University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

—Victoribus ipsis Dedecus, & nunquam superum caritura pudore Fabula.— Lucan. lib. 8.

Cleopatra, Charmion; and Photinus meeting them.
Cleopatra.
Since when, was this Enlargement of your Power?
To seize a Slave, you knew employ'd by me?
Have you your Master's Order, for this Treatment?

Phot.
I need no special Order for my Duty:
What I have done, I'll answer to the King:
In Times of Danger, Safety is our Law:
Were Treasons only to be crush'd in Form;
Traytors wou'd soon defy their Punishment.

Cleo.
Traytors!

Phot.
Madam, I call that Slave a Traytor,
That durst betray the Counsels of his Prince!
I knew you restless, in the Cause of Pompey,
And therefore had my Eye upon your Conduct.
I knew, if Pompey had Advice to fly,
You only durst attempt to give it him:
This Letter intercepted, proves my Fears
Were justly grounded: Cæsar and the King
Will judge, by this, how much you serve their Int'rests.

Cleo.
I tell thee, Slave, if thou art judg'd by Cæsar,
Thy Head stands forfeit to thy Insolence—

Phot.
Cæsar admits no female Counsellors.

Cleo.
Dares then thy scurril Tongue—avoid my Presence

[Exit Phot.
Char.
Excuse a Heart concern'd for your Repose.
But since depriv'd of Power t'avenge your Wrongs,
Why shou'd your vain Resentment urge your Foes,
To offer more? This Scorn you shew Photinus,
Who, at his Pleasure, sways the ductile King,
Will but incense him to abuse that Influence,
And add by fresher Insults to his Triumph.

Cleo.
I mock the short-liv'd Power, that dares insult me!
For know, my Charmion, Cæsar's on our Coasts!
Spite of their Spies, and Vigilance of State;
From his own Hand, this Morn have I receiv'd
Advice, he brings his Legions into Ægypt!
That his indulgent Stars, by Pompey's Flight,
Now lead him, where his first Ambition calls,
To crown his Conquests, by a Wreath from me.
I weigh not, whether true, or feign'd his Flame;
Me it suffices, 'tis the Style of Love.
Make him, ye Gods! but capable of Passion,
And leave the forming of his Heart to me!

Char.
Still more amazing! can you ever hope,
That Cæsar will be won, by your Defiance?
Your open and avow'd Concern for Pompey!
Which now this Letter, will, produc'd, confirm.
Will Cæsar make a Mistress of his Foe?
Of one that wou'd arm Ægypt to oppose him,
And, by the Aid of Pompey, blast his Lawrels?

Cleo.
Alas, my Charmion, thou'rt unskill'd in Heroes!
Love there is born, but from superior Virtue!
Think'st thou, a Cæsar's Soul can e'er be mov'd,
But by a Heart, ambitious as his own?
As jealous, as tenacious of its Glory?
Shou'd I, to serve his Interests, injure Pompey;
His Sword might spare, but Honour wou'd despise me.
No! to deserve him, he shall find me grateful.
My just Concern for Pompey, though his Foe,
Demands his Admiration, not Resentment.
Soon is the Lover lost, we fear to lose;
But while, for Pompey's Sake, I brave that Danger,
Cæsar will envy, what a lower Mind
Wou'd hate. But see, the holy Priest returns;
I sent him to enquire of Pompey's Doom.
Enter Achoreus.
O speak Achoreus, what thy Looks presage!
How have the Gods dispos'd of hapless Pompey?

Acho.
O! that my Age had never seen this Day!
Or that Pharsalia's Field had left no Blood
In Cæsar's Foes, to stain the Shores of Ægypt?

Cleo.
Give me the whole, and blend my Tears with thine.

