Scena Prima. Enter Achillas and Achoreus.

Ach.
I love the K. nor do dispute his power,
For that is not confin'd, nor to be censurd
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 Ptolomy, or Photinus
(To whose directions he gives up himselfe,
And I hope wisely) co commit his Sister
The Princesse Cleopatra (if I said
The Queen (Achillas) twere (I hope) no treason,
Shee being by her Fathers testament
(Whose memory I bow to) left Co-heire
In all he stood possest of.

Achil.
Tis confest
(My good Achoreus) that in these Eastern Kingdomes
Women are not exempted from the Scepter,
But claime a priviledge, equall to the Male;
But how much such divisions have tane from
The Majesty of Egypt, and what factions
Have sprung from those partitions, to the ruine
Of the poor Subject, (doubtfull which to follow,)
We have too many and too sad examples,
Therefore the wise Photinus, to prevent
The murthers, and the massacres, that attend
On dis-united Government, and to shew
The King, without a partner, in full splendor,
Thought it convenient, the faire Cleopatra,
(An attribute not frequent in this Clymate)
Should be committed to safe custody,
In which she is attended like her Birth,
Untill her Beauty, or her royall Dowre,
Hath found her out a Husband.

Ach.
How this may
Stand with the rules of policy, I know not;
Most sure I am, it holds no correspondence
With the rites of Ægypt, or the lawes of Nature;
But grant that Cleopatra can sit downe
With this disgrace (though insupportable)
Can you imagine, that Romes glorious Senate
(To whose charge, by the will of the dead King
This government was deliverd) or great Pompey,
(That is appointed Cleopatra's Guardian
As well as Ptolomies) will ere approve
Of this rash Counsell, their consent not sought for,
That should authorize it?

Achil.
The Civill war
In which the Roman Empire is embarq'd
On a rough Sea of danger, does exact
Their whole care to preserve themselves, and give them
No vacant time to think of what we do,
Which hardly can concern them.

Ach.
What's your opinion
Of the successe? I have heard, in multitudes
Of souldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,
Pompey is much superiour.

Achil.
I could give you
A Catalogue of all the severall Nations
From whence he drew his powers: but that were tedious
They have rich armes, are ten to one in number,
Which makes them think the day already wonne;
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 souldiers, but Rome,
In which Lucullus and Apicius joyn'd
To make a publique Feast: they at Dirachium
Fought with successe; but knew not to make use of
Fortunes faire offer: so much I have heard
Cæsar himselfe confesse.

Ach.
Where are they now?

Achil.
In Thessalie, neere the Pharsalian plains
Where Cæsar with a handfull of his Men
Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
Flesh'd in the spoiles of Germany and France,
Enur'd to his Command, and only know
To fight and overcome; And though that Famine
Raignes in his Camp, compelling them to tast
Bread made of rootes, forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorne threw into Pompeys Camp
As in derision of his Delicates)
Or corne not yet halfe 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. Enter Septinius.

Ach.
May Victory
Attend on't, where it is.

Achil.
We every houre
Expect to heare the issue.

Sep.
Save my good Lords;
By Isis and Osiris, whom you worship;
And the foure hundred gods and goddesses
Ador'd in Rome, I am your Honours servant.

Ach.
Truth needs (Septinius) no oaths.

Achil.
You are cruell,
If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.

Sep.
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 vowes, nor protestations win beliefe,
I think, and (I can finde no other reason)
Because I am a Roman.

Ach.
No Septinius,
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 vertues.

Sep.
With your reverence
I am too old to learn.

Ach.
Any thing honest,
That I beleeve, without an oath.

Sept.
I feare
Your Lordship has slept ill to night, and that
Invites this sad discourse: 'twill make you old
Before your time:—o' these vertuous Moralls,
And old religious principles, that foole us;
I have brought you a new Song, will make you laugh,
Though you were at your prayers.

Ach.
What is the subject?
Be free Septinius.

Sep.
'Tis a Catalogue
Of all the Gamsters of the Court and City,
Which Lord lyes with that Lady: and what Gallant
Sports with that Merchants wife; and does relate
Who sells her honour for a Diamond,
Who, for a tissew robe: whose husband's jealous,
And who so kind, that, to share with his Wife
Will make the match himselfe?
Harmlesse conceits,
Though fooles say they are dangerous: I sang it
The last night at my Lord Photinus table.

Ach.
How? as a Fidler?

