Book VIII

The Argument
Through devious deserts vanquish'd Pompey flyes,
And sailes to Lesbos; whence with weeping eyes
He takes his wife In severall flying fleetes
Sextus, and other Roman Lords he meetes.
Deiotarus the Gallogracian King
Is sent to great Arsacides, to bring
To aide of Pompey's side the Parthian bowes.
The Lords consult where to retire, and chose
Aegypts base shore. Th'vnthankefull king betrayes
Old Pompey comming: and before the face
Of Sextus, and Cornelia, ere he lands,
By base Achillas, and Septimius hands
Great Pompey dyes. By night poore Codrus comes,
And on the shore his halfe burnt trunke entombes
Without the head. The author doth inveigh
'Gainst treachereous Aegypt, and base Ptolemey.

ORe woody Tempe, and th' Herculian straits
Following th'Aemonian woods desert retreats
(Though farre about) great Pompey rode; his steede
Quite spent past helpe of spurre had lost his speede.
Through devious wayes he turnes, and leaues behinde
No tracke of his vncertaine flight; the winde
Filling the shaken woods with murmuring noises
Made him afraide, and his owne followers voices,
That rode behinde, and by him For (although
Fall'n from his height of former fortunes now)
He thinkes his blood set at no vulgar rate:
But as high priz'd (still mindfull of his fate)
By Caesar, as himselfe for Caesars head
Would giue. But through the deserts as he fled,
His presence, and majestike face deny'd
A safe concealement; many, as they hy'd
Vnto his campe, and had not heard his fall,
Stood in amaze to meete their generall:
Wondring at fortunes turnes, and scarse is he
Beleft, relating his owne misery.
He grieues that any his low state should see,
And wishes rather in all lands to be
Vnknowne, and through the world obscurely goe.
But fortunes ancient favour brings this woe
His present sinking state more to depresse
By honours weight, and former happinesse.
Now he perceiues he did too early clime,
Blames his triumphant youth in Sylla's time.
And grieues to thinke vpon, in these sad dayes,
His Ponticke lau••ll, or Pyratick• bayes.
So too long age great'st happinesse destroyes,
And life surviving Empire; former joyes
Breede greife, vnlesse wi•h them our end be sent,
A•d timely death ensuing wors prevent
Let none but with a minde prepar'd to dy,
Dare to adventure on prosperity.
Now to the shore be came, where Peneus ran
Red with Pharsalia's slaughter to the maine.
There a small barke vnfit for seas, and windes,
Scarse safe in shallowest rivers, Pompey findes,
And goes aboord▪ He, with whose navyes oares
Even yet Corcyra shakes, and Leucas shoares,
That tam'd Cicilia, and Liburnia,
Goes fearfull now in a small barke to sea.
To Lesbos shore his sailes commanded are
By thee, Cornelia, conscious of his care,
Where thou then lay'st, far more with sorrow fill'd,
Then if th'hadst bin in dire Pharsalia's field.
Thy carefull breast still sad presages shake,
And feares thy restlesse slumbers still awake.
Each night presents Thessalia: when night's done,
To th'shore, and sea orehanging rockes begone
With woe, to veiw the Oceans face, she hyes,
And still all ships, that come, she first espyes,
But dares aske nothing of her husbands state.
Lo now a ship that comes; alas what fate
It brings, thou knowst not; but behold thy feares,
Thy cares whole summe, thy vanquisht lord appeares
Himselfe the sad relater of wars crime.
Why now lament'st thou not, thus loosing time?
When thou may'st weepe, thou fear'st, the ship drawne nigh,
She runs, and sees the crime of destiny,
Pompey palefac'd, his hoary haires hung downe
Ore his sad brow, his garments squallid growne.
Then greife contracts her soule: a suddaine night
Invades her sense, and reaues her eyes of light;
Her nerue-forsaken joynts all faile: cold is
Her heart; deceiv'd with hope of death she lyes:
But Pompey landed searches the shores side;
Whom when Cornelia's maids now neere espy'd,
They durst not on fates cruelty complaine,
More then with silent sighs, striving in vaine
To lift their lady vp; whom in his armes
Great Pompey takes, and with embraces warmes
Her key-cold breast. But when the fled blood fills
Her outward parts, Husbands hand she feeles,
And better brookes his visage; he forbid
Her veild to fate, and thus her sorrow chid.
Why is thy noble strength of courage broke
(Woman descended from so great a stocke)
By the first wound of fate? thou hast the way
To purchase fame, that never shall decay,
Thy sexes praise springs not from war, or state,
But faithfull loue to an vnhappy mate.
Aduance thy thoughts, and let thy piety
Contend with fortune: loue me now cause I
Am conquerd, sweete, 'tis more true praise for thee
To loue me thus, when all authority,
The sacred Senate, and my Kings are gone.
Begin to loue thy Pompey now alone.
That griefe extreame, thy husband yet aliue,
Becomes thee not; thou shouldst that sorrow giue
To my last funeralls, thou art bereft
Of nothing by this war: thy Pompey's left
Aliue and safe: his fortunes onely gone:
'Tis that thou wail'st, and that thou lovd'st alone.
Chid by her Husband thus, by shames constraint
She rise, and vtter'd this most sad complaint.
Would I to hated Caesar had bin led
A bride, since happy to no Husbands bed.
Twice haue I hurt the world: my bridall lights
Erinnys, and th'vnhappy Crassi's sprights
Carry'd; accursed by those ghosts I hare
Th' Assyrian fortune to this civill war.
I was the cause that all these nations dy'd,
And all the gods forsooke the juster side.
