DEFEAT AND WORLDLY COUNSEL.
Ptolemy, King of Egypt, is advised to refuse hospitality to Pompey, defeated by Cæsar.
PHOTINUS, ACHOREUS (Priest of Isis), and ACHILLAS. Pho. Good day, Achoreus.-My best friend, Achillas, Hath fame deliver'd yet no certain rumour
Of the great Roman action?
Achil. That we are
To inquire and learn of you, sir, whose grave care
For Egypt's happiness, and great Ptolemy's good,
Hath eyes and ears in all parts.
What my intelligence costs me; but ere long
You shall know more.-The king, with him a Roman.
Enter PTOLEMY, LABIENUS wounded, and Guard.
Achor. The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
Dy'd deeply on his face.
Achil. 'Tis Labienus,
Cæsar's lieutenant in the wars of Gaul,
And fortunate in all his undertakings:
But, since these civil jars, he turn'd to Pompey,
And, though he followed the better cause,
Not with the like success.
Leave falling buildings, fly to those that rise:
But more of that hereafter.--
Lab. (to Ptolemy). 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 kill'd their sons, or sons their fathers;
Or how the Roman piles1 on either side
1 Piles.] Javelins ;--the pilum.
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 carcases for a feast;
How Cæsar with his javelin forc'd 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 shows 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 spar'd)-
Ptol. The reason, Labienus ?
Lab. Full well he knows that in their blood he was
To pass to empire, and that through their bowels
He must invade the laws of Rome, and give
A period to the liberty of the world.
Then fell the Lepidi, and the bold Corvini,
The famed Torquati, Scipio's, and Marcelli,—
Names, next to Pompey's, most renown'd on earth.
The nobles and the commons lay together,
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 themselves :
That he desir'd not so much noble blood
Should be lost in his service, or attend
On his misfortunes: and then, taking horse
With some few of his friends, he came to Lesbos,
And with Cornelia, his wife, and sons,
He's touch'd upon your shore. The king of Parthia,
Famous in his defeature of the Crassi,
Offer'd him his protection, but Pompey,
Relying on his benefits and your faith,
Hath chosen 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 declin'd 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 (to the others) let his wounds
Be with that care attended, as they were
Carv'd on my flesh.-Good Labienus, think
The little respite I desire shall be
Wholly employ'd to find the readiest way
To do great Pompey service.
Latb. May the gods,
As you intend, protect you!
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
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 prais'd, 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. The sceptre, that strives only to be good, Since kingdoms are maintain'd by force and blood. Achor. Oh, wicked!
Pho. Proud Pompey shows how much he scorns your youth,
In thinking that you cannot keep your own
From such as are o'ercome. If you are tir'd
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 despis'd, 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 receiv'd,
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.
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 dead,
To drown him, set thy foot upon his head.
Achor. Most execrable counsel! -
'Tis for the kingdom's safety.
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