And state of _Rome_, with me hath ouercome. Strange! one disordred act at _Actium_ The earth subdu’de, my glorie hath obscur’d. For since, as one whome heauens wrath attaints, With furie caught, and more then furious Vex’d with my euills, I neuer more had care My armies lost, or lost name to repaire: I did no more resist. _Lu._ All warres affaires, But battailes most, daily haue their successe Now good, now ill: and though that fortune haue Great force and power in euery worldlie thing, Rule all, do all, haue all things fast enchaind Vnto the circle of hir turning wheele: Yet seemes it more then any practise else She doth frequent _Ballonas_ bloudie trade: And that hir fauour, wauering as the wind, Hir greatest power therin doth oftnest shewe. Whence growes, we dailie see, who in their youth Gatt honor ther, do loose it in their age, Vanquisht by some lesse warlike then themselues: Whome yet a meaner man shall ouerthrowe. Hir vse is not to lende vs still her hande, But sometimes headlong back a gaine to throwe, When by hir fauor she hath vs extolld Vnto the topp of highest happines. _Ant._ well ought I curse within my grieued soule, Lamenting daie and night, this sencelesse loue, Whereby my faire entising foe entrap’d My hedelesse _Reason_, could no more escape. It was not fortunes euer chaunging face, It was not Dest’nies chaungles violence Forg’d my mishap. Alas! who doth not know They make, nor marre, nor any thing can doe. Fortune, which men so feare, adore, detest, Is but a chaunce whose cause vnknow’n doth rest. Although oft times the cause is well perceiu’d, But not th’effect the fame that was conceiu’d. _Pleasure_, nought else, the plague of this our life, Our life which still a thousand plagues pursue, Alone hath me this strange disastre spunne, Falne from a souldior to a Chamberer, Careles of vertue, careles of all praise. Nay, as the fatted swine in filthy mire With glutted heart I wallow’d in delights, All thoughts of honor troden vnder foote. So I me lost: for finding this swete cupp Pleasing my tast, vnwise I drunke my fill, And through the swetenes of that poisons power By stepps I draue my former witts astraie. I made my frends, offended me forsake, I holpe my foes against my selfe to rise. I robd my subiects, and for followers I saw my selfe besett with flatterers. Mine idle armes faire wrought with spiders worke, My scattred men without their ensignes strai’d: _Cæsar_ meane while who neuer would haue dar’de To cope with me, me sodainlie despis’de, Tooke hart to fight, and hop’de for victorie On one so gone, who glorie had forgone.