John Philip Kemble [1813], Shakspeare's tragedy of Antony and Cleopatra; with alterations, and with additions from Dryden; as now perform'd at the Theatre-Royal, Covent-Garden (Printed and Publish'd by J. Barker [etc.], London) [word count] [S30200].
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Scene 7
SCENE—Alexandria.
A GRAND FUNERAL PROCESSION: DURING WHICH IS SUNG THE FOLLOWING EPICEDIUM:
CHORUS.
Cold in death the Hero lies;
Nerveless, now, the Victor's arm;
Quench'd the light'ning of his eyes,
The Foe to daunt, the Fair to charm.
Mourn, soldiers, mourn! your day is done;
Valour has lost its cheering sun;
The Roman Glory sets on Ægypt's shore,
And great Mark Antony will rise no more.
SOLO.
Oh, comrades! many a time has he
Led us to glorious Victory!
Then, blush not, friends, at drops that force,
Down manhood's cheek, their rugged course:
The tears that Soldiers o'er their General shed,
Are Brave Men's tribute to a Brave Man dead.
-- 84 --
TRIO OR QUARTETTO.
A constant Fire his Courage glow'd;
A ceaseless Stream his Bounty flow'd.
If Riches in the field of Fame he reap'd,
The Harvest was on Love and Friendship heap'd.
SOLO.
When Mars no longer battled on his side,
And Neptune, weary of his prowess grown,
Buoy'd him no more to Conquest down the tide,
E'en then no sword subdued him, but his own.
While Cleopatra's grave ye trim,
There her lov'd Antony inter;
For she her Ægypt lost for him;
He half the World for her.
GRAND CHORUS.
No monument, till now, could boast a pair
So fam'd, yet, ah! so luckless in their doom;
Long will he doves of Venus murmur there,
And shouts of Warriors thunder o'er the tomb. |
