"The forms of things do never die,
"Because the matter that remains
"Reforms another thing thereby,

"That still the former shape retains.
"The roundness of two bowls cross-cast,
"(So they with equal pace be aim'd),
"Shows their beginning by their last,
"Which by old nature is new-fram'd.
"So peopled cities, that of
yore

"Were desert field where none would bide, "Become forsaken as before,

"Yet after are re-edify'd."
Perceive we not a petty vein,

Cut from a spring by chance or art,
Engendereth fountains, whence again

Those fountains do to floods convert?
Those floods to waves, those waves to seas,
That oft exceed their wonted bounds:
And yet those seas (as heavens please)
Return to springs by under-grounds.
E'en so our city (in her prime)
Prescribing princes every thing,
Is now subdu'd by conquering time,
And liveth subject to a king,
And yet perhaps the sun-bright crown,
That now the tyrant's head doth deck,
May turn to Rome with true renown,

If fortune chance but once to check.
The stately walls that once were rear'd,
And by a shepherd's hands erect,
(With hapless brothers blood besmear'd).
Shall show by whom they were infect.
And once more unjust Tarquin's frown
(With arrogance and rage inflam'd)
Shall keep the Roman valour down,
And Rome itself a while be tam'd.
And chastest Lucrece once again
(Because her name dishonour'd stood)
Shall by herself be careless slain,

And make a river of her blood;

Scorning her soul a seat should build
Within a body basely seen,
By shameless rape to be defil'd,

That erst was clear as heaven's queen.
But heavens, as tyranny shall yoke

Our bastard hearts with servile thrall;
So grant your plagues (which they provoke)
May light upon them once for all.
And let another Brutus rise,

Bravely to fight in Rome's defence,
To free our town froin tyranny,
And tyrannous proud insolence.

ACT III.

CORNELIA, CHORUS.

The chearful cock (the sad night's comforter)
Waiting upon the rising of the sun,

Doth sing to see how Cynthia shrinks her horn,
While Clytie takes her progress to the east;

spoply

Where wringing wet with drops of silver dew,
Her wonted tears of love she doth renew.
The wand'ring swallow, with her broken song,
The country-wench unto her work awakes;
While Cytherea sighing walks to seek
Her murder'd love transform'd into a rose;

Whom (though she see) to crop she kindly fears;
But (kissing) sighs, and dews him with her tears;
Sweet tears of love, remembrancers to time,
Time past with me, that am to tears converted;
Whose mournful passions dull the morning's joys,
Whose sweeter sleeps are turn'd to fearful dreams;
And whose first fortunes (fill'd with all distress)
Afford no hope of future happiness.

But what disastrous or hard accident
Hath bath'd your blubber'd eyes in bitter tears,

That thus consort me in my misery?

Why do you beat your breasts? why mourn you so? Say, gentle sisters, tell me, and believe

It grieves me that I know not why you grieve. Chorus. O poor Cornelia, have not we good cause, For former wrongs to furnish us with tears?

Cornelia. O, but I fear that Fortune seeks new flaws, And still (unsatisfy'd) more hatred bears.

Chorus. Wherein can Fortune farther injure us,
Now we have lost our conquer'd liberty,

Our common-wealth, our empire, and our honours,
Under this cruel Tarquin's tyranny?

Under this outrage now are all our goods,

Where scattered they run by land and sea

(Like exil❜d us) from fertile Italy,

To proudest Spain, or poorest Getuly.

Cornelia. And will the heavens, that have so oft defended

Our Roman wars from fury of fierce kings,

Not once again return our senators,

That from the Libyck plains and Spanish fields,

With fearless hearts do guard our Roman hopes?
Will they not once again encourage them
To fill our fields with blood of enemies,
And bring from Africk to our Capitol,
Upon their helms, the empire that is stole?

