Book VII

The Argument
Great Pompey's flattering dreame; his souldiers all
Eager of battell, vrge their Generall;
Their wish (though rash and fatall) findes defence
In Ciceroes vnhappy eloquence.
Against his will great Pompey's forc'd to yeild:
The signalls given: Pharsalias dreadfull field
Is fought; Romes liberty for ever dyes,
And vanquisht Pompey to Larissa flyes.

SAd Titan later Thetis lap forsooke
Then natures law requir'd, and never tooke
A crosser way, as if borne backe againe
By the sphaeres course, would be eclipsed faine▪
Attracting cloudes, not food t'his flames to yeild,
But loath to shine vpon Pharsalia's field.
That night of Pompey's happy life the last,
Deceiv'd by flattering sleepes, he dream'd him plac'd
In the Pompeyan Theater, among
Romes people flocking in vnnumber'd throng;
Where shouting to the skyes he heard them raise
His name, each roome contending in his praise.
Such were the peoples lookes, such was their praise,
When in his youth, and first tryumphant dayes
Pompey but then a gentleman of Rome,
Had quieted the west, and Spaine orecome,
Scattring the troopes revolt Sertorius led;
And sat by th' Senate as much honoured
In his pure candid, as trumphall gowne.
Whither the doubtfull fancy fearefull growne
Of future fate, run backe to former joyes;
Or prophesying by such sights implyes
Their contrary, and bodes ensuing woe:
Or else on thee fortune would thus bestow
A fight of Rome, that could not otherwise.
Oh doe not wake him from this sleepe to rise,
No trumpet peirce his eare; the next nights rest
With the foregoing day's sad war opprest
Will nought but fights, but blood and slaughter show,
Happy were Rome, could she but see (though so)
Her Pompey, blest with such a dreame at this,
And happy night; oh would the deityes
Had given one day, Pompey, to Rome, and thee,
That both assured of your destiny
Might reape the last fruit of a loue so deere.
Thou goest, as if thy Rome should thee interre:
And she, still mistresse of her wish in thee,
Hopes that the fates lodge not such cruelty,
As to depri•• […] of thy honour'd tombe.
To mourne for thee old men, and young would come,
Children vntaught would weepe: the Matrons all
With haire (as once at Brutus funerall)
Loose hung, would beat their breasts; now though they feare
The swords of the iniurious Conquerer,
Though he himselfe relate thy death, they'll mourne
At publike sacrifice, as they adorne
Ioues house with laurell; wretched men, whose mone
Conceal'd, in sighs must vent it selfe alone,
And dares not sound in publike theaters.
Now had the rising Sunne obscur'd the starres,
When all the souldiers murmuring vp and downe
(The fates now drawing the worlds ruine on)
Desire a signall to the fight; poore men,
Whose greater part should never see the end
Of that sad day, about their Generalls tent
(Hasting the houre of their neere death) they vent
Their passions, and complaints; and franticke growne
Their owne, and publike fate they hasten on.
They call great Pompey sluggish, timorous,
Patient of Caesar, and ambitious
Of soveraignety, desirous still to reigne
Ore all those Kings, and fearing peace againe.
The Kings, and Easterne nations all complain'd
Warre was prolong'd, and they from home detain'd.
The gods, when they our ruine had decreed,
Would make it thus our owne erroneous deed.
Ruine we sought, and mortall warres requir'd,
In Pompey's campe Pharsalia is desir'd.
No• did this wish want Cicero's defence
The greatest author of Romes eloquence;
In whose growne-rule fierce Catiline did feare
The peacefull axes. Now turn'd souldier
From barres and pleadings had beene silent long,
And this bad cause thus strengthens with his tongue.
Pompey, for all her gifts fortune implores
That thou wouldst vse her now: thy Senators,
Thy kings, and all the suppliant world entreat
Thy leaue to conquer Caesar: shall he yet
So long a war against mankind maintaine?
Well may the forreigne nations now disdaine
(Who suddainely were vanquished by thee)
That Pompey is so slow in victory.
Where's now thy spirit, thy confidence of fate?
Canst thou now doubt the gods (ah most ingrate!)
Or fear'st thou to commit into their hand
The Senates cause? thy troopes without command
Their Eagles will advance: 'twere shame for thee
To be compell'd to conquer: if thou be
Our generall, and ours the war, to try
The hazard lyes in our authority.
Why hold'st thou the worlds swords from Caesar's throat?
They all are drawne almost, and tarry not
Thy •low alarmes; make hast, lest thy command
They all forsake: the Senate does demand,
If they thy souldiers, or companions be.
Great Pompey sigh'd to see how contrary
The gods were bent, and fortune crost his mind•.
If you be all (quoth he) this way inclin'd:
And me a souldier, not a generall
The time require: Ile be no let at all
To fate: let fortune all these nations cast
Into one ruine: be this day the last
To the great'st part of men. But witnesse Rome
Pompey's enforc'd to this sad field to come.
The warres whole worke neede not haue cost one wound;
But Caesar, without blood subdu'd, and bound
Might haue bin brought to answere injur'd peace.
What fury's this (oh blinde in wickednesse!)
To conquer without blood in civill war
You are afraid. Masters o'th'land we are:
The seas are wholly ours: the famisht foe
To fetch in Corne vnripe is forc'd to goe;
And 'tis become his wish by swords to dye,
And with his ruine mixe our tragedy.
