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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The False One, by Francis Beaumont and John
+Fletcher, Edited by Arnold Glover
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The False One
+
+Author: Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
+
+Release Date: January 23, 2005  [eBook #14771]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FALSE ONE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+THE FALSE ONE
+
+A Tragedy
+
+by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
+
+Edited by Arnold Glover
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PERSONS REPRESENTED IN THE PLAY.
+
+  Julius Caesar, _Emperour of_ Rome.
+  Ptolomy, _King of_ AEgypt.
+  Achoreus, _an honest Counsellor, Priest of_ Isis.
+  Photinus, _a Politician, minion to_ Ptolomy.
+  Achillas, _Captain of the Guard to_ Ptolomy.
+  Septimius, _a revolted Roman Villain._
+  Labienus, _a Roman Souldier, and_ Nuncio.
+  Apollodorus, _Guardian to_ Cleopatra.
+  Antonie,   )
+  Dolabella, ) Caesars _Captains._
+  Sceva, _a free Speaker, also Captain to_ Caesar.
+  _Guard._
+  _Three lame Souldiers._
+  _Servants._
+
+
+_WOMEN._
+
+  Cleopatra, _Queen of_ AEgypt. Caesar's _Mistris._
+  Arsino, Cleopatra's _Sister._
+  Eros, Cleopatra's _waiting Woman._
+
+
+
+_The Scene_ AEgypt.
+
+
+
+The principal Actors were,
+
+  _John Lowin._
+  _John Underwood._
+  _Robert Benfield._
+  _Richard Sharpe._
+  _Joseph Taylor._
+  _Nicholas Toolie._
+  _John Rice._
+  _George Birch._
+
+
+
+
+_ACTUS PRIMUS. SCENA PRIMA._
+
+    _Enter_ Achillas, _and_ Achoreus.
+
+  [_Ach._] I love the King, nor do dispute his power,
+  (For that is not confin'd, nor to be censur'd
+  By me, that am his Subject) yet allow me
+  The liberty of a Man, that still would be
+  A friend to Justice, to demand the motives
+  That did induce young _Ptolomy_, or _Photinus_,
+  (To whose directions he gives up himself,
+  And I hope wisely) to commit his Sister,
+  The Princess _Cleopatra_ (if I said
+  The Queen) _Achillas_ 'twere (I hope) no treason,
+  She being by her Fathers Testament
+  (Whose memory I bow to) left Co-heir
+  In all he stood possest of.
+
+  _Achil._ 'Tis confest
+  (My good _Achoreus_) that in these Eastern Kingdoms
+  Women are not exempted from the Sceptre,
+  But claim a priviledge, equal to the Male;
+  But how much such divisions have ta'en from
+  The Majesty of _Egypt_, and what factions
+  Have sprung from those partitions, to the ruine
+  Of the poor Subject, (doubtful which to follow,)
+  We have too many, and too sad examples,
+  Therefore the wise _Photinus_, to prevent
+  The Murthers, and the Massacres, that attend
+  On disunited Government, and to shew
+  The King without a Partner, in full splendour,
+  Thought it convenient the fair _Cleopatra_,
+  (An attribute not frequent to the Climate)
+  Should be committed in safe Custody,
+  In which she is attended like her Birth,
+  Until her Beauty, or her royal Dowre,
+  Hath found her out a Husband.
+
+  _Ach._ How this may
+  Stand with the rules of policy, I know not;
+  Most sure I am, it holds no correspondence
+  With the Rites of _AEgypt_, or the Laws of Nature;
+  But grant that _Cleopatra_ can sit down
+  With this disgrace (though insupportable)
+  Can you imagine, that _Romes_ glorious Senate
+  (To whose charge, by the will of the dead King
+  This government was deliver'd) or great _Pompey_,
+  (That is appointed _Cleopatra_'s Guardian
+  As well as _Ptolomies_) will e're approve
+  Of this rash counsel, their consent not sought for,
+  That should authorize it?
+
+  _Achil._ The Civil war
+  In which the _Roman_ Empire is embarqu'd
+  On a rough Sea of danger, does exact
+  Their whole care to preserve themselves, and gives them
+  No vacant time to think of what we do,
+  Which hardly can concern them.
+
+  _Ach._ What's your opinion
+  Of the success? I have heard, in multitudes
+  Of Souldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,
+  _Pompey_ is much superiour.
+
+  _Achil._ I could give you
+  A Catalogue of all the several Nations
+  From whence he drew his powers: but that were tedious.
+  They have rich arms, are ten to one in number,
+  Which makes them think the day already won;
+  And _Pompey_ being master of the Sea,
+  Such plenty of all delicates are brought in,
+  As if the place on which they are entrench'd,
+  Were not a Camp of Souldiers, but _Rome_,
+  In which _Lucullus_ and _Apicius_ joyn'd,
+  To make a publique Feast: they at _Dirachium_
+  Fought with success; but knew not to make use of
+  _Fortunes_ fair offer: so much I have heard
+  _Caesar_ himself confess.
+
+  _Ach._ Where are they now?
+
+  _Achil._ In _Thessalie_, near the _Pharsalian_ plains
+  Where _Caesar_ with a handfull of his Men
+  Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
+  Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
+  Flesh'd in the spoils of _Germany_ and _France_,
+  Inur'd to his Command, and only know
+  To fight and overcome; And though that _Famine_
+  Raigns in his Camp, compelling them to tast
+  Bread made of roots, forbid the use of man,
+  (Which they with scorn threw into _Pompeys_ Camp
+  As in derision of his Delicates)
+  Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:
+  They still besiege him, being ambitious only
+  To come to blows, and let their swords determine
+  Who hath the better Cause.
+
+    _Enter_ Septi[m]ius.
+
+  _Ach._ May Victory
+  Attend on't, where it is.
+
+  _Achil._ We every hour
+  Expect to hear the issue.
+
+  _Sep._ Save my good Lords;
+  By _Isis_ and _Osiris_, whom you worship;
+  And the four hundred gods and goddesses
+  Ador'd in _Rome_, I am your honours servant.
+
+  _Ach._ Truth needs, _Septimius_, no oaths.
+
+  _Achil._ You are cruel,
+  If you deny him swearing, you take from him
+  Three full parts of his language.
+
+  _Sep._ Your Honour's bitter,
+  Confound me, where I love I cannot say it,
+  But I must swear't: yet such is my ill fortune,
+  Nor vows, nor protestations win belief,
+  I think, and (I can find no other reason)
+  Because I am a _Roman_.
+
+  _Ach._ No _Septimius_,
+  To be a _Roman_ were an honour to you,
+  Did not your manners, and your life take from it,
+  And cry aloud, that from _Rome_ you bring nothing
+  But _Roman_ Vices, which you would plant here,
+  But no seed of her vertues.
+
+  _Sep._ With your reverence
+  I am too old to learn.
+
+  _Ach._ Any thing honest,
+  That I believe, without an oath.
+
+  _Sep._ I fear
+  Your Lordship has slept ill to night, and that
+  Invites this sad discourse: 'twill make you old
+  Before your time:--O these vertuous Morals,
+  And old religious principles, that fool us!
+  I have brought you a new Song, will make you laugh,
+  Though you were at your prayers.
+
+  _A[c]h._ What is the subject?
+  Be free _Septimius_.
+
+  _Sep._ 'Tis a Catalogue
+  Of all the Gamesters of the Court and City,
+  Which Lord lyes with that Lady, and what Gallant
+  Sports with that Merchants wife; and does relate
+  Who sells her honour for a Diamond,
+  Who, for a tissew robe: whose husband's jealous,
+  And who so kind, that, to share with his wife,
+  Will make the match himself:
+  Harmless conceits,
+  Though fools say they are dangerous: I sang it
+  The last night at my Lord _Photinus_ table.
+
+  _Ach._ How? as a Fidler?
+
+  _Sep._ No Sir, as a Guest,
+  A welcom guest too: and it was approv'd of
+  By a dozen of his friends, though they were touch'd in't:
+  For look you, 'tis a kind of merriment,
+  When we have laid by foolish modesty
+  (As not a man of fashion will wear it)
+  To talk what we have done; at least to hear it;
+  If meerily set down, it fires the blood,
+  And heightens Crest-faln appetite.
+
+  _Ach._ New doctrine!
+
+  _Achil._ Was't of your own composing?
+
+  _Sep._ No, I bought it
+  Of a skulking Scribler for two Ptolomies:
+  But the hints were mine own; the wretch was fearfull:
+  But I have damn'd my self, should it be question'd,
+  That I will own it.
+
+  _Ach._ And be punished for it:
+  Take heed: for you may so long exercise
+  Your scurrilous wit against authority,
+  The Kingdoms Counsels; and make profane Jests,
+  (Which to you (being an atheist) is nothing)
+  Against Religion, that your great maintainers
+  (Unless they would be thought Co-partners with you)
+  Will leave you to the Law: and then, _Septimius_,
+  Remember there are whips.
+
+  _Sep._ For whore's I grant you,
+  When they are out of date, till then are safe too,
+  Or all the Gallants of the Court are Eunuchs,
+  And for mine own defence I'le only add this,
+  I'le be admitted for a wanton tale
+  To some most private Cabinets, when your Priest-hood
+  (Though laden with the mysteries of your goddess)
+  Shall wait without unnoted: so I leave you
+  To your pious thoughts.             [_Exit._
+
+  _Achil._ 'Tis a strange impudence,
+  This fellow does put on.
+
+  _Ach._ The wonder great,
+  He is accepted of.
+
+  _Achil._ Vices, for him,
+  Make as free way as vertues doe for others.
+  'Tis the times fault: yet Great ones still have grace'd
+  To make them sport, or rub them o're with flattery,
+  Observers of all kinds.
+
+    _Enter_ Photinus, _and_ Septimius.
+
+  _Ach._ No more of him,
+  He is not worth our thoughts: a Fugitive
+  From _Pompeys_ army: and now in a danger
+  When he should use his service.
+
+  _Achil._ See how he hangs
+  On great _Photinus_ Ear.
+
+  _Sep._ Hell, and the furies,
+  And all the plagues of darkness light upon me:
+  You are my god on earth: and let me have
+  Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter.
+
+  _Pho._ Thou art believ'd: dost thou want mony?
+
+  _Sep._ No Sir.
+
+  _Pho._ Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow
+  Thy vehement protestations.
+
+  _Sep._ You much wrong me;
+  How can I want, when your beams shine upon me,
+  Unless employment to express my zeal
+  To do your greatness service? do but think
+  A deed so dark, the Sun would blush to look on,
+  For which Man-kind would curse me, and arm all
+  The powers above, and those below against me:
+  Command me, I will on.
+
+  _Pho._ When I have use,
+  I'le put you to the test.
+
+  _Sep._ May it be speedy,
+  And something worth my danger: you are cold,
+  And know not your own powers: this brow was fashion'd
+  To wear a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment,
+  Given to dispose of monarchies, not to govern
+  A childs affairs, the peoples eye's upon you,
+  The Souldier courts you: will you wear a garment
+  Of sordid loyalty when 'tis out of fashion?
+
+  _Pho._ When _Pompey_ was thy General, _Septimius_,
+  Thou saidst as much to him.
+
+  _Sep._ All my love to him,
+  To _Caesar_, _Rome_, and the whole world is lost
+  In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend,
+  Project, design, or Countrey, but your favour,
+  Which I'le preserve at any rate.
+
+  _Pho._ No more;
+  When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps
+  Sooner than you expect, I may employ you,
+  So leave me for a while.
+
+  _Sep._ Ever your Creature.           [_Exit._
+
+  _Pho._ Good day _Achoreus_; my best friend _Achillas_,
+  Hath fame deliver'd yet no certain rumour
+  Of the great _Roman Action_?
+
+  _Achil._ That we are
+  To enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave care
+  For _Egypts_ happiness, and great _Ptolomies_ good,
+  Hath eyes and ears in all parts.
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Labienus, _Guard._
+
+  _Pho._ I'le not boast,
+  What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere long
+  You shall know more. The King, with him a _Roman_.
+
+  _Ach._ The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
+  Dy'd deeply on his face.
+
+  _Achil._ 'Tis _Labienus_
+  _Caesars_ Lieutenant in the wars of _Gaul_,
+  And fortunate in all his undertakings:
+  But since these Civil jars he turn'd to _Pompey_,
+  And though he followed the better Cause
+  Not with the like success.
+
+  _Pho._ Such as are wise
+  Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise;
+  But more of that hereafter.
+
+  _Lab._ In a word, Sir,
+  These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave,
+  Speak _Pompey's_ loss: to tell you of the Battail,
+  How many thousand several bloody shapes
+  Death wore that day in triumph: how we bore
+  The shock of _Caesars_ charge: or with what fury
+  His Souldiers came on as if they had been
+  So many _Caesars_, and like him ambitious
+  To tread upon the liberty of _Rome_:
+  How Fathers kill'd their Sons, or Sons their Fathers,
+  Or how the _Roman_ Piles on either side
+  Drew _Roman_ blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons,
+  (The sword) succeeded, which in Civil wars
+  Appoints the Tent on which wing'd victory
+  Shall make a certain Stand; then, how the Plains
+  Flow'd o're with blood, and what a cloud of vulturs
+  And other birds of prey, hung o're both armies,
+  Attending when their ready Servitors,
+  (The Souldiers, from whom the angry gods
+  Had took all sense of reason, and of pity)
+  Would serve in their own carkasses for a feast,
+  How _Caesar_ with his Javelin force'd them on
+  That made the least stop, when their angry hands
+  Were lifted up against some known friends face;
+  Then coming to the body of the army
+  He shews the sacred _Senate_, and forbids them
+  To wast their force upon the Common Souldier,
+  Whom willingly, if e're he did know pity,
+  He would have spar'd.
+
+  _Ptol._ The reason _Labienus_?
+
+  _Lab._ Full well he knows, that in their blood he was
+  To pass to Empire, and that through their bowels
+  He must invade the Laws of _Rome_, and give
+  A period to the liberty of the world.
+  Then fell the _Lepidi_, and the bold _Corvini_,
+  The fam'd _Torquati_, _Scipio's_, and _Marcelli_,
+  (Names next to _Pompeys_, most renown'd on Earth)
+  The Nobles, and the Commons lay together,
+  And Pontique, Punique, and _Assyrian_ blood
+  Made up one crimson Lake: which _Pompey_ seeing,
+  And that his, and the fate of _Rome_ had left him
+  Standing upon the Rampier of his Camp,
+  Though scorning all that could fall on himself,
+  He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu'd
+  In his unlucky quarrel; cryes aloud too
+  That they should sound retreat, and save themselves:
+  That he desir'd not, so much noble blood
+  Should be lost in his service, or attend
+  On his misfortunes: and then, taking horse
+  With some few of his friends, he came to _Lesbos_,
+  And with _Cornelia_, his Wife, and Sons,
+  He's touch'd upon your shore: the King of _Parthia_,
+  (Famous in his defeature of the _Crassi_)
+  Offer'd him his protection, but _Pompey_
+  Relying on his Benefits, and your Faith,
+  Hath chosen _AEgypt_ for his Sanctuary,
+  Till he may recollect his scattered powers,
+  And try a second day: now _Ptolomy_,
+  Though he appear not like that glorious thing
+  That three times rode in triumph, and gave laws
+  To conquer'd Nations, and made Crowns his gift
+  (As this of yours, your noble Father took
+  From his victorious hand, and you still wear it
+  At his devotion) to do you more honour
+  In his declin'd estate, as the straightst Pine
+  In a full grove of his yet flourishing friends,
+  He flyes to you for succour, and expects
+  The entertainment of your Fathers friend,
+  And Guardian to your self.
+
+  _Ptol._ To say I grieve his fortune
+  As much as if the Crown I wear (his gift)
+  Were ravish'd from me, is a holy truth,
+  Our Gods can witness for me: yet, being young,
+  And not a free disposer of my self;
+  Let not a few hours, borrowed for advice,
+  Beget suspicion of unthankfulness,
+  (Which next to Hell I hate) pray you retire,
+  And take a little rest, and let his wounds
+  Be with that care attended, as they were
+  Carv'd on my flesh: good _Labienus_, think
+  The little respite, I desire shall be
+  Wholly emploi'd to find the readiest way
+  To doe great _Pompey_ service.
+
+  _Lab._ May the gods
+  (As you intend) protect you.           [_Exit._
+
+  _Ptol._ Sit: sit all,
+  It is my pleasure: your advice, and freely.
