Palace.

Enter ACHILLAS and ACHOREUS.

Achor. I love the king, nor do dispute his power,
For that is not confined, nor to be censured
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 Ptolemy, 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 father's testament
(Whose memory I bow to) left co-heir
In all he stood possess'd of.

Achil. 'Tis confess'd,

My good Achoreus, that in these eastern kingdoms
Women are not exempted from the sceptre,
But claim a privilege equal to the male;
But how much such divisions have ta'en from

Have sprung from those partitions, to the ruin
Of the poor subject, doubtful which to follow,
We have too many and too sad examples:
Therefore the wise Photinus, to prevent
The murders 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 in this climate)
Should be committed to safe custody,
In which she is attended like her birth,
Until her beauty, or her royal dower,
Hath found her out a husband.

Achor. How this may

Stand with the rules of policy, I know not;
Most sure I am, it holds no correspondence
With the rites of Egypt, or the laws of nature.
But, grant that Cleopatra can sit down
With this disgrace, though insupportable,
Can you imagine that Rome's 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 Ptolemy's, will e'er approve

Of this rash counsel, their consent not sought for,
That should authorise it?

Achil. The civil war,

In which the Roman empire is embark'd On a rough sea of danger, does exact

[them

Their whole care to preserve themselves, and gives
No vacant time to think of what we do,
Which hardly can concern them.

Achor. What's your opinion

Of the success? I have heard, in multitudes

Of soldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,
Pompey is much superior.

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 soldiers, but Rome,
In which Lucullus and Apicius join'd
To make a public feast. They at Dirachium
Fought with success; but knew not to make use of
Fortune's fair offer: So much, I have heard,
Cæsar himself confess'd.

Achor. Where are they now?

Achil. In Thessaly, near the Pharsalian plains;
Where Cæsar, with a handful of his men,
Hems in the greater number. His whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old soldiers,
Flesh'd in the spoils of Germany and France,
Inured to his command, and only know

To fight and overcome: And though that famine
Reigns in his camp, compelling them to taste
Bread made of roots forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorn threw into Pompey's 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.

Achor. May victory Attend on't, where it is.

Achil. We ev'ry hour

Expect to hear the issue.

Enter SEPTIMIUS.

Sept. Save my good lords!

By Isis and Osiris, whom you worship,
And the four hundred gods and goddesses
Adored in Rome, I am your honours' servant,

Achor. Truth needs, Septimius, no oaths.
Achil. You are cruel;

If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.

Sept. 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.

Achor. 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 virtues.

Sept. With your reverence,

I am too old to learn.

Achor. Any thing honest; That I believe without an oath. Sept. I fear

Your lordship has slept ill to-night, and that Invites this sad discourse; 'twill make you old Before your time. Pox o' these virtuous 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.

Achor. What is the subject?

Be free, Septimius.

Sept. 'Tis a catalogue

Of all the gamesters of the court and city,
Which lord lies with that lady, and what gallant
Sports with that merchant's wife; and does relate
Who sells her honour for a diamond,

Who for a tissue 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.
Achor. How? as a fiddler?

Sept. No, sir, as a guest,

A welcome guest too; and it was approved 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 merrily set down, it fires the blood,
And heightens crest-fallen appetite.
Achor. New doctrine!

Achil. Was't of your own composing?
Sept. No, I bought it

Of a skulking scribbler for two Ptolemies;
But the hints were mine own: The wretch was
fearful;

But I have damn'd myself, should it be question'd,
That I will own it.

Achor. And be punish'd for it?
Take heed, for you may so long exercise
Your scurrilous wit against authority,

The kingdom's counsels, and make profane jests
(Which to you, being an atheist, is nothing)
Against religion, that your great maintainers,
Unless they would be thought copartners with you,
Will leave you to the law; and then, Septimius,
Remember there are whips.

Sept. For whores, I grant you,

When they are out of date; 'till then, they are

safe too,

'Tis the time's fault; yet great ones still have graced,

To make them sport, or rub them o'er with flattery, Observers of all kinds.

Enter PHOTINUS and SEPTIMIUS.

Achor. No more of him,

He is not worth our thoughts; a fugitive
From Pompey's army, and now, in a danger
When he should use his service.

Achil. See how he hangs
On great Photinus' ear.

Sept. 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 believed; dost thou want money?
Sept. No, sir.

Pho. Or hast thou any suit? These ever follow Thy vehement protestations.

Sept. 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 mankind 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'll put you to the test.

Sept. 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 judg

ment

Given to dispose of monarchies, not to govern
A child's affairs; the people's eye's upon you,
The soldier 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.

Sept. All my love to him,

To Cæsar, Rome, and the whole world, is lost In th' ocean of your bounties: I have no friend, Project, design, or country, but your favour, Which I'll 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 awhile.

Sept. Ever your creature!

[Exit.

