 
 "La Henriade". Voltaire has painted the character of this 
 noble and upright counsellor of Henry IV. in terms which 
 might have been applied to Sir Philip Sidney himself: - 
 
 u Non inoins prudent ami que philosophe austere, 
 Mornay sut 1'art discret de reprendre et de plaire. 
 Son exemple instruisait bien mieux que ses discours ; 
 
 but arranged (apparently for use in religious service) in the following 
 order. 
 
 Ps. 126 in order: Then follow 51, 69, 104, 70, 71, 75, 76, 80, 
 
 83, 86, 89 (two versions), 91, 93, 95, 96, 98, 99, 105, 108, 112, 117, 120, 
 121, 122 (two versions), 124, 128, 127, 129 : 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 138, 
 147, 148, 14958, 85, 73, 74, 75 (two versions), 68, 109, 142, 77, 88, 
 
 84, 102, 111, 143, 150, 78, 113, 137. 
 
 *) Memoires de Madame de Mornay, ed. by Mdme. de Witt, Paris, 
 1868. Vol. I. p. 118. Sidney had stood as sponsor for Mornay's 
 daughter Elizabeth, see ib. p. 120.
 
 - 28 
 
 Les solides vertus furent ses seuls amours. 
 
 A vide de travaux. insensible anx delices. 
 
 II niarchait d'un pas ferine an bord des precipices. 
 
 Jaiuais 1'air de la cour. et son souffle intVcte, 
 
 N'altera de son coeur 1'austere pnrcte. 
 
 Belle Arethuse. aiusi ton onde fortunee 
 
 Eoule an sein fnrieux d'Amphitrite etonnee 
 
 Un cristal toujoiirs pur. et des flots tonjonrs clairs. 
 
 Qne jamais ne corroinpt ramertuine des niers." 
 
 Mornay was the author of many political and religious 
 works, of one of which Sidney, at his death, left an unfinished 
 translation. This was afterwards completed by Arthur 
 Golding. and published in 1587. under the title: "A Worke 
 concerning- the Truenesse of the Christian Religion,'' and it 
 may have been in accordance with her brother's design, that 
 Lady Pembroke undertook her translation. 
 
 The original essay, which consists of moral reflections 
 upon the brevity and vanity of life, was originally prefixed 
 to Mornay's translation of selections from certain letters and 
 essays of Seneca. The book was first written l ) in 1575, 
 and translated ) into English in 1577 , by Edward Aggas. 
 Lady Pembroke's translation was first printed, tog-ether with 
 Antonie. in 1592, :) ) and again separately in 1600, with the 
 title : A Discourse / of Life and / Death / Written in French by 
 Phil. / Mornay. / Done in English by the Coun tesse of Pem- 
 broke / ( ) At London / Printed for William Ponsonby / 1600/. 
 It is prefixed, under date of 1606. as introductory essay to 
 an English translation of selections from the w r orks of Mor- 
 nay entitled: "Six*} Excellent Treatises of Life and Death," and 
 
 *) Memoires de Madame de Mornay Vol. I. p. 89. 
 
 2 ) The Defence of Death by E(duard) A(ggas), London, 1577, Brit, 
 Mus, 8403. aa. 26. 
 
 3 ) The title of this edition is quoted in full in the consideration 
 of the 1592 edition of Antonie. infra p. 39. 
 
 4 ) This contains the essay which Lady Pembroke translated 
 prefixed to selections from the following letters of Seneca: 23, 26, 27. 
 30, 32, 36, 50, 57, 62, 71, 78, 94, 100, 102, 104, 108, 121. 
 
 Also of the first book concerning tranquility of life; of the book
 
 29 
 
 to a second edition of the same book, dated 1607. There is 
 no clue to the translator, but the following- note to the 
 reader: "Here knowe that the first Discourse, mentioned in 
 the Advertisement ensuing-, is none of these sixe here set 
 down: but another precedent to these, and formerly trans- 
 lated by the Countesse of Pembroke.'' 
 
 Lady Pembroke's translation is in a clear and vigorous 
 prose style, closely following the text of the original, as the 
 following example shows. 
 
 "C'est mi cas estrange. & dowt 
 je ne me puis asses esmerueiller, 
 qwe les manouvriers pour se reposer 
 hastent par maniere fie dire le 
 cours du Soleil : que les mariniers 
 voguent a toute force pour arriver 
 au port. & de si loin qu'ils des- 
 couvrent la coste jettent oris d'alle- 
 gresse ; que les pelerins n'ont bieu 
 ni aise, taut qu'ils soient au bout 
 de leur voyage & que nous ce 
 pewdant qui sonnues en ce monde 
 attachez & liez a un perpetuel 
 ouvrage, agites de continuelles 
 tempestes, harrasses d'nn si sca- 
 breux & inal aise chemin, ne 
 voions toutes fois la tin & le bout 
 de nostre tache qu'a regret, ne 
 regardons nostre vray port que 
 avec lannes. n'approchows de nostre 
 giste & paisible sejour qu'avec 
 horreur & tremblement. O'este vie 
 n'est qu'une toile de Penelope, on 
 tousjours y a a tistre & a retistre. 
 nne iner abandonnee a tons vents, 
 qui ores dedans, ores dehors nous 
 tourmantent sans cesse ; un voyage 
 
 "It seems to me strange, and a 
 tiling- much to be marveiled. that 
 the laborer to repose himselfe 
 hasteneth as it were the course of 
 the Suune : that the Mariner rowes 
 with all force to attaine the port, 
 & with a joyfull crie salutes the 
 descried land ; that the traveller is 
 never quiet nor content till he be 
 at the end of his voyage; -& 
 that we in the meane while tied 
 in this world to a perpetuall taske. 
 tossed with continual! tempest, 
 tyred with a rough and comber- 
 some way. cannot yet see the end 
 of our labour but with griefe, nor 
 behold our port hut with teares. 
 nor approach our home and quiet 
 abode but with horrour and 
 trembling. This life is but a 
 Penelopes web, wherein we are 
 always doing and undoing; a sea 
 open to all winds, which sometime 
 within, sometime without never 
 cease to torment us; a wearie 
 journey through extreame heats 
 & colds, over high mountains, 
 
 of the shortness of life : of the book concerning consolation ; of the book 
 of divine providence: from the same book, concerning bearing adversity; 
 from the same book, concerning prosperity; Advertisement to the 
 reader ; Sonnet for Mile. Du Plessis ; to the author ; ode.
 
 30 
 
 faclieux par gelees & par chaleurs 
 extremes, par roicles montagnes & 
 par precipices, par deserts et par 
 brigandages. Ainsi en deiusons 
 nous en faisant uostre besowgne 
 en tirant a cest avirou. en passant 
 ce miserable chemin. Et voila 
 neantmoius, quaud la inort vient 
 mettre fin a uos travaux, quand 
 elle nons tend les bras pour nous 
 tirer an port, quand apres tant de 
 dangereux passages & de fascheuses 
 hostelleries elle nous veut mener a 
 nostre vray domicile, au lieu de 
 nous resjouir, de reprendre coeur 
 a la veue de nostre terre, de 
 chanter en approchaut de nostre 
 bien heureux sejour. nous reprew- 
 drions, qui nous voudroit croire. 
 nostre besongne, nous reguinderions 
 la voile au vent & rebrousserions 
 volontiers nostre chemin." 
 
 steepe rockes, and theevish deserts. 
 And so we tonne it in weaving 
 at this web, in rowing at this oare, 
 in passing this miserable way. Yet 
 loe when death comes to end our 
 worke. when she stretcheth out her 
 armes to pull us into the port, 
 Avhen after so many dangerous 
 passages and lothsome lodgings 
 she would conduct us to our true 
 home and resting place; in steede 
 of reioyciug at the end of oxir labour, 
 of taking cowfort at the sight of 
 land . of singing at the approach 
 of our happie mansion . we would 
 faiiie, (who would beleeve it?) retake 
 our worke in hand, we would 
 againe hoise, saile to the winde, 
 and willinglie undertake our jour- 
 ney anew."
 
 PART II. 
 
 7. Gamier's Marc Antoine. 
 
 Before passing to Lady Pembroke's translation of Au- 
 tonie. let us consider briefly the life and literary impor- 
 tance of its author, Robert Gamier. 
 
 Born in 1534, r ) at Ferte-Bernard in Maine, educated 
 for the law, Gamier divided his life between the duties of 
 a magistracy and the culture of letters, and in the height 
 of his career met with a tragic death at Le Mans, in 1590. 
 
 He attained fame as the author of eight tragedies, 
 which won lavish praise from his contemporaries, 2 ) as is 
 shown in the sonnets by Ronsard, Estieime, Binet, Belleau, 
 Dorat, Baif and others, prefixed to Porcie and other of his 
 dramas. 3 ) Ronsard praises Gamier for having "change en 
 
 ') Niceron, Memoires pour servir a 1'histoire des homines illustres, 
 Paris, 1733, Vol. XXI, p. 377. 
 
 Firrain Didot Freres, Nouvelle Biographic generate, Paris, 1857, 
 Vol. 19. article Gamier. 
 
 *) La Croix du Maine. Bibliotheque franchise, Paris, 1584, 
 p. 444 sqq. 
 
 *) See : - - Robert, Gamier, Les Tragedies, edited by W. Forster, 
 Heilbronn. 1882 (in Sainmlung franzosischer Neudrucke von Karl Voll- 
 raoller).
 
 or" the French stage which before him "ii'cstoit qxe dc, bo-is". 
 He prefers him to Joclelle for "le xuied ef le par/er haut et lex 
 mots bien i-holsix". Etienne ranks him with the Greeks and 
 calls him u l'oruetnent (hi theatre frant;ois" . Belleau praises 
 his u dor-tea eacrita" , and in an ode at the beginning of Cor- 
 nelie '"fat (/we douce et ftere''. Dorat compares him to 
 Aeschylus, to Sophocles, and to Euripides, and du Verdier ') 
 carries this comparison with the Greeks so far as to declare, 
 ".s-'V/s estoyent vivans, on nc acauroit jntjer s'ils auroient cmjjrunte 
 de luy, ou Unj d'eux". VaiKiuelin 2 ) classes him among the 
 most famous poets of his day. a statement which is abun- 
 dantly proved by the fact that up to 1686, his plays had 
 passed through fifty editions, and two of them had been 
 translated into English in the age of Elizabeth. 
 
 Living now, after the wonders of Shakspere's dramas, 
 we find an absurd exaggeration in these expressions of 
 enthusiasm, and posterity has since condemned Gamier to 
 two centuries of obscurity. In the eighteenth century, we 
 read that "}>eu 3 ) de personnes vondroient se donner la peine de 
 le lire" and the criticism 4 ) of our own age has censured 
 him as wanting in the first essentials of a dramatist, though 
 recognizing his great importance 5 ) in the development of 
 the modern drama. But the faults which modern criticism 
 censures, the lack of action, the endless monologues, the 
 long-winded messengers, all these formed his highest praise 
 in the estimation of his contemporaries. 
 
 J ) A. du Verdier, Bibliotheque fran^oise, Lyoii, 1585. p. 1098. 
 
 2 ) Vauquelin, 1'Art Poetique, ed. Pellissier, Paris, 1885, Vol. II, 
 p. 10531056. 
 
 3 ) M. de Beauchamps, Recherches sur les theatres de France. 
 Paris, 1735, Tome II. p. 39. 
 
 4 ) Tivier, Histoire de la litterature frau^aise en France, Paris, 
 1873, pp. 518545. 
 
 Michaud, Biographie Universelle, Paris, 1865, Vol. IV. p. 122. 
 ft ) Ebert, Entwicklungsgeschichte der franzosischen Tragodie. 
 Gotha, 1856, p. 142178.
 
 Of") 
 
 (iarnier 'i lias a place in the first rank of those authors 
 whose efforts, inspired by the Renaissance, had the effect at' 
 reviving in France the antique tragedy. He was the most 
 effective exponent in France of the Seneca model, which 
 directly influenced French tragedy up to the time of Cor- 
 neille, and indirectly even later. This delight of a learned 
 century in a poet so faulty as Seneca is most interesting. 
 Other literar}' fashions passed and gave place to new; but 
 Seneca remained and became a law. We cannot go through 
 the history of the drama without encountering at every 
 step, his form, his style, and even his very thoughts. 
 
 When the dramatic authors of the sixteenth century 
 began to be interested in classic models, they turned na- 
 turally to Seneca, both because the Latin was more acces- 
 sible to them than the Greek, and also because Seneca is 
 the only Latin tragedian whose works have been preserved. 
 Although Greek as well as Roman models were *) reco- 
 mended for imitation, in the formal teaching of the day. in 
 reality the literary influence of Rome was dominant among 
 the nations which had sprung from her, and Roman litera- 
 ture was imitated because in its essential qualities it ac- 
 corded with the genius and the needs of the French people. 
 When Scaliger recommended Seneca "quern nullo Graecorum 
 maiestate inferiorem existimo, cultu vero ac nitare etiam Eu- 
 ripide maiorem. Inventiones sane illorum sunt: at maiestas 
 carminis, sonus, spiritus ipsius" - he proposed a type which, 
 from its rhetorical and artificial nature, was far more adap- 
 ted to the French character than the admirable simplicity 
 of the Greek models. 
 
 Not only is Seneca "the most modern s ) of the ancients" 
 
 ') See: Bernage, Etude sur Robert Garnier, Paris, 1886. 
 
 *) Vauquelin, 1'Art Poetique, ed. Pellissier, Paris, 1885. Vol. .11, 
 Chap. V, 1107 sqq. 
 
 Sndiger, Poetice, Paris, 1581, Vol. Ill, Chap. 97, p. 369. 
 
 ") John W. Cunliffe, The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan 
 Tragedy, London, 1893. 
 Luce, Liuly Pembroke.
 
 34 
 
 and the most cosmopolitan, but he is also the easiest model 
 for the imitator . making- his first attempt in dramatic- 
 art. It is far easier to put in verse long' recitations and 
 declamatory monologues, without action, without method, 
 than to make events evolve themselves from the characters 
 and to lend to the personages a language in keeping with 
 their passions. It is easier to astonish and to horrify, 
 than it is to touch and to move. It is not difficult to 
 write a play without action, without interest, with the 
 inevitable accompaniment of the nurse, the chorus, the mes- 
 senger, where the characters are badly drawn, where the 
 scenes lack verisimilitude, a play without consequence, ex- 
 cept as an opportunity of showing off learning and of imi- 
 tating for the sake of imitating, a servile reproduction, with- 
 out regard for differences of time and of usage. 
 
 The moral atmosphere, the pompous rhetoric, the fata- 
 listic conception of the world taking the form of "glittering 
 generalities", the taste for the horrible, all these were easy 
 of imitation, and sure to find special favour in France, in 
 the sixteenth century. It was this mentally congenial and 
 technically easy model, imitated by Etienne Jodelle, in the 
 first regular tragedy Clcopatrc captive (1552). and recommended 
 by Scaliger in his Poetice (1581). which, taking captive the 
 French stage in the tragedies of Gamier, left its influence 
 upon Corneille and Racine and even Voltaire. 
 
 The subjects of the French tragedies of this century 
 were generally taken from ancient or sacred *) history. The 
 same spiritual affinity which kept the French long enchain- 
 ed to the forms of Seneca, made subjects from Roman -) 
 history especially popular as themes for tragedy, and ac- 
 counts for their often excellent reproduction of the Roman 
 spirit. Gamier has treated Roman themes in three dramas, 
 
 J ) Yauquelin, 1'Art Poetique, ed. Pellissier. Paris, 1885, II, 1114 sqq. 
 Nisard, Etudes sur les poetes latins de la decadence. Paris. 1834, 
 p. 62. 
 
 ") E-bert, 1. c. p. 116.
 
 35 
 
 Porcie (1563). Oornelie (1574). and M. Antoine (1578). Tliey 
 form a sort of trilogy of the Roman civil wars. The ma- 
 terial for all three is taken from Amyot's Plutarch, the 
 'sii.fiksprrr iler Wdtlioyrapldc". Gamier seems to have had 
 an especial liking- for Antony, who appears in both the other 
 Roman dramas, but in choosing- for his subject the last 
 moments of this hero, one of the masterpieces of anecdote 
 in Plutarch. Gamier was also following- a tendency of his 
 age. The first regular tragedy. La C/eoj/atre captive, of Jo- 
 delle (1552). is of the same character, and commences after 
 the death of Antony; and several pieces having for their 
 theme the love and heroism of Antony and the conjugal 
 fidelity of Cleopatra appeared in the last half of the six- 
 teenth century, in Italy and England. 
 
 8. The Seneca Type in Aiitoine. 
 
 The story of Plutarch has been remodelled by Gamier 
 after the only play of Seneca written on a Roman theme, 
 the Octavia, ] ) and we find here the same endless monologues, 
 the same philosophical dissertations, the same antithetical 
 dialogues, the same lack of action. 
 
 In plot and situation. Antoine has the characteristic 
 Senecan simplicity. Love of the supposed faithless Cleo- 
 patra, and humiliation at the conquest of Octavius, causes 
 Antony's suicide. Love of Antony, and fear of the victorious 
 Octavius, causes Cleopatra's suicide. This is surely material 
 enough for a tragic plot, but here the two principal cha- 
 racters never once meet in the whole course of the play, 
 and their chief office is that of mouthpieces for long-winded 
 monologues. Even in the dialogue, there is no trace of 
 
 ') This is one of the doubtful plays of Seneca. The question of 
 Seneca's authorship is discussed in Teuffel, Geschichte der roin. Lit. 
 p. 70H, and answered affirmatively, but later investigations tend to dis- 
 prove Seneca's claim to the work. 
 
 3*
 
 36 
 
 character-drawing, and Charmion the waiting-maid proves 
 quite the equal 1 ) of lier mistress in philosophic training. 
 
 Not only do the single characters go their separate 
 ways, but there is no dramatic unity in the play. The 
 different acts do not grow out of each other, but are pa- 
 rallel, except for the fifth, which presupposes the suicide 
 of Antony, already announced by the messenger in the pre- 
 vious act. 
 
 In form, Antoine conforms closely to the Seneca model. 2 ) 
 There are five acts, the first of which consists wholly of a 
 long monologue 3 ) and chorus. Only the second and fourth 
 acts are divided into scenes, the former by the chorus, and 
 the latter by the appearance of the messenger. As in all 
 Seneca plays, there is a chorus, lyrical in form, at the close 
 of the first four acts, and in Antoine each chorus bears a 
 close relation to the action of the play. After Antony's 
 long monologue as to the overthrow of his greatness and 
 the infidelity of Cleopatra, the chorus bewails the destiny 
 of men who are born to suffer. In the second act, after 
 Philostratus has bewailed the evils which love has brought 
 upon Egypt, the chorus takes up the same lament. At the 
 close of the same act, where Cleopatra mourns the overthrow 
 of Antony, the chorus describes the servitude of Egypt and 
 closes with generalities in regard to the transitoriness of 
 all things human. In the third act. where Antony laments 
 Cleopatra's infidelity and resolves to die, the chorus praises 
 voluntarjr death. In the fourth act, after the messenger 
 has announced the death of Antony, the chorus composed 
 of Roman soldiers makes vows of peace. 
 
 These choruses differ from those of Seneca, not only in 
 
 !) Act II. 11. 469533. 
 
 2 ) For a careful analysis of the characteristics of the Seneca type, 
 see Rudolf Fischer, Zur Kunstentwicklung- der englischen Tragodie, 
 Strassburg, 1893, and John W. Cunliffe, The Influence of Seiieca on 
 Elizabethan Tragedy. London, 1893. 
 
 3 ) Cp. Seneca's Hercules Furens, Troades, Medea etc.
 
 their closer connection with the action . but also in their 
 more truly lyrical quality. They are less weighted with 
 philosophic aphorisms than is often the case with Seneca, 
 and they have a simplicity and beaut}' of expression which 
 are often lacking- in the main drama. 
 
 The claim that these choruses are imitations of parti- 
 cular passages in Horace or Seneca 1 ), seems to have no 
 foundation beyond the fact that some of the stock ideas 
 of the Senecan philosophy find expression here. It is claimed 
 that Seneca's Agamemno. 1. 610 613. 
 
