THE FALSE ONE
A Tragedy
by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Edited by Arnold Glover
PERSONS REPRESENTED IN THE PLAY.
Julius Cæsar, _Emperour of_ Rome.
Ptolomy, _King of_ Ægypt.
Achoreus, _an honest Counsellor, Priest of_ Isis.
Photinus, _a Politician, minion to_ Ptolomy.
Achillas, _Captain of the Guard to_ Ptolomy.
Septimius, _a revolted Roman Villain._
Labienus, _a Roman Souldier, and_ Nuncio.
Apollodorus, _Guardian to_ Cleopatra.
Antonie, )
Dolabella, ) Cæsars _Captains._
Sceva, _a free Speaker, also Captain to_ Cæsar.
_Guard._
_Three lame Souldiers._
_Servants._
_WOMEN._
Cleopatra, _Queen of_ Ægypt. Cæsar's _Mistris._
Arsino, Cleopatra's _Sister._
Eros, Cleopatra's _waiting Woman._
_The Scene_ Ægypt.
The principal Actors were,
_John Lowin._
_John Underwood._
_Robert Benfield._
_Richard Sharpe._
_Joseph Taylor._
_Nicholas Toolie._
_John Rice._
_George Birch._
_ACTUS PRIMUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Achillas, _and_ Achoreus.
[_Ach._] I love the King, nor do dispute his power,
(For that is not confin'd, nor to be censur'd
By me, that am his Subject) yet allow me
The liberty of a Man, that still would be
A friend to Justice, to demand the motives
That did induce young _Ptolomy_, or _Photinus_,
(To whose directions he gives up himself,
And I hope wisely) to commit his Sister,
The Princess _Cleopatra_ (if I said
The Queen) _Achillas_ 'twere (I hope) no treason,
She being by her Fathers Testament
(Whose memory I bow to) left Co-heir
In all he stood possest of.
_Achil._ 'Tis confest
(My good _Achoreus_) that in these Eastern Kingdoms
Women are not exempted from the Sceptre,
But claim a priviledge, equal to the Male;
But how much such divisions have ta'en from
The Majesty of _Egypt_, and what factions
Have sprung from those partitions, to the ruine
Of the poor Subject, (doubtful which to follow,)
We have too many, and too sad examples,
Therefore the wise _Photinus_, to prevent
The Murthers, and the Massacres, that attend
On disunited Government, and to shew
The King without a Partner, in full splendour,
Thought it convenient the fair _Cleopatra_,
(An attribute not frequent to the Climate)
Should be committed in safe Custody,
In which she is attended like her Birth,
Until her Beauty, or her royal Dowre,
Hath found her out a Husband.
_Ach._ How this may
Stand with the rules of policy, I know not;
Most sure I am, it holds no correspondence
With the Rites of _Ægypt_, or the Laws of Nature;
But grant that _Cleopatra_ can sit down
With this disgrace (though insupportable)
Can you imagine, that _Romes_ glorious Senate
(To whose charge, by the will of the dead King
This government was deliver'd) or great _Pompey_,
(That is appointed _Cleopatra_'s Guardian
As well as _Ptolomies_) will e're approve
Of this rash counsel, their consent not sought for,
That should authorize it?
_Achil._ The Civil war
In which the _Roman_ Empire is embarqu'd
On a rough Sea of danger, does exact
Their whole care to preserve themselves, and gives them
No vacant time to think of what we do,
Which hardly can concern them.
_Ach._ What's your opinion
Of the success? I have heard, in multitudes
Of Souldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,
_Pompey_ is much superiour.
_Achil._ I could give you
A Catalogue of all the several Nations
From whence he drew his powers: but that were tedious.
They have rich arms, are ten to one in number,
Which makes them think the day already won;
And _Pompey_ being master of the Sea,
Such plenty of all delicates are brought in,
As if the place on which they are entrench'd,
Were not a Camp of Souldiers, but _Rome_,
In which _Lucullus_ and _Apicius_ joyn'd,
To make a publique Feast: they at _Dirachium_
Fought with success; but knew not to make use of
_Fortunes_ fair offer: so much I have heard
_Cæsar_ himself confess.
_Ach._ Where are they now?