Acho.
Hear then the Fate of Pompey, and deplore!
When, from his Ships, he saw the spacious Beach
Cover'd with gazing Crowds, and at their Front,
Our shining Troops, in stately Order rang'd;
The martial Musick sounding from our Gallies,
With gaudy Streamers making from the Port;
His quickning Eye confest a new-born Joy!
Concluding that our grateful King design'd,
In Person, and with Honours, to receive him.
But when, at length, he found but one poor Boat
Sent forth, fill'd only with a chosen Guard;
And those without the King, to grace his Welcome;
His Fate he saw, yet wou'd not seem to see;
Silent he stood, with Eyes resign'd, and dauntless;
Or anxious only for Cornelia's Fears;
Turning to whom, in Care-concealing Smiles,
“Compose thy Heart, he cry'd; my self alone
“Will tempt the doubtful Gratitude of Ægypt;
“Where, if I fall, thy Flight may yet revenge me:
“In Africk, still, our firm Allies make Head,
“Thy Father, and my Sons, enforc'd by Juba:
“There will thy Fortunes find a kinder Welcome!
“Or if the Gods refuse their Arms Success,
“Cato will own our Cause, tho' Gods forsake it.

Cleo.
O! thou hast giv'n Cornelia's Pangs to me!

Acho.
During this Conflict of their mighty Hearts,
The Skiff, that bore the bloody Crew, drew near;
From whence, Septimius, to disguise their Purpose,
I'th'Roman Language hail'd him Emperor.
“Descend, great Sir, he cry'd; this shallow Bark
“Avoids the Sands, that barr our larger Vessels;
“This Sir, secure will waft you to the King,
“Who waits impatient on the Beach t'embrace you.
The destin'd Hero, of this vile Abuse
Tho' conscious, saw, 'twas now no Time to parley.
When taking, from his Friends, and mournful Wife,
A short Farewel; with that majestick Air,
Went forward to his Fate, as when the Carr
Triumphant bore him through the Streets of Rome.

Cleo.
Were there no Friends attended him to Shore?

Acho.
But one—the Bark too narrow for his Train,
His Freed-man Philip only follow'd him.
Of what I speak, by him was I inform'd,
The faithful Witness of his Fate—At length,
The Crew, secure of their deluded Prey,
Now change their Looks, and sullen ply their Oars;
As if some Criminal condemn'd they bore;
Nor on the Way vouchsafe his Cares a Word.
Observing this, he drew his Tablets forth,
Perusing there some Notes of an Oration,
Which for his Royal Audience he had form'd:
Anon, o'er-charg'd with Sighs, he turn'd his Eyes,
Throwing a last long Look to sad Cornelia.
Then to himself, or but to Philip's Ear,
From Sophocles, this Fragment he repeated:
“The Great and Free, when Fugitives, are Slaves,
“And where they seek Protection, find their Graves.
O spare the rest.

Cleo.
Proceed! my Eyes are full.

Acho.
The Shore now gain'd, they warn him to disbark.
And while, to raise him, Philip reach'd his Arm,
Achillas, from behind, the bloody Signal gave;
At which, Septimius, with his Ruffian Romans,
Bury'd at once their Daggers in his Breast!
At their repeated Blows, one deep Groan he gave,
When covering with his Robe his closing Eyes,
At his Assassines Feet, the Great—the Murther'd Pompey fell.

Cleo.
Ye Gods! who give up Nations to the Sword,
When this flagitious Deed your Bolts shall punish,
Charge not the Place, but Persons, with the Crime!
The Blood of Pompey was by Romans shed!
Let o'er Ægyptian Roofs your Vengeance pass,
And hurl your Thunder on the Towers of Rome.

Acho.
Nor ends, in Death, th'unhospitable Deed:
Living, and dead, is Pompey still mis-us'd!
His Head, by fierce Septimius, from the Neck
Divided, on Achillas' Spear is born,
In Triumph thro' the Crowd, to Ptolomey;
As if some Captive Pyrate they had slain,
Or, as their braver Swords had conquer'd Pompey!
His mangled Corps committed to the Waves,
Like a wreckt Vessel bulges on the Sands,
And stains, with crimson Infamy, our Shores;
While, at the dreadful Sight, Cornelia's Cries
Ev'n to the Beach are heard, and pierce the Heav'ns in vain.

Cleo.
Heart-breaking Woe! what Virtue can support it!