 "Heu quam dulce nialum meutibus additum 
 Vitae dims amor, cum pateat mails 
 Effuyium et miseros libera mors vocet 
 Portus aeterna plaeidus quiete" 
 
 is the source of lines expressing such a wide-spread philo- 
 sophic commonplace as: - 
 
 "Las (jue nous tourmeute Fenvie 
 
 Et le desir de cette vie! 
 
 Que ce nous est un fier bourreau 
 
 Qui nous travaille et nous martelle 
 
 D'une gesne perpetuelle 
 
 Que Fignoble penr du tombeau!'' 
 
 (Ant. Act III. 1248 sqq.i 
 
 Such a claim can neither be proved nor denied. Whatever 
 the source of the ideas, the lyric beauty of their expression 
 is wholly Garnier's. 
 
 The unity of place is violated. The second act must 
 take place, in part, within the monument (11. 687 688), 
 and also the fifth act. This rule of the unities was not a 
 fixed law with Seneca and is often violated in Gamier. 
 
 The rule of three actors is also violated. In the second 
 act there are four and in the fifth act five, thus exceeding 
 even the four permitted in the pseudo-Senecan plays. 
 
 l ) P. Kahnt, Gedankenkreis der Sentenzen in Jodelle's und Char- 
 mer's Tragodien. Marburg, 1887, p. 44, Note 3: p. 60, Note 6.
 
 88 
 
 The stage decencies are observed in the death of Antony, 
 which is reported by a messenger, but violated in the death 
 of Cleopatra, which it would seem takes place on the stage. 
 
 Although there is no ghost , supernatural agencies are 
 not wanting, for Philostratus tells of terrible omens presag- 
 ing evil, and of nightly voices which seemed to abandon 
 the city (11. 297 316)." 
 
 The language of Autoine is often an exaggeration of 
 the rhetoric and artificiality of Seneca. The speeches are 
 prolix and bombastic, and like all Seneca plays, abound in 
 learned citations from history and mythology. The dialogue 
 is heavily weighted with philosophic aphorisms, and sticho- 
 mythia often becomes a mere pitch and toss of moral com- 
 monplace, as in Act IV. 11. 1505 1522. Kalmt 1 ) has shown 
 that aphorisms occur more abundantly in Antoine than in 
 any other of Garnier's plays, and that the longest "Sentenzen- 
 streif is in Act II, 11. 560 570. The legal training of 
 Gamier may account for his delight in such long wordy 
 battles as those in Act III. 11. 874 907, where, in the midst 
 of one of the most passionate scenes of the tragedy, the 
 argument is developed point for point with the thoroughness 
 and acumen of the lawyer pleading before the bar. The 
 abundant aphorisms treat the usual Senecan themes, fate, 
 resignation, the anrea median-Has, suicide, tyranny, etc., and 
 Kahnt - ') proves that in the philosophy thus expressed , the 
 fatalism and stoicism of Seneca show the modifying influence 
 of modern Christian ideas; that fatalism shows a tendency 
 to become predestination, and that Stoicism is often coloured 
 with optimism. 
 
 r ) 1. c., Tabelle p. 9; also p. 12. 
 -) 1. c., p. 51 sqq.
 
 $ i). Lady Pembroke's Translation. 
 
 The sister of Sir Philip Sidney could hardly fail to be 
 a lover of plays "full of stately speeches and well sounding- 
 Phrases, dyming to the height of Seneca his stile and full 
 of a notable morality.'' ' ) Her Antonie is the first of that 
 series of pure Seneca plays which appeared in the last 
 decade of Elizabeth's reign, and which indicates the conti- 
 nuous revolt in higher literary circles against the overwhelm- 
 ing progress of the English romantic drama. We shall 
 see that it afterwards became the model of the only two 
 plays in the literature which are written wholly in the style 
 of the French Seneca drama. 
 
 A) Edition*. 
 
 Although Lady Pembroke's translation doses with the 
 inscription "At Ramsburie. 26 of November. 1590," it was 
 first printed, together with the Discourse of Life and Death, 
 two years later. 
 
 The title page of the first edition reads: - 
 
 Discourse of Life 
 
 and Death 
 Written in French by Ph. Mornay. 
 
 Anto?iiitf< 
 A Tragedie written also in French 
 
 by Ro. Gamier. 
 
 Both done in English by the 
 
 Countesse of Pembroke 
 
 (Vignette) 
 
 At London 
 
 Printed for William Ponsonby 
 
 1592. 
 There is no signature. 
 
 ') Sir Philip Sidney. An Apologie for Poetrie, Arher's English 
 Reprints, p. 63.
 
 40 
 
 The only copy of this first edition known to the 
 editor is in the British Museum. The volume is an unpaged 
 octavo, but not in its original binding'. Each leaf has been 
 cut out and pasted b^y one edge on a stiff strip of paper. 
 and the whole rebound, thus making the book larger than 
 the original by the width of a broad margin. In several 
 instances the initial letter, or the monosyllabic word at the 
 beginning of a line, has been torn off. In the second act, 
 two pages have been misplaced. The leaf beginning "Do 
 often honor to our loued Tombes" (1. 654) and ending, 
 "If yet for me his heart one sigh fourth breathe" (1. 684), 
 should precede the leaf beginning, "Blest shall I be: and 
 farre with more content" (1. 685) and ending. "But seeing 
 hir was rauished with her sight" (1. 712). 
 
 The argument is printed twice in succession, but there 
 are no variations in the texts of the two arguments. 
 
 A second edition was printed in 1595. The title-page 
 reads: - 
 
 The Traycdir Of A 
 Doone into English by the Countesse of Pembroke 
 (Vignette) 
 
 Imprinted at London for William Ponsonby, 
 1595. 
 
 The last page is inscribed "Printed at London by P. S. 
 for William Ponsonby, 1595." There is no signature, 
 
 The copy in the British Museum is an unpaged quarto, 
 well printed, with a woodcut border about each page. 
 
 In the Bodleian are ] ) two copies of the Antonie. One 
 is an octavo, the title page of which agrees with that of 
 the 1595 edition quoted above, except that the name Sidney 
 (Mary) is inserted before the Countess of Pembroke, and 
 that the imprint is "London by P. S. for Will Ponsonby, 1595." 
 
 ') Malone 208.
 
 41 
 
 There is another edition, a quarto, in which a ins. 
 title-page in ink lias been supplied in place of the lost 
 original. The date 1595 written hereupon is known by 
 comparing the book with other existing copies of the same 
 edition. The only date printed anywhere in this copy is 
 the inscription at the end, "At Ranisbnrie. 2(i of November. 
 1590:' 
 
 B) The Translation and the Original. 
 
 The French reprint of Antoine in the complete edition 
 of Garniers works, in 1585, M differs in many of its readings 
 from the first edition of the play, in 157S. In every in- 
 stance Lady Pembroke follows the readings of 1585. showing 
 that she must have used that or some later edition for her 
 translation. 
 
 She does not translate the letter of dedication to 
 M. Pibrac. nor the introductory sonnets to Gamier. 
 
 The Argument is not a translation, though its content 
 agrees in substance with the argument of the original. 
 There is no reference in Gamier to the scene of the play; 2 ) 
 the fact that Lady Pembroke states in her Argument, 
 "the stage supposed Alexandria," might mean that she 
 intended her translation to be acted, but no record of its 
 production can be found. 
 
 In the cast of characters, the actors are not placed in 
 the same order as in the original, and the characterization 
 of Lucilius as "amy d r Antoine," of Agrippa as "amy de 
 Cesar" and of Dircetus as "archer des gardes d' Antoine", 
 is omitted. 
 
 In Gamier, the personnel of the chorus is given in the 
 list of characters; in the translation, it is stated in the 
 Argument. 
 
 *) See: Robert Gamier, Les Tragedies, ed. by W. Foerster. in 
 Sammlung franzosischer Neudrucke. 
 
 ) According to the Journal du Theatre Frauc.ais, the play was 
 acted with success at the theatre of the Hotel de Bourgogne, in 1578.
 
 42 
 
 The translation reproduces very faithfully The content 
 of the original. One couplet has been added (11. 1092 93), 
 and one line (1407 in the original) has been omitted. It 
 should appear as line 1409 in the translation, 1 ) and its 
 omission seems to be a printer's error although it occurs in 
 both editions. Occasionally the structure of the sentence 
 has been changed, as in 1. 271. where narration has been 
 changed to direct address in the translation, and to inter- 
 rogation in 11. 550. 960. 1503. The parenthesis has been 
 often used in the translation, where it is wanting in the 
 original. Considerable liberties are taken with the proper 
 names. Sometimes the} T are omitted . as in lines 1084 
 (d'Afrique). 1218 (d'Omphale). etc; or a paraphrase is sub- 
 stituted, as in 1. 151. where for Aquilon is put "the northern 
 blast;" 1. 328. where Philomela is rendered "wood musi- 
 ques queene"; 1. 541. where Acheron is translated "the 
 joyless lake", or 1. 1744, where la laine Canusienne is trans- 
 lated "wool of finest fields." Vice versa, a proper name is 
 used for the paraphrase . as in 1. 200 (Titan for "Soleil"), 
 or 1. 1906 (Styx for "rives pallissantes") ; or other names 
 are substituted, as in 1. 289 Hector (not identical) for Sar- 
 pedon; 1. 360. Padus (identical) for Eridan. In all these 
 changes. Lady Pembroke shows a very thorough knowledge 
 of classic mythology. 
 
 The translation follows in general the verse order of 
 the original, but in the choruses, where the translator is 
 hampered by rhyme, the rendering is much freer and the 
 order of the verse often much transposed, as in the chorus 
 at the end of Act II. 
 
 Too close an adherence to the original sometimes gives 
 an absurd line, as in 1916, "Alas, how much I weeping 
 liquor want" ; but such lines are not common, and in 
 general, the idea is not only faithfully but skilfully repro- 
 
 l ) The addition of 11. 1092, 1093 and omission of 1. 1409 accounts 
 for the difference in the number of lines in the original and in the 
 translation.
 
 43 
 
 duced. Sometimes she even "touches to adorn", as in II. 
 831834 : 
 
 11 viendra quelqut; iourneo. "Oiu- dale theiv will come a daie. 
 
 Pernicieuse a Ton hrur. Wliii/h shall quail thy beauty's 
 
 flower, 
 
 <-Jui t'abatra ruinee And thee ruinde low shall lay 
 
 Sons vn barbare seigneur In some barbarous Princes power." 
 
 There are not main' mistakes in tlie translation, 
 although in a few instances Lady Pembroke has failed to 
 grasp the sense of the original. For example, in 11. 559 60 : 
 
 N'est-ce pas les priuer du bien hereditahv 
 Que le faire tomber en la main aduersaire. 
 
 where le i. e. le lim is translated "That give them up to 
 aduersaires handes''. 
 
 Again, 1. 1097 "qu'il me soumist a soy" is translated: 
 "All this whole world to/hmilkd unto n/f." 
 
 Sometimes the construction of a word is entirely false, 
 as in 1. 491 sqq. 
 
 "Bien qu'il soit tout puissant. que la terre feeonde . . . 
 Meuue an din de ses yeux". 
 
 where in the translation, 
 
 'Who earth (our linne support) with plenty stores'", 
 
 the adjective feconde is construed as a verb. Lines 427, 
 429 and 648 which are spoken by Charmion in the original 
 are assigned to Eros in the translation. A detailed dis- 
 cussion of all the mistakes in translation will be found in 
 the foot-notes to the text of the drama, 
 
 C) Verse. 
 
 (1) The dialogue. 
 
 The verse of the French original, except in the chor- 
 uses, is the Alexandrine, the verses rhyming in pairs. The 
 sense generally stops with the rhyme, not infrequently with 
 the single verse. The change of masculine and feminine 
 endings is very carefully observed. The caesura occurs as 
 a rule after the sixth syllable, rarely in other positions.
 
 44 
 
 Lady Pembroke translates these Alexandrines into 
 English blank verse. She lias followed the text ot the 
 original so closely that the Knglish verse is often rough, 
 and the inverted sentences sometimes give a strained effect 
 to the measures: but if we consider that "Marlowe's mighty 
 line", though it had existed in a few plays for thirty years, 
 first became the property of the English public in Tambtir- 
 laine. printed in 1500. we must admit that she uses the 
 new metre with a very considerable degree of skill. Kyd. 
 who was probably a protege of Lady Pembroke's (see 
 Herrig's Archiv. XC. p. 19091. article by J. Schick). had 
 already written in this metre and may have encouraged her 
 to attempt the measure which he had already used so skilfully. 
 
 Variations from the regular ten-syllabled type are few 
 and far between. There is a small percentage of feminine 
 endings, as in : 
 
 249 Nor cruell Tantalus, nor bloudie Atreus. 
 
 643 Your dtitie must upon some good be founded. 
 
 644 On vertue it. the onlie good, is grounded. 
 
 293 So plaguie he. so many tempests raiseth. 
 
 294 So murdring he. so many Cities raiseth. 
 Probably also line 
 
 1962 AYhat say 1? where am I? o Cleopatra. 
 The number of such lines would be considerably greater, 
 if we were to read certain words with nasals or liquids as 
 dissyllables, e. g. fire, hour, bowers, showers, power etc.. as in 
 280 Hath lost this Kealme inflamed with his fire. 
 113 Her absence thee besottes: each hower. each hower. 
 69 Trumpets to pipes: field tents to courtley bowers. 
 As the number of certain- feminine endings is so very small, 
 we may even assume that Lady Pembroke considered as 
 monosyllables the words given, and t rouble in the lines: 
 40 To him haue love and fatall sisters giuen. 
 85 All Asia hidde: Euphrates bankes do tremble, 
 Gild perhaps Imncntablc- in 
 
 1798 hatefull life! 6 Queene most lamentable,
 
 and alaljtitter in 
 
 421 Water with teares this faire alabaster 
 need not necessarily be considered as words with a feminine 
 ending. 
 
 The result is that, at all events, the percentage of 
 feminine endings is very small. Of the choruses, only the 
 one at the close of Act 3 has feminine endings, regularly 
 in the third and sixth line of each stan/a. 
 
 Sometimes the irregularity is due to a double thesis, 
 as in line 398. 
 
 In a few instances, the line is rendered faulty through 
 a printer's error as by the omission of ///* in line 625. of 
 t<> iii line 719. of lc in line 1092. 
 
 The monotonous cadence of the French rhymed Alexan- 
 drines she has avoided in the translation lyy frequent 
 enjambement. The proportion of unstopt to end-stopt lines 
 is 1 : 3 7. This is a large proportion for such an early 
 attempt in dramatic blank verse. According to Dowden 
 (Shakspere Primer p. 40) the proportion of unstopt to end- 
 stopt lines in Love's Labour's Lost, is 1 : 18 14 as against 
 1:2-12 in the Winter's Tale. 
 
 The verse is sometimes left incomplete and finished by the 
 next speaker. This occurs in Act II seven times, in Act III 
 four times, in Act IV seven times, and in Act V twelve times. 
 
 The caesura usually comes after the fourth syllable, 
 but it may come as early as the third (1. 8) or in one 
 instance as late as the eighth (1. 49). 
 
 Rhymed couplets are of frequent occurrence, especially 
 in the third act. They often come at the end of a para- 
 graph or in stichomy thia . and they precede every chorus 
 and close every act in the play. There are about one 
 hundred and fifty such couplets in the drama and the 
 rhymes are generally very pure. 
 
 (2) Choruses. 
 
 In these choruses, Gamier has used a variety 1 ) of 
 
 ') See: Versbau Robert Garnier's von Panl Korner (Berlin. 
 C. Vojrfs Verlag. 1894).
 
 strophes and measures. The strophes of The h'rst chorus have 
 eight lines of eight syllables each, with the rhyme sequence 
 ab ab cd cd. The translation -) is in strophes of eight lines 
 of three accents each, with the very varied rhyme sequence : 
 
 Strophe 1 
 
 a 1) 
 
 < d 
 
 a d 
 
 c b 
 
 2 
 
 a b 
 
 c b 
 
 a d 
 
 c d 
 
 
 I 
 
 a b 
 
 c b 
 
 c d 
 
 a d 
 
 
 , 4 
 
 a b 
 
 a c 
 
 d c 
 
 b d 
 
 
 , o 
 
 a b 
 
 < b 
 
 d c 
 
 a d 
 
 
 , (> 
 
 a b 
 
 c a 
 
 d c 
 
 b d 
 
 
 , 7 
 
 a b 
 
 c a 
 
 b d 
 
 c, d 
 
 
 , 8. a 10 
 
 a b 
 
 a c 
 
 d c 
 
 d b 
 
 
 . 11 
 
 a b 
 
 c d 
 
 c a 
 
 d b 
 
 The h'rst chorus in Act II comprises, in the original, 
 strophes of six lines each, two lines of eight syllables alter- 
 nating with a line of six syllables, with the rhyme sequence 
 aa b cc b. The translation is in stanzas of six lines, 
 each of three accents, with the rhyme sequence ab ab cc. 
 
 The second chorus in Act II is in stanzas of eleven 
 lines, of seven syllables each, with the rhyme sequence, ab 
 ab cd dc ece. The translation is in stanzas of eleven lines, 
 of four accents each, with the rhyme sequence ab ab cd dc 
 ed (or c) e. This is exactly like the rhyme sequence of 
 the original except for the slight variation in the last couplet. 
 
 The chorus in Act III is in stanzas of six lines with the 
 rhyme sequence, aa b -cc b, each line having 8 syllables. 
 The translation is in stanzas of six lines, two lines of four 
 accents each, alternating with one of three accents. The 
 rhyme sequence is aa b cc b. All the lines of three 
 accents have feminine endings. 
 
 The chorus in Act IV is like that at the end of Act I, 
 except that the rhyme sequence is aa bb cd cd. The 
 
 *) In Diet. Nat. Biog. the choruses are incorrectly called Lady 
 Pembroke's original compositions: ''adding choral lyrics of her own."
 
 47 
 
 translation is like the rendering- of the chorus in Act 1. 
 except for the much simpler rhyme sequence aa bb cc dd. 
 Lady Pembroke's command of form and metre, which 
 has been already noticed in connection with her trans- 
 lation of the psalms, is shown in her rendering of these 
 choral lyrics. By far the most skilful part of her trans- 
 lation of Antonie is in these choruses. 
 
 10. The Influence of Lady Pembroke's Antonie. 
 
 That Antonie must have been a popular play in certain 
 circles is shown by the fact that it reached two editions 
 within three years. 
 
 In Polimanteia. \) -'whereunto is added a letter from 
 England to her three daughters. Cambridge. Oxford, and 
 Inns of Court," written by "William Clarke, and published 
 in 1595. the year of the second edition of Antonie, we find 
 it thus praised: "So well graced Antonie deserveth iniinor- 
 tall praise, from the hand of that divine Lady, who. like 
 Corina contending with Pindarus. was oft victorius." 
 
 It was probably owing to this popularity of Antonie 
 in select circles, that Thomas Kyd. probably in 1594, but 
 possibly earlier, translated the Cornelie of Gamier, which 
 was issued a second time with changed title-page, in 1595. 
 The play is dedicated to the Countess of Sussex, the aunt 
 of Lady Pembroke. Kyd's pathetic dedication, in which he 
 complains of "afflictions of the mind and bitter times and 
 privy broken passions," shows that he was then in great 
 distress, and it is highly probable that Cornelie was trans- 
 lated to gain the patronage of that circle where Antonie 
 was then read and admired. In the dedication, he also 
 promised a translation of Garnier's Porcie, but, if he was 
 
 *) W. C. (according- to (Irosart. William C'larke or Clerke), Poli- 
 manteia ed. Grosart, p. 45.
 
 48 
 
 still living-, his fortunes had probably become better by the 
 following- year, for there is no record of the play. 
 
 From its intrinsic literary merits, Cornelie is certainly 
 the most interesting- of these translations and imitations of 
 the French school of Seneca. 
 