In this some part is finisht of the war,
That our fresh-water souldiers doe not feare
The fight (if that be in true valour done;)
Into extreamest dangers many run
For feare of future ill: valiant'st is he,
That feares not t'vndergoe a danger nigh,
Nor to differ it. Would you then commit
Your strength to fortunes hand, and to one fight
The worlds estate, desiring all, that I
Should rather fight, then get the victory?
The rule of Romes estate thou didst bestow
Fortune, on me: receiue it greater now:
Protect it in this wars blinde chance: to me
Nor crime, nor honour shall this battell be.
Caesar thy wicked prayers 'gainst mine prevaile:
We fight: how dismall to all people shall
This day appeare? how many lands vndone
Shall be? how crimson shall Enipeus run
With Roman bloud? would the first pile of all
This mortall war would light (if I could fall
Without the ruine of our side) on me;
For not more joyfull can the conquest be.
Pompey a name shall be to every one
Of hate, or pity, when this fight is done.
The conquer'd shall endure the worst of woe:
The worst of crimes the Conquerour shall doe▪
With that the reines be to their fury giues,
Suffring the fight. So th'artlesse sailer leaues
His helpelesse barke, when Corus blasts are growne
Too strong, to guidance of the windes alone.
A fearefull murmuring noise rose through all parts
Of th'campe: and diversly their manly hearts
Beat 'gainst their breasts; vpon the face of some
Appear'd the palenesse of a death to come,
And ghastly lookes; that day (they thinke) fate brings
A lasting state of rule on earthly things:
And what Rome was, after this field is fought,
Be ask'd: no man of his owne danger thought
Amaz'd with greater feares. Who, when he sees
All shores oreflowne, and th'vncurb'd Ocean rise
Ore mountaines tops, the Firmament and Sunne
Fall downe to earth, in such confusion
Could feare his owne estate? no private state
Has time to feare, but Romes, and Pompey's fate.
Nor did they trust their swords, vnlesse sharpe set
On stones: the points of their dull piles they whet;
Each archer fitts his bow with surest strings,
And choisest arrowes in his quiver brings;
Horse-men sharpe spurres provide, and strongest raines.
So when earths Giants vpon Phlegra's plaines
(If with the actes of gods our humane warres
We may compare) rebell'd: the sword of Mars
In Aetna's forge, and Neptunes three-fork'd speare
Were scowr'd, and sharpen'd: Phoebus arrowes there
With Python dull'd, made sharpe the blew-ey'd maide
Vpon her sheild Medusa's haires display'd:
Ioues lightning then the Cyclops moulded new.
Fortune foretold the woes that should ensue
By many tokens; for the stormy sky
Withstood their marches into Thessaly:
The cloudes against their eyes did lightnings throw:
Meteors like lampes, like fiery posts in show,
And beames, cloud-breaking Typhons did arise,
And lightnings flashes dimm'd, and closd their eyes.
Their helmets plumes were sindg'd, their piles did melts
Sword-blades dissolv'd run downe the hilts they felt:
Their impious swords with sulphur from the skyes
Did smoake; their Ensignes hid with swarmes of Bees
Could scarce be pluck'd from ground: the bearers bow'd
Themselues to get them vp: which seem'd oreflow'd
With teares from thence even to Thessalia:
The bull from th' holy altars ran away,
And to Pharsalia field directly flyes,
Whilest their sad altar wants a sacrifice.
But what night furyes, what Eumenides,
What Stygian powers, or gods of wickednesse,
What hellish feinds, Caesar, didst thou appease
Preparing for such wicked warres as these?
Whether the gods, or their owne feare had wrought
These wonders, doubtfull tis, but many thought
They saw Olympus meete with Pindus hill,
And Aemus fall th'adjoyning valleyes fill:
That in the night Pharsalia sounded loud
The noise of battell: that Baebei's flowd
Swiftly with blood. But most admired they
To see each others face show darke; the day
Grow pale: and night their helmets overspread;
Their fathers ghosts and all their kinsemen dead
T' appeare before their eyes. But this alone
Comforted their sicke mindes knowing their owne
Impious entents, brothers to kill, and ope
Their fathers throates, they hence conceived hope,
Thinking these monsters, and portents t'imply
Th'accomplishment of their impiety.
No wonder tis if men so neere their end
Trembled with frantike feare: if fates doe lend
Presaging mindes of future ills to men,
Romans, that sojourn'd in Armenia then,
And Tyrian Gades, and in what coast soere,
Or climate they abode, lamented there,
Blaming their causelesse griefe, and did not know
Their losses in Pharsalia's overthrow.
An Augur sitting on th'Euganean mount,
(If fame record a truth) where springs the fount
Of foggy Aponus, where Timauus does
First part, and thence in severall channells flowes,
This day (quoth he) the action's in the height,
Pompey, and Caesars impious armyes fight;
Whether Ioues thunder, and divining stroke
He had observ'd, or how thicke aire did choake
The jarring heavens, or on the poles did looke,
Or in the firmament had found this fight
By the Sunnes palenesse, and starres mournefull light;
But nature sure did differently display
From other dayes, the sad Thessalian day:
And if all men had skilfull Augurs bin,
By all the world Pharsalia had bin seene▪
Greatest of men, whose fates through the earth extend,
Whom all the gods haue leasure to attend;
These acts of yours to all posterity
Whether their owne great fame shall signifie,
Or that these lines of mine haue profited
Your mighty names; these wars, when they are read,
Shall stir th' affections of the readers minde,
Making his wishes, and vaine feares inclin'd
As to a thing to come, not past, and guide
The hearts of all to favour Pompey's side.