O greatest Lord, worthy of better fate
Then my sad marriage: had dire fortunes hate
Such power on thee? why did I marry thee
To make thee wretched? take revenge on me,
Which willingly Ile pay; to make the sea
More passable, Kings faiths more firme to thee,
And all the world more hospitable, drowne
Me by the way, oh would this life had gone
Before to get thee victory, but now
Deare Pompey expiate thine overthrow.
Where ere thou lyest, ô cruell Iulia,
Reveng'd already in Pharsalia,
Come wreake thine anger, et thy strumpets death
Appease thy wrath, and spare thy Pompey's breath.
This said, and sinking in his armes, her fall
Againe drew teares from the spectators all:
Pompey's great heart relented, and that eye
Wept there, that in Pharsalia's field was dry.
The M•tylenaeans then thus on the shore
Bespake great Pompey; if for evermore
It shall our honour be to haue preserv'd
Thy dearest pledge, if we haue so deserv'd:
To grace the city of thy servants daine,
And heere with vs, though but one night, remaine;
Make this a place honour'd for evermore,
A place, that Roman pilgrims may adore.
Our towne before all townes thou should'st approue;
For all townes else may hope for Caesars loue:
We haue already trespast; further yet
This is an Ile, and Caesar wants a fleete;
Besides, thy nobles know this place, and heere
Will meete; thy fates on this knowne shore repaire:
Take our gods wealth, our temples gold, and bands
Of our young men to serue by sea, or land:
Take thou (though conquer'd) Lesbos forces heere,
Lest Caesar presse them as the Conquerer.
Oh cleare this faithfull land of that foule crime,
That thou, which loud'st vs in thy prosperous time,
Should'st feare our faith in thy adversity.
Glad of these mens so wondrous piety
For the worlds sake, that some fidelity
Was left to wretched states, this land (quoth he)
That I of all the world most deare esteem'd
By this great pledge I left with you it seem'd
She was the hostage that my loue was here,
That here my houshold gods, and countrey were;
Heere was my Rome, fled from the field, before
I came to you, I toutch'd vpon no shore;
Knowing that Lesbos in preserving her
Had purchas'd Caesars i•e, I did not feare
To giue you cause your pardons all to plead;
Let it suffice that I your guilt haue made:
I must through all the world my fates pursue.
Oh happy Lesbos, ever fam'd; from you
People, and Kings shall learne fidelity
To vs, or faithfull you alone shall be.
Which lands are true, which false I now must try.
Heare ô ye gods, it any gods with me
Remaine, my last of prayers, grant vs to finde
A land like Lesbos, whose still faithfull minde
Dares giue safe landing to our conquer'd state,
And parting safe not fearing Caesars hate.
His sad companion then aboord he tooke.
You would haue thought all Lesbos had forsooke
Their natiue soile exil'd: so great a cry
Was rais'd, and wofull hands heav'd to the sky
All ore the shore, for Pompey least of all,
(Though he deserv'd their sorrow by his fill)
But seeing her depart, whom they had seene
All this war time, as their owne citizen,
The people wept; of her the matrons dry
From teares, could hardly haue tane leaue, though she
Vnto her lord a Conquerer had gone:
She so had gain'd the loue of every one
By vertuous, courteous carriage, modesty
Of a chast looke: proud to no company:
Lowly to all, and such her life was seene
While her lord stood, as he had conquer'd bin.
Now Titans orbe halfe drowned in the seas
Gaue pa•t to vs, part to th' Antipodes:
When care in Pompey's restlesse bosome runs
Sometimes on Romes confederate states, and townes,
And kings vncertaine faiths, sometimes vpon
The South-scorch'd regions of the torrid zone:
Sometimes, as too sad burdens, he layes by
His wearied cares of future destiny,
Asking the master of each star, and where
He guesses land: what rules heaven giues to steere
His ship at sea: what stars to Syria guide:
Which of Bootes fires to Lybias side
Directs; to this the master thus replyes:
We follow not those stars, which through the skyes
Doe slide, and passe away▪ vnconstant stars
In the vnfixt pole deceiue the marriners;
That pole, that never falls, nere drownes in sea
Famous for Cynosure, and Helice,
Doth gui••e our ships, when ere that stars got vp
Right verticall, just ore the saileyards top,
Then to the Bosphorus we make apase,
And sea•, that Synthiaes crooked shores embrace.
But when more low, and neerer to the sea
Artophil•x, and Cynosura be,
Then to the Syrian po•ts our course we steere:
Cano•us then is elevated there,
Which feares the North, and in the Southerne skyes
Remaines alone. Who thence to th'left hand plyes
(Pharos ore past) into the Syrtes falls
But whither now shall we direct our sailes?
To whom with doubtfull thoughts Pompey replyes:
In all the course at sea obserue but this,
To keepe thy ship still far from Thessaly,
And to the heavens, and seas leaue Italy,
The rest trust to the winds; I now haue tane
My deare left pledge Cornelia in againe.
I then was certaine whither to resort,
But now let fortune finde vs out a p•rt.
Thus Pompey spake; the master straightway turnes
About his sailes stretch'd out with aequall hornes,
And to the left hand guides the ship, to plow
Those waues, that twixt Chios, and Asia flow,
To the ships length he turnes his sailes about.
The sea perceiues the change: her waves are cut
By the sharpe stemme with different motion.
The skilfull Charrioter not halfe so soone
Raines round his horse, and doth with suddaine change
About the goale his wheeling charriot range.
Sol hid the stars, and land discovered,
When those, that from Pharsalia's battell fled,
To Pompey came; and first from Lesbos shores
He met his son; then Kings, and Senators.
For Pompey yet (although at that sad time
Vanquish'd, and fled) had Kings to waite on him▪
Proud scepter'd Kings, that ore the East did reigne,
Attended there in banish'd Pompeys traine.