Then home-born houshold gods, and ye good spirits,
To whom in doubtful things we seek access,
By whom our family had been adorn'd,
And graced with the name of African ;
Do ye vouchsafe that this victorious title
Be not expired in Cornelia's blood;

And that my father now (in th' Africk wars)
The self-same stile by conquest may continue!
But, wretched that I am, alas, I fear—

Chorus. What fear you, Madam?

Cornelia. That the frowning heavens Oppose themselves against us in their wrath.

Chorus. Our loss (I hope) hath satisfy'd their ire.

Cornelia. O no, our loss lifts Cæsar's fortunes higher.

Chorus. Fortune is fickle.

Cornelia.

But hath fail'd him never. Chorus. The more unlike she should continue ever. Cornelia. My fearful dreams do my despairs redouble.

Chorus. Why suffer you vain dreams your head to
trouble?

Cornelia. Who is not troubled with strange visions?
Chorus. That of our spirit are but illusions.

Cornelia. God grant these dreams to good effect be
brought!

Chorus. We dream by night what we by day have thought.

Cornelia. The silent night, that long had sojourned, Now 'gan to cast her sable mantle off,

And now the sleepy wain-man softly drove
His slow-pac'd team, that long had travelled;
When (like a slumber, if you term it so)
A dulness, that disposeth us to rest,
'Gan close the windows of my watchful eyes,
Already tir'd and loaden with my tears;
And lo (methought) came gliding by my bed,
The ghost of Pompey, with a ghastly look;
All pale and 15 brawn-fall'n*, not in triumph borne
Amongst the Conquering Romans, as we us'd,
When he (enthroniz'd) at his feet beheld
Great emperors, fast bound in chains of brass.
But all amaz'd, with fearful hollow eyes,

His hair and beard deform'd with blood and sweat,
Casting a thin coarse linsel o'er his shoulders,
That torn in pieces trail'd upon the ground,
And, gnashing of his teeth, unlock'd his jaws,

15 brawn-fall'n.] Similar to this expression is chap-fallen, still used by the vulgar. In Beaumont and Fletcher's Mad Lover, A. 2. Calis says, his palate's down, which seems to have the same signification.

All pale and brawn-fall'n.] It will be seen by the following quotation from Webster's Appius and Virginia, 4to. 1654, that brawnfall'n is something different from what Reed has described it : "Let

"Th' enemies stript arm have his crimson'd brawns
'Up to the elbowes in your traiterous bloud."-Page 9.

Which slightly cover'd with a scarce-seen skin,
This solemn tale he sadly did begin :

Sleep'st thou, Cornelia? sleep'st thou, gentle wife, And seest thy father's misery and mine?

Wake, dearest sweet, and o'er our sepulchres
In pity show thy latest love to us.
Such hap as ours attendeth on my sons,
The self same foe and fortune following them.
Send Sextus over to some foreign nation,
Far from the common hazard of the wars;
That (being yet sav'd) he may attempt no more
To 'venge the valour that is try'd before.

He said; and suddenly a trembling horror,
A chill cold shivering (settled in my veins)
Brake up my slumber; when I ope'd my lips
'Three times to cry, but could nor cry, nor speak.
I mov'd mine head, and flung abroad mine arms,
To entertain him, but his airy spirit

Beguiled mine embracements, and (unkind)
Left me embracing nothing but the wind.

O valiant soul, when shall this soul of mine
Come visit thee in the Elysian shades?
O dearest life, or when shall sweetest death
Dissolve the fatal trouble of my days,
And bless me with my Pompey's company?
But may my father, (O extreme mishap !)
And such a number of brave regiments,
Made of so many expert soldiers,

That lov'd our liberty, and follow'd him,

Be so discomfited? O would it were but an illusion! Chorus. Madam, never fear.

Nor let a senseless idol of the night

Encrease a more than needful fear in you.

Cornelia. My fear proceeds not of an idle dream, For 'tis a truth that hath astonish'd me.

I saw great Pompey, and I heard him speak;
And, thinking to embrace him, ope'd mine arms,
When drowsy sleep, that wak'd me at unwares,
Did with his flight unclose my fearful eyes
So suddenly, that yet methinks I see him.