Acho.
What Fate attends her, to the Gods is known.
For on the Instant we perceiv'd her Sails
Unfurl'd, and making to the Seas for Flight.
On which, Septimius, to compleat his Crime,
With six large Vessels labours her Pursuit.

Cleo.
Arise ye sudden Shades of Night! black Storms,
Or kinder Tempests, shield her from his Power.

Acho.
And now our Troops retreating to the Palace,
In solemn March precede the trunkless Head,
On which the shudd'ring Crowd with Horror gaze:
Some hear it thunder! these an Earthquake feel!
Dreading the Wreck of Nature for the Crime!
The faithful Philip, tho' o'er-whelm'd with Grief,
Bears, from the Waves, his Master's sad Remains,
And tho' a mean, a pious funeral Pile,
And for his Ashes, a poor Urn prepares.

Cleo.
Which conqu'ring Cæsar might behold with Tears.

Acho.
Confirm the Omen, Isis, for he comes!
These Winds that blow, shall waft him to our Shores.

Cleo.
What means thy Transport? ought of Cæsar? say,
And dissipate the Sadness thou hast rais'd.

Acho.
While pensive on Cornelia's Flight we gaze,
From Ear to Ear, a joyous Murmur flies,
Bursting anon to Shouts! Lo! Cæsar comes!
At this all Eyes are turn'd to seize the Sight!
When from behind the swelling Ocean's Hill,
Behold, a naval City climbing to the View;
Their Sails, all gilded by the glaring Sun,
Confound the Curious, that would count their Numbers.

Cleo.
It is! it must! it can be only He!
Tremble, ye Tyrants, for your impious Power!
The Gods are just, and send their Cæsar's Arms,
T'avenge the Injured, on the guilty Head!

Acho.
Behold the King! Incens'd he seems! Perhaps
The Sight of me offends! for since my Voice
Declar'd for Pompey, I have lost his Smiles:
Permit me, gracious Madam, to retire.

[Exit.
Enter Ptolomey.
Ptol.
Achillas! yet a Moment stay the Guard!
First will I prove, if she avow the Treason.
Madam, my Converse with you now is short!
Examine well this Character.

Cleo.
'Tis mine.

Ptol.
'Tis well—now say that you were Ptolomey,
And I your Captive had betray'd your Counsels,
What Treatment had this Treason merited?

Cleo.
Had I been King, that Treason had been Counsel,
And to the Blood of Pompey, Cæsar's Hate
Preferr'd.

Ptol.
Your own Confession has condemn'd you,
And Cæsar shall himself approve my Justice.

Cleo.
Must that then prove me criminal to Cæsar?

Ptol.
The Proof is fair, as is the Fact notorious!
Was not th'Attempt to save the Foe of Cæsar,
And keep his Title to the World disputed?

Cleo.
You speak, as if my Crimes, like yours, were writ
In Blood. Once more, I warn you of your Fate,
Provoke not Cæsar, by new Wrongs to me.

Ptol.
Fear not, your Conduct shall have all its Merit!
Cæsar shall know the Charms you use t'engage him,
Shall fairly see his Friends, from Enemies.
Achillas, ho!
Enter Achillas with Guards.
Obey your Orders! Madam,
Your own Apartment bounds your Liberty.

Cleo.
Me to restrain, there needed not your Guards;
Tho' Cæsar's at our Gates, I shou'd not, Sir,
Have flown to meet him: no, my Sex's Pride
Had been a Bar sufficient, for your Fears:
Yet for your own Sake, name not my Confinement,
No! rather, let him think my Absence, Choice.
Tho' of my Crown depriv'd, the World shall see
I guard its Honour, in Captivity.
While you, to Cæsar's Feet, your Scepter bear,
He'll know the Queen expects his Homage here.
And while his Frown your proffer'd Crown disdains,
A Smile—shall lead this Master of the World in Chains.

[Exit with Guards.
Enter Photinus.
Phot.
Some Officers, Express, from Cæsar's Fleet,
(His fam'd Lieutenants, Antony and Decius,)
Intreat immediate Audience.