Pompey descending downe the hill displayes
His troopes reflecting rising Phoebus rayes,
Not rashly ore the fields: in order good
And marshall'd well the haplesse army stood.
The left wing first was Lentulus his care
With the first •egion, then the best in war,
And fourth: Thou, stout Domitius ▪ lead'st the right,
Valiant, though still vnfortunate in fight:
In the maine battell with his warlike bands
Brought lately from Cilicia, Scipio stands
Well fortify'd: heere vnder a command,
A g•ner•ll first in Aff•cks scorched land.
But all along the swift Enipeus side
The loose-rain'd troopes of Ponticke horsemen ride:
And mountaniers of Cappadocia;
Vpon the dryer fields in rich array
Doe the earths Monarchs, Kings, and Tetrarchs stand,
And all the states, that Roman swords command.
Thither from Libya came Numidians,
I•gr•as archers, Crete's Cydonians:
F•i•ce Gaules there fought against their wonted foe:
The•e warlike Spaniards their short shields did show.
The Conquerer of all triumphs now depriue,
And let no people this sad war surviue.
Caesar that day dislodging to provide
For corne, was marching out, when he espy'd
The foes descending downe the champion field,
And that so often wisht-for •ay beh•ld,
That on one chance of war should set the maine;
S••ke of delay, and covetous of reigne,
In this small tract of time condemn'd had he
The civill war as a slow villany.
But when fates falling ruine shake he saw,
And both their fortunes to a tryall draw:
His wondrous loue of sword some languishment
Gan feele: his minde, though ever confident
Of good successe, now doubts: from feare his owne,
As Pompey fortunes from presumption,
Did keepe his minde: at last exiling feares
With confidence he cheeres his souldiers.
Braue souldiers, the worlds aw, Caesars estate,
That lay of fight is come, which we from fate
So oft haue begg'd: oh doe not now desire,
But by your valours fortunes aide acquire.
What Caesar is lyes in your hands alone.
This is the day, which passing Rubicon
Was promist me: in hope of which we stirr'd.
And our forbidden triumphs haue differr'd.
This is the day that shall restore to you
Children and wiues, and shares of land bestow
Free'd from wars duties: this the day, that tryes
(Wi•ness'd by fate) whose cause the juster is
This field the conquer'd side shall guilty make.
If you with fire, and sword haue for my sake
Assaulted Rome, now fight like souldiers,
And free your swords from guilt: no hand in wars
Is pure in both sides iudgement: nor for me
Fight you alone, but that your selues may be
Free lords of all the world. I, for mine owne
Content, could liue in a Plebejan gowne,
Or be in any state, so you obteine
A perfect freedome; by my envy reigne.
Nor with much blood shall all the world be bought:
But youths of Greece in schooles of wrestling taught,
Base sluggish spirits, that never armes did beare,
And mixt Barbarian troopes are standing there,
That, when the armies joyne, will nere abide
The trumpets sound, nor showtes of their owne side.
In civill war few hands, alas, shall fight:
Most of the blowes vpon Romes foes shall light,
And rid the world of well-spar'd people, goe,
Breake through those dastard nations, and orethrow
The world at your first onset; make it knowne
That all those nations, which so oft were showne
In Pompey's triumphs, are not worthy prou'd
Of one poore triumph Ar• th' Armenians moov'd
Thinke you, what Generall shall Rome obtaine?
With least bloods losse would the Barbarians gaine
A soveraignety for Pompey? they abhor
All Romans, as their lords: and hate those more,
Whom they haue knowne. The trust of my affaires
To friends, whose valour through so many wars
In France I haue beheld, does fortune now
Commit: what souldiers sword doe not I know?
And when through th'aire a trembling pile is sent,
Ile truely tell you from what arme it went.
Those signes I see that nere your Generall fail'd,
Feirce lookes, and threatning eyes you haue prevail'd:
Me thinkes the rivers swell'd with blood I see,
And at your feete the slaughtered bodyes ly
Of Kings, and Senators; nations to day
Swim in this bloody field. But I delay
My fortunes, in detaining from the field
Your forward spirits: pardon me though I yeild
A while to pleasing hope: I nere did see
The gods so liberall, and so speedily:
But one fields distance from our wish are we.
What Kings, and nations are possest of now,
When this field's fought, is Caesars to bestow.
O gods, what stars, what influence of the sky
Has given so great a power to Thessaly?
This day allots the punishment, or gaines
Of all our wars: thinke vpon Caesars chaines,
His wrackes, and gibbets: thinke you see this face,
These quarter'd limmes stand in the market place:
Remember Sylla in the field of Mars,
For 'gainst a Syllane Generall are our wars.
My care's for you: this hand shall free mine owne,
Who ere lookes backe before the day be won,
Shall see me fall on mine owne sword, and dy.
You gods, whose cares are drawne downe from the sky
By Romes dissentions, let him Conquerer be,
That to the Conquer'd meanes no cruelty:
And thinkes his countrymen haue not in ought
Misdone, because against his side they fought.
When Pompey in a narrow place had shut
Your helpelesse valour vp, how did he glut
His sword with blood? but this I beg of you
Souldiers, let no man wound a flying foe:
Account him still your countreyman, that flyes.
But while they stand in fight, let not your eyes
Be moov'd with piety, though in that place
Your fathers stood, but with your swords deface
Their reverend lookes. Who ere has sheath'd his blade
In kinsman's breast, or by the wound he made
Has done no wrong to kindred, all as one
Shall I esteeme, kinseman, and foe vnknowne.
