Book IX

The Argument
Pompey's departed spirit to heaven ascends.
His wife, and sons lament; Cato commends
His worthy life: checks the Cilicians,
And marching are the scorched Libyan sands
To Iuba's Kingdome, with strong patience
Endures the heat, the Southwinds violence
And killing serpents venome. Caesar sees
Renowned Troys defac'd antiquities,
To Aegypt comes, and with dissembling breath
Complaines, and weepes for noble Pompey's death.

IN Pharian coales his ghost could not remaine,
Nor those few ashes his great spirit containe.
Out from the graue he issues, and forsakes
Th'vnworthy fire, and halfe burnt limbs, and takes
Vp to the convexe of the sky his flight,
Where with blacke ayre the starry poles doe meete.
The space betwixt the regions of the moone,
And earth, halfe-deify'd soules possesse alone,
Whom fiery worth, in guiltlesse liues, has taught
To brooke the lower part of heaven, and brought
Them to th'aeternall sphaeres, which not they hold,
That are with incense bury'd, tomb'd in gold.
There filled with true light, with wondring eyes
The wandring planets, and first stars he sees.
He sees our day involv'd in midst of night,
And laughes at his torne trunkes ridiculous plight.
Then ore the Aemathian fields, his scatter'd fleete:
And bloody Caesars troopes he tooke his flight:
And with revenge for these dire facts possest
Catoes bold hart, and brutus noble breast.
Cato, while chance was doubtfull, and at stake
Whom civill war Lord of the world would make,
Then hated Pompey, though with Pompey he
(Led by the Senate, and Romes Auspicy)
Had fought, but when Pharsaliaes field was try'd,
He altogether favour'd Pompey's side.
His countrey wanting a protector then
He tooke, and chear'd the trembling hearts of men:
And •utting swords in fearefull hands againe
Made civill war, neither for hope of reigne,
Nor feare of bondage; nought at all in war
For his owne sake did he; his forces are
Since Pompey's death, alone for liberty;
Which lest the speed of Caesars victory
Should seaze vpon, being dispersed ore
The coast, he sailes vnto Corcyra's shore,
And in a thousand ships carryes away
The conquer'd remnant of Pharsalia.
Who would haue thought so great a fleete had held
All flying men? that conquer'd ships had fill'd
The straitned seas? from thence they saile away
To ghost-fill'd Taenarus, and long Males;
Thence to Cytherus: Boreas blowing faire
Crete flyes: and getting a good sea they cleare
The Cretan coast Phycus, that durst deny
Their men to land, they sacke deservedly.
And thence along the deepe, while faire winds blow▪
Vnto thy shore, oh Palinurus, goe:
(For not alone doth our Italian sea
Keepe monuments of thee, but Libya
Can witnesse well calme harbours once did please
Thy Phrygian master) when vpon the seas
Descrying sh•p• afar, they gan to feare
Whether the men their foes, or partners were:
Caesars knowne speed gaue them just cause to feare,
And still suspect his comming every where.
But those sad ships brought greife, and woes, and crys
Able to draw soft teares from Catoes eyes:
For after that Cornelia all in vaine
(•est Pompey's trunke beat from the shore againe
Should floate at sea by prayers had striv'd to draw
From flight the sailers, and her son in law,
When from the shore that little fire descry'd
His most vnworthy funerall, she cry'd,
Seem'd I not worthy then, fortune, to thee
To light my husbands funerall fire, and ly
Stretch'd out on his cold limbs, burne his torne haires,
And gathering his sea-scatterd limbs, with teares
To bath each wound? with bones, and ashes hot
To fill my lap, and in the temples put
The sad remainder of his funerall?
That fir's no honour to his hearse at all.
Besides perhaps some hands of Aegypt now
This loathed office to his ashes doe.
Well did the Crassi's ashes naked ly,
For by the gods far greater cruelty
Is Pompey burnt. Still shall my woes appeare
In the same shape? and shall I nere interre
My slaughter'd Lords? and at full v•nes lament?
What need'st thou tombe, or any instrument
Of sorrow, wretch? doth not thy breast containe
Thy Pompey, and his image still remaine
Within thee? let those wiues that meane to liue
After their Lords, vrnes to their ashes giue.
But yet the fire, that lends you envious light
From Aegypts shore, brings nothing to my sight
Of thee, deare Pompey: now the flame is gone,
The vanisht smoake beares to the rising Sunne
Pompey aloft: the windes vnwillingly
Beare vs from thence, yet is no land to me
(Though triumph'd by my Lord as Conquerer)
Nor chariot deck'd with laurell halfe so deare.
My breast has quite forgot his happinesse,
And loues that Pompey, whom Niles shores possesse,
Faine would • stay vnder this guilty clime:
The land's enobled by so great a crime.
I would not leaue (beleeue me) Aegypts shore.
Sextus, try thou the chance of war, and ore
The spacious world thy fathers colours beare:
This his last will was trusted to my care,
When me of breath deaths fatall hower shall reaue,
To you, my sonnes, this civill warre I leaue;
And let not Caesar's race in quiet reigne,
Whilest any of our stocke on earth remaine.
Solicite kingdomes, and free powerfull townes
By my names fame: these are the factions,
These are the armes I leaue; what Pompey ere
Would goe to sea, shall finde a navy there.
My heires may stirre war in what land they will.
Be but couragious, and remember still
Your fathers lawfull power. Serue vnder none
But Cato (whilest he fights for Rome) alone.
I haue perform'd thy trust, done thy behest
Deare Lord, thy cunning did prevaile, and lest
False I those words of trust should nere deliver,
Deceiu'd I liv'd Now Pompey, wheresoever
Th' art gone, through hell, if any hell there be,
Or empty Chaos, I will follow thee;
How long my life's decree'd I doe not know,
If long, Ile punish it for lasting so:
For not expiring when it first did see
Thy wounds, with sorrow broken it shall dy.
It shall dissolue in teares: no halter, sword,
Or praecip•ce shall death to me afford.
It were a shame for me, now thou art gone,
Not to haue power to dye with griefe alone.
This said, and covering with a vaile her head,
Vnder the hatches she resolv'd to lead
A life in darkenesse: neerely hugging woe
She feedes on teares, and for her husband now
Embraces greife. The noise of stormy winde,
Nor cryes of fearefull sa•lers mooue her minde:
Her hope contrary to the sailers is,
Compos'd for death, and wishing stormes she lyes.
They first arriv'd on Cyprus foamy shore.
From thence a milde Eastwinde commanding bore
Their shipps to Catoes Libyan campe; as still
A doubtfull minde doe sad presages fill,
Cneius from shore spying his fathers traine,
And brother, running to the sea amaine,
Where is our father, brother? speake (quoth he)
Liues the worlds head, and honour, or are we
Vndone, and Pompey to the shades below
Has borne Romes fate? he answeres, happy thou▪
Whom fate into another coast disperst;
Thou, brother, this dire mischeife only hear'st:
Mine eyes are guilty of a fathers death,
Nor did he loose by Caesars armes his breath,
Nor of his fall a worthy author found.