 Another play, which was a direct outcome of Antonie. 
 was the Cleopatra of Samuel Daniel, written in 1594. Like 
 his patroness, Daniel was a decided opponent of the romantic 
 drama, and in dedicating- his play to Lady Pembroke, he 
 complains of the "barbarism" of the public taste, and praises 
 the protest against the ruling- dramatic fashion which 
 Sidney had made in his Apologie for Poetrie. The dedi- 
 cation shows that Cleopatra was undoubtedly written at 
 Lady Pembroke's suggestion. 1 ) 
 
 "Lo ! here the labours which she did impose, 
 Whose influence did predominate my muse ; 
 The starre of wonder my desires first chose, 
 To guide their travels in the course I use; 
 
 I who (contented with a humble song) 
 
 Made music to myself that pleased me best, 
 
 And only told of Delia and her wrong, 
 
 And prais'd her eyes, and plain'd mine own unrest : 
 
 (A text from whicli my muse had not digresst) 
 
 Madam, had not thy well-graced Antonie, 
 
 (Who all alone having remained long) 
 
 Wanted his Cleopatra's company." 
 
 His play begins at the point where Antonie ends, and 
 in his eifort to preserve the unities, he relates only the last 
 hours of Cleopatra's life. Nothing in the way of action is 
 allowed to disturb the decorum of the occasion, even the 
 death of Cleopatra being narrated by the most long-winded 
 of messengers. In its structure and style, it is a close imi- 
 tation of Antonie. In its verse, the play follows both the 
 
 ') Works of Samuel Daniel, ed. Grosart, Vol. Ill, p. 23.
 
 49 
 
 English and The French model, being written in a mixture 
 of blank and rhymed verse, with frequent enjambement. 
 
 The success of Cleopatra induced Daniel to write a 
 second tragedy. Philotas \) (1605). after the same model. It 
 was not successful, owing partly to its supposed reference 
 to the fate of the Earl of Essex, but more to the increasing 
 success of the romantic drama. In his dedication to the 
 Prince he complains that "All our labours are without 
 successe. For either favour or our vertue fails." In his Apo- 
 logy, later appended to the play, Daniel condemns bitterly 
 the "idle fictions'' and "gross follies" with which "the Stage 
 at this day abused men's recreations." 
 
 The French Seneca influence is also plainly traceable 
 in the plays "Alaham" and "Mustapha". written by the life- 
 long companion and later biographer of Sir Philip Sidney. 
 Fulke Greville '-'). Lord Brooke . who also belonged to the 
 inner circle of Lady Pembroke's friends. 
 
 Although the first authorized edition of his plays :: ) was 
 printed in 1633. they must have been written much earlier. 
 as single quarto editions were extant in 1608 and 1609. 
 Both are oriental tales, treated in the strictest pseudo-classic 
 style, with a careful observance of the unities and stage 
 decencies. In Alaham. a ghost of one of the kings of Ormus 
 speaks the long prologue, and choruses of "Good and Evil 
 Spirits," "Furies and Vices", comment on the action. In no 
 act are there more than two speakers. 
 
 In Mustapha, the chorus consists at one time of Pashas 
 and Cadis, again of Mohammedan priests, then of "Time and 
 Eternity," and lastly of converts to Mohammedanism. Both 
 
 *) Daniel, ed. Grosart, Vol. Ill, p. 96 sqq. 
 
 -) In Works in Verse and Prose of Fnlke Greville, Baron Brooke, 
 ed. Grosart, Vol. IV, p. 10 is a beautiful eulogy of .Sidney by his old 
 school-fellow and friend. 
 
 *) In his Memoirs, Lord Brooke mentions having been moved to 
 writ* a play called Cleopatra, which he afterwards burned. 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke. 4
 
 50 
 
 plays are heavily weighted with moral sentences and political 
 maxims, after the style of Seneca. Both are written after 
 the French style in elaborate rhyme. 
 
 There is one other isolated Seneca drama belonging to 
 this period, of whose author and his works nothing- beyond 
 this play is known. It bears the title : "The Tragicomodie of 
 the Vertuous Octavia. Done by Samuel Brandon. 1598. 
 London, printed for William Ponsonbye." It is dedicated 
 to the Lady Lucia Audlay. Annexed to the main poem is 
 a letter from Octavia to Mark Antony, and Mark Antony's 
 answer in verse. This portion is dedicated: "To Mistresse 
 Mary Thinne." These dedications afford no clue to the life 
 of the author, or to any further works of his. The play 
 takes up the story of Antony at an early period, and the 
 scene is laid entirely in Rome, though the unities of time 
 and action are not observed. Brandon is not known to have 
 been the author of any other production. His versification 
 is harmonious, like that of Daniel, and is interesting from 
 its introduction of Greek compound epithets. In thought 
 and style, this plaj' closel}' resembles the later Seneca 
 dramas. But it has not been possible to directly trace here 
 the influence of Lady Pembroke and her circle. 
 
 The other literary records of that period are silent as 
 to the effect of these pseudo-classic dramas. 
 
 The plays seem never to have met with more than the 
 luke-warm approval of a lettered audience. The model of 
 Gamier, which influenced French literature for three cen- 
 turies, was impotent in England to replace the native drama. 
 To-day these plays interest the historian of literature less 
 from their literary merit, than because they indicate, by their 
 very failure, the dramatic strength and artistic soundness 
 of the native growth which they attempt to displace. These 
 scholarly exercitations with their monologues, their sonorous 
 diction, their unities and stage decencies were foreign to 
 the English genius, which refused to be banished to the
 
 51 
 
 limbo of pseudo-classic imitation, even under such august 
 patronage as that of Lady Pembroke and her circle. 
 
 Concluding Remarks. 
 
 Plan of the prevent Reprint. 
 
 In this reprint of Antonie, the edition of 1592 has been 
 reproduced. The old spelling- has been scrupulously preserved, 
 and the old punctuation has been altered only when it has 
 been found, on comparison with the text of the French 
 original, to obscure the sense. 
 
 The text (A) has been collated with the edition of 
 1595 (B). The variations are given in full in the foot-notes. 
 Where the readings of text B have been found to clear up 
 an obscurity in the sense or the metre they have been 
 substituted and the corresponding readings of text A have 
 been given in the notes. 
 
 The variations consist almost entirely of the correction 
 in text B of omissions and printer's errors in text A. They 
 are found in detail in the notes. 
 
 4*
 
 THE 
 
 TRAGEDIE or ANTONIE, 
 
 DONE INTO ENGLISH 
 
 BY THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 1592.
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 After the overthrowe of Brutus and ( 'assius, the libertie 
 of Rome being now utterly opressed. and tlie Empire setled 
 in the hands of Octauius Caesar and Marcus Antonius. (who 
 for knitting a straiter bonde of ami tie betweene them, had 
 taken to wife Octavia the sister of Caesar) Antonius under- 
 tooke a journey against the Parthians. witli intent to regaine 
 on them the honor won bj r tliem from the Romains, at the 
 discomfiture and slaughter of Crassus. But comming in his 
 journey into Siria, the places renewed in his remembrance 
 the long intermitted loue of Cleopatra Queene of Aegipt: 
 who before time had both in Cilicia and at Alexandria, 
 entertained him with all the exquisite delightes and sump- 
 tuous pleasures, which a great Prince and voluptuous Louer 
 could to the uttermost desire. Whereupon omitting his 
 enterprice, he made his returne to Alexandria, againe falling 
 to his former loues, without any regard of his vertuous wife 
 Octavia, by whom nevertheles he had excellent children. 
 This occasion Octauius tooke of taking armes against him: 
 and preparing a mighty fleet, encountred him at Actium, 
 who also had assembled to that place a great number of 
 Gallies of his own, besides 60. which Cleopatra brought 
 with her from Aegipt. But at the very beginning of the 
 battell Cleopatra with all her Gallies betooke her to flight, 
 which Antony seeing could not but follow ; by his departure
 
 leaving to Octavius the greatest victorie which in any Sea 
 Battell hath 1)eene lieard off. Which lie not negligent to 
 pursue, follower tlieiu the next spring, and besiedgeth them 
 within Alexandria, where Antony finding all that he trusted 
 to faile him. beginneth to growe jealouse and to suspect 
 Cleopatra. She thereupon enclosed her selt'e with two of 
 her women in a monument she had before caused to be 
 built, thence sends him woord she was dead: which he 
 beleeving for truth, gave himselfe with his Swoord a deadly 
 wound : but died not untill a messenger came from Cleopatra 
 to have him brought to her to the tombe. Which she not 
 daring to open least she should be made a prisoner to the 
 Romaines and carried in Caesars triumph, cast downe a 
 corde from an high window, by the which (her w r omen 
 helping her) she trussed up Antonius halfe dead, and so got 
 him into the monument. The Stage supposed Alexandria: 
 the Chorus first Egiptians and after Eomane Souldiors. The 
 Historie to be read at large in J'h/fa/rl, in the life of 
 Antonius.
 
 THE ACTORS. 
 
 Antonius. 
 Cleopatra . 
 
 Eras and \ 
 
 ' ( leopatras women. 
 Cnarmion / 
 
 Philostratns a philosopher. 
 
 Lucilins. 
 
 Diomede Secretary to Cleopatra. 
 
 Octavins ( 'aesar. 
 
 Agrippa. 
 
 Enphroii, teacher of Cleopatra's children. 
 
 Children of Cleopatra. 
 
 Dircetus the Messenger. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Antonius. Since cruell Heav'ns against me obstinate. 
 Since all mishappes of the round engine doo 
 Conspire my harme: since men. since powers divine. 
 Aire, earth, and Sea are all iniurious: 
 5 And that my Queene her self, in whome I liu'd. 
 The Idoll of my hart doth me pursue: 
 It's meete I dye. For her have I forgone 
 My Country. CVsw- unto warre provok'd 
 (For just revenge of Sisters wrong, my wife, 
 10 Who mou'de my Queene (ay me!) to iealousie). 
 
 1 Obstinate French original: encontre moy s'obstine. 
 10 Dont Cleopatre estoit a won malheur ialouse.
 
 For love of her, in her allurements caught. 
 Abandon'd life, I honor have despisde. 
 Disdaiu'd my freends. and of tlie statelye Rome 
 Despoilde the Empire of lier best attire, 
 
 15 Oontemn'd that power that made me so much fear'd, 
 A slave become unto her feeble face. 
 
 cruell, traitres, woman most unkinde. 
 Thou dost, forsworne. my love and life betraie: 
 And giv'st me up to ragefull euemie. 
 
 20 Which soone (o foole!) will plague thy perjurye. 
 
 Yelded Prh^iuiti on this Countries shore. 
 Yelded thou liast my Shippes and men of warre. 
 That nought remain es (so destitute am J) 
 But these same armes which on my back 1 weare. 
 
 25 Thou should'st have had them too. and me unarm 'de 
 Yeelded to Caesar naked of defence, 
 Which while I beare let Carxar neuer thinke 
 Triumph of me shall his proud chariot grace: 
 Not think with me his glory to adorne, 
 
 30 On me alive to use his victorie. 
 
 Thou only Cleopatra triumph hast. 
 Thou only hast my freedome seruill made, 
 Thou only hast me vanquisht: not by force 
 (For forste I cannot be) but by sweete baites 
 
 35 Of thy eyes graces, which did gaine so fast 
 Upon my libertie, that nought remain'd. 
 None els hence foorth, but thou my dearest Queene, 
 Shall glorie in commanding Antonie. 
 Haue Caesar fortune and the Gods his freends. 
 
 40 To him haue Jove and fatall sisters giuen 
 The Scepter of the earth: he never shall 
 
 12 Abandon'd life -- .Tay mis pour V amour d'elle ma vie a 
 
 I'abandon. 
 
 16 Feeble face visage feint. 
 40 Lny ayent Jupiter, et les destins proinis Le sceptre etc.
 
 59 
 
 Subject my life to his obedience. 
 
 But when that Death, my glad refuge, shall haue 
 
 Bounded the course of my unstedfast life. 
 
 45 And frosen corps under a marble colde 
 
 Within tombes bosome widdowe of my soule : 
 Then at his Avill let him it subiect make: 
 Then what he will let Carxrn- doo with me : 
 Make me limme after limme be rent: make me 
 
 50 My buriall take in sides of Thine inn wolfe. 
 
 Poore Antouid alas what was the day. 
 The daie of losse that gained thee thy love-! 
 Wretch Antony \ since then Manjuem pale 
 With Snakie haires enchain'd thy miserie. 
 
 55 The fire the[e] burnt was neuer Cnnid* fire 
 (For Cupid beares not such a mortall brand) 
 It was some furies torch, Orcxte* torche, 
 Which sometimes burnt his mother- murdering soule, 
 (When wandring madde, rage boiling in his blood. 
 
 60 He fled his fault which folow'd as he fled) 
 Kindled within his bones by shadow pale 
 Of mother slaine return'd from Stygian lake. 
 
 Antony, poore Antoni/l since that daie 
 Thy olde good hap did farre from thee retire. 
 
 65 Thy vertue dead: thy glory made alive 
 So ofte by martiall deeds is gone in smoke: 
 Since then the Bates so well thy forehead knewe 
 To Venus mirtles yeelded haue their place: 
 Trumpets to pipes: field tents to courtley bowers: 
 
 70 Launces and Pikes to daunces and to feastes. 
 Since then, 6 wretch! in stead of bloudy warres 
 Thou shouldst have made upon the Parthian Kings 
 
 43 Glad refuge courayenx recours. 
 
 55 thee] the Q 1. 
 
 64 hap - fortune. Cp. Sir P. Sidney, Arcadia III: "A right 
 bare nature which joys to see any hard hap happen to them they 
 deem happy". The word occurs again 11. 323, 403, 470, 735 etc.
 
 For Romain honor tilde by ('rnxxti* foile. 
 
 Thou threw'st thy Curiace off. and fearful] healme. 
 
 75 With coward courage unto Art/i///* Queene 
 In haste to ruiiiie. about her uecke to liana' 
 Languishing in her arines thy Idoll made: 
 In simmie, given up to flco/inti-a* eies. 
 Thou breakest at length from thence as one encharnvd 
 
 80 Breakes from th' enchaunter that him strongly helde. 
 For thy first reason (spoyling of their force 
 The poisned cuppes of thy faire Sorceres) 
 Recurd thy sprite: and then on every side 
 Thou mad'st againe the earth with Souldiours swarme. 
 
 85 All Asia hidde : Euphrates bankes do tremble 
 To see at once so many Romanes there 
 Breath horror, rage, and with a threatning eye 
 In mighty squadrons crosse his swelling streames. 
 Nought seene but horse, and tier sparkling armes: 
 
 90 Nought heard but hideous noise of muttring troupes. 
 The I'arth. the Mede abandoning their goods 
 Hide them for feare in hilles of Riminie. 
 Redoubting thee. Then willing to besiege 
 The great 1'hmatc head of Media, 
 
 95 Thou campedst at her walles with vaine assault. 
 Thy engines fit (mishap!) not thither brought. 
 
 So long thou staist. so long thoii doost thee rest, 
 So long thy lone with such things nourished 
 Reframes, reformes it selfe and stealingly 
 100 Retakes his force and rebecomes more great. 
 
 For of thy Queene the lookes, the grace, the woords, 
 Sweetenes. alurements, amorous delights. 
 
 81 etc. To. raison premiere. . . . Reguarit ton esprit. 
 
 83 Sprite] spent Q 2. 
 
 86 Romanes] Komanes Q 1. 
 
 90 muttring fremissantes. 
 
 94 la grand' Phraatc. Uonneiir de la Medie.
 
 61 
 
 Entred againe thy soule. and day and night. 
 In watch, in sleepe. her Image follow'd thee: 
 
 105 Not dreaming' but of her. repenting still 
 
 That thou for warre hadst such a Goddes left. 
 
 Thou car'st no more for I'arth nor I'm-fliinu how. 
 Sallies, assaults, encounters, shocks, alarmes. 
 For diches. rampiers. wards, entrenched grounds : 
 
 110 Thy only care is sight of Xihi* streames. 
 
 Sight of that face whose guilefull semblaut doth 
 (Wandring in thee) infect thy tainted hart. 
 Her absence thee besottes: each hower. each hower 
 Of staie, to thee impatient seemes an age. 
 
 115 Enough of conquest, praise thou deem'st enough. 
 If soone enough the bristled fieldes thou see 
 Of fruit-full Aegipt. and the stranger floucl 
 Thy Queenes faire eyes (another Pharos] lights. 
 Returned loe. dishonored, despisde, 
 
 120 In wanton love a woman theje] misleades 
 
 Sunke in foule sinke: meane while respecting- nought 
 Thy wife Octavia and her tender babes. 
 Of whom the long contempt against thee whets 
 The swoord of Caesar, now thy Lord become. 
 
 125 Lost thy great Empire, all those goodly townes 
 Reverenced thy name as rebells now thee leave: 
 Rise against thee. and to the ensignes flocke 
 Of conqu'ring Caexar, who enwalles thee round 
 Cag'de in thy holde. scarse maister of thy_selfe 
 
 130 Late master of so many nations. 
 
 Yet, yet. which is of grief extreamest grief. 
 Which is yet of mischiefe highest mischiefe. 
 
 109 rampiers obsolete form of rampart. 
 
 Ill semblant appearance. Cp. Spenser F. Q. VI. 5. 4: "He showed 
 
 semblant of exceeding mone." 
 
 118 This clause is, of course, relative -.lights is 3 dp.pl.; s. Abbott, I.e. $333. 
 120 thee] the Q 1. 
 130 Nations trisyllabic; see Abbott. 1. c. 479.
 
 02 
 
 It's Cleo/Mtra alas! alas it's she, 
 It's she augments the torment of thy paine. 
 135 Betraies thy loue, thy life (alas!) betraies, 
 
 Caesar to please, whose grace she seekes to gaine : 
 With thought her Orowne to sane, and fortune make 
 Onely thy foe, which comon ought haue beene. 
 
 If her I ahvales lov'd, and the first flame 
 140 Of her ( heart- ]killing loue shall burn me last: 
 Justly complaine I she disloyall is, 
 Nor constant is, euen as I constant am. 
 To comfort my mishap, despising me 
 No more than when the heanens fauour'd me. 
 145 But ah! by nature women wau'ring are. 
 
 Each moment changing and rechanging mindes. 
 Unwise, who bliude in them, thinkes loyaltie 
 Euer to finde in beauties company. 
 Cham*. The boyling tempest still 
 150 Makes not Sea waters fome: 
 
 Nor still the Northern blast 
 
 Disquiets quiet streames; 
 
 Nor who his chest to fill 
 
 Sayles to the morning beames. 
 155 On waves winde tosseth fast 
 
 Still keepes his Ship from home. 
 Nor Jove still downe doth cast 
 
 Inflam'd with bloudie ire 
 
 On man, on tree, on hill. 
 
 139 If her etc.. -- si l'ayme-ie tous jours. 
 
 140 heart-killing] killing Q 1. Shall burn me last m'ardra dans le 
 tombeau. 
 
 145 Op. Hamlet Act I, So, II, 1. 141 sqq. ; III, 1, 108 sqq. 
 149 Still tousiours. 
 
 154 Sayles] Soules Q 1. sayles trauerse. 
 
 155 On waves etc. : 
 
 Le nauire creux ne renuerse 
 Sous le flat agite du vent.
 
 63 
 
 160 His darts of thundring fire: 
 Nor still the heat doth last 
 On face of parched plaine : 
 Nor wrinkled colde doth still 
 On frozen furrowes raine. 
 
 165 But still as long- as we 
 
 In this low world remaine. 
 Mishapps our dayly mates 
 Our lines do entertainer 
 And woes which beare no dates 
 
 170 Still pearch upon our heads. 
 None go. but streight will be 
 Some greater in their Steades. 
 Nature made us not free 
 When first she made us line: 
 
 175 When we began to be. 
 To be began our woe: 
 Which growing euermore 
 As dying life dooth growe. 
 Do more and more us greeue, 
 
 180 And trie us more and more. 
 No stay in fading states, 
 
 For more to height they retch. 
 
 Their fellow miseries 
 
 The more to height do stretch. 
 
 185 They clinge euen to the crowne, 
 And threatning furious wise 
 From tirannizing pates 
 Do often pull it downe. 
 In vaine on waues untride 
 
 190 To shunne them go we should. 
 To Scythe* and Massciffetes 
 Who neare the Pole reside: 
 In vaine to boiling sandes 
 
 163 wrinkled colde la gourde froidure. 
 182 retch M. E. form rechen.
 
