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At least, defend them from the Roman gripe;
What was not Pompey's, while the wars endured,
The conqueror will not challenge. By all the world
Forsaken and despised, your gentle guardian,
His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice of
What nation he shall fall with; and, pursued
By their pale ghosts, slain in this civil war,
He flies not Cæsar only, but the senate,
Of which the greater part have cloyed 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 received,
Hath found out Egypt, by him yet not ruined.
And Ptolomy, things considered, 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 Cæsar? Wherefore should he draw
His loss and overthrow upon our heads,
Or chuse this place to suffer in? Already
We have offended Cæsar, in our wishes,
And no way left us to redeem his favour
But by the head of Pompey.

Achor. Great Osiris,

Defend thy Egypt from such cruelty, And barbarous ingratitude!

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But we must follow where his fortune leads us:
All provident princes measure their intents
According to their power, and so dispose them.
And think'st thou, Ptolomy, that thou canst prop
His ruins, under whom sad Rome now suffers,
Or tempt the conqueror's force when 'tis con-
firmed?

Shall we, that in the battle sat 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 engaged:
Though one most dear, when all his hopes are

dead,

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Apol. Did you tell her

O' th' sports I have prepared to entertain her?
She was used 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 them,
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 crowned, 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 confined, gladly affords
Variety of pastimes, which I would
Encrease with my best service.

Eros. Oh, 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 stored with all delights,
A loathsome dungeon to her.

Apol. Yet, howe'en

She shall interpret it, I'll not be wanting
To do my best to serve her: I've prepared
Choice music near her cabinet, and composed
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 confined,

And soft love a prisoner bound, Yet the beauty of your mind

Neither check nor chain hath found. Look out nobly then, und dare Even the fetters, that you wear.

Enter CLEOPATRA.

Cleo. But that we are assured 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 saucy rudeness, Offered 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 (oh, I suffer in the name!) and that, in justice, There is no place in Egypt, where I stand, But that the tributary earth is proud To kiss the foot of her, that is her queen

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Apol. He's lost..

Cleo. Speak it again!

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, unmoved,
Offer my throat to serve you; ever provided,
It bear some probable show to be effected:
To lose myself 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. Cæsar is amorous,

And taken more with the title of a queen,
Than feature or proportion; he loved Eunoe,

Apol. His army routed, he fled, and pursued A moor, deformed too, I have heard, that brought

By the all-conquering Cæsar.

Cleo, Whither bends he?

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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 myself at mine own rate,
Despair his favour? Art thou mine?
Apol. I am.

Cleo. I have found out a way shall bring me to
him,

Spite of Photinus' watches. If I prosper,
As I am confident I shall, expect

Things greater than thy wishes.-Though I pur-
chase

grace

His with loss of my virginity,
It skills not, if it bring home majesty. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

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rors;

That steel war waited on, and fortune courted,
That high-plumed 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 Cæsar, owe me for this service,
And all the conquered nations.

Achil. Peace, Septimius;

Thy words sound more ungrateful than thy ac-
tions.

Though sometimes safety seek an instrument
Of thy unworthy nature, (thou loud boaster !)

Think not she's bound to love him too that's bar-
barous.

Why did not I, if this be meritorious,
And binds the king unto me, and his bounties,
Strike this rude stroke? I'll tell thee, thou poor
Roman;

It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
Not heave a thought.
Sept. It was?

Achil. I'll tell thee truly,

And, if thou ever yet heardst tell of honour,
I'll make thee blush: it was thy general's;
That man's, that fed thee once, that man's that
bred thee;

The air thou breath'dst was his, the fire that
warmed thee,

From his care kindled ever! Nay, I'll shew

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Sept. I killed him on commandment, If kings commands be fair, when you all fainted, When none of you durst look

Achil. On deeds so barbarous. What hast thou got?

Sept. The king's 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 dignify the cause, and make me glorious; And I shall live

Achil. 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 oil's spent, and your snuff stinks: Go out
basely!

Sept. The king will yet consider.

[Exit.

Enter PTOLOMY, ACHOREUS, and PHOTINUS. Achil. Here he comes.

Achor. Yet, if it be undone, hear me, great sir !

If this inhuman stroke be yet unstrucken,
If that adored head be not yet severed
From the most noble body, weigh the miseries,
The desolations, that this great eclipse works.
You are young, be provident; fix not your em-
pire

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 sor

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Methinks 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 abused with fears: His death was necessary,

If you consider, sir, most necessary,
Not to be missed: And humbly thank great Isis,
He came so opportunely to your hands.
Pity must now give place to rules of safety.

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Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar. 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, Cæsar, Thy travel and thy loss of blood no recompence; Thou dream'dst of being worthy, and of war, And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers: Here they take life: here they inherit honour, Grow fixed, 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 Cæsar, What thou wouldst once have given for't, all Egypt.

Achil. Nor do not question it, most royal con queror Nor disesteem the benefit, that meets thee, Because 'tis easily got; it comes the safer: Yet, let me tell thee, most imperious Cæsar, Though he opposed no strength of swords to win 'this,

Nor laboured through no showers of darts and lances,

Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
An inward war: He was his grandsire's guest,
Friend to his father, and, when he was expelled
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,
Strengthened, and cherished it, and set it right
again :

This was a love to Cæsar.

Sce. Give me hate, gods!