+
+  _Ach._ A short deliberation in this,
+  May serve to give you counsel: to be honest,
+  Religious and thankfull, in themselves
+  Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish
+  Or gloss in the perswader; your kept faith,
+  (Though _Pompey_ never rise to th' height he's fallen from)
+  _Caesar_ himself will love; and my opinion
+  Is (still committing it to graver censure)
+  You pay the debt you owe him, with the hazard
+  Of all you can call yours.
+
+  _Ptol._ What's yours, (_Photinus_?)
+
+  _Pho._ _Achoreus_ (great _Ptolomy_) hath counsell'd
+  Like a Religious, and honest man,
+  Worthy the honour that he justly holds
+  In being Priest to _Isis_: But alas,
+  What in a man, sequester'd from the world,
+  Or in a private person, is prefer'd,
+  No policy allows of in a King,
+  To be or just, or thankfull, makes Kings guilty,
+  And faith (though prais'd) is punish'd that supports
+  Such as good Fate forsakes: joyn with the gods,
+  Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched,
+  The Stars are not more distant from the Earth
+  Than profit is from honesty; all the power,
+  Prerogative, and greatness of a Prince
+  Is lost, if he descend once but to steer
+  His course, as what's right, guides him: let him leave
+  The Scepter, that strives only to be good,
+  Since Kingdomes are maintain'd by force and blood.
+
+  _Ach._ Oh wicked!
+
+  _Ptol._ Peace: goe on.
+
+  _Pho._ Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth,
+  In thinking that you cannot keep your own
+  From such as are or'e come. If you are tired
+  With being a King, let not a stranger take
+  What nearer pledges challenge: resign rather
+  The government of _Egypt_ and of _Nile_
+  To _Cleopatra_, that has title to them,
+  At least defend them from the Roman _gripe_,
+  What was not _Pompeys_, while the wars endured,
+  The Conquerour will not challenge; by all the world
+  Forsaken and despis'd, your gentle Guardian
+  His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice of
+  What Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'd
+  By their pale ghosts, slain in this Civil war,
+  He flyes not _Caesar_ only, but the Senate,
+  Of which, the greater part have cloi'd the hunger
+  Of sharp _Pharsalian_ fowl, he flies the Nations
+  That he drew to his Quarrel, whose Estates
+  Are sunk in his: and in no place receiv'd,
+  Hath found out _Egypt_, by him yet not ruin'd:
+  And _Ptolomy_, things consider'd, justly may
+  Complain of _Pompey_: wherefore should he stain
+  Our _Egypt_, with the spots of civil war?
+  Or make the peaceable, or quiet _Nile_
+  Doubted of _Caesar_? wherefore should he draw
+  His loss, and overthrow upon our heads?
+  Or choose this place to suffer in? already
+  We have offended _Caesar_, in our wishes,
+  And no way left us to redeem his favour
+  But by the head of _Pompey_.
+
+  _Ach._ Great _Osiris_,
+  Defend thy _AEgypt_ from such cruelty,
+  And barbarous ingratitude!
+
+  _Pho._ Holy trifles,
+  And not to have place in designs of State;
+  This sword, which Fate commands me to unsheath,
+  I would not draw on _Pompey_, if not vanquish'd.
+  I grant it rather should have pass'd through _Caesar_,
+  But we must follow where his fortune leads us;
+  All provident Princes measure their intents
+  According to their power, and so dispose them:
+  And thinkst thou (_Ptolomy_) that thou canst prop
+  His Ruines, under whom sad _Rome_ now suffers?
+  Or 'tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd?
+  Shall we, that in the Battail sate as Neuters
+  Serve him that's overcome? No, no, he's lost.
+  And though 'tis noble to a sinking friend
+  To lend a helping hand, while there is hope
+  He may recover, thy part not engag'd
+  Though one most dear, when all his hopes are dead,
+  To drown him, set thy foot upon his head.
+
+  _Ach._ Most execrable Counsel.
+
+  _Pho._ To be follow'd,
+  'Tis for the Kingdoms safety.
+
+  _Ptol._ We give up
+  Our absolute power to thee: dispose of it
+  As reason shall direct thee.
+
+  _Pho._ Good _Achillas_,
+  Seek out _Septimius_: do you but sooth him,
+  He is already wrought: leave the dispatch
+  To me of _Labienus_: 'tis determin'd
+  Already how you shall proceed: nor Fate
+  Shall alter it, since now the dye is cast,
+  But that this hour to _Pompey_ is his last.      [_Exit._
+
+
+
+SCENA II.
+
+
+    _Enter_ Apollodorus, Eros, Arsino.
+
+  _Apol._ Is the Queen stirring, _Eros_?
+
+  _Eros._ Yes, for in truth
+  She touch'd no bed to night.
+
+  _Apol._ I am sorry for it,
+  And wish it were in me, with my hazard,
+  To give her ease.
+
+  _Ars._ Sir, she accepts your will,
+  And does acknowledge she hath found you noble,
+  So far, as if restraint of liberty
+  Could give admission to a thought of mirth,
+  She is your debtor for it.
+
+  _Apol._ Did you tell her
+  Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertain her?
+  She was us'd to take delight, with her fair hand,
+  To angle in the _Nile_, where the glad fish
+  (As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em)
+  Contended to be taken: other times
+  To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,
+  Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks her
+  To his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate,
+  Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen
+  To fall a Sacrifice before the altar
+  Of the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great _Photinus_
+  Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuit
+  In which she is confin'd, gladly affords
+  Variety of pastimes, which I would
+  Encrease with my best service.
+
+  _Eros._ O, but the thought
+  That she that was born free, and to dispense
+  Restraint, or liberty to others, should be
+  At the devotion of her Brother, whom
+  She only knows her equal, makes this place
+  In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)
+  A loathsome dungeon to her.
+
+  _Apol._ Yet, (howe're
+  She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting
+  To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd
+  Choise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'd
+  Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time)
+  In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy.
+
+THE SONG.
+
+  _Look out bright eyes, and bless the air:_
+  _Even in shadows you are fair._
+  _Shut-up-beauty is like fire,_
+  _That breaks out clearer still and higher._
+  _Though your body be confin'd,_
+  _And soft Love a prisoner bound,_
+  _Yet the beauty of your mind_
+  _Neither check, nor chain hath found._
+    _Look out nobly then, and dare_
+    _Even the Fetters that you wear._
+
+    _Enter_ Cleopatra.
+
+  _Cleo._ But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty,
+  And love in you, my _Guardian_, and desire
+  In you, my _Sister_, and the rest, to please us,
+  We should receive this, as a sawcy rudeness
+  Offer'd our private thoughts. But your intents
+  Are to delight us: alas, you wash an _Ethiop_:
+  Can _Cleopatra_, while she does remember
+  Whose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (O
+  I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)
+  There is no place in _AEgypt_, where I stand,
+  But that the tributary Earth is proud
+  To kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen,
+  Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relish
+  Of comfort, or delight, while base _Photinus_,
+  Bond-man _Achillas_, and all other monsters
+  That raign o're _Ptolomy_, make that a Court,
+  Where they reside, and this, where I, a Prison?
+  But there's a _Rome_, a _Senate_, and a _Caesar_,
+  (Though the great _Pompey_ lean to _Ptolomy_)
+  May think of _Cleopatra_.
+
+  _Ap._  _Pompey_, Madam?
+
+  _Cleo._ What of him? speak: if ill, _Apollodorus_,
+  It is my happiness: and for thy news
+  Receive a favour (_Kings_ have kneel'd in vain for)
+  And kiss my hand.
+
+  _Ap._ He's lost.
+
+  _Cleo._ Speak it again!
+
+  _Ap._ His army routed: he fled and pursu'd
+  By the all-conquering Caesar.
+
+  _Cleo._ Whither bends he?
+
+  _Ap._ To _Egypt_.
+
+  _Cleo._ Ha! in person?
+
+  _Ap._ 'Tis receiv'd
+  For an undoubted truth.
+
+  _Cleo._ I live again,
+  And if assurance of my love, and beauty
+  Deceive me not, I now shall find a Judge
+  To do me right: but how to free my self,
+  And get access? the _Guards_ are strong upon me,
+  This door I must pass through. _Apollodorus_,
+  Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,)
+  Thy life was not thine own.
+
+  _Ap._ I am not alter'd;
+  And let your excellency propound a means,
+  In which I may but give the least assistance,
+  That may restore you, to that you were born to,
+  (Though it call on the anger of the King,
+  Or, (what's more deadly) all his Minion
+  _Photinus_ can do to me) I, unmov'd,
+  Offer my throat to serve you: ever provided,
+  It bear some probable shew to be effected.
+  To lose my self upon no ground, were madness,
+  Not loyal duty.
+
+  _Cleo._ Stand off: to thee alone,
+  I will discover what I dare not trust
+  My Sister with, _Caesar_ is amorous,
+  And taken more with the title of a Queen,
+  Than feature or proportion, he lov'd _Eunoe_,
+  A _Moor_, deformed too, I have heard, that brought
+  No other object to inflame his blood,
+  But that her Husband was a King, on both
+  He did bestow rich presents; shall I then,
+  That with a princely birth, bring beauty with me,
+  That know to prize my self at mine own rate,
+  Despair his favour? art thou mine?
+
+  _Ap._ I am.
+
+  _Cleo._ I have found out a way shall bring me to him,
+  Spight of _Photinus_ watches; if I prosper,
+  (As I am confident I shall) expect
+  Things greater than thy wishes; though I purchase
+  His grace with loss of my virginity,
+  It skills not, if it bring home Majesty.              [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+_ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCENA PRIMA._
+
+    _Enter_ Septimius, _with a head_, Achillas, _Guard._
+
+  _Sep._ 'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearfull viewers,
+  Shake, and behold the model of the world here,
+  The pride, and strength, look, look again, 'tis finish'd;
+  That, that whole Armies, nay whole nations,
+  Many and mighty Kings, have been struck blind at,
+  And fled before, wing'd with their fears and terrours,
+  That steel war waited on, and fortune courted,
+  That high plum'd honour built up for her own;
+  Behold that mightiness, behold that fierceness,
+  Behold that child of war, with all his glories;
+  By this poor hand made breathless, here (my _Achillas_)
+  _Egypt_, and _Caesar_, owe me for this service,
+  And all the conquer'd Nations.
+
+  _Ach._ Peace _Septimius_,
+  Thy words sound more ungratefull than thy actions,
+  Though sometimes safety seek an instrument
+  Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)
+  Think not she is bound to love him too, that's barbarous.
+  Why did not I, if this be meritorious,
+  And binds the King unto me, and his bounties,
+  Strike this rude stroke? I'le tell thee (thou poor _Roman_)
+  It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
+  Not heave a thought.
+
+  _Sep._ It was.
+
+  _Ach._ I'le tell thee truely,
+  And if thou ever yet heard'st tell of honour,
+  I'le make thee blush: It was thy General's;
+  That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,
+  The air thou breath'dst was his; the fire that warm'd thee,
+  From his care kindled ever, nay, I'le show thee,
+  (Because I'le make thee sensible of the business,
+  And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
+  There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy foot on
+  But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion.
+  He triumph'd three times, who durst touch his person?
+  The very walls of _Rome_ bow'd to his presence,
+  Dear to the Gods he was, to them that fear'd him
+  A fair and noble Enemy. Didst thou hate him?
+  And for thy love to _Caesar_, sought his ruine?
+  Arm'd in the red _Pharsalian_ fields, _Septimius_,
+  Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,
+  Where Kings were fair competitours for honour,
+  Thou shouldst have come up to him, there have fought him,
+  There, Sword to Sword.
+
+  _Sep._ I kill'd him on commandment,
+  If Kings commands be fair, when you all fainted,
+  When none of you durst look--
+
+  _Ach._ On deeds so barbarous,
+  What hast thou got?
+
+  _Sep._ The Kings love, and his bounty,
+  The honour of the service, which though you rail at,
+  Or a thousand envious souls fling their foams on me,
+  Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:
+  And I shall live.
+
+  _Ach._ A miserable villain,
+  What reputation, and reward belongs to it
+  Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;
+  And be not impudent to ask me why, Sirrah,
+  Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes the reason:
+  The shame and obloquy I leave thine own,
+  Inherit those rewards, they are fitter for thee,
+  Your oyl's spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.
+
+    [_Exit._
+
+  _Sep._ The King will yet consider.
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus.
+
+  _Achil._ Here he comes Sir.
+
+  _Ach._ Yet if it be undone: hear me great Sir,
+  If this inhumane stroak be yet unstrucken,
+  If that adored head be not yet sever'd
+  From the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,
+  The desolations that this great Eclipse works,
+  You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire
+  Upon the Tomb of him will shake all _Egypt_,
+  Whose warlike groans will raise ten thousand Spirits,
+  (Great as himself) in every hand a thunder;
+  Destructions darting from their looks, and sorrows
+  That easy womens eyes shall never empty.
+
+  _Pho._ You have done well; and 'tis done, see _Achillas_,
+  And in his hand the head.
+
+  _Ptol._ Stay come no nearer,
+  Me thinks I feel the very earth shake under me,
+  I do remember him, he was my guardian,
+  Appointed by the Senate to preserve me:
+  What a full Majesty sits in his face yet?
+
+  _Pho._ The King is troubled: be not frighted Sir,
+  Be not abus'd with fears; his death was necessary,
+  If you consider, Sir, most necessary,
+  Not to be miss'd: and humbly thank great _Isis_,
+  He came so opportunely to your hands;
+  Pity must now give place to rules of safety.
+  Is not victorious _Caesar_ new arriv'd,
+  And enter'd _Alexandria_, with his friends,
+  His _Navy_ riding by to wait his charges?
+  Did he not beat this _Pompey_, and pursu'd him?
+  Was not this great man, his great enemy?
+  This Godlike vertuous man, as people held him,
+  But what fool dare be friend to flying vertue?
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Anthony, Dolabella, Sceva.
+
+  I hear their Trumpets, 'tis too late to stagger,
+  Give me the head, and be you confident:
+  Hail Conquerour, and head of all the world,
+  Now this head's off.
+
+  _Caesar_. Ha?
+
+  _Pho._ Do not shun me, _Caesar_,
+  From kingly _Ptolomy_ I bring this present,
+  The Crown, and sweat of thy _Pharsalian_ labour:
+  The goal and mark of high ambitious honour.
+  Before thy victory had no name, _Caesar_,
+  Thy travel and thy loss of blood, no recompence,
+  Thou dreamst of being worthy, and of war;
+  And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers,
+  Here they take life: here they inherit honour,
+  Grow fixt, and shoot up everlasting triumphs:
+  Take it, and look upon thy humble servant,
+  With noble eyes look on the Princely _Ptolomy_,
+  That offers with this head (most mighty _Caesar_)
+  What thou would'st once have given for it, all _Egypt_.
+
+  _Ach._ Nor do not question it (most royal Conquerour)
+  Nor dis-esteem the benefit that meets thee,
+  Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer:
+  Yet let me tell thee (most imperious _Caesar_)
+  Though he oppos'd no strength of Swords to win this,
+  Nor labour'd through no showres of darts, and lances:
+  Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
+  An inward war: he was his Grand-sires Guest;
+  Friend to his Father, and when he was expell'd
+  And beaten from this Kingdom by strong hand,
+  And had none left him, to restore his honour,
+  No hope to find a friend, in such a misery;
+  Then in stept _Pompey_; took his feeble fortune:
+  Strengthen'd, and cherish'd it, and set it right again,
+  This was a love to _Caesar_.
+
+  _Sceva._ Give me, hate, Gods.
+
+  _Pho._ This _Caesar_ may account a little wicked,
+  But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour,
+  Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?
+  If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that way!
+  He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted,
+  Had been most terrible: let the worst be render'd,
+  We have deserv'd for keeping thy hands innocent.
+
+  _Caesar._ Oh _Sceva, Sceva_, see that head: see Captains,
+  The head of godlike _Pompey_.
+
+  _Sceva._ He was basely ruin'd,
+  But let the Gods be griev'd that suffer'd it,
+  And be you Caesar--
+
+  _Caesar._  Oh thou Conquerour,
+  Thou glory of the world once, now the pity:
+  Thou awe of Nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?
+  What poor fate follow'd thee, and pluckt thee on
+  To trust thy sacred life to an _Egyptian_;
+  The life and light of _Rome_, to a blind stranger,
+  That honorable war ne'r taught a nobleness,
+  Nor worthy circumstance shew'd what a man was,
+  That never heard thy name sung, but in banquets;
+  And loose lascivious pleasures? to a Boy,
+  That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness,
+  No study of thy life to know thy goodness;
+  And leave thy Nation, nay, thy noble friend,
+  Leave him (distrusted) that in tears falls with thee?
+  (In soft relenting tears) hear me (great _Pompey_)
+  (If thy great spirit can hear) I must task thee:
+  Thou hast most unnobly rob'd me of my victory,
+  My love, and mercy.
