Elizabeth Cary - The Tragedy of Mariam, Act I, Scene 1 lyrics

Act 1 scene 1 [MARIAM alone.] MARIAM How oft have I with public voice run on To censure Rome's last hero for deceit: Because he wept when Pompey's life was gone, Yet when he lived, he thought his name too great. But now I do recant, and, Roman lord, Excuse too rash a judgment in a woman: My s** pleads pardon, pardon then afford, Mistaking is with us but too too common. Now do I find, by self-experience taught, One object yields both grief and joy: You wept indeed, when on his worth you thought, But joyed that slaughter did your foe destroy. So at his d**h your eyes true drops did rain, Whom dead, you did not wish alive again. When Herod lived, that now is done to d**h, Oft have I wished that I from him were free: Oft have I wished that he might lose his breath, Oft have I wished his carca** dead to see. Then rage and scorn had put my love to flight, That love which once on him was firmly set: Hate hid his true affection from my sight, And kept my heart from paying him his debt. And blame me not, for Herod's jealousy Had power even constancy itself to change: For he, by barring me from liberty, To shun my ranging, taught me first to range. But yet too chaste a scholar was my heart, To learn to love another than my lord: To leave his love, my lesson's former part, I quickly learned, the other I abhorred. But now his d**h to memory doth call The tender love that he to Mariam bare. And mine to him; this makes those rivers fall, Which by another thought unmoistened are. For Aristobulus, the lowliest youth That ever did in angel's shape appear, The cruel Herod was not moved to ruth; Then why grieves Mariam Herod's d**h to hear? Why joy I not the tongue no more shall speak, That yielded forth my brother's latest doom: Both youth and beauty might thy fury break, And both in him did ill befit a tomb. And, worthy grandsire, ill did he requite His high ascent, alone by thee procured, Except he murdered thee to free the sprite Which still he thought on earth too long immured. How happy was it that Sohemus' mind Was moved to pity my distressed estate! Might Herod's life a trusty servant find, My d**h to his had been unseparate. These thoughts have power, his d**h to make me bear, Nay more, to wish the news may firmly hold: Yet cannot this repulse some falling tear, That will against my will some grief unfold. And more I owe him for his love to me, The deepest love that ever yet was seen: Yet had I rather much a milkmaid be, Than be the monarch of Judea's queen. It was for nought but love he wished his end Might to my d**h but the vaunt-courier prove: But I had rather still be foe than friend, To him that saves for hate, and k**s for love. Hard-hearted Mariam, at thy discontent What floods of tears have drenched his manly face! How canst thou then so faintly now lament They truest lover's d**h, a d**h's disgrace: Ay, now, mine eyes, you do begin to right The wrongs of your admirer and my lord. Long since you should have put your smiles to flight, Ill doth a widowed eye with joy accord. Why, now methinks the love I bare him then, When virgin freedom left me unrestrained, Doth to my heart begin to creep again, My pa**ion now is far from being feigned. But, tears, fly back, and hide you in your banks, You must not be to Alexandra seen: For if my moan be spied, but little thanks Shall Mariam have, from that incensèd queen.