 | The False One |  |
128
Scena Tertia.
Enter Cæsar, Antony, Dollobella, Sceva.Cæsar.
Keepe strong guardes, and with wary eyes (my friends)
There is no trusting to these base Egyptians:
They that are false to pious benefits,
And make compelld necessityes their faithes
Are traitors to the Gods.
Ant.
Weel'e call a shore,
A legion of the best.
Cæsar.
Not a man (Antony)
That were to shew our feares, and dim our greatnesse:
No 'tis enough my name's a shore.
Sce.
Too much too,
A sleeping Cæsar, is enough to shake them;
There are some two or three malitious Rascalls
Trained up in villany, besides that Cerberus
That Roman dog, that lick'd the blood of Pompey.
Dol.
'Tis strange, a Roman Souldier?
Sce.
You are cozend,
There be of us, as be of all other nations,
Villaines, and Knaves; 'tis not the name containes him,
But the obedience: when that's once forgotten,
And duty flung away, then welcom Devill,
Photinus and Achillas, and this vermine:
That's now become a naturall Crocadile,
Must be with care obseru'd.
Ant.
And 'tis well counsell'd
No confidence, nor trust—
Sce.
Ile trust the Sea first,
When with her hollow murmurs she invites me,
And cluches in her stormes, as politique Lyons
Conceale their clawes: Ile trust the Devill first:
The rule of ill, I'le trust before the dore.
Cæsar.
Go to your rests: & follow your own wisedomes,
And leave me to my thoughts: pray no more complement,
Once more strong watches.
Dol.
All shall be observ'd, Sir.
Exit.
Cæsar.
I am dull, and heavy: yet I cannot sleepe,
How happy was I, in my lawfull warrs
In Germany, and Gaul, and Britany?
When euery night with pleasure I sat downe
What the day ministred? the sleepe came sweetely.
But since I undertooke this home-division,
This civill war, and past the Rubicon,
What have I done, that speakes an antient Roman?
A good, great Man? I have enterd Rome by force,
And on her tender wombe, (that gave me life)
Let my insulting Souldiers rudely trample,
The deare vaines of my Country, I have opend
And saild upon the torrents that flowd from her,
The bloody streames, that in their confluence
Carried before 'em thousand desolations;
I rob'd the treasury, and at one gripe
Snatch'd all the wealth, so many worthy triumphs,
Placed there as sacred to the peace of Rome;
I raiz'd Massilia, in my wanton anger:
Petreius and Affrinius I defeated.
Pompey I over threw; what did that get me?
The slubbord name of an authoriz'd enemy;
noise within.
I heare some noises: they are the watches sure,
What friends have I tyde fast, by these ambitiones?
Cato, the lover of his Countryes freedom
Is past now into Affrik, to affront me,
Juba, (that kill'd my friend) is up in armes too:
The Sonnes of Pompey, are Masters of the Sea,
And from the reliques of their scatterd faction,
A new head's sprung: Say I defeate all these too:
I come home Crown'd an honourable Rebell,
I heare the noise still, and it comes still nearer:
Are the guards fast? who waites there?
Enter Sceva, with a packet, Cleopatra in it.
Sce.
Are ye awake Sir?
Cæsar.
'Ith name of wonder.
Sce.
Nay I am a Porter,
A strong one too: or else my sides would cracke Sir,
And my sinnes were as waighty, I should scarce walke with 'em.
Cæsar.
What hast thou there?
Sce.
Aske them which stay without,
And brought it hither, your presence I denide 'em:
And put 'em by: tooke up the load my selfe,
They say 'tis rich: and valude at the Kingdome,
I am sure 'tis heavy: if you like to see it;
You may, if not I'le give it back.
Cæsar.
Stay Sceva,
I would faine see it.
Sce.
I'le begin to worke then:
No doubt to flatter ye, they have sent ye something,
Of a rich vallue, Iewells, or some Treasure;
May be a Rogue within, to do a mischief:
I pray you stand farther off, if there be villany,
Better my danger first: he shall scape hard too,
Ha? what art thou?
Cæsar.
Stand farther off (good Sceva)
What heavenly vision? do I wake or slumber?
Farther off that hand friend.
Sce.
What apparition,
What Spirit have I rais'd? sure 'tis a woman:
She lookes like one: Now she begins to move too:
A tempting Devill, ô my life: go off Cæsar,
Blesse thy selfe off, a baud growne in mine old dayes?
Bawdry advanced upon my back? 'tis noble;
Sir, if you be a Souldier come no nearer,
She is sent to dispossesse you of your honour,
A spunge, a spunge, to wipe away your victories:
And she would be coold (Sir) let the Souldiers trim her?
They'le give her that she came for, and dispatch her;
Be loyall to your selfe: thou damned woman
Do'st thou come hither with thy flourishes,
Thy flaunts, and faces, to abuse mens manners?
And am I made the instrument of bawdry?
I'le finde a lover for ye, one shall hugg ye;
Cæsar.
Hold on thy life: and be more temperate,
Thou beast.
Sce.
Thou beast?
Cæsar.
Could'st thou be so inhumane,
So farr from noble men to draw thy weapon,
Upon a thing divine?
Sce.
Divine, or humane,
They are never better pleas'd, nor more at harts-ease,
Then when we draw with full intent upon 'em.
Cæsar.
Move this way (Lady)
Pray ye let me speake to ye.
Sce.
And woman, you had best stand.
Cæsar.
