SCENE 1.

Enter PTOLOMY, PHOTINUS, ACHILLAS, and ACHOREUS.

Achor. I told you carefully, what this would

prove to,

What this inestimable wealth and glory
Would draw upon you: I advised your majesty
Never to tempt a conquering guest, nor add
A bait, to catch a mind, bent by his trade
To make the whole world his.

Pho. I was not heard, sir,

Or, what I said, lost and contemned: I dare say,
And freshly now, 'twas a poor weakness in you,
A glorious childishness! I watched his eye,
And saw how falcon-like it towered, and flew
Upon the wealthy quarry; how round it marked

it:

With objects, that would make their own still labour.

Pho. Your sister he ne'er gazed on; that's a main note:

The prime beauty of the world had no power over him.

Achor. Where was his mind the whilst? Pho. Where was your carefulness, To shew an armed thief the way to rob you? Nay, would you give him this, it will excite him To seek the rest: Ambition feels no gift, Nor knows no bounds; indeed you've done most weakly.

Ptol. Can I be too kind to my noble friend? Pho. To be unkind unto your noble self, but

Pho. And that diminished also, what's your life worth? Who would regard it?

Ptol. You say true. Achil. What eye

Will look upon king Ptolomy? If they do look,
It must be in scorn; for a poor king's a monster:,
What ear remember ye? 'twill be then a courtesy,
A noble one, to take your life too from you:
But if reserved, you stand to fill a victory;
As who knows conquerors' minds, though out-
wardly

They bear fair streams? Oh, sir, does not this shake ye?

If to be honied on to these afflictions-
Ptol. I never will: I was a fool!
Pho. For then, sir,

Your country's cause falls with you too, and fettered:

All Egypt shall be ploughed up with dishonour. Ptol. No more; I'm sensible: And now my spirit

Burns hot within me.

Achil. Keep it warm and fiery.
Pho. And last, be counselled.
Ptol. I will, though I perish.

Pho. Go in: We'll tell you all, and then we'll [Exeunt.

execute.

SCENE II.

Enter CLEOPATRA, ARSINOE, and EROS. Ars. You're so impatient!

Cleo. Have I not cause?

Women of common beauties, and low births, When they are slighted, are allowed their angers: Why should not I, a princess, make him know The baseness of his usage?

Ars. Yes, 'tis fit:

But then again, you know, what man

Or blasted in my bud, he might have shewed
Some shadow of dislike: But, to prefer

The lustre of a little trash, Arsinoe,

And the poor glow-worm light of some faint jewels,

Before the life of love, and soul of beauty,
Oh, how it vexes me! He is no soldier;
All honourable soldiers are love's servants;
He is a merchant, a mere wandering merchant,
Servile to gain: He trades for poor commodities,
And makes his conquests, thefts! Some fortu-
nate captains,

That quarter with him, and are truly valiant,
Have flung the name of happy Cæsar on him;
Himself ne'er won it: He's so base and cove-

tous,

He'll sell his sword for gold.

Ars. This is too bitter.

Cleo. Oh, I could curse myself, that was so foolish,

So fondly childish, to believe his tongue,
His promising tongue, ere I could catch his tem-

per.

I had trash enough to have cloyed his eyes withal, (His covetous eyes) such as I scorn to tread on, Richer than e'er he saw yet, and more tempting; Had I known he had stooped at that, I'd saved mine honour,

I had been happy still! But let him take it,
And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded;
Let him go conquer still weak wretched ladies:
Love has his angry quiver too, his deadly,
And, when he finds scorn, armed at the strongest.
I am a fool to fret thus for a fool,

An old blind fool too! I lose my health; I will not,

I will not cry; I will not honour him

With tears diviner than the gods he worships;
I will not take the pains to curse a poor thing!
Eros. Do not; you shall not need.
Cleo. 'Would I were prisoner

To one I hate, that I might anger him!

I will love any man, to break the heart of him!
Any, that has the heart and will to kill him!
Ars. Take some fair truce.
Cleo. I will go study mischief,

And put a look on, armed with all my cunnings,
Shall meet him like a basilisk, and strike him!
Love, put destroying flames into mine eyes,
Into my smiles deceits, that I may torture him,
That I may make him love to death, and laugh
at him!

VOL. I.

Enter APOLLODorus.

Apol. Cæsar commends his service to your

grace.

Cleo. His service? what's his service?
Eros. Pray you be patient:

The noble Cæsar loves still.
Cleo. What is his will?