+
+  _Ant._ O how brave these tears shew!
+  How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy!
+
+  _Dol._ Glory appears not greater than this goodness.
+
+  _Caesar._ _Egyptians_, dare you think your high _Pyramides_,
+  Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose,
+  Where your unworthy Kings lye rak'd in ashes,
+  Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of _Nilus_)
+  Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven;
+  No _Pyramides_ set off his memories,
+  But the eternal substance of his greatness
+  To which I leave him: take the head away,
+  And (with the body) give it noble burial,
+  Your Earth shall now be bless'd to hold a _Roman_,
+  Whose braverys all the worlds-Earth cannot ballance.
+
+  _Sce._ If thou bee'st thus loving, I shall honour thee,
+  But great men may dissemble, 'tis held possible,
+  And be right glad of what they seem to weep for,
+  There are such kind of Philosophers; now do I wonder
+  How he would look if _Pompey_ were alive again,
+  But how he would set his face?
+
+  _Caesar._ You look now, King,
+  And you that have been Agents in this glory,
+  For our especial favour?
+
+  _Ptol._ We desire it.
+
+  _Caesar._ And doubtless you expect rewards.
+
+  _Sceva_. Let me give 'em:
+  I'le give 'em such as nature never dreamt of,
+  I'le beat him and his Agents (in a morter)
+  Into one man, and that one man I'le bake then.
+
+  _Caesar_. Peace: I forgive you all, that's recompence:
+  You are young, and ignorant, that pleads your pardon,
+  And fear it may be more than hate provok'd ye,
+  Your Ministers, I must think, wanted judgment,
+  And so they err'd: I am bountiful to think this;
+  Believe me most bountiful; be you most thankful,
+  That bounty share amongst ye: if I knew
+  What to send you for a present, King of _Egypt_,
+  (I mean a head of equal reputation
+  And that you lov'd) though it were your brightest Sisters,
+  (But her you hate) I would not be behind ye.
+
+  _Ptol._ Hear me, (Great _Caesar_.)
+
+  _Caes._ I have heard too much,
+  And study not with smooth shews to invade
+  My noble Mind as you have done my Conquest.
+  Ye are poor and open: I must tell ye roundly,
+  That Man that could not recompence the Benefits,
+  The great and bounteous services of _Pompey_,
+  Can never dote upon the Name of _Caesar_;
+  Though I had hated _Pompey_, and allow'd his ruine,
+  [I gave you no commission to performe it:]
+  Hasty to please in Blood are seldome trusty;
+  And but I stand inviron'd with my Victories,
+  My Fortune never failing to befriend me,
+  My noble strengths, and friends about my Person,
+  I durst not try ye, nor expect: a Courtesie,
+  Above the pious love you shew'd to _Pompey_.
+  You have found me merciful in arguing with you;
+  Swords, Hangmen, Fires, Destructions of all natures,
+  Demolishments of Kingdoms, and whole Ruines
+  Are wont to be my Orators; turn to tears,
+  You wretched and poor seeds of Sun-burnt _Egypt_,
+  And now you have found the nature of a Conquerour,
+  That you cannot decline with all your flatteries,
+  That where the day gives light will be himself still,
+  Know how to meet his Worth with humane Courtesies,
+  Go, and embalm those bones of that great Souldier;
+  Howl round about his Pile, fling on your Spices,
+  Make a _Sabaean_ Bed, and place this Phoenix
+  Where the hot Sun may emulate his Vertues,
+  And draw another _Pompey_ from his ashes
+  Divinely great, and fix him 'mongst the Worthies.
+
+  _Ptol._ We will do all.
+
+  _Caes._ You have rob'd him of those tears
+  His Kindred and his Friends kept sacred for him;
+  The Virgins of their Funeral Lamentations:
+  And that kind Earth that thought to cover him,
+  (His Countries Earth) will cry out 'gainst your Cruelty,
+  And weep unto the Ocean for revenge,
+  Till _Nilus_ raise his seven heads and devour ye;
+  My grief has stopt the rest: when _Pompey_ liv'd
+  He us'd you nobly, now he is dead use him so.   [_Exit._
+
+  _Ptol._ Now, where's your confidence? your aim (_Photinus_)
+  The Oracles, and fair Favours from the Conquerour
+  You rung into mine Ears? how stand I now?
+  You see the tempest of his stern displeasure,
+  The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
+  To stop his Rage, presaging a full ruine;
+  Where are your Counsels now?
+
+  _Acho._ I told you, Sir,
+  (And told the truth) what danger would flye after;
+  And though an Enemy, I satisfied you
+  He was a _Roman_, and the top of Honour;
+  And howsoever this might please Great _Caesar_,
+  I told ye that the foulness of his Death,
+  The impious baseness--
+
+  _Pho._ Peace, you are a Fool,
+  Men of deep ends must tread as deep ways to 'em;
+  _Caesar_ I know is pleas'd, and for all his sorrows
+  (Which are put on for forms and meer dissemblings)
+  I am confident he's glad; to have told ye so,
+  And thank ye outwardly, had been too open,
+  And taken from the Wisedom of a Conquerour.
+  Be confident and proud ye have done this service;
+  Ye have deserv'd, and ye will find it highly:
+  Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure
+  You keep your Sister, (the high-soul'd Cleopatra)
+  Both close and short enough, she may not see him;
+  The rest, if I may counsel, Sir--
+
+  _Ptol._ Do all;
+  For in thy faithful service rests my safety.    [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+    _Enter_ Septimius.
+
+  _Sept._ Here's a strange alteration in the Court;
+  Mens Faces are of other setts and motions,
+  Their minds of subtler stuff; I pass by now
+  As though I were a Rascal, no man knows me,
+  No Eye looks after; as I were a Plague
+  Their doors shut close against me; and I wondred at
+  Because I have done a meritorious Murther;
+  Because I have pleas'd the Time, does the Time plague me?
+  I have known the day they would have hug'd me for it,
+  For a less stroke than this have done me Reverence;
+  Open'd their Hearts and secret Closets to me,
+  Their Purses, and their Pleasures, and bid me wallow.
+  I now perceive the great Thieves eat the less,
+  And the huge Leviathans of Villany
+  Sup up the merits, nay the men and all
+  That do them service, and spowt 'em out again
+  Into the air, as thin and unregarded
+  As drops of Water that are lost i'th' Ocean:
+  I was lov'd once for swearing, and for drinking,
+  And for other principal Qualities that became me,
+  Now a foolish unthankful Murther has undone me,
+  If my Lord _Photinus_ be not merciful
+
+    _Enter_ Photinus.
+
+  That set me on; And he comes, now Fortune.
+
+  _Pho._ Caesars unthankfulness a little stirs me,
+  A little frets my bloud; take heed, proud _Roman_,
+  Provoke me not, stir not mine anger farther;
+  I may find out a way unto thy life too,
+  (Though arm'd in all thy Victories) and seize it.
+  A Conquerour has a heart, and I may hit it.
+
+  _Sept_. May it please your Lordship?
+
+  _Pho._ O _Septimius_!
+
+  _Sept._ Your [Lordship] knows my wrongs.
+
+  _Pho._ Wrongs?
+
+  _Sept._ Yes, my Lord,
+  How the Captain of the Guard, _Achillas_, slights me.
+
+  _Pho._ Think better of him, he has much befriended thee,
+  Shew'd thee much love in taking the head from thee.
+  The times are alter'd (Souldier) _Caesar's_ angry,
+  And our design to please him lost and perish'd;
+  Be glad thou art unnam'd, 'tis not worth the owning;
+  Yet, that thou maist be useful--
+
+  _Sept._ Yes, my Lord,
+  I shall be ready.
+
+  _Pho._ For I may employ thee
+  To take a rub or two out of my way,
+  As time shall serve, say that it be a Brother?
+  Or a hard Father?
+
+  _Sept._ 'Tis most necessary,
+  A Mother, or a Sister, or whom you please, Sir.
+
+  _Pho._ Or to betray a noble Friend?
+
+  _Sept._ 'Tis all one.
+
+  _Pho._ I know thou wilt stir for Gold.
+
+  _Sept._ 'Tis all my motion.
+
+  _Pho._ There, take that for thy service, and farewel;
+  I have greater business now.
+
+  _Sept._ I am still your own, Sir.
+
+  _Pho._ One thing I charge thee, see me no more, _Septimius_,
+  Unless I send.                              [_Exit._
+
+  _Sept._ I shall observe your hour.
+  So, this brings something in the mouth, some savour;
+  This is the Lord I serve, the Power I worship,
+  My Friends, Allies, and here lies my Allegiance.
+  Let People talk as they please of my rudeness,
+  And shun me for my deed; bring but this to 'em,
+  (Let me be damn'd for blood) yet still I am honourable,
+  This God creates new tongues, and new affections;
+  And though I had kill'd my Father, give me Gold
+  I'll make men swear I have done a pious Sacrifice;
+  Now I will out-brave all; make all my Servants,
+  And my brave deed shall be writ in Wine, for vertuous. [_Exit._
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva.
+
+  _Caes._ Keep strong Guards, and with wary eyes (my friends)
+  There is no trusting to these base _Egyptians_;
+  They that are false to pious benefits,
+  And make compell'd necessities their faiths
+  Are Traitors to the gods.
+
+  _Ant._ We'll call ashore
+  A Legion of the best.
+
+  _Caes._ Not a Man, _Antony_,
+  That were to shew our fears, and dim our greatness:
+  No, 'tis enough my Name's ashore.
+
+  _Sce._ Too much too,
+  A sleeping _Caesar_ is enough to shake them;
+  There are some two or three malicious Rascals
+  Train'd up in Villany, besides that _Cerberus_
+  That _Roman_ Dog, that lick'd the blood of _Pompey_.
+
+  _Dol._ 'Tis strange, a _Roman_ Souldier?
+
+  _Sce._ You are cozen'd,
+  There be of us as be of all other Nations,
+  Villains, and Knaves; 'tis not the name contains him,
+  But the obedience; when that's once forgotten,
+  And Duty flung away, then welcome Devil.
+  _Photinus_ and _Achillas_, and this Vermine
+  That's now become a natural Crocodile
+  Must be with care observ'd.
+
+  _Ant._ And 'tis well counsel'd
+  No Confidence, nor trust--
+
+  _Sce._ I'll trust the Sea first,
+  When with her hollow murmurs she invites me,
+  And clutches in her storms, as politick Lions
+  Conceal their Claws; I'll trust the Devil first.
+
+  _Caes._ Go to your rests, and follow your own Wisedoms,
+  And leave me to my thoughts: pray no more complement,
+  Once more strong Watches.
+
+  _Dol._ All shall be observ'd, Sir.        [_Exit._
+
+  _Caes._ I am dull and heavy, yet I cannot sleep,
+  How happy was I in my lawful Wars,
+  In _Germany_, and _Gaul_, and _Britanny_
+  When every night with pleasure I set down
+  What the day ministred! The sleep came sweetly:
+  But since I undertook this home-division,
+  This civil War, and past the _Rubicon_;
+  What have I done that speaks an ancient _Roman_?
+  A good, great man? I have enter'd _Rome_ by force,
+  And on her tender Womb (that gave me life)
+  Let my insulting Souldiers rudely trample,
+  The dear Veins of my Country I have open'd,
+  And sail'd upon the torrents that flow'd from her,
+  The bloody streams that in their confluence
+  Carried before 'em thousand desolations;
+  I rob'd the Treasury, and at one gripe
+  Snatch'd all the wealth, so many worthy triumphs
+  Plac'd there as sacred to the Peace of _Rome_;
+  I raz'd _Massilia_, in my wanton anger:
+  _Petreius_ and _Afranius_ I defeated:
+  _Pompey_ I overthrew: what did that get me?
+  The slubber'd Name of an authoriz'd Enemy.   [_Noise within._
+  I hear some Noise; they are the Watches sure.
+  What Friends have I ty'd fast by these ambitions?
+  _Cato_, the Lover of his Countries freedom,
+  Is now past into _Africk_ to affront me,
+  _Fuba_ (that kill'd my friend) is up in Arms too;
+  The Sons of _Pompey_ are Masters of the Sea,
+  And from the reliques of their scatter'd faction,
+  A new head's sprung; Say I defeat all these too;
+  I come home crown'd an honourable Rebel.
+  I hear the Noise still, and it still comes nearer;
+  Are the Guards fast? Who waits there?
+
+    _Enter_ Sceva _with a Packet_, Cleopatra _in it._
+
+  _Sce._ Are ye awake Sir?
+
+  _Caes._ I'th' name of Wonder.
+
+  _Sce._ Nay, I am a Porter,
+  A strong one too, or else my sides would crack, Sir,
+  And my sins were as weighty, I should scarce walk with 'em.
+
+  _Caes._ What hast thou there?
+
+  _Sce._ Ask them which stay without,
+  And brought it hither, your Presence I deny'd 'em,
+  And put 'em by; took up the load my self,
+  They say 'tis rich, and valu'd at the Kingdome,
+  I am sure 'tis heavy; if you like to see it
+  You may: if not, I'll give it back.
+
+  _Caes._ Stay _Sceva_,
+  I would fain see it.
+
+  _Sce._ I'll begin to work then;
+  No doubt, to flatter ye they have sent ye something,
+  Of a rich value, Jewels, or some rich Treasure;
+  May be a Rogue within to do a mischief;
+  I pray you stand farther off, if there be villany,
+  Better my danger first; he shall 'scape hard too,
+  Ha! what art thou?
+
+  _Caes._ Stand farther off, good _Sceva_,
+  What heavenly Vision! do I wake or slumber?
+  Farther off that hand, Friend.
+
+  _Sce._ What Apparition?
+  What Spirit have I rais'd? sure 'tis a Woman,
+  She looks like one; now she begins to move too:
+  A tempting Devil, o' my life; go off, _Caesar_,
+  Bless thy self, off: a Bawd grown in mine old days?
+  Bawdry advanc'd upon my back? 'tis noble:
+  Sir, if you be a Souldier come no nearer,
+  She is sent to dispossess you of your honour,
+  A Spunge, a Spunge to wipe away your Victories:
+  And she would be cool'd, Sir, let the Souldiers trim her!
+  They'll give her that she came for, and dispatch her;
+  Be loyal to your self. Thou damned Woman,
+  Dost thou come hither with thy flourishes,
+  Thy flaunts, and faces to abuse mens manners?
+  And am I made the instrument of Bawdry?
+  I'll find a Lover for ye, one that shall hug ye.
+
+  _Caes._ Hold, on thy life, and be more temperate,
+  Thou Beast.
+
+  _Sce._ Thou Beast?
+
+  _Caes._ Could'st thou be so inhumane,
+  So far from noble Men, to draw thy Weapon
+  Upon a thing divine?
+
+  _Sce._ Divine, or humane,
+  They are never better pleas'd, nor more at hearts ease,
+  Than when we draw with full intent upon 'em.
+
+  _Caes._ Move this way (Lady)
+  'Pray ye let me speak to ye.
+
+  _Sce._ And Woman, you had best stand.
+
+  _Caes._ By the gods,
+  But that I see her here, and hope her mortal,
+  I should imagine some celestial sweetness,
+  The treasure of soft love.
+
+  _Sce._  Oh, this sounds mangily,
+  Poorly, and scurvily in a Souldiers mouth:
+  You had best be troubled with the Tooth-ach too,
+  For Lovers ever are, and let your Nose drop
+  That your celestial Beauty may befriend ye;
+  At these years do you learn to be fantastical?
+  After so many bloody fields, a Fool?
+  She brings her Bed along too, she'll lose no time,
+  Carries her Litter to lye soft, do you see that?
+  Invites ye like a Gamester: note that impudence,
+  For shame reflect upon your self, your honour,
+  Look back into your noble parts, and blush:
+  Let not the dear sweat of the hot _Pharsalia_,
+  Mingle with base _Embraces_; am I he
+  That have receiv'd so many wounds for _Caesar_?
+  Upon my Target groves of darts still growing?
+  Have I endur'd all hungers, colds, distresses,
+  And (as I had been bred that Iron that arm'd me)
+  Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune?
+  To ban the blood I lost for such a General?
+
+  _Caesar_. Offend no more: be gone.
+
+  _Sce._ I will, and leave ye,
+  Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaim ye:
+  You'l conquer _Rome_ now, and the Capitol
+  With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farewel Caesar.
+
+  _Cleo._ Now I am private Sir, I dare speak to ye:
+  But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye.
+
+  _Sce._ Lower you'l be anon.
+
+  _Caesar_. Away.
+
+  _Sce._ And privater,
+  For that you covet all.                     [_Exit._
+
+  _Caesar_. Tempt me no farther.