_Achil._ In _Thessalie_, near the _Pharsalian_ plains
Where _Cæsar_ with a handfull of his Men
Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
Flesh'd in the spoils of _Germany_ and _France_,
Inur'd to his Command, and only know
To fight and overcome; And though that _Famine_
Raigns in his Camp, compelling them to tast
Bread made of roots, forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorn threw into _Pompeys_ Camp
As in derision of his Delicates)
Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:
They still besiege him, being ambitious only
To come to blows, and let their swords determine
Who hath the better Cause.
_Enter_ Septi[m]ius.
_Ach._ May Victory
Attend on't, where it is.
_Achil._ We every hour
Expect to hear the issue.
_Sep._ Save my good Lords;
By _Isis_ and _Osiris_, whom you worship;
And the four hundred gods and goddesses
Ador'd in _Rome_, I am your honours servant.
_Ach._ Truth needs, _Septimius_, no oaths.
_Achil._ You are cruel,
If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.
_Sep._ Your Honour's bitter,
Confound me, where I love I cannot say it,
But I must swear't: yet such is my ill fortune,
Nor vows, nor protestations win belief,
I think, and (I can find no other reason)
Because I am a _Roman_.
_Ach._ No _Septimius_,
To be a _Roman_ were an honour to you,
Did not your manners, and your life take from it,
And cry aloud, that from _Rome_ you bring nothing
But _Roman_ Vices, which you would plant here,
But no seed of her vertues.
_Sep._ With your reverence
I am too old to learn.
_Ach._ Any thing honest,
That I believe, without an oath.
_Sep._ I fear
Your Lordship has slept ill to night, and that
Invites this sad discourse: 'twill make you old
Before your time:--O these vertuous Morals,
And old religious principles, that fool us!
I have brought you a new Song, will make you laugh,
Though you were at your prayers.
_A[c]h._ What is the subject?
Be free _Septimius_.
_Sep._ 'Tis a Catalogue
Of all the Gamesters of the Court and City,
Which Lord lyes with that Lady, and what Gallant
Sports with that Merchants wife; and does relate
Who sells her honour for a Diamond,
Who, for a tissew robe: whose husband's jealous,
And who so kind, that, to share with his wife,
Will make the match himself:
Harmless conceits,
Though fools say they are dangerous: I sang it
The last night at my Lord _Photinus_ table.
_Ach._ How? as a Fidler?
_Sep._ No Sir, as a Guest,
A welcom guest too: and it was approv'd of
By a dozen of his friends, though they were touch'd in't:
For look you, 'tis a kind of merriment,
When we have laid by foolish modesty
(As not a man of fashion will wear it)
To talk what we have done; at least to hear it;
If meerily set down, it fires the blood,
And heightens Crest-faln appetite.
_Ach._ New doctrine!
_Achil._ Was't of your own composing?
_Sep._ No, I bought it
Of a skulking Scribler for two Ptolomies:
But the hints were mine own; the wretch was fearfull:
But I have damn'd my self, should it be question'd,
That I will own it.
_Ach._ And be punished for it:
Take heed: for you may so long exercise
Your scurrilous wit against authority,
The Kingdoms Counsels; and make profane Jests,
(Which to you (being an atheist) is nothing)
Against Religion, that your great maintainers
(Unless they would be thought Co-partners with you)
Will leave you to the Law: and then, _Septimius_,
Remember there are whips.
_Sep._ For whore's I grant you,
When they are out of date, till then are safe too,
Or all the Gallants of the Court are Eunuchs,
And for mine own defence I'le only add this,
I'le be admitted for a wanton tale
To some most private Cabinets, when your Priest-hood
(Though laden with the mysteries of your goddess)
Shall wait without unnoted: so I leave you
To your pious thoughts. [_Exit._
_Achil._ 'Tis a strange impudence,
This fellow does put on.
_Ach._ The wonder great,
He is accepted of.
_Achil._ Vices, for him,
Make as free way as vertues doe for others.
'Tis the times fault: yet Great ones still have grace'd
To make them sport, or rub them o're with flattery,
Observers of all kinds.
_Enter_ Photinus, _and_ Septimius.
_Ach._ No more of him,
He is not worth our thoughts: a Fugitive
From _Pompeys_ army: and now in a danger
When he should use his service.
_Achil._ See how he hangs
On great _Photinus_ Ear.