Then Pompey King Deiotarus commands
To goe for aide to farthest Easterne lands.
Most loyall King, since on Pharsalia's plaines
This world was lost from Rome, it now remaines
To try the East, those that by Tigris ly,
And by Euphrates yet from Caesar free.
Grieue not, though to repaire my fortunes lost,
Thou to the Medes, or farthest Scythians go'st,
Or quite beyond the day, that this world sees.
Beare my salutes to great Arsacides;
And if our ancient league remaine, which I
By Latian Ioue, by his owne deity
He swore let the Armenian archers strong,
Their well-bent bowes, and quivers bring along:
If you, O Parthians, vndisquieted
I ever left, when I pursu'd the fled
Vnquiet Alans to the Caspian strait,
And forc'd you not for safety to retreat
To Babylon: marching ore Cyrus ground,
And the Chaldaean kingdomes vtmost bound,
Appearing nearer then the Persian
To the Suns rise, where into th' Ocean
Nysas, Hydaspes, and swift Ganges fall,
Suffer'd you only, when I conquer'd all,
To goe vntriumph'd: Parthias King alone
Of all th' Easts monarchs, scap'd subjection.
Nor once alone doe you your safety ow
To me; who after Crassus overthrow,
Appeas'd the just incensed wrath of Rome?
For all my merits now let Parthia come
Out of her bounds appointed, and passe ore
Greeke Zeugma's walls, and the forbidden shore.
Conquer for Pompey: Rome will loose the day
Gladly. The King refus'd not to obey
(Though hard were his command; laying aside
His kingly robes, and in a servants weede
Attir'd he goes; in a distressed time
'Tis safe for Kings like poorest men to seeme.
Therefore how much liues he, that's truely poore,
Safer then Kings? The King tooke leaue at shore.
And by the Icarion rockes great Pompey gone
Leaues Ephesus and sea-calme Colophon:
Shaving small Samos foaming rockes he go's:
A gentle gale blowes from the shore of Cos:
Gindon, and Phebus-honour'd Rhodes he leaues,
And sailing straight in the mid-Ocean saues
Telmessums long, and winding circuits. First
Pamphylia greetes their eyes; but Pompey durst
Commit his person to no towne, but thee
Little Phaselis: thy small company,
And few inhabitants could not cause a feare,
More in the ship then in thy walls there were.
But sailing thence againe, high Taurus showes
It selfe; and Dipsas, that from Taurus flowes.
Could Pompey thinke, when erst he clear'd the seas
Of Pirates rage, it purchas'd his owne ease?
He now flyes safe along Cicilian shores
In a small ship▪ there many Senators
Following oretake their flying generall
Within the haven of Celendrae small,
Where in and out ships on Selinus past.
In full assembly of the lords at last
Thus sadly Pompey spake; my Lords, whose sight
(As deare companions bot• in war, and flight)
I doe esteeme my country, though we stand
On a bare shore, in poore Cicilian land,
Attended with no force, advice to take,
And new provision for a war to make,
Yet bring couragious hearts: I lost not all
In Thessaly, nor did my fortune fall
So low, but that this head againe may rise.
Could Marius after all his miseryes
In Libya, rise to a seaventh Consulship?
And me so lightly fall'n will fortune keepe?
A thousand Captaines on the Graecian sea,
A thousand ships I haue: Pharsalia
Has rather scatter'd, then quite overthrowne
My strength: but me my actions fame alone
Which all the earth haue seene, my name, that now
The whole world loues, shall guard▪ Consider you
Th' Aegyptian, Libyan, Parthian monarchies,
B•th in their strength, and faith, and then advise
Which fittest is to ayde Roms labouring state.
But I; my Lords, will to your eares relate
Freely my secret'st cares, and tell the truth
How I encline; I doe suspect the youth
Of Aegypts King; for true fidelity
Requires strong yeares; I feare the subtlety,
And double heart of Mauritania's King;
Remembring Carthage, whence his race did spring,
He gapes for Italy, and his vaine brest
Is much with thought of Hanniball possest;
Whose blood commixt with th'old Numidians
Obliquely Iuba's pedegree distaines.
He swell'd to see Varus a suppliant growne,
And Roman fates inferiour to his owne.
Therefore, my Lords, to th' Easterne world let vs
Retire; Euphrates with a spacious
Channell divides the world; the Caspian straits
On tother side yeild safe, and large retreats;
Another pole measures th' Assyrian dayes,
And nights: another colour beare the seas,
Sever'd from ours; their ain•e is soveraignty:
Their bowes more strong, their steeds more fierce, and high
Then ours, no boy, nor aged man wants skill,
Or strength to shoot: deadly their arrows kill.
Their bowes first brooke Pellaean speares, and won
Th' Assyrian wall-renowned Babylon,
And Median Bactra. Nor so fearefull are
The Parthians of our piles, but that they dare
Come out to war against vs, they haue try'd
Their shafts sufficiently when Crassus dy'd.
Nor are their trusty shafts arm'd at the head
With steele alone, but deadly venomed:
Slight wounds are mortall, and the least blood drawne
Will kill. Oh would on the fierce Parthian
I were not forced to depend: their fate
Does too too much Romes fortune aemulate:
Too many gods ayde them. He draw from home
Some other nations of the East to come
To war. But if Barbarians leagues deceiue
Our hopes or else our scorn'd alliance leaue;
Let fortune then our sad, and shipwrack'd state
Beyond the knowne, and traffiqu'd world translate;
I will not sue to Kings whom I haue made,
But in my death this comfort shall be had
Lying far off this body shall not be
Subject to Caesar's rage, nor piety
But there revolving my whole life's past fate
Still honour'd in those parts was Pompey's state.
How great has Easterne Tanais me seene?