+
+  _Cleo._ Contemn me not, because I kneel thus, _Caesar_,
+  I am a Queen, and coheir to this country,
+  The Sister to the mighty _Ptolomy_,
+  Yet one distress'd, that flyes unto thy justice,
+  One that layes sacred hold on thy protection
+  As on an holy Altar, to preserve me.
+
+  _Caesar_. Speak Queen of beauty, and stand up.
+
+  _Cleo._ I dare not,
+  'Till I have found that favour in thine eyes,
+  That godlike great humanity to help me,
+  Thus, to thy knees must I grow (sacred _Caesar_,)
+  And if it be not in thy will, to right me,
+  And raise me like a Queen from my sad ruines,
+  If these soft tears cannot sink to thy pity,
+  And waken with their murmurs thy compassions;
+  Yet for thy nobleness, for vertues sake,
+  And if thou beest a man, for despis'd beauty,
+  For honourable conquest, which thou doat'st on,
+  Let not those cankers of this flourishing Kingdom,
+  _Photinus_, and _Achillas_, (the one an Eunuch,
+  The other a base bondman) thus raign over me.
+  Seize my inheritance, and leave my Brother
+  Nothing of what he should be, but the Title,
+  As thou art wonder of the world.
+
+  _Caesar_. Stand up then
+  And be a Queen, this hand shall give it to ye,
+  Or choose a greater name, worthy my bounty:
+  A common love makes Queens: choose to be worshipped,
+  To be divinely great, and I dare promise it;
+  A suitor of your sort, and blessed sweetness,
+  That hath adventur'd thus to see great _Caesar_,
+  Must never be denied, you have found a patron
+  That dare not in his private honour suffer
+  So great a blemish to the Heaven of beauty:
+  The God of love would clap his angry wings,
+  And from his singing bow let flye those arrows
+  Headed with burning griefs, and pining sorrows,
+  Should I neglect your cause, would make me monstrous,
+  To whom and to your service I devote me.
+
+    _Enter_ Sceva.
+
+  _Cleo._ He is my conquest now, and so I'le work him,
+  The conquerour of the world will I lead captive.
+
+  _Sce._ Still with this woman? tilting still with Babies?
+  As you are honest think the Enemy,
+  Some valiant Foe indeed now charging on ye:
+  Ready to break your ranks, and fling these--
+
+  _Caesar_. Hear me,
+  But tell me true, if thou hadst such a treasure,
+  (And as thou art a Souldier, do not flatter me)
+  Such a bright gem, brought to thee, wouldst thou not
+  Most greedily accept?
+
+  _Sce._ Not as an Emperour,
+  A man that first should rule himself, then others;
+  As a poor hungry Souldier, I might bite, Sir,
+  Yet that's a weakness too: hear me, thou Tempter:
+  And hear thou _Caesar_ too, for it concerns thee,
+  And if thy flesh be deaf, yet let thine honour,
+  The soul of a commander, give ear to me,
+  Thou wanton bane of war, thou guilded Lethargy,
+  In whose embraces, ease (the rust of Arms)
+  And pleasure, (that makes Souldiers poor) inhabites.
+
+  _Caesar_. Fye, thou blasphem'st.
+
+  _Sce._ I do, when she is a goddess.
+  Thou melter of strong minds, dar'st thou presume
+  To smother all his triumphs, with thy vanities,
+  And tye him like a slave, to thy proud beauties?
+  To thy imperious looks? that Kings have follow'd
+  Proud of their chains? have waited on? I shame Sir.  [_Exit._
+
+  _Caesar_. Alas thou art rather mad: take thy rest _Sceva_,
+  Thy duty makes thee erre, but I forgive thee:
+  Go, go I say, shew me no disobedience:
+  'Tis well, farewel, the day will break dear Lady,
+  My Souldiers will come in; please you retire,
+  And think upon your servant.
+
+  _Cleo._ Pray you Sir, know me,
+  And what I am.
+
+  _Caesar_. The greater, I more love ye,
+  And you must know me too.
+
+  _Cleo._ So far as modesty,
+  And majesty gives leave Sir, ye are too violent.
+
+  _Caesar_. You are too cold to my desires.
+
+  _Cleo._ Swear to me,
+  And by your self (for I hold that oath sacred)
+  You will right me as a Queen--
+
+  _Caesar_. These lips be witness,
+  And if I break that oath--
+
+  _Cleo._ You make me blush Sir,
+  And in that blush interpret me.
+
+  _Caesar_. I will do,
+  Come let's go in, and blush again: this one word,
+  You shall believe.
+
+  _Cleo._ I must, you are a conquerour.     [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA.
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Photinus.
+
+  _Pho._   Good Sir, but hear.
+
+  _Ptol._ No more, you have undone me,
+  That, that I hourly fear'd, is fain upon me,
+  And heavily, and deadly.
+
+  _Pho._ Hear a remedy.
+
+  _Ptol._ A remedy now the disease is ulcerous?
+  And has infected all? your secure negligence
+  Has broke through all the hopes I have, and ruin'd me:
+  My Sister is with _Caesar_, in his chamber,
+  All night she has been with him; and no doubt
+  Much to her honour.
+
+  _Pho._ Would that were the worst, Sir,
+  That will repair it self: but I fear mainly,
+  She has made her peace with _Caesar_.
+
+  _Ptol._ 'Tis most likely,
+  And what am I then?
+
+  _Pho._ 'Plague upon that Rascal
+  _Apollod[or]us_, under whose command,
+  Under whose eye--
+
+    _Enter_ Achillas.
+
+  _Ptol._ Curse on you all, ye are wretches.
+
+  _Pho._ 'Twas providently done, _Achillas_.
+
+  _Achil._ Pardon me.
+
+  _Pho._ Your guards were rarely wise, and wondrous watchfull.
+
+  _Achil._ I could not help it, if my life had lain for't,
+  Alas, who would suspect a pack of bedding,
+  Or a small Truss of houshold furniture?
+  And as they said, for Caesars use: or who durst
+  (Being for his private chamber) seek to stop it?
+  I was abus'd.
+
+    _Enter_ Achoreus.
+
+  _Ach._  'Tis no hour now for anger:
+  No wisdom to debate with fruitless choler,
+  Let us consider timely what we must do,
+  Since she is flown to his protection,
+  From whom we have no power to sever her,
+  Nor force conditions--
+
+  _Ptol._ Speak (good _Achoreus_)
+
+  _Ach._ Let indirect and crooked counsels vanish,
+  And straight, and fair directions--
+
+  _Pho._ Speak your mind Sir.
+
+  _Ach._ Let us choose _Caesar_, (and endear him to us,)
+  An Arbitrator in all differences
+  Betwixt you, and your Sister; this is safe now:
+  And will shew off, most honourable.
+
+  _Pho._  Base,
+  Most base and poor; a servile, cold submission:
+  Hear me, and pluck your hearts up, like stout Counsellours,
+  Since we are sensible this _Caesar_ loathes us,
+  And have begun our fortune with great Pompey,
+  Be of my mind.
+
+  _Ach._ 'Tis most uncomely spoken,
+  And if I say most bloodily, I lye not:
+  The law of hospitality it poysons,
+  And calls the Gods in question that dwell in us,
+  Be wise O King.
+
+  _Ptol._ I will be: go my counsellour,
+  To _Caesar_ go, and do my humble service:
+  To my fair Sister my commends negotiate,
+  And here I ratifie what e're thou treat'st on.
+
+  _Ach._ Crown'd with fair peace, I go.      [_Exit._
+
+  _Ptol._ My love go with thee,
+  And from my love go you, you cruel vipers:
+  You shall know now I am no ward, _Photinus_.    [_Exit._
+
+  _Pho._ This for our service?
+  Princes do their pleasures,
+  And they that serve obey in all disgraces:
+  The lowest we can fall to, is our graves,
+  There we shall know no diffrence: heark _Achillas_,
+  I may do something yet, when times are ripe,
+  To tell this raw unthankful! King.
+
+  _Achil._  _Photinus_,
+  What e're it be I shall make one: and zealously:
+  For better dye attempting something nobly,
+  Than fall disgraced.
+
+  _Pho._ Thou lov'st me and I thank thee.    [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+SCENA II.
+
+    _Enter_ Antony, Dolabella, Sceva.
+
+  _Dol._ Nay there's no rowsing him: he is bewitch'd sure,
+  His noble blood curdled, and cold within him;
+  Grown now a womans warriour.
+
+  _Sce._ And a tall one:
+  Studies her fortifications, and her breaches,
+  And how he may advance his ram to batter
+  The Bullwork of her chastitie.
+
+  _Ant._ Be not too angry,
+  For by this light, the woman's a rare woman,
+  A Lady of that catching youth, and beauty,
+  That unmatch'd sweetness--
+
+  _Dol._ But why should he be fool'd so?
+  Let her be what she will, why should his wisdom,
+  His age, and honour--
+
+  _Ant._ Say it were your own case,
+  Or mine, or any mans, that has heat in him:
+  'Tis true at this time when he has no promise
+  Of more security than his sword can cut through,
+  I do not hold it so discreet: but a good face, Gentlemen,
+  And eyes that are the winningst Orators:
+  A youth that opens like perpetual spring,
+  And to all these, a tongue that can deliver
+  The Oracles of Love--
+
+  _Sce._ I would you had her,
+  With all her Oracles, and Miracles,
+  She were fitter for your turn.
+
+  _Ant._ Would I had, _Sceva_,
+  With all her faults too: let me alone to mend 'em,
+  O'that condition I made thee mine heir.
+
+  _Sce._ I had rather have your black horse, than your harlots.
+
+  _Dol._  _Caesar_ writes _Sonnetts_ now, the sound of war
+  Is grown too boystrous for his mouth: he sighs too.
+
+  _Sce._ And learns to fiddle most melodiously,
+  And sings, 'twould make your ears prick up, to hear him Gent.
+  Shortly she'l make him spin: and 'tis thought
+  He will prove an admirable maker of Bonelace,
+  And what a rare gift will that be in a General!
+
+  _Ant._ I would he could abstain.
+
+  _Sce._ She is a witch sure,
+  And works upon him with some damn'd inchantment.
+
+  _Dol._ How cunning she will carry her behaviours,
+  And set her countenance in a thousand postures,
+  To catch her ends!
+
+  _Sce._ She will be sick, well, sullen,
+  Merry, coy, over-joy'd, and seem to dye
+  All in one half hour, to make an asse of him:
+  I make no doubt she will be drunk too damnably,
+  And in her drink will fight, then she fits him.
+
+  _Ant._ That thou shouldst bring her in!
+
+  _Sce._ 'Twas my blind fortune,
+  My Souldiers told me, by the weight 'twas wicked:
+  Would I had carried _Milo's_ Bull a furlong,
+  When I brought in this Cow-Calf: he has advanced me
+  From an old Souldier, to a bawd of memory:
+  O, that the Sons of _Pompey_ were behind him,
+  The honour'd _Cato_, and fierce _Juba_ with 'em,
+  That they might whip him from his whore, and rowze him:
+  That their fierce Trumpets, from his wanton trances,
+  Might shake him like an Earth-quake.
+
+    _Enter_ Septimius.
+
+  _Ant._ What's this fellow?
+
+  _Dol._ Why, a brave fellow, if we judge men by their clothes.
+
+  _Ant._ By my faith he is brave indeed: he's no commander?
+
+  _Sce._ Yes, he has a _Roman_ face, he has been at fair wars
+  And plenteous too, and rich, his Trappings shew it.
+
+  _Sep._ And they will not know me now, they'l never know me.
+  Who dare blush now at my acquaintance? ha?
+  Am I not totally a span-new Gallant,
+  Fit for the choycest eyes? have I not gold?
+  The friendship of the world? if they shun me now
+  (Though I were the arrantest rogue, as I am well forward)
+  Mine own curse, and the Devils too light on me.
+
+  _Ant._ Is't not _Septimius_?
+
+  _Sce._ Yes.
+
+  _Dol._ He that kill'd _Pompey_?
+
+  _Sce._ The same Dog, Scab; that guilded botch, that rascal.
+
+  _Dol._ How glorious villany appears in _Egypt_!
+
+  _Sep._ Gallants, and Souldiers, sure they do admire me.
+
+  _Sce._ Stand further off, thou stinkest.
+
+  _Sep._ A likely matter:
+  These Cloaths smell mustily, do they not, Gallants?
+  They stink, they stink, alas poor things, contemptible.
+  By all the Gods in _Egypt_, the perfumes
+  That went to trimming these cloathes, cost me--
+
+  _Sce._ Thou stinkest still.
+
+  _Sep._ The powdering of this head too--
+
+  _Sce._ If thou hast it,
+  I'le tell thee all the Gumms in sweet _Arabia_
+  Are not sufficient, were they burnt about thee,
+  To purge the scent of a rank Rascal from thee.
+
+  _Ant._ I smell him now: fie, how the Knave perfumes him,
+  How strong he scents of Traitor!
+
+  _Dol._ You had an ill Millener,
+  He laid too much of the Gum of Ingratitude
+  Upon your Coat, you should have washt off that Sir,
+  Fie, how it choaks! too little of your loyaltie,
+  Your honesty, your faith, that are pure Ambers;
+  I smell the rotten smell of a hired Coward,
+  A dead Dog is sweeter.
+
+  _Sep._ Ye are merry Gentlemen,
+  And by my troth, such harmless mirth takes me too,
+  You speak like good blunt Souldiers; and 'tis well enough:
+  But did you live at Court, as I do, Gallants,
+  You would refine, and learn an apter language;
+  I have done ye simple service on your _Pompey_,
+  You might have lookt him yet this brace of twelve months
+  And hunted after him, like foundred Beagles,
+  Had not this fortunate hand--
+
+  _Ant._ He brags on't too:
+  By the good Gods, rejoyces in't; thou wretch
+  Thou most contemptible Slave.
+
+  _Sce._ Dog, mangy Mongrel,
+  Thou murdring mischief, in the shape of Souldier
+  To make all Souldiers hatefull; thou disease
+  That nothing but the Gallows can give ease to.--
+
+  _Dol._ Thou art so impudent, that I admire thee,
+  And know not what to say.
+
+  _Sep._ I know your anger
+  And why you prate thus: I have found your melancholy:
+  Ye all want mony, and you are liberal Captains,
+  And in this want will talk a little desperately:
+  Here's gold, come share; I love a brave Commander:
+  And be not peevish, do as _Caesar_ does:
+  He's merry with his wench now, be you jovial,
+  And let's all laugh and drink: would he have partners?
+  I do consider all your wants, and weigh 'em,
+  He has the Mistris, you shall have the maids,
+  I'le bring 'em to ye, to your arms.
+
+  _Ant._ I blush,
+  All over me, I blush, and sweat to hear him:
+  Upon my conscience, if my arms were on now
+  Through them I should blush too: pray ye let's be walking.
+
+  _Sce._ Yes, yes: but e're we goe, I'le leave this lesson,
+  And let him study it: first Rogue, then Pander,
+  Next Devil that will be; get thee from mens presence,
+  And where the name of Souldier has been heard of
+  Be sure thou live not: to some hungry desert
+  Where thou canst meet with nothing but thy conscience,
+  And that in all the shapes of all thy vill[anie]s
+  Attend thee still, where bruit Beasts will abhor thee,
+  And even the Sun will shame to give thee light,
+  Goe hide thy head: or if thou think'st it fitter
+  Goe hang thy self.
+
+  _Dol._ Hark to that clause.
+
+  _Sce._ And that speedily,
+  That nature may be eas'd of such a Monster.    [_Exit._
+
+  _Sep._ Yet all this moves not me: nor reflects on me:
+  I keep my gold still, and my confidence,
+  Their want of breeding makes these fellows murmur,
+  Rude valors, so I let 'em pass; rude honours:
+  There is a wench yet, that I know, affects me
+  And company for a King: a young plump villain,
+  That when she sees this gold, she'l leap upon me.
+
+    _Enter_ Eros.
+
+  And here she comes: I am sure of her at midnight,
+  My pretty _Eros_ welcom.
+
+  _Eros_. I have business.
+
+  _Sep._ Above my love, thou canst not.
+
+  _Eros_. Yes indeed Sir,
+  Far, far above.
+
+  _Sep._ Why, why so coy? 'pray ye tell me
+  We are alone.
+
+  _Eros_. I am much asham'd we are so.
+
+  _Sep._ You want a new Gown now, & a handsom Petticoat,
+  A Skarf, and some odd toyes: I have gold here ready,
+  Thou shal[t] have any thing.
+
+  _Eros_. I want your absence:
+  Keep on your way, I care not for your company.
