 | The False One |  |
Scena Prima.
Enter Septimius, with a head, Achillas Guard.Sep.
'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearefull viewers,
Shake, and behold the modell of the world here,
The pride, and strength, looke, looke againe, 'tis finished;
That, that whole Armyes, nay whole nations,
Many and mighty Kings, have been strooke blinde at,
And fled before wingd with their feares and terrours,
That steele warr waited on, and fortune courted,
That high plum'd honour built up for her owne:
Behold that mightinesse, behold that fiercenesse,
Behold that child of warr, with all his glories;
By this poore hand made breathlesse, here (my Achillas,
Egypt, and Cesar, owe me for this service,
And all the conquer'd Nations.
Ach.
Peace Septimius,
Thy words sound more ungratefull then thy actions,
Though sometimes safety seeke an instrument
Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)
Think not she is bound to love him too, that's barbarous,
Why did not I, if this be meritorious
And bindes the King unto me, and his bounties,
Strike this rude stroke? I'le tell thee (thou poore Roman)
It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
Not heave a thought.
Sep.
It was.
Ach.
I'le tell thee truely,
And if thou ever yet heard'st tell of honour,
I'le make thee blush: It was thy Generalls;
That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,
The aire thou breath'st was his: the fire that warm'd thee;
From his care kindled euer, nay, I'le show thee,
(Because I'le make thee sensible of thy businesse:
And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
There was no peece of Earth, thou puts thy foote on
But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion,
He triumph'd three times, who durst touch his person?
The very walls of Rome, bow'd to his presence,
Deare to the Gods he was, to them that feard him
A faire and noble Enemy, didst thou hate him?
And for thy love to Cesar, sought his ruine?
Armed the red Pharsalian feilds (Septimius)
Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,
Where Kings were faire competitours for honour,
Thou should'st have come up to him, there have sought him.
There, sword, to sword.
Sep.
I kill'd him on commandment,
If Kings commands be faire, when you all fainted,
When none of you durst looke—
Ach.
On deeds so barbarous,
What hast thou got?
Sep.
The Kings love, and his bounty,
The honour of the service, which though you raile at;
Or a thousand envious soules fling their foames on me,
Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:
And I shall live.
Ach.
A miserable villaine,
What reputation, and reward belongs to it?
Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;
And be not impudent to aske me why (Sirha)
Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes, the reason:
The shame and obloquy, I leave thine owne,
Inherit those rewardes, they are fitter for thee,
Your oyle's spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.
Sep.
The King will yet consider.
Exit.
Enter Ptolomy, Achareus, Photinus.
Achil.
Here he comes Sir.
Ach.
Yet if it be undon: heare me great Sir,
If this inhumane stroake be yet unstrooken,
If that adored head be not yet severd
From the most noble Body, weigh the miseryes:
The desolations that this great Eclipse works,
You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire
Upon the Tombe of him, will shake all Egypt,
Whose warlike groanes will raise ten thousand Spirits,
(Great as himselfe) in every hand a thunder;
Destructions darting from their lookes and sorrowes,
That easy womens eyes shall never empty.
Pho.
You have done well; and 'tis done, see Achillas,
And in his hand the head.
Ptol.
Stay come no nearer,
Me thinks, I feele the very earth shake under me,
I do remember him, he was my guardian,
Appointed by the Senate to preserve me:
What a full Majesty fits in his face yet?
Pho.
The King is troubled: be not frighted Sir,
126
If you consider (Sir) most necessary,
Not to be miss'd: and humbly thanke great Isis:
He came so opportunely to your hands;
Pitty must now give place to rules of safety,
Is not victorious Cæsar, new arriv'd:
And enter'd Alexandria, with his friends,
His Navy riding by to wait his charges?
Did he not beate this Pompey, and pursude him?
Was not this great man, his great enemy?
This Godlike vertuous man, as people held him,
But what foole dare be friend to flying vertue?
Enter Cæsar, Anthony, Dollobella, Sceva.
I heare their Trumpets, 'tis too late to stagger,
Give me the head, and be you confident:
Haile Conquerour, and head of all the world,
Now this head's off.
Cæsar.
Ha?
Pho.
Do not shun me (Cæsar)
From kingly Ptolomy, I bring this present,
The Crowne, and sweat of thy Pharsalian labour:
The goale and marke of high ambitious honour,
Before thy victory had no name (Cæsar)
Thy travell and thy losse of blood, no recompence,
Thou dreamst of being worthy, and of warr;
And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers,
Here they take life: here they inherit honour,
Grow fixt, and shoot up everlasting triupmhes,
Take it, and looke upon thy humble servant,
With noble eyes looke on the Princely Ptolomy,
That offers with this head (most mighty Cæsar)
What thou would'st once have given for it, all Egypt.
Ach.
Nor do not question it (most royall Conquerour)
Nor dis-esteeme the benefit that meetes thee,
Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer:
Yet let me tell thee (most imperious Cæsar)
Though he oppos'd no strength of Swords to win this,
Nor labourd through no showres of darts, and lances:
Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly
An inward warr: he was his Grand sires Guest;
Friend to his Father, and when he was expell'd
And beaten from this Kingdome by strong hand,
And had none left him, to restore his Honour,
No hope to finde a friend, in such a misery;
Then in stept Pompey: tooke his feeble fortune:
Strengthend, and cherish'd it, and set it right againe,
This was a love to Cesar.
Sceva.
Give me, hate, Gods.
Pho.
This Cesar, may account a little wicked,
But yet remember, if thine owne hands (Conquerour)
Had fallen upon him, what it had bin then?
If thine owne Sword had touch'd his throat, what that way!
He was thy Son in law, there to be tainted,
Had bin most terrible: let the worst be renderd,
We have deserv'd for keeping thy hands innocent.
