 | Pompey the Great |  |
Scene First.
Ptolomey, Achillas, Photinus.Ptolom.
Beyond belief is the sad News you tell,
By the same Hand and Sword that Pompey fell,
Septimius slain? Achillas, wert thou there,
Saw'st thou the sad Effect of his Despair?
Achil.
I saw him Dye, and with his latest Breath
Seem to advise us in the Pangs of Death
To Judge of Cæsars slow advised Rage;
Wrath soon Inflam'd as quickly may Asswage,
But study'd Anger and deliberate Hate,
Grows up with Time and carries certain fate:
Nor must we hope his Fury will decline,
He calls it (Just Revenge) 'tis meer Design.
With Pompey's Ghost, a League he would Contract,
And Punishing that much Repented Act,
Strives to obtain, (for Cæsar Grasps at all)
Empire and Glory by his Rivals fall.
Ptolom.
Ah! had thy good Advice Belief obtain'd,
Without a Master Ptolomey had Reign'd,
But Kings still chuse (Govern'd by some ill Fate)
The worst Advice after a Long debate;
Destiny blinds them, or if any Light
Seem to inform, it but deceives their Sight,
And with delusive Glimmerings leads them on,
Till they have Reach'd their own Destruction.
Photin.
I was deceiv'd in Cæsar all this while,
For he his Rivals Death doth Murder style;
But since th'ungratefull Tyrant can Defame
So a Great a Service with so Foul a Name,
By the same Hand let his own Blood be spilt,
And we in that will wash our former Guilt.
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Nor would deferr Revenge till he depart,
This sharp Disease must have a Sudden Cure,
Let us no more his Insolence indure;
By Cæsar's Death wee'l Pompey's Ghost appease,
Secure our Selves, and give the whole World ease,
When Rome her Self shall call him Tyrant too,
And owe her Peace, and Liberty to you.
Ptolom.
Photinus, now thy Reasons must perswade.
Shall I descend to be of him Affraid,
VVhom I have Rais'd and made thus to be Fear'd?
No, no, my Vengeance shall not be Deferr'd,
That in one day Ægypt may twice become
The great Disposer of the Fates of Rome;
Cæsar forget thy Pride for Battel's won,
And only think of what my Power has done;
For Pompey fell beneath the Fatal stroke,
Pompey, who once thy Envy could provoke,
And therefore was as Great, the VVorld shall see,
That thou art Mortal too as well as he:
To the Dead Hero thou art grown so kind,
'Twere Cruelty to keep thee here behind.
Achil.
Sir, to our Selves it were: at once his fall
Gives full Revenge and Safety to us all;
Revenge and Safety dear to all Mankind,
And in his Death their Interests are Joyn'd.
Ptolom.
Nor shalt thou Cæsar of thy Justice boast,
I must appease both Romes and Pompey's Ghost,
And of thy Insolence Revenge will take,
VVho spar'st a King but for his Sisters sake;
Nor shall my Fortunes still in Danger lye,
Both of her Hate and thy Inconstancy,
That when you please, those Toyes my Life and Crown,
Reward a Smile, or Punishes a Frown.
No, my Respects and Fears are laid aside,
Thou shalt not long enjoy thy cruel Pride,
And since thou didst Command me to prepare
Victims for Pompey with advice and care,
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There is no fitter Sacrifice than thee,
Whose Blood might sooner on the Altar spilt,
Appease his Ghost or Expiate our Guilt;
But 'tis in Vain my Friends with Angry words
To threaten Cæsar; we must know what Swords
We can Employ to Exectue our Will,
The Tyrants Army are our Masters still:
Let us consult, and suddenly advise,
How to Destroy 'em by a close Surprize.
Achil.
Sir, Let us first secure our own Defence;
You have six Thousand men some two Miles hence,
Which I from several Quarters have drawn down
For fear of Stirs in this Tumultuous Town;
With all their Care the Romans have not found
A secret Sally we have under Ground,
Through which by Night unknown to Cæsars Guard,
We may Conduct them to the Palace Yard;
For should we now the Roman Host invade,
With Trumpets Sounding, Ensigns wide Display'd,
Head-long we might to Death and Danger run,
And vainly perish e're our Work were done.
No, at the Feast let him receive his Doom,
Doubly before with Love and Wine o'recome;
Then if we can but Muster all our Powers,
I'm Confident the Towns-men will be ours;
For I perceive the Tyrant does Incense
Their Angers by his Pomp and Insolence,
And when they saw his Vessels under Sail,
Proudly inforce our fearfull Fleet to Vail,
They scarcely could those Sparks of Anger tame,
Which we will quickly Blow into a Flame:
But above all the Valiant Roman Band,
Whom Dead Septimius lately did Command,
By all the Gods and Powers above have Sworn,
To be Reveng'd of Cæsar's Bloody scorn.
Ptolom.
But how to fix our Weapons in his Breast,
If all his Guard surround him at the Feast?
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Great Sir, the Roman Souldiers in your Pay,
Amongst the Servants of Cornelia
Have met with Friends and Kinsmen, who may be
Fit Actors all in this Great Tragedy;
These we shall soon perswade to undertake
Their Tyrants Slaughter for their Masters sake;
They as Cornelia's Train have free access,
Which may assure us of a good Success,
So that whilst Cæsar flatters Pompey's Wife,
He would secure, but shall expose his Life.
But Cleopatra comes, smooth your Rough Brow;
And wisely seem with Servil fear to bow;
We must begon being Objects of her Hate.
Ptolom.
Go, and expect me, I'le be with your straight.
| Pompey the Great | |