By the false tyrant of Niles impious ground,
Trusting the gods of hospitality,
And his owne bounty to old Ptolomey,
In recompence of kingdomes given he dy'd
I saw them wound our noble fathers side;
And thinking Aegypts King durst not haue done
So much, I thought Caesar had stood vpon
The shore of Nile. But not our fathers wounds,
Nor blood so shed so much my heart confounds,
As that his head, which mounted on a speare
Aloft we saw, they through their cyties beare:
Which (as they say) is kept for Caesars eye:
The tyrant seekes his guilt to testify.
For whether dogs, or fowles devouring maw
Consum'd his trunke, or that small fire we saw
Dissolved it by stealth, I doe not know.
What ere injurious fate to that could doe,
I did forgiue the gods that crime, and wept
For that part only, which the tyrant kept.
When C••ius heard these words; his inward woe
In passionate sighs, and teares he could not show;
But thus inflam'd with pious rage gan speake,
Lanch forth the fleete, sailers, with speed, and breake
Through the crosse winds a passage with the oare,
Braue Captaines follow me, never before
Knew civill war more worthy ends then these,
T'interre vnbury'd Manes, and appease
Pompey with slaughter of th'effaeminate boy.
Why should not I th' Aegyptians towers destroy?
And from the temples Alexander take,
To drowne his hearse in Marcotis lake?
In Nile Amasis, and those Kings with him
Digg'd vp from their Pyramides shall swimme.
All tombes shall rue Pompey's no sepulcher:
Isis (their goddesse now) Ile disinter,
Osiris linnen-cover'd shrine disperse,
And kill god Apis over Pompey's hearse.
Vpon a pyle of gods Ile burne his head;
Thus shall the land by me be punished;
I will not leaue a man to till those fields,
Nor take the profit, that Niles flowing yeilds.
The gods, and people banished, and gone,
Thou, father shalt possesse Aegypt alone.
This said, to lanch the fleete forth he assayes,
But Cato stills the young mans wrath with praise.
Now ore the shore when Pompey's death was knowne
The sky was peirc'd with lamentation:
A greife not seene, not pararell'd at all,
That common people mourne a great mans fall.
But when Cornelia quite exhaust with teares
Was seene to land with torne dishevel'd haires,
Their troubled lamentations sounded more.
Cornelia landed on a friendly shore,
Gathering the garments, and triumphall weedes
Of haplesse Pompey, that exprest his deedes,
And ancient trophes, painted robes, and sheild,
That thrice great Ioue in triumph had beheld,
Into the funerall fire she threw them all;
Such was her lords imagin'd funerall.
Example from her piety all take,
And funerall fires all ore the shore they make
T'appease the ghosts slaine in Pharsalia.
So when the shepheards of Apulia
Make winter fires on their ba•e-eaten ground
To spring their grasse againe; a glistering round
The Vulturs arms, and high Garganus yeilds,
And hot Matinus bullocke-pasture fields.
But not more pleasing was't to Pompey's spirit
That all the people raile at heauen, and twit
The gods with Pompey, then what Cato spoke,
Few words, but from a truth-fill'd breast they broke.
A Roman's dead, not like our ancestry
To know the rule of right, but good (quoth he)
In this truth scorning age; one powerfull growne
Not wronging liberty: the people prone
To serue, he only private still remain'd;
He sway'd the Senate, but the Senate reign'd.
Nought claim'd he by the sword, but wish'd what he
Wish'd most, the Senates freedome to deny,
Great wealth he had, but to the publike hoord
He brought far more then he retain'd; the sword
He tooke, but knew the time to lay it downe.
Arm'd he lov'd peace, though armes before the gowne
He still prefer'd; and ever pleas'd was he
Entring, or leaving his authority.
A chast vnriotted house, and never stain'd
With her Lords fortune, to all lands remain'd
His name renown'd, which much availed Rome.
True liberty long since was gone, when home
Sylla, and Marius came: but Pompey dead,
Even freedomes shadow is quite vanished.
No Senates face, no colour will remaine
Of power; none now will be asham'd to reigne.
Oh happy man, whom death, when conquer'd caught,
And Aegypts guilt swords to be wisht for brought.
Perchance thou could'st haue liv'd in C•sars state.
To know the way to dy is mans best fate,
His next to be compel'd; and such to me
(If captiv'd now) fortune, let Iuba be;
Not to be kept to shew the enemy
I doe not beg, so headlesse kept I be.
More honour from these words the noble ghost
Receiv'd, then if the Roman barres should boast
Hit praise. Now mutinous the souldiers are,
Since Pompey's death growne weary of the war;
In which broiles Tarcho Catoes side to quit
Tooke vp the colours, who prepar'd for flight
With all his ships was chid by Cato so.
Never reclaim'd Cilician, wouldst thou goe
To thy old theft at sea? is Pompey slaine,
And thou return'd to Pyracy againe?
Then round about he on each man gan looke
Mongst whom one boldly thus to Cato spoke
Not hiding his intent, 'twas not the loue
Of civill war, but Pompey, first did mooue
Our armes, (execuse vs Cato) we adhaer'd
By favour, now he, whom the world preferr'd
Before her peace, is dead, our cause is gone;
Now lets returne to our left mansion,
Our houshold gods, and children deare to see.
For what can civill wars conclusion be,
If not Pharsaliaes field, nor Pompeys death?
Our time of life is spent; now let vs breath
Our last in peace: let our old age provide
Our funerall pyles, which civill war deny'd
Two greatest Captaines. For no barbarous,
Or cruell yoke will fortune lav on vs.
No Scythian, nor Armenian tyranny.
The subjects of Romes gowned state are we.
He that was second, Pompey being aliue,
Is first with vs: the highest place we giue
His sacred name, He whom wars fortunes make,
Shall be our lord, no generall wee'll take.
Vnto the war we followed thee alone;
We'll follow fate, Pompey, now thou art gone.
Nor haue we cause to hope for good successe,
Since Caesars fortune now doth all possesse.
Th' Aemathian strength is by his victory
Dispers'd we loose his mercy; only he
Has power, and will to spare the conquered.
Our civill war's a crime now Pompey's dead,
'Twas duty while he liv'd, If Cato, thou
Wilt serue thy countrey still, lets follow now
Those Eagles, which the Roman Consuls keepes.
Thus having spoke aboord the ship he leapes
With all his company Romes fate had gone,
The people bent to slavery vpon
The shore exclaime. But from a sacred breast
Cato to them at last these words exprest.
Fought you, yong men, with Caesars armyes hopes
(No more true Roman, but Pompey an troopes)
To gaine a Lord? since for no Lord you fight,
But liue to doe your selues, not tyrants right,
Since your spent bloods can no mans rule procure,
But your owne safety, you'll not now endure
The wars; to liue in bondage you desire
And for your slavish neckes a yoake require.