_Sep._ Hell, and the furies,
And all the plagues of darkness light upon me:
You are my god on earth: and let me have
Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter.
_Pho._ Thou art believ'd: dost thou want mony?
_Sep._ No Sir.
_Pho._ Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow
Thy vehement protestations.
_Sep._ You much wrong me;
How can I want, when your beams shine upon me,
Unless employment to express my zeal
To do your greatness service? do but think
A deed so dark, the Sun would blush to look on,
For which Man-kind would curse me, and arm all
The powers above, and those below against me:
Command me, I will on.
_Pho._ When I have use,
I'le put you to the test.
_Sep._ May it be speedy,
And something worth my danger: you are cold,
And know not your own powers: this brow was fashion'd
To wear a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment,
Given to dispose of monarchies, not to govern
A childs affairs, the peoples eye's upon you,
The Souldier courts you: will you wear a garment
Of sordid loyalty when 'tis out of fashion?
_Pho._ When _Pompey_ was thy General, _Septimius_,
Thou saidst as much to him.
_Sep._ All my love to him,
To _Cæsar_, _Rome_, and the whole world is lost
In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend,
Project, design, or Countrey, but your favour,
Which I'le preserve at any rate.
_Pho._ No more;
When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps
Sooner than you expect, I may employ you,
So leave me for a while.
_Sep._ Ever your Creature. [_Exit._
_Pho._ Good day _Achoreus_; my best friend _Achillas_,
Hath fame deliver'd yet no certain rumour
Of the great _Roman Action_?
_Achil._ That we are
To enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave care
For _Egypts_ happiness, and great _Ptolomies_ good,
Hath eyes and ears in all parts.
_Enter_ Ptolomy, Labienus, _Guard._
_Pho._ I'le not boast,
What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere long
You shall know more. The King, with him a _Roman_.
_Ach._ The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
Dy'd deeply on his face.
_Achil._ 'Tis _Labienus_
_Cæsars_ Lieutenant in the wars of _Gaul_,
And fortunate in all his undertakings:
But since these Civil jars he turn'd to _Pompey_,
And though he followed the better Cause
Not with the like success.
_Pho._ Such as are wise
Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise;
But more of that hereafter.
_Lab._ In a word, Sir,
These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave,
Speak _Pompey's_ loss: to tell you of the Battail,
How many thousand several bloody shapes
Death wore that day in triumph: how we bore
The shock of _Cæsars_ charge: or with what fury
His Souldiers came on as if they had been
So many _Cæsars_, and like him ambitious
To tread upon the liberty of _Rome_:
How Fathers kill'd their Sons, or Sons their Fathers,
Or how the _Roman_ Piles on either side
Drew _Roman_ blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons,
(The sword) succeeded, which in Civil wars
Appoints the Tent on which wing'd victory
Shall make a certain Stand; then, how the Plains
Flow'd o're with blood, and what a cloud of vulturs
And other birds of prey, hung o're both armies,
Attending when their ready Servitors,
(The Souldiers, from whom the angry gods
Had took all sense of reason, and of pity)
Would serve in their own carkasses for a feast,
How _Cæsar_ with his Javelin force'd them on
That made the least stop, when their angry hands
Were lifted up against some known friends face;
Then coming to the body of the army
He shews the sacred _Senate_, and forbids them
To wast their force upon the Common Souldier,
Whom willingly, if e're he did know pity,
He would have spar'd.
_Ptol._ The reason _Labienus_?
_Lab._ Full well he knows, that in their blood he was
To pass to Empire, and that through their bowels
He must invade the Laws of _Rome_, and give
A period to the liberty of the world.
