CORNELIA. O cruel gods! O heaven! O direful fates! O radiant sun, that slightly gild'st our days! O night-stars, full of infelicities! O triple-titled Hecate, queen and goddess, Bereave my life, or living strangle me! Confound me quick, or let me sink to hell! Thrust me fro' forth the world, that 'mongst the spirits Th' infernal lakes may ring with my laments! O miserable, desolate, distressful wretch, Worn in mishaps, yet in mishaps abounding! What shall I do, or whither shall I fly, To venge this outrage, or revenge my wrongs? Come, wrathful furies, with your ebon locks, And feed yourselves with mine enflamed blood! Ixion's torment, Sisyph's rolling stone, And th' eagle tiring[382] on Prometheus, Be my eternal tasks; that th' extreme fire Within my heart may from my heart retire. I suffer more, more sorrows I endure, Than all the captives in th' infernal court. O troubled fate! O fatal misery! That unprovoked deal'st so partially. Say, fretful heavens, what fault have I committed, Or wherein could mine innocence offend you, When (being but young) I lost my first love, Crassus? Or wherein did I merit so much wrong, To see my second husband, Pompey, slain? But 'mongst the rest, what horrible offence, What hateful thing, unthought of, have I done, That, in the midst of this my mournful state, Nought but my father's death could expiate? Thy death, dear Scipio, Rome's eternal loss, Whose hopeful life preserv'd our happiness; Whose silver hairs encouraged the weak; Whose resolutions did confirm the rest: Whose end, sith it hath ended all my joys, O heavens, at least permit of all these plagues That I may finish the catastrophe; Sith in this widowhood of all my hopes I cannot look for further happiness. For, both my husbands and my father gone, What have I else to wreak your wrath upon? Now as for happy thee, to whom sweet death Hath given blessed rest for life's bereaving; O envious Julia, in thy jealous heart Venge not thy wrong upon Cornelia. But, sacred ghost, appease thine ire, and see My hard mishap in marrying after thee. O, see mine anguish! haply seeing it, 'Twill move compassion in thee of my pains, And urge thee, if thy heart be not of flint, Or drunk with rigour, to repent thyself, That thou enflam'dst so cruel a revenge In Cæsar's heart upon so slight a cause; And mad'st him raise so many mournful tombs, Because thy husband did revive the lights Of thy forsaken bed; unworthily Opposing of thy fretful jealousy 'Gainst his mishap, as it my help had been, Or as if second marriage were a sin. Was never city, where calamity Hath sojourn'd with such sorrow as in this? Was never state, wherein the people stood So careless of their conquer'd liberty, And careful of another's tyranny?