How great beyond Maeotis haue I bin;
Into what lands did my victorious name
More sound, or whence in greater triumph came?
Favour my purpose Rome, what happyer
Can the go is grant thee, then in civill war
To vse the Parthian armes to overthrow
That land, and mixe their ruine with our woe?
When the fierce Parthians haue with Caesar fought
Crassus revenge, or mine must needes be wrought,
This said he heard their murmur to condemne
His plot. But Lentulus 'mongst all of them
In spirit, and noble griefe the forward'st man
Thus (worthy his late Consulship) began.
Has the Pharsalian losse so broke thy minde?
Has one dayes fate the world so low declin'd?
Doth that one battell our whole cause decide,
And no cure left to helpe our wounded side?
Is no hope left thee, Pompey▪ but to sue
At the proud Parthians feete; wouldst thou eschew
All lands, and climes, and thither aime thy flight,
Where crosse poles reigne, and vnknowne starres giue light,
T'adore the Parthians, and their deityes,
Chaldaean fires, and Barbarous sacrifice?
Why in this war pretend'st thou liberty?
Why is the wretched world deceiv'd by thee,
If thou canst serue? whose name they trembled at,
As the cheife ruler of the roman fate,
Whom they haue seene leade captiue Kings before
From wilde Hyrcania, and the Indian shore,
Shall they now see cast downe, and broke by fate,
Measuring themselues by Pompey's begging state,
With Rome, and Italy aspire t'enherit?
Thou canst spake nothing worth thy fate, and spirit:
Their ignorance ith' Roman tongue requires
That thou in teares shouldst vtter thy desires.
Would'st thou so wound our shame, that not from Rome,
But Parthia the revenge of Rome should come?
She chose thee Generall of her civill war.
Why doest thou spread her losse, and wounds so far
As Scythia, and teach Parthia to goe
Beyond her bound? Rome shall in her deepe woe
This speciall comfort loose of bringing in
No Kings, but serving her owne citizen.
Canst thou delight from farthest parts to come
Leading fierce nations 'gainst the walls of Rome,
Following those Eagles, that slaine Crassus lost?
That only King, that from th' Aemathian host
Was absent (fortune did his favour guide)
Will he provoke the Conquerers strong side,
And joyne with vanquisht Pompey, thinke you? no,
We haue no cause to trust that nation so,
The people all borne in the Northren cold
Are lovers of the war, hardy, and bold;
But in the East, and Southerne climes, the heat
Of gentle aire makes them effoeminate.
Their men soft cloathing; and loose garments weare.
Parthians vpon the Median fields, and where
Along Sarma•ian plaines swift Tigris flowes,
By liberty of flight can by no foes
Be vanquished; but where the earth does swell,
Ore craggy hills they cannot clime so well:
Nor in darke places can they vse the bow:
Nor dare they swim torrents that swiftly flow:
Nor in the field with blood all over dy'd
Dare they the dust, and Summer Sunne abide;
No rams, nor engines can the Parthian vse,
Nor fill the trenches vp: when he pursues,
What ere is arrow-profe, serues for a wall,
Slight are their wa•s, their fights like flyings all;
They stragling fight, apter to fly then stand.
Their arrowes venom'd are, nor close at hand
Dare they maintaine a fight: far off with bowes
They shoot, and where it lists the wind bestowes
Their wounds; but fight of sword does strength requires
All manly nations the sword-fight desire.
At the first on set they'll disarmed be,
And when their quivers are exhaust, must flee;
Their trust in poyson is, not in their hands.
Think'st thou them men, Pompey, that dare not stand
Without such helpes, the hazard of a fight?
Can such base aide be worth so long a flight?
For thee so far from thine owne land to dy,
And vnder barbarous earth entomb'd to ly
In a base monument, yet such a one
As will he envy'd, Crassus having none?
Thy state is not so pitifull: for death
(Nor fear'd by men) ends all: but losse of breath
Vnder that wicked King Cornelia feares not.
The Venus of those barbarous courts who heares not?
Which like bruit beasts all wedlocks rites exile,
And with wiues numberlesse all lawes defile:
Th'incestuous beds abhorred secrets ly
Ope to a thousand concubines; rais'd high
With wine, and banqueting, the King refraines
No lawlesse lust, though nere so full of staines:
Th' embraces of so many women can
Not all the night tire one insatiate man;
In Kings incestuous beds their sisters ly,
And mothers, which should names vnstained be.
O•dipus wofull tale condemns alone
Thebes of a crime, though ignorantly done:
But there how often does the Parthian King
Arsacides from such foule incest spring?
What can be wickednesse to him, that may
Defile his mother? shall Cornelia
Metellus noble progeny be led
The thousand'th wife to a Barbarians bed?
Yet none more often will the tyrant vse
Then her: her husbands titles will infuse
A scornefull lust: and, which will please him more,
He'll know that she was Crassus wife before,
And comes, (as fate did her to Parthia ow)
A captiue for that former overthrow.
Thinke on that slaughter: 'twill not only bring
Shame, to haue begg'd aide from that fatall King,
But to haue made a civill war before;
For what will Caesar, and thy selfe be more
Accus'd by all, then that, while you two fought,
There could for Crassus no revenge be wrought?
'Gainst Parthia all our armyes should haue gone:
And that no strength might want, from garrison
Our Northren lands should haue bin free'd each one,
Till treacherous •usa, and proud Babylon
Had fall'n for tombes vpon our slaughter'd men.
Of Parthian peace, fortune, we beg an end;
And, if Thessalia end the civill war,
Against the Parthian send thy Conquerer:
Of all the world I should rejoyce alone
At Caesar's triumphs ore that nation.