Cesar.
Oh Sceva, Sceva, see that head: see Captaines,
The head of godlike Pompey.
Sce.
He was basely ruinde,
But let the Gods be griev'd that sufferd it,
And be you Cesar—
Cesar.
Oh thou Conquerour,
Thou glory of the world once, now the pitty:
Thou awe of Nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?
What poore fate followed thee, and pluckt thee on
To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian;
The life and light of Rome, to a blind stranger:
That honourable war nere taught a noblenesse,
Nor worthy circumstance shew'd what a man was,
That never heard thy name song, but in banquets;
And loose lascivious pleasures? to a Boy,
That had no faith to comprehend thy greatnesse:
No study of thy life to know thy goodnesse;
And leave thy Nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Leave him (distrusted) that in teares falls with thee?
(In soft relenting teares) heare me (great Pompey
(If thy great spirit can heare) I must taske thee:
Thou hast most unnobly rob'd me of my victory,
My love, and mercy.
Ant.
O how brave these teares shew?
How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy?
Dol.
Glory appeares not greater then this goodnesse.
Cesar.
Egyptians, dare you thinke your high Pyramides,
Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy Kings, lye rak'd in ashes:
Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of Nilus)
Nothing can couer his high fame, but heaven;
No Pyramides set off his memoryes:
But the eternall substance of his greatenesse
To wich I leave him, take the head away,
And (with the body) give it noble buriall,
Your Earth shall now be bless'd to hold a Roman,
Whose braveryes all the worlds-earth cannot ballance.
Sce.
If thou bee'st thus loving, I shall honour thee,
But great men may dissemble; 'tis held possible,
And be right glad of what they seeme to weepe for,
Where are such kinde of Phylosophers; now do I wonder
How he would looke if Pompey were alive againe,
But how he would set his face?
Cesar.
You looke now (King)
And you that have beene Agents in this glory,
For our especiall favour?
Ptol.
We desire it.
Cesar.
And doubtlesse you expect rewards.
Sce.
Let me give 'em:
I'le give 'em such as nature never dreampt of,
I'le beat him and his Agents (in a morter)
Into one man, and that one man I'le bake then.
Cesar.
Peace: I forgive you all that's recompence:
You are young, and ignorant, that pleads your pardon,
And feare it may be more then hate provok'd ye;
Your Ministers I must thinke wanted judgement,
And so they erd: I am bountifull to thinke this;
Beleeve me most bountifull: Be you most thankfull,
That bounty share amongst ye, if I knew
What to send you for a present King of Egypt;
(I meane a head of equall reputation
And that you lov'd) though it were your brightest Sisters,
(But her you hate) I would not be behinde ye.
Ptol:
Heare me (great Cesar.)
Cesar.
I heave hard too much
And study not with smooth shewes, to invade
My noble minde, as you have done my conquest:
Ye are poore and open: I must tell you roundly,
That man that could not recompence the benefits;
The great and bounteous services of Pompey
Can never doate upon the name of Cesar;
Though I had hated Pompey, and allowd his ruine,
I gave you no comission to performe it:
Hasty to please in blood, are seldome trusty,
And but I stand invirond with my victories;
My fortune never failing to be friend me,
My noble strengthes, and friends about my person,
I durst not trye ye, nor expect a courtisy,
Above the pious love, you shewd to Pompey,
You have found me mercifull in arguing with ye:
127
Demolishments of Kingdomes, and whole Ruines
Are wont to be my Orators, turne to teares,
You wretched, and poore Seedes of Sun-burnt Egypt,
And now you have found the nature of a Conquerour,
That you cannot decline, with all your flatteries,
That where the day gives light, will be himselfe still.
Know how to meet his worth with humane courtesies,
Go, and embalme those bones of that great Souldier;
Howle round about his pile, fling on your Spices,
Make a Sabean bed, and place this Phenix
Where the hot Sun may emulate his vertues,
And draw another Pompey from his ashes
Divinely great, and fixe him 'mongst the worthies.
Ptol.
We will doe all.
Cesar.
You have rob'd him of those teares
His kindred, and his friends kept sacred for him:
The Virgins of their funerall Lamentations:
And that kind Earth that thought to cover him,
(His Countries Earth) will cry out 'gainst your crueltie,
And weepe unto the Ocean for revenge,
Till Nilus raise his seven heads and devoure ye:
My griefe has stopt the rest; when Pompey liv'd
He us'd you nobly, now he is dead, use him so.
Exit.
Ptol.
Now where's your confidence your aime (Photinus)
The Oracles, and faire Favors from the Conquerour
You rung into mine eares? how stand I now?
You see the tempest of his sterne displeasure,
The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
To stop his rage, presaging a full ruine;
Where are your Councells now?
Ach.
I told ye Sir,
(And told the truth) what danger would fly after:
And though an Enemie, I satisfied you
He was a Roman, and the top of honour;
And howsoever this might please great Cæsar,
I told ye that the fowlenesse of his death
The impious basenesse—
Pho.
Peace, ye are a foole,
Men of deepe ends, must tread as deepe waies to'm;
Cæsar I know is pleas'd, and for all his sorrowes
(Which are put on for formes and meere dissemblings)
I am confident he's glad: to have told ye so,
And thanke ye outwardly, had bin too open,
And taken from the wisedome of a Conquerour.
Be confident, and proud ye have done this service;
Ye have deserv'd, and ye will finde it highly:
Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure
You keepe your Sister, (the high-sould-Cleopatra,)
Both close and short enough, she may not see him:
The rest, if I may councell sir.—
Ptol.
Doe all:
For in thy faithfull service rests my safetie.
Exit.
| The False One | |