Fill vp the trenches teare the rampiers downe,
That in full maniples we may come on:
Spare not your campe; that campe shall be your owne
From which you dying army is come downe.
Scarse thus had Caesar spoke, when every one
Fell to their charge, and straight their armour don;
A quicke presage of happy war they take:
Of their neglected campe •avocke they make:
Not rank'd, nor marshall'd by the generall
Confus'd they stand, leaving to fortune all.
Had all beene Caesars ▪ had each souldier fought
For monarchy, and Romes sole Empire sought,
They could not all with more desire come on.
When Pompey saw them march directly downe,
That now the war admitted no delay,
But this by heavens appointment was the day,
He stands amaz'd, and cold: the war to feare
Twas fatall in so great a souldier.
But cheering vp his men his owne feares hiding,
On a proud steed through every quarter riding;
The time your valours wisht for, souldiers,
Is come, quoth he, the end of civill wars,
This is the sword's last worke, the judging hower
Of nations fates: now shew your vtmost power.
He that would see his houshold gods againe,
His countrey, wife, and children, must obtaine
All by the sword▪ the gods haue in this fight
Dispos'd them all: our just cause does invite
To hope: our swords the gods themselues shall guide
Through Caesars breast, and in his blood provide
Th' establishment of Roman liberty.
Had they to him decreed a Monarchy,
To my old age death might long since haue come.
It was no signe the gods were wroth with Rome,
Preserving Pompey for her leader now,
And all helpes else, that conquest can bestow.
Illustrious men, such as old times did show,
Doe willingly these dangers vndergoe.
Should the Camilli th'ancient Curii
Reviue, or the devoted Decii,
Heere they would stand. Forces we haue from th' East,
Numberlesse cityes aides▪ war never prest
So many hands: we vse all nations
Of the whole world, people of all the zones,
Of all mankinde twixt North, and South that dwell
Are heere: we may enclose that army well
With our wide stretch'd-out wings: the victory
Askt not all hands: some neede but shout, and cry.
Caesars small strength cannot employ vs all.
Thinke that your mothers from the city wall
Tearing their haire entreat your valour now,
Thinke that the old vnarmed Senate bow
Their honour'd hoary heads before your feete,
And Rome her selfe for freedome doth entreate:
Thinke that this age, and our posterity
Doe both entreat: one would in freedome dy,
The other be freeborne. And if there be
After these pledges, a roome left for me,
I with my wife and sonnes before your feete
(If th'honour of a generall would permit)
Would fall; vnlesse you conquer heere, your shame,
And Caesars mocke is banisht Pompey's name.
I craue in freedome my •ast age to spend,
And not •e taught to serue so neere my end.
This sad speech fi•'d the Roman spirits anew,
They wish to dy, should, what they feare, be true.
With aequall fury then both armyes meete;
One for ambition, th' other freedome fight.
These hands shall act, what no succeeding yeare,
Nor all mankind for ever can repaire
Though free from wars: this fight kills men to come,
And the next age, before they enter wombe:
All Latian names thence fabulous shall be,
And men in ruin'd dust shall scarsely see
The Gabii, Veii, Cora, nor the roome
Where Alba stood; nor faire Laurentium,
A countrey desolate, which none espyes.
But the forc'd Consuls in night sacrifice
Blaming old Numa's institution.
These monuments times ruining hand alone
Has not defac'd: wars ciuill crimes we see
In that so many cities empty'd be
To that small number is mankind reduc'd?
We all, whom the whole earth has since produc'd,
Are not enough the townes, and fields to fill:
One towne vs receiues vs all, and bondmen till
Th'Italian lands old houses stand alone
Rotten, and want a man to fall vpon:
And wanting her old Citizens there slaine,
Rome with the dreggs of men is fill'd againe.
This slaughter makes that Rome hereafter free
From civill war for many yeeres shall be.
Pharsalia is the cause of all these ills,
Let Canna yeild that our blacke annalls fills,
And Allia damn'd in Roman Calenders,
Rome has remembred these as her small scarres,
But would forget this day: oh fatall time!
Those liues, that fortune had from every clime
Brought heere to perish, might all losse repaire
Mankind susteines by pestilentiall ayre,
Sickenesse, towne-swallowing earth quakes, or fires rage:
Heere fortune showes the gifts of many an age
People, and Captaines, robbing vs of all
In one sad field: to shew, when Rome did fall,
How great she fell; the more thou did'st possesse.
Of earth, the shorter was thy happinesse.
All wars before did land on thee bestow;
To both the poles Sol saw thy conquests goe:
But that a little of the East: remain'd,
Thou all the sky-encompass'd globe had'st gain'd:
Thine had beene night, and day: the stars could shine▪
And planets wander ore no land but thine.
But this one day thy fate as far backe beares,
As 'twas advaunc'd in all those former yeres.
This bloody day is cause that India
The Roman Fasces cannot keepe in aw:
That Consuls doe not with their plowes designe
Sarmatian walls, nor in their bounds confine
The Scythian Daa, that still Parthians owe
For the blood lost in Crassus overthrow.
That liberty nere to returne againe,
And flying civill war, her flight has tane
Ore Tigris, and the Rhene; and can be brought
No more, though with our bloods so often sought:
Would we had nere that happinesse possest,
Which Scythia, and Germany has blest:
Would Rome had ever serv'd, since that first light
When by the augury of Vulturs flight
Romulus fill'd with theeues his walls begun,
Even till Pharsalia's wofull field was won.
Brutus we taxe; fortune, why did we frame
Our freedomes, lawes, or yeares by Consuls name?