Ptol.
Give them Entrance.

Enter Antony, Decius, and Guards.
Dec.
From the great Julius, Health to Ptolomey.

Ptol.
Permit me, Romans, to embrace the Heroes,
That grace our Ægypt, with Commands from Cæsar.

Ant.
My separate Duty, Sir, attends the Queen
In private Audience—yet I see her not!
The fair Co-Regent! your Colleague in Power!

Ptol.
Let me, with Grief, impeach a Sister's Virtue!
But Sir, her Actions ill deserve that Title:
Her Claim to Empire, as a Foe to Cæsar,
Stands forfeit to his Mercy, and the State.
And therefore are these Palace Walls her Prison.

Ant.
I come not, Sir, to hear her Crimes recounted;
Of those our General himself will judge!
To him your Accusation must appeal.
My plain Commission asks a personal Audience;
Which Cæsar's Will, by me, once more demands.

Ptol.
The Will of Cæsar be obey'd—Photinus,
Let Antony have Audience of the Queen.
[Exe. Ant. and Phot.
Now Sir, Cæsar's Commands to Ptolomey?

Dec.
Short is my Message, and from Cæsar, thus.
To know if Royal Ptolomey is leagu'd
In Arms with Pompey, or adheres to Cæsar!
If Cæsar is oppos'd, he knows his Course,
'Tis forward, thro' your Walls, with wasteful War:
But if your due Submission owns his Power,
His Veterans, like jocund Hinds from Labour,
Shall pour, this Instant, on your Shores,
To greet as Friends, and give your Crown Protection.
Thus says the Roman Imperator—Now Sir,
Our Signal to his Fleet, attends your Answer.

Ptol.
Thus then, to mighty Cæsar, Ptolomey:
Tho' Ægypt long has been to Rome a Province,
Yet since Pharsalia gives to Rome a Master,
Who but that Master can demand our Homage?
Pass then the Arms of Cæsar thro' our Gates.
And, Sir, to ratify our firm Adherence,
To bury ev'n Suspicion of Resistance,
This Instant shall our private Troops retire,
And Southward from the City form their Camp,
'Till Cæsar's Service, or his Will, recall them.

Dec.
Cæsar shall know the Speed of your Compliance:
But how, Sir, has your Power dispos'd of Pompey?

Ptol.
As Heav'n had mark'd him, for the Foe of Cæsar,
Whose Cause the Gods so gloriously have own'd:
And as the Sword, in Pompey's Hand, but serv'd
To make the Streams of Roman Blood perpetual;
Our Councils have disarm'd, and seiz'd on Pompey;
To grace th'Arrival of victorious Cæsar.

Dec.
A Prince so young, and careful for his State,
Merits as well our Wonder, as Protection.

Ptol.
My Merit is my Zeal, for Cæsar's Glory.

Dec.
Haste Quintius! from the Northern Tower, let fly
The Eagle, Signal of our Amity.
How will the Heart of Godlike Cæsar glow,
Folding his Arms around the vanquish'd Pompey!

[Apart and Exit.
Ptol.
These Romans, who contemn the Thrones of Kings,
By this their Insolence to Majesty,
Betray the Rancour of their vain Ambition.
'Tis not the King they hate, but Kingly Right.
They scorn our Crowns, from want of Birth to wear them:
There's what recoils against their secret Wishes,
And turns desponding Envy, into Virtue.
Enter Photinus.
Now Photinus, the News from Antony?

Phot.
What greatly will surprize, and may preserve you.

Ptol.
Hast thou, from his Audience, ought collected?

Phot.
Nothing from Words: for I was warn'd aloof.
But if my Eyes are faithful, yet enough
To know—whate'er might be his Charge from Cæsar,
The secret Errand of his Heart was Love.

Ptol.
Thou tell'st me Wonders! what grounds th'Assertion?

