Teares mountains sides in sunder: Nor bloudie _Marses_ butchering bands, Whose lightnings desert laie the lands whome dustie cloudes do couer: From of whose armour sun-beames flie, And vnder them make quaking lie The plaines wheron they houer: Nor yet the cruell murth’ring blade Warme in the moistie bowells made of people pell mell dieng In some great Cittie put to sack By sauage Tirant brought to wrack, At his colde mercie lieng. How abiect him, how base think I, Who wanting courage can not dye When need him therto calleth? From whom the dagger drawne to kill The curelesse griefes that vexe him still For feare and faintnes falleth? O _Antonie_ with thy deare mate Both in misfortunes fortunate! Whose thoughts to death aspiring Shall you protect from victors rage, Who on each side doth you encage, To triumph much desiring. That _Cæsar_ may you not offend Nought else but Death can you defend, which his weake force derideth, And all in this round earth containd, Powr’les on them whom once enchaind _Auernus_ prison hideth: Where great _Psammetiques_ ghost doth rest, Not with infernall paine possest, But in swete fields detained: And olde _Amasis_ soule likewise, And all our famous _Ptolemies_ That whilome on vs raigned. _Act. 4._ _Cæsar._ _Agrippa._ _Dircetus_ the Messenger. _Cæsar._ _You euer-liuing Gods which all things holde Within the power of your celestiall hands, By whom heate, colde, the thunder, and the winde, The properties of enterchaunging mon’ths Their course and being haue, which do set downe Of Empires by your destinied decree The force, age, time, and subiect to no chaunge Chaunge all, reseruing nothing in one state: You haue aduaunst, as high as thundring heau’n The _Romains_ greatnes by _Bellonas_ might: Mastring the world with fearfull violence, Making the world widow of libertie. Yet at this daie this proud exalted _Rome_ Despoil’d, captiu’d, at one mans will doth bende: Her Empire mine, her life is in my hand, As Monarch I both world and _Rome_ commaund; Do all, can all; fourth my commaund’ment cast Like thundring fire from one to other Pole Equall to Ioue: bestowing by my worde Happes and mishappes, as Fortunes King and Lord. No Towne there is, but vp my Image settes, But sacrifice to me doth dayly make: Whither where _Phæbus_ ioyne his morning steedes, Or where the night them weary entertaines, Or where the heat the _Garamants_ doth scorche, Or where the colde from _Boreas_ breast is blowne: All _Cæsar_ do both awe and honor beare, And crowned Kings his verie name do feare. _Antonie_ knowes it well, for whom not one Of all the Princes all this earth do rule, Armes against me: for all redoubt the power Which heau’nly powers on earth haue made me beare. _Antonie_, he poore man with fire enflam’de A womans beauties kindled in his heart,