 64 
 
 Which Plmrlnts battry beates, 
 195 For with us still they would 
 
 Cut seas and compasse landes. 
 The darknes no more sure 
 
 To jo.yne with heavy night: 
 
 The light which guildes the dayes 
 200 To follow Titan pure: 
 
 Xo more the shadow light 
 
 The bod} T to ensue: 
 
 Then wretchednes alwaies 
 
 Us wretches to pursue. 
 205 blest who never breath'd. 
 
 Or whome with pittie mou'de, 
 
 Death from his cradle reau'de. 
 
 And swadled in his graue : 
 
 And blessed also he 
 210 (As curse may blessing have) 
 
 Who low and living free 
 
 No princes charge hath prou'de. 
 By stealing sacred fire 
 
 Prometheus then unwise, 
 215 Prouoking Gods to ire, 
 
 The heape of ills did sturre, 
 
 And sicknes pale and colde, 
 
 Our ende which onward spurre, 
 
 To plague our hands too bolde 
 220 To filch the wealth of Skies. 
 In heauens hate since then 
 
 Of ill with ill enchain'd 
 
 We race of mortall men 
 
 Full fraught our breasts haue borne: 
 225 And thousand thousand woes 
 
 Our heau'nly soules now thorne, 
 
 210 As curse may blessing have Heureux encore en sa misere. 
 
 217 Sicknes plural; the original has maladies. 
 
 225 26Maintenant le malheur espine De mille et mille afflictions Nostre arae.
 
 Which free before from those 
 No earthly passion pain'd. 
 Warre and warres bitter cheare 
 
 230 Now long- time with us staie. 
 And feare of hated foe 
 Still, still encreaseth sore: 
 Our harmes worse dayly growe. 
 Lesse yesterdaye they were 
 
 235 Then now, and will be more 
 To morowe then to dave. 
 
 What horrible furie. what cruell rage, 
 Aeyipt so extremely thee torments? 
 Hast thou the Gods so angred by thy fault? 
 
 240 Hast thou against them some such crime conceiu'd. 
 That their engrained hand lift up in threats 
 They should desire in thy hart bloud to bathe? 
 And that their burning wrath which nought can quench, 
 Should pittiles on us still lighten downe? 
 
 245 We are not hew'n out of the monstrous masse 
 Of -Giantett those, which heauens wrack conspir'd: 
 Ixiom race, false prater of his loues: 
 Nor yet of him who fained lightnings found : 
 Nor cruell Tantalus, nor bloudie Atreus, 
 
 250 Whose cursed banquet for Thyestes plague 
 Made the beholdinge Sunne for horrour turne 
 His backe, and backward from his course returne: 
 And hastning his wing-footed horses race 
 Plunge him in sea for shame to hide his face: 
 
 255 While sulleine night upon the wondring world 
 For mid-daies light her starrie mantle cast. 
 
 235 Then for than see Abbott, Shak. Grain. 70. 
 
 then = than 538, 641, 915, etc. 
 241 their engrained hand lew main rouyisfsaiite. 
 248 Who fained lightnings found - ny du fier Salmon?. 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke. 5
 
 66 
 
 But what we be. what euer wickednes 
 By us is done, Alas ! with what more plagues. 
 More eager torments could the Gods declare 
 
 260 To heauen and earth that us they hatefull holde? 
 With Souldiors. strangers, horrible in armes 
 Our land is hidde. our people drowu'd in teares. 
 But terror here and horror, nought is seene: 
 And present death prizing our life each hower. 
 
 265 Hard at our ports and at our porches waites 
 
 Our conquering foe: harts faile us. hopes are dead: 
 Our Queene laments: and this great Emperour 
 Sometime (would now they did) whom worlds did feare, 
 Abandoned, betraid, now mindes no more 
 
 270 But from his euils by hast'ned death to passe. 
 
 Come you poore people tir'de with ceasles plaints, 
 With teares and sighes make mournfull sacrifice 
 On Ms altars: not our seines to saue. 
 But soften Caesar and him piteous make 
 
 275 To us, his pray: that so his lenitie 
 May change our death into captiuitie. 
 
 Strange are the euils the fates on us haue brought, 
 but alas! how farre more strange the cause! 
 Lone, loue (alas, who ever would have thought?; 
 
 280 Hath lost this Kealme inflamed with his fire. 
 Loue, playing loue, which men say kindles not 
 But in soft harts, hath ashes made our townes. 
 And his sweet shafts, with whose shot none are kill'd, 
 Which ulcer not. with deaths our lands haue fill'd. 
 
 259 eager keen, biting'. Op. Hamlet I, 4, 2 "It is a nipping 1 and an 
 eager air." 
 
 264 Et la presente mort nous marchande a tons coups. 
 
 265 au port et aux portes. 
 
 270 Euils to be pronounced as a monosyllable, see Abbot, 466. 
 273 On Isis altars De I'Argolique Isis. 
 281 playing loue Amour dont on se ioue. 
 284 Which ulcer not qui rivlcerent aucun.
 
 67 
 
 285 Such was the bloudie. murdring. hellish loue 
 Possest thy hart, faire. false guest. /'//<////* Sonne. 
 Filing a brand which after made to burne 
 The Troian towers by Graecian* ruinate, 
 By this loue. Priam, Hector. Trail it*, 
 
 290 Memno)/, Dtipliobus, Glaums, thousands mo. 
 
 Wliome redd Scmnanderx armor-clogged streames 
 Roll'd into Sea. before their dates are dead. 
 So plaguie he, so many tempests raiseth, 
 So murdring he. so many Cities raiseth, 
 
 295 When insolent blinde, lawles, orderles. 
 
 "With madd delights our sence he entertaines. 
 
 All knowing Gods our wracks did us foretell 
 By signes in earth, by signes in starry sphaeres: 
 Which should haue mou'd us. had not destinie 
 
 HOG With too strong hand warped our miserie. 
 
 The Comet* flaming through the scat'red clouds 
 With fiery beames. most like unbroaded haires: 
 The fearefull dragon whistling at the bankes. 
 And holie Apix ceaseles bellowing 
 
 305 (As neuer erst) and shedding endles teares: 
 
 Bloud raining downe from heav'n in unknow'n showers 
 Our Gods darke faces ouercast with woe, 
 And dead mens Ghosts appearing in the night. 
 Yea euen this night while all the Cittie stoode 
 
 H10 Opprest with terror, horror, seruile feare, 
 
 Deepe silence ouer all: the sounds were he.ard 
 Of diuerse songs, and diners instruments, 
 Within the voide of aire: and howling noise, 
 Such as madde Bacchus priests, in Bacchus feasts, 
 
 290 Menmon in 01%. Sarpedon. 
 
 293 raiseth estneut. 
 
 294 So many Cities raiseth Tint il ard de citez raiseth evidently 
 in the sense of razeth. 
 
 302 Unbroaded = unbraided (comme tresses crinues). 
 307 Les image* den dieux au front morne (Vennuis. 
 
 5*
 
 68 
 
 315 On -/Visa make: and (seem'd) the company. 
 
 Our Cittie lost, went to the enemie. 
 So we forsaken both of Gods and men. 
 
 So are we in the mercy of our foes; 
 
 And we hencefourth obedient must become 
 320 To lawes of them who haue us ouercome. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Lament we our mishaps. 
 Browne we with tears our woe: 
 For Lamentable happes 
 Lamented easie growe: 
 325 And much lesse torment bring 
 
 Then Avhen they first did spring'. 
 We want that wofull song 1 . 
 
 Wherwith wood-musiques Queene 
 Doth ease her woes, among 
 330 Fresh spring-times bushes greene. 
 On pleasant branche alone 
 Renewing- auntient mone. 
 We want that monefull sounde, 
 335 That pratling Progne makes 
 On fields of Thracian ground. 
 Or streames of Thracian lakes: 
 To empt her breast of paine 
 For Itys by her slaine. 
 340 Though Halcyons doo still, 
 Bewailing Ceyx lot, 
 The Seas with plainings fill 
 Which his dead limmes haue got, 
 
 Not euer other graue 
 345 Then tombe of waues to haue : 
 And though the birde in death 
 That most Meander loues 
 So swetely sighes his breath 
 When death his fury proues,
 
 69 
 
 As almost softs his heart, 
 350 And almost blunts his dart : 
 Yet all the plaints of those. 
 Nor all their tearfull larmes. 
 Cannot content our woes. 
 Nor serue to waile the harmes. 
 355 In soule which we, poore we. 
 
 To feele enforced be. 
 Nor they of f'haebns bredd 
 In teares can doo so well. 
 They for their brother shedde. 
 360 Who into Pculu* fell. 
 
 Rash guide of chariot cleare 
 Surueionr of the yeare. 
 Nor she whom heau'nly powers 
 
 To weping rocke did turne, 
 365 Whose teares distill in showers. 
 And show she yet doth mourne, 
 Where with his toppe to Skies 
 Mount Sipylm doth rise. 
 Nor weping droppes which flowe 
 370 From barke of wounded tree. 
 That Mirrahs shame do showe 
 With ours compar'd may be, 
 To quench her louing fire 
 Who durst embrace her sire. 
 375 Nor all the howlings made 
 On Cybels sacred hill 
 By Eunukes of her trade, 
 Who Atys, Atys still 
 With doubled cries resound, 
 
 380 Which Echo makes rebound. 
 Our plaints no limits stay, 
 
 Nor more than doo our woes; 
 
 381 Du beau char compasseur de Van Conducteitr temeraire. 
 379 "WithJ which Q 1. Resound] reboxind Q 2.
 
 70 
 
 Both infinitely straie 
 And neither measure kuowes. 
 3H5 In incrisiu-e let fJicui p/aine: 
 
 Who meanur\l f/rirfc.K Nust 
 
 Cleopatra. Eras. Charniiun. Dioim>dr. 
 
 Cleopatra. That I haue thee bet-raid. deare Antmiie, 
 My life, my soule, my sunne? I had such thought? 
 That I haue thee betraide my Lord, my King'? 
 
 390 That I would break my vowed faith to thee? 
 
 Leave thee? deceive thee? yeelde thee to the rage 
 Of mightie foe ? I euer had that hart ? 
 Rather sharpe lightning' lighten on my head: 
 Rather may I to deepest mischeefe fall : 
 
 395 Rather the opened earth deuower me: 
 
 Rather fierce Tiyer* feed them on my flesh: 
 Rather, 6 rather let our Nilus send. 
 To swallow me quicke. some weeping Crocodile. 
 And didst thou then suppose my royall hart 
 
 400 Had hatche[d ], thee to ensnare, a faithles loue ? 
 And changing minde as Fortune changed cheare, 
 I would weake thee, to winne the stronger, loose? 
 wretch! o catiue! 6 too cruell happe! 
 And did not I sufficient losse sustaine 
 
 405 Loosing my Realme. loosing my liberty, 
 My tender of-spring, and the ioyfull light 
 Of beamy Suiine, and yet. yet loosing more 
 Thee Antony my care, if I loose not 
 What yet remain'd? thy loue alas! thy loue, 
 
 410 More deare than Scepter, children, freedome, light. 
 
 So ready I to row in Charons barge, 
 Shall leese the joy of dying in thy loue : 
 So the sole comfort of my miserie 
 To have one toinbe with thee is me bereft. 
 
 398 quicke living'. Op. "The quicke and the dead''. 
 400 hatche Q 1. hatcht Q 2.
 
 71 
 
 415 So I in shady plaiues shall plaine alone. 
 
 Not (as 1 hop'd) companion of thy nione. 
 
 height of griefe! Kin*. "\Yliy with continuall cries 
 
 Your griefull harnies doo yon exasperate? 
 
 Torment your selt'e with murthering complaints ? 
 420 Straine your weake breast so oft. so vehemently? 
 
 Water with teares this faire alabaster? 
 
 With sorrowes sting 1 so many beauties wound? 
 
 Come of so many Kings want you the hart 
 
 Brauely. stoutly, this tempest to resist? 
 425 Cl. My eivlls are wholy unsupportable. 
 
 Xo humain force can them withstand, but death. 
 
 Eras. To him that striues nought is impossible. 
 
 Cl. In striuing lyes no hope of my mishapps. 
 
 Ems. All things do yeelde to force of louely face. 
 430 Cl. My face too louely caus'd my wretched case. 
 
 My face hath so entrap'd. so cast us downe. 
 
 That for his conquest Caesar may it thank e. 
 
 Causing that Antony one army lost. 
 
 The other wholy did to Caesar yeld. 
 435 For not indnring (so his amorouse sprite 
 
 Was with my beautie flr'de) my shamefull flight. 
 
 Soone as he saw. from ranke wherin he stoode. 
 
 In hottest fight my Gallies making saile : 
 
 Forgetfull of his charge (as if his soule 
 440 Unto his Ladies soule had been enchainM) 
 
 He left his men, who so couragiouslie 
 
 Did leaue their Hues to gaine him victorie. 
 
 And carelesse both of fame and armies losse 
 
 My oared Gallies followed with his Ships. 
 445 Companion of my flight, by this base parte )l 
 
 Blasting his former flourishing renowne. 
 
 418 grieful yrieft'ul in early modern English. 
 
 421 faire to be pronounced as a dissyllable, see Abbott. 480. 
 
 425 eu'lls, see note line 270. 
 
 427. 429 These lines are spoken by Charraion in the original.
 
 72 
 
 Eras. Are you therefore cause of his overthrowe? 
 
 Cl I am sole cause: I did it, only I. 
 
 Er. Feare of a woman troubled so his sprite? 
 450 67. Fire of his loue was by my feare enflam'd. 
 
 Er. And should he then to warre haue ledd a Queene? 
 
 (.'1. Alas! this was not his offence, but mine. 
 
 Antony (ay me ! who else so braue a chiefe !) 
 
 Would not I should have taken Seas with him: 
 455 But would have left me fearfull woman farre 
 
 From common hazard of the doubtfull warre. 
 that I had beleu'd! now, now of Rome 
 
 All the great Empire at our beck should bende. 
 
 All should obey, the vagabonding- Scythes, 
 460 The feared Germains, back-shooting Parfhians, 
 
 Wandring Numidians, Brittons farre remoou'd, 
 
 And tawny nations scorched with the Sunne. 
 
 But I car'd not: so was my soule possest, 
 
 (To my great harme) with burning iealousie: 
 465 Fearing least in my absence Antony 
 
 Should leaning me retake Odauia. 
 
 Char. Such was the rigour of your destinie. 
 
 01. Such was my errour and obstinacie. 
 
 Oh. But since Gods would not, could you doe withall? 
 470 Cl. Alwaies from Gods good happs. not harms, do fall. 
 
 Oh. And have they not all power on mens affaires? 
 
 Cl. The} 7 never bow so lowe, as worldly cares. 
 
 But leaue to mortall men to be dispos'd 
 
 Freelie on earth what euer mortall is. 
 475 If we therin sometimes some faultes commit, 
 
 We may them not to their high maiesties, 
 
 But to our selues impute: whose passions 
 
 Plunge us each day in all afflictions. 
 
 Wherwith when we our soules do thorned feele, 
 480 Flatt'ring our selves we say they dest'nies are: 
 
 469 Mais qu'y eussies vous fait s'il ne plaisoit aux dieus?
 
 That Gods would haue it so. and that our care 
 Could not empeach but that it must be so. 
 Char. Things here belowe are in the heau'ns begot. 
 Before they be in this our wordle borne : 
 
 485 And never can our weaknes turne awry 
 The stailes course of powerfull destenie. 
 Nought here, force, reason, humaine prouidence. 
 Holie deuotion, noble blond, preuailes: 
 And Joue himself e whose hand doth heauens rule. 
 
 490 Who both to Gods and men as king commaunds, 
 "Who earth (our firme support) with plenty stores. 
 Moues aire and sea with twinckling of his eie, 
 Who all can doe. yet neuer can undoe 
 What once hath been by their hard lawes decreed. 
 
 495 When Troian walles. great Neptune* workmanship. 
 Enuiron'd were with G-reekes, and Fortunes whele 
 Doubtfull ten yeares now to the campe did turne. 
 And now againe towards the towne return'd: 
 How many times did force and fury sw r ell 
 
 500 In Hectors veines egging him to the spoile 
 
 Of conquer'd foes, which at his blowes did flie, 
 As fearfull shepe at feared wolues approche: 
 To saue (in vaine: for why? it would not be) 
 Pore walles of Troie from aduersaries rage. 
 
 505 Who died them in bloud, and cast to ground 
 Heaped them with bloudie burning carcases. 
 
 No, Madame, thinke that if the ancient crowne 
 Of your progenitors that Nilus rul'd, 
 Force take from you; the Gods haue will'd it so, 
 
 510 To whome oft times Princes are odiouse. 
 They haue to euery thing an end ordain'd; 
 All worldly greatnes by them bounded is; 
 
 484 Wordle for pronunciation see Abbott 485. 
 486 The stailes course Vinviolable cours. 
 
 491 With plenty stores Bien qu'il la terre feconde meuue adj. 
 translated as verb.
 
 74 
 
 Some sooner, later some, as they think best: 
 None their decree is able to infringe. 
 
 515 But. which is more, to us (lis.ast.red men 
 
 Which subiect are in all things to their will. 
 Their will is hidd : nor while we line, we know 
 How. or how long- we must in life remaine. 
 Yet must we not for that feede on dispaire, 
 
 520 And make us wretched ere we wretched bee: 
 But alwaies hope the best, euen to the last, 
 That from our selues the mischief may not growe. 
 Then. Madame, helpe your selfe. leaue of in time 
 Anton-iex wracke. lest it your wracke procure: 
 
 525 Eetire you from him: sane from wrathfull rage 
 Of angry Caesar both your Realme and you. 
 You see him lost, so as your amitie 
 Unto his euills can yelde no more reliefe. 
 You see him ruin'd, so as your support 
 
 530 No more hencefourth can him with comfort raise. 
 Withdraw you from the storme: persist not still 
 To loose } T our selfe: this royall diademe 
 Regaine of Caesar. 67. Sooner shining light 
 Shall leaue the dale, and darknes leaue the night: 
 
 535 Sooner moist currents of tempestuous seas 
 
 Shall waue in heauen, and the nightlie troopes 
 Of starres shall shine within the foming waues, 
 Then I thee Antonie, leaue in depe distres. 
 I am with thee, be it thy worthy soule 
 
 540 Lodge in thy brest, or from that lodging parte 
 Crossing the ioyles lake to take hir place 
 In place prepared for men Demy-gods. 
 
 Live, if thee please, if life be lothsome, die: 
 Dead and alive, Antonic, thou shalt see 
 
 545 Thy princesse follow thee, folow, and lament 
 
 531 sq. n'allez de vous mesme Perdre . . . ce Royal diademe : Recourez 
 a Cesar.
 
 75 
 
 Thy wrack, no lesse her owne then was thy weale. 
 
 Char. What helps his wrack this eiier-lasting loue? 
 
 Cl. Help, or help not, such must, such ought I prone. 
 
 CJiar. Ill done to loose your selfe, and to no ende. 
 550 67. How ill thinke you to follow such a frendeV 
 
 Char. But this your loue nought mitigates his paine. 
 
 CY.vWithout this loue I should be intiumaine73 
 
 6'/?a/-.IhhumaTne Tie." who his owne death pursues. 
 
 Cl. Not inhuniaine who miseries eschnes. 
 555 Ch. Liue for your sonnes. Cl. Xay, for their father die. 
 
 Cha. Hard hearted mother! CL AVife kind-hearted I. 
 
 Ch. Then will you them depriue of royall right ? 
 
 CL Do I depriue them? no, it's dest'nies might. 
 
 Ch. Do you not them depriue of heritage, 
 560 That give them up to aduersaries handes, 
 
 A man forsaken fearing to forsake. 
 
 Whome such huge numbers hold enuironned? 
 
 T'abandon one gainst whome the frowning world 
 
 Banded with Caesar makes conspiring warre. 
 565 Cl. The lesse ought I to leaue him le[f]t of all. 
 
 A frend in most d-islrcsse should inoxt, cmxixt. 
 
 If that when Autonic. great and glorious 
 
 His legions led to drinke Euphrates streames. 
 
 So many kings in traine redoubting him; 
 570 In triumph rais'd as high as highest heaun; 
 
 Lord-like disposing as him pleased best, 
 
 The wealth of Greece, the wealth of Asia: 
 
 In that faire fortune had I him exchaung'd 
 
 For (Caesar, then, men would haue counted me 
 575 Faithles, unconstant, light; but now the storaie. 
 
