RODON

And never (friend Seleucus ) foundest thou one, That better could bear such a partly with thee: Who by his own, knows others cares to moan, And can in Like accord of grief agree. And therefore tell oppression of thy heart, Tell to and ear prepared and tuned to care: And I will likewise unto thee impart As sad a tale as what thou shalt declare. So shall we both our mournful plaints combine, I'll wail thy state, and thou shalt pity mine. 'Tis much thou sayest, and o too much to feel, And I do grieve and do lament thy fallen: But yet all this which thou dost here reveal, Counterfeit ̄ pared with mine, will make thine seem but small. Although my fault be in the selfsame kind, Yet in degree far greater, far more hateful; Mine sprung of mischief, thine from feeble mind, I stained with blood, thou only but'vngratefull. For unto me did Cleopatra gyve The best and dearest treasure of her blood. Lovely Casario, whom she would should live Free from the dangers wherein Egypt stood. And unto me with him this charge she gave, Here Rodon, take, convey from out this Coast, This precious Gem, the chiefest that I have, The jewel of my soul I valve most. Guide him to India, lead him far from hence, Safeguard him where secure he may remain, Till better fortune call him back from thence, And Egypt's peace be reconciled again. For this is he that may our Hope's bring back, (The rising Sun of our declining state:) These be the hands that may restore our wrack, And raise the broken ruins made of late. He may gyve limits to the boundless pride Of fierce Octavius, and abate his might: Great Julius offspring, he may come to guide The Empire of the world, as his by right. Oh how he seems the model of his Sire? Oh how I gaze my Caesar in his face? Such was his gate, so did his looks aspire; Such was his threatening brow, such was his grace. High shouldered, and his forehead even as High. And o, (if he had not been born so late,) He might have ruled the world's great Monarchy, And now have been the Champion of our state. Then unto him, o my deer Son, (she says,) Son of my youth, fly hence, o fly, be gone: Reserve thy self, ordained for better days, For much thou hast to ground thy Hope's upon. Leave me (thy woeful Mother) to endure, The fury of this tempest here alone: Who cares not for herself, so thou be sure, Thou mayest revenge, when others can but moan. Rodon will see thee safe, Rodon will guide Thee and thy ways, thou shalt not needs to fear. Rodon (my faithful servant) will provide What shall be best for thee, take thou no care. And o good Rodon, look well to his youth, The ways are long, and dangers every where. I urge it not that I do doubt thy truth, Mother's will cast the worst, and always fear. The absent danger greater still appears, Less fears he, who is near the thing he fears. And o, I know not what presaging thought My spirit suggests of luckless bade event: But yet it may be 'tis but love does dote, Or idle shadows which my fears present. But yet the memory of mine own fate, Makes me fear his. And yet why should I fear? His fortune may recover better state, And he may come in pomp to govern here. But yet I doubt the Genius of our Raze By some malignant spirit comes overthrown: Our blood must be extinct, in my disgrace, Egypt must have no more Kings of their own. Then let him stay, and let us fallen together, Sith it is fore-decreed that we must fall. Yet who knows what may come? let him go thither, What Merchant in one Vessel venters all? Let us divide our stars. Go, go my Son, Let not the fate of Egypt find thee here: Try if so be thy destiny can shun The common wrack of us, by being there. But who is he found ever yet defence Against the heavens, or hid him any where? Then what need I to send thee so far hence To seek thy death that mayest as well die here? And here die with thy mother, die in rest, Not travailing to what will come to thee. Why should we leave our blood unto the East, When Egypt may a Tom be sufficient be? Oh my divided soul, what shall I do? Whereon shall now my resolution rest? What were I best resolve to yield unto When both are bade, how shall I know the best? Stay; I may hap so work with Caesar now, That he may yield him to restore thy right. Go; Caesar never will consent that thou So near in blood, shalt be so great in might. Then take him Roden, go my son farewell. But stay; ther's something else that I would say: Yet nothing now, but o God speed thee well, Least saying more, that more may make thee stay. Yet let me speak: It may be 'tis the last That ever I shall speak to thee my Son. Do Mother's use to part in such posthaste? What, must I end when I have scarce begun? Ah no (deer heart,) 'tis no such slender twine Wherewith the knot is tied betwixt thee and me. That blood within thy veins came out of mine, Parting from thee, I partly from partly of me: And therefore I must speak. Yet what? Oh son. Here more she would, when ̄ more she could not say. Sorrow rebounding