When thou the cold Araxis streams hast crost,
Shall not the slaughter'd Crassus mourning ghost
Vpbraide thee? thou, whom our vnbury'd ghosts
Long since expected with revenging hosts,
Com'st thou to sue for peace? besides thine eyes
Sad monuments of Roman tragoedyes
Shall greete the walls, on which our Captaines heads
Were fixt: where bodyes of our souldiers dead
Euphrates swallow'd and swift Tigris streame
Rowl'd backe againe to earth. If thou to them
Canst sue, why, Pompey, doest thou scorne to pray
To Caesar sitting in Thessalia?
Looke rather vpon Romes confederates,
And if thou doe suspect the Southerne states,
And Iuba's falsehood, goe to Ptolomey;
Aegypt by Lybian quickesands Westerly
Is guarded: on the East fall Niles seven floods,
To th' sea; a land content with her owne goods;
A land that needes nor raine, nor merchandise,
So much on only Nilus she relyes.
Young Ptolemey reignes there, that owes his crowne
To thee, once left to thy tuition.
Feare not the shadow of a name: no hurt
Can be in tender yeares: in an old court
Let not religion, faith, or trust be sought:
Men vs'd to scepters are asham'd of nought:
The mildest governement a kingdome findes
Vnder new kings. This speech quite turn'd their minds.
How are despairing states most free and bold?
Pompey's opinion is by all controll'd.
They leaue Cilicia, and to Cyprus mooue
Their course. No land does Venus better loue
Still mindfull of her birth (if we at all
Thinke gods were borne, or had originall)
Pompey departing thence his course gan bend
Round all the Cyprian rocks, that Southward tend,
And got into the enterposed maine;
Nor by the nights weake light could he attaine
Mount Casius; but with strugling sailes, and strength
A lower port of Aegypt reach'd at length,
Where parted Nilus greatest channell flowes
And to the Ocean at Pelusium goes.
That time was come, wherein just Libra weighes
The howers, and makes the nights aequall with dayes:
Then payes the winter nights howers, which the spring
Had tane away. They, hearing that the King
Was at mount Casius, thither make repaire:
The Sun yet was not downe, the winde blew faire.
The s•outs along the shore post to the court,
And fill their fearefull eares with the report
Of Pompey's comming; though their time were small
For counsell, yet the Aegyptian monsters all
Were met: 'mongst whom Achoreus began,
Whom age taught modesty, a milde old man,
(Him superstitious Memphys, that observ'd
Th' encrease of Nile, brought forth: while he had serv'd
At the gods altars, not one Apis liv'd
Fiue changes of the Moone) his speech reviv'd
The sacred league of Ptolomey's dead father,
And Pompey's merits; but Photinus rather
A counseller for tyrants, with base breath
Durst thus presume to counsell Pompey's death.
Iustice, and truth haue many guilty made:
Faith suffers, Ptolomey, when it would aide
Whom fortune hates; joyne with the gods, and fate,
And fly the wretched, loue the fortunate:
Profit from honesty differs as far
As does the sea from fire, earth from a star.
Crownes loose their power, whilest only good they doe:
Respect of right all strength does overthrow.
Tis mischeifes freedome, and th'vncurbed sword,
That does to hated crownes safety affoord.
No cruell actions, vnlesse throughly done,
Are done secure; let him from court be gone,
That would be good; vertue, and soveraignety
Doe not agree; nothing but feare shall he,
That is asham'd a tyrant to be deem'd.
Let Pompey rue that he thy yeares contemn'd,
Thinking thou couldst, not from thy shore driue backe
A conquer'd man: let not a stranger take,
Thy scepter: if thou wouldst resigne thy reigne,
Th' hast neerer pledges, giue the crowne againe
To thy condemned sister: lets keepe free
Our Aegypt from the Roman slavery.
Shall we, that did not in the war adhere
To Pompey, now provoke the Conquerer?
Vagrant through all the world, hopelesse of all
He seekes with what lands ruine he may fall:
Haunted with civill war slaine ghosts he flyes
Not only Caesar, but the Senates eyes,
Whose greater part feedes fowles in Thessaly.
He feares those nations, whom he left to dy
Mixt in one bloody field: he feares those Kings,
Whose haplesse states his fall to ruine brings.
Now guilty of the losse, harbour'd by none,
To vs, whom yet he has not overthrowne,
He seekes; a greater cause, ô Ptolomey,
Haue we to accuse Pompey; why would he
Our quiet land staine with the crime of war,
And make vs hated by the Conquerer?
Why does thy misery choose our land alone
To bring Pharsalias fortune, and thine owne
Fear'd punishment into? we beare a blame
Already, (and our swords must purge the same,)
In that, because the Senate moov'd by thee
Gaue vs a crowne, we wisht thy victory.
This sword, now drawne by fate, we did provide
To wound not Pompeys, but the conquer'd side,
And rather could we wish for Caesar's head:
But whither all are carry'd, we are led.
Mak'st thou a doubt of our necessity
To kill thee now we may? what strength haue we
For thee to trust, wretch'd man? thou sawst our men
Vnarm'd, to plow soft mould scarse able, when
Nile ebb'd. Our kingdomes strength tis fit that we
Try, and confesse; canst thou, ô Ptolomey
Raise Pompey's ruine, vnder which great Rome
It selfe is fall'n so low? or dar'st thou come
To stir the ashes of Pharsalia,
And such a war vpon thy kingdome draw?
We to no side, before the battell, clest;
Shall we now cleaue to Pompey's, which is left
By the whole world? provoking the knowne fates,
And feared strength of Caesar? wretched states
Aide they, that did their prosperous times attend.
No faith ere chose a miserable friend.
The mischiefe pleas'd them all: the young king proud
Of this strange honour, that his men allow'd
Him to command so wonderfull a thing,
Chose out Achillas for the managing.
