Messenger, Cornelia, Chorus.
Messenger. Unhappy man! amongst so many wracks
As I have suffer'd both by land and sea,
That scornful destiny denies my death!
Oft have I seen the ends of mightier men,
Whose coats of steel base death hath stol'n into;
And in this direful war before mine eyes
Beheld their corses scatter'd on the plains,
And endless numbers falling by my side;
Nor those ignoble, but the noblest lords.
'Mongst whom above the rest (that moves me most)
Scipio (my dearest master) is deceas'd;
And death, that sees the noblest[371] blood so rife,
Full-gorged triumphs, and disdains my life.
Cornelia. We are undone.
Chorus. Scipio hath lost the day;
But hope the best, and hearken to his news.
Cornelia. O cruel fortune!
Messenger. These misfortunes yet
Must I report to sad Cornelia;
Whose ceaseless grief (which I am sorry for)
Will aggravate my former misery. [Aside.
Cornelia. Wretch that I am, why leave I not the world?
Or wherefore am I not already dead?
O world! O wretch!
Chorus. Is this th' undaunted heart,
That is required in extremities?
Be more confirmed. And, madam, let not grief
Abuse your wisdom like a vulgar wit.
Haply the news is better than the noise;
Let's hear him speak.
Cornelia. O no, for all is lost!
Farewell, dear father.
Chorus. He is sav'd perhaps.