 | The False One |  |
Scena Secunda.
Enter Cleopatra, Arsino, Eros.Ars.
You are so impatient.
Cleo.
Have I not cause?
Women of common Beauties, and low Births,
When they are slighted, are allowd their angers,
Why should not (a Princesse) make him know
The basenesse of his usage.
Ars.
Yes: 'tis fit:
But then againe you know what man.
Cleo.
He is no man:
The shadow of a Greatnesse hangs upon him,
And not the vertue: he is no Conquerour,
H'as suffer'd under the base drosse of Nature:
Poorely delivered up his power to wealth,
(The god of bed-rid men) taught his eyes treason
Against the truth or love: he has rais'd rebellion:
defid'e his holy flames.
Eros.
He will fall backe again,
And satisfie your Grace.
Cleo.
Had I been old,
Or blasted in my bud, he might have shewd
Some shadow of dislike: But, to prefer
The lustre of a little art, (Arsino)
And the poore glow-worme light of some faint Jewels,
Before the life of Love, and soule of Beauty,
Oh how it vexes me: he is no Souldier,
(All honourable souldiers are Lovers servants)
He is a Merchant: a meere wandring Merchant,
Servile to gaine: he trades for poore Commodities,
And makes his Conquests, thefts; some fortunate Captains
That quarter with him, and are truly valiant,
Have flung the name of happy Cæsar on him,
Himselfe ne're wonne it: he is so base and covetous,
Hee'l sell his sword for gold.
Ars.
This is too bitter.
Cleo.
Oh I could curse my self, that was so foolish,
So fondly childish to beleeve his tongue,
His promising tongue, ere I could catch his temper,
I had trash enough to have cloyd his eyes withall:
His covetous eyes; such as I scorne to tread on:
Richer then ere he saw yet, and more tempting;
Had I known he had stoop'd at that, I had sav'd mine honour,
I had been happy still: but let him take it,
And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded:
Let him goe conquer still weake wretched Ladies:
Love has his angry Quiver too, his deadly,
And when he findes scorne, arm'd at the strongest:
I am a foole to fret thus, for a foole:
An old blinde foole too? I lose my health: I will not:
I will not cry: I will not honour him,
With tears diviner then the gods he worships:
I will not take the paines to curse a poore thing.
Eros.
Dye not: you shall not need.
Cleo.
Would I were prisoner
To one I hate, that I might anger him,
I will love any man, to breake the heart of him:
Any, that has the heart and will to kill him.
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Take some faire truce.
Cleo.
I will goe study mischiefe,
And put a looke on, arm'd with all my cunnings,
Shall meet him like a Basilisque, and strike him:
Love, put destroying flames into mine eyes,
Into my smiles, deceits, that I may torture him,
That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him.
Enter Appollodorus.
Ap.
Cæsar commends his Service to your Grace.
Cleo.
His service? what's his service?
Eros.
Pray ye be patient,
The noble Cæsar loves still.
Cleo.
What's his will?
Ap.
He craves access unto your Highnesse
Cleo.
No:
Say no: I will have none to trouble me.
Ars.
Good Sister:
Cleo.
None I say: I will be private.
Would thou hadst flung me into Nylus (keeper)
When first thou gav'st consent, to bring my body
To this unthankfull Cæsar.
Ap.
'Twas your will (Madam)
Nay more: your charge upon me, as I honoured ye:
You know what danger I endured.
Cleo.
Take this,
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 minde: bid him make love to it:
Tell the ambitious Broker, this will suffer—
Enter Cæsar.
Ap.
He enters.
Cleo.
How?
Cæsar.
I doe not use to waite (Lady)
Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.
Cleo.
I ghesse so, by your rudenesse.
Cæsar.
Ye are not angry?
Things of your tender mold, should be most gentle;
Why doe you frowne? good gods, what a set-anger
Have you forc'd into your face? Come, I must temper ye:
VVhat a coy smile was there, and a disdainfull?
How like an ominous flash it broke out from ye?
Defend me (Love) Sweet, who has anger'd ye?
Cleo.
Shew him a glasse; that false face has betraid me:
That base heart wrought me—
Cæsar.
Be more sweetly angry;
I wrong'd ye faire?
Cleo.
Away with your foule flatteries:
They are too grosse: but that I dare be angry,
And with as great a god as Cæsar is,
To shew how poorly I respect his memory,
I would not speake to ye.
Cæsar.
Pray ye undoe this riddle,
And tell me how I have vext ye?
Cleo.
Let me thinke first
VVhether I may put on a Patience
That will with honour suffer me: know, I hate ye,
Let that begin the story: Now I'le tell ye.
Cæsar.
But do it milder: In a noble Lady,
Softnesse of spirit, and a sober nature,
That moves like summer winds, coole: and blows sweetnesse;
Shews blessed like her selfe.
Cleo.