+
+  _Sep._ How? how? you are very short: do you know me _Eros_?
+  And what I have been to ye?
+
+  _Eros_. Yes I know ye:
+  And I hope I shall forget ye: Whilst you were honest
+  I lov'd ye too.
+
+  _Sep._ Honest? come prethee kiss me.
+
+  _Eros_. I kiss no knaves, no Murderers, no Beasts,
+  No base betrayers of those men that fed 'em,
+  I hate their looks; and though I may be wanton,
+  I scorn to nourish it with bloody purchase,
+  Purchase so foully got; I pray ye unhand me
+  I had rather touch the plague, than one unworthy:
+  Goe seek some Mistris that a horse may marry,
+  And keep her company, she is too good for ye.   [_Exit._
+
+  _Sep._ Marry this goes near; now I perceive I am hatefull,
+  When this light stuff can distinguish, it grows dangerous,
+  For mony, seldom they refuse a Leper:
+  But sure I am more odious, more diseas'd too:
+
+    _Enter three lame_ Souldiers.
+
+  It sits cold here; what are these? three poor Souldiers?
+  Both poor and lame: their misery may make 'em
+  A little look upon me, and adore me,
+  If these will keep me company, I am made yet.
+
+  _1 Sol._ The pleasure _Caesar_ sleeps in, makes us miserable,
+  We are forgot, our maims and dangers laugh'd at;
+  He Banquets, and we beg.
+
+  _2 Sol._ He was not wont
+  To let poor Souldiers that have spent their Fortunes,
+  Their Bloods, and limbs, walk up and down like vagabonds.
+
+  _Sep._ Save ye good Souldiers: good poor men, heaven help ye:
+  You have born the brunt of war, and shew the story,
+
+  _1 Sol._ Some new commander sure.
+
+  _Sep._ You look (my good friends)
+  By your thin faces, as you would be Suitors.
+
+  _2 Sol._ To _Caesar_, for our means, Sir.
+
+  _Sep._ And 'tis fit Sir.
+
+  _3 Sol._ We are poor men, and long forgot.
+
+  _Sep._ I grieve for it:
+  Good Souldiers should have good rewards, and favours,
+  I'le give up your petitions, for I pity ye,
+  And freely speak to _Caesar_.
+
+  _All_. O we honour ye.
+
+  _1 Sol._ A good man sure ye are: the Gods preserve ye.
+
+  _Sep._ And to relieve your wants the while, hold Soldiers,
+  Nay 'tis no dream: 'tis good gold: take it freely,
+  'Twill keep ye in good heart.
+
+  _2 Sol._ Now goodness quit ye.
+
+  _Sep._ I'le be a friend to your afflictions,
+  And eat, and drink with ye too, and we'l be merry:
+  And every day I'le see ye.
+
+  _1 Sol._ You are a Souldier,
+  And one sent from the Gods, I think.
+
+  _Sep._ I'le cloth ye,
+  Ye are lame, and then provide good lodging for ye:
+  And at my Table, where no want shall meet ye.
+
+    _Enter_ Sceva.
+
+  _All_. Was never such a man.
+
+  _1 Sold._ Dear honour'd Sir,
+  Let us but know your name, that we may worship ye.
+
+  _2 Sold._ That we may ever thank.
+
+  _Sep._ Why, call me any thing,
+  No matter for my name, that may betray me.
+
+  _Sce._ A cunning thief, call him _Septimius_, Souldiers,
+  The villain that kill'd _Pompey_.
+
+  _All_. How?
+
+  _Sce._ Call him the shame of men.       [_Exit._
+
+  _1 Sold._ O that this mony
+  Were weight enough to break thy brains out: fling all:
+  And fling our curses next: let them be mortal,
+  Out bloody wolf, dost thou come guilded over,
+  And painted with thy charitie, to poyson us?
+
+  _2 Sold._ I know him now: may never Father own thee,
+  But as a monstrous birth shun thy base memory:
+  And if thou hadst a Mother (as I cannot
+  Believe thou wert a natural Burden) let her womb
+  Be curs'd of women for a bed of vipers.
+
+  _3 Sol._ Me thinks the ground shakes to devour this rascal,
+  And the kind air turns into foggs and vapours,
+  Infectious mists, to crown his villanies.
+  Thou maist go wander, like a thing heaven hated.
+
+  _1 Sold._ And valiant minds hold poysonous to remember.
+  The Hangman will not keep thee company,
+  He has an honourable house to thine,
+  No, not a thief though thou couldst save his life for't
+  Will eat thy bread, nor one, for thirst starv'd, drink with thee.
+
+  _2 Sol._ Thou art no company for an honest dog,
+  And so we'l leave thee to a ditch (thy destiny.)  [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Sep._ Contemn'd of all? and kickt too? now I find it;
+  My valour's fled too, with mine honesty,
+  For since I would be knave I must be Coward:
+  This 'tis to be a Traitor, and betrayer.
+  What a deformity dwells round about me!
+  How monstrous shews that man, that is ungratefull!
+  I am afraid the very beasts will tear me,
+  Inspir'd with what I have done: the winds will blast me:
+  Now I am paid, and my reward dwells in me,
+  The wages of my fact, my soul's opprest;
+  Honest and noble minds, you find most rest.    [_Exit._
+
+
+
+SCENA III.
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus, Achillas.
+
+  _Ptol._ I have commanded, and it shall be so,
+  A preparation I have set o' foot,
+  Worthy the friendship and the fame of _Caesar_,
+  My Sisters favours shall seem poor and wither'd:
+  Nay she her self, (trim'd up in all her beautys)
+  Compar'd to what I'le take his eyes withall,
+  Shall be a dream.
+
+  _Pho._ Do you mean to shew the glory,
+  And wealth of _Egypt_?
+
+  _Ptol._ Yes: and in that lustre,
+  _Rome_ shall appear in all her famous Conquests,
+  And all her riches of no note unto it.
+
+  _Ach._ Now you are reconcil'd to your fair Sister,
+  Take heed Sir, how you step into a danger:
+  A danger of this precipice: but note Sir,
+  For what _Rome_ ever rais'd her mighty armies;
+  First for ambition, then for wealth: 'tis madness,
+  Nay more, a secure impotence, to tempt
+  An armed Guest: feed not an eye, that conquers,
+  Nor teach a fortunate sword the way to be covetous.
+
+  _Ptol._ Ye judge amiss, and far too wide to alter me,
+  Yet all be ready, as I gave direction:
+  The secret way of all our wealth appearing
+  Newly, and handsomely: and all about it:
+  No more disswading: 'tis my will.
+
+  _Ach._ I grieve for't.
+
+  _Ptol._ I will dazel _Caesar_, with excess of glory.
+
+  _Pho._ I fear you'l curse your will, we must obey ye. [_Exit._
+
+
+
+SCENA IV.
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva, _above._
+
+  _Caesar_. I wonder at the glory of this Kingdom,
+  And the most bounteous preparation,
+  Still as I pass, they court me with.
+
+  _Sceva_. I'le tell ye:
+  In _Gaul_, and _Germany_, we saw such visions,
+  And stood not to admire 'em, but possess 'em:
+  When they are ours, they are worth our admiration.
+
+    _Enter_ Cleopatra.
+
+  _Ant._ The young Queen comes: give room.
+
+  _Caesar_. Welcom (my dearest)
+  Come bless my side.
+
+  _Sceva_. I marry: here's a wonder,
+  As she appears now, I am no true Souldier,
+  If I be not readie to recant.
+
+  _Cleo._ Be merry Sir,
+  My Brother will be proud to do you honour
+  That now appears himself.
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Achillas, Photinus, Apollodorus.
+
+  _Pto._ Haile to great _Caesar_
+  My Royal Guest, first I will feast thine eyes
+  With wealthy _AEgypts_ store, and then thy palate,
+  And wait my self upon thee.     [_Treasure brought in._
+
+  _Caesar_. What rich Service!
+  What mines of treasure!
+
+  _Cleo._ My _Caesar_,
+  What do you admire? pray ye turn, and let me talk to ye.
+  Have ye forgot me Sir? how, a new object?
+  Am I grown old o'th' sudden, _Caesar_?
+
+  _Caesar_. Tell me
+  From whence comes all this wealth?
+
+  _Cleo._ Is your eye that way?
+  And all my Beauties banisht?
+
+  _Ptol._ I'le tell thee _Caesar_,
+  We owe for all this wealth to the old _Nilus_:
+  We need no dropping rain to cheer the husband-man,
+  Nor Merchant that ploughs up the Sea, to seek us;
+  Within the wealthy womb of reverent _Nilus_,
+  All this is nourish'd: who to do thee honour,
+  Comes to discover his seven Deities,
+  (His conceal'd heads) unto thee: see with pleasure.
+
+  _Caesar_. The matchless wealth of this Land!
+
+  _Cleo._ Come, ye shall hear me.
+
+  _Caesar_. Away: let me imagine.
+
+  _Cleo._ How? frown on me?
+  The eyes of _Caesar_ wrapt in storms?
+
+  _Caesar_. I am sorry:
+  But let me think--
+
+_MUSTEK, SONG._
+
+    _Enter_ Isis, _and three Labourers._
+
+    _Isis, the Goddess of this Land,_
+    _Bids thee (great Caesar) understand_
+    _And mark our Customes, and first know,_
+    _With greedy eyes these watch the flow_
+    _Of plenteous Nilus: when he comes,_
+    _With Songs, with Daunces, Timbrels, Drums_
+    _They entertain him, cut his way,_
+    _And give his proud Heads leave to play:_
+      _Nilus himself shall rise, and show_
+      _His matchless wealth in Over-flow._
+
+_LABOURERS SONG._
+
+    _Come let us help the reverend Nile,_
+    _He's very old (alas the while)_
+    _Let us dig him easie wayes,_
+    _And prepare a thousand Playes:_
+    _To delight his streams let's sing_
+    _A loud welcom to our Spring._
+    _This way let his curling Heads_
+    _Fall into our new made Beds._
+    _This way let his wanton spawns,_
+    _Frisky and glide it o're the Lawns._
+    _This way profit comes, and gain:_
+    _How he tumbles here amain!_
+    _How his waters haste to fall_
+    _Into our Channels! Labour all_
+    _And let him in: Let Nilus flow,_
+    _And perpetuall plenty show._
+    _With Incense let us bless the brim,_
+    _And as the wanton fishes swim,_
+    _Let us Gums, and Garlands fling,_
+    _And loud our Timbrels ring._
+    _Come (old Father) come away,_
+    _Our labour is our holy day._
+
+  Isis. _Here comes the aged River now_
+    _With Garlands of great Pearl, his Brow_
+    _Begirt and rounded: In his Flow_
+    _All things take life; and all things grow._
+    _A thousand wealthy Treasures still,_
+    _To do him service at his will_
+    _Follow his rising Flood, and pour_
+    _Perpetuall blessings in our store._
+    _Hear him: and next there will advance,_
+    _His sacred Heads to tread a Dance,_
+    _In honour of my Royal Guest,_
+    _Mark them too: and you have a Feast._
+
+  _Cleo._ A little dross betray me?
+
+  _Caesar_. I am asham'd I warr'd at home, (my friends)
+  When such wealth may be got abroad: what honour?
+  Nay everlasting glory had _Rome_ purchas'd,
+  Had she a just cause but to visit _AEgypt_?
+
+_NILUS_ SONG, _AND DANCE._
+
+    _Make room for my rich waters fall, and bless my Flood,_
+    _Nilus comes flowing, to you all encrease and good._
+    _Now the Plants and Flowers shall spring,_
+    _And the merry Plough-man sing_
+    _In my bidden waves I bring_
+    _Bread, and wine, and every thing._
+    _Let the Damsells sing me in:_
+    _Sing aloud that I may rise:_
+    _Your holy Feasts and hours begin,_
+    _And each hand bring a Sacrifice._
+      _Now my wanton Pearls I show_
+      _That to Ladies fair necks grow._
+          _Now my gold_
+    _And treasures that can ne're be told,_
+    _Shall bless this Land, by my rich Flow,_
+      _And after this, to crown your Eyes,_
+      _My hidden holy head arise._
+
+  _Caesar_. The wonder of this wealth so troubles me,
+  I am not well: good-night.
+
+  _Sce._ I am glad ye have it:
+  Now we shall stir again.
+
+  _Ptol._ Thou wealth, still haunt him.
+
+  _Sce._ A greedy spirit set thee on: we are happy.
+
+  _Ptol._ Lights: lights for _Caesar_, and attendance.
+
+  _Cleo._  Well,
+  I shall yet find a time to tell thee _Caesar_,
+  Thou hast wrong'd her Love: the rest here.
+
+  _Ptol._ Lights along still:
+  Musick, and Sacrifice to sleep for _Caesar_.     [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+_ACTUS QUARTUS. SCENA PRIMA._
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Photinus, Achillas, Achoreus.
+
+  _Ach._ I told ye carefully, what this would prove to,
+  What this inestimable wealth and glory
+  Would draw upon ye: I advis'd 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 contemn'd: I dare say,
+  (And freshly now) 'twas a poor weakness in ye,
+  A glorious Childishness: I watch'd his eye,
+  And saw how Faulcon-like it towr'd, and flew
+  Upon the wealthy Quarry: how round it mark'd it:
+  I observ'd his words, and to what it tended;
+  How greedily he ask'd from whence it came,
+  And what Commerce we held for such abundance:
+  The shew of _Nilus_, how he laboured at
+  To find the secret wayes the Song delivered.
+
+  _Ach._ He never smil'd, I noted, at the pleasures,
+  But fixt his constant eyes upon the treasure;
+  I do not think his ears had so much leisure
+  After the wealth appear'd, to hear the Musique?
+  Most sure he has not slept since, his mind's troubled
+  With objects that would make their own still labour.
+
+  _Pho._ Your Sister he ne're gaz'd on: that's a main note,
+  The prime beauty of the world had no power over him.
+
+  _Ach._ Where was his mind the whilst?
+
+  _Pho._ Where was your carefulness
+  To shew an armed thief the way to rob ye?
+  Nay, would you give him this, 'twill excite him
+  To seek the rest. Ambition feels no gift,
+  Nor knows no bounds, indeed ye have done most weakly.
+
+  _Ptol._ Can I be too kind to my noble friend?
+
+  _Pho._ To be unkind unto your noble self, but savours
+  Of indiscretion, and your friend has found it.
+  Had ye been train'd up in the wants and miseries
+  A souldier marches through, and known his temperance
+  In offer'd courtesies, you would have made
+  A wiser Master of your own, and stronger.
+
+  _Ptol._ Why, should I give him all, he would return it:
+  'Tis more to him, to make Kings.
+
+  _Pho._ Pray be wiser,
+  And trust not with your lost wealth, your lov'd liberty.
+  To be a King still at your own discretion
+  Is like a King; to be at his, a vassail.
+  Now take good counsel, or no more take to ye
+  The freedom of a Prince.
+
+  _Achil._ 'Twill be too late else:
+  For, since the Masque, he sent three of his Captains
+  (Ambitious as himself) to view again
+  The glory of your wealth.
+
+  _Pho._ The next himself comes,
+  Not staying for your courtesie, and takes it.
+
+  _Ptol._ What counsel, my _Achoreus_?
+
+  _Ach._ I'le goe pray Sir,
+  (For that is best counsel now) the gods may help ye. [_Ex._
+
+  _Pho._ I found ye out a way but 'twas not credited,
+  A most secure way: whither will ye flye now?
+
+  _Achil._ For when your wealth is gone, your power must follow.
+
+  _Pho._ And that diminisht 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 is a monster;
+  What ear remember ye? 'twill be then a courtesie
+  (A noble one) to take your life too from ye:
+  But if reserv'd, you stand to fill a victory,
+  As who knows Conquerours minds? though outwardly
+  They bear fair streams.
+  O Sir, does this not shake ye?
+  If to be honyed on to these afflictions--
+
+  _Ptol._ I never will: I was a Fool.
+
+  _Pho._ For then Sir
+  Your Countreys cause falls with ye too, and fetter'd:
+  All _AEgypt_ shall be plough'd up with dishonour.
+
+  _Ptol._ No more: I am sensible: and now my spirit
+  Burns hot within me.
+
+  _Achil._ Keep it warm and fiery.
+
+  _Pho._ And last be counsel'd.
+
+  _Ptol._ I will, though I perish.
+
+  _Pho._ Goe in; we'l tell you all: and then we'l execute.
+
+    [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+SCENA II.
+
+    _Enter_ Cleopatra, Arsino, Eros.
+
+  _Ars._ You are so impatient.
+
+  _Cleo._ Have I not cause?
+  Women of common Beauties, and low Births,
+  When they are slighted, are allow'd 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.