Then fell the _Lepidi_, and the bold _Corvini_,
The fam'd _Torquati_, _Scipio's_, and _Marcelli_,
(Names next to _Pompeys_, most renown'd on Earth)
The Nobles, and the Commons lay together,
And Pontique, Punique, and _Assyrian_ blood
Made up one crimson Lake: which _Pompey_ seeing,
And that his, and the fate of _Rome_ had left him
Standing upon the Rampier of his Camp,
Though scorning all that could fall on himself,
He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu'd
In his unlucky quarrel; cryes aloud too
That they should sound retreat, and save themselves:
That he desir'd not, so much noble blood
Should be lost in his service, or attend
On his misfortunes: and then, taking horse
With some few of his friends, he came to _Lesbos_,
And with _Cornelia_, his Wife, and Sons,
He's touch'd upon your shore: the King of _Parthia_,
(Famous in his defeature of the _Crassi_)
Offer'd him his protection, but _Pompey_
Relying on his Benefits, and your Faith,
Hath chosen _Ægypt_ for his Sanctuary,
Till he may recollect his scattered powers,
And try a second day: now _Ptolomy_,
Though he appear not like that glorious thing
That three times rode in triumph, and gave laws
To conquer'd Nations, and made Crowns his gift
(As this of yours, your noble Father took
From his victorious hand, and you still wear it
At his devotion) to do you more honour
In his declin'd estate, as the straightst Pine
In a full grove of his yet flourishing friends,
He flyes to you for succour, and expects
The entertainment of your Fathers friend,
And Guardian to your self.
_Ptol._ To say I grieve his fortune
As much as if the Crown I wear (his gift)
Were ravish'd from me, is a holy truth,
Our Gods can witness for me: yet, being young,
And not a free disposer of my self;
Let not a few hours, borrowed for advice,
Beget suspicion of unthankfulness,
(Which next to Hell I hate) pray you retire,
And take a little rest, and let his wounds
Be with that care attended, as they were
Carv'd on my flesh: good _Labienus_, think
The little respite, I desire shall be
Wholly emploi'd to find the readiest way
To doe great _Pompey_ service.
_Lab._ May the gods
(As you intend) protect you. [_Exit._
_Ptol._ Sit: sit all,
It is my pleasure: your advice, and freely.
_Ach._ A short deliberation in this,
May serve to give you counsel: to be honest,
Religious and thankfull, in themselves
Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish
Or gloss in the perswader; your kept faith,
(Though _Pompey_ never rise to th' height he's fallen from)
_Cæsar_ himself will love; and my opinion
Is (still committing it to graver censure)
You pay the debt you owe him, with the hazard
Of all you can call yours.
_Ptol._ What's yours, (_Photinus_?)
_Pho._ _Achoreus_ (great _Ptolomy_) hath counsell'd
Like a Religious, and honest man,
Worthy the honour that he justly holds
In being Priest to _Isis_: But alas,
What in a man, sequester'd from the world,
Or in a private person, is prefer'd,
No policy allows of in a King,
To be or just, or thankfull, makes Kings guilty,
And faith (though prais'd) is punish'd that supports
Such as good Fate forsakes: joyn with the gods,
Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched,
The Stars are not more distant from the Earth
Than profit is from honesty; all the power,
Prerogative, and greatness of a Prince
Is lost, if he descend once but to steer
His course, as what's right, guides him: let him leave
The Scepter, that strives only to be good,
Since Kingdomes are maintain'd by force and blood.
_Ach._ Oh wicked!
_Ptol._ Peace: goe on.
_Pho._ Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth,
In thinking that you cannot keep your own
From such as are or'e come. If you are tired
With being a King, let not a stranger take
What nearer pledges challenge: resign rather
The government of _Egypt_ and of _Nile_
To _Cleopatra_, that has title to them,
At least defend them from the Roman _gripe_,
What was not _Pompeys_, while the wars endured,
The Conquerour will not challenge; by all the world
Forsaken and despis'd, your gentle Guardian
His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice of
What Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'd
By their pale ghosts, slain in this Civil war,
He flyes not _Cæsar_ only, but the Senate,
Of which, the greater part have cloi'd the hunger
Of sharp _Pharsalian_ fowl, he flies the Nations
That he drew to his Quarrel, whose Estates
Are sunk in his: and in no place receiv'd,
Hath found out _Egypt_, by him yet not ruin'd:
And _Ptolomy_, things consider'd, justly may
Complain of _Pompey_: wherefore should he stain
Our _Egypt_, with the spots of civil war?
Or make the peaceable, or quiet _Nile_
Doubted of _Cæsar_? wherefore should he draw
His loss, and overthrow upon our heads?
Or choose this place to suffer in? already
We have offended _Cæsar_, in our wishes,
And no way left us to redeem his favour
But by the head of _Pompey_.