Happy Arabians, Medes, and Easterne lands,
That still haue liv'd vnder their Kings commands:
We last of all (though now asham'd to bow)
A Monarch's yoke are forc'd to vndergoe.
No gods at all haue we: when all things mooue
By chance, we falsely thinke there is a Ioue.
Can he downe from the starry sky behold
Thessalia's slaughter, and his thunder held?
Can he with thunder cleaue a sencelesse tree,
Pholoe, Oete, harmelesse Rhodope?
Must Cassius hand rather this tyrant slay?
He at Thyestes feast could shut vp day,
Involving Argos in a suddaine night;
And can he lend Thessalia his light,
Where brothers fight, and sonnes 'gainst fathers are?
For mortall men no god at all takes care.
But for this woe revenge we doe obtaine
As much as fists that earth 'gainst heaven should gaine:
This war our Emperours does aequalize
To gods aboue, and their soules deifyes,
Adornes their heads with thunder, rayes, and stars:
Rome by mens soules in her gods temples sweares.
When both the armyes marching on apace,
Neere met, stood parted but a little space,
They veiw'd each others hands, striving to know
Each others face, thinking which way to throw
Their piles, from whence their fates most threatning show
What monstrous acts they were about to doe:
There they their brothers, and their fathers spy'd
Against them stand, yet would not change their side.
But piety their breasts amazed held,
And the cold blood in every limme congeal'd:
And every souldier his prepared pile,
And ready stretch'd-out arme contain'd a while.
The gods send thee, ô Craestinus, not death
The common plague, but feeling after breath,
Whose pile first throwne of all, the fight began,
And Thessaly with Roman blo•d did staine.
Oh frantike violence, did Caesar stand
Quiet, and was there a more forward hand?
Shrill cornets then began the aire to wound,
Th' alarums beat, and all the trumpets sound:
The noise, and showts of souldiers peirce the sky,
And reach the convexe of Olympus high,
Aboue the thundring cloudes: the noise they make
The Thracian Aemus sounding valleys take:
High Pelion's cavernes eccho backe the sound,
Which Pindus, and Pangaean rockes rebound:
Th'Octaean mountaines grone: the souldiers feare
Their showtes thus eccho'd from all hills to heare.
Numberlesse piles with different mindes are throwne;
Some wish to wound; others to light vpon
The ground, and keepe their harmelesse hands from ill;
Chance rules them, and makes guilty whom she will.
But the least part of slaughter heere was done
With darts, and flying steele: the sword alone
Was able civill quarells to decide,
And Roman hands 'gainst Roman breasts to guide.
Pompey's great army narrowly dispos'd
In a thicke Phalanx stand with bucklers clos'd
For fence: but wanted roome (their rankes thus fill'd)
To throw their piles, their swords, or armes to weild▪
But Caesars loose-rank'd troopes all nimbly goe,
And the thicke armed wedges of the foe,
Making their way through men and steele, assaile,
And through the strongest joynted coates of maile
Peirce the ill guarded breasts▪ each stroke findes out
A breast, though nere so fenc'd with armes about.
One army suffers, tother makes the war:
All cold and guiltlesse Pompeys weapons are:
All Caesars impious swords are reeking hot.
But fortune heere long doubting waver'd not;
She swiftly bore (fitting so great a day)
A mighty ruine torrent-like away.
When Pompey's horse ore all the fields at large
Had spred their wings, the foes in flanke to charge,
The light arm'd souldiers scatter'd all attended,
And 'gainst the foe their missile weapons bended;
With their owne weapons every nation fought,
Yet by all hands the Roman blood was sought;
Arrowes, stones, fire, lead headed darts were throwne,
Which melted in the aires hot motion.
There th'Ituraeans, Medes, Arabians shot
Their shafts, good archers all, yet levell'd not;
The aire before their eyes was only sought
By their wilde aimes, yet death from thence was wrought.
But no dire crime could staine the forraine steele:
Nought could worke mischiefe, but the Roman pile.
The ayre was da•kened with thicke arrowes flight,
Which ore the fields orespread a suddaine night.
Then Caesar fearing lest his front should yeild
To their assault, obliquely cohorts held,
Which suddainly from the right wing he sent,
Whither the wheeling horse their forces bent.
But Pompey's horse vnmindefull now of fight
Nor stay'd by shame at all, take speedy flight;
Vnhappily (alas) were civill wars
Left to the trust of barbarous souldiers.
As soone as ere some galled horse had throwne
Their riders, and their limbs had trampled on,
The horsemen fled, and left the field each one,
Or turning reines vpon their fellowes run.
No fight ensues, but execution hot,
One side with sword, the other with bare throat
Made war; nor could Caesarian hands suffice
To execute their routed enemies.
Oh would the blood that barbarous breasts did yeild,
Could haue suffic'd Pharsalia's mortall field,
And that no other blood thy streames might staine:
Let those bones scattered ore thy fields remaine:
But if thou wouldst with Roman blood be fill'd,
Spare all the nations: Let the Spaniards wilde,
Th' Armenians, Syrians, and Cilicians,
Galatians, Gaules, and Cappadocians
Surviue: for when this civill war is done,
These people will be Romans every one.
These feares once rais'd through every quarter fly,
Sent by the fates for Caesars victory.
Then came the war to Pompey's Roman power
The war, that variously had wander'd ore
The fields, there stucke, there Caesars fortune stay'd:
No forreine Kings fought there, no barbarous ayde
From severall nations to that place was brought:
There their owne brothers, there their fathers fought:
Mischiefe, and fury rag'd: there Caesar, are
Thy crimes; oh fly from this sad part of war
My soule, and leaue it to eternall night:
Let no succeeding age by what I write
Learne how much ill may be in civill fight.