Pho. This Cæsar may account a little wicked; But yet remember, if thine own hands, conqueror, Had fallen upon him, what it had been then; If thine own sword had touched his throat, what that way!

He was thy son-in-law; there to be tainted Had been most terrible! Let the worst be rendered,

We have deserved for keeping thy hands inno

*cent.

Cæsar. Oh, Sceva, Sceva, see that head! see, captains,

The head of godlike Pompey!

Sce. He was basely ruined;

But let the gods be grieved, that suffered it,

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on,

To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian?
The life and light of Rome, to a blind stranger,
That honourable war ne'er taught a nobleness,
Nor worthy circumstance shewed 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'st most unnobly robbed me of my victory,
My love and mercy.

Ant. Oh, how brave these tears shew!
How excellent is sorrow in an enemy!

Dol. Glory appears not greater than this good

ness.

Casar. Egyptians, dare ye think your highest pyramids,

Built to out-dare the sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy kings lie raked in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? No, brood of Nilus,
Nothing can cover his high fame, but heaven;
No pyramids 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 blessed to hold a Roman,

Whose braveries all the world's earth cannot balance.

Sce. If thou be'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'd set his face.

Casar. You look now, king,

And

you, that have been agents in this glory, For our special favour?

Ptol. We desire it.

Casar. And, doubtless, you expect rewards?
Sce. Let me give them:

I'll give them such as nature never dreamed of;
I'll beat him and his agents in a mortar,
Into one man, and that one man I'll bake then.
Casar. Peace!-I forgive you all; that's re-
compence.

You are young, and ignorant; that pleads your pardon,

And fear, it may be, more than hate, provoked

you.

Your ministers, I must think, wanted judgment,
And so they erred: I'm bountiful to think this,
Believe me, most bountiful: Be you most thank-
ful;

That bounty share amongst you. If I knew what
To send you for a present, king of Egypt,
I mean a head of equal reputation,

And that you loved, though't were your bright. est sister's,

(But her you hate) I would not be behind you. Ptol. Hear me, great Cæsar!

Cæsar. I have heard too much;

And study not with smooth shows to invade
My noble mind, as you have done my conquest:
You are poor and open. I must tell you roundly,
That man, that could not recompence the bene-
fits,

The great and bounteous services, of Pompey,
Can never dote upon the name of Cæsar.
Though I had hated Pompey, and allowed his
ruin,

I

gave you no commission to perform it: Hasty to please in blood are seldom trusty; And, but I stand environed with my victories, My fortune never failing to befriend me, My noble strengths, and friends about my person, 1 durst not try you, nor expect a courtesy, Above the pious love you shewed to Pompey. You have found me merciful in arguing with

ye;

Swords, hangmen, fires, destructions of all natures,
Demolishments of kingdoms, and whole ruins,
Are wont to be my orators. Turn to tears,
You wretched and poor reeds of sun-burnt Egypt,
And now you've found the nature of a conque-

ror,

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 soldier,
Howl round about his pile, fling on your spices,
Make a Sabæan bed, and place this phoenix,
Where the hot sun may emulate his virtues,
And draw another Pompey from his ashes,
Divinely great, and fix him 'mongst the worthies!
Ptol. We will do all.

Cæsar. You've robbed 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 country's 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 lived,
He used you nobly; now he's dead, use him so.

[Exit.

Ptol. Now, where's your confidence, your aim,

Photinus,

The oracles, and fair favours from the conqueror, 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 ruin! Where are your counsels now?

Achor. I told you, sir,

And told the truth, what danger would fly after:
And, though an enemy, I satisfied you
He was a Roman, and the top of honour;
And howsoever this might please great Cæsar,
I told you, 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 them;

Cæsar I know is pleased, and for all his sorrows, Which are put on for forms, and mere dissemblings,

I'm confident he's glad: To have told you so,
And thanked you outwardly, had been too open,
And taken from the wisdom of a conqueror.
Be confident, and proud you have done this service;
You have deserved, and you will find it, highly.
Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure
You keep your sister, the high souled Cleopatra,
Both close and short enough, she may not see him.
The rest, if I may counsel, sir-

Ptol. Do all;

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Sept. Here's a strange alteration in the court; Men's faces are of other sets 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 wondered at,

Because I've done a meritorious murder: Because I've pleased the time, does the time plague me?

I've known the day they would have hugged me for it;

For a less stroke than this, have done me reverence,
Opened 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 villainy
Sup up the merits, nay, the men and all,
That do them service, and spout them out again
Into the air, as thin and unregarded
As drops of water, that are lost i'th' ocean.
I was loved once for swearing and for drinking,
And for other principal qualities, that became me;
Now a foolish unthankful murder has undone me,
If my lord Photinus be not merciful,

That set me on. And he comes: now, Fortune!

Enter PHOTINUS.

Pho. Cæsar's unthankfulness a little stirs me, A little frets my blood: Take heed, proud Roman; Provoke me not, stir not mine anger further!

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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'lt stir for gold.

Sept. 'Tis all my motion.

Pho. There, take that for thy service, and farewell!

I have greater business now.

Sept. I'm still your own, sir.

Pho. One thing I charge thee; see me no more, Septimius,

Unless I send.

Sept. I shall observe your hour.

[Exit.

So! this brings something in the mouth, some favour:

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 them,
Let me be damned for blood, yet still I'm honour-

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