Phot.
Whether at Rome, or here, he caught the Flame,
I know not; but his Gesture, his Approaches,
Spoke more Respect, than Romans pay to Crowns!
His Looks, his heaving Bosom, his Confusion,
Confest a Soul surpriz'd, astonish'd, and subdu'd!
She, conscious of the Wounds her Form had given,
With all the Blandishments of glancing Beauty,
With softning Smiles, indulgent to Desire,
Unloos'd her Charms, to make the Conquest sure.
Anon, to strike him with her various Darts,
When, to his Speech, her seeming Woes reply'd,
A stealing Shower of Tears roll'd down her Cheeks,
Like Dew-drops trickling o'er the Bloom of Roses.
When turning to disguise the Grief, her Eyes
Encountring my Observance, I retir'd.
Not chusing, while I heard not, to offend her.

Ptol.
Cou'd you not guess the Occasion of her Tears?

Phot.
I judg'd them artful, to precede her Story,
To heighten her Distresses, for Compassion.

Ptol.
If Antony shou'd love, Love may befriend
Her Cause to Cæsar.

Phot.
Or may ruin it.
Think you, proud Cæsar's Heart will brook a Rival?
Here's Ground at least to give him Jealousy.
If it succeeds, her boasted Empire ceases!
Cæsar will never be the Slave of Beauty,
Tamely to court, and kiss the Chain that galls him:
No Sir, her Truth suspected, sets him free:
Or to be more the Hero, his Contempt
May give her as a Slave to Antony,
Whose humbler Heart may think the Donor bounteous.

Ptol.
Confusion! how she plays her Sex's Wiles!
The whole Artillery of Love to thwart me!
Her Eyes wou'd lift his Legions in her Cause,
And be the Mistress of Mankind, for Empire.

[A loud Shout.
Phot.
But hark! these Acclamations from the Port
Speak Cæsar near our Shore.

Ptol.
Haste then to greet him.
Some fitter Time shall weigh this Secret.—List!
[Trumpets.
Again the Signal Trumpet, from our Gallies,
Calls us to meet this Master of the World!
His Pow'r must judge this Prize, for Empire play'd,
Betwixt the Monarch, and ambitious Maid;
But if Ambition be his fiercer Flame,
The Head of Pompey shall out-blaze the Dame.

[Exeunt.
SCENE opens to the Port of Alexandria.
Enter on one Side Ptolomey wearing his Crown, with Photinus and Attendants. From the upper End, the Roman Lictors and Officers with their Fasces and military Ensigns, &c. While they range themselves on each Side the Scene, Shouts and Trumpets are heard. After which Cæsar advances, and Ptolomey kneeling addresses him.
Ptol.
Lord of Mankind! Imperial Julius, hail!
Lo! at thy Feet, as to the First of Men,
In awful Homage, bows thy prostrate Ægypt:
The Sun, and Cæsar, now, have equal Empire:
Far as his Beams extend, Cæsar has conquer'd!
Nor, to the teeming Banks of Nile more wisht
His genial Heat, than Julius, to our Shores!
What Kings are safe, that dare oppose his Glory?
What People free, whom Cæsar's Arms protect not?
Take then this happier Province to thy Care,
While thus her tributary Prince resigns
His Crown, to be adorn'd by Cæsar's Brow.

[Presenting it to Cæsar.
Cæs.
Arise, young Prince, not let thy Transport loose thee.
Wou'dst thou appear the King, retain thy Crown;
The Lawrel better suits the Brow of Julius!
Crowns are the Trophies of tyrannick Sway.
Romans may conquer, but disdain to wear 'em.

Ptol.
Ye Gods! what yet unheard-of Virtues have
You form'd, that only Roman Souls can reach?

Cæs.
Call it not Virtue, to resist what tempts not.
What Heirs from Heirs receive, blind Fortune gives,
Where Birth prefers the Infant to the Man!
While heretable Crowns entail not Virtue,
The Boast were greater to bestow, than wear them.
But whence has Ptolomey this single Power
Of vast Mnuificence, where Equal Right
Might claim an equal Merit, from the Bounty?
Beware, no private Wrong to Cleopatra,
Prompt thee to offer up a Power usurpt,
Lest Beauty shou'd prevail, on Power superior,
To right her Sufferings, with the sole Dominion.