Or rather let our teares, and sorrowes dy:
What heere thou didst, O Rome, conceal'd shall be.
Caesar th'inciting fury of his men,
And spur to their blind rage, lest his guilt then
Should wanting be at all, rides through all parts
Adding new fury to their fired hearts:
Viewing their swords, looking whose points with gore
Were lightly stain'd, whose blades were bloody'd ore:
Who faulter in their blowes, who hold their hand,
Who faintly strike, who fight as by command,
And who with greedinesse: who changes looke
To see a Roman slaine; himselfe then tooke
Survey of bodyes gasping on the ground,
To let out all the blo•d crushing their wounds;
As fierce Enyo shakes her bloody lance,
And Mars incites his warlike Thracians,
Or driues with furious lashes ore the field
His Horses starting at Minerva's shield.
Blacke nights of slaughter, and dire deedes arise;
Like one great voyce the dying souldiers cries,
Clashing of armed breasts falling to ground,
And swords with swords meeting, and breaking sound.
He with fresh swords his souldiers still supplyes,
To strike the faces of their enemies,
Forcing them on, still vrging at their backe,
And with his javeling beating on the slacke.
Against the Senate not Plebejan foes
He guides their hands, and swords; full well he knowes
Where the lawes liue, where the states blood does flow:
Where he may conquer Rome, and overthrow
The worlds last liberty. Together then
Fall Senators with Roman Gentlemen.
Those honour'd names Metells, Lepidi,
Corvini and Torqauati slaughter'd dy,
That oft commanders ore great Kings haue bin,
And, except Pompey, all the best of men.
In a Plebejan helme disguised there
What weapon, noble Brutus, didst beare?
The Senates highest hope, Romes greatest grace,
The last of all thy ancient honour'd race?
Through the arm'd foes rush not too rashly on,
Nor seeke out thy Philip•i•ke fa•e too soone:
Fate will to thee a Thessaly allot.
In vaine thou aimest there at Caesars throte:
He has not yet mounted the top of fate,
And reach'd that height, that governes humane state,
To merit that braue death; no, let him reigne,
That he, as Brutus offring, may he slaine.
Heere call Romes honour dyes: heere heap'd on high
The slaughter'd Senate with Plebeians ly.
But 'mongst those nobles, that to Styx were sent,
Wa• like Domitius death was eminent
Whom •ates had carry'd through all overthrowes;
Nere without him did Pompey's fortune loose:
Vanquisht so oft by Caesar, yet dyes now
With liberty, and gladly falls into
A thousand wounds, proud that he shall no more
Be pardon'd now. Him weltering in his gore
Caesar espy'd, with taunts vpbraiding thus,
Now my successor proud Domitius,
At length thou shalt forsake thy Pompey's side,
And war is made without thee. He reply'd
With that last breath, which in his dying breast
Struggled; thou, Caesar, hast not yet possest
The dire reward of all thy wickednesse:
But yet art doubtfull of thy fate, and lesse
Then Pompey: vnder whom secure I goe.
And a free ghost downe to the shades below:
And dying hope that thou subdu'd to day
To •s, and him for thy misdeedes shalt pay.
With this last speech away his spirit flyes,
And night eternall closes vp his eyes
We cannot in the worlds sad funerall
Particular teares pay to the death of all,
Nor search each private fate; whose breast a wound
Receiv'd; who spurn'd mens hearts vpon the ground;
Who through the mouth receiv'd his mortall wound,
And thence breath'd out his soule; who fell to ground
At the first stroke who stood vpright, the while
His lopt-off limbes fell downe; who with a pile
Was fast nail'd to the earth; whose blood spun out,
And sprinkled all his foes arm'd breast about;
Who kills his brother, and, that then he may
Without shame rifle, throwes his head away.
Who teares his fathers face, that standers by
Conjecture by his too much cruelty
Twas not his father, whom he robb'd of life.
No death is worthy of particular greife,
Nor haue we time to weepe for every wight.
No other losse was like Pharsalia's fight:
Rome there by souldiers, heere by kingdomes dyes:
There private mens, heere nations tragoedyes:
Heere flow'd Assyrian, Graecian, Ponticke blood:
But all these bloods the powerfull Roman flood
Droue through the field away. All people there
Are deeplyer wounded, then one age can bea•e:
Farre more then life, then safety heere is gone:
For all succeeding times we are orethrowne.
These swords subdue all ages that shall serue.
Alas what could posterity deserue
To be in thraldome bone? fought we with feare?
Spar'd we our throates? the punishment we beare
Of others flight. To vs, that since doe liue,
Fates should giue war, if they a tyrant giue.
Pompey perceiv'd Romes fate, and gods were gone,
In all this losse not mooved for his owne
Ill hap. Ascending a small hill to see
The slaughters all, that cover'd Thessaly,
Which, while the war endur'd could not be spy'd:
He thence discern'd how many people dy'd,
How many swords reach at his destiny,
In how much blood he falls, nor wishes he
(As wretches vse) all with himselfe to drowne,
And mixe the nations ruine with his owne:
But for survivall of most part of men
He deignes to thinke the gods even worthy then
Of prayers from him, and makes this to be
His sorrowes comfort; spare, ye gods, quoth he
To sinke all nations: Pompey (if you lift)
Although the world remaine, and Rome subsist,
May be made wretched; if moe wounds on me
You would inflict, a wife and sonnes haue I:
So many pledges haue we given to fate.
