_Ant._ All that I can, is done: for last assay (When all means fail’d) I to entreatie fell, (Ah coward creature!) whence againe repulst Of combate I vnto him proffer made: Though he in prime, and I by feeble age Mightily weakned both in force and skill. Yet could not he his coward heart aduaunce Baselie affraid to trie so praisefull chaunce. This makes me plaine, makes me my selfe accuse, Fortune in this hir spitefull force doth vse ’Gainst my gray hayres: in this vnhappie I Repine at heau’ns in my happes pittiles. A man, a woman both in might and minde, In _Marses_ schole who neuer lesson learn’d, Should me repulse, chase, ouerthrow, destroie, Me of such fame, bring to so lowe an ebbe? _Alcides_ bloud, who from my infancie With happie prowesse crowned haue my praise. Witnesse thou _Gaule_ vnus’d to seruile yoke, Thou valiant _Spaine_, you fields of _Thessalie_ With millions of mourning cries bewail’d, Twise watred now with bloude of _Italie_. _Lu._ witnesse may _Afrique_, and of conquer’d world All fower quarters witnesses may be. For in what part of earth inhabited, Hungrie of praise haue you not ensignes spredd? _An._ Thou know’st rich _Ægypt_ (_Ægypt_ of my deeds Faire and foule subiect) _Ægypt_ ah! thou know’st How I behau’d me fighting for thy kinge, When I regainde him his rebellious Realme. Against his foes in battaile shewing force, And after fight in victorie remorse. Yet if to bring my glorie to the ground, Fortune had made me ouerthrowne by one Of greater force, of better skill then I; One of those Captaines feared so of olde, _Camill_, _Marcellus_, worthy _Scipio_, This late great _Cæsar_, honor of our state, Or that great _Pompei_ aged growne in armes; That after haruest of a world of men Made in a hundred battailes, fights, assaults, My bodie thorow pearst with push of pike Had vomited my bloud, in bloud my life, In midd’st of millions felowes in my fall: The lesse hir wrong, the lesse should my woe: Nor she should paine, nor I complain me so. No, no, wheras I should haue died in armes, And vanquisht oft new armies should haue arm’d, New battailes giuen, and rather lost with me All this whole world submitted vnto me: A man who neuer saw enlaced pikes With bristled pointes against his stomake bent, Who feares the field, and hides him cowardly Dead at the verie noise the souldiors make. His vertue, fraude, deceit, malicious guile, His armes the arts that false _Vlisses_ vs’de, Knowne at Modena, wher the _Consuls_ both Death-wounded were, and wounded by his men To gett their armie, warre with it to make Against his faith, against his countrie soile. Of _Lepidus_, which to his succours came, To honor whome he was by dutie bounde; The Empire he vsurpt: corrupting first With baites and bribes the most part of his men. Yet me hath ouercome, and made his pray,