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, fly 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 battle,
How many thousand several bloody shapes
Death wore that day in triumph; how we bore
The shock of Cæsar's charge; or with what fury
His soldiers came on, as if they had been
So many Cæsars, and, like him, ambitious
To tread upon the liberty of Rome;
How fathers killed 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'er with blood, and what a cloud of

vultures,

And other birds of prey, hung o'er both armies,
Attending when their ready servitors,
The soldiers, from whom the angry gods
Had took all sense of reason and of pity,
Would serve in their own carcasses for a feast;
How Cæsar with his javelin forced them on
That made the least stop, when their angry hands
Were lifted up against some known friend's face;
Then coming to the body of the army,

He shews the sacred senate, and forbids them
To waste their force upon the common soldier,
(Whom willingly, if e'er he did know pity,
He would have spared).

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 famed Torquati, Scipio's, and Marcelli,—
Names, next to Pompey's, most renown'd on
The nobles, and the commons lay together, [earth.
And Pontick, Punick, 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 rampire of his camp,
Though scorning all that could fall on himself,
He pities them whose fortunes are embark'd
In his unlucky quarrel; cries aloud too
That they should sound retreat, and save them-
That he desired not so much noble blood [selves:
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 Egypt for his sanctuary,
Till he may re-collect his scatter'd powers,
And try a second day. Now, Ptolemy,
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 declined estate, as the straightest pine
In a full grove of his yet-flourishing friends,
He flies to you for succour, and expects
The entertainment of your father's friend,
And guardian to yourself.

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 myself,

Let not a few hours, borrow'd 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
Carved on my flesh.-Good Labienus, think
The little respite I desire shall be

Wholly employed to find the readiest way
To do great Pompey service.

Lab. May the gods,

As you intend, protect you! [Exit with Attendants.
Ptol. Sit, sit all;

It is my pleasure. Your advice, and freely.
Achor. A short deliberation in this,

May serve to give you counsel. To be honest,
Religious, and thankful, in themselves

Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish
Or gloss in the persuader; your kept faith,
Though Pompey never rise to the height he's
fallen from,

Cæsar 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 Ptolemy, 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 preferr'd,
No policy allows of in a king :

To be or just, or thankful, makes kings guilty;
And faith, though praised, is punish'd, that supports
Such as good fate forsakes: Join 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
The sceptre, that strives only to be good,
Since kingdoms are maintain'd by force and blood.
Achor. Oh, wicked!

Ptol. Peace!-Go on.

[leave

Pho. Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth,

In thinking that you cannot keep your own
From such as are o'ercome. 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 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 cloy'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 received,
Hath found out Egypt, by him yet not ruin'd.
And Ptolemy, 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 Cæsar? Wherefore should he draw
His loss and overthrow upon our heads,
Or choose 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!

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 Cæsar ;
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, Ptolemy, that thou canst prop
His ruins, under whom sad Rome now suffers,
Or tempt the conqueror's force when 'tis confirm'd?
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
To drown him, set thy foot upon his head. [dead,
Achor. Most execrable counsel !

Achil. To be follow'd;

'Tis for the kingdom's safety.

Ptol. We give up

Our absolute power to thee: Dispose of it As reason shall direct thee.

Apol. Did you tell her

Of the 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,

That reign o'er Ptolemy, make that a court Where they reside; and this, where I, a prison? But there's a Rome, a Senate, and a Cæsar, Though the great Pompey lean to Ptolemy,

[tinus,

Of the virgin huntress. The king, nor great Pho-
Forbid her any pleasure; and the circuit
In which she is confined, gladly affords
Variety of pastimes, which I would
Increase 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'er

She shall interpret it, I'll not be wanting
To do my best to serve her: I have prepared
Choice musick near her cabinet, and composed
Some few lines, set unto a solemn time,
In the praise of imprisonment.-Begin, boy.

SONG,

BY THE BOY.

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, and dare Ev'n 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 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 (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; Can she, I say, that is all this, e'er relish Of comfort or delight, while base Photinus, Bondman Achillas, and all other monsters

Apol. 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.

Apol. He's lost.

Cleo. Speak it again!

Apol. His army routed, he fled, and pursued By the all-conquering Cæsar.

Cleo. Whither bends he?

Apol. To Egypt.

Cleo. Ha! In person?
Apol. 'Tis received
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 myself,

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.

Apol. 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, 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. [To ARSINOE and EROS.] Stand off!-To
thee alone,
[To APOLLODORUS.

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,
A Moor, deform'd 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 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 'Spite of Photinus' watches: If I prosper, [him, As I am confident I shall, expect

Things greater than thy wishes.-Though I pur-
His grace with loss of my virginity,
It skills not, if it bring home majesty.

[chase [Exeunt.

SCENE I. Before the Royal Palace. Enter SEPTIMIUS, with the head of POMPEY, Achillas, and Guard.