Ist nought for civill war to ruinate
Me, and my house? are we a losse so small
Without the world? why wouldst thou ruine all
Fortune? now nought is mine. With that he rides
Through his distressed troopes, and on all sides
Sounds a retreat, from death calling them backe,
Thinking himselfe not worth so great a wracke.
Nor lack'd he spirit their weapons to defy
With throat or breast, but fear'd, if he should dy,
No souldier then would fly, but there would fall,
And all the world •y with their generall,
Or out of Caesars sight a death he sought
In vaine: thy head to Caesar must be brought,
Where ere he please to see't. His wiues deare sight
Another reason was that caus'd his flight.
For in her sight the fates his death decree'd.
Then Pompey mounted on a gallant steede,
Fled from the field, fearing no swords behind,
But bearing still a fate-vnconquer'd minde:
No sighes, nor teares he spent: with majesty
His griefe was mixt, such as befitted thee
Pompey, in Romes calamity to shew.
With lookes vnchang'd didst thou Aemathia view.
That minde, which wars successe could neere erect
To pride, wars losses cannot now deject.
Fortun's as far below thy wretched fate,
As she was false to thy triumphant state.
Securely now from Empires burden free
Thou goest; and on thy past prosperity
Hast time to looke: all boundlesse hopes are gone;
And what thou wert may now be truely knowne.
Fly this dire battell, and to witnesse call
The gods, that none for thy sake, Pompey, fall,
That stay behind thee; in Thessalia,
No more then Aegypt, Munda, Affrica,
The battels greatest part fought not for thee:
Nor shall the honour'd name of Pompey be
Wars quarrell now; the foes that still will be
'Mongst vs, are Caesar, and Romes liberty:
And twill appeare more plaine after thy flight
Thy dying Senate for themselues did fight.
Let thy flight comfort thee, thou shalt not see
Those blood-staind troopes, nor their impiety;
The rivers swell'd with blood looke backe, and see,
And pitty Caesar: with what heart can be
Revisite Rome, made happyer by this field?
What banishment in forreine lands can yeild
To thee by thee what ere can be endur'd
Vnder th'Aegyptian tyrant, rest assur'd
The gods; and favouring fates, as best, preferre;
Twere worse for thee to be the conquerer
Let all the people waile and weepe no more,
But dry their teares, and let the world adore
As well thy ruine, as prosperity.
Looke vpon Kings with a commanding eye,
Aegypt, and Libyas Kings, whom thou hast crown'd,
And cityes buil• by thee and choose a ground
Where thou wilt dy. Larissa towne beheld
(First witnesse of thy fall) fled from the field
Thy noble selfe vnconquer'd by the fates.
Whose Citizens all issuing forth the gates
To meete thee (as if Conquerer) they went,
And gifts from loue, and sorrow did present:
They ope their temples, and their houses all:
And wish themselues pa•t•k•rs of his fall:
Much of his great name's left: in his owne eye
He seemes the least: nations would helpe him tr••,
Once more his fortune, and renew the war.
He cryes be faithfull to the Conquerer:
What should the conquer'd doe with townes and men?
Thou Caesar, thy countreys bowells then
Wert wading through Pharsalia's bloody field,
Whilest peoples loues to thee he reconcil'd.
Pompey rides thence: the people sigh, and cry,
And raile against each cruell deity
The people's favour now is truely proov'd:
Whilest great, thou couldst not know thy selfe belov'd.
When Caesar saw the field with Roman blood
Was overflow'd enough, he thought it good
His swords from execution to refraine,
And spare poore liues, that would haue dy'd in vaine.
But left the foes should to their campe in flight
Retire, and rest should banish terrour quite;
He straight determines to assault their wall,
Whilest fortune's hot, and terrour workes in all,
Nor does he thinke that this command appeares
Too harsh, too hot, and weary'd souldiers:
Small exhortation leads them to the prey.
Our victory (quoth he) is full to day,
And for our blood nought is remaining now
But the reward: which 'tis my part to show,
I cannot say to giue, what every man
Shall giue himselfe; behold yon tents that stand
Full of all riches: there gold rak'd in Spaine,
There th' Easterne Nations treasuryes remaine:
Pompey's, and all those Kings estates doe lacke
Possessours, souldiers: run, and overtake
Whom you pursue: and what so ere to you
Pharsalia giues, take from the conquer'd now.
This speech of Caesars, and golds impious loue
Over the swords the furious souldiers droue,
To tread on Senatours, and Captaines slaine,
What trench, what bulwarke could their force susteine?
Seeking the price of all their wars, and sin,
To know for what they haue so guilty been
Spoiling the world they found a wealthy masse,
Which for wars future charges gather'd was:
But their all-covering thoughts could not be fill'd
With what Spaines mines, and Tagus streames could yeild,
Or on their sands rich Arimaspians finde;
Though all the spoiles be theirs, yet in their minde
Their mischeife at too cheape a sale they vent,
And are bid losse in spoiling of these tents,
When to himselfe the Conquerour Rome decree'd
And in that hope whole mountaines promised:
Patricians tents impious Plebejans keepe,
In Kings pavilions common souldiers sleepe;
On brothers, and on fathers empty beds
The killers lay their parricidall heads;
But furious dreames disturbe their restlesse rest;
Thessalia's fight remaines in every breast▪
Their horrid guilt still wakes; the battell stands
In all their thoughts: they brandish empty hands,
Without their swords: you would haue thought the feild▪
Had groan'd, and that the guilty earth did yeild
Exhaled spirits, that in the aire did moue,
And Stygian feares possest the night aboue.