Your danger's worthy now, the cause is good:
Pompey perhaps might haue abus'd your blood.
And will you now, when liberty's so high,
To ai•le of Rome your swords, and throates deny?
Of three Lords fortune now has left but one.
Aegypts base King, and Parthian bowes haue done
More for the lawes then you, (oh shame) goe ye
Base men, and scorne the gift of Ptolomey;
Who will beleeue your hands could guilty be
Of any blood? he'll rather thinke that ye
Were the first men, that from Pharsalia fled.
Goe then securely: you haue merited
Pardon in Caesar judgement, not subdew'd
By seidge, or open force. Oh servants lewd,
When your first master's dead, his heir you'll serue.
Why would you not more then your liues deserue,
And pardons? ravish with you for a prey
Metellus daughter, Pompey's wife away,
And his two sonnes: the gift of Aegypt's King
Surpasse, or could you to the tirant bring
My head no small reward 'twould render ye;
Then to good purpose haue you follow'd me.
On then, and in our bloods your merit make;
Tis slothfull treason a bare flight to take.
This speech of Cato straight recalls from seas
Their flyng ships; as when a swarme of Bees
Their hony comb•s, and barren waxe forsake;
Nor hang in clusters now, but singly take
Their flight ith aire, and tast not slouthfull growne)
The bitter Thyme: at sound of brasse alone
Amaz'd they leaue their flight: againe approoue
Their flowery taskes againe their hony loue.
Glad is the Shepheard on sweete Hyb•aes bill
To keepe the riches of his cottage still.
So Catoes speech on their affections wrought,
And them to patience of a war had brought
And now their restlesse mindes with toile t'inure,
And teach them warlike laboures to endure,
With weary marches first their strength he tryes
Along the sands; their second labour is
To scale Cyrenes lofty walls: on whom
Cato no vengeance tooke, when overcome,
Though they against him shut their gates) to him
Revenge sufficient did their conquest seeme.
He thence to Libyan Iubaes kingdome goes;
But there the Syrts did nature interpose
Which Catoes dauntlesse virtue hopes to passe.
These Syrts, when all the worlds first structure was,
Nature as doubtfull left twixt sea, and land;
(For neither sinke they quite like seas to stand,
Nor yet like land with shores repell the maine,
But doubtfull, and vnpassable remaine,
A shelfe-spoil'd sea, a water cover'd land,
Where sounding waues let in by sands command.
This part of nature, Natures selfe disclam'd
As a vaine worke, and to no purpose fram'd)
Or once the deepe-drown'd Syrts were seas entire;
But burning Titan thence to feede his fire
Drew vp those waues so neere the torrid zone;
And now the water holds contention
With Phoebus drought: which by continuance spent,
The Syrts will grow a solid continent.
For now their topps but shallow waters hide,
The fading sea decayes at every side,
When first the fleete began to launch from shore,
In his owne kingdome did blacke-Auster rore:
Whose blasts the sea from ship invasion keepe,
And from the Syrts far rowle the wavy deepe,
Or flatt the sea with throwne in heapes of sand.
Now the resistlesse windes the seas command,
Whose blasts of all spred sailes, that fasten'd were
To the maine-mast quite robb'd the marriner,
In vaine the shrowdes to winde so violent
Deny their sailes; beyond the ships extent,
Beyond the prow the swelled linnen's blowne.
But where a man more provident was knowne,
That did his linnen to the saileyard ty.
He quite despoil'd of tackling presently
Was overcome. That fleete had far more ease.
Which on the deepe was tost with certaine seas.
But all those ships, which had cut downe their masts
T' avoide the fury of strong Austers blasts,
(As then the winde against the tide did striue)
Against the winde the conquering tide did driue.
Some ships the sea forsakes, whom straight the sands
Vnseene surprise, whose state now doubtfull stands:
Part of the ship vpon firme ground doth rest;
Part swimmes in water. Now the sea's opprest
With flatts. The sands assault the Ocean,
And though strong Auster driue the waues amaine,
They cannot master these high hills of sand.
On th' Oceans backe far from all countreys stand
Heapes of dry dust not by the Ocean drown'd.
The wretched sailers, though their ships on ground,
No shores can see. Part of the fleete this shallow
Detaines; the greater part their •udders follow,
And safe by flight, by skillfull pylots aide
Are to Tritomaes standing poole convay'd.
This poole (they say) that god esteemeth deare,
Whose shrill shell trumpet seas, and shores doe heare.
This Pallas loues, borne of the braine of Ioue,
Who first on Libya trode. (The heart doth proue
This land next heauen) she standing by the side,
Her face within the quiet water spy'd,
And gaue herselfe from the lov'd poole a name
Tritonia. Heere doth the silent streame
Of darke oblivious Lethe gently fall,
That from hells Lethe takes originall.
The waking dragons charge is neare to these
The once robb'd orchard of th' Hesperides.
To rob old times of credit, the desire
Is spite, or truth from Poets to require.
A golden wood there was, whose yellow trees
Laden with wealthy fruit, stood bow'd: of these
A dragon guardian was, which never slept,
And the bright wood a troope of Virgins kept.
Hither Alcides comming, did surprise
The wealth, and burden of those laden trees,
And leaving light their robbed boughs, did bring
Those glittering apples to th' Argolian King.
Part of the fleete got off from hence againe,
And from the Syrtes driven, did remaine
Vnder great Pompey's eldest sonnes command
On this side Garamant is in rich land.
But Catoes vertue brooking no delay
Through vnknowne regions lead his troopes away,
T' encompasse round the Syrts by land, for now
The stormy seas vnnavigable grow
In winter time: but stormes desired are
To coole the temper of the sweltring aire.
They fea•e no cold in Libya's scorched clime,
Nor too much heat, because in winter time.
Entring these barren sands thus Cato spake;
You that haue follow'd me, souldiers, and make
Freedome your only safety, settle now
Your mindes with constancy to vndergoe
Vertues great worke. We march ore barren fields,
Ore Sun-burnt regions, where no fountaine yeilds
Water enough, where Titans heate abounds,
And killing serpents smeare the parched grounds.
Hard wayes, but whom their falling countrey's cause
Through paths vnknowne, and midd'st of Libya draws,
Who make no vowes for their returning home,
But thinke of going only, let them come.
I would deceiue no souldier, nor keepe close
My feares to draw them on. Let only those
My followers be, whom dangers doe invite,
Who thinke it braue, and Roman, in my sight
T'endure the worst of ills. He that would haue
A su•ety for his safety, and ••ine saue
His loued life, let him be gone from me,
And finde an easier way to slavery
Vpon the sands whilest I first footing set,
Let me first suffer th'aires annoying heat:
Let serpents poyson'd teeth first seize on me,
And in my fate doe you your dangers try.
Let him that sees me d•iming, water craue,
And plaine of heat, wher•• a shelter haue,
Or when I ride before the foote, straight grow
Weary, if any by endurance know
Whether I goe souldier, or generall.
