Enter ACHILLAS and ACHOREUS. Achoreus. I LOVE the king, nor do dispute his
For that is not confined, nor to be censured
Bv 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 himself,
And I hope wisely) to commit his sister,
The princess Cleopatra-
queen, Achillas, it were, I hope, no treason,
She being by her father's testament
(Whose memory I bow to) left co-heir
Women are not exempted from the sceptre,
But claim a privilege equal to the male;
But how much such divisions have taken from
The majesty of Egypt, and what factions
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
My good Achoreus, that, in these eastern king- Stand with the rules of policy, I know not;
In all, he stood possessed of.
Most sure I am, it holds no correspondence
H
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 delivered, or great Pompey,
That is appointed Cleopatra's guardian,
As well as Ptolomy's, will e'er approve
And the four hundred gods and goddesses, Adored in Rome, I am your honours' servant. Achor. Truth needs, Septimius, no oaths. Achil. You're 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,
Of this rash counsel, their consent not sought for, But I must swear it: Yet such is my ill fortune, That should authorize it?
Achil. The civil war,
In which the Roman empire is embarked
On a rough sea of danger, does exact
Nor vows nor protestations win belief;
I think, (and I can find no other reason)
Because I am a Roman.
Achor. No, Septimius;
Their whole care to preserve themselves, and To be a Roman were an honour to you,
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 entrenched,
Were not a camp of soldiers, but Rome,
In which Lucullus and Apicius joined
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 confessed.
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, Fleshed 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 it, where'er it is,
Achil. We every hour
Expect to hear the issue.
Sept. Save my good lords!
By Isis and Osiris, whom you worship,
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; it will make you old Before your time. Oh, 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?
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 mo-
ney?
Pho. Or hast thou any suit? These ever follow These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave,
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 blash 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
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 sous, or sons their fa-
thers;
Or how the Roman pikes on each side
Drew Roman blood, which spent, the prince of
weapons
(The sword) succeeded, which, in civil wars, Appoints the tent, on which winged victory Shall make a certain stand: then, how the plains
Flowed o'er with blood, and what a cloud of vul-
tures,
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
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 renowned on
The nobles, and the commons, lay together,
And Pontic, Punic, and Assyrian blood,
Made up one crimson lake: Which Pompey see-
Were ravished 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, borrowed 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!
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 is
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 is yours, Photinus?
Pho. Achoreus, great Ptolomy, hath counselled,
Like a religious and honest man,
Worthy the honour that he justly holds
In being priest to Isis. But, alas,
What in a man, sequestered from the world,
Or in a private person, is preferred,
them-No policy allows of in a king:
And that his, and the fate of Rome, had left him,
Standing upon the rampier of his camp,
Though scorning all that could fall on himself,
He pities them, whose fortunes are embarked
In his unlucky quarrel; cries aloud, too,
That they should sound retreat, and save
selves:
That he desired 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 has touched upon your shore. The king of
Parthia,
Famous in his defeature of the Crassi,
Offered him his protection; but Pompey,
Relying on his benefits, and your faith,
Hath chosen Egypt for his sanctuary,
'Till he may recollect his scattered powers,
And try a second day. Now, Ptolomy,
Though he appear not like that glorious thing,
That three times rode in triumph, and gave laws
To conquered 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)
To be or just, or thankful, makes kings guilty;
And faith, though praised, is punished, that sup-
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 hun
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!
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 vanquished;
I grant, it rather should have passed through Cæ-
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 it is con-
firmed?
Shall we, that in the battle sat as neuters,
Serve him, that is overcome? No, no, he is lost.
And though it is 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
Enter APOLLODORUS, EROS, and ARSINOE. Apol. Is the queen stirring, Eros! Eros. Yes; for in truth She touched no bed to-night.
Apol. I'm sorry for it,
And wish it were in me, with any 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,
She is your debtor for it.
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,
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 Pho
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.ee/books/content?id=vh8AAAAAQAAJ&hl=et&output=html_text&pg=PA109&img=1&zoom=3&q=%22after+immortality+%3F+Or+whence+this+secret+dread,+and+inward+horror,+Of+falling+into+nought+%3F+Why+shrinks+the+soul%22&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U2hOKi-IYNs9mFhgn71WyeJoaKk0A&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=467,704,484,276)
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, and dare
Even the fetters, that you wear.
Enter CLEOPATRA.
Cleo. But that we are assured this tastes of
duty [Exeunt. | And love in you, my guardian, and desire
|