Achor. Now you are reconciled to your fair | We owe for all this wealth to the old Nilus: Music. Enter Isis, and three Labourers. His matchless wealth in overflow. With incense let us bless the brim, Come, old father, come away! Isis. Here comes the aged River now, All things take life, and all things grow. SCENE I. Eater PTOLOMY, PHOTINUS, AGHILLAS, and ACHOREUS. Achor. Where was his mind the whilst? To shew an armed thief the way to rob you? Achor. I TOLD you carefully, what this would To seck the rest: Ambition feels no gift, prove to, What this inestimable wealth and glory Pho. I was not heard, sir, Or, what I said, lost and contemned: I dare say, Nor knows no bounds; indeed you 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 you been trained up in the wants and miseries A soldier marches through, and known his temperance In offered courtesies, you would have made 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 loved liberty: To be a king still at your own discretion, Achil. Twill be too late else: For, since the masque, he sent three of his captains, Ambitious as himself, to view again Pho. The next himself comes, Who would regard it? Ptol. You say true. Will look upon king Ptolomy? If they do look, As who knows conquerors' minds, though out- They bear fair streams? Oh, sir, does not this shake ye? If to be honied on to these afflictions Ptol. I never will: I was a fool! Pho. For then, sir, And the poor glow-worm light of some faint jewels, Before the life of love, and soul of beauty, That quarter with him, and are truly valiant, He'll sell his sword for gold! Ars. This is too bitter. Cleo. Oh, I could curse myself, that was so So fondly childish, to believe his tongue, I had trash enough to have cloyed his eyes withal, Your country's cause falls with you too, and fet-I had been happy still! But let him take it, tered: And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded; An old blind fool too! I lose my health; I will not, I will not cry; I will not honour him To one I hate, that I might anger him! I will love any man, to break the heart of him! Cleo. I will go study mischief, And put a look on, armed with all my cunnings, Enter APPOLODORUS. grace. Cleo. His service? what is his service? Eros. Pray you be patient: The noble Cæsar loves still. Cleo. What is his will? Apol. He craves access unto your highness. Say, no; I will have none to trouble n. Cleo. None, I say; I will be private. 'Would thou hadst flung me into Nilus, keeper, When first thou gavest consent, to bring my body | Gave all your thoughts to gold, that men of glory, Apol. Twas your will, madam, you. Nay more, your charge upon me, as I honoured Soldiers of royal mark scorn such base purchase ; Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at. I spake to you then, I courted you, and wooed you, You know what danger I endured. [Giving a jewel. And carry it to that lordly Cæsar sent thee; There's a new love, a handsome one, a rich one, One that will hug his mind: Bid him make love to it; Tell the ambitious broker, this will suffer Enter CESAR. Apol. He enters. Cleo. How! Casar. I do not use to wait, lady; Where I am, all the doors are free and open. Things of your tender mould should be most gentle. Why do you frown? Good Gods, what a set anger Have you forced into your face? Come, I must temper vou. What a coy smile was there, and a disdainful! How like an ominous flash it broke out from you! Defend me, Love! Sweet, who has angered you? Cleo. Shew him a glass! That false face has betrayed me, That base heart wronged me! Casar. Be more sweetly angry. I wronged you, fair? Cleo. Away with your foul flatteries; They are too gross! But that I dare be angry, To shew how poorly I respect his memory, I would not speak to you. Casar. Pray you undo this riddle, And tell me how I have vexed you? Whether I may put on a patience, That will with honour suffer me. Know, I hate you! Let that begin the story: Now, I'll tell you. That moves like summer winds, cool, and blows sweetness, Shews blessed, like herself. Cleo. And that great blessedness You reaped 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 disgraced me, When in the pride I appeared of all my beauty, Appeared your mistress; took into your eyes The common strumpet, love of hated lucre, Courted with covetous heart the slave of nature, Called you dear Cæsar,' hung about you tenderly, Was proud to appear your friend Casar. You have mistaken me. Cleo, But neither eye, nor favour, not a smile, Was I blessed back withal, but shook off rudely; And, as you had been sold to sordid infamy, You fell before the images of treasure, And in your soul you worshipped: I stood slighted, Forgotten and condemned; my soft embraces, And those sweet kisses you called Elysium, As letters writ in sand, no more remembered The name and glory of your Cleopatra Laughed at, and made a story to your captains! Shall I endure? Cæsar. You are deceived in all this; Upon my life you are; 'tis your much tenderness. Cleo. No, no; I love not that way; you are cozened: Cæsar. Stay! Cleo. I will not. Cæsar. I command! Cleo. Command, and go without, sir. I do command thee, be my slave for ever, 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. Farewell, conqueror! [Exit. Cæsar. She mocks me too! I will enjoy her beauty; I will not be denied; I'll force my longing! Love is best pleased, when roundly we compel him; And, as he is imperious, so will I be. Stay, fool, and be advised; that dulls the appetite, Takes off the strength and sweetness of delight. By heaven she is a miracle! I must use A handsome way to winHow now? What fear Dwells in your faces? you look all distracted. Enter SCEVA, ANTONY, and DOLABELLA. Sce. If it be fear, 'tis fear of your undoing, Not of ourselves; fear of your poor declining; Our lives and deaths are equal benefits, And we make louder prayers to die nobly, Than to live high and wantonly. are secure here, And offer hecatombs of lazy kisses Whilst you To the lewd god of love and cowardice, Dol. The spawn of Egypt flow about your palace, Armed 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'll flay us, and then dry our quarters; A rasher of a salt lover is such a shoeing-horn! She can destroy and build again the city; They are not above a hundred thousand, sir, Casar. Begirt with villains? Sce. They come to play you and your love a hunts-up. You were told what this same whoreson wenching long ago would come to: You are taken napping now! Has not a soldier A time to kiss his friend, and a time to consider, But he must lie still digging like a pioncer, Making of mines, and burying of his honour there? 'Twere good you'd think Dol. And time too; or you'll find else Take me provoking broth, and then go to her, You may cry, 'Cæsar! and see, if that will help you. Casar. I'll be myself 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'll break like thunder Amongst these beds of slimy eels, and scatter them. Sce. Now you speak sense, I'll put my life to the hazard. Before I go, no more of this warm lady! Cæsar. Go. Come, let us to counsel, SCENE III. Enter Soldiers. 1 Sold. Did you see this penitence? 2 Sold. Yes, I saw, and heard it. 3 Sold. And I too looked upon him, and observed it; He is the strangest Septimius now 1 Sold. I heard he was altered, And had given away his gold to honest uses, Cried monstrously. 2 Sold. He cries abundantly; He is blind almost with weeping. 3 Sold. 'Tis most wonderful, That a hard-hearted man, and an old soldier, Should have so much kind moisture. When his mother died, He laughed aloud, and made the wickedest ballads! 1 Sold. 'Tis like enough: he never loved his pa |