_Ach._ Great _Osiris_,
Defend thy _Ægypt_ from such cruelty,
And barbarous ingratitude!
_Pho._ Holy trifles,
And not to have place in designs of State;
This sword, which Fate commands me to unsheath,
I would not draw on _Pompey_, if not vanquish'd.
I grant it rather should have pass'd through _Cæsar_,
But we must follow where his fortune leads us;
All provident Princes measure their intents
According to their power, and so dispose them:
And thinkst thou (_Ptolomy_) that thou canst prop
His Ruines, under whom sad _Rome_ now suffers?
Or 'tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd?
Shall we, that in the Battail sate as Neuters
Serve him that's overcome? No, no, he's lost.
And though 'tis noble to a sinking friend
To lend a helping hand, while there is hope
He may recover, thy part not engag'd
Though one most dear, when all his hopes are dead,
To drown him, set thy foot upon his head.
_Ach._ Most execrable Counsel.
_Pho._ To be follow'd,
'Tis for the Kingdoms safety.
_Ptol._ We give up
Our absolute power to thee: dispose of it
As reason shall direct thee.
_Pho._ Good _Achillas_,
Seek out _Septimius_: do you but sooth him,
He is already wrought: leave the dispatch
To me of _Labienus_: 'tis determin'd
Already how you shall proceed: nor Fate
Shall alter it, since now the dye is cast,
But that this hour to _Pompey_ is his last. [_Exit._
SCENA II.
_Enter_ Apollodorus, Eros, Arsino.
_Apol._ Is the Queen stirring, _Eros_?
_Eros._ Yes, for in truth
She touch'd no bed to night.
_Apol._ I am sorry for it,
And wish it were in me, with my hazard,
To give her ease.
_Ars._ Sir, she accepts your will,
And does acknowledge she hath found you noble,
So far, as if restraint of liberty
Could give admission to a thought of mirth,
She is your debtor for it.
_Apol._ Did you tell her
Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertain her?
She was us'd to take delight, with her fair hand,
To angle in the _Nile_, where the glad fish
(As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em)
Contended to be taken: other times
To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,
Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks her
To his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate,
Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen
To fall a Sacrifice before the altar
Of the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great _Photinus_
Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuit
In which she is confin'd, gladly affords
Variety of pastimes, which I would
Encrease with my best service.
_Eros._ O, but the thought
That she that was born free, and to dispense
Restraint, or liberty to others, should be
At the devotion of her Brother, whom
She only knows her equal, makes this place
In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)
A loathsome dungeon to her.
_Apol._ Yet, (howe're
She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting
To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd
Choise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'd
Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time)
In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy.
THE SONG.
_Look out bright eyes, and bless the air:_
_Even in shadows you are fair._
_Shut-up-beauty is like fire,_
_That breaks out clearer still and higher._
_Though your body be confin'd,_
_And soft Love a prisoner bound,_
_Yet the beauty of your mind_
_Neither check, nor chain hath found._
_Look out nobly then, and dare_
_Even the Fetters that you wear._
_Enter_ Cleopatra.
_Cleo._ But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty,
And love in you, my _Guardian_, and desire
In you, my _Sister_, and the rest, to please us,
We should receive this, as a sawcy rudeness
Offer'd our private thoughts. But your intents
Are to delight us: alas, you wash an _Ethiop_:
Can _Cleopatra_, while she does remember
Whose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (O
I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)
There is no place in _Ægypt_, where I stand,
But that the tributary Earth is proud
To kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen,
Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relish
Of comfort, or delight, while base _Photinus_,
Bond-man _Achillas_, and all other monsters
That raign o're _Ptolomy_, make that a Court,
Where they reside, and this, where I, a Prison?
But there's a _Rome_, a _Senate_, and a _Cæsar_,
(Though the great _Pompey_ lean to _Ptolomy_)
May think of _Cleopatra_.
_Ap._ _Pompey_, Madam?
_Cleo._ What of him? speak: if ill, _Apollodorus_,
It is my happiness: and for thy news
Receive a favour (_Kings_ have kneel'd in vain for)
And kiss my hand.
_Ap._ He's lost.
_Cleo._ Speak it again!
_Ap._ His army routed: he fled and pursu'd
By the all-conquering Cæsar.
_Cleo._ Whither bends he?