+
+  _Cleo._ He is no man:
+  The shadow of a Greatness hangs upon him,
+  And not the vertue: he is no Conquerour,
+  H'as suffer'd under the base dross of Nature:
+  Poorly delivered up his power to wealth,
+  (The god of bed-rid men) taught his eyes treason
+  Against the truth of love: he has rais'd rebellion:
+  Defi'd his holy flames.
+
+  _Eros._ He will fall back again,
+  And satisfie your Grace.
+
+  _Cleo._ Had I been old,
+  Or blasted in my bud, he might have shew'd
+  Some shadow of dislike: But, to prefer
+  The lustre of a little art, _Arsino_,
+  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 Souldier,
+  (All honourable Souldiers are Loves servants)
+  He is a Merchant; a meer wandring Merchant,
+  Servile to gain: he trades for poor Commodities,
+  And makes his Conquests, thefts; some fortunate Captains
+  That quarter with him, and are truly valiant,
+  Have flung the name of happy _Caesar_ on him,
+  Himself ne're won it: he is so base and covetous,
+  He'l sell his sword for gold.
+
+  _Ars._ This is too bitter.
+
+  _Cleo._ Oh I could curse my self, that was so foolish,
+  So fondly childish to believe his tongue,
+  His promising tongue, e're I could catch his temper,
+  I had trash enough to have cloy'd his eyes withal,
+  His covetous eyes; such as I scorn to tread on:
+  Richer than e're he saw yet, and more tempting;
+  Had I known he had stoop'd at that, I had sav'd mine honour,
+  I had been happy still: but let him take it,
+  And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded:
+  Let him goe 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_. Doe 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 goe study mischief,
+  And put a look on, arm'd with all my cunnings,
+  Shall meet him like a Basilisque, 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.
+
+    _Enter_ Apollodorus.
+
+  _Ap._ _Caesar_ commends his Service to your Grace.
+
+  _Cleo._ His service? what's his service?
+
+  _Eros_. Pray ye be patient,
+  The noble _Caesar_ loves still.
+
+  _Cleo._ What's his will?
+
+  _Ap._ 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 unthankfull _Caesar_.
+
+  _Ap._ 'Twas your will, Madam,
+  Nay more, your charge upon me, as I honoured ye:
+  You know what danger I endured.
+
+  _Cleo._ Take this,
+  And carry it to that Lordly _Caesar_ sent thee:
+  There's a new Love, a handsom one, a rich one:
+  One that will hug his mind: bid him make love to it:
+  Tell the ambitious Broker, this will suffer--
+
+    _Enter Caesar._
+
+  _Ap._ He enters.
+
+  _Cleo._ How?
+
+  _Caesar._ I do not use to wait, Lady,
+  Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.
+
+  _Cleo._ I ghess so, by your rudeness.
+
+  _Caesar._ Ye are not angry?
+  Things of your tender mold, should be most gentle;
+  Why do you frown? good gods, what a set-anger
+  Have you forc'd into your face! Come, I must temper ye:
+  What a coy smile was there, and a disdainfull!
+  How like an ominous flash it broke out from ye!
+  Defend me, Love, Sweet, who has anger'd ye?
+
+  _Cleo._ Shew him a glass; that false face has betrai'd me:
+  That base heart wrought me--
+
+  _Caesar._ Be more sweetly angry;
+  I wrong'd ye fair?
+
+  _Cleo._ Away with your foul flatteries:
+  They are too gross: but that I dare be angry,
+  And with as great a god as _Caesar_ is,
+  To shew how poorly I respect his memory,
+  I would not speak to ye.
+
+  _Caesar._ Pray ye undoe this riddle,
+  And tell me how I have vext ye?
+
+  _Cleo._ Let me think first
+  Whether I may put on a Patience
+  That will with honour suffer me: know, I hate ye,
+  Let that begin the story: Now I'le tell ye.
+
+  _Caesar._ But do it milder: In a noble Lady,
+  Softness of spirit, and a sober nature,
+  That moves like summer winds, cool, and blows sweetness;
+  Shews blessed like her self.
+
+  _Cleo._ And that great blessedness
+  You first reap'd 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 disgrac'd me,
+  When in the pride I appear'd of all my beauty,
+  Appear'd 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 adorn'd with noble love, would kick at:
+  Souldiers of royal mark, scorn such base purchase:
+  Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at;
+  I spake to ye then; I courted ye, and woo'd ye:
+  Call'd ye dear _Caesar_, hung about ye tenderly:
+  Was proud to appear your friend.
+
+  _Caesar._ You have mistaken me.
+
+  _Cleo._ But neither Eye, nor Favour, not a Smile
+  Was I blessed back with; but shook off rudely,
+  And, as ye had been sold to sordid infamy,
+  You fell before the Images of treasure,
+  And in your soul you worship'd: I stood slighted,
+  Forgotten and contemn'd; my soft embraces,
+  And those sweet kisses you call'd Elyzium,
+  As letters writ in sand, no more remembred:
+  The name and glory of your _Cleopatra_
+  Laugh'd at, and made a story to your Captains,
+  Shall I endure?
+
+  _Caesar_. You are deceiv'd in all this,
+  Upon my life you are, 'tis your much tenderness.
+
+  _Cleo._ No, no, I love not that way; you are cozen'd:
+  I love with as much ambition as a Conquerour,
+  And where I love, will triumph.
+
+  _Caesar_. So you shall:
+  My heart shall be the Chariot that shall bear ye,
+  All I have won shall wait upon ye: By the gods
+  The bravery of this womans mind, has fired me:
+  Dear Mistress shall I but this night?--
+
+  _Cleo._ How _Caesar_?
+  Have I let slip a second vanity
+  That gives thee hope?
+
+  _Caesar_. You shall be absolute,
+  And Reign alone as Queen: you shall be any thing.
+
+  _Cleo._ Make me a maid again, and then I'le hear thee;
+  Examine all thy art of War, to do that;
+  And if thou find'st it possible, I'le love thee:
+  Till when, farewel, unthankfull.
+
+  _Caesar_. Stay.
+
+  _Cleo._ I will not.
+
+  _Caesar_. I command.
+
+  _Cleo._ Command, and goe without, Sir.
+  I do command thee be my slave for ever,
+  And vex while I laugh at thee.
+
+  _Caesar_. Thus low, beauty.
+
+  _Cleo._ It is too late; when I have found thee absolute,
+  The man that Fame reports thee, and to me,
+  May be I shall think better. Farewel Conquerour.  [_Exit._
+
+  _Caesar_. She mocks me too: I will enjoy her Beauty:
+  I will not be deni'd; I'le force my longing.
+  Love is best pleas'd, when roundly we compel him,
+  And as he is Imperious, so will I be.
+  Stay fool, and be advis'd: that dulls the appetite,
+  Takes off the strength and sweetness of delight.
+  By Heaven she is a miracle, I must use
+  A handsom way to win: how now; what fear
+  Dwells in your faces? you look all distracted.
+
+    _Enter_ Sceva, Anthony, Dolabella.
+
+  _Sceva_. If it be fear, 'tis fear of your undoing,
+  Not of our selves: fear of your poor declining:
+  Our lives and deaths are equall benefits,
+  And we make louder prayers to dye nobly,
+  Than to live high, and wantonly: whilst you are secure here,
+  And offer Hecatombs of lazie kisses
+  To the lewd god of love, and cowardize,
+  And most lasci[v]iously dye in delights,
+  You are begirt with the fierce _Alexandrians_.
+
+  _Dol._ The spawn of _Egypt_ flow about your Palace,
+  Arm'd 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 will fley us, and then dry our Quarters:
+  A rasher of a salt lover, is such a Shooing-horn:
+  Can you kiss away this conspiracy, and set us free?
+  Or will the Giant god of love fight for ye?
+  Will his fierce war-like bow kill a Cock-sparrow?
+  Bring out the Lady, she can quel this mutiny:
+  And with her powerfull looks strike awe into them:
+  She can destroy, and build again the City,
+  Your Goddesses have mighty gifts: shew 'em her fair brests,
+  The impregnable Bulworks of proud Love, and let 'em
+  Begin their battery there: she will laugh at 'em;
+  They are not above a hundred thousand, Sir.
+  A mist, a mist, that when her Eyes break out,
+  Her powerfull radiant eyes, and shake their flashes,
+  Will flye before her heats.
+
+  _Caesar_. Begirt with Villains?
+
+  _S[ce]._ They come to play you, and your Love a Huntsup.
+  You were told what this same whorson wenching, long agoe would
+          come to:
+  You are taken napping now: has not a Souldier,
+  A time to kiss his friend, and a time to consider,
+  But he must lye still digging, like a Pioneer,
+  Making of mines, and burying of his honour there?
+  'Twere good you would think--
+
+  _Dol._ And time too, or you will find else
+  A harder task, than Courting a coy Beauty.
+
+  _Ant._ Look out and then believe.
+
+  _Sce._ No, no, hang danger:
+  Take me provoking broth, and then goe to her:
+  Goe to your Love, and let her feel your valour;
+  Charge her whole body, when the sword's in your throat (Sir,)
+  You may cry, _Caesar_, and see if that will help ye.
+
+  _Caesar_. I'le be my self again, and meet their furies,
+  Meet, and consume their mischiefs: make some shift, _Sceva_,
+  To recover the Fleet, and bring me up two Legions,
+  And you shall see me, how I'le break like thunder
+  Amongst these beds of slimy Eeles, and scatter 'em.
+
+  _Sce._ Now ye speak sense I'le put my life to the hazard,
+  Before I goe No more of this warm Lady,
+  She will spoil your sword-hand.
+
+  _Caesar_. Goe: come, let's to Counsel
+  How to prevent, and then to execute.
+
+
+
+SCENA III.
+
+    _Enter_ Souldiers.
+
+  _1 Sold._ Did ye see this Penitence?
+
+  _2 Sold._ Yes: I saw, and heard it.
+
+  _3 Sold._ And I too: look'd upon him, and observ'd it,
+  He's the strangest _Septimus_ now--
+
+  _1 Sold._ I heard he was altered,
+  And had given away his Gold to honest uses:
+  Cry'd monstrously.
+
+  _2 Sold._ He cryes abundantly:
+  He is blind almost with weeping.
+
+  _3 Sold._ 'Tis most wonderfull
+  That a hard hearted man, and an old Souldier
+  Should have so much kind moisture: when his Mother dy'd
+  He laugh'd aloud, and made the wickedst Ballads--
+
+  _1 Sold._ 'Tis like enough: he never lov'd his parents;
+  Nor can I blame him, for they ne'r lov'd him.
+  His Mother dream'd before she was deliver'd
+  That she was brought abed with a Buzzard, and ever after
+  She whistl'd him up to th' world: his brave clothes too
+  He has flung away, and goes like one of us now:
+  Walks with his hands in's pockets, poor and sorrowfull,
+  And gives the best instructions.--
+
+  _2 Sold._ And tells stories
+  Of honest and good people that were honour'd
+  And how they were remembred: and runs mad
+  If he but hear of any ungratefull person,
+  A bloudy, or betraying man--
+
+  _3 Sold._ If it be possible
+  That an Arch-Villain may ever be recovered,
+  This penitent Rascal will put hard: 'twere worth our labour
+  To see him once again.
+
+    _Enter_ Septimius.
+
+  _1 Sold._ He spares us that labour,
+  For here he comes.
+
+  _Sep._--Bless ye my honest friends,
+  Bless ye from base unworthy men; come not near me,
+  For I am yet too taking for your company.
+
+  _1 Sold._ Did I not tell ye?
+
+  _2 Sold._ What book's that?
+
+  _1 Sold._ No doubt
+  Some excellent Salve for a sore heart: are you
+  _Septimius_, that base knave, that betray'd _Pompey_?
+
+  _Sep._ I was, and am; unless your honest thoughts
+  Will look upon my penitence, and save me,
+  I must be ever Villain: O good Souldiers
+  You that have _Roman_ hearts, take heed of falsehood:
+  Take heed of blood; take heed of foul ingratitude.
+  The Gods have scarce a mercy for those mischiefs,
+  Take heed of pride, 'twas that that brought me to it.
+
+  _2 Sol._ This fellow would make a rare speech at the gallows.
+
+  _[3] Sol._ 'Tis very fit he were hang'd to edifie us:
+
+  _Sep._ Let all your thoughts be humble, and obedient,
+  Love your Commanders, honour them that feed ye:
+  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 issues,
+  Pride, and ambitious wantonness, those spoil'd me.
+  Rather lose all your limbs, than the least honesty,
+  You are never lame indeed, till loss of credit
+  Benumb ye through: Scarrs, and those maims of honour
+  Are memorable crutches, that shall bear
+  When you are dead, your noble names to Eternity.
+
+  _1 Sol._ I cry.
+
+  _2 Sol._ And so do I.
+
+  _3 Sol._ An excellent villain.
+
+  _1 Sol._ A more sweet pious knave I never heard yet.
+
+  _2 Sol._ He was happie he was Rascal, to come to this.
+
+    _Enter_ Achoreus.
+
+  Who's this? a Priest?
+
+  _Sep._ O 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 pardon'd.
+
+  _Ach._ _Orestes_ out of madness did his murther,
+  And therefore he found grace: thou (worst of all men)
+  Out of cold blood, and hope of gain, base lucre,
+  Slew'st thine own Feeder: come not near the altar,
+  Nor with thy reeking hands pollute the Sacrifice,
+  Thou art markt for shame eternal.                    [_Exit._
+
+  _Sep._ 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 hop'd grace, at Court! good souldiers
+  Let neither flattery, nor the witching sound
+  Of high and soft preferment, touch your goodness:
+  To be valiant, old, and honest, O what blessedness--
+
+  _1 Sold._ Dost thou want any thing?
+
+  _Sep._ Nothing but your prayers.
+
+  _2 Sol._ Be thus, and let the blind Priest do his worst,
+  We have gods as well as they, and they will hear us.
+
+  _3 Sol._ Come, cry no more: thou hast wep't out twenty _Pompeys_.
+
+    _Enter_ Photinus, Achillas.
+
+  _Pho._ So penitent?
+
+  _Achil._ It seems so.
+
+  _Pho._ Yet for all this
+  We must employ him.
+
+  _1 Sol._ These are the arm'd Souldier leaders:
+  Away: and let's toth' Fort, we shall be snapt else.   [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Pho._ How now? why thus? what cause of this dejection?
+
+  _Achil._ Why dost thou weep?
+
+  _Sep._ Pray leave me, you have ruin'd me,
+  You have made me a famous Villain.
+
+  _Pho._ Does that touch thee?
+
+  _Achil._ He will be hard to win: he feels his lewdness.
+
+  _Pho._ He must be won, or we shall want our right hand.
+  This fellow dares, and knows, and must be heartned.
+  Art thou so poor to blench at what thou hast done?
+  Is Conscience a comrade for an old Soldier?
+
+  _Achil._ It is not that: it may be some disgrace
+  That he takes heavily; and would be cherish'd,
+  _Septimius_ ever scorn'd to shew such weakness.
+
+  _Sep._ Let me alone; I am not for your purpose,
+  I am now a new man.
+
+  _Pho._ We have new affairs for thee,
+  Those that would raise thy head.
+
+  _Sep._ I would 'twere off,
+  And in your bellies for the love you bear me.
+  I'le 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 justifie it?
+
+  _S[e]p._ I am Rogue enough.
+
+  _Pho._ Thou wilt be more, and baser:
+  A poor Rogue is 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 out.
+
+  _Achil._ Keep thy self glorious still, though ne're so stain'd,
+  And that will lessen it, if not work it out.
+  To goe complaining thus, and thus repenting
+  Like a poor Girl that had betrai'd her maide[n]-head--
+
+  _Sep._ I'le stop mine ears.
+
+  _Achil._ Will shew so in a Souldier,
+  So simply, and so ridiculously, so tamely--
+
+  _Pho._ If people would believe thee, 'twere some honesty,
+  And for thy penitence would not laugh at thee
+  (As sure they will) and beat thee for thy poverty:
+  If they would allow thy foolery, there were some hope.
+
+  _Sep._ My foolery?
+
+  _Pho._ Nay, more than that, thy misery,
+  Thy monstrous misery.
+
+  _A[c]hil._ He begins to hearken:
+  Thy misery so great, men will not bury thee.
+
+  _Sep._ That this were true!
+
+  _Pho._ Why does this conquering _Caesar_
+  Labour through the worlds deep Seas of toyls and troubles,
+  Dangers, and desperate hopes? to repent afterwards?
+  Why does he slaughter thousands in a Battel,
+  And whip his Country with the sword? to cry for't?