Ptol.
If Cæsar's Enemies deserve to reign,
None stand before the Claim of Cleopatra.
If on her Will the Fate of Rome had rested,
Pharsalia's Field had given the Palm to Pompey.

Cæs.
Were your fair Sister, Prince, the Foe you speak her,
Her Spirit wou'd, in Person, have declar'd her.

Ptol.
But if great Cæsar's Foes deserve their Chains,
Then gentle are the Bonds of Cleopatra.

Cæs.
Let me conceive you, Sir; at once, be plain.

Ptol.
What I have urg'd, then plainly this confirms.
[Presents Cleopatra's Letter to him, who seems to peruse it.
Had not our Vigilance cut short that Notice,
Pompey, forewarn'd, had now revers'd his Fate;
Had headed Troops in Parthia, or in Africk,
Might still have vainly rais'd the Dust of War,
To choak the Pass of Cæsar.

Cæs.
Ha! revers'd!
Something tremendous must have caus'd this Notice.

Phot.
Take Comfort, Sir, he staggers at the Proof.

[To Ptol.
Cæs.
Nor can I think her yet the Foe of Cæsar!
The State of Pompey will resolve the Doubt.
[Apart.
Produce then Pompey, to condemn the Queen.

Ptol.
Let Cæsar be obey'd—Achillas, ho!
[To Achillas, who is suppos'd at some Distance.
Open the gazing Throng, and to our View,
Advanc'd in Air, upon thy Javelin's Point,
Present our Evidence of Faith to Cæsar.

[Cæsar turning to the Entrance, starts.
Cæs.
Stupendous Vision! have my Eyes their Function!
Some God awake me from this frightful Dream,
Or raise the living Pompey to the Field,
That I may meet him, there, less terrible!
Hence! from my View! remove the ghastly Form!
Nor give weak Nature these resistless Pangs.
Pharsalia now has drawn the Tears of Cæsar.

Ptol.
Photinus! oh! the Storm is rising! save me!

[Aside to Pho.
Dec.
How has young Ptolomey with Words deceiv'd me?
Was this the Seizure he had made of Pompey?

Cæs.
Ev'n in the Field, that Sight were mournful;
But here, where Benefits rely'd on Safety,
Where Obligations fenc'd him from Suspicion,
To trample down the Mounds of Gratitude,
Inhospitably steel'd, and deaf to Honour,
To strike the Life, to whom your Crown was due,
Sets universal Nature in Alarm,
And warms his Foes, even Cæsar, to avenge him.

Ptol.
Cæsar! I grant the Deed, that thus offends thee—

Cæs.
The Deed! Immortal Pow'rs! is there a Crime
Beneath the Roof of Heav'n, that stains the Soul
Of Man, with more infernal Hue, than damn'd
Assassination? O my curdling Blood!
When-e'er the Image strikes upon my Brain,
Involuntary Horrors shake my Frame,
And mock the Force of Intrepidity.
[Ptolomey offers to speak.
No more! Impartial Justice wou'd be calm,
Nor shall unheard condemn: when Cæsar is
Himself, his Patience shall endure to hear thee.

Dec.
If Virtue, or if Honour might be Judge,
Cæsar was never more himself than now.
[Apart.
O Pompey, now might thy hard Fate be envy'd!
If thy great Spirit hovers yet in Air,
Look down, and triumph, in the Grief of Cæsar.

Cæs.
Reflection has, at length, made way for Judgment;
Now urge thy Motives for the Fate of Pompey.