Sep.
No Sir, as a Guest,
A welcome guest too: and it was approv'd of
By a dozen of his friends, though they were touch'd in't:
For looke you, 'tis a kind of merriment,
When we have laid by foolish modesty
(As not a man of fashion will weare it)
To talke what we have done: at least to heare it:
If merrily, set down, it fires the blood,
And heightens Crest-falne appetite.

Ach.
New doctrine!

Achil.
Was't of your owne composing?

Sep.
No, I bought it
Of a skulking Scribler for two Ptolomies:
But the hints were mine owne; the wretch was fearfull:
But I have damnd my selfe, should it be question'd,
That I will owne it.

Ach.
And be punished for it:
Take heed: for you may so long exercise
Your scurrilous wit against authority,
The Kingdomes Counsels: and make profane Jests,
(Which to you (being an atheist) is nothing)
Against Religion, that your great maintainers
(Unlesse they would be thought Co-partners with you)
Will leave you to the Law: and then (Septinius)
Remember there are whips.

Sep.
For whores I grant you,
Till they are out of date, till then are safe too,
Or all the Gallants of the Court are Eunuchs,
And for mine owne defence I'le only add this,
I'le be admitted for a wanton tale
To some most private Cabinets, when your Priest-hood
(Though laden with the mysteries of your goddesse)
Shall waite without unnoted: so I leave you
To your pious thoughts. Exit.

Achil.
'Tis a strange impudence,
This fellow does put on.

Ach.
The wonder great,
He is accepted of.

Achil.
Vices, for him,
Make as free way as vertues doe for others.
'Tis the times fault: yet great ones still have grace'd
To make them sport, or rub them o're with flattery,
Observers of all kinds. Enter Photinus and Septinius.

Ach.
No more of him,
He is not worth our thoughts: a Fugitive
From Pompeys army: and now in a danger
When he should use his service.

Achil.
See how he hangs
On great Photinus Eare.

Sep.
Hell, and the furies,
And all the plagues of darknesse light upon me:
You are my god on earth: and let me have
Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter.

Pho.
Thou art beleev'd: dost thou want money?

Sep.
No Sir.

Pho.
Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow
Thy vehement protestations.

Sep.
You much wrong me;
How can I want, when your beames shine upon me,
Unlesse employment to expresse my zeale
To do your Greatnesse service? doe but thinke
A deed so darke, the Sun would blush to looke on,
For which Man-kind would curse me, and arme all
The Powers above, and those below against me:
Command me, I will on.

Pho.
When I have use,
I'le put you to the test.

Sep.
May it be speedy,
And something worth my danger: you are cold,
And know not your own powers: this brow was fashion'd
To weare a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment,
Given to dispose of Monarchies, not to govern
A childes affaires, the peoples eyes upon you,
The Souldier courts you; will you weare a garment
Of sordid loyalty when 'tis out of fashion?

Pho.
When Pompey was thy Generall (Septinius)
Thou saidst as much to him.

Sep.
All my love to him,
To Cæsar, Rome, and the whole world is lost
In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend,
Project, designe, or Countrey, but your favour,
Which I'le preserve at any rate.

Pho.
No more;
When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps
Sooner then you expect, I may employ you,
So leave me for a while.

Sep.
Ever your Creature. Exit.

Pho.
Good day Achoreus; my best friend Achillas,
Hath fame delivered yet, no certaine rumour
Of the great Roman action.

Achil.
That we are
To enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave care
For Egypts happinesse; and great Ptolomies good,
Have eyes and eares in all parts. Enter Ptolomy, Labienus, Guard.

Pho.
I'le not boast,
What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere long
You shall know more. The King, with him a Roman,

Ach.
The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
Dy'de deeply on his face.

Achil.
'Tis Labienus
Cæsars Lieutenant in the wars of Gaul,
And fortunate in all his undertakings:
But since these Civill Jars he turn'd to Pompey,
And though he followed the better Cause
Not with the like successe.

Pho.
Such as are wise
Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise;
But more of that hereafter.