 And blustring tempest drilling on his face, 
 
 Readie to drowne, Alas.' what would they sale? 
 
 560 That give them up Forster's ert. le i. e. le bien. 
 565 left] lest Qq. Evidently a misprint; Gamier has: Tant moins . . 
 que tout est conlre luy.
 
 76 
 
 What would him selfe in /'Infos mansion saie? 
 
 If I. whome alwaies more then life he lou'de. 
 580 If I, who am his heart, who was his hope. 
 
 Leaue him, forsake him (and perhaps in vaine) 
 
 Weakly to please who him hath ouerthrowne? 
 
 Not light, unconstant, faitlilesse should J be; 
 
 But vile, forsworne, of treachrous crueltie. 
 5S5 Ch. Crueltie to shunne. you selfe-cruell are. 
 
 CL Selfe-cruell him from crueltie to spare. 
 
 <%. Our first attection to our selfe is due. 
 
 f'L He is my selfe. CJi. Next it extendes unto 
 
 Our children, trends, and to our countrie soile. 
 590 And you for som respect of wiuelie lone. 
 
 (Albee scarce wiuelie) loose your natiue land. 
 
 Your children, frends. and (which is more) your life, 
 
 With so strong charmes doth loue bewitch our witts: 
 
 So fast in us this fire once kindled flames. 
 595 Yet if his harme by yours redresse might haue. 
 
 H. With mine it may be clos'de in darksome graue. 
 
 Ch. And that, as Alcest to hir selfe unkinde, 
 
 You might exempt him from the lawes of death. 
 
 But he is sure to die: and now his sworde 
 600 Alreadie moisted is in his warme bloude, 
 
 Helples for any succour you can bring 
 
 Against deaths stinge, which he must shortlie feele. 
 Then let your loue be like the loue of olde 
 
 Which Carian Queene did nourish in hir heart 
 605 Of hir Mausolus: builde for him a tombe 
 
 Whose statelinesse a wonder new may make. 
 
 Let him, let him haue sumtuouse funeralles: 
 
 Let graue thereon the horror of his fights: 
 
 Let earth be buri'd with unburied heaps, 
 610 Frame ther Pharsaly, and discoulour'd streams 
 
 Of depe Enipeus: frame the grassie plaine, 
 
 591 perdez i. e. ruin, destroy. 
 610 ther] the Q 2.
 
 Which lodg'd his campe at siege of 
 
 Make all his combats and couragiouse acts: 
 
 And yearly plaies to his praise institute: 
 
 615 Honor his memorie: with doubled care 
 
 Breed and bring- up the children of you both 
 
 In Caesars grace: who as a noble Prince 
 
 Will leaue them Lords of this most gloriouse realme. 
 
 Cl. What shame were that? ah Gods! what infamie? 
 
 620 With Anton ie in his good happs to share. 
 And ouerlive him dead: deeming enough 
 To shed some teares upon a widdowe torn be? 
 The after-liuers iustly might report 
 That I him onlie for his empire lou'd, 
 
 625 And [his] high state: and that in hard estate 
 I for another did him lewdlie leaue? 
 Like to those birds wafted with wandring wings 
 From foraine lands in spring-time here arriue: 
 And Hue with us so long as Somers heate. 
 
 630 And their foode lasts, then seke another soile. 
 And as we see with ceaslesse fluttering 
 Flocking of seely flies a brownish cloud 
 To vintag'd wine yet working in the tonne, 
 Not parting thence while they swete liquor taste: 
 
 635 After, as smoke, all vanish in the aire, 
 
 And of the swanne not one so much appeare. 
 Eras. By this sharp death what profit can you winne ? 
 Cl. I neither gaine nor profit seke therin. 
 Er. What praise shall you of after-ages gett? 
 
 640 Cl. Nor praise, nor glory in my cares are sett. 
 Er. What other end ought you respect, then this? 
 CL My only ende my onely dutie is. 
 Er. Your dutie must upon some good be founded. 
 CL On vertue it, the onlie good, is grounded. 
 
 625 his, not in tlie Qq. 
 
 626 lewdlie wickedly, orig. mechamment.
 
 78 
 
 (.45 
 
 fitto 
 
 (570 
 
 EI-. AVhat is that wine? ('/. That which us beseemes. 
 
 Er. Outrage ourselues? who that beseeming deemes? 
 
 <'l. Finish T will my sorowes dieng thus. 
 
 Er. Minis!) you will your glories doing thus. 
 
 CL Good trends I praie you seeke not to reuoke 
 
 My h'x'd intent of folowing Anton if. 
 
 I will die, T will die : must not his life. 
 
 His life and death by mine be folowed? 
 
 Meanewhile, deare sisters, liue: and while you liue, 
 Do often honor to our loued Tombes. 
 Straw them with flours: and sometimes happelie 
 The tender thought of Anton ie^ your Lorde, 
 And me poore soule to teares shall you inuite, 
 And our true loues your dolefull voice commend. 
 Ch. And thinke you. Madame, we from you will part ? 
 Thinke you alone to feele deaths ougly darte? 
 Thinke you to leaue us? and that the same sunne 
 Shall see at once you dead, and us aliue? 
 Weele die with you: and Clotho pittilesse 
 Shall us with you in hellish boate imbarque: 
 Cl. Ah liue, I praie you: this disastred woe 
 Which racks my heart, alone to me belonges: 
 My lott longs not to you: seruants to be 
 No shame, no harme to you, as is to me. 
 
 Liue sisters, liue, and seeing his suspect 
 Hath causlesse me in sea of sorrowes drowird. 
 And that I cannot liue, if so I would, 
 Nor yet would leaue this life, if so I could, 
 Without his lone: procure me, Diomed, 
 That gainst poore me he be no more incensed. 
 Wrest out of his conceit that harmfull doubt, 
 That since his wracke he hath of me conceiu'd 
 
 
 
 648 Spoken by Charmion in the original. 
 656 happely haply. 
 667 longs belongs. 
 669 suspect suspicion.
 
 79 
 
 Though wrong' conceiu'd : witnesse you reuerent Gods, 
 
 Barking Amib'is. Afrix bellowing-. 
 
 Tell him. my soule burning-, impatient. 
 680 Forlorne with lone of him. for certaine seale 
 
 Of her true loialtie my corpse hath left. 
 
 T'encrease of dead the number numberlesse. 
 Go then, and if as yet he me bewaile. 
 
 If yet for me his heart one sigh fourth breathe, 
 (585 Blest shall I be : and farre with more content 
 
 Depart this world, where so I me torment. 
 
 Meane season us let this sadd tombe enclose. 
 
 Attending here till death conclude our woes. 
 
 Diom. I will obey your will. Cl. So the desert 
 690 The Gods repay of thy true faithfull heart. 
 
 Diomed. And is : t not pittie. Gods, ah Gods of heau'n! 
 
 To see from loue such hatefull frutes to siding-? 
 
 And is't not pittie that this firebrand so 
 
 Laies waste the trophes of Philippi fieldes? 
 695 Wliere are those swete allurements, those swete lookes, 
 
 AVhich Gods them-selues right hart-sicke would haue 
 made ? 
 
 What doth that beautie. rarest guift of heau'n. 
 
 Wonder of earth? Alas! what doe those eies? 
 
 And that swete voice all Asia understoode. 
 700 And sunburnt Afrikp wide in deserts spred? 
 
 Is their force dead? have they no further power? 
 
 Can not by them Ociauins be surpriz'd? 
 Alas! if lone in middst of all his ire. 
 
 With thunderbolt in hand some land to plague, 
 705 Had cast his eies on my Queene, out of hande 
 
 His plaguing bolte had falne out of his hande: 
 
 Fire of his wrathe into vaine smoke should turne, 
 
 And other fire within his brest should burne. 
 
 680 Forlorne etc. ardant iiupatientc de son amour perdue. 
 687 Enclose entrons.
 
 so 
 
 Nought lines so faire. Nature by such a worke 
 
 710 Her selfe, should seme, in workmanship hath past. 
 She is all lieau'nlie: neuer any man 
 But seeing 1 hir was rauished with her sight, 
 The Allablaster couering of hir face, 
 The corall coullor hir two lipps engraines, 
 
 715 Her beamie eies, two Sunnes of this our world, 
 Of hir faire haire the fine and flaming golde, 
 Her braue streight stature, and hir winning partes 
 Are nothing else but fiers, fetters, dartes. 
 
 Yet this is nothing to] th' enchaunting skilles 
 
 720 Of her caelestiall Sp'rite, hir training speache, 
 Her grace, hir Maiestie, and forcing voice, 
 Wh[e]ther she it with fingers speach consorte, 
 Or hearing sceptred kings embassadors, 
 Answ r er to eache in his owne language make. 
 
 725 Yet nowe at nede she aides hir not at all 
 With all these beauties, so her sorow r e stings. 
 Darkned with woe, hir only studie is 
 To wepe, to sigh, to seke for lonelines, 
 Careles of all, hir haire disordred hangs: 
 
 730 Hir charming eies, whence murthering looks did flie. 
 Now riuers grown, whose well spring anguish is, 
 Do trickling wash the marble of hir face. 
 Hir faire discouer'd brest with sobbing swolne 
 Selfe cruell she still martireth with blowes. 
 
 735 Alas! It's our ill happ, for if hir teares 
 She would conuert into hir louing charmes, 
 To make a conquest of the conqueror, 
 (As well shee might, would she hir force imploie) 
 
 713 Allablaster cp. 1. 421. 
 
 714 Et le vermeil coral qui scs deux leures peinf. 
 
 719 to] omitted Qq. 
 
 720 training enticing 1 , alluring. 
 722 Wh[e]ther] Whither Q 1 and Q 2. 
 725 she] it Q 2.
 
 81 
 
 She should us sattie from these ills procure. 
 740 Hir crowne to hir. and to hir race assure. 
 Unhappy he. in whoine wife-succour lies, 
 Yef self e- forsaken wanting succour dies. 
 
 Chorus. 
 swete fertile laud, wherin 
 
 Phaelna did with breath inspire 
 745 Man who men did first begin. 
 
 Formed first of Nihts mire, 
 
 Whence of Aries the eldest kindes, 
 
 Earthes most heauenly ornament, 
 
 Were as from their fountaine sent, 
 750 To enlight our mistie mindes. 
 
 AYhose grosse sprite from endles time, 
 
 As in darkened prison pente, 
 
 Xeuer did to knowledg clime. 
 Wher the Nile, our father good, 
 755 Father-like doth neuer misse 
 
 Yearly us to bring such food, 
 
 As to life required is: 
 
 Visiting each yeare this plaine, 
 
 And with fatt slime cou'ring it. 
 760 Which his seauen mouthes do spitt, 
 
 As the season comes againe. 
 
 Making therby greatest growe 
 
 Busie reapers joyfull paine, 
 
 When his flouds do highest flowe. 
 765 Wandring Prince of riuers thou, 
 
 Honor of the Aethiops lande, 
 
 Of a Lord and master now 
 
 Thou a slaue in awe must stand. 
 
 Now of Tiber which is spred 
 770 Lesse in force, and lesse in fame, 
 
 745 Le premier homme d'aryile. 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke.
 
 82 
 
 Reuerence thou must the name, 
 
 Whome all other riuers dread. 
 
 For his children swolne in pride. 
 
 Who by conquest seeke to treade 
 775 Hound this earth on euery side. 
 Now thou must begin to sende 
 
 Tribute of thy watrie store, 
 
 As sea pathes thy stepps shall bende. 
 
 Yearely presents more and more. 
 780 Thy fatt skumme. our frutefull corne. 
 
 Pill'd from hence with theeuish hands 
 
 All uncloth'd shall leaue our lands 
 
 Into foraine Countrie borne. 
 
 Which puft up with such a pray 
 785 Shall therby the praise adorne 
 
 Of that sceptor Home doth swa}'. 
 Nought thee helps thy homes to hide 
 
 Farre from hence in unknowne grounds. 
 
 That thy waters wander wide. 
 790 Yearely breaking 1 bankes, and bounds. 
 
 And that thy Skie-coullor'd brookes 
 
 Through a hundred peoples passe. 
 
 Drawing plots for trees and grasse 
 
 With a thousand turn's and crookes. 
 795 Whome all weary of their way 
 
 Thy throats which in widenesse passe 
 
 Powre into their Mother Sea. 
 "Nought so happie haplesse life 
 
 "In this worlele as freedome flndes: 
 800 "Nought wherin more sparkes are rife 
 
 778 Par lex marinieres voyes. 
 
 781 piird - plundered. Op. Shak. Rich. II., II, 1, 246, "The commons 
 
 hath he pill'd with grievous taxes." Again in 1. 1185. 
 787 homes branches. Op. "With sevenfold horns mysterious Nile 
 
 Surrounds the skirts of Egypt's fruitful soil". Dryden, trans. Virgil. 
 
 Georgics III. 409.
 
 83 
 
 "To inflame couragious mindes. 
 
 'But if force must us enforce 
 
 "Nedes a yoke to undergoe. 
 
 "Under foraine yoke to goe 
 805 "Still it proues a bondage worse. 
 
 "And doubled subjection 
 
 "See we shall, and feele, and knowe 
 
 "Subiect to a stranger growne. 
 From thence forward for a king. 
 810 Whose first being from this place 
 
 Should his brest by nature bring 
 
 Care of Countrie to embrace. 
 
 We at surly face must quake 
 
 Of some Itomaine madly bent : 
 815 Who. our terrour to augment. 
 
 His Proconsuls axe will shake. 
 
 Driving with our kings frome hence 
 
 Our establish'd gouer[n]ment, 
 
 Justice, sworde, and Lawes defence. 
 820 Nothing worldly of such might 
 
 But more mightie Destinie, 
 
 By swift Times unbridled flight. 
 
 Makes in ende his ende to see. 
 
 Eueiy thing Time ouerthrowes, 
 825 Nought to ende doth stedfast staie: 
 
 His great sithe mowes all away 
 
 As the stalke of tender rose. 
 
 Onlie Immortalitie 
 
 Of the Heau'ns doth it oppose 
 830 Gainst his powerfull Deitie. 
 One daie there will come a daie 
 
 Which shall quaile thy fortunes flower. 
 
 810 Qui prenant son estre icy. 
 
 832 quaile - - wither, crush. Op. Tanc. and Gis. II. 3. "Virtue 
 
 quail'd and vice began to grow"; also Ant. and Cleop.. V, 2, 85 
 
 "to quail and shake the orb." 
 
 6*
 
 Hd- 
 
 v_i^r 
 
 And thee ruin'de low shall laie 
 In some barbarous Princes power. 
 
 835 When the pittie-wanting iire 
 
 Shall, Rome, thy beauties burne, 
 And to humble ashes turne 
 Thy proud wealth, and rich attire, 
 Those guilt roofes which turretwise, 
 
 840 Justly making 1 Eimie mourne, 
 
 Threaten now to pearce |the| Skies. 
 As thy forces fill each land 
 Haruests making here and there, 
 Reaping all with rauening hand 
 
 845 They finde growing any where: 
 From each land so to thy fall 
 Multitudes repaire shall make, 
 From the common spoile to take 
 What to each mans share maie fall. 
 
 850 Fingred all thou shalt beholde: 
 No iote left for tokens sake 
 That thou wert so great of olde. 
 Like unto the ancient Troie 
 
 Whence deriu'de thy founders be, 
 
 855 Conqu'ring foe shall thee enioie, 
 And a burning praie in thee. 
 For within this turning ball 
 This we see, and see each daie: 
 
 860 All things fixed ends do staie, 
 Ends to first beginnings fall. 
 And that nought, how strong or strange, 
 Chaungles doth endure alwaie, 
 But endureth fatall change. 
 
 841 the] om Qq. 
 
 858 Doctrine of the Cycles. Cp. Tyler's ed. of Shakspere's Sonnets, 
 chap, on the Philosophy of Shakspere.
 
 Act 3. 
 
 M. Antoiiius. Luciliu>. 
 
 .17. Ant. Litril. sole comfort of my bitter case. 
 865 The only trust, the only hope I haue. 
 
 In last despaire: Ah! is not this the daie 
 
 That death should me of life and love bereaue? 
 
 What waite I for that have no refuge left. 
 
 But am sole remnant of my fortune left ? 
 870 All leaue me. flee me: none, no not of them 
 
 Which of my greatnes greatest good receiu'd. 
 
 Stands with my fall : they seeme as now asham'de 
 
 That heretofore they did me ought regarde: 
 
 They draw them back, shewing they folow'd me. 
 875 Not to partake my harm's, but coozen me. 
 
 Lu. In this our world nothing is stedfa*t found, 
 
 In mine he hopes, who here his hopes doth ground. 
 
 Ant. Yet nought afflicts me. nothing killes me so, 
 
 As that I so my Cleopatra see 
 880 Practize with Caesar, and to him transport 
 
 My flame, her loue, more deare than life to me. 
 
 Lu. Beleeue it not: Too high a heart she beares. 
 
 Too Princelie thoughts. Ant. Too wise a head she weare[s], 
 
 Too much enflam'd with greatnes, euermore 
 885 Gaping for our great Empires gouer[n]ment. 
 
 Lu. So long time you her constant loue haue tri'de. 
 
 Ant. But still with me good fortune did abide. 
 
 Lu. Her changed loue what token makes you know? 
 
 Ant. Pelusium lost, and Actian overthrow. 
 890 Both by her fraud: my well appointed fleet, 
 
 And trustie Souldiors in my quarell arm'd. 
 
 Whom she. false she, in stede of my defence. 
 
 Came to persuade, to yelde them to my foe: 
 
 872 Stands with my fall ynsxiste ft tna mine.
 
 86 
 
 Such honor 77//-e done, such welcome giuen, 
 
 895 Their long 1 close talkes I neither knew, nor would, 
 And treacherouse wrong- Alexm liath me done, 
 Witnes to well her periur'd loue to me. 
 But you Gods (if any faith reg-arde) 
 With sharpe reveng-e her faithles change reward. 
 
 900 Ln. The dole she made upon our overthrow, 
 Her Realme g'iuen up for refuge to our men. 
 Her poore attire when she deuoutly kept 
 The solemne day of her natiuitie, 
 Against the cost and prodig-all expence 
 
 905 Shew'd when she did your birthday celebrate. 
 Do plaine enough her heart unfained prone. 
 Equally toucht, you louing, as you loue. 
 Ant. Well; be her loue to me or false, or true. 
 Once in my soule a cureles wound I feele. 
 
 910 I loue, nay burne in fire of her loue : 
 
 Each day, each night her Image haunts my minde, 
 Herselfe my dreames: and still I tired am. 
 And still I am with burning pincers nipt. 
 Extreame my harme: yet sweeter to my sence 
 
 915 Then boiling Torch of jealouse torments fire : 
 
 This grief, nay rage, in me such sturre doth kepe, 
 And thornes me still, both when I wake and slepe. 
 
 Take Caesar conquest, take my goods, take he 
 Th'onor to be Lord of the earth alone, 
 
 920 My Sonnes, my life bent headlong to mishapps: 
 No force, so not my Cleopatra take. 
 
 894 Thyreus was a freedman of Octavius whom the latter sent to 
 Alexandria, after the battle of Actium, to make love to Cleopatra 
 and induce her to betray Antony. He was seized and whipped 
 by Antony and sent back to Octavius. See Plutarch, Antony, 73 
 and Shakspere's Ant. and 01. Ill, 12 and 13. 
 
 896 See Shaks. Ant. and Cleop. IV, 6, 12 sqq. : "Alexas did revolt ; and 
 went to Jewry on Affairs of Antony" etc. 
 
 921 no force no matter; orig. Ce nicest tout vn.
 
 So foolish I, J cannot her forget. 
 
 Though better were I banisht her my thought. 
 
 Like to tlif sicke. whose throte the feauers fire 
 925 Hath vehemently with thirstie drouth enflam'd, 
 
 Drinkes still, albee the driuke he still desires 
 
 Be nothing else but -fewell to his flame : 
 ^ He can, not rule himselfe: his health's respect 
 
 Yeldeth to his distempred stomackes heate. 
 930 Lu. Leaue of this lone, that thus renewes your woe. 
 
 Ant. I do my best, but ah ! can not do so. 
 
