University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Enter Cleomenes, Cleanthes, Pantheus.
Cleom.
The King sent for me, say'st thou! and to Council!

Clean.
And I was coming to you, on that Message,
Just when I met Pantheus.

Panth.
Good Omen, Sir, of some intended good,
Your Fortune mends: she reconciles apace,
When Ægypt makes th'Advances.

Cleom.
Rise a Prophet.
For since his Fathers death, this Ptolomey,
Has minded me no more
Then Boys their last Years Gugaws.
Petition on Petition; Prayer on Prayer,
For Aid, or free Dismission, all Unanswer'd;
As Cleomenes were not worth his Thought,
Or He, that God, which Epicurus dreamt;
Disclaiming Care, and lolling on a Cloud.

Panth.
At length, it seems it pleases him to wake.

Cleanth.
Yes, for himself, not you; he's drench'd too deep,
To wake on any Call, but his own danger:
My Father, his wise Pilot, has observ'd
The Face of Heaven, and sees a gathering Storm,
I know not from what quarter, but it threatens.
And while it Threats, he wants such hands as yours;
But when 'tis o're, the Thoughtless King returns,
To Native sloth, shifts sides, and slumbers on.

Panth.
Sure, he'll remember to reward those Hands,
That help'd him from the plunge.

Cleanth.
You Dream, Pantheus!
Of former times, when Gratitude was Virtue;
Reward him! Yes, like Æsop's Snake, the wretch
That warm'd him in his Bosom: We are Tools,
Vile abject things created for his use,
As Beasts for Men; as Oxen draw the Yoke,
And then are sacrific'd.

Cleom.
I would not use him so.

Cleanth.
You are not Ptolomy,
Nor is He Cleomenes.

Cleom.
I'll press him home,
To give me my dispatch; few Ships will serve
To bear my little Band and me to Greece;
I will not ask him one of his Ægyptians;
No, Let 'em keep 'em all for Slaves and Stallions,
Fit only to beget their Successors.

Cleanth.
Excepting one Ægyptian, that's my self.

Cleom.
Thou need'st not be expected; Thou art only,
Misplanted in a base degenerate Soil;
But Nature when she made thee, meant a Spartan.

Panth.
Then if your Father will but second us.—

Cleanth.
I dare not promise for him, but I'll try,
He loves me, Love and Interest sometimes
May make a Statesman honest.

Cleom.
For the King,
I know he'l not refuse us, for he dares not;
A Coward is the kindest Animal,
'Tis the most giving Creature in a fright.

Cleanth.
Say the most promising, and there you hit him.

Cleom.
Well, I'le attack him on the shaking side,
That next his fearful Heart.

Enter Cœnus.
Cœnus.
I come to mind you of the late Request,
You would not hear: Be pleas'd t'engage this Lord
And then it may succeed.

Cleom.
What wouldst thou, Cœnus?

Cœnus.
I brought along
Some Horses of the best Thessalian breed,
High spirited and strong, and made for War;
These I would fell the King.

Cleom.
Mistaken Man:
Thou shouldst have brought him Whores and Catamites;
Such Merchandize is fit for such a Monarch.

Cleanth.
Would'st thou bring Horses here to shame our Men?
Those very words of Spirited and War,
Are Treason in our Clime.

Cleom.
From the King downward, (if there be a downward,
From Ptolomy to any of his Slaves!)
No true Ægyptian ever knew in Horses
The Far Side from the Near.

Cleanth.
Cleomenes told thee true: Thou should have brought
A soft pad Strumpet for our Monarch's use,
Tho' thank'd be Hell, we want not one at home!
Our Master's Mistriss, she that Governs all.
'Tis well ye Pow'rs, ye made us but Ægyptians,
You could not have impos'd
On any other People such a Load
As an Effeminate Tyrant and a Woman.

Cleom.
Sell me thy Horses, and at my return,
When I have got from Conquer'd Greece the Pelf
That Noble Sparta scorns, I'll pay their value.

Cœnus.
Just as you paid me for the fair Estate
I sold you there.

[aside.
Cleom.
What's that you mutter?

Cœnus
aside.
Nothing: That's what his Hopes are worth—
Ex. Cœn.

Panth.
I fear he's gone away dissatisfy'd.

Cleanth.
I'll make it up: Those Horses I present you,
You'll put 'em to the use that Nature meant 'em.

Cleom.
I burden you too much!

Cleanth.
If you refuse, you burden me much more:
A Trifle this,
A singing Eunuch's price; A Pandar's Fee
Exceeds this Sum at Court.
The King expects us

Cleom.
Come after us, Pantheus;
And bring my Boy Cleonidas along,
I'll shew his Youth this base Luxurious Court,
Just as in sober Sparta we expose
Our drunken Helotes: Only with design
To wean our Children from the vice of Wine.

Exeunt.