_Cl._ Ah my heart breaks. By shadie bankes of hell, By fieldes wheron the lonely Ghosts do treade, By my soule, and the soule of _Antonie_ I you beseche, _Euphron_, of them haue care. Be their good Father, let your wisedome lett That they fall not into this Tyrants handes. Rather conduct them where their freezed locks Black _Æthiopes_ to neighbour Sunne do shewe; On wauie _Ocean_ at the waters will; On barraine cliffes of snowie _Caucasus_; To Tigers swift, to Lions, and to Beares; And rather, rather vnto euery coaste, To eu’rie land and sea: for nought I feare As rage of him, whose thirst no bloud can quench. Adieu deare children, children deare adieu: Good _Isis_ you to place of safetie guide, Farre from our foes, where you your liues may leade In free estate deuoid of seruile dread. Remember not, my children, you were borne Of such a Princelie race: remember not So manie braue Kings which haue _Egipt_ rul’de In right descent your ancestors haue bene: That this great _Antonie_ your Father was, _Hercules_ bloud, and more then he in praise. For your high courage such remembrance will, Seing your fall with burning rages fill. Who knowes if that your hands false _Destinie_ The Scepters promis’d of imperiouse _Rome_, In stede of them shall crooked shepehookes beare, Needles or forkes, or guide the carte, or plough? Ah learne t’ endure: your birth and high estate Forget, my babes, and bend to force of fate. Farwell, my babes, farwell, my hart is clos’de With pitie and paine, my self with death enclos’de, My breath doth faile. Farwell for euermore, Your Sire and me you shall see neuer more. Farwell swete care, farwell. _Chil._ Madame Adieu. _Cl._ Ah this voice killes me. Ah good Gods! I swounde. I can no more, I die. _Eras._ Madame, alas! And will you yeld to woe? Ah speake to vs. _Eup._ Come children. _Chil._ We come. _Eup._ Follow we our chaunce. The Gods shall guide vs. _Char._ O too cruell lott! O too hard chaunce! Sister what shall we do, What shall we do, alas! if murthring darte Of death arriue while that in slumbring swound Half dead she lie with anguish ouergone? _Er._ Her face is frozen. _Ch._ Madame for Gods loue Leaue vs not thus: bidd vs yet first farwell. Alas! wepe ouer _Antonie_: Let not His bodie be without due rites entomb’de. _Cl._ Ah, ah. _Char._ Madame. _Cle._ Ay me! _Cl._ How fainte she is?