Lab.
In a word (Sir,)

These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave,
Speake Pompeys osse: to tell you of the Battaile,
How many thousand severall bloody shapes
Death wore thaday, in triumph: how we bore
The shocke of Cæsars charge: or with what fury
His souldiers 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 Peils on either side
Drew Roman blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons,
(The sword) succeeded, which in Civill wars,
Appoints the Tent, on which wing'd victory
Shall make a certaine Stand, then, how the Plaines
Flowd o're with blood, and what a cloud of vulturs
And other birds of prey, hung o're both armies,
Attending when their ready Servitors,
(The souldiers, from whom the angry gods
Had tooke all sense of reason, and of pity)
Would serve in their owne carkasses for a feast.
How Cæsar with his Javelin force'd them on
That made the least stop, when their angry hands
Were lifted up against some known friends face;
Then comming to the body of the army
He shews the sacred Senate, and forbids them
To waste their force upon the Common souldier,
Whom willingly, if ere 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 passe 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 fam'd Torquati, Scipio's, and Marcelli,
(Names next to Pompeys, most renown'd on earth)
The Nobles, and the Commons lay together,
And Pontique, Punique, 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 Ramper of his Camp,
Though scorning all that could fall on himselfe,
He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu'd
In his unlucky quarrell; cryes 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 Ægypt for his Sanctuary,
Till he may recollect his scattered powers,
And try a second day: now Ptolomy,
Though he appeare not like that glorious Thing,
That three times rode in triumph, and gave lawes
To conquer'd Nations, and made Crownes his guift
(As this of yours, your noble Father tooke
From his victorious hand, and you still weare it
At his devotion) to do you more honour
In his declinde estate, as the straightst Pyne
In a full grove of his yet flourishing friends,
He flyes to you for succour, and expects
The entertainment of your Fathers friend,
And Guardian to your selfe.

Ptol.
To say I grieve his fortune
As much as if the Crowne I weare (his gift)
Were ravish'd from me, is a holy truth,
Our Gods can witnesse for me: yet, being young,
And not a free disposer of my self;
Let not a few hours, borrowed for advice,
Beget suspition of unthankfulnesse,
(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
Carv'd on my flesh: good Labienus, thinke
The little respite, I desire shall be
Wholly emploid to find the readiest way
To doe great Pompey service.

Lab.
May the gods
(As you intend) protect you. Exit.

Ptol.
Sit: sit all,
It is my pleasure: your advice, and freely.

Ach.
A short deliberation in this,
May serve to give you counsell to be honest,
Religious and thankfull, in themselves
Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish
Or glosse in the perswader, your kept faith,
(Though Pompey never rise to the height he's fallen from)
Cæsar himselfe 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 Ptolomy) hath counsaild
Like a religious, and honest man,
Worthy the honour that he justly holds
In being Priest to Isis: But alas,
What in a man, sequesterd from the world,
Or in a private person, is preferd,
No policy allows of in a King,
To be or just, or thankfull, makes Kings guilty,
And faith (though prais'd, is punish'd) that supports
Such as good Fate forsakes: joyne with the gods,
Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched,
The Stars are not more distant from the Earth
Then profit is from honesty; all the power,
Prerogatives, and greatnesse of a Prince
Is lost, if he descend once but to steere
His course, as what's right, guides him; let him leave
The Scepter, that strives only to be good,
Since Kingdomes are maintain'd by force and blood.

Ach.
Oh wicked.

Ptol.
Peace: goe on.

Pho.
Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth,
In thinking that you cannot keepe your owne
From such as are ore-come. If you are tired
With being a King, let not a stranger take
What nearer pledges challenge: resigne rather
The government of Ægypt and of Nyle
To Cleopatra, that has title to them,
At least defend them from the Roman gripe,
What was not Pompeys, while the wars endured,
The Conquerour will not challenge, by all the world
Forsaken and despis'd, your gentle Guardian
His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choise of
What Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'd
By their pale Ghosts, slaine in this Civill War,
He flyes not Cæsar only, but the Senate,
Of which, the greater part have cloid the hunger
Of sharpe Pharsalian fowle he flies the Nations
That he drew to his Quarrell, whose Estates
Are sunk in his: and in no place receiv'd,

Hath found out Ægypt, by him yet not ruin'd:
And Ptolomy, things consider'd, justly may
Complaine of Pompey: wherefore should he staine
Our Ægypt, with the spots of Civill warre?
Or make the peaceable, or quiet Nyle
Doubted of Cæsar? wherefore should he draw
His losse, 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 redeeme his favour
But by the hand of Pompey.

Ach.
Great Osiris,
Defend thy Ægypt from such cruelty,
And barbarous ingratitude!

Pho.
Holy triflles,
And not to have place in designes 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 thinkst thou (Ptolomy) that thou canst prop
His Ruines, under whom sad Rome now suffers?
Or tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd?
Shall we, that in the Battail sate as Neuters
Serve him that's over-come? No, no, hee'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 engag'd:
Though one most deare, when all his hopes are dead,
To drowne him, set thy foote upon his head.

Ach.
Most execrable Councell.

Achil.
To be follow'd,
'Tis for the Kingdomes safety.

