University of Virginia Library

SCENE 2.

Ptolomy, Cleopatra:
Cleop:
Brother, I have Cæsar seen.
And have to him your Intercessour been.

Ptol.
I never could expect an Act less kind
From you who bear so generous a Mind.
But your great Lover quickly from you went.

Cleop.
'Twas to the Town, t'appease some discontent,
Which he was told had newly raised been
Betwixt the Souldier and the Citizen:
Whilst I with joyful haste come to assure
You, that your Life and Kingdom were secure;
Th'Illustrious Cæsar on the Course you took
Does with less anger then Compassion look,
He pities you, who such vile States-men heard,
As make their Kings not to be lov'd, but fear'd;
Whose Souls the baseness of their Birth confess,
And who in vain great Dignities possess:
For Slavish Spirits cannot guide the Helm;
Those too much Power would quickly overwhelm,
That hand, whose Crimes alone do purchase Fear,
Will soon let fall a Weight it cannot bear.

Ptol.
Those Truths, and my ill Fate do me perswade
How bad a choice of Counsellours I made:
For had I acted Honourable things,
I had as Glorious been, as other Kings;
And better merited the Love you bear
A Brother, so unworthy of your Care;
Cæsar and Pompey had been here agreed,
And the Worlds Peace in Egypt been decreed;
Who her own Prince a friend to both had seen;
Nay, he (perhaps) an Arbiter had been.
But since to call this back is past our Art,
Let me discharge to you my Troubled heart;
You, that for all the Wrongs that I have done,
Could yet Preserve me both my Life and Crown;
Be truly great, and vanquish all your Hate,
By changing Photin's and Achilla's Fate.
For their offending you, their Death is due,
But that my Glory suffers in it too;
If for their Kings Crimes they should punish'd be,
The Infamy would wholly light on me;
Cæsar through them wounds me, their's is my Pain
For my sake, therefore, your Just Hate restrain:
Your heart is Noble, and what pleasure then
Is th'abject Blood of two unhappy Men?
Let me owe all to you, who Cæsar charm,
And, with a Look, his Anger can disarm,

Cleop.
Were but their Life and Death in me to give,
My scorn is great enough to let them live:
But I with Cæsar little can prevail,
When Pompey's Blood lies in the other scale;
I boast no Power to Dispose his will,
For I have spoke, and he hath shun'd it still,
And turning quickly to some new Affair,
He neither does refuse, nor grant my Prayer:
Yet Ile once more on that harsh Theam proceed,
In hope a New attempt may better speed;
And Ile believe.—

Ptol.
He comes, let me be gone,
Lest I should chance to draw his anger on;
My presence may enflame what t'would make less,
And you alone, may act with more success.