Where the false land in Casian sands does ly
Stretch'd out, and fords witnesse the Syrtes nigh,
Weapons, and parteners of his murdrous guile
He puts in a small boate. Oh gods, durst Nile,
Durst barbarous Memphis, and th'effoeminate men
Of soft Canopus harbour such a spleene?
Has civill war deprest the world so low?
Or are the Roman fates dejected so?
Are Pharian swords admitted, and a roome
For Aegypt left into this war to come?
In this at least ye civill wars be true:
Bring well knowne hands, keepe forreine beasts from you,
If Pompey's far-fam'd name deserue to be
The crime of Caesar. Feares not Ptolomey
The ruine of that name? or when the sky
Thunders, dar'st thou, effoeminate Ptolomey,
Insert thy profane hands? to terrify
Thee, King, a Romans name enough should be,
Without that worth that did the world controll:
Rode thrice in triumph to the capitoll:
That govern'd Kings: that led the Senates war:
And sonne in law was to the Conquerer.
Why with thy sword our bowells doest thou wound?
Thou doest not know, proud boy, vpon what ground
Thy fortunes stand, thou now canst claime no right
To Aegypts scepter: for in civill fight
He's fall'n, that Aegypts crowne on thee bestow'd.
Now Pompey's ship tooke downe her sailes, and: •ow'd
Toward the shore. The wicked band drew neere
In a small two-oar'd boate; with fained cheere
Tell him the Kingdome at his service stands;
And faining that the shore for shelues, and sands
Could not approached be by ships so great,
Into their little boate they doe entreat
He would descend. If by the fates decree,
And everlasting lawes of destiny
Pompey condemned to that wretched end
Had not bin forc'd to shore; none of his friends
Wanted resages of the dire event.
For had their faith beene pure, if they had meant
Their Scepter giver truely t'entertaine
In Court, th Aegyptian King with all his traine
And fleete had come. Pompey to fate giues way,
And, bid to leaue his navy, does obay,
Preferring death before base feare. Into
The enemyes boates Cornelia faine would go,
Now more impatient to be separate
From her deare Lord, because she feares his fate.
Stay wife, and sonne, and far from shore (quoth he)
Behold my fortune: and in this necke try
The tyrants faith: but deafe to his commands
Franticke Cornelia wrings her wofull hands:
Whither without me goest thou, cruell man?
Remoov'd from Thessaly, must I againe
Be left? still fatall haue our partings bin
In flight thou needed'st not to haue touch'd in
At Lesbos, but there still haue let me be,
If thou entend I nere shall land with thee,
Only at sea thy sad companion.
Thus all in vaine Cornelia making mone
Vpon the ships foredecke stood looking ore,
So full of griefe, and feare, she could not more
Looke after him, nor turne her eyes away.
Doubtfull of his successe the fleete did stay,
Not fearing swords, nor force, nor treachery.
But lest great Pompey should submissiuely
Adore that scepter that himselfe bestow'd.
Septimius then a Roman souldier bow'd,
Saluting Pompey from th' Aegyptian boate,
Who (oh Heavens shame) leaving his pile, had got
A Barbarous partizan, one of the guard
To Aegypts King: fierce vnrelenting hard,
Bloody as any beast Who would not then
Haue thought that fortune meant to favour men,
When she had kept this impious sword so far
From Thessaly, and stay'd from civill war
This hand? but she dispos'd the swords (alas)
That civill mischeife might in every place
Be done. A tale the Conquerors to shame
It was, the gods eternall blush, and blame,
A Roman sword should by a King be led,
And the Aegyptian boy reach Pompey's head
With his owne sword. What fame shall future time
Giue thee Septimius? or how stile thy crime,
That Brutus act as parricidall blame?
And now the ending hower of Pompey came:
Putting himselfe into the monsters hands
He went aboard their boate; the murdrous bands
Straight draw; great Pompey seeing their drawn swords,
Covers his face, disdaining to spend words,
Or lookes on such a fate, and shut his eyes,
Containing his great spirit, lest words might rise,
Or teares, his everlasting fame to taint.
But when Achillas murdring weapons point.
Had peirc'd his side, scorning the villaines pride
No groanes he gaue: great, like himselfe he dy'd
With vnstirr'd breast, and thus in secret spake;
All times, that mention of Romes labours make,
And future ages through the world will see
This fact, and Aegypts base disloyalty.
Maintaine thine honour now, the fates to thee
Through the whole life gaue long prosperity;
And the world knowes not (vnlesse now they see)
How Pompey's spirit could bea•e adversity.
Blush not that such base hands thy death afford;
But thinke, who ever strike, 'tis Caesars sword.
Though they these limbs all torne, and scatter'd leaue,
Yet am I happy, god; no god can reaue
My happinesse; my fortunes, and my breath
Expire at once: nor wretched is my death.
Cornelia; and my son this slaughter see:
So much more patient let my sorrow be.
The more Cornelia, and my son approoue
My dying constancy, the more they'll loue.
So well could he his dying spirits guide:
Such strength of minde had Pompey when he dy'd.
But poore Cornelia, that had rather dy
Then see that sight, with shreekings fills the sky:
Twas wicked I, deare Lord, that murdred thee:
For whilst at Lesbos thou turnd'st in to me,
Caesar had enter'd Aegypts shore; for who
But he, had power that horrid act to doe?
What ere thou art, sent from the gods to kill,
Pleasing thine owne revenge, or Caesars will;
Thou know'st not, wretch, where Pompey's bowels be▪
Thou strik'st with fury there, where conquer'd he
Desires thy stroke, now let him suffer more
Then his owne death, and see my head before.