+  Thou killd'st great _Pompey_; he'l kill all his kindred,
+  And justifie it: nay raise up _Trophies_ to it.
+  When thou hear'st him repent, (he's held most holy too)
+  And cry for doing daily bloody murthers,
+  Take thou example, and go ask forgiveness,
+  Call up the thing thou nam'st thy conscience,
+  And let it work: then 'twill seem well _Septimius_.
+
+  _Sep._ He does all this.
+
+  _Achil._ Yes: and is honour'd for it;
+  Nay call'd the honour'd _Caesar_, so maist thou be:
+  Thou wert born as near a Crown as he.
+
+  _Sep._  He was poor.
+
+  _Pho._ And desperate bloody tricks got him this credit.
+
+  _Sep._ I am afraid you will once more--
+
+  _Pho._ Help to raise thee:
+  Off with thy pining black, it dulls a Souldier,
+  And put on resolution like a man,
+  A noble Fate waits on thee.
+
+  _Sep._ I now feel
+  My self returning Rascal speedily.
+  O that I had the power--
+
+  _Achil._ Thou shalt have all:
+  And do all through thy power, men shall admire thee,
+  And the vices of _Septimius_ shall turn vertues.
+
+  _Sep._ Off: off: thou must off: off my cowardize,
+  Puling repentance off.
+
+  _Pho._ Now thou speakst nobly.
+
+  _Sep._ Off my dejected looks: and welcom impudence:
+  My daring shall be Deity, to save me:
+  Give me instructions, and put action on me:
+  A glorious cause upon my swords point, Gentlemen,
+  And let my wit, and valour work: you will raise me,
+  And make me out-dare all my miseries?
+
+  _Pho._ All this, and all thy wishes.
+
+  _Sep._ Use me then,
+  Womanish fear farewell: I'le never melt more,
+  Lead on, to some great thing, to wake my spirit:
+  I cut the Cedar _Pompey_, and I'le fell
+  This huge Oak _Caesar_ too.
+
+  _Pho._ Now thou singst sweetly:
+  And _Ptolomy_ shall crown thee for thy service.
+
+  _Achil._ He's well wrought: put him on apace for cooling.
+                                                        [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+_ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Antony, Dolabella.
+
+  _Ant._ The tumult still encreases.
+
+  _Caesar_. O my fortune!
+  My lustfull folly rather! but 'tis well,
+  And worthily I am made a bondsmans prey,
+  That after all my glorious victories,
+  In which I pass'd so many Seas of dangers,
+  When all the Elements conspir'd against me,
+  Would yield up the dominion of this head
+  To any mortal power: so blind and stupid,
+  To trust these base _Egyptians_, that proclaim'd
+  Their perjuries, in noble _Pompeys_ death,
+  And yet that could not warn me.
+
+  _Dol._ Be still _Caesar_,
+  Who ever lov'd to exercise his fate,
+  Where danger look't most dreadful.
+
+  _Ant._ If you fall,
+  Fall not alone: let the King and his Sister
+  Be buried in your ruines: on my life
+  They both are guilty: reason may assure you
+  _Photinus_ nor _Achillas_ durst attempt you,
+  Or shake one Dart, or sword, aim'd at your safety,
+  Without their warrant.
+
+  _Caesar_. For the young King I know not
+  How he may be misled; but for his Sister
+  (Unequall'd _Cleopatra_) 'twere a kind
+  Of blasphemy to doubt her: ugly treason
+  Durst never dwell in such a glorious building,
+  Nor can so clear and great a spirit, as hers is,
+  Admit of falsehood.
+
+  _Ant._ Let us seize on him then:
+  And leave her to her fortune.
+
+  _Dol._ If he have power
+  Use it to your security, and let
+  His honesty acquit him: if he be false
+  It is too great an honour he should dye
+  By your victorious hand.
+
+  _Caesar_. He comes: and I
+  Shall do as I find cause.
+
+    _Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Apollodorus.
+
+  _Ptol._ Let not great _Caesar_
+  Impute the breach of hospitality,
+  To you (my guest) to me; I am contemn'd,
+  And my rebellious subjects lift their hands
+  Against my head: and would they aim'd no farther,
+  Provided that I fell a sacrifice
+  To gain you safety: that this is not feign'd,
+  The boldness of my innocence may confirm you:
+  Had I been privy to their bloody plot,
+  I now had led them on, and given fair gloss
+  To their bad cause, by being present with them:
+  But I that yet taste of the punishment,
+  In being false to _Pompey_, will not make
+  A second fault to _Caesar_ uncompel'd
+  With such as have not yet shook off obedience,
+  I yield my self to you, and will take part
+  In all your dangers.
+
+  _Caesar_. This pleads your excuse,
+  And I receive it.
+
+  _Ach._ If they have any touch
+  Of justice, or religion, I will use
+  The authority of our Gods, to call them back
+  From their bad purpose.
+
+  _Apo._ This part of the palace
+  Is yet defensible: we may make it good,
+  Till your powers rescue us.
+
+  _Caesar_. _Caesar_ besieg'd?
+  O stain to my great actions: 'twas my custom,
+  An Army routed, as my feet had wings
+  To be first in the chase: nor walls, nor Bulworks
+  Could guard those that escap'd the Battels fury
+  From this strong Arm; and I to be enclos'd?
+  My heart! my heart! but 'tis necessity,
+  To which the Gods must yield, and I obey,
+  'Till I redeem it by some glorious way.           [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+SCENA II.
+
+    _Enter_ Photinus, Achillas, Septimius, _Souldiers._
+
+  _Pho._ There's no retiring now, we are broke in:
+  The deed past hope of pardon: if we prosper
+  'Twill be stil'd lawful!, and we shall give laws
+  To those that now command us: stop not at
+  Or loyalty, or duty: bold ambition,
+  To dare and power to do, gave the first difference
+  Between the King, and subject, _Caesars Motto_,
+  _Aut Caesar aut Nihil_, each of us must claim,
+  And use it as our own.
+
+  _Achil._ The deed is bloody
+  If we conclude in _Ptolomies_ death.
+
+  _Pho._ The better,
+  The globe of Empire must be so manur'd.
+
+  _Sep._ _Rome_, that from _Romulus_ first took her name,
+  Had her walls water'd with a Crimson showr
+  Drain'd from a Brothers heart: nor was she rais'd
+  To this prodigious height, that overlooks
+  Three full parts of the Earth, that pay her tribute,
+  But by enlarging of her [n]arrow bounds
+  By the Sack of Neighbour Cities, not made hers
+  Till they were Cemented with the Blood of those
+  That did possess 'em: _Caesar, Ptolomy_,
+  (Now I am steel'd) to me are empty names
+  Esteem'd as _Pompeys_ was.
+
+  _Pho._ Well said _Septimius_,
+  Thou now art right again.
+
+  _Achil._ But what course take we
+  For the Princess _Cleopatra_?
+
+  _Pho._ Let her live
+  Awhile to make us sport: she shall authorize
+  Our undertakings to the ignorant people,
+  As if what we do were by her command:
+  But our _triumvirat_ Government once confirm'd,
+  She bears her Brother company, that's my Province:
+  Leave me to work her.
+
+  _Achil._ I will undertake
+  For _Ptolomy_.
+
+  _Sep._ _Caesar_ shall be my task,
+  And as in _Pompey_ I began a name
+  I'le perfect it in _Caesar_.
+
+    _Enter (above)_ Caesar, Ptolomy, Achoreus, Apollodorus, Antony,
+    Dolabella.
+
+  _Pho._ 'Tis resolv'd then,
+  We'll force our passage.
+
+  _Achil._ See, they do appear
+  As they desir'd a Parley.
+
+  _Pho._ I am proud yet
+  I have brought 'em to capitulate.
+
+  _Ptol._ Now, _Photinus_?
+
+  _Pho._  Now, _Ptolomy_?
+
+  _Ptol._ No addition?
+
+  _Pho._ We are equal,
+  Though _Caesars_ name were put into the scale,
+  In which our worth is weigh'd.
+
+  _Caes._ Presumptuous Villain,
+  Upon what grounds hast thou presum'd to raise
+  Thy servile hand against the King, or me,
+  That have a greater name?
+
+  _Pho._ On those, by which
+  Thou didst presume to pass the _Rubicon_
+  Against the Laws of _Rome_; and at the name
+  Of Traitor smile; as thou didst when _Marcellus_,
+  The Consul, with the _Senates_ full consent
+  Pronounc'd thee for an Enemy to thy Country,
+  Yet thou wentst on, and thy rebellious Cause
+  Was crown'd with fair success: Why should we fear then?
+  Think on that, _Caesar_.
+
+  _Caes._ O the gods! be brav'd thus,
+  And be compell'd to bear this from a Slave
+  That would not brook Great _Pompey_ his Superiour?
+
+  _Achil._ Thy glories now have toucht the highest point,
+  And must descend.
+
+  _Pho._ Despair, and think we stand
+  The Champions of _Rome_, to wreak her wrongs,
+  Upon whose liberty thou hast set thy foot.
+
+  _Sept._ And that the Ghosts of all those noble _Romans_
+  That by thy Sword fell in this Civil War
+  Expect revenge.
+
+  _Ant._ Dar'st thou speak, and remember
+  There was a _Pompey_?
+
+  _Pho._ There is no hope to 'scape us:
+  If that against the odds we have upon you
+  You dare come forth, and fight, receive the honour
+  To dye like _Romans_, if ye faint, resolve
+  To starve like Wretches; I disdain to change
+  Another syllable with you.                          [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Ant._ Let us dye nobly;
+  And rather fall upon each others Sword
+  Than come into these Villains hands.
+
+  _Caes._ That Fortune,
+  Which to this hour hath been a Friend to _Caesar_,
+  Though for a while she cloath her Brow with frowns,
+  Will smile again upon me: who will pay her,
+  Or sacrifice, or Vows, if she forsake
+  Her best of works in me? or suffer him,
+  Whom with a strong hand she hath led triumphant
+  Through the whole western world, and _Rome_ acknowledg'd
+  Her Soveraign Lord, to end in-gloriously
+  A life admir'd by all? The threatned danger
+  Must by a way more horrid be avoided,
+  And I will run the hazard; Fire the Palace,
+  And the rich Magazines that neighbour it,
+  In which the Wealth of _Egypt_ is contain'd:
+  Start not, it shall be so; that while the people
+  Labour in quenching the ensuing flames,
+  Like Caesar, with this handful of my friends
+  Through Fire, and Swords I force a passage to
+  My conquering Legions. King, if thou dar'd follow
+  Where _Caesar_ leads, or live or dye a Free-man;
+  If not, stay here a Bond-man to thy Slave,
+  And dead, be thought unworthy of a Grave.         [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+    _Enter_ Septimius.
+
+  _Sept._ I feel my resolution melts again
+  And that I am not Knave alone, but fool,
+  In all my purposes. The Devil, _Photinus_,
+  Employs me as a Property, and grown useless
+  Will shake me off again; he told me so
+  When I kill'd _Pompey_; nor can I hope better,
+  When _Caesar_ is dispatch'd; Services done
+  For such as only study their own ends,
+  Too great to be rewarded, are return'd
+  With deadly hate; I learn'd this Principle
+  In his own School, yet still he fools me, well;
+  And yet he trusts me: Since I in my nature
+  Was fashion'd to be false, wherefore should I
+  That kill'd my General, and a _Roman_, one
+  To whom I ow'd all nourishments of life,
+  Be true to an _Egyptian_? To save _Caesar_,
+  And turn _Photinus's_ plots on his own head,
+  As it is in my power, redeem my credit,
+  And live to lye and swear again in fashion,
+  Oh, 'twere a master-piece! ha!--me _Caesar_,
+  How's he got off?
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Ptolomy, Antony, Dolabella, Achoreus,
+    Apollodorus, _Souldiers._
+
+  _Caes._ The fire has took,
+  And shews the City like a second _Troy_,
+  The Navy too is scorch'd, the people greedy
+  To save their Wealth and Houses, whilst their Souldiers
+  Make spoil of all; only _Achillas's_ Troops
+  Make good their Guard, break through them, we are safe;
+  I'll lead you like a Thunder-bolt.
+
+  _Sept._ Stay, _Caesar_.
+
+  _Caes._ Who's this? the Dog, _Septimius_?
+
+  _Ant._ Cut his throat.
+
+  _Dol._ You bark'd but now, fawn you so soon?
+
+  _Sept._ O hear me,
+  What I'll deliver is for _Caesars_ safety,
+  For all your good.
+
+  _Ant._ Good from a mouth like thine,
+  That never belch'd but blasphemy, and treason on Festival days!
+
+  _Sept._ I am an altered man, altered indeed,
+  And will give you cause to say I am a _Roman_.
+
+  _Dol._ Rogue, I grant thee.
+
+  _Sept._ Trust me, I'll make the passage smooth, and easie
+  For your escape.
+
+  _Ant._ I'll trust the Devil sooner,
+  And make a safer Bargain.
+
+  _Sept._ I am trusted
+  With all _Photinus's_ secrets.
+
+  _Ant._ There's no doubt then
+  Thou wilt be false.
+
+  _Sept._ Still to be true to you.
+
+  _Dol._ And very likely.
+
+  _Caes._ Be brief, the means?
+
+  _Sept._  Thus, _Caesar_,
+  To me alone, but bound by terrible oaths
+  Not to discover it, he hath reveal'd
+  A dismal Vault, whose dreadful mouth does open
+  A mile beyond the City: in this Cave
+  Lye but two hours conceal'd.
+
+  _Ant._ If you believe him,
+  He'll bury us alive.
+
+  _Dol._ I'll flye in the Air first.
+
+  _Sept._ Then in the dead of night I'll bring you back
+  Into a private room, where you shall find
+  _Photinus_, and _Achillas_, and the rest
+  Of their Commanders close at Council.
+
+  _Caes._ Good, what follows?
+
+  _Sept._ Fall me fairly on their throats,
+  Their heads cut off and shorn, the multitude
+  Will easily disperse.
+
+  _Caes._ O Devil! away with him;
+  Nor true to Friend nor Enemy? _Caesar_ scorns
+  To find his safety, or revenge his wrongs
+  So base a way; or owe the means of life
+  To such a leprous Traytor, I have towr'd
+  For Victory like a Faulcon in the Clouds,
+  Nor dig'd for't like a Mole; our Swords and Cause
+  Make way for us, and that it may appear
+  We took a noble Course, and hate base Treason,
+  Some Souldiers that would merit _Caesar's_ favour,
+  Hang him on yonder Turret, and then follow
+  The lane this Sword makes for you.               [_Exit._
+
+  _1 Sold._ Here's a Belt,
+  Though I dye for it I'll use it.
+
+  _2 Sold._ 'Tis too good
+  To truss a Cur in.
+
+  _Sept._ Save me, here's Gold.
+
+  _1 Sold._ If _Rome_
+  Were offered for thy ransom, it could not help thee.
+
+  _2 Sold._ Hang not an arse.
+
+  _1 Sold._ Goad him on with thy Sword;
+  Thou dost deserve a worser end, and may
+  All such conclude so, that their friends betray.   [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+    _Enter (severally)_ Arsino, Eros, Cleopatra.
+
+  _Ars._ We are lost.
+
+  _Eros_. Undone.
+
+  _Ars._ Confusion, Fire, and Swords,
+  And fury in the Souldiers face more horrid
+  Circle us round.
+
+  _Eros_. The Kings Command they laugh at,
+  And jeer at _Caesars_ threats.
+
+  _Ars._ My Brother seiz'd on
+  By the _Roman_, as thought guilty of the tumult,
+  And forc'd to bear him company, as mark'd out
+  For his protection or revenge.
+
+  _Eros_. They have broke
+  Into my Cabinet; my Trunks are ransack'd.
+
+  _Ars._ I have lost my jewels too: but that's the least:
+  The barbarous Rascals, against all humanity,
+  Or sense of pity, have kill'd my little Dog,
+  And broke my Monkeys Chain.
+
+  _Eros_. They rifled me:
+  But that I could endure, would they proceed no further.
+
+  _Ars._ O my Sister!
+
+  _Eros_. My Queen, my Mistress!
+
+  _Ars._ Can you stand unmov'd
+  When the Earth-quake of Rebellion shakes the City,
+  And the Court trembles?
