Chapter 2

_Enter_ Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva.

_Cæs._ 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.

_Cæs._ 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 _Cæsar_ 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.

_Cæs._ 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._

_Cæs._ 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?

_Cæs._ 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.

_Cæs._ 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.

_Cæs._ 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?

_Cæs._ 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, _Cæsar_, 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.

_Cæs._ Hold, on thy life, and be more temperate, Thou Beast.

_Sce._ Thou Beast?

_Cæs._ 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.

_Cæs._ Move this way (Lady) 'Pray ye let me speak to ye.

_Sce._ And Woman, you had best stand.

_Cæs._ 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 _Cæsar_? 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?

_Cæsar_. 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 Cæsar.

_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.

_Cæsar_. Away.

_Sce._ And privater, For that you covet all. [_Exit._

_Cæsar_. Tempt me no farther.

_Cleo._ Contemn me not, because I kneel thus, _Cæsar_, 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.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_,) 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.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_, 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--

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_ 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.

_Cæsar_. 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._

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. 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--

_Cæsar_. These lips be witness, And if I break that oath--

_Cleo._ You make me blush Sir, And in that blush interpret me.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_, 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 _Cæsar_.

_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 Cæsars 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 _Cæsar_, (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 _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_ 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._ _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_, 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 _Cæsar_.

_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 _Cæsar_, 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 _Cæsar_, with excess of glory.

_Pho._ I fear you'l curse your will, we must obey ye. [_Exit._

SCENA IV.

_Enter_ Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva, _above._

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_ My Royal Guest, first I will feast thine eyes With wealthy _Ægypts_ store, and then thy palate, And wait my self upon thee. [_Treasure brought in._

_Cæsar_. What rich Service! What mines of treasure!

_Cleo._ My _Cæsar_, 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, _Cæsar_?

_Cæsar_. Tell me From whence comes all this wealth?

_Cleo._ Is your eye that way? And all my Beauties banisht?

_Ptol._ I'le tell thee _Cæsar_, 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.

_Cæsar_. The matchless wealth of this Land!

_Cleo._ Come, ye shall hear me.

_Cæsar_. Away: let me imagine.

_Cleo._ How? frown on me? The eyes of _Cæsar_ wrapt in storms?

_Cæsar_. I am sorry: But let me think--

_MUSTEK, SONG._

_Enter_ Isis, _and three Labourers._

_Isis, the Goddess of this Land,_ _Bids thee (great Cæsar) 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?

_Cæsar_. 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 _Ægypt_?

_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._

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_, and attendance.

_Cleo._ Well, I shall yet find a time to tell thee _Cæsar_, Thou hast wrong'd her Love: the rest here.

_Ptol._ Lights along still: Musick, and Sacrifice to sleep for _Cæsar_. [_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 _Ægypt_ 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 _Cæsar_ 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._ _Cæsar_ commends his Service to your Grace.

_Cleo._ His service? what's his service?

_Eros_. Pray ye be patient, The noble _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_.

_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 _Cæsar_ 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 Cæsar._

_Ap._ He enters.

_Cleo._ How?

_Cæsar._ I do not use to wait, Lady, Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.

_Cleo._ I ghess so, by your rudeness.

_Cæsar._ 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--

_Cæsar._ 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 _Cæsar_ is, To shew how poorly I respect his memory, I would not speak to ye.

_Cæsar._ 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.

_Cæsar._ 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 _Cæsar_, hung about ye tenderly: Was proud to appear your friend.

_Cæsar._ You have mistaken me.

_Cleo._ But neither Eye, nor Favour, not a Smile Was I blessed back 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?

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_? Have I let slip a second vanity That gives thee hope?

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. Stay.

_Cleo._ I will not.

_Cæsar_. I command.

_Cleo._ Command, and goe without, Sir. I do command thee be my slave for ever, And vex while I laugh at thee.

_Cæsar_. 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._

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. 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, _Cæsar_, and see if that will help ye.

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_, 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 _Cæsar_ 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_ Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella.

_Ant._ The tumult still encreases.

_Cæsar_. 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 _Cæsar_, 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.

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. He comes: and I Shall do as I find cause.

_Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Apollodorus.

_Ptol._ Let not great _Cæsar_ 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 _Cæsar_ 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.

_Cæsar_. 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.

_Cæsar_. _Cæsar_ 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, _Cæsars Motto_, _Aut Cæsar 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: _Cæsar, 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._ _Cæsar_ shall be my task, And as in _Pompey_ I began a name I'le perfect it in _Cæsar_.

_Enter (above)_ Cæsar, 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 _Cæsars_ name were put into the scale, In which our worth is weigh'd.

_Cæs._ 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, _Cæsar_.

_Cæs._ 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.

_Cæs._ That Fortune, Which to this hour hath been a Friend to _Cæsar_, 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 Cæsar, 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 _Cæsar_ 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._