Apol. He craves access unto your highness.
Cleo. No;

Say, no; I will have none to trouble me.
Ars. Good sister!

Cleo. None, I say; I will be private.
'Would thou hadst flung me into Nilus, keeper,
When first thou gav'st consent, to bring my body
To this unthankful Cæsar!

Apol. 'Twas your will, madam,

Nay more, your charge upon me, as I honoured

Cæsar. I do not use to wait, lady;
Where I am, all the doors are free and open.
Cleo. I guess so, by your rudeness.
Casar. You're not angry?

Things of your tender mould should be most gentle.

Why do you frown? Good Gods, what a set anger Have you forced into your face! Come, I must temper you.

What a coy smile was there, and a disdainful! How like an ominous flash it broke out from you! Defend me, Love! Sweet, who has angered you? Cleo. Shew him a glass! That false face has betrayed me,

That base heart wronged me!

Cæsar. Be more sweetly angry.

I wronged you, fair?

Cleo. Away with your foul flatteries;

They are too gross! But that I dare be angry,
And with as great a god as Cæsar is,

To shew how poorly I respect his memory,
I would not speak to you.

Cæsar. Pray you undo this riddle,
And tell me how I've vexed you?
Cleo. Let me think first,

Whether I may put on a patience,

That will with honour suffer me. Know, I hate

You first reaped of me: Till you taught my nature,
Like a rude storm, to talk aloud, and thunder,
Sleep was not gentler than my soul, and stiller.
You had the spring of my affections,

And my fair fruits I gave you leave to taste of;
You must expect the winter of mine anger.
You flung me off, before the court disgraced me,
When in the pride I appeared of all my beauty,
Appeared your mistress; took into your eyes
The common strumpet, love of hated lucre,
Courted with covetous heart the slave of nature,
Gave all your thoughts to gold, that men of glory,
And minds adorned with noble love, would kick at!
Soldiers of royal mark scorn such base purchase;
Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at.
I spake to you then, I courted you, and wooed
you,

Called you dear Cæsar,' hung about you tenderly,

Was proud to appear your friend--

Cæsar. You have mistaken me.

Cleo. But neither eye, nor favour, not a smile,
Was I blessed back withal, but shook off rudely;
And, as you had been sold to sordid infamy,
You fell before the images of treasure,

And in your soul you worshipp'd: I stood slighted,
Forgotten and condemned; my soft embraces,
And those sweet kisses you called Elysium,
As letters writ in sand, no more remembered;
The name and glory of your Cleopatra
Laughed at, and made a story to your captains!
Shall I endure?

Casar. You are deceived in all this;
Upon my life you are: 'tis your much tender-

And, as he is imperious, so will I be.

Stay, fool, and be advised; that dulls the appetite,
Takes off the strength and sweetness of delight.
By heaven she is a miracle! I must use
A handsome way to win-How now? What fear
Dwells in your faces? you look all distracted.

Enter SCEVA, ANTONY, and DOLABELLA.
Sce. If it be fear, 'tis fear of your undoing,
Not of ourselves; fear of your poor declining;
Our lives and deaths are equal benefits,
And we make louder prayers to die nobly,
Than to live high and wantonly. Whilst you're
secure here,

And offer hecatombs of lazy kisses
To the lewd god of love and cowardice,
And most lasciviously die in delights,
You are begirt with the fierce Alexandrians.
Dól. The spawn of Egypt flow about your pa-
lace,

Armed all, and ready to assault.

Ant. Led on

By the false and base Photinus, and his ministers. No stirring out, no peeping through a loop-hole, But straight saluted with an armed dart.

Sce. No parley; they are deaf to all but danger. They swear they'll flay us, and then dry our quar

ters;

A rasher of a salt lover is such a shoeing-horn!
Can you kiss away this conspiracy, and set us free?
Or will the giant god of love fight for you?
Will his fierce warlike bow kill a cock-sparrow?
Bring out the lady! she can quell this mutiny,
And with her powerful looks strike awe into
them;

She can destroy and build again the city;
Your goddesses have mighty gifts! Shew them
her fair breasts,

Th' impregnable bulwarks of proud love, and let

em

Begin their battery there; she will laugh at 'em!
They're not above a hundred thousand, sir,
A mist, a mist! that, when her eyes break out,
Her powerful radiant eyes, and shake their flashes,
Will fly before her heats!

