ABSTRACT
The Tragedy oj Anlonie 373 In triumph rais'd as high as highest heav'n; 570 Lord-like disposing as him pleased best, The wealth of Greece, the wealth of Asia: In that faire fortune had I him exchaung'd For Ctesar, then, men would have counted me Faithles, unconstant, light: but now the storme, And blustring tempest driving on his face, Readie to drowne, Alas! what would they say? What would himselfe in Plutos mansion say? If I, whome alwaies more then life he lov'de, If I, who am his heart, who was his hope, 580 Leave him, forsake him (and perhaps in vaine) Weakly to please who him hath overthrowne? Not light, unconstant, faithlesse should I be, But vile, forsworne, of treachrous cruelty.