Ptol.
What Words can save, what Cæsar's Frown condemns?
If what is done to serve him, can be Wrong,
Why strike his Arms such Terror thro' the World,
That not to serve him, seems the greater Crime?
Where Fear prevails, what Conduct can be blameless?
Will Cæsar then resent a Passion, which
Himself excites? Involuntary Crimes?
Will he oblige the Blind to see, the Deaf
To hear, or the disorder'd Brain to reason?
Must Nature change her Course, to act his Will?
The Wretch that fears to drown, will break thro' Flames,
Or, in his Dread of Flames, will plunge in Waves.
When Eagles are in View, the screaming Daws
Will cowre beneath the Feet of Man, for Safety!
Not Folly is more ignorant than Fear!
If Fear be Guilt, 'twere Guilt to give us Fear;
Then let the Dread of seeming Cæsar's Foe
Answer, to Cæsar's Arms, for Pompey's Fate.
My Life! my Crown, are equal in thy Power!
If Cæsar for an Enemy cou'd weep,
What kind of Pity must invade his Eye,
When a mistaken Friend endures his Vengeance?

Cæs.
If Cæsar can deplore an injur'd Foe,
Can he, who boasts the Wrong, expect his Friendship?
Or vainly shall his Friend presume, the Crime
Will, at the Cost of Cæsar's Fame, be pardon'd?
But Friend's a Name, I've not yet chose for thee:
'Twas what my Heart had still reserv'd for Pompey.
False and destructive is thy Zeal for Cæsar!
T'have sav'd that Life, had giv'n Mankind Repose,
And made Pharsalia glorious! Tow'ring Thought!
With what transporting Joy, the harrass'd World,
Had, in one peaceful, publick Chariot seen
Pompey, and Cæsar, o'er their Jars triumphant!
That forward Fruit, that Harvest of my Arms,
Thy curst, officious, wasteful Hand has ruin'd!
To pass the Crime, how might the World arraign me!
How might the partial Senate justify
The Rage, with which their Votes pursu'd me?

Ptol.
Were I but Cæsar's Foe, I might have Mercy.

Cæs.
Yet, let me not, to sooth my Enemies,
Swerve from the Laws of conscious Clemency;
How black and horrible soe'er the Deed,
'Tis not the Fact, but Will, creates the Crime.
[Apart.
Thy Youth and Inexperience, Prince, arrest
My Arm, and turn the Eye of Vengeance
On elder Criminals, thy Flatterers.
If thou wou'dst prove thy Penitence sincere,
Give up thy Counsellors to instant Justice,
As due Oblations to the Shade of Pompey.

Phot.
'Tis well! the War's begun! Cæsar, thy Heart
May yet repent this Arrogance of Power.

[Apart.
Cæs.
And since the Burden of Imperial Rule
Out-weighs thy Strength, call to thy present Aid
Thy Sister's Right, to share and grace thy Throne
Had she been heard, what Glory hadst thou gain'd:
What Shame, what Ills, what Infamy avoided!
If possible, repair thy Loss; but haste!
Think that each Moment, 'till her Right's restor'd,
But swells thy Debt of Royalty usurp'd.
[Exe. Ptol. Phot. and Ægyptians.
O Decius! was there ever Day like this?
How sudden are the Blows of Fate! what Change,
What Revolution, in the State of Glory?

Dec.
Glory and Empire ever will have Heirs.
What Pompey once possess'd, is now enjoy'd
By Cæsar.

Cæs.
Yet the Senate own'd his Cause;
Which gave it, to the World, the Stamp of Virtue:
There his Ambition got the Start of Cæsar.

Dec.
Virtue, like Gold, will take the Stamp from Power.
Yet Truth must own, in what has pass'd this Day,
Had Cato's self been Witness of your Conduct,
He must with Praise, or Envy, have beheld it.

Cæs.
Cato wou'd term it but a specious Bribe
For Power: That Pompey's Blood was, in regard
To Rome, reveng'd, to court her Senate's Favour:
That Cleopatra's Beauty, not her Cause,
Regain'd her Crown: Yet Cato has his Merits:
And Men, one Day, may change their Thoughts of Cæsar.
The Time may come, when his destructive Arms
Shall well repay this Ravage of the World,
And force them, by Obedience, to be happy
So when the swelling Nile contemns her Bounds,
And with extended Waste, the Valleys drowns,
At length her ebbing Streams resign the Field,
And, to the pregnant Soil, a ten-fold Harvest yield.