back whence it begun, Filled up the passage, and quite stopped the way: When sweet Caesario with a princely sprite, (Though comfortless himself) did comfort give; With mildest words, persuading her to bear it. And as for him, she should not need to grieve. And I (with protestations of my partly,) Swore by that faith, (which sworn I did deceive) That I would use all care, all wit and art To see him safe; And so we took our leave. Scarce had we travailed to our journeys end, When Caesar having knowledge of our way, His Agents after us with speed does send To labour me, Caesario to betray. Who-with rewards, and promises so large. Assailed me then, that I grew soon content; And back to Rhodes did reconuay my charge, Pretending that Octavius for him sent, To make him King of Egypt presently. And thither come, seeing himself betrayed, And in the hands of death through treachery, Wailing his state, thus to himself he said. Lo here brought back by subtle train to death, Betrayed by Tutors faith, or Traitors rather: My fault my blood, and mine offence my birth, For being son of such a mighty Father. From India, (whither sent by Mother's care, To be reserved from Egypt's common wrack,) To Rhodes, (so long the arms of Tyrants are,) I am by Caesars subtle reach brought back. Here to be made the oblation for his fears, (him: Who doubts the poor revenge these hands may do Respecting neither blood, nor youth, nor years, Or how small safety can my death be to him. And is this all the good of being born great? Then wretched greatness, proud rich misery, Pompous distress, glittering calamity. Is it for this ambitious Father's sweat, To purchase blood and death for them and theirs? Is this the issue that their glories get, To leave a sure destruction to their heirs? Oh how far better had it been for me, From low dissent, derived of humble birth, To'haue eat the sweet-sour bred of poverty, And drunk of Nilus stream in Nilus earth: Under the covering of some quiet Cottage, Free from the wrath of heaven, secure in mind, Untouched when sad events of Princes dotage, Confounds what ever mighty it doth find. And not to-have stood in their way, whose condition, Is to have all made deer, and all thing plain, Between them and the mark of their ambition, That nothing let the full sighed of their reign. Where nothing stands, that stands not in submission; Where greatness must all in it self contain. Kings will be alone, Competitors must down, Near death he stands, that stands too near a Crown. Such is my case, for Caesar will have all: My blood must seal th'assurance of his state: Yet ah weak state that blood assure him shall, Whose wrongful shedding, Gods and men do hate. Injustice never escapes unpunished still, Though men revenge not, yet the heavens will. And thou Augustus that with bloody hand, Curtest off succession from another's raze, Mayest find the heavens thy vows so to withstand. That others may deprive thine in Like case. When rhou mayest see thy proud contentious bed Yielding thee none of thine that may inherit: Subvert thy blood, place others in their stead, To pay this thy injustice her endue merit. If it be true, (as who can that deny Which sacred Priests of Memphis do foresay,) Some of the offspring yet of Anthony, Shall all the rule of this whole Empire sway. And then Augustus, what is it thou gainest By poor Antillus blood, or this of mine? Nothing but this thy victory thou stainest, And pullest the wrath of heaven on thee and thine. In vain does man contend against the stars, For what he seeks to make, his wisdom mars. Yet in the meantime we whom Fates reserve, The bloody sacrifices of ambition, We feel the smart what ever they deserve, And we endure the present times condition. The justice of the heavens revenging thus, Does only sacrifice it self, not us. Yet 'tis a pleasing comfort that doth ease Affliction in so great extremity. To think their Like destruction shall appease Our ghosts, who did procure our misery. But dead we are, uncertain what shall be, And living, we are sure to feel the wrong: Our certain ruin we our selves do see. They joy the while, and we know not how long. But yet Caesario, thou must die content, For men will moan, & God revenge Innocent. Thus he continued ̄ plained, & thus thou hearest my shame. As he hath thee. And I expect the same As fell to Theodor to fallen to me: For he (one of my coat) having betrayed The young Antillus, son of Anthony, And at his death from of his neck conveyed A jewel: which being asked, he did deny: Caesar occasion took to hang him straight. Such instruments with Princes live not long. Although they need us, (actors of deceit,) Yet still our sighed seems to upbraid their wrong; And therefore we must needs this danger run, And in the net of our own guile be caught: We must not live to bray what we have done, For what is done, must not appear their fault. But here comes Cleopatra, woeful Queen, And our shame will not that we should be seen.