The •ands, heat, thirst, and poysonous serpents, all
Are sweete to vertue: hath things patience loues,
And sweetest still, when dearest, goodnesse proues.
These Libyan dangers only justify
The flight of men, thus their hot spirits he
With labours loue▪ and virtue striv'd to fire▪
Ma••hing ore deserts neuer to retire
Secure he goes to Libya; gracing there
With his great name a little sepulcher.
If th'old account we follow, Libya is
The world's third part: following the windes, & skyes
A part of Europe▪ For not distant more
Then Scythian Tanais is Nilus shore
From Westerne Gades, where Europe Affricke flyes,
And makes the Ocean roome: but greater is
Asia then both. For as they both send forth
Libya from South, and Europe from the North
The Westerne winde: the Easterne winde alone
From Asia blowes. That part that's fertile knowne
Of Libya, Westward lyes, but moisture lackes:
The North-winde dry with vs, there stormy, takes
His flight but seldome thither. The rich soile:
No wealthy growing mineralls doe spoile:
The earth corrupts into no brasse, nor gold,
But keepes her naturall, and perfect mold.
The Mauritanian men are rich alone
In Citron wood, of which no vse was knowne
To them of old, contented with the shade.
Our axes first did that strange wood invade;
From far we fetch our tables, as our meate.
But in those parts about the Syrts, whose heat
Is violent, and scorching Sol too nere,
No corne can grow, no vines can prosper there,
Nor trees deepe rooting take; the sandy ground.
Wants vitall temper, and no care is found
Of Ioue in that at all▪ the barren land
Through every season doth vnchanged stand
By natures negligence Yet this dull earth
Vnto a few small herbes affords a birth,
Which are the hardy Nasamonians fare.
Neere the sea coast they bleakely seated are,
Whom barbaraus Syrts with the worlds losse maintaine
For spoile they still vpon the sand remaine.
And though no merchant trade with them, yet gold
They haue, and still by shipwracke traffique hold
With all the world. This way did vertue beare
Cato along, the Souldiers could not feare
A storme by land, or thinke of blustring winde,
But there (alas) the Ocean's dangers finde.
For more on land then sea the Southwindes rore.
About the Syrt, and hurt the land much more.
No rockes, nor mountaines stand opposed there
To breake his force, and turne him into aire?
No well-growne oakes, no wood opposed stands;
The ground lyes open all, free are the sands
To Aeols rage, which violently strong
Hurryes through th'aire a sandy cloud along.
Their greatest part of land the windes doe beare
Into the aire, which hangs not fixed there.
His house, and land the Nasamonian sees
Fly in the winde, their little cottages
Blowne ore their heads into the aire as high
As from a fire the smoake, and sparkles fly.
The mounted dust like smoake obscures the sky.
And then mo•e strong then vsuall did the blast
Assault our men; no souldier could stand fast;
No, nor the ground, •n which they stood, could stay.
'T would shake the earth, and beare that land away
If Libya hollow were, or harder mould
The Southerne windes in cavernes to enfold;
But ••nce compos'd of loose, and fleeting sands
Resisting not, it bides; the lowest stands
Because the highest yeilds, helmets of men,
Their sheilds, and piles the winde with fury then
Bereft them of, and through the Welkin tost.
That in some forreine far-remooved coast
Perchance by men was deem'd a prodigy,
And nations fear'd armes falling from the sky,
Thinking those weapons rest from men, did f•ll
Downe from the gods. So once I thinke that all
Our sacred sheilds to holy Numa were,
Which now our choise Patritian shoulders beare.
The Southerne winde, or Northerne robb'd of yore
Some forreine people, that those bucklers wore.
The land thus plagu'd with winde, the souldiers all
Downe to the ground, their cloathes fast guirded, fall,
Hold fast the earth, yet sure they scarsely lay
By weight, nor strength from being blowne away,
Mountaines of dust the Southwindes furious hand
Rowles ore their heads; drowned is heapes of sand
The souldiers scarse can stir. Some though vpright
With rising earth are orewhelmed quite;
And, though the earth remooue, want motion.
Vast stones of ruin'd walls from far are blowne,
And (strange to tell) in some far region fall,
They ruines see, that see no house at all.
No paths, nor difference now of wayes are knowne:
Their course is guided by the star alone
Like navigators; nor all stars to vs
In that Horrizon are conspicuous,
For to earths face (there bowed) many be
Obscur'd from sight. But when the aire was free
From the windes rage, dissolv'd againe by heat,
And scorching day their body flow'd with sweat,
Their mouths with thirst were parch'd a little steame.
They spy'd which from a muddy fountaine came;
From whence with much adoe a souldier got
His hellmet full of water, and straight brought
The same to Cato, their dry throates were all
With dust besmeared, and the generall
Himselfe was envy'd for that little draught.
Base souldier, answeres he, in thy poore thought
Seem'd I alone so worthlesse? none but I
Tender, and weake in all this company:
This punishment thou more deserv'st then I
To drinke thy selfe while all the army's dry.
Then stirr'd with wrath he strucke the helmet downe,
The water spilt suffic'd them every one.
And now to Libyaes only temple plac'd
In Garaman•is rude they came at last.
Iupiter Ammon is adored there,
Not arm'd with thunder like our Iupiter,
But crooked hornes. To whom the Libyans build
No sumptuous Fane, no orient iewells fill'd
The house with lustre. Though the Indians,
The Aethiopes, and rich Arabians
Iupiter Ammon's name doe all adore,
And no god else, yet still that god is poore.
No wealth corrupts his Fane, a god of th'old
Purenesse, his temple guards from Roman gold.
That place of all the countrey onely greene
Shewes a gods presence. All that lyes betweene
Leptis, and Berenicis is dry sand,
And barren dust; no part of all the land,
But Ammons seat beares trees. The cause of it
A neighbouring fountaine is, whose waters knit
The moistened earth, and make fertility.
But when the Sun at noone is mounted high,
Those trees no shadow can diffuse at all:
Their boughs scarse hide their trunkes. No shade or small
The Sunbeames make, since perpendicular.
It is perceiv'd this is the region where
The summer Tropicke hits the Zodiacke.
The signes obliquely rise not, but direct.
Nor more direct the Bull then Scorpio,
Moist Capricornus then hot Cancer goe:
Nor Gemeni then Sagitarius,
Nor Leo then oppos'd Aquarius:
Virgo then Pisces, Libraes motion
Then Aries. But whom the torrid zone
Divides from vs, those people ever see
The shadowes Southward, which here Northward be,
You slowly seeing Cynosure, suppose
Her vndrench'd carre into the Ocean goes.
And that no Northerne signe from seas is free.
You stand far distant from each axeltree;
Your signes in midst of heaven converted be.
The Easterne people standing at the doore,
The oracles of horned Ioue t'implore,
Gaue place to Cato; whom his souldiers ply
That of that Libyan far-fam'd deity,
His future fates event he would be taught.