 La. Thinke how you have so braue a captaine bene, 
 
 And now are by this vaine affection falne. 
 
 Ant. The ceasles thought of my felidtie 
 935 Plunges me more in this aduersitie. 
 
 For nothing so a man in ill torments, 
 
 As who to him his ;/ood xkate represents. 
 
 This makes my rack, my anguish, and my woe 
 
 Equall unto the hellish passions growe, 
 940 When I to miude my happie puisance call 
 
 Which erst I had by warlike conquest vvonne. 
 
 And that good fortune which me neuer left, 
 
 Which hard disastre now hath me bereft, 
 
 With terror tremble all the world I made 
 945 At my sole worde, as Rushes in the streames 
 
 At waters will: I conquer'd Italie, 
 
 I conquer'd Rome, that Nations so redoubt. 
 
 I bare (meane while besieging Mutina] 
 
 Two Consuls armies for my mine brought, 
 950 Bath'd in their blond, by their deaths witnessing 
 
 My force and skill in matters Martiall. 
 
 1)36 37 Dante, Inferno V, 121 sqq. : Nessun maggior dolore Che ricor- 
 darsi del tempo felice Nella miseria. Also Boethius De Conso- 
 latione Philosophiae liber II. Chaucer Troilus and (.'ressida Bk. HI. 
 11. 157779. Tennyson Locksley Hall 1. 75. 
 
 938 rack torment. 
 
 947 Et nostre Rome au peuple redout*. 
 
 948 J'ay soustenu ... L 'effort de deux Consuls.
 
 To wreake thy unkle. unkinde Cnewr. I 
 With bloud of enemies the bankes embru'd 
 Of stain'd Enipem. hindering- his course 
 
 955 Stopped with heapes of piled carcases: 
 When Cassius and Bruin* ill betide 
 Marcht against us. by us twise put to flight, 
 But by my sole conduct : for all the time 
 Caesar heart-sicke with feare and feauer laie. 
 
 960 Who knowes it not? and how by euery one 
 Fame of the fact was giu'n to me alone. 
 
 There sprang the loue, the neuer changing loue. 
 Wherin my hart hath since to yours bene bound: 
 There was it, my Lucil. you Brutus sau'de. 
 
 965 And for your Brutus Antonie you found. 
 Better m}' happ in gaining such a frende. 
 Then in subduing such an enemie. 
 Now former vertue dead doth me forsake. 
 Fortune engulfes me in extreame distresse: 
 
 970 She turnes from me her smiling countenance, 
 Casting on me mishapp upon mishapp. 
 Left and betraide [:] of thousand thousand frends, 
 Once of my sute, but you Lucil are left. 
 Remaining to me stedfast as a tower 
 
 975 In holy loue, in spite of fortunes Wastes. 
 But if of any God my voice be heard. 
 And be not vainely scatt'red in the heau'ns, 
 Such goodnes shall not glorilesse be loste, 
 But comming ages still therof shall boste. 
 
 980 Lu. Men in their frendship euer should be one, 
 And neuer ought with fickle Fortune shake. 
 Which still remoues, nor will, nor knowes the way, 
 
 952 wreake revenge. Cp. Spenser F. Q. I. 8. 43 and 1, 12, 16: "Wrath- 
 ful wreakes" - acts of vengeance. 
 
 956 betide i. e. betid: ill betide = infortunez. 
 
 964 Sqq. Cf. Shakspere, Caesar V, 4, where Lucilius, pretending to be 
 Brutus, is taken prisoner by Mark Antony's party.
 
 89 
 
 Her rowling bowle in one sure state to stale. 
 AVherfore we ought as borrow'd things receiue 
 985 The goods light she lends us to pay againe: 
 
 Not holde them sure, nor on them builde our hopes 
 As on such goods as cannot faile. and fall : 
 But thinke againe. nothing- is dureable. 
 Vertue except, our neuer tailing boste: 
 990 So bearing saile when fauouring windes do blowe. 
 As frowning' Tempests may us least dismaie 
 When they on us do fall: not ouer-glad 
 AVith good estate, nor ouer-grieu'd with bad. 
 Resist mishap. Ant. Alas! it is too stronge. 
 995 Mishappes oft times are by some comfort borne: 
 But these, ay me! whose Aveights oppresse my hart. 
 Too heauie lie. no hope can them relieue. 
 There rests no more, but that with cruell blade 
 For lingring death a hastie waie be made. 
 
 1000 LK. (Caesar, as heire unto his Fathers state: 
 So will his Fathers goodnes imitate. 
 To you warde: whome he know's allied in blond. 
 Allied in mariage. ruling equallie 
 Th' Empire with him; and with him making warre 
 
 1005 Haue purged the earth of (.'aesar* murtherers. 
 You into portions parted haue the world 
 Euen like coheir's their heritages parte: 
 And now with one accord so many yeares 
 In quiet peace both haue your charges rul'd. 
 
 1010 Ant. Bloud and alliance nothing do preuaile 
 To coole the thirst of hote ambitious breasts: 
 The sonne his Father hardly can endure. 
 Brother his brother, in one common Realme. 
 
 985 light she changeful, uncertain she : qu'elle preste legere. 
 987 on) one Q 1. 
 
 989 Neuer failing boste hontexne axsenree. Did not Lady Pembroke 
 write hoitte'!
 
 90 
 
 So feruent this desier to commaund : 
 1015 Such jealousie it kindleth in our hearts. 
 
 Sooner will men permit another should 
 
 Lone her they loue, then iceare the Crown they weare. 
 
 All lawes it breakes, turns all thing* upside downe: 
 
 Amitie, kindred, nought so holie is 
 1020 But it defiles. A monarchic to gaine 
 
 None cares which way, so he maie it obtaine. 
 
 Lit. Suppose he Monarch be and that this world 
 
 No more acknowledg sundrie Emperours. 
 
 That Rome him onelie feare, and that he ioyne 
 1025 The East with west, and both at once do rule: 
 
 Why should he not permitt you peaceablie 
 
 Discharg'd of charge and Empires dignitie, 
 
 Private to Hue reading Philosophie, 
 
 In learned Greece, Spaine, Asia, anie lande? 
 1030 Ant. Neuer will he his Empire thinke assur'de 
 
 AVhile in tliis world Markc Antonie shall liue. 
 
 Sleeples Suspicion, Pale distrust, colde feare 
 
 Ahvaies to princes companic do bearc, 
 
 Bred of Report*: reports, irhich night and day, 
 1035 Perpetual! guests, from Court go not away. 
 
 Lu. He hath not slaine your brother Lucius, 
 
 Nor shortned hath the age of Lepidu*, 
 
 Albeit both into his hands were falne, 
 
 And he with wrath against them both enflam'd. 
 1040 Yet one, as Lord in quiet rest doth beare 
 
 The greatest sway in great Iberia: 
 
 The other with his gentle Prince retaines 
 
 Of highest Priest the sacred dignitie. 
 
 Ant. He feares not them, their feeble force he knowes. 
 1045 Lu. He feares no vanquisht ouerfill'd with woes. 
 
 1014 The French original reads : : 'Tant cet ardant desir de commander 
 
 est grand." 
 1020 The original has a different construction. See Forster's ed.
 
 91 
 
 Anf. Fortune may change againe. L. A down-cast foe 
 Can hardlie rise. which once is brought so lowe. 
 Ant. All that 1 can. is done: for last assay 
 (When all means fail'd) I to entreatie fell, 
 
 1050 (Ah coward creature!) whence againe repulst 
 Of combate 1 unto him proifer made: 
 Though he in prime, and I by feeble age 
 Mightily weakned both in force and skill. 
 Yet could not he his coward heart aduaunce. 
 
 1055 Baselie aifraid to trie so praisefull chaunce. 
 
 This makes me plaine. makes me myselfe accuse. 
 Fortune in this hir spitefull force doth use 
 Gainst my gray hayres: in this unhappie 1 
 Repine at heau'ns in my happes pittiles. 
 
 1060 A man. a woman both in might and minde, 
 In Marses schole who neuer lesson learn'd, 
 Should me repulse, chase, ouerthrow. destroie. 
 Me of such fame, bring to so lowe an ebbe : 
 Alcides bloud, W 7 ho from my infancie 
 
 1065 With happie prowesse crowned haue my praise. 
 Witnesse thou Gaule unus'd to seruile yoke, 
 Thou valiant Spaine. you fields of Thessalie 
 With millions of mourning cries bewail'd, 
 Twise watred now with bloude of Italic. 
 
 1070 Lu. Witnesse may Afrique, and of conquer'd world 
 All fower quarters witnesses may be. 
 For in what part of earth inhabited. 
 Hungrie of praise haue you not ensignes spredd? 
 An. Thou know'st rich Aegypi (Aegypt of my deeds 
 
 1075 Faire and foule subject) Aegypt ah! thou knowst 
 How I behav'd me fighting for thy kinge, 
 When I regainde him his rebellious Realme: 
 Against his foes in battaile shewing force, 
 And after fight in victorie remorse. 
 
 1061 Marses] Mars his Q 2.
 
 1080 Yet if to bring- my glorie to the ground. 
 Fortune had made me ouerthrowne by one 
 Of greater force, of better skill then I : 
 One of those Captaines feared so of olde, 
 Cam-ill, Marcdlus, worthy Scipio, 
 
 1085 This late great Caesar, honor of our state. 
 
 Or that great Pompd aged growne in armes; 
 That after haruest of a world of men 
 Made in a hundred battailes. fig-hts. assaults. 
 My bodie thorow pearst with push of pike 
 
 1090 Had vomited my blond, in blond my life, 
 I'n midd'st of millions felowes in my fall: 
 The lesse hir wrong, the lesse should [be my woe: 
 Nor she should paine, nor I complaine me so. 
 No. no, wheras 1 should haue died in armes. 
 
 1095 And vanquisht oft new armies should haue arm'd, 
 New battailes giuen, and rather lost with me 
 All this whole world submitted unto me: 
 A man who neuer saw enlaced pikes 
 With bristled pointes against his stomake bent, 
 
 1100 Who feares the field, and hides him cowardly 
 Dead at the verie noise the souldiors make. 
 His vertue, fraude. deceit, malicious guile. 
 His armes. the arts that false Ulisscs us'de, 
 Knowne at Modena. wher the Consuls both 
 
 1105 Death-wounded were, and wounded by his men 
 To g-ett their armie, warre with it to make 
 Against his faith, against his countrie soile. 
 Of Lepidus, which to his succours came, 
 To honor whome he was by dutie bounde, 
 
 1092 be] omitted Q 1 and Q 2. LI. 1092 and 1093 are not in Gamier. 
 1097 Je deuois . . . perdre . . . Plustost le monde entier, qu'il me 
 soumist a soy ! Perhaps the worst error in the entire translation. 
 1102 La fraude est sa vertu, la ruse et la malice. 
 1104 A Modene conneus par les Consuls. 
 1107 Against his faith Contre sa foy promise.
 
 1110 The Empire he usurpt: corrupting- first 
 
 With baites and bribes the most part of his men. 
 Yet me hath oiiercome. and made his pray. 
 And state of Rome, with me hath ouercome. 
 Strange! one disordred act at Actinia 
 
 1115 The earth subdu'de. my glorie hath obscur'd. 
 
 For since, as one whonie lieauens wrath attaints, 
 With furie caught, and more than furious. 
 Vex'd witli my cu'dl*, J neuer more had care 
 My armies lost, or lost name to repaire : 
 
 1120 I did no more resist. Ln. All warres affaires. 
 But battailes most, daily haue their successe 
 Now good, now ill: and though that fortune haue 
 Great force and power in euery worldlie thing. 
 Rule all. do all, haue all things fast enchaind 
 
 1125 I'nto the circle of Mr turning wheele: 
 
 Yet seemes it. more then any practice else 
 She doth frequent B[e\lhnas bloudie trade: 
 And that Mr fauour. wauering as the wind. 
 Hir greatest power therm doth oftiiest shewe. 
 
 1130 Whence growes. we dailie see. who in their youth 
 Gatt honor ther, do loose it in their age. 
 Vanquisht by some lesse warlike then themselues: 
 Whonie yet a meaner man shall ouerthrowe. 
 Hir use is not to lende us still her hande. 
 
 1135 But sometimes headlong back againe to throwe. 
 When by Mr fatior she hath us extolld 
 Unto the topp of highest happines. 
 Ant. Well ought 1 curse within my grieued soule, 
 Lamenting daie and night, this sencelesse loue. 
 
 1140 Whereby my faire entising foe entrap'd 
 Mj r hedelesse fteason, could no more escape. 
 // was not fortunes euer chaunging face, 
 
 1127 BellonasJ Kallonas g 1. ('p. 1. 13fx>. 
 
 1141 Ma peu caute raison. qui depute n'eschapa.
 
 94 
 
 // IMS not Dfsf'niex cliaunglfs riolence 
 
 Forg'd mi/ mishap. A/as.' irlio doth not know 
 
 1145 'they make, nor nnirre, nor anij thing can doc. 
 Fortune, ichicft tnen so fearc. adore, detest. 
 Is but a chaunce ichose cattse iinknotc'n doth rest. 
 Although oft times the cause is well prm'/r'd, 
 But not th' effect the same that was com-eiu'd. 
 
 1150 Pleasure, nought else, the plague of this our life, 
 "Tfur life which still a thousand plagues pursue. 
 Alone hath me this strange disastre spunne. 
 Falne from a souldior to a Ohamberer. 
 Careles of vertue. careles of all praise. 
 
 1155 Nay. as the fatted swine in filthy mire 
 With glutted heart I wallow'd in delights. 
 All thoughts of honor troden under foote. 
 So I me lost: "for finding this swete cupp 
 Pleasing my task unwise I drunke my fill. 
 
 1160 And through the swetenes of that poisons power 
 By stepps I draue my former witts astraie, 
 I made my frends. offended me forsake, 
 I holpe my foes against my selfe to rise, 
 I robd my subjects, and for followers 
 
 1165 I saw my selfe besett with flatterers. 
 
 Mine idle armes faire wrought with spiders worke, 
 My scattred men without their ensignes strai'd: 
 Caesar meane while who neuer would have dar'de 
 To cope with me, me sodainlie despis'de, 
 
 1170 Tooke hart to fight, and hop'de for victorie 
 On one so gone, who glorie had forgone. 
 Ln. Enchaunting pleasure, Venus swete delights 
 Weaken our bodies, ouer-cloud our sprights, 
 Trouble our reason, from our harts out chase 
 
 1175 All holie vertues lodging in their place. 
 Like as the cunning fisher takes the fishe 
 
 1171 Cp. Hamlet II, 2, 190. "He is far gone"
 
 By traitor baite wherby the hooke is hidde: 
 
 So Pleasure serves to vice in steed e of foode 
 
 To baite our soules theron too licourishe. 
 1180 This poison deadlie is alike to all. 
 
 Hut on great kin^s doth greatest outrage worke. 
 
 Taking 1 the Roiall scepters from their hands. 
 
 Thenceforward to be by some straunger borne: 
 
 While that their people cliarg'd with heaivy loades 
 1185 Their flatt'rers pill, and suck their mary drie. 
 
 Not ru'lde but left to great men as a pray. 
 
 While thus fonde Prince himselfe in pleasur's drowns : 
 
 Who heares nought, sees nought, doth nought of a king. 
 
 Seeming himselfe against himselfe conspirde. 
 1190 Then equall Justice wandreth banished. 
 
 And in hir seat sitts greedie Tyrannic. 
 
 "Confus'd disorder troubletli~aTrestatesr 
 
 Crimes without feare and outrages are done. 
 
 Then mutinous Rebellion shewes hir face. 
 1195 Xow hid with this, and now with that pretence. 
 
 Prouoking enimies. which on each side 
 
 Enter at ease, and make them Lords of all. 
 
 The hurtfull workes of pleasure here behold. 
 
 An. The wolfe is not so hurtfull to the folde. 
 1200 Frost to the grapes, to ripened fruits the raine: 
 
 As pleasure is to Princes full of paine. 
 
 Lu. Ther nedes no proofe, but by ^Assirian kinge. 
 
 On whome that Monster w r oefull wrack did bring. 
 
 An. Ther nedes no proofe, but by unhappie I. 
 1205 Who lost my empire, honor, life therby. 
 
 Lu. Yet hath this ill so much the greater force. 
 
 As scarcelie anie do against it stand: 
 
 1179 licourishe keenly desirous. Cp. Sir P. Sidney "It is never 
 tongue - tied when fit commendation wherof womankind is ao 
 lickerish is offered unto it." 
 
 1185 mary, another form of marrow. Cp. Chaucer. Boethius III, 2, 
 "Righte soft as the mary that is alway hid in the feete" etc.
 
 96 
 
 No. not the Demy-gods the olde world knew, 
 Who all subdu'de. could Pleasures power subdue. 
 
 1210 Great He.rn.il cs, Hercules once that was 
 
 AYonder of earth and lieau'n. matchles in might. 
 AYho Anteus, Lycus, (icryon ouercame, 
 AAlio drew from hell the triple-headed dogg. 
 Who Hydra kill'd. vanquishd Achdous, 
 
 1215 Who heau'ns weight on his strong shoulders bare: 
 Did he not under Pleasure* burthen bow? 
 Did he not Captiue to this passion yelde, 
 AYhen by his Captiue, so he was enflam'de. 
 As now your selfe in Cleopatra burne? 
 
 1220 Slept in hir lapp, hir bosome kist and kiste, 
 AVith base unseemlie seruice bought her lone, 
 Spinning at distaife, and with sinewy hand 
 AYinding on spindles threde, in maides attire? 
 His conqu'ring clubbe at rest on wal did hang: 
 
 1225 His bow imstringd he bent not as he us'de: 
 Upon his shafts the weaning spiders spunne: 
 And his hard cloake the freating mothes did pierce. 
 The monsters free and fearles all the time 
 Throughout the world the people did torment, 
 
 1280 And more and more encreasing daie by daj r 
 
 Scorn'd his weake heart become a mistresse plaie. 
 An. In onelie this like Hercules am I, 
 Of this I proue me of his lignage right: 
 In this himselfe, his deedes I shew in this, 
 In this, nought else, my ancestor he is. 
 
 1285 But goe we: die I must, "and with braue ende 
 Conclusion make of all foregoing harmes: 
 Die, die I must: I must a noble death, 
 A glorious death unto my succor call: 
 
 1240 I must deface the shame of time abus'd, 
 I must adorne the w r anton loues I us'de 
 
 1227 freating Cp. Ps. XXXIV, 12, -'Like as it were a moth fretting 
 a garment."
 
 With some couragiouse act : that my last daie 
 By mine owne hand my spotts may wash away. 
 Come deare Lucill: alas! why wepe you thus! 
 1245 This mortall lot is common to us all. 
 
 We must all die. each doth in homage owe 
 Unto that God that shar'd the Realmes belowe. 
 Ah sigh no more: alas: appeace your woes, 
 For by your griet'e my griefe more eager growes. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 1250 Alas, with what tormenting fire 
 Us martireth this blinde desire 
 
 To staie our life from flieng! 
 How ceasleslie our minds doth rack, 
 How heauie lies upon our back 
 1255 This dastard feare of dieng! 
 
 Death rather healthfull succor giues, 
 Death rather all mishapps relieues 
 
 That life upon us throweth: 
 And euer to us doth unclose 
 1260 The doore, wherby from curelesse woes 
 
 Our wearie soule out goeth. 
 What Goddesse else more milde then shee 
 To burie all our paine can be, 
 
 What remedie more pleasing? 
 1265 Our pained hearts when dolor stings, 
 And nothing rest, or respite brings, 
 
 What help haue we more easing? 
 Hope which to us doth comfort giue, 
 And doth o[u]r fainting hearts reuiue, 
 1270 Hath not such force in anguish: 
 For promising a vaine reliefe 
 She oft us failes in midst of griefe, 
 
 And helples letts us languish. 
 But Death who call on her at nede 
 
 1269 our] or Q 1. 
 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke- '
 
 98 
 
 127;~> Doth never with vaine semblant feed. 
 
 But when them sorow paineth. 
 So riddes their soules of all distres.se. 
 AYhose heatiie weight did them oppresse. 
 
