inate passion sease
Vpon that man, the greatnesse of whose minde
And not his Fortune made him term'd the Great.
_Pom._ Oh I did neuer tast mine Honours sweete
Nor now can iudge of this my sharpest sowre. 130
Fifty eight yeares in Fortunes sweete soft lap
Haue I beene luld a sleepe with pleasant ioyes,
Me hath she dandled in her foulding Armes,
And fed my hopes with prosperous euentes:
Shee Crownd my Cradle with successe and Honour,
And shall disgrace a waite my haples Hearse?
Was I a youth with Palme and Lawrell girt,
And now an ould man shall I waite my fall?
Oh when I thinke but on my triumphs past,
The Consul-ships and Honours I haue borne; 140
The fame and feare where in great _Pompey_ liu'd,
Then doth my grieued Soule informe me this,
My fall augmented by my former bisse.
_Bru._ Why do we vse of vertues strength to vant,
If euery crosse a Noble mind can daunt,
Wee talke of courage, then, is courage knowne,
When with mishap our state is ouerthrowne:
Neuer let him a Souldiers Title beare.
Wihch in the cheefest brunt doth shrinke and feare,
Thy former haps did Men thy vertue shew, 150
But now that fayles them which thy vertue knew,
Nor thinke this conquest shalbe _Pompeys_ fall:
Or that _Pharsalia_ shall thine honour bury,
_Egipt_ shalbe vnpeopled for thine ayde.
And Cole-black _Libians_, shall manure the grounde
In thy defence with bleeding hearts of men.
_Pom._ O second hope of sad oppressed _Rome_,
In whome the ancient _Brutus_ vertue shines,
That purchast first the _Romaine_ liberty,
Let me imbrace thee: liue victorious youth, 160
When death and angry fates shall call me hence,
To free thy country from a Tyrants yoke.
My harder fortune, and more cruell starrs.
Enuied to me so great a happines.
Do not prolong my life with vaine false hopes,
To deepe dispaire and sorrow I am vow'd:
Do not remououe me from that setled thought,
With hope of friends or ayde of _Ptolomey_,
_Egipt_ and _Libia_ at choyse I haue.
But onely which of them Ile make my graue. 170
_Tit._ Tis but discomfort which misgreeues thee this,
Greefe by dispaire seemes greater then it is,
_Bru._ Tis womannish to wayle and mone our greefe,