I am not guiltlesse from the crime of war,
The only wife following my Lord so far,
Fearelesse of campes, or seas; and conquer'd too
I tooke him in, which Monarchs durst not doe.
Did I for this, husband, deserue to be
Left safe aboord? false Lord, why spar'st thou me?
Or thought'st thou life (thou dying) fit for me?
Ile finde a death, though not from Ptolomey.
Oh sailors, let me leape downe from the decke,
Or with these twisted shrowdes to breake my necke:
Or let some worthy friend of Pompey's now
Heere sheath his weapon, and for Pompey doe
An act, that h•e'll impute to Caesars hate.
Why doe you hinder my desired fate?
Husband, thou liv'st, Cornelia has not power
Yet of her selfe; they hinder my deaths houre
(And there she sounds) to be the Conquerours pray;
The fearefull fleete hoist sailes, and post away.
But when great Pompey fell, that sacred face,
And honour'd visage kept his former grace
Though angry with the gods▪ deaths vtmost hate
Chang'd not his visage, and majesticke state,
As they confesse, that his rent necke did see.
For sterne Septimius in that cruelty
Findes out an act more cruell: to vncover
His face, he cuts the cloth, that was cast over,
Invading halfe-dead Pompey's breathing face,
His dying necke acrosse the bords he layes;
Then cuts the nerves, and I veines, the twisted bones
He breakes the art to whip off heads at once
Was not yet found▪ But when the head was torne
Off from the trunke, 'twas by Achillas borne.
Degenerate Roman, base Septimius,
Vs'd in an vnder office, couldst thou thus
Basely cut off great Pompey's sacred head
To be (oh shame) by another carryed?
Young Ptolomey to know great Pompey's face,
Those haires, that kings haue honour'd, whose curl'd grace
Adorn'd his noble front, stroakes with his hands;
Fixt on a pole the head of Pompey standes,
Whilst yet his lips with throbbing murmurs shooke,
His eyes vnclos'd, and liuely was his looke:
That head that still determin'd war, and peace,
That rul'd the Senate, lawes, and suffrages;
Romes fortune in that face tooke greatest pride.
Nor was the wicked tyrant satisfy'd
With sight: but for memoriall of the fact,
Dire arts the heads corruption must extract,
The braine is taken out, dry'd is the skin,
The noisome moisture purged from within,
Medicines make solid, and preserue the face.
Degenerate issue, last of Lagus race,
Whom thy incestuous sister shall depose;
When sacred vaults the Macedon enclose,
When dust of Kings in sumptuous buildings lyes,
And the ignoble race of Ptolomey's
In Pyramids, and rich Mausolean graues
Vnjustly rest, must Pompey by the waues
And headlesse trunke against the shore be swept?
Was it too great a trouble to haue kept
The carcasse whole for Caesar? this sad date
Did fortune giue to Pompey's prosperous state;
By such a death as this to pull him downe
From such an height: heaping all plagues in one
Sad day, which he so many yeares had bin
Free from: nor yet had Pompey ever seene
Ioy mixt with woe: no god his prosperous state
Did ere disturbe, none helpt his wretched fate;
But once for all with a differring hand
Did fortune pay him; torne vpon the sand,
Salt water playing in his wounds, the mocke
Of seas he lyes, and beat 'gainst every rocke:
No figure left of him, tis note enough
To know great Pompey, that his head is off.
But fates, ere Caesar on that shore arriue,
A suddaine funerall to Pompey giue,
Lest he in none, or in a better tombe
Should ly. To th'shore did fearefull Codrus come
Out of his lurking hole, that was before
Great Pompey's quaestors, and from Cyprus shore
Had follow'd him; he by the shades of night
Durst goe (true loue had vanquisht terrour quite)
To find his slaughter'd Lord, along the sand,
And through the waues, to bring the trunke to land.
Faint light through dusky clouds sad Cynthia gaue;
But different colour'd from the foamy waue
The trunke appeard; which Codrus catching straight
When the waues ebb'd, but tired with the weight
Expects their flow to helpe him, and so bore
The trunke to land, and plac'd it on the shore;
Then falling downe, bathing the wounds in teares,
Thus to the gods he speakes, and clouded stars.
Fortune, no costly pile with odours fill'd
Thy Pompey craues, nor that his hearse may yeild
Precious Arabian fumes to fill the ayre,
Nor that the pious Roman neekes should beare
Their countreys father forth, nor to adorne
A funerall pompe old tryumphs should be borne▪
No funerall songs, nor that his troopes the while
March a dead march about their generalls pyle.
Great Pompey but a base Plebejan Beere,
That his torne limbs may carry to dry fire.
Let him not want wood, and a burner, though
But meane, and let it be, ô gods, enough
That with loose haire Cornelia does not stand
To take her last embrace, and then command
To fire the pile, from this last funerall rite
She is away, yet hardly out of sight,
This said, far off a little fire he kenn'd
Burne a neglected herse, watch'd by no friend.
Thither he goes, and taking thence a part
Of fire, and halfe-burn'd stickes, who ere thou art
Neglected ghost, deare to no friend, (quoth he)
But happier then great Pompey, pardon me,
(If any knowledge after death remaines)
That by a strangers hand thy hearse susteines
This wrong; I know thou yeild'st, and castendure
For Pompey's sake, this losse of sepulture,
And art asham'd of funerall rites, whilest he
Lyes an vnburyed ghost. Then speedily
With his armes full of fire poore Codrus ran
To find the trunke, which to the shore againe
The waues had beat; then off the sand he wipes,
And gathering vp the ribs of broken ships,
He layes them in a ditch; on no hew'n trees
Or well built pyle the noblebody lyes:
Fire brought, not vnderbuilt great Pompey takes.
Then sitting by the fire thus Codrus speakes.