And that great blessednesse
You first reap'd of me, till you taught my nature
Like a rude storm to talk aloud, and thunder
Sleep was not gentler to my soule, and stiller;
You had the Spring of my affections:
And my faire fruits I gave you leave to taste of:
You must expect the winter of mine anger:
You flung me off, before the Court disgrac'd me,
VVhen in the pride I appeard of all my beauty,
Appear'd your Mistresse; tooke into your eyes
The common-strumpet love of hated lucre,
Courted with covetous heart, the slave of nature,
Gave all your thoughts to gold: that men of glory,
And minds adorn'd with noble love, would kick at:
Souldiers of royall marke, scorne such base purchase:
Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at;
I spake to ye then; I courted ye, and woo'd ye:
Call'd ye deare Cæsar, hung about ye tenderly:
VVas proud to appear your friend.
Cæsar.
You have mistaken me.
Cleo.
But neither Eye, nor Favour, not a Smile
VVas I blessed backe; but shooke off rudely,
And, as ye had been sold to sordid infamy,
You fell before the Images of treasure,
And in your soule you worship'd: I stood slighted,
Forgotten and contemn'd; my soft embraces,
And those sweete kisses you call'd Elizium,
As letters writ in sand, no more remembred?
The name and glory of your Cleopatra
Laugh'd at, and made a story to your Captaines:
Shall I endure?
Cæsar.
You are deceiv'd in all this,
Upon my life you are, 'tis your much tendernesse.
Cleo.
No, no, I love not that way; you are cozen'd:
I love with as much ambition as a Conquerour,
And where I love, will triumph.
Cæsar.
So you shall:
My heart shall be the Chariot that shall beare ye,
All I have wonne shall waite upon ye: By the gods
The bravery of this womans mind, has fired me:
Deare Mistress shall I but this night?—
Cleo.
How Cæsar?
Have I let slip a second vanity
That gives thee hope?
Cæsar.
You shall be absolute,
And Reigne alone as Queen: you shall be any thing.
Cleo.
Make me a maide againe, and then I'le hear thee;
Examine all thy art of VVar, to doe that;
And if thou find'st it possible, I'le love thee:
Till when, farewell, unthankfull.
Cæsar.
Stay.
Cleo.
I will not.
Cæsar.
I command.
Cleo.
Command, and goe without, Sir.
I doe command thee be my slave for ever,
And vexe while I laugh at thee.
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 thinke better. Farewell Conquerour.
Exit
Cæsar.
She mocks me too: I will enjoy her Beauty:
I will not be deni'd; Ile force my longing.
Love is best pleas'd, when roundly we compell him,
And as he is Imperious, so will I be.
Stay fool, and be advis'd: that dulls the appetite;
Takes of the strength and sweetnesse of delight.
By heaven she is a miracle, I must use
A handsome way to win: how now? what feare
Dwells in your faces? you looke all distracted.
136
Sce.
If it be feare, 'tis feare of your undoing?
Not of our selves: feare of your poore declining:
Our lives and deaths are equall benefits,
And we make louder prayers to dye nobly,
Then to live high, and wantonly: whilst you are secure here,
And offer Heccatombs of lazie kisses
To the lewd god of Love, and cowardize,
And most lasciviously dye in delights,
You are begirt with the fierce Alexandrians,
Dol.
The spawne of Ægypt, flow about your Pallace,
Arm'd 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 deafe to all but danger,
They sweare they will flea us, and then dry our Quarters:
A rasher of a salt lover, is such a Shooing-horne:
Can you kisse away this conspiracy, and set us free?
Or will the Giant god of love, fight for ye?
Will his fierce war-like bow kill a Cock-sparrow?
Bring out the Lady, she can quel this mutiny:
And with her powerfull looks, strike awe into them:
She can destroy, and build againe the City,
Your Goddesses have mighty gifts: shew 'em her fair brests,
The impregnable Bulwarks of proud Love, and let 'em
Begin their battery there: she will laugh at 'em;
They are not above a hundred thousand, Sir.
A mist, a mist, that when her Eyes breake out,
Her powerfull radiant eyes, and shake their flashes,
Will flye before her heates.
Cæsar.
Begirt with Villaines?
Sce.
They come to play you, and your Love a Huntsup
You were told what this same whorson wenching, long agoe would come too:
You are taken napping now: has not a souldier
A time to kisse his friend, and a time to consider,
But he must lye still digging, like a Pioner,
Making of mines, and burying of his honour there?
'Twere good you would thinke—
Dol.
And time too, or you will finde else
A harder task, then Courting a coy Beauty.
Ant.
Look out and then beleeve.
Sce.
No, no, hang danger:
Take me provoking broth, and then goe to her:
Goe to your Love, and let her feele your valour;
Charge her whole body, when the sword's in your throat (Sir,)
You may cry, Cæsar, and see if that will help ye.
Cæsar.
I'le be my selfe againe, and meet their furies,
Meet, & consume their mischiefs: make some shift (Sceva)
To recover the Fleet, and bring me up two Legions,
And you shall see me, how I'le breake like thunder
Amongst these beds of slimy Eeles, and scatter 'em.
Sce.
Now ye speak sense: I'le put my life to the hazard
Before I goe. No more of this warm Lady,
Shee will spoil your sword-hand.
Cæsar.
Goe: come, lets to Councell
How to prevent, and then to execute.
| The False One | |