 That not one griefe remaineth. 
 1280 Who fearles and with courage bolde 
 Can Acheron* black face behokle. 
 Which muddie water beareth : 
 And crossing' oner, in the way 
 Is not amazed at Perruque gray 
 1285 Olde rustle Charon weareth: 
 
 Who voide of dread can looke upon 
 The dreadfull shades that ronie alone 
 On bankes where found no voices: 
 W'hom with her fire-brands and her snakes 
 1290 No whit afraide Alecto makes. 
 
 Nor triple-barking 1 noyses : 
 Who freely can himselfe dispose 
 Of that last hower which all must close. 
 
 And leaue this life at pleasure : 
 1295 This noble freedome more esteemes, 
 
 And in his hart more precious deemes. 
 
 Then Croun and kingly treasure. 
 The wanes which Boreas blasts turmoile 
 And cause with foaming- furie boile, 
 1300 Make not his heart to tremble : 
 
 Nor brutish broile, when with strong head 
 A rebell people madly ledde 
 
 Against their Lords assemble: 
 Nor fearfull face of Tirant wood. 
 1305 Who breaths but threats, and drinks but bloud. 
 
 No, nor the hand which thunder. 
 The hand of Jove which thunder beares, 
 And ribbs of rocks in sunder teares, 
 Teares mountains sides in sunder: 
 
 1287 rome] Rome Q 2.
 
 1310 Xor bloudie J/aw.s- butchering- bands. 
 Whose lightnings desert laie the lands 
 
 Whome dustie clouds do couer: 
 From of whose armour sun-beames flie. 
 And under them make quaking lie 
 1315 The plaines wheron the}' houer: 
 Nor yet the cruell murth'ring blade 
 Warm in the moistie bowells made 
 
 Of people pell mell dieng. 
 In some great Cittie put to sack. 
 1320 By sauage Tirant brought to wrack. 
 
 At his colde mercie lieng. 
 How abiect him. how base think I. 
 Who wanting courage can not dye 
 When need him therto calleth? 
 1325 From whom the dagger drawne to kill 
 The curelesse griefes that vexe him still 
 
 For feare and faintnes falleth? 
 Antonie with thy deare mate 
 Both in misfortunes fortunate! 
 1330 Whose thoughts to death aspiring 
 Shall you protect from victors rage, 
 Who on each side doth you encage. 
 
 To triumph much desiring. 
 That Caesar may not you offend 
 1335 Nought else but Death can you defend, 
 
 Which his weake force derideth, 
 And all in this round earth containd, 
 Power'les on them whom once enchaind 
 
 Auernus prison hideth: 
 
 1340 Where great Psammetiques ghost doth rest, 
 Not with infernall paine possest, 
 
 But in swete fields detained : 
 And olde Amasis soule likewise, 
 And all our famous Ptolemies 
 1345 That whilome on us raigned.
 
 100 
 Act 4. 
 
 Caesar. Ayrijqia. DirceTus the Messenger. 
 
 Caesar. You euer-living Gods which all things holde 
 Within the power of your celestiall hands, 
 By whom heate, colde, the thunder, and the winde, 
 The properties of enterchaunging months 
 
 1350 Their course and being liaue: which do set doune 
 Of Empires by your destinied decree 
 The force, age, time, and subject to no chaunge 
 Chaunge all, reseruing nothing in one state: 
 You haue aduanst as high as thundring heau'n 
 
 1355 The Pnmains greatnes by Bellonris might: 
 Mastring the world with fearfull violence, 
 Making the world widow of libertie. 
 Yet at this dale this proud exalted Rome 
 Despoil'd, captiu'd at one mans will doth bende: 
 
 1360 Her Empire mine, her life is in my hand, 
 
 As Monarch I both world and Rome command; 
 Do all. can all: fourth my commaund'ment cast 
 Like thundring fire from one to other Pole 
 Equall to love: bestowing by my worde 
 
 1365 Happes and mishappes, as Fortunes King and Lord. 
 
 No Towne there is, but up my Image settes, 
 But sacrifice to me doth dayly make: 
 Wh|e]ther where Phaebus ioyne his morning steedes, 
 Or where the night them weary entertaines, 
 
 1370 Or where the heat the Oaraments doth scorche, 
 Or where the colde from Boreas breast is blowne: 
 All Caesar do both awe and honor beare, 
 And crowned Kings his verie name do feare. 
 Antonie knowes it well, for whom not one 
 Of all the Princes all this earth do rule, 
 Armes against me: for all redoubt the power 
 
 1368 Whether] whither Q 1.
 
 101 
 
 Which heau'nly powers on earth haue made me beare. 
 
 Antonie. he poore man with tire enflam'de 
 A womans beauties kindled in his heart. 
 
 1380 Rose against me. who longer could not beare 
 Mr sisters wrong he did so ill entreat: 
 Seing her left while that his lend delights 
 Her husband with his Cleopatra tooke 
 In Alexandra, where both nights and daies 
 
 1385 Their time they pass'd in nought but loues and plaies. 
 
 All Asia* forces into one he drewe. 
 And forth he sett upon the azurd wanes 
 A thousand and a thousand Shipps. which fill'd 
 With Souldiors. pikes, with targets, arrowes, darts, 
 
 1390 Made Xephme quake and all the watrie troupes 
 Of Glauqucs, and Tritons lodg'd at AHinm. 
 But mightie Gods, who still the force withstand 
 Of him who causles doth another wrong. 
 In lesse then moments space redus'd to nought 
 
 1395 All that proud power by Sea or land he brought. 
 
 Ayr. Presumptuouse pride of high and hawtie sprite, 
 Voluptuose care of fonde and foolish loue, 
 Haue iustly wrought his wrack : who thought he helde 
 (By ouer weening) Fortune in his hand. 
 
 1400 Of us he made no count, but as to play, 
 So fearles came our forces to assay. 
 
 So sometimes fell to Sonnes of Mother Earth, 
 Which crawl'd to heau'n warre on the Gods to make, 
 Olyntp on I'clion, Ossa on Olymp, 
 
 1405 Pindus on Ossa loading by degrees: 
 
 That at hand strokes with mightie clubbes they might 
 On mossie rocks the Gods make tumble downe: 
 When mightie loue with burning anger chafd, 
 
 1409 This line is missing in the translation. The original reads 
 "Maint trait de foudre ai/ju dtsstrra sur Typln'-."
 
 102 
 
 1410 Disbraind with him Gages and 
 
 Blunting his darts upon their brused. bones. 
 For no one, tiling the Gods can lesse abide 
 In dedes of men, then Arrogance and Pride. 
 And still tlie proud, which too much fakes in ltand : 
 
 1415 Shall fowlest fall, ichere best lie thinks lo stand. 
 
 Caes. Right as some Palace, or some stately tower. 
 Which ouer-lookes the neighbour buildings round 
 In scorning wise, and to the Starres up growes, 
 Which in short time his owne weight ouerthrowes. 
 
 1420 What monstrous pride, nay what impietie 
 Incenst him onward to the Gods disgrace? 
 When his two children, Cleopatras bratts, 
 To J'haebe and her brother lie conipar'd. 
 Lafonan race, causing them to be call'd 
 
 1425 The Sunne and Moone? Is not this folie right? 
 And is not this the Gods to make his foes? 
 And is not this himselfe to worke his woes? 
 Ayr. In like proud sort he caus'd his head to leese 
 The Jewish king Antigonus. to haue 
 
 1430 His Realine for balme. that Cleopatra lou'd, 
 As though on him he had some treason prou'd. 
 Caes. Li/dia to her. and Siria he gaue, 
 Cyprus of golde, Arabia rich of smelles, 
 And to his children more, Cilicia-, 
 
 1435 Parths, Medes, Armenia, Phaenicia: 
 
 The kings of kings proclaiming them to be, 
 
 By his owne worde, as by a sound decree. 
 
 Ayr. What? Robbing his owne countrie of her due 
 
 Triumph'd he not in Alexandria, 
 
 1440 Of Artdbasus the Armenian king, 
 
 Who yelded on his periur'd word to him? 
 Caes. Nay neuer Rome more iniuries receiu'd, 
 Since thou, Romulus, by flight of birds 
 
 1410 Him i. e. Typht of line 1409.
 
 103 
 
 With happy hand the Komain walles did'st build, 
 
 1445 Then Antonies fond loues to it liath done. 
 Nor euer warre more liolie. nor more hist. 
 Nor undertaken with more hard constraint. 
 Then is this warre: which were it not. our state 
 Within small time all dignitie should loose: 
 
 1450 Though I lament ithou Sunne my witnes art. 
 And thou great loue] that it so deadly proues: 
 That Romain bloud should in such plentie flowe, 
 Watring the fields and pastures where we goe. 
 What Cnrthaye in olde hatred obstinate. 
 
 1455 What Ganle still barking at our rising state. 
 
 What rebell Samnitc. what tierce 1'i/ri-hus power, 
 What cruell Mithridate, what Parth hatli wrought 
 Such woe to Rome? whose common wealth he had. 
 (Had he bene victor) into Eyipt brought. 
 
 1460 Ayr. Surely the Gods, which have this Cittie built 
 Stedfast to stand as long as time endures. 
 Which kepe the Capitoll, of us take care, 
 And care will take of those shall after come. 
 Haue made you victor, that you might redresse 
 
 1465 Their honor growne by passed mischieues lesse. 
 Caes. The seelie man when all the Greekish Sea 
 His fleete had hidd, in hope me sure to drowne, 
 Me battaile gaue: where fortune, in my stede. 
 Repulsing him his forces disaraied. 
 
 1470 Him selfe tooke flight, soone as his loue he saw 
 All wanne through feare with full sailes flie away. 
 His men though lost, whome none did now direct, 
 With courage fought fast grappled shipp with shipp, 
 Charging, resisting, as their oares would serue, 
 
 1475 With darts, with swords, with Pikes, with fierie flames. 
 So that the darkned night her starrie vaile 
 
 1458 sq. il euat fta republique . . . fait . . . Canopique. 
 1465 The seelie man le miserable. 
 14fi6 to drowne pour m'abysmer.
 
 104 
 
 Upon the bloudie sea had ouer-spread. 
 
 Whilst yet they held: and hardlie. hardlie then 
 
 They fell to flieng on the wauie plaine. 
 1480 All full of Soukliors ouerwhelm'd with wanes: 
 
 The aire throughout with cries and grones did sound: 
 
 The Sea did blush with blond : the neighbor shores 
 
 Groned, as they with shipwracks pestred were. 
 
 And floting bodies left for pleasing* foode 
 1485 To birds, and beasts, and fishes of the sea. 
 
 You know it well Agrippa. Ay. Mete it was 
 
 The Itoiiiain Empire so should ruled be, 
 
 As lieau'n is rul'd: which turning- oner us. 
 
 All under things by his example tnriies. 
 1490 Now as of heau'n one onely Lord we know: 
 
 One onely Lord should rule this earth below. 
 
 Wlien one self pow're is common made to two, 
 
 Their duties they nor suffer will, nor doe. 
 
 In quarell still, in doubt, in //ate, in feare ; 
 1495 Meane -while the people all the smart do bemr. 
 
 Caes. Then to the ende none, while my daies endure, 
 
 Seeking to raise himselfe may succours finde, 
 
 We must with bloud marke this our victorie, 
 
 For iust example to all mem one. 
 1500 Murther we must, untill not one Ave leaue, 
 
 Which may hereafter us of rest bereaue. 
 
 Ag. Marke it with murthers? who of that can like? 
 
 Caes. Murthers must use, who doth assurance seeke. 
 
 Ag. Assurance call you enemies to make? 
 1505 Caes. I make no such, but such away I take. 
 
 Ag. Nothing so much as rigour doth displease. 
 
 Caes. Nothing so much doth make me liue at ease. 
 
 Ag. What ease to him that feared is of all? 
 
 Caes. Feared to be, and see his foes to fall. 
 1510 Ag. Commonly feare doth brede and nourish hate. . 
 
 1493 Ne se peuvent souffrir ny faire leur devoir.
 
 105 
 
 Can*. Hate without pow'r. conies commonly too late. 
 
 Ay. A feared Prince hath oft his death desir'd: 
 
 Cacs. A Prince not feared hath oft his wrong conspir'd. 
 
 Ag. No guard so sure, no forte so strong doth prone. 
 1515 No such defence, as is the peoples lone. 
 
 Cars. Nought more unsure, more weak, more like the 
 
 winde. 
 
 Then Peoples fauor still to chaunge enclinde. 
 
 Ay. Good Gods! what lone to gracious Prince men 
 
 beare ! 
 
 Cues. What honor to the Prince that is seuere! 
 1520 Ay. Nought more diuine then is Beniynitic. 
 
 Cars. Nought likes the Gods as doth Seucrifie. 
 
 Ay. Gods all forgiue. Cac*. On faults they paines do laie. 
 
 Ay. And gine their goods, ''uc*. Oft times they take 
 
 away. 
 
 Ay. They wreake them not. o Caesar, at each time 
 1525 That by our sinnes they are to wrath prouok'd. 
 
 Neither must you (beleue. I hnmblie praie) 
 
 Your victorie with crueltie defile. 
 
 The Gods it gaue, it must not be abus'd. 
 
 But to the good of all men mildlie us'd, 
 1530 And they be thank'd: that hauing giu'n you grace 
 
 To raigne alone, and rule this earthlie masse. 
 
 They may hence-forward hold it still in rest, 
 
 All scattred power united in one brest. 
 
 Caes. But what is he that breathles comes so fast. 
 1535 Approaching us, and going in such hast? 
 
 Ag. He semes airraid : and under his arme I 
 
 (But much I erre) a bloudie sworde espie. 
 
 Coes. I long to understand what it may be. 
 
 Ag. He hither conies: it's best we stay and see. 
 1540 Direr. What good God now my voice will reenforce, 
 
 That tell I may to rocks, and hilles, and woods, 
 
 To wanes of sea, which dash upon the shore. 
 
 To earth, to heau'n. the woefull newes I bring?
 
 106 
 
 Ay. WhatSodaine chaunce thee towards us hath brought? 
 1545 Dir. A lamentable chance. wrath of heau'ns! 
 
 Gods 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, 
 1550 I fenceles stand, my brest with tempest tost 
 Killes in my throte my wordes. ere full}' borne. 
 Dead, dead he is: be sure of what I say. 
 This murthering sword hath made the man away. 
 Cars. Alas my heart doth cleaue. pittie me rackes, 
 1555 My breast doth pant to heare this dolefull tale. 
 Is Anfonie then dead? To death, alas! 
 
 1 am the cause despaire him so compelld. 
 But souldiour of his death the maner showe, 
 And how he did this liuing light forgoe. 
 
 1560 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 
 
 1565 They also came against himselfe to fight: 
 Alone in Court he gan himself torment, 
 Accuse the Queene. himselfe of hir lament, 
 Call'd hir untrue and traytresse, as who sought 
 To yeld him up she could no more defend: 
 
 1570 That in the harmes which for hir sake he bare, 
 As in his blissfull 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 hearses downe. 
 
 1575 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. 
 
 1569 Le liurer a, ceux-ld que vaincre elle ne petit. 
 
 1574 hearses 0. F. herce, a harrow, a grated portcullis.
 
 107 
 
 Of women hir the most unhappie call'd. 
 
 Who b}- liir loue, lier woefull loue, had lost 
 1580 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. 
 
 Then sent him worde, she was no more aliue. 
 1585 But lay inclosed dead within hir Tombe. 
 
 This he beleeu'd; and fell to sigh and grone. 
 
 And crost his armes. then this began to mone. 
 
 Cues. Poore hopeles man ! Dir. What dost tliou more attend ! 
 
 Ah Antonie.' why dost thou death deferre: 
 1590 Since Fortune thy professed enimie. 
 
 Hath made to die. who only made thee line? 
 
 Soon as with sighes he had these words up clos'd. 
 
 His armor he unlaste, and cast it of. 
 
 Then all disarm'd he thus againe did say: 
 1595 My queene, my heart, the grief that now I feele. 
 
 Is not that I your eies, my Sunne. do loose. 
 
 For soon againe one Tombe shal us conioyne: 
 
 I griue, whom men so valorous did deeme. 
 
 Should now, then you, of lesser valor seeme. 
 1600 So said, forthwith he Eros to him call'd, 
 
 Eros his man; summond him on his faith 
 
 To kill him at his nede. He tooke the sworde, 
 
 And at that instant stab'd therwith his breast, 
 
 And ending life, fell dead before his fete. 
 1605 Eros thankes (quoth Antonie) for this 
 
 Most noble acte, who pow'rles me to kill, 
 
 On thee hast done, what I on mee should doe. 
 Of speaking thus he scarce had made an ende, 
 
 And taken up the bloudie sword from ground, 
 1610 But he his bodie piers'd ; and of redd bloud 
 
 A gushing fountaine all the chamber fill'd. 
 
 1587 this thus? Original: commence ainsi a dire.
 
 108 
 
 He staggred at the- bio we. his face grew pale, 
 
 And on a eoudie all feeble downe he fellr 
 
 S wounding with anguish: deadly "cold Mm tooke, 
 
 Iblo As if his soule had then his lodging left. 
 But he reuiu'd. and marking all our eies 
 Bathed in teares. and how our breasts we beatt 
 For pittie, anguish, and for bitter griefe, 
 To see him plong'd in extreame wretchednes: 
 
 1620 He prafd us all to haste his lingr'ing death: 
 But no man willing, each himselfe withdrew. 
 Then fell he new to crie and vexe himselfe. 
 Cntill a man from Clcojtatra came. 
 Who said from hir he had commaundement 
 
 1625 To bring him to hir to the monument. 
 
 The poore soule at these words euen rapt with Joy 
 Knowing she liu'd, prai'd us him to conuey 
 Tn to his Ladie. Then upon our armes 
 We bare him to the Tombe but entred not. 
 
 1630 For she, who feared captiue to be made, 
 
 And that she should to Home in triumph goe, 
 Kept close the gate: but from a window high 
 Cast downe a corcle, wherin he was impackt. 
 Then by hir womens help the corps she rais'd, 
 
 1635 And by strong armes into hir windowe drew. 
 
 So pittifull a sight was neuer sene. 
 Little and little Antonie \vas pull'd. 
 Now breathing death : his beard was all unkempt, 
 His face and brest all bathed in his bloud. 
 
 1640 So hideous yet, and dieng as he was, 
 
 His eies half-closed uppon the Queene he cast: 
 Held up his hands, and holpe himself to raise, 
 But still with weakenes back his bodie fell. 
 The miserable ladie with moist eies, 
 
 1645 With haire which careles on hir forhead hong, 
 
 1614 Swounding] sounding Q 2. 
 1634 help] helpt Q 1.
 
 109 
 
 AVith brest which blowes liad bloudilie benumbM. 
 With stooping- head, and bodie down-ward bent. 
 Enlast hir on the corde. and with all ibrce 
 This life-dead man courageously nprais'de. 
 
 1650 The blond with paine unto hir face did flowe. 
 Hir sinewes stiff, her selfe did breathles growe. 
 
 The people which beneath in flocks beheld. 
 Assisted her with gesture, speech, desire: 
 Cri'de and incourag'd her, and in their soules 
 
 1655 Did sweate. and labor, no white lesse then shee. 
 Who neuer tir'd in labor, held so long 
 Helpt by hir women, and hir constant heart. 
 That Antouie was dnnvne into the tonibe. 
 And ther (I thinkei of dead augments the summe. 
 
 1660 The Cittle all to teares and sighes is turn'd. 
 To plaints and outcries horrible to heare: 
 Men. women, children, hoary-headed age 
 Do all pell mell in house and strete lament. 
 Scratching their faces, tearing of their haire. 
 
 1665 Wringing their hands, and martyring their brests. 
 Extreame their dole: and greater misery 
 In sacked townes can hardlie euer be. 
 Not if the fire had scal'de the highest towers : 
 That all things were of force and murther full ; 
 
 1670 That in the streets the bloud in riuers streanrd; 
 The sonne his sire saw in his bosome slaine, 
 The sire his sonne ; the husband reft of breath 
 In his wives armes. who furious runnes to death. 
 Now my brest wounded with their piteouse plaints 
 
 1675 I left their towne. and tooke with me this sworde, 
 Which I tooke up at that time Anfonie 
 Was from his chamber caried to the tombe: 
 And brought it you, to make his death more plaine, 
 And that therby my words may credite gaine. 
 