A sad revenge on them their conquest takes;
Their sleepes present the furies hissing snakes,
And brands; their countreymens sad ghosts appeare:
To each the image of his proper feare:
One sees an old mans visage, one a young,
Another's tortu•'d all the evening long
With his slaine brothers spirit: their fathers sight
Dants some: but Caesar's soule all ghosts affright.
Orestes so, not purg'd in Scythia,
Th' Eumenides affrighting faces saw;
Not more was Pentheus in Agaves fit
Dismay'd, nor she, when she was free'd from it.
Him all the swords that dire Pharsalia saw,
And which the Senate in revenge should draw,
Oppresse that night, and Hellish-monsters scourge.
But that, which most his guilty soule did vrge,
Was this, that Styx, the fiends, and furyes grim
(Pompey being yet aliue) had seiz'd on him.
But having suffred all, when dayes cleare light
Display'd Pharsalia's slaughter to his sight,
No dismall objects could •uert his eyes
From thence; the rivers swell'd with blood he sees,
And heapes of bodyes aequalling high hills,
And car•asses, whence blood, and filth distills,
He numbers Pompey's people, and that place
Ordaines for banquetting, from whence each face
He might discerne, and know them as they ly,
Proud that Aemathia's earth he cannot see,
Or scarse discerne the slaughter-cover'd ground.
In blood his fortune, and his gods he found.
And with that joyfull sight to feede his eyes,
To the wretch'd soules he funerall fire denyes,
Making Aemathia noisome to the aire.
Carthage, that gaue our consuls sepulcher,
And Libyan fire on Cannae did conferre,
Could not teach him his enemies t'inter:
Remembring still (his anger not even then
With slaughter slack'd) they were his countrey men.
We doe not seuerall fires, or tombs desire:
Doe but to all these nations grant one fire;
And let them not on pyles distinct be brent.
Or if thou aime at Pompey's punishment,
Pyl'd vp let Pindus wood, and Ossa be,
That he from sea Pharsalia's fire may see.
This anger bootes thee not; fort is all one
Whether the fire, or putrefaction
Dissolue them; all to natures bosome goe,
And to themselues their ends the bodyes owe.
If now these nations, Caesar, be not burn'd,
They shall, when earth, and seas to flames are turn'd.
One fire shall burne the world, and with the sky
Shall mixe these bones; where ere thy soule shall be,
Their soules shall goe; in ayre thou shalt not fly
Higher, nor better in Avernus ly.
Death frees from fortune: Earth receiues againe
What ever she brought forth: and they obtaine
Heavens coverture, that haue no vrnes at all.
Thou that deny'st these nations funerall,
Why dost thou fly these slaughter smelling fields?
Breath, if thou canst, the aire this region yeilds,
Or drinke this water, Caesar, but from thee
The rotting people challenge Thessaly,
And keepe possession 'gainst the conquerer.
To the sad food of this Aemathian war,
Senting from far the bloods corruption
The Thracian wolues, Arcadian lions run:
Beares from their dens, dogs from their kennells come:
And all those ravenous creatures else, on whom
Nature bestowes the strongest sents, ful well
The ayre by carrion putrify'd to smell.
Hither all birds of prey assembled are,
That long had waited on this civill war:
Birds, that from Thrace to Nile in winter goe,
Stay'd longer then, then they were wont to doe:
Nere did moe birds of prey in one ayre fly,
Nor did moe vulturs ever cloud the sky;
From every wood came foule: each tree was fil'd
With bloody birds, that crimson drops distill'd
Downe from the aire blood, and corruption rain'd
The conquerours face, and impious eagles stain'd.
Birds from their weary tallands oft let fall
Gobbets of flosh; nor were the people all
Consumed so, buryed in bird, or beast,
Which would not on their bowels fully feast,
Nor sucke their marrow all, but lightly tast;
The greatest part of Roman flesh is cast
Disdain'd away: which by the Sunne, and time
Dissolv'd, is mixed with Thessalian slime.
Vnhappy Thessaly, what hast thou done
T' offend the angry gods, that thee alone
So many deaths, and impious fates should staine?
What age, what length of time can purge againe
The guilt that thou hast wrought? what corne in thee
And grasse with blood discolour'd shall not be?
What plow share, but some Roman ghost shall wound?
Before that time new battells on thy ground
Shall be; and impious civill wars shall staine
Thy fields (before this blood be dry) againe.
If all the graues of our dead ancesters
We should turne vp, their tombes that stand, and theirs
Whose time-consumed vrnes haue cast abroad
Th'enclosed dust: moe ashes would be trod,
And bones by harrows teeth digg'd vp, and found
In the sad furrowes of Thessaliaes ground.
No Marriners had sailed from thy shore,
Nor Husbandmen had plow'd thee any more,
The Roman peoples graue; thy ghostly field
Had no inhabitant for ever till'd:
No heards of cattell on thy plaines had run.
Nor durst the shepheards feede their flockes vpon
Thy pasture fields, with Roman blood manur'd:
Nor habitable nor to be endur'd,
(As in the torrid, or cold i y zone)
Shouldst thou haue lyen, forsaken, and vnknowne,
If thou hadst beene not first, but onely seat
Of wicked war▪ Oh giue vs leaue to hate
This guilty land; ye gods▪ why doe you staine
The world, t'absolue it so? the blood in Spaine,
Sicilian seas, Mutina, Leucas spilt
Has quite absolv'd Philippi fields from guilt.