Ptol.
We give up
Our absolute power to thee: dispose of it
As reason shall direct thee.

Pho.
Good Achillas,
Seeke out Septimius: doe you but sooth him,
He is already wrought: leave the dispatch
To me; of Labienus: 'tis determin'd
Already how you shall proceed: nor Fate
Shall alter it, since now the dye is cast,
But that this hour to Pompey is his last. Exit.

Scena Secunda. Enter Apollodorus, Eros, Arsino.

Ap.
Is the Queen stirring (Eros?)

Er.
Yes, for in truth
Shee touch'd no bed to night.

Ap.
I am sorry for it,
And wish it were in me, with my hazard
To give her ease.

Ars.
Sir, she accepts your will,
And does acknowledge she hath found you noble,
So far, as if restraint of liberty
Could give admission to a thought of mirth,
Shee is your debtor for it.

Ap.
Did you tell her
Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertaine her?
Shee was us'd to take delight, with her faire hand,
To angle in the Nyle, where the glad fish
(As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em)
Contended to be taken: other times
To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,
Forgot his teares in death, and kneeling thanks her
To his last gaspe, then prouder of his Fate,
Then if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen
To fall a Sacrifice before the altar
Of the Virgin Huntresse: the King, nor great Photinus
Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuite
In which she is confin'd, gladly affords
Variety of pastimes, which I would
Encrease with my best service.

Er.
O, but the thought
That she that was borne free, and to dispence
Restraint, or liberty to others, should be
At the devotion of her Brother, whom
She only knows her equall, makes this place
In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)
A loathsome dungeon to her.

Ap.
Yet, (how ere
She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting
To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd
Choise Musicke neare her Cabinet, and compos'd
Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time)
In the praise of imprisonment. Begin boy.
The Song.
Looke out bright eyes, and blesse the ayre:
Even in shadowes you are faire.
Shut-up-beauty is like fire,
That breakes out clearer still and higher.
Though your body be confin'd,
And soft Love a prisoner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind,
Neither checke, nor chaine hath found.
  Looke out nobly then, and dare,
  Even the Fetters that you weare. Enter Cleopatra.

Cleo.
But that we are assur'd this tasts 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 sawcy rudenesse
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? (O
I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)
There is no place in Ægypt, where I stand,
But that the tributary Earth is proud
To kisse the foote of her, that is her Queen,
Can she (I say) that is all this, e're relish
Of comfort, or delight, while base Photinus,
Bond man Achillas, and all other monsters
That raigne ore Ptolomy, make that a Court,
Where they reside, and this, where I a Prisoner?
But there's a Rome, a Senate, and a Cæsar,
(Though the great Pompey leane to Ptolomy)
May thinke of Cleopatra.

Ap.
Pompey (Madam?)

Cleo.
What of him? speake: if ill (Appollodorus)
It is my happinesse: and for thy newes
Receive a favour (Kings have kneel'd in vaine for)
And kisse my hand.

Ap.
Hee's lost.

Cleo.
Speake it againe?

Ap.
His army routed: he fled and pursu'd

By the all-conquering Cæsar.

Cleo.
Whether bends he?

Ap.
To Egypt.

Cleo.
Ha! in person?

Ap.
'Tis receiv'd,
For an undoubted truth,

Cleo.
I live againe,
And if assurance of my love, and beauty
Deceive me not, I now shall finde a Judge,
To do me right: but how to free my selfe,
And get accesse? the Guardes are strong upon me,
This doore I must passe through, Appollodorus;
Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,)
Thy life was not thine owne.

Ap.
I am not alterd;
And let your excellency propound a meanes,
In which I may but give the least assistance,
That may restore you, to that you were borne to,
(Though it call on the anger of the King,
Or, (what's more daedly) all his Minion
Photinus can do to me, I, unmov'd,
Offer my throate to serve you: ever provided,
It beare some probable shew to be effected,
To loose my selfe upon no ground, were madnesse:
Not loyall duty.

Cleo.
Stand off: to thee alone,
I will discover what I dare not trust
My Sister with, Cesar is amarous,
And taken more with the title of a Queene,
Then feature or proportion, he lov'd Evnoe;
A More, deformed 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 Pincly birth, bring beauty with me,
That know to prize my selfe at mine owne rate,
Despaire his favour? art thou mine?

Ap.
I am.

Cleo.
I have found out away shall bring me to him,
Spight of Photinus watches, if I prosper,
(As I am confident I shall) expect
Things greater then thy wishes, though I purchase
His grace, with losse of my virginity,
It skills not, if it bring home Majesty. Exeunt.

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