By the Gods,
But that I see her here, and hope her mortall:
I should imagine some celestiall sweetnesse,
The treasure of soft love.
Sce.
Oh, this soundes mangely,
Poorely; and scurvely in a Souldiers mouth:
129
For lovers ever are, and let your nose drop
That your celestiall beauty may be-friend ye:
At these yeares do you learne to be fantasticall?
After so many bloody feildes, a foole?
She brings her bed along too; shee'le loose no time,
Carryes her Litter to lye soft, do you see that?
Invites ye like a Gamster: note that impudence,
For shame reflect upon your selfe, your honour,
Looke back into your noble parts and blush:
Let not the deare sweat of the hot Pharsalia,
Mingle with base Embraces; am I he
That have receiv'd so many woundes for Cæsar?
Upon my Target, groves of darts still growing?
Have I endur'd all hungers, colds, distresses,
And as I had been bred that Iron that arm'd me)
Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune?
To ban the blood I lost for such a Generall?
Cæsar.
Offend no more: be gon.
Sce.
I will, and leave ye,
Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaime ye:
You'le conquer Rome now, and the Capitoll
With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farwell Cæsar.
Cleo.
Now I am private sir, I dare speake to ye:
But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye.
Sce.
Lower you'le be anon.
Cæsar.
Away.
Sce.
And privater,
For that you covet all.
Exit.
Cæsar.
Tempt me no farther.
Cleo.
Contemne me not, because I know thus (Cæsar)
I am a Queene, and coheire to this country,
The sister to the mighty Ptolomy,
Yet one distressd, that flyes unto thy justice,
One that layes sacred hold on thy protection
As on a holy Altar, to preserve me.
Cæsar.
Speake Queene of beauty, and stand up.
Cleo.
I dare not,
'Till I have found that favour in thine eyes,
That godlike great humanity to helpe me,
Thus, to thy knees must I grow: (sacred Cæsar,)
And if it be not in thy will, to right me,
And raise me like a Queene from my sad ruines,
If these soft teares cannot sinke to thy pitty;
And waken with their murmurs thy compassions:
Yet for thy noblenesse, for vertues sake,
And if thou beest a man, for despis'd beauty,
For honourable conquest, which thou do'tst on:
Let not those cankers of this flourishing Kingdome,
Photinus, and Achillas, (the one an Evnuch,)
The other a base bondman, thus raigne over me,
Seize my inheritance, and leave my brother
Nothing of what he should be, but the Title:
As thou art wonder of the world.
Cæsar.
Stand up then
And be a Queene, this hand shall give it to ye,
Or chose a greater name, worthy my bounty:
A common love makes Queenes: chose to be worshiped,
To be divinely great, and I dare promise it,
A suitor of your sort, and blessed sweetnesse:
That hath adventur'd thus to see great Cæsar,
Must never be denied, you have found a patron
That dare not in his private honour, suffer
So great a blemish to the heaven of beauty:
The God of love would clap his angry wings,
And from his singing bow, let flye those arrowes
Headed with burning grieves, and pining sorrowes:
Should I neglect your cause would make me monstrous,
To whom and to your service I devote me.
Enter Sceva.
Cle.
He is my conquest now, and so I'le worke him,
The conquerour of the world will I lead captive,
Sce.
Still with this woman? tilting still with Babies?
As you are honest thinke the Enemy,
Some valiant Foe indeed now charging on ye:
Ready to breake your ranks, and fling these—
Cæsar.
Heare me,
But tell me true, if thou hadst such a treasure:
(And as thou art a Souldier, do not flatter me)
Such a bright gem, brought to thee, wouldst thou not
Most greedily accept?
Sce.
Not as an Emperour,
A man that first would rule him selfe, then others,
As a poore hungry Souldier, I might bite, Sir,
Yet that's a weaknesse too: heare me, thou Tempter:
And heare thou Cæsar too, for it concerns thee,
And if thy flesh be deaf yet let thine honour,
The soule of a commander, give ear to me,
Thou wanton bane of warr, thou guilded Lethergy,
In whose embraces, ease (the rust of Armes)
And pleasure, (that makes Souldiers poore) inhabites.
Cæsar.
Fye, thou blasphem'st.
Sce.
I do, when she is a goddesse,
Thou melter of strong mindes, dar'st thou presume
To smother all his triumphes, with thy vanityes,
And tye him like a slave, to thy proud beautyes?
To thy imperious lookes? that Kings have follow'd
Proud of their chaines? have waited on? I shame Sir.
Exit.
Cæsar.
Alas thou art rather mad: take thy rest Sceva,
Thy duty makes thee erre, but I forgive thee:
Go: go I say, shew me no disobedience:
'Tis well, farewell, the day will breake deare Lady,
My Souldiers will come in; please you retire,
And thinke upon your servant?
Cleo.
Pray you Sir, know me,
And what I am.
Cæsar.
The greater, I more love ye,
And you must know me too.
Cleo.
So far as modesty,
And majesty gives leave Sir, ye are too violent.
Cæsar.
You are too cold to my desires.
Cleo.
Sweare to me,
And by your selfe (for I hold that oath sacred)
You will right me as a Queene—
Cæsar.
These lips be witnesse,
And if I breake that oath—
Cleo.
You make me blush Sir,
And in that blush interpret me.
Cæsar.
I will do,
Come let's go in, and blush againe: this one word,
You shall beleeve.
Cleo.
I must, you are a conquerour.
Exeunt.
| The False One | |