Casar. Begirt with villains?

Sce. They come to play you and your love a hunts-up.

You were told what this same whoreson wenching long ago would come to :

You are taken napping now! Has not a soldier A time to kiss his friend, and a time to consider, But he must lie still digging like a pioneer, Making of mines, and burying of his honour there? 'Twere good you'd think

Dol. And time too; or you'll find else A harder task than courting a coy beauty. Ant. Look out, and then believe.

1 Sold. Did you see this penitence?
2 Sold. Yes, I saw, and heard it.

3 Sold. And I too looked upon him, and ob-
served it;

He is the strangest Septimius now

1 Sold. I heard he was altered,

And had given away his gold to honest uses,
Cried monstrously.

2 Sold. He cries abundantly; He is blind almost with weeping.

S Sold. 'Tis most wonderful,

That a hard-hearted man, and an old soldier, Should have so much kind moisture. When his mother died,

He laughed aloud, and made the wickedest ballads!

1 Sold. 'Tis like enough: he never loved his parents;

Nor can I blame him, for they ne'er loved him. His mother dreamed, before she was delivered, That she was brought a-bed with a buzzard, and ever after

She whistled him up to the world. His brave

Pray, that ye may be strong in honesty,
As in the use of arms; labour, and diligently,
To keep your hearts from ease, and her base is-

sues,

Pride and ambitious wantonness; those spoiled

me:

Rather lose all your limbs, than the least honesty;

You're never lame indeed, till loss of credit Benumb ye through; scars, and those maims of honour,

Are memorable crutches, that shall bear, When you are dead, your noble names to eternity!

1 Sold. I cry.

2 Sold. And so do I.

3 Sold. An excellent villain!

1 Sold. A more sweet pious knave, I never heard yet.

2 Sold. He was happy he was rascal, to come to this.

Enter ACHOReus.

Who's this? a priest?

Sept. Oh, stay, most holy sir!
And, by the gods of Egypt, I conjure ye,
Isis, and great Osiris, pity me,

Pity a loaden man! and tell me truly,
With what most humble sacrifice I may

Wash off my sin, and appease the powers, that hate me?

Take from my heart those thousand thousand furies,

That restless gnaw upon my life, and save me!
Orestes' bloody hands fell on his mother,
Yet at the holy altar he was pardoned.

Achor. Orestes out of madness did his murder,

And therefore he found grace: Thou, worst of all men,

Out of cold blood, and hope of gain, base lucre, Slewest thine own feeder! Come not near the altar,

Nor with thy reeking hands pollute the sacrifice; Thou art marked for shame eternal! [Exit.

Sept. Look all on me,

And let me be a story, left to time,
Of blood and infamy! How base and ugly
Ingratitude appears, with all her profits!
How monstrous my hoped grace at court! Good
soldiers,

Let neither flattery, nor the witching sound
Of high and soft preferment, touch your good-

ness:

To be valiant, old, and honest, oh, what blessedness!

1 Sold. Dost thou want any thing? Sept. Nothing but your prayers.

2 Sold. Be thus, and let the blind priest do his worst ;

We've gods as well as they, and they will hear

us.

3 Sold. Come, cry no more: Thou hast wept out twenty Pompeys.

Enter PHOTINUS and ACHillas.

Pho. So penitent!

Achil. It seems so.

Pho. Yet for all this

We must employ him.

1 Sold. These are the armed soldier-leaders: Away, and let's to the fort; we shall be snapt else. [Exeunt.

Pho. How now? Why thus? What cause of this dejection?

Achil. Why dost thou weep?

Sept. Pray leave me; you have ruined me, You've made me a famous villain!

Pho. Does that touch thee?

Sept. I would 'twere off,

And in your bellies, for the love you bear me! I'll be no more knave; I have stings enough Already in my breast.

Pho. Thou shalt be noble ;

And who dares think then, that thou art not honest?

Achil. Thou shalt command in chief all our strong forces;

And if thou serv'st an use, must not all justify it? Sept. I am rogue enough.

Pho. Thou wilt be more and baser;

A poor rogue's all rogues, open to all shames; Nothing to shadow him. Dost thou think crying Can keep thee from the censure of the multitude?

Or to be kneeling at the altar, save thee? 'Tis poor and servile! Wert thou thine own sacrifice,

'Twould seem so low, people would spit the fire

Why does he slaughter thousands in a battle,

lewdness.

it?