Romes greatest Lord, the only majesty
Of Italy, if worse this buriall be
Then none at all, then floating on the sea,
Avert thy Manes, and great ghost from me.
Tis fortunes injury that makes this right,
Lest fish, or foule, or beast, or Caesars spight
Might wrong thy coarse, accept this little brand
Of fire since kindled by a Roman hand.
If fortune grant recourse to Italy,
Not here shall these so sacred ashes ly:
But from my hand Cornelia shall take,
And vrne thy reliques, vntill then wee'll make
Thy burialls marke vpon the shore, that who
So ere would pacify thy ghost, and doe
Full rights of funerall, may finde out so
The bodyes ashes, and the sands may know,
Whither to bring thy head. Thus having spoke
He does with fuell the weake flame provoke;
Pompey dissolv'd, his fat distilling fed
The little fire; and now day promised
By bright Aurora, dimm'd the stars weake lights.
Codrus abruptly leaues the funerall rites,
And runs, himselfe about the shore to hide.
What mischeife fear'st thou (foole) for such a deede;
Which long tongu'd fame for ever shall renowne!
Caesar himselfe shall praise what thou hast done
To Pompey's body. Goe then voide of dread:
Confesse the funerall, and require his head.
An end of dutious workes piety makes.
The bones halfe-burnt, and yet dissolv'd he takes,
Still full of nerves, and vnconsumed marrow;
Quenching them in sea-water, in a narrow
Peice of the earth together layes them downe:
Then lest the ashes should abroad be blowne
By the windes force, he layes a stone aboue;
And lest some sailer should that stone remooue
To tye his cable, with a cole-burnt staffe
Vpon the top he writes this Epitaph.
Heere Pompey lyes, fortune, this stone we call
His tombe: in which, rather then none at all,
Caesar would haue him ly. Why in a roome
So small, rash hand, includ'st thou Pompey's tombe,
And shutt'st vp his great ghost? as far he lyes
As the earths farthest shore extended is.
Romes mighty name, and Empires vtmost bound
Is Pompey's tombe; this marke for shame confound
The shame of heaven; if Alcides ly
Over all Oete, and all Nysa be
Great Bacchus monument, why should one stone
In Aegypt stand for Pompey's tombe alone?
Did no one peice of earth thy name expresse,
All Aegypts land, Pompey, thou mightst possesse.
Let vs be still deceiv'd, and still for feare
Of thee, to tread on Aegypts land forbeare,
But if that sacred name must grace a stone,
Write his each deed, and glorious action:
The Alpine war of rebell Lepidus;
The conquest of revolt Ser•ortus
(The Consull being call'd home:) those triumphs note,
Which he but gentleman of Rome had got:
Cilician Pirates tam'd: traffique made free:
Barbarian kingdomes conquer'd all that ly
Vnder the East, and North; with this make knowne
How still from war he tooke a peacefull gowne
Contented with three triumphs, he to Rome
His other conquests did forgiue; what tombe
Can hold all this? his ashes in this graue
No titles, nor triumphant storyes haue.
That name, that temples lofty roofes, and high
Triumphall arches deckt with victory
Were wont to beate, now neere the lowest sand
A small graue shewes, which strangers cannot stand
Vpright to reade, which (if it be not showne)
The Roman travellers passe by vnknowne,
Aegypt, whom civill fate has guilty made
'T was not in vaine the Sibylls verse forbad
A Roman Niles Pelusian mouth to touch,
Or once his summer-swelled banks approach.
How shall I curse thee for this impious deed?
May Nile run backe, and stay at his first head,
May thy vnfruitfull fields want winter raine,
And all like Aethiops barren sands remaine.
We let thy Isis in Romes temples dwell,
Thy deify'd dogs, and sorrow causing bell:
Osiris, whom thou shewest, while thou weep'st,
A man; our god in dust thou Aegypt keep'st.
And thou that gau'st the tirant temples, Rome,
Has not yet fetch'd thy Pompey's ashes home:
His ghost lyes yet exil'd If Caesars frownes
That first age fear'd, yet now thy Pompey's bones
Bring home, ô Rome, if yet on that curs'd land
Not turn'd by the waues, the marks doe stand.
Whoo'll feare that graue? whoo'll feare to take from thence
Ashes deserving temples? that offence
Eni•ine me (Rome) to doe, my bosome vse:
Oh too too happy I, if Rome would chuse
My hand to open that base sepulcher,
And his deare ashes hither to transferre.
Perchance when Rome from oracles would craue
An end of dearth, or pestilence to haue,
Of too much fire, or earthquakes, thou to Rome
Shalt by the gods exprest appointment come,
Thy ashes borne by the high Priest For who
To scorch'd Siene in lunes heat can goe,
In view of Nile, or Pharian Thebes descry
Vnder the showry Plejades still dry;
What Fasterne Merchant traffiquing resorts
To the red sea, or rich Arabian ports,
But at thy graues ever adored stone,
And ashes (though perchance scatter'd vpon
The sands) will stay, thy ghost to pacificy,
Before the Casian loue preferring thee?
This little graue can nothing hurt thy name;
Thy ghost would be of a faire cheaper fame
Shrowded in gold, and temples: fortune now
Beares more divinity entomb'd so low;
The sea-beat stone is more maiesticke farre
Then the proud altars of the Conquerer.
Some worship gods dwelling in dusky clay,
That to Tarpejan Ioue refuse to pray.
Twill vantage thee hereafter in thy graue
No polisht marbles lasting workes to haue.
This little dust will quickly scatter'd ly:
The tombe will fall, proofes of thy death will dy:
And then a happyer age will come, when none
Shall credit giue to those that shew the stone;
As false shall Aegypt seeme in times to come
(As Crete of Ioues) to boast of Pompey's tombe.