Him Labienus most of all besought;
Chance, and the fortune of our way (quoth he)
L•nd vs the mouth of that great deity,
And his sure counsells: we may now implore
His powerfull guidance through this war, and ore
The dangerous Syrtes. For to whom should I
Beleeue the gods would truly or certify
Their secret wills, then Catoes holy breast,
Whose life to heavenly lawes was still addrest,
And follow'd god? behold we now haue heere
A freedome given to talke with Iupiter,
Cato, enquires of wicked Caesars fate,
And know what shall be Romes ensuing state,
Whether this civill war be made in vaine,
Or shall our lawes, and liberties maintaine,
Let Ammon's sacred voice thy breast inspire.
Thou lover of strict vertue, now desire
To know what vertue is; seeke from aboue
Approovement of the trueth: He full of Ioue,
Whom in his secret breast he carried ever,
These temple worthy speeches did deliver;
What, Labienus, should I seeke to know?
If I had rather dye in armes, then bow
Vnto a Lord? if life be nought at all?
No difference betwixt long life, and small?
If any force can hurt men vertuous?
If fortune loose, when vertue doth oppose,
Her threats if good desires be happinesse,
And vertue grow not greater by successe?
Thus much we know, nor deeper can the skill
Of Ammon teach. The gods are with vs still;
And, though their oracles should silent be,
Nought can we doe without the gods decree;
Nor needes he voices; what was fit to know
The great Creator at our births did show.
Nor did he choose these barren sands to shew
(Hiding it heere) his trueth but to a few.
Is there a seate of god, saue earth, and sea,
Aire, heaven, and vertue? why for god should we
Seeke further? what ere moues, what ere is seene
Is Ioue For oracles let doubtfull men
Fearefull of future chances troubled be:
Sure death, not oracles ascertaine mee.
The coward, and the valiant man must fall.
This is enough for Ioue to speake to all,
Then marching thence the temples faith he saues,
And to the people vntry'd Ammon leaues.
Himselfe afoot before his weary'd bands
Marches with pi•e in hand, and not commands,
But shewes them how to labour: never sits
In coach, or charriot: sleepes the least a nights:
Last tasts the water. When a fountaines found,
He stayes a foot till all the souldiers round,
And every cullion drinke. If fame be due
To truest goodnesse, if you simply view
Vertue without successe, what ere we call
In greatest Romans great; was fortune all.
Who could deserue in prosperous war such fame?
Or by the nations blood so great a name?
Rather had I this vertuous triumph win
In Libyaes desert sands, then thrice be seene
In Pompey's laurell'd charriot, or to lead
Iugurtha captiue. Here behold indeed
Rome, thy true father, by whose sacred name
(Worthy thy Temples) it shall never shame
People to sweare; whom, if thou ere art free,
Thou wilt hereafter make a deity.
Now to a torrid clime they came, more hot
Then which the gods for men created not.
Few waters heere are seene; but in the sands
One largely-flowing fountaine only stands,
But full of Serpents, as it could containe.
There on the bankes hot killing Aspes remaine,
And Dipsases in midst of water dry.
When Cato saw his men for thirst would dy
Fearing those waters; thus he spake to them.
Feare not to drinke, souldiers, this wholesome streame,
Be not affrighted with vaine shewes of death.
The snakes bite deadly, fatall are their teeth,
When their dire venome mixes with our blood,
The water's safe. Then of the doubtfull flood
He drinkes himselfe, there only the first draught
Of all the Libyan waters Cato sought.
Why Libyaes aire should be infected so
With mortall plagues, what hurtfull secrets grow
Mixt with the noxious soile by natures hand,
Our care, nor labour cannot vnderstand:
But that the world, in the true cause deceiv'd,
In stead of that a common tale receiv'd,
In Libyaes farthest part, whose scorched ground
The Ocean warm'd by setting Sol doth bound,
Medusas countrey lay, whose barren fields
No trees doe cloath, whose soile no herbage yeilds:
Chang'd by her looke all stones, and rockes they grow.
Heere hurtfull nature first those plagues did show;
First from Medusas jawes those serpents growne
Hissed with forked tongues, and hanging downe
Like womans haire, vpon her backe, gaue strokes
Vnto her pleased necke. In stead of lockes
Vpon her horrid front did serpents hisse;
Her combe comb'd poyson downe, no part but this
Safe to be seene about Medusa was.
For who ere fear'd the monsters mouth, and face?
Whom, that had view'd her with an eye direct?
Did she ere suffer sence of death t'affect?
She hasten'd doubting fate, preventing dread;
Their bodyes dy'd before their soules were fled?
Enclosed soules with bodyes turn'd to stone.
The furyes haires could madnesse worke alone;
Cerberus hissing Orpheus musicke still'd;
Alcides saw that Hydra, which he kill'd;
But this strange monster even her father, who
Is the seas second god, her mother too
Cetos, and Gorgon sisters feared, she
Could strike a numnesse through the sea, and sky.
And harden all the world into a stone.
Birds in their flight haue fall'n conjealed downe.
Running wilde beasts to rockes converted were;
And all the neighbouring Aethiopians there
To marble statues, not a creature brookes
The sight of her; t'avoide the Gorgons lookes
Her snakes themselues backeward themselues invert.
She neere Alcides pillars could convert
Titanian Alt•s to an hill, and those
Giants with serpents feete, that durst oppose
The gods themselues, those wars in Phlegra field
Her face could end, but shew'd in Pallas sheild.
Thither the sonne of showre rap'd Da•ae
Borne on th' Arcadian wings of Mercury
Inventer of the harpe, and wrestling game,
Flying through th' aire, with borrow'd Harpe came,
Harpe, whom monsters blood before did staine,
When he, that kept Ioves loued cow, was slaine.
Aide to her winged brother Pallas gaue,
Conditioning the Gorgons head to haue.
She bids him fly to Libyaes Easterne bound
His face averted, or the Gorgons ground.
In his left hand a shield of shinning brasse,
Wherein to see the stone transforming face
Of sterne Medusa, Pallas bad him keepe;
Then lay'd Medusa in an endlesse sleepe,
But yet not all; part of her snaky haire
Defends her head: some snakes still waking are:
Some ore her face, and sleeping eylids glide.
Minerva doth th'averted Perseus guide,
And with a trembling hand directs the stroake
Of his Cyllenian Harpe, which quite broke
Her large snake-cover'd necke. How strange a looke
Had Gorgons head cut off by Perseus stroke,
And towring blade? what poyson did arise
In her blacke mouth? what death shot from her eyes?
Which not Minerva durst to looke vpon;
And Perseus, sure, had bin congeal'd to stone,
Had not Minerva hid that dismall face
With those snake-haires. Now Perseus flyes a pace
To heaven with Gorgons head; but in his mind
Considering how the nearest way to find,
Over the midst of Europe meanes to fly;
But Pallas straight forbids that injury
To Europes fruitfull fields, and bids him spare
The people there, for who can in the ayre
Refraine to gaz, when such a bird he spyes.