 1680 Goes. Ah Gods what cruell happ ! poore Antonie, 
 Alas hast thou this sword so long time borne
 
 110 
 
 Against thy foe. that in the end it should 
 Of thee. his Lord, the rursed murthe'rer be? 
 Death how f bewaile thee! we (alas!) 
 
 1685 So many warres have ended, brothers, trends. 
 Companions, coozens. equalls in estate : 
 And must it now to kill thee be my fate. 
 A(j. Wiry trouble you your selfe with booties griefe? 
 For Antonie why spend you teares in vaine? 
 
 1690 Why darken you with dole your victorie? 
 Me seernes your self your glorie do enuie. 
 Enter the towne, giue thankes unto the Gods. 
 Caes. I cannot but his tearefull chaunce lament 
 Although not I. but his owne pride the cause, 
 
 1695 And unchaste loue of this Aegyptian. 
 
 Agr. But best we sought into the tombe to gett, 
 Lest she consume in this amazed case 
 So much rich treasure, with which happelie 
 Despaire in death may make hir feed the fire: 
 
 1700 Suffring the flames hir Jewells to deface. 
 You to defraud, hir funerall to grace. 
 Sende then to hir, and let some meane be us'd 
 With some deuise so holde hir still aline, 
 Some faire large promises : and let then marke 
 
 1705 Whither they may by some fine conning slight 
 Enter the tombes. Caesar. Let Proculeius goe, 
 And fede with hope hir soule disconsolate, 
 Assure hir so, that w r e may wholie gett 
 Into our hands hir treasure and hir selfe. 
 
 1710 For this of all things most I doe desire 
 To kepe hir safe untill our going hence: 
 
 1683 murth'rer Q 2. 
 
 1686 coozens here used in the old sense of relative Cp. Shak. 
 
 Rich. Ill, 3, 4, "My noble lords and cousins all." 
 1703 We have almost certainly to read: to holde-, the original has: 
 
 qu'on essaye De retenir sa vie.
 
 Ill 
 
 That by liir presence beautified may be 
 The glorious triumph Rome prepares for me. 
 
 (.'horns of lioinaino Souldiors. 
 
 Shall euer ciuile bate 
 1715 Gnaw and deuour our state? 
 
 Shall neuer we this blade, 
 
 Our bloud hath bloudie made. 
 
 Lay downe? these armes downe lay 
 
 As robes we weave alway? 
 1720 But as from age to age. 
 
 So passe from rage to rage? 
 Our hands shall we not rest 
 
 To bath in our owne brest? 
 
 And shall thick in each land 
 1725 Our wretched trophees stand. 
 
 To tell posteritie 
 
 What madd Impietie 
 
 Our stonie Stomakes ledd 
 
 Against the place us bredd? 
 1730 Then still must heau'n view 
 
 The plagues that us pursue: 
 
 And euery where descrie 
 
 Heaps of us scattred lie, 
 
 Making the straunger plaines 
 1735 Fatt with our bleeding raines. 
 
 Pvoud that on them their gvaue 
 
 So manie legions haue. 
 And with ouv fleshes still 
 
 Neptune his fishes fill 
 1740 And, dronke with bloud. from blue 
 
 The sea take blushing hue: 
 
 As iuice of Tyrian shell, 
 
 When clarified well 
 
 To wolle of finest fields
 
 1745 A purple glosse it velds. 
 But since the rule of Jtomr, 
 To one mans hand is come, 
 AYho gouemes without mate 
 Hir now united state, 
 
 1750 Late iointlie rulde by three 
 Enuieng mutuallie. 
 Whose triple yoke much woe 
 On LriHnes necks did throwe: 
 I hope the cause of iarre, 
 
 175;") And of this bloudie warre, 
 And deadlie discord gone 
 .By what we last haue done: 
 Our banks shall cherish now 
 The branchie pale-hew'd bow 
 
 1760 Of Oline, Pallas praise. 
 
 In stede of barraine bayes. 
 And that his temple dore, 
 Which bloudie Mars before 
 Held open, now at last 
 
 1765 Okie hnms shall make fast: 
 And rust the sword consume, 
 And spoild of waning 1 plume, 
 The useles morion shall 
 On crooke hang by the wall. 
 
 1770 At least if warre returne 
 
 It shall not here soiourne, 
 To kill us with those armes 
 Were forg'd for others harmes: 
 But haue their pointes addrest 
 
 1775 Against the Qermains brest, 
 The Parthians fayned flight, 
 The Biscaines martiall might. 
 Olde Memorie doth there 
 
 1744 De la laine Canusienrte.
 
 113 - 
 
 Painted on tbrliead weare 
 1780 Our Fathers praise: thence torne 
 
 Our triumphes bales liaue worne: 
 
 Therby our matchles Rome 
 
 Whilome of Shepeheards come 
 
 Eais'd to tliis greatnes stands, 
 
 1785 The Queene of forraine lands. 
 
 Which now euen seernes to face 
 
 The heau'ns. her glories place: 
 
 Nought resting- vnder Skies 
 
 That dares affront, her eies. 
 1790 So that she needes but feare 
 
 The weapons /one doth beare. 
 
 Who angrie at one blowe 
 
 May her quite ouerthrowe. 
 
 Act 5. 
 
 Cleopatra. Enpliroii. Children of Cleopatra. 
 Channion. Eras. 
 
 Clcop. cruell Fortune! o accursed lott! 
 1795 plaguy lone! most detested brand! 
 
 wretched ioyes! beauties miserable! 
 
 deadlie state! deadly roialtie! 
 
 hatefull life! o Queene most lamentable! 
 
 Antonic \))< my fault buriable! 
 1800 hellish worke of heau'n! alas! the wrath 
 
 Of all the Gods at once on vs is falne. 
 
 Unhappie Queene! would I in this world 
 
 The wandring light of day had neuer sene! 
 
 Alas! of mine the plague and poison I 
 1805 The crowne haue lost my ancestors me left. 
 
 This Realme I haue to straungers subiect made, 
 
 And robd my children of their heritage. 
 
 1799 buriable almost an i?rr Iey6/*evov. Cp. Murray. 
 Luce, Lady Pembroke.
 
 114 
 
 Yet this is nought (alas!) vnto the price 
 
 Of you deare husband, whome my snares entrap'*.! : 
 1810 Of you. whom 1 haue plagu'd. whom I haue made 
 
 \Vith bloudie hand a guest of mouldie Tombe: 
 
 Of you. whome I destroid. of you. deare Lord. 
 Whome I of Empire, honor, life haue spoil'd. 
 
 Imrtfull woman! and can I yet Hue. 
 181 o Yet longer line in this Ghost-haunted tombe? 
 
 Can I yet breathe! can yet in such annoy. 
 
 Yet can my Soule within this bodie dwell? 
 
 Sisters you that spiime the thredes of death! 
 
 Sti/x.' o Phkrjctliou! you brookes of hell ! 
 1820 Impes of Xiijld! Euph. Line for your childrens sake : 
 
 "Let not your death of kingdome them depriue. 
 
 Alas what shall they do? who will haue care? 
 
 Who Avill presertie this royall race of yours? 
 
 Who pittie take? euen now me seemes 1 see 
 182;") These little soules to seruile bondage falue. 
 
 And borne in triumph. Cl. Ah most miserable! 
 
 Ki/lih. Their tender armes with cursed corde fast bound 
 
 At their weake backs. Cl. Ah Gods what pittie more! 
 
 Kph. Their seelie necks to ground with weaknesse bend. 
 1830 d. Xeuer on vs, good Gods, such mischiefe sende. 
 
 EupJ/. And pointed at with fingers as they go. 
 
 ci. Rather a thousand deaths. Eupl. Lastly his knife 
 
 Some cruell caytiue in their bloud embrue. 
 
 CL Ah my heart breaks. By shadie bankes of hell, 
 1835 By fieldes wheron the lonely Ghosts do treade, 
 
 By iiw soule, and the soule of Antonie 
 
 I you beseche, Euphron, of them haue care. 
 
 Be their good Father, let your wisedome lett 
 
 That they fall not into this Tyrants handes. 
 1840 Rather conduct them where their freezed locks 
 
 1823 Qui vous conserucra, royale yeniture? 
 1829 seelie translation of pauure. Cp. 1. 1465 above. 
 1838 lett from 0. E. lettan hinder, prevent : Cp. Hamlet. 4, 85, 
 "111 make a ghost of him that lets me."
 
 115 
 
 Black A<'iln<>i><'x to neighbour Sunne do shewe; 
 
 On wauie Ocean at the waters will; 
 
 On Immune clitfes of snowie CHWUKU*; 
 
 To Timers swift, to Lions, and to Beares: 
 1845 And rather, rather vnto euery coaste. 
 
 To eu'rie land and sea: for nought I feare 
 
 As rage of him. whose thirst no blond can quench. 
 
 Adieu deare children, children deare adieu: 
 
 Good Ixis you to place of safetie guide, 
 1850 Farre from our foes, where you your lines may leade 
 
 In free estate deuoid of seruile dread. 
 Remember not, my children, you were borne 
 
 Of such a Prineelie race: remember not 
 
 So manie braue Kings which haue Kgipt rul'de. 
 185f) In right descent your ancestors haue bene: 
 
 That this great Antonif, your Father was, 
 
 Jffrcnlrs blond, and more then he in praise. 
 
 For your high courage such remembrance will. 
 
 Seing your fall, with burning rages fill. 
 1860 Who knowes if that your hands false Dcxtinie 
 
 The Scepters promis'd of imperiouse Rome, 
 
 Instede of them shall crooked shepehookes beare. 
 
 Needles, or forkes, or guide the carte, or plough ? 
 
 Ah learne t'endure: your birth and high estate 
 1865 Forget, my babes, and bend to force of fate. 
 
 Fanvell, my babes, farwell, my hart is clos'de 
 
 AVith pitie and paine, my self with death enclos'de, 
 
 My breath doth faile. Farwell for euermore. 
 
 Your Sire and me you shall see neuer more. 
 1870 P'arwell swete care, farwell. Chil. Madame Adieu. 
 
 67. Ah this voice killes me. Ah good Gods ! I swoivnde. 
 
 I can no more. I die. Eras. Madame, alas! 
 
 And will you yeld to woe? Ah speake to vs. 
 
 I-:<tjj. Come children. Chil. We come. K-up. Follow 
 
 we our chaimce. 
 1875 The Gods shall guide vs. Char. too cruell lott! 
 
 8*
 
 116 
 
 too hard ohaunce! Sister what shall we do, 
 AYhat shall we do, alas! if murthring darte 
 Of death arriue while that in slumbring swound 
 Half dead she lie with anguish ouergoiie? 
 
 1880 Ei: Her face is frozen. <'//. Madame for Gods loue 
 Leaue vs not thus: bidd vs yet first farwell. 
 Alas! wepe oner Ai>/o//if. let not 
 His bodie lie without due rites entombVle. 
 CL All. ah. Clmr. Madame, dr. Ay me! Er. How fainte 
 she is? 
 
 1885 CL My Sisters, holde me vp. How wretched I. 
 How cursed am! and was ther euer one 
 By Fortunes hate into more dolours throwne? 
 
 Ah, weeping 1 Niobc. although thy hart 
 Beholdes it selfe enwrap'd in causefull Avoe 
 
 1890 For thy dead children, that a sencelesse . rocke 
 "\Yith griefe become, on Sij>>/hix thou stand's! 
 In endles teares: } r et didst thou neuer feele 
 The weights of griefe that on my heart do lie. 
 Thy Children thou, mine I, poore soule, haue lost. 
 
 1895 And lost their Father, more then them I waile. 
 
 Lost this faire realme; yet me the heauens wrathe 
 Into a Stone not yet transformed hath. 
 
 Phnrtons sisters, daughters of the Sunne. 
 AYhich waile your brother falne into the streames 
 
 1900 Of stately Po\ the Gods vpon the bankes 
 Your bodies to banke-louing Alders turn'd. 
 For me. I sigh. I ceasles wepe. and waile. 
 And heauen pittiles laughes at my woe. 
 Keuiues, renewes it still: and in the ende 
 
 1905 (Oh crueltie!) doth death for comfort lende. 
 
 Die Cleopatra then, no longer stay 
 From Antonic. who thee at Sti/x attends: 
 Goe ioine thy Ghost with his. and sobbe no more 
 Without his loue within these tombes enclos'd. 
 
 1910 Eras. Alas! Yet let vs wepe, lest sodaine death
 
 117 
 
 From him our Teares. and those last duties take 
 Tnto his tombe we owe. Cli. All let vs wepe 
 While moisture lasts, then die before his feete. 
 fV. Who furnish will mine eies with streaming 1 ' teares 
 
 1915 My boiling anguish worthilie to waile. 
 AVaile thee Anton ie. Anton ic my heart? 
 Alas, how much [ weeping liquor want! 
 Yet haue mine eies quite drawne their Conduits drie 
 By long beweeping my disastred harmes. 
 
 1920 Now reason is that from my side they sucke 
 First vitall moisture, then the vitall blond. 
 Then let the blond from my sad eies out flowe. 
 And smoking yet with thine in mixture growe. 
 Moist it, and heate it newe. and neuer stopp. 
 
 1925 All watring thee. while yet remaines one dropp. 
 Cha. Anfonie take our teares: this is the last 
 Of all the duties we to thee can yelde. 
 Before we die. Er. These sacred obsequies 
 Take Antony, and take them in good parte. 
 
 1930 67. Goddesse thou whom Cyprus doth adore. 
 Venus of Paphoft. bent to worke vs harme 
 For old lulus broode, if thou take care 
 Of Caesar, why of vs takst thou no care? 
 Antonic did descend, as well as he, 
 
 1935 From thine owne Sonne by long enchained line: 
 And might haue rul'cl by one and self same fate. 
 True Troian blond, the statelie Romain state. 
 
 Antonic. poore Antonic, my deare soule. 
 Now but a blocke, the bootie of a tombe. 
 
 1940 Thy life, thy heate is lost, thy coullor gone, 
 And hideous palenes on thy face hath seax'd. 
 Thy eies. two Sunnes, the lodging place of loue. 
 Which yet for tents to warlike Mars did serue, 
 Lock'd vp in lidds (as faire daies cherefull light 
 
 1934 sq. Antoine . . . estoit venu d'Enec.
 
 118 
 
 1945 \Vliicli darknesse flies i do winking hide in night. 
 
 Anfonift by our true loues I tliee beseche. 
 And by our hearts swete sparks haue sett on fire. 
 Our holy mariage. and the tender rutlie 
 Of our deare babes, knot of our amitie: 
 
 1950 My dolefull voice thy eare let entertaine. 
 
 And take me with tliee to the hellish plaine. 
 Thy wife, thy frend: lieare An/onir. r, heare 
 My sobbing' sighes. if here thou be. or there. 
 Lined thus long, the winged race of yeares 
 
 1955 Ended I haue as Dcfttinif decreed. 
 
 Flourish'd and raign'd. and taken iust reuenge 
 Of him who me both hated and despisde. 
 Happie. alas too happie! if of Itowr, 
 Only the fleete had hither neuer come. 
 
 1900 And now of me an Image great shall goe 
 Under the earth to bury there my woe. 
 What say I? where am I? Clco/Htfra. 
 Poore Cleopatra, grief e thy reason reaues. 
 Xo, no, most happie in this happles case, 
 
 1905 To die with tliee. and dieng tliee embrace: 
 
 My bodie ioynde with thine, my mouth with thine, 
 My mouth, whose moisture burning sighes haue dried: 
 To be in one selfe tombe. and one selfe chest, 
 And wrapt with thee in one selfe sheete to rest. 
 
 1970 The sharpest torment in my heart I feele 
 
 Is that I staie from thee, my heart, this while. 
 Die will I straight now, now streight will I die, 
 And streight with thee a wandring shade will be, 
 Under the Cypws trees thou haunt'st alone, 
 
 1975 Where brookes of hell do falling seeme to mone. 
 But yet I stay, and yet thee ouerliue, 
 That ere I die due rites I may thee glue. 
 A thousand sobbes I from my brest will teare, 
 
 Itto? I>e mon frere ennemy, qui m'auoit a mepris. 
 1975 An lamentable bruit des caux Acherontees.
 
 - - 111* 
 
 With thousand plaints thy funeralles adorne: 
 1980 My haire shall seme for tin* oblations. 
 
 My boiling- teares for tin* effusions. 
 
 Mine eies thy fire: for out of them the flame 
 
 (Which burnt thy heart on me enamour'd) came. 
 
 Wepe my companions, wepe. and from your eies 
 1985 Kaine downe on him of teares a brinish streame. 
 
 Mine can no more, consumed by the coales 
 
 Which from my breast, as from a furnace, rise. 
 
 Martir your breasts with multiplied blowes. 
 
 With violent hands teare of your hanging haire. 
 1990 Outrage your face: alas! why should we seeke 
 
 (Since now we die) our beauties more to kepe? 
 I spent in teares. not able more to spende. 
 
 But kisse him now. what rests me more to doe y 
 
 Then lett me kisse you, you faire eies. my light. 
 1995 Front seate of honor, face most fierce, most faire! 
 
 neck. 6 armes. o hands, o breast where death 
 
 (Oh mischief) comes to choake vp vitall breath. 
 
 A thousand kisses, thousand thousand more 
 
 Let you my mouth for honors farewell giue: 
 2000 That in this office weake my limmes may growe. 
 
 Fainting on you. and fourth my soule may flowe. 
 
 At Ramsburie. 2f>. of Nouember. 
 1590.
 
 WORD-LIST. 
 
 after-liuers posterity 623. 
 
 attaint to touch, strike lll(i. 
 
 azur'd azure 1387. 
 
 beamy, beamie radiant 407. 715. 
 
 besot to make a sot of 113. 
 
 betide, Ill-betide unfortunate 956. 
 
 bowle sphere, hall 983. 
 
 branchie full of branches 1759. 
 
 brinish salt, saltish 1985. 
 
 buriable = French sepulturable 
 1799. 
 
 causefull having good cause 1889. 
 
 disbrain to knock out some one's 
 brains 1410. 
 
 eager keen, biting 259. 
 
 em peach to hinder 482. 
 
 eni.pt to empty 338. 
 
 engrain to dye red 714; engrained 
 
 = rougissante 241. 
 enwall to enclose within a wall 128. 
 finger, vb., to pilfer 850. 
 force, no force no matter 921. 
 freating eating, devouring 1227. 
 freezed frizzly, curled 1840. 
 grief ull full of grief 418. 
 happdie haply, perhaps 655. 
 hearses portcullis 1574. 
 imp offspring, progeny 1820. 
 i/npack to pack up 1633. 
 larmes alarms (tearfull larmes) 352. 
 leese to lose 412. 1428. 
 left to hinder 1838. 
 leivdlie wickedly 626. 
 licourishe keenly desirous 1179. 
 long, vb., to belong 667. 
 
 inary marrow 1185. 
 minifih to diminish 648. 
 monefull moanful, mournful 334. 
 morion helmet 1768. 
 oared furnished with oars 444. 
 ouergone overcome 1879. 
 ouerlive'to outlive 621. 1976. 
 plaguy , plaguie annoying 293. 
 
 1795. 
 
 prater babbler, boaster 247. 
 quiche living 398. 
 raisetli razeth 294. 
 rampu-r rampart 109. 
 rebecome to become again 100. 
 redoubt to fear, dread 93. 569. 
 
 947. 1376. 
 remorse pity 1079. 
 reuerent for reverend 677. 
 right downright 1425. 
 ruinate ruined 288. 
 ruthe pity 1948. 
 seely harmless, innocent 632; poor 
 
 1465. 1829. 
 sithe scythe 826. 
 stailts stayless, ceaseless 486. 
 straw, vb., to strew 655. 
 suspect suspicion 669. 
 thorn, vb., to prick (French espiner) 
 
 226. 479. 917. 
 
 training enticing, alluring 720. 
 ulcer, vb., to ulcerate 284. 
 unbroaded unbraided 302. 
 unkempt uncombed 1638. 
 ivarp to weave 300. 
 wood, adj., furious, raging 1304. 
 
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 0) OCT 6 1997 
 
 
 
 
 DEC03WW 
 
 
 
 
 ^WERS/T.,. -#ivo *
 
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