+
+  _Cleo._ Yes, _Arsino_,
+  And with a Masculine Constancy deride
+  Fortunes worst malice, as a Servant to
+  My Vertues, not a Mistress; then we forsake
+  The strong Fort of our selves, when we once yield,
+  Or shrink at her assaults; I am still my self,
+  And though disrob'd of Soveraignty, and ravish'd
+  Of ceremonious duty, that attends it,
+  Nay, grant they had slav'd my Body, my free mind
+  Like to the Palm-tree walling fruitful _Nile_,
+  Shall grow up straighter and enlarge it self
+  'Spight of the envious weight that loads it with:
+  Think of thy Birth (_Arsino_) common burdens
+  Fit common Shoulders; teach the multitude
+  By suffering nobly what they fear to touch at;
+  The greatness of thy mind does soar a pitch,
+  Their dim eyes (darkened by their narrow souls)
+  Cannot arrive at.
+
+  _Ars._ I am new created,
+  And owe this second being to you (best Sister)
+  For now I feel you have infus'd into me
+  Part of your fortitude.
+
+  _Eros_. I still am fearful;
+  I dare not tell a lie; you that were born
+  Daughters and Sisters unto Kings, may nourish
+  Great thoughts, which I, that am your humble handmaid
+  Must not presume to rival.
+
+  _Cleo._ Yet (my _Eros_)
+  Though thou hast profited nothing by observing
+  The whole course of my life, learn in my death,
+  Though not to equal, yet to imitate
+  Thy fearless Mistress.
+
+    _Enter_ Photinus.
+
+  _Eros_. O, a man in Arms!
+  His Weapon drawn too?
+
+  _Cleo._ Though upon the point
+  Death sate, I'll meet it, and outdare the danger.
+
+  _Pho._ Keep the Watch strong, and guard the passage sure
+  That leads unto the Sea.
+
+  _Cleo._ What Sea of rudeness
+  Breaks in upon us? or what Subjects Breath
+  Dare raise a storm, when we command a calm?
+  Are Duty and Obedience fled to Heaven?
+  And in their room ambition and pride
+  Sent into _Egypt_? That Face speaks thee, _Photinus_,
+  A thing thy Mother brought into the World;
+  My Brother's and my Slave: but thy behaviour,
+  Oppos'd to that, an insolent intruder
+  Upon that Soveraignty thou shouldst bow to.
+  If in the Gulph of base ingratitude,
+  All loyalty to _Ptolomy_ the King
+  Be swallowed up, remember who I am,
+  Whose Daughter and whose Sister; or suppose
+  That is forgot too; let the name of _Caesar_
+  Which Nations quake at, stop the desperate madness
+  From running headlong on to thy Confusion.
+  Throw from thee quickly those rebellious Arms,
+  And let me read submission in thine Eyes;
+  Thy wrongs to us we will not only pardon,
+  But be a ready advocate to plead for thee
+  To _Caesar_, and my Brother.
+
+  _Pho._ Plead my Pardon?
+  To you I bow, but scorn as much to stoop thus
+  To _Ptolomy_ or _Caesar_, Nay, the gods,
+  As to put off the figure of a man,
+  And change my Essence with a sensual Beast;
+  All my designs, my counsels, and dark ends
+  Were aim'd to purchase you.
+
+  _Cleo._ How durst thou, being
+  The scorn of baseness, nourish such a thought?
+
+  _Pho._ They that have power are royal; and those base
+  That live at the devotion of another.
+  What birth gave _Ptolomy_, or fortune _Caesar_,
+  By Engines fashion'd in this _Protean_ Anvil
+  I have made mine; and only stoop at you,
+  Whom I would still preserve free to command me;
+  For _Caesar's_ frowns, they are below my thoughts,
+  And but in these fair Eyes I still have read
+  The story of a supream Monarchy,
+  To which all hearts with mine gladly pay tribute,
+  _Photinus's_ Name had long since been as great
+  As _Ptolomies_ e'r was, or _Caesars_ is,
+  This made me as a weaker tye to unloose
+  The knot of Loyalty, that chain'd my freedom,
+  And slight the fear that _Caesars_ threats might cause,
+  That I and they might see no Sun appear
+  But _Cleopatra_ in the _Egyptian_ Sphear.
+
+  _Cleo._ O Giant-like Ambition! marryed to
+  _Cymmerian_ darkness! inconsiderate Fool,
+  (Though flatter'd with self-love) could'st thou believe,
+  Were all Crowns on the Earth made into one,
+  And that (by Kings) set on thy head; all Scepters,
+  Within thy grasp, and laid down at my feet,
+  I would vouchsafe a kiss to a no-man?
+  A guelded Eunuch?
+
+  _Pho._ Fairest, that makes for me,
+  And shews it is no sensual appetite,
+  But true love to the greatness of thy Spirit,
+  That when that you are mine shall yield me pleasures,
+  _Hymen_, though blessing a new married Pair
+  Shall blush to think on, and our certain issue,
+  The glorious splendor of dread Majesty,
+  Whose beams shall dazel _Rome_, and aw the world,
+  My wants in that kind others shall supply,
+  And I give way to it.
+
+  _Cleo._ Baser than thy Birth;
+  Can there be gods, and hear this, and no thunder
+  Ram thee into the Earth?
+
+  _Pho._ They are asleep,
+  And cannot hear thee;
+  Or with open Eyes,
+  Did _Jove_ look on us, I would laugh and swear
+  That his artillery is cloy'd by me:
+  Or if that they have power to hurt, his Bolts
+  Are in my hand.
+
+  _Cleo._ Most impious!
+
+  _Pho._ They are dreams,
+  Religious Fools shake at: yet to assure thee,
+  If _Nemesis_, that scourges pride and scorn,
+  Be any thing but a name, she lives in me;
+  For by my self (an oath to me more dreadful
+  Than _Stix_ is to your gods) weak _Ptolomy_ dead,
+  And _Caesar_ (both being in my toil) remov'd,
+  The poorest Rascals that are in my Camp
+  Shall in my presence quench their lustful heat
+  In thee, and young _Arsino_, while I laugh
+  To hear you howl in vain:
+  I deride those gods,
+  That you think can protect you.
+
+  _Cleo._ To prevent thee,
+  In that I am the Mistress of my Fate;
+  So hope I of my sister to confirm it.
+  I spit at thee, and scorn thee.
+
+  _Pho._ I will tame
+  That haughty courage, and make thee stoop too.
+
+  _Cleo._ Never,
+  I was born to command, and will dye so.
+
+    _Enter_ Achillas, _and Souldiers, with the Body of_ Ptolomy.
+
+  _Pho._ The King dead? this is a fair entrance to
+  Our future happiness.
+
+  _Ars._ Oh my dear Brother!
+
+  _Cleo._ Weep not, _Arsino_, common women do so,
+  Nor lose a tear for him, it cannot help him;
+  But study to dye nobly.
+
+  _Pho._ _Caesar_ fled!
+  'Tis deadly aconite to my cold heart,
+  It choaks my vital Spirits: where was your care?
+  Did the Guards sleep?
+
+  _Achil._ He rowz'd them with his Sword;
+  We talk of _Mars_, but I am sure his Courage
+  Admits of no comparison but it self,
+  And (as inspir'd by him) his following friends
+  With such a confidence as young Eagles prey
+  Under the large wing of their fiercer Dam,
+  Brake through our Troops and scatter'd them, he went on
+  But still pursu'd by us, when on the sudden,
+  He turn'd his head, and from his Eyes flew terrour;
+  Which strook in us no less fear and amazement,
+  Than if we had encounter'd with the lightning
+  Hurl'd from _Jove's_ cloudy Brow.
+
+  _Cleo._ 'Twas like my _Caesar_.
+
+  _Achil._ We faln back, he made on, and as our fear
+  Had parted from us with his dreadful looks,
+  Again we follow'd; but got near the Sea;
+  On which his Navy anchor'd; in one hand
+  Holding a Scroll he had above the waves,
+  And in the other grasping fast his Sword,
+  As it had been a Trident forg'd by _Vulcan_
+  To calm the raging Ocean, he made away
+  As if he had been _Neptune_, his friends like
+  So many _Tritons_ follow'd, their bold shouts
+  Yielding a chearful musick; we showr'd darts
+  Upon them, but in vain, they reach'd their ships
+  And in their safety we are sunk; for _Caesar_
+  Prepares for War.
+
+  _Pho._ How fell the King?
+
+  _Achil._ Unable
+  To follow _Caesar_, he was trod to death
+  By the Pursuers, and with him the Priest
+  Of _Isis_, good _Achoreus_.
+
+  _Ars._ May the Earth
+  Lye gently on their ashes.
+
+  _Pho._ I feel now,
+  That there are powers above us; and that 'tis not
+  Within the searching policies of man
+  To alter their decrees.
+
+  _Cleo._ I laugh at thee;
+  Where are thy threats now, Fool, thy scoffs and scorns
+  Against the gods? I see calamity
+  Is the best Mistress of Religion,
+  And can convert an Atheist.                [_Shout within._
+
+  _Pho._ O they come,
+  Mountains fall on me! O for him to dye
+  That plac'd his Heaven on Earth, is an assurance
+  Of his descent to Hell; where shall I hide me?
+  The greatest daring to a man dishonest,
+  Is but a Bastard Courage, ever fainting.           [_Exit._
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Sceva, Antony, Dolabella.
+
+  _Caes._ Look on your _Caesar_; banish fear, my fairest,
+  You now are safe.
+
+  _Sce._ By _Venus_, not a kiss
+  Till our work be done; the Traitors once dispatch'd
+  To it, and we'll cry aim.
+
+  _Caes._ I will be speedy.                   [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Cleo._ Farewel again, _Arsino_; how now, _Eros_?
+  Ever faint-hearted?
+
+  _Eros_. But that I am assur'd,
+  Your Excellency can command the General,
+  I fear the Souldiers, for they look as if
+  They would be nibling too.
+
+  _Cleo._ He is all honour,
+  Nor do I now repent me of my favours,
+  Nor can I think that Nature e'r made a Woman
+  That in her prime deserv'd him.
+
+    _Enter_ Caesar, Sceva, Antonie, Dolabella, _Souldiers, with the
+    Heads._
+
+  _Ars._ He's come back,
+  Pursue no further; curb the Souldiers fury.
+
+  _Caes._ See (beauteous Mistris) their accursed heads
+  That did conspire against us.
+
+  _Sce._ Furies plague 'em,
+  They had too fair an end to dye like Souldiers,
+  _Pompey_ fell by the Sword, the Cross or Halter
+  Should have dispatch'd them.
+
+  _Caes._ All is but death, good _Sceva_,
+  Be therefore satisfied: and now my dearest,
+  Look upon _Caesar_, as he still appear'd
+  A Conquerour, and this unfortunate King
+  Entomb'd with honour, we'll to _Rome_, where _Caesar_
+  Will shew he can give Kingdoms; for the Senate,
+  (Thy Brother dead) shall willingly decree
+  The Crown of _Egypt_ (that was his) to thee.  [_Exeunt omnes._
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE.
+
+  _New Titles warrant not a Play for new,_
+  _The Subject being old; and 'tis as true,_
+  _Fresh and neat matter may with ease be fram'd_
+  _Out of their Stories, that have oft been nam'd_
+  _With glory on the Stage; what borrows he_
+  _From him that wrote old_ Priam's _Tragedy,_
+  _That writes his love to_ Hecuba? _Sure to tell_
+  _Of_ Caesars _amorous heats, and how he fell_
+  _In the Capitol, can never be the same_
+  _To the Judicious; Nor will such blame_
+  _Those who pen'd this, for Barrenness when they find_
+  _Young_ Cleopatra _here, and her great Mind_
+  _Expressed to the height, with us a Maid, and free,_
+  _And how he rated her Virginitie._
+  _We treat not of what boldness she did dye,_
+  _Nor of her fatal Love to_ Antony.
+  _What we present and offer to your view,_
+  _Upon their faiths the Stage yet never knew._
+    _Let Reason then first to your Wills give laws,_
+    _And after judge of them and of their cause._
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE.
+
+  _I Now should wish another had my place,_
+  _But that I hope to come off, and with Grace;_
+  _And but express some sign that you are pleas'd,_
+  _We of our doubts, they of their fears are eas'd._
+  _I would beg further (Gentlemen) and much say_
+  _In favour of our selves, them, and the Play;_
+  _Did I not rest assured, the most I see_
+  _Hate Impudence, and cherish Modestie._
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+p. 300, ll. 5-39. Not in 1st folio.
+
+p. 301, l. 3. 2nd folio] Achil. Love the K. l. 30. frequent in this.
+l. 31. to safe.
+
+p. 302, l. 13. and give.
+
+p. 303, l. 10. 2nd folio _here and frequently prints_] Septinius.
+
+p. 304, ll. 3 and 4. o' these ... foole us; l. 7. 2nd folio
+_misprints_] Aeh.
+
+p. 305. l. 7. Till they. l. 24. 2nd folio _misprints_] and.
+
+p. 309, l. 30. _A missing bracket has been added before_ Photinus.
+
+p. 310, l. 4. Prerogatives. l. 31. 2nd folio _misprints_] Potolmy. l.
+40. hand of.
+
+p. 313, l. 29. a Prisoner.
+
+p. 316, l. 2. of thy. l. 11. _Omits_ in. l. 14. sought him.
+
+p. 318, l. 16. _A comma has been added at the end of the line._
+
+p. 320, l. 20. tell you. l. 24. _Adds the following line_] I gave you
+no comission to performe it: l. 31. with ye. l. 32. Hangers.
+
+p. 321, l. 23. told ye. l. 30. ye are.
+
+p. 322, l. 33. my anger.
+
+p. 323, l. 2. 2nd folio] Lordships.
+
+p. 324, l. 32. _Adds the following line_] The rule of ill, I'le trust
+before the dore.
+
+p. 325, l. 1. I sat. l. 17. Affrinius. l. 23. past now. l. 29. comes
+still.
+
+p. 326, l. 9. _Omits_ rich. l. 32. _Omits_ that.
+
+p. 327, l. 3. Pray.
+
+p. 328, l. 1. I know. l. 6. on a.
+
+p. 329, l. 14. first would.
+
+p. 330, l. 34. 2nd folio _misprints_] Apollodrous.
+
+p. 331, l. 28. loades us.
+
+p. 332, l. 11. this rare. l. 20. cradled.
+
+p. 333, l. 27. halfe an houre.
+
+p. 334, l. 13. Devills are light.
+
+p. 336, l. 1. 2nd folio] villaines. l. 10. my God. l. 12. Rude
+valorus. l. 28. 2nd folio] shall.
+
+p. 337, l. 1. blood. l. 7. stuffes. l. 8. Leaper. l. 26. _Omits_ To.
+
+p. 338, l. 18. 2nd folio _misprints_] Sep. l. 23. the charities. l.
+31. The infectious.
+
+p. 340, l. 20. readiest. l. 30. _Adds after_ treasure?] richer still?
+
+p. 341, l. 11. _Omits_ me.
+
+p. 343, l. 1. hidden.
+
+p. 344, l. 13. they would. l. 31. Pray thee be.
+
+p. 346, l. 23. Lovers.
+
+p. 347, l. 9. Dye not.
+
+p. 348, l. 39. to my.
+
+p. 349, l. 18. backe; but.
+
+p. 350, l. 34. 2nd folio _misprints_] lasciciously.
+
+p. 351, l. 20. 2nd folio _misprints_] Sec.
+
+p. 353, l. 20. 2nd folio] 2 Sol. l. 27. loose all.
+
+p. 355, l. 23. 2nd folio _misprints_] Sep. l. 35. 2nd folio
+_misprints_] maidend-head.
+
+p. 356, l. 6. 2nd folio _misprints_] Achil. l. 16. hearest.
+
+p. 357, l. 10. to weale my. l. 22. bondmans.
+
+p. 359, l. 21. A will. l. 31. manur. l. 37. 2nd folio] marrow. l. 38.
+Cities, were made.
+
+p. 360, l. 14. 2nd folio] Brother, company that's. l. 28. them.
+
+p. 362, l. 9. darst. l. 17. This Devill. l. 23. rewarded, or return'd.
+l. 29. I owe.
+
+p. 363, l. 6. while. l. 7. Achillas troops. l. 17. a moneth. l. 27.
+Photinus secrets.
+
+p. 365, ll. 15 and 16.
+
+            They rufled me:
+  But that I could endure, and tire 'em too,
+  Would they proceed no further.
+
+l. 20. When an.
+
+p. 367, l. 6. To Ptolomy, to Caesar. l. 23. Photinus name. l. 29. th'
+Egyptian.
+
+p. 368, l. 37. make it. l. 39. and I will.
+
+p. 369, l. 6. Nor loose. l. 16. you Eagletss. l. 18. 'em.
+
+p. 370, l. 37. _Omits_ that.
+
+p. 371, l. 5. _Omits_ Caes. l. 15. for Rome. l. 20. The Prologue.
+l. 32. Those that penn'd.
+
+p. 372, l. 7. The Epilogue. l. 13. In the favour.
+
+
+
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