Perseus converts his course, and Westward flyes
Ore desert Libya, whose vnfruitfull seat
Vntill'd lyes ope to nought but Phaebus heat;
Who runs his burning course straight ore their heads.
No land then this a larger shadow spreads
'Gainst heaven, nor more the moones ecclipse doth cause
When straying not in latitude, she drawes
Neither to North nor South, but still is found
In signes direct· Yet this vnfruitfull ground
Barren in all that's good, a seed could yeild
From venome, which Medusaes head distill'd.
From those dire drops mixt with the putrid earth
Sols aiding heat did giue new monsters birth.
First from that dust so mixt with poyson bred
Rose the sleep-causing Aspe with swelling head,
Made of the thickest drop of Gorgons gore,
Which in no serpent is compacted more.
She wanting heat seekes not a colder clime,
Content to liue in her owne Libyaes slime.
But oh how shamelesse is our thirst of gaine?
Those Libyan deaths are carryed ore the maine,
And Aspes at Rome are sold as marchandise.
In scaly folds the great Haemorrhus lyes,
Whose bite from all parts drawes the flowing blood.
Chersidros then, that both in land, and flood
Of doubtfull Syrtes liues; Chelydri too,
That make a reeking slime where ere they goe.
The Cenchris creeping in a tract direct,
Whose speckled belly with moe spots is dect,
Then ere the various Theban marble takes.
Sand-colour'd Ammodytes, the horned snakes,
That creepe in winding tracks; the Scytale;
No snake in winter casts her skin but she;
The double-head; Dipsas, that thirsty makes;
The water-spoyling Newte, the dart-like snakes.
The Pareas, whose way his tale doth guide;
The Prester too, whose sting distendeth wide
The wounded's foamy mouth; the Seps, whose bite
Consumes the bones, dissolues the body quite.
The Basiliske, whose hisse all snakes doth scarre,
(Hurtfull before the venome touch) who far
All vulgar serpents from his sight commands,
Reigning alone vpon the empty'd sands.
You dragons too, glistring in golden pride,
Who hurtlesse wander through all lands beside,
Hot Affrik mortall makes; aloft you fly
Through the ayre on wings, and follow speedily
The heards; your strokes the mightyest buls destroy,
Great Elephants not escape you: all you kill,
Nor neede you poysons helpe to worke your will.
This thirsty way among these venom'd snakes
Cato amidst his hardy souldiers takes:
Where many losses of his men he found,
And deaths vnusuall from a little wound.
A trodden Dipsas turning backe his head
Did bite young Aulus Ensigne bearer, bred
Of Tyrrhene race: no griefe, nor paine ensew'd:
His wound no pity found, no danger shew'd,
But in (alas) did fiery venome deepe
Into his marrow, and scorch'd entrailes creepe.
Which quite drunke vp all moisture, that should flow
Into his vitall parts: his palate now
And tongue is scorch'd, and dry; no sweate could goe
To his tir'd joynts, from's eyes no teares could flow.
His place, nor his sad generalls command
Could stay this thirsty man; out of his hand
He throwes his Eagle; water runs to haue,
Which the dry venome in his heart did craue.
Though he in midst of Tanais did ly,
Padus, or Rodanus, he would be dry,
Or drinke the streamer, where ever Nilus flowes.
The soyle ads to his drought, the worme doth loose
Her venoms fame, help'd by so hot a land.
He digs, and seekes each veine in all the sand.
Now to the Syrts he goes, and in his mouth
Salt water takes, which could not quench his drought,
Although it pleas'd. He did not know what kinde
Of death he dy'd, nor his disease could finde,
But thinkes it thirst; and now full faine he would
Rip open all his veines, and drinke his blood.
Cato commands them (loath his men should stay
To know what thirst was) straight to march away.
But a more wofull death before his eye
Appear'd; A Seps no poore Sabellus thigh
Hung by the teeth, which he straight with his hands
Cast off, and with his pile nail'd to the sands;
A little snake, but none more full then she
Of horrid death, the flesh falls off, that nigh
The wound did grow, the bones are bared round,
Without the body naked shewes the wound.
His shankes fall off, matter each members fills,
His knees are bar'd, his groine blacke filth distills,
And every muscle of his thighes dissolues:
The skin, that all his naturall parts involues,
Breaking lets fall his bowels, nor doth all,
That should remaine of a dead body, fall.
The cruell venome, eating all the parts,
All to a little poisonous filth converts.
The poison breakes his nerues, his ribs doth part,
Opens his hollow breast, there shewes his heart,
His vitalls all, yea all that man composes,
And his whole nature this foule death discloses;
His head, necke, shoulders, and strong armes doe flow
In venomous filth, not sooner melts the snow
By hot South windes, nor waxe against the Sunne.
This is but small I speake; burnt bodyes run
Melted by fire in filth, but what fire ere
Dissolv'd the bones? no bones of his appeare.
Following their putrid iuice, they leaue no signe
Of this swift death, the palme is only thine
Of all the Libyan snakes; the soule take they,
But thou alone the carcasse tak'st away.
But lo a death quite contrary to it;
Marsian Nasidius an hot Prester bit.
Whose face, and cheekes a suddaine fire did rost;
His flesh, and skin was stretch'd, his shape was lost.
His swelling body is distended far
Past humane growth, and vndistinguishd are
His limmes; all parts the poison doth confound,
And he lyes hid, in his owne body drown'd:
Nor can his armour keepe his swolne growth in.
Not more doth boyling water rise within
A brazen caldron, nor are sailes more swell'd
By Westerne windes. No limme he now can weild.
A globe deform'd he is, an heape confus'd.
Which ravening beasts did feare, which birds refus'd:
To which his friends durst doe no obsequy,
Nor touch, but from the growing carcasse fly.
But yet these snakes present more horrid sights,
A fierce Hamorrhus noble Tullus bites,
A braue young man, that studyed Catoes worth.
And as in pouncing of a picture, forth
Through every hole the pressed saffron goes,
So from his every part red poison flowes
For blood; his teares were blood: from every pore,
Where nature vented moisture heretofore,
His mouth, his nose, flowes blood: his sweate is red:
His running veines all parts be bloodyed.
And his whole body's but one wound become.
An Aspes sharpe bite did Laeuus heart benum;
No paine he felt, surpris'd with sudaine sleepe
He dy'd, descending to the Stygian deepe.
Not halfe so suddaine doe those poysons kill,
Which dire Sabaean sorcerers distill
From off the falsely seeming Sabine tree.
On an old stumpe a dart-like snake did ly,
Which, as from thence her selfe she nimbly threw,
Through Paulus head, and wounded temples flew.
Twas not the poison wrought his fate, the blow
It selfe brought death. To her compared slow
Fly stones from slings, and not so swift as she
From Parthian bowes doe winged arrowes flee.
What help'd it wretched Murrus that he did
Kill a fierce Basiliske? the poyson slid
Along his speare, and fastned on his hand,
Which he cut off, and then did safely stand
With that hands losse, viewing securely there
The sad example of his death so neare.
Who would haue thought the knotty Scorpion had
Such power in killing, or a sting so bad?
Her straight stroke won, when she Orion ••ew,
A trophee, which the constellations shew.
Who, small Solpu•a, from thy hole would flee?
Yet the three sisters giue their power to t•ee.
So that no rest they found by night, nor day;
They fear'd the ground it selfe, on which they lay.
For neither heapes of leaues, nor •eedes they found
To make them beds but on the naked ground
Expos'd their bodyes, whose warme vapours steame
By night attracted the cold snakes to them
Whose harmelesse jawes, whilest nights astringents cold
The poyson freez'd, vnhurt their bosomes hold.
Nor by the guidance of the stars their way
Can they discerne, but oft complayning say
Restore, oh gods, to vs those wars againe,
From which we fled: restore Pharsalia's plaine.
Why should we dy, whose liues devoted were,
And sworne to war, the death of cowards here?
The Dipsases on Caesars party are,
And horned snakes helpe end our civill war.
Oh let vs goe, where the hot zone doth ly.
'Twould ease our grieved hearts, that to the sky
We might ascribe our deaths. In nought doe we
Accuse thee, Affrica, or nature thee.
For thou this monster bearing countrey tane
From mens plantation, didst for snakes ordaine.
This land all barren, where no corne could thriue,
Thou mad'st, that men might from these serpents liue.
But we are come into their dwellings here.
Take punishment on vs, thou god, who ere
Hating our journey, didst the world divide,
Placing the doubtfull Syrtes on one side,
The torrid zone on tother, deaths sad seate
Plac'd in the midst. To thy most hid retreat
Our civill war dares goe; to the worlds end
Our wayes, through natures secrets prying, tend.
Worse things, perchance, must be endur'd then this.
The pole declines, the setting Sunne doth hisse
Drench'd in the sea. No land doth further ly
This way; then Iubaes woefull monarchy
Knowne but by fame, we shall perchance againe
Wish for this serpents land; th' aire doth containe
Some comfort yet: some things are living here.
Alas, we wish not for our countrey deare,
Europe, nor Asia▪ different Sunnes which see:
Vnder what pole, oh Affricke, left we thee?
'Twas winter at Cyrene when we lay:
Is the yeares course chang'd in so small a way?
The South is at our backes▪ to th' adverse pole
Our journey tends; about the world we rowle.
We are, perchance, Antipodes to Rome.
Let this our comfort be, Let Caesar come,
Oh let our foes pursue where we haue fled.
Thus they in sad complaints vnburdened
Their loaded patience. Catoes vertue keepes
Them proofe 'gainst any labour, who still sleepes
Vpon the naked sands, and every hower,
Present at every fate, tempts fortunes power.
Comes at all calls; his presence doth bestow
Farre more then health, a strength to vndergoe
Even death it selfe. Whilest Cato's standing by
They are asham'd impatiently to dy.
What power ore him had any misery?
Whose presence griefe in others breasts subdew'd,
And what small power can be in sorrow shew'd.
Some case at last did tired fortune giue
To their long suffrings, there a nation liue
Marinarian Psylls, from serpents biting free.
They arm'd with powerfull incantations be.
Their blood's secure, and, though they did not charme,
By touch of poyson cannot suffer harme.
The places nature this did justly giue,
That serpent-free they might with serpents liue.
Twas well, that in this poysonous aire they breath;
For peace is made betwixt themselues, and death.
Of their owne broodes such certaine proofes haue all,
That when to ground a new-borne childe doth fall,
Fearing strange Venus hath their beds defil'd,
By deadly Aspes they try the doubted childe.
As th' Eagle when her Eaglets are disclos'd,
Layes them against the rising Sunne expos'd;
Those that with stedy eye can view his beemes,
And boldly gaze, those only she esteemes,
The other scornes▪ the Psylls so count it there
Their nations pledge, if infants doe not feare
The serpents touch, or freely play with snakes.
They not content with their owne safety, take
For strangers care; and following th' army then
Against those serpents aided Catoes men
For when the campe was pitch'd, those sands, that lay
Within the compasse of the trenches, they
Did purge with snake-expelling charmes throughout,
And med•inable fires made round about.
Their Wall wort crackes and fennell gumme doth fry,
Thin Tama•iske, Thessalian Centory,
Strong Panace, Arabian Pepperwort,
Sicilian Thapsos burn'd with Sulphurwort,
Lar•he trees, and Southernewood, which serpents dread
And hornes of stags far off from Affricke bred.
So night was safe. If slung by day they were,
That magicke nations miracles appeare;
For 'gainst the Psyl's the taken venome striues;
Markes to the wounded place their spittle giues;
Whose force the poyson in the wound doth stay.
Then with a foaming tongue dire charmes they say
In ceaselesse murmurs. For no time to breath
The danger giues. Approaching speedy death
Admits no silence. Oft hath poyson tane
In th'inmost parts bin charm'd away againe.
But, when call'd out by their commanding tongue,
If any poyson dare to tarry long,
Then falling downe they licke the pallid wound,
And with a gentle bite squeezing it round
Sucke with their mouths the poyson out, and it
Extracted from the key-cold body spit.
And in their mouths tasting the poyson well
What serpent deepest bit the Psylls can tell.
Now ore the fields encourag'd by their aide
The Roman souldiers wander'd lesse afraide.
Thus Cato treading sands of Libya
The Moone twice waning, and twice wexing saw.
Now more and more the sands to harden gan,
And Affricks thicken'd ground grew g•e•e againe.
Trees here, and there began t'extend their shade:
And cottages of reedes and sedges made▪
How great an hope of better ground had they,
When first they saw fierce Lions crosse their way?
Leptis was neer'st which quiet harbour lent.
Their winter free from heat, and stormes they spent.
Now Caesar with Pharsaliaes slaughter cloy'd
Leaving all other cares, his thoughts employ'd
In the poursuite of Pompey, and was brought
(When he his steps by land had vainely sought)
By fames report to sea, and passed ore
The Thracian straights, and that loue-famed shore,
Where once faire Heroes wofull turret stood;
Where Helles tra•oe•y new-nam'd the flood,
No arme of sea bounds with a streame so small
Asia from Europe, though Propontis fall
Narrow into the Euxine sea, and from
Purple Chalcedon part Byzanti•m.
Thence goes to see renown'd Sigaean sands,
The streame of Simois, and Rhaetaean lands
Fa••'d for the Graecian worthye• tombe, wherely
Great ghosts so much in debt to Poetry.
Sack'd Troyes yet honour'd name he goes about,
To finde th' old wall of great Apollo out.
Now fruitlesse trees, old oakes with putrify'd,
And rotten rootes the Trojan hou•es hide,
And temples of their gods, all Troy's orespred
With bushes thi•ke, her ruines ruined.
He se•s the bridall groue, Anchises lodg'd,
Hesiones rocke, the caue where Paris iudg'd,
Where nimph Oenone play'd, •he place so fam'd
For Ganimedes rape, each stone is nam'd,
A little gliding streame, which Xanthus was,
Vnknowne he past, and in the lofty grasse
Securely trode; a Phrygian straight forbid
Him •r•ade on Hectors dust: with ruines hid
The stone retain'd no sacred memory.
Respect you not great Hectors tombe, quoth he!
Oh great, and sacred worke of Poesy,
That freest from fate, and giv'st eternity
To mortall wights; but, Caesar envy not
Their living names, if Roman muses ought
May promise thee, while Homer's honoured,
By future times shall thou, and I be read;
No age shall vs with darke oblivion staine,
But our Pharsalia ever shall remaine.
Then Caesar pleas'd with sight of these so prais'd
Antiquities a greene turfe-alter rais'd,
And by the frankincense-fed fire prepar'd
These orizons not vaine; you gods, that guard
These Heroes dust, and in Troyes ruines reigne:
Aeneas houshold gods, that still mainteine
In Alba, and Lavinia your shrines,
Vpon whose altars fire yet Trojan shines;
Thou sacred temple clos'd Palladium,
That in the sight of man did'st never come;
The greatest heire of all Iulus race
Here in your former seate implores your grace,
And pious incense on your altars layes;
Prosper my course, and thankefull Rome shall raise
Troyes walls againe, your people Ile restore,
And build a Roman Troy. This said, to shore
He hasts, takes shipping, and to Corus lends
His full-spread sailes with hast to make amends
For these delayes, and with a prosperous winde
Leaues wealthy Asia, and faire Rhodes behinde.
The Westwinde blowing still, the seaventh night
Discovers Aegypts shore by Pharian light.
But ere they reach the harbour, day appeares,
And dimmes the nightly fires, when Caesar heares
Strange tumults on the shore, noises of men,
And doubtfull murmurings, and fearing then
To trust himselfe at land, stayes in his fleete;
Whom straight Achillas launches forth to meete
Bringing his Kings dire gift great Pompey's head
With an Aegyptian mantle covered;
And thus his crime with impious words to grace.
Lord of the world, greatest of Roman race,
And now secure (which yet thou doest not know)
In Pompey's death, my King doth heere bestow
What only wanted in Pharsalia's field,
And what thy wars, and travells end will yeild:
We in thy absence finish'd civill war.
For Pompey heere desiring to repaire
Thessalia's ruines, by our sword lyes slaine.
By this great pledge, Caesar, we seeke to gaine
Thy loue, and in his blood our league to make.
Heere without bloodshed Aegypts kingdome take,
Take all Niles fertile regions, and receiue
What ever thou for Pompey's head would'st giue:
Thinke him a freind worthy thine armes to haue,
To whom the fates such power ore Pompey gaue.
Nor thinke his merit cheape, since brought to passe
With easy slaughter, his old freind he was,
And to his banish'd father did restore
The crowne of Aegypt. But why speake I more?
Finde thou a name for this great worke of his,
Or aske the world; if villany it is,
The more thou ow'st to him, that from thee tooke
This act of villany. Thus having spoke
Straight he vncovers, and presents the head,
Whose scarse-knowne lookes pale death had altered.
Caesar at first his gift would not refuse,
Nor turne his eyes away, but fixtly veiwes
Till he perceiv'd 'twas true, and plainely saw
'Twas safe to be a pious father in law;
Then shed forc'd teares, and from a joyfull breast
Drew sighs, and grones, as thinking teares would best
Conceale his inward joy: so quite orethrowes
The tyrants merit, and doth rather choose
To weepe, then ow to him for Pompey's head.
He that on slaughter'd Senators could tread,
And see the blood-stain'd fields of Thessaly
Dry-ey'd, to thee alone durst not deny
The tribute of his eyes. Strange turne of fate,
Weep'st thou for him, whom thou with impious hate
Caesar, so long pursu'dst? could not the loue
Of Daughter, Nephew, not aliance mooue?
Think'st thou among those people, that bewaile
Great Pompey's death, these teares can ought availe
Perchance thou envy'st Ptolomeys dire fact;
And griev'st that any had the power to act
This but thy selfe, that the revenge of war
Was lost, and taken from the conquerer.
What cause so ever did thy sorrow mooue,
It was far distant from a pious loue.
Was this the cause that thy pursuite did draw
Ore land, and sea, to saue thy sonne in law?
'Twas well, sad fortune tooke the doome from thee,
And spar'd so far a Roman modesty,
As not to suffer thee, false man, to giue
Pardon to him, or pity him aliue,
Yet to deceiue the world, and gaine beleife
Thou add'st a language to thy fained greife.
Thy bloody present from our presence beare,
For worse from Caesar, then slaine Pompey here
Your wickednesse deserues; the only meede
Of civill warre, to spare the conquered
We loose by this, and did not Ptolomey
His sister hate, I could with ease repay
This gift of his, and for so blacke a deede
Returne his sister Cleopatras head.
Why wag'd he secret war, or why durst he
Thus thrust his sword into our worke? did we
By our Pharsalian victory afford
Your King this power, or license Aegypts sword?
I brook'd not Pompey to beare share with me
In rule of Rome, and shall I Ptolomey?
All nations joyned in our war in vaine,
If any other power on earth remaine
But Caesar now; if any land serue two.
We were determin'd from your shore to goe,
But fame forbid vs, lest we should seeme more
To feare then hate dire Aegypts bloody shore.
And doe not thinke you haue deceived me:
To vs was meant such hospitality.
And 'twas our fortune in Thessaliaes war,
That frees this head With greater danger far
Then could be feard, we fought. I fear'd the doome
Of banishment, the threats of wrathfull Rome,
And Pompey's force: but had I fled, I see
My punishment had come from Ptolomey.
We spare his age, and pardon his foule fact;
For let your King for such a deed expect
No more then pardon. But doe you enterre
This Worthy's head: not that the earth may beare,
And hide your guilt; bring fumes, and odours store
T'appease his head, and gather from the shore
His scatter'd limbs, compose them in one tombe.
Let his deare ghost perceiue that Caesar's come,
And heare my pious griefe. Whilst he preferrs
All desperate hazards before me, and dares
Rather to trust his life with Ptolomey,
The people all haue lost a joyfull day,
The world our peace: the gods my prayers deny'd
That laying these victorious armes aside
I might embrace thee, Pompey and request
Our former life, and loue, and thinke me blest
After this war thy aequall still to be.
Then had my faithfull loue perswaded thee
Though conquer'd to excuse the gods, and make
Thee Rome, to pardon me. Though thus he spake,
He found no partners in his griefe; the rest
Bele•t not his, and their owne teares supprest,
And durst (oh happy freedome) with dry eye
Though Caesar wept, behold this tragedy.