_Ap._ To _Egypt_.
_Cleo._ Ha! in person?
_Ap._ 'Tis receiv'd
For an undoubted truth.
_Cleo._ I live again,
And if assurance of my love, and beauty
Deceive me not, I now shall find a Judge
To do me right: but how to free my self,
And get access? the _Guards_ are strong upon me,
This door I must pass through. _Apollodorus_,
Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,)
Thy life was not thine own.
_Ap._ I am not alter'd;
And let your excellency propound a means,
In which I may but give the least assistance,
That may restore you, to that you were born to,
(Though it call on the anger of the King,
Or, (what's more deadly) all his Minion
_Photinus_ can do to me) I, unmov'd,
Offer my throat to serve you: ever provided,
It bear some probable shew to be effected.
To lose my self upon no ground, were madness,
Not loyal duty.
_Cleo._ Stand off: to thee alone,
I will discover what I dare not trust
My Sister with, _Cæsar_ is amorous,
And taken more with the title of a Queen,
Than feature or proportion, he lov'd _Eunoe_,
A _Moor_, deformed too, I have heard, that brought
No other object to inflame his blood,
But that her Husband was a King, on both
He did bestow rich presents; shall I then,
That with a princely birth, bring beauty with me,
That know to prize my self at mine own rate,
Despair his favour? art thou mine?
_Ap._ I am.
_Cleo._ I have found out a way shall bring me to him,
Spight of _Photinus_ watches; if I prosper,
(As I am confident I shall) expect
Things greater than thy wishes; though I purchase
His grace with loss of my virginity,
It skills not, if it bring home Majesty. [_Exeunt._
_ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Septimius, _with a head_, Achillas, _Guard._
_Sep._ 'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearfull viewers,
Shake, and behold the model of the world here,
The pride, and strength, look, look again, 'tis finish'd;
That, that whole Armies, nay whole nations,
Many and mighty Kings, have been struck blind at,
And fled before, wing'd with their fears and terrours,
That steel war waited on, and fortune courted,
That high plum'd honour built up for her own;
Behold that mightiness, behold that fierceness,
Behold that child of war, with all his glories;
By this poor hand made breathless, here (my _Achillas_)
_Egypt_, and _Cæsar_, owe me for this service,
And all the conquer'd Nations.
_Ach._ Peace _Septimius_,
Thy words sound more ungratefull than thy actions,
Though sometimes safety seek an instrument
Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)
Think not she is bound to love him too, that's barbarous.
Why did not I, if this be meritorious,
And binds the King unto me, and his bounties,
Strike this rude stroke? I'le tell thee (thou poor _Roman_)
It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
Not heave a thought.
_Sep._ It was.
_Ach._ I'le tell thee truely,
And if thou ever yet heard'st tell of honour,
I'le make thee blush: It was thy General's;
That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,
The air thou breath'dst was his; the fire that warm'd thee,
From his care kindled ever, nay, I'le show thee,
(Because I'le make thee sensible of the business,
And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy foot on
But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion.
He triumph'd three times, who durst touch his person?
The very walls of _Rome_ bow'd to his presence,
Dear to the Gods he was, to them that fear'd him
A fair and noble Enemy. Didst thou hate him?
And for thy love to _Cæsar_, sought his ruine?
Arm'd in the red _Pharsalian_ fields, _Septimius_,
Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,
Where Kings were fair competitours for honour,
Thou shouldst have come up to him, there have fought him,
There, Sword to Sword.
_Sep._ I kill'd him on commandment,
If Kings commands be fair, when you all fainted,
When none of you durst look--
_Ach._ On deeds so barbarous,
What hast thou got?
_Sep._ The Kings love, and his bounty,
The honour of the service, which though you rail at,
Or a thousand envious souls fling their foams on me,
Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:
And I shall live.
_Ach._ A miserable villain,
What reputation, and reward belongs to it
Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;
And be not impudent to ask me why, Sirrah,
Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes the reason:
The shame and obloquy I leave thine own,
Inherit those rewards, they are fitter for thee,
Your oyl's spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.
[_Exit._
_Sep._ The King will yet consider.
_Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus.
_Achil._ Here he comes Sir.
_Ach._ Yet if it be undone: hear me great Sir,
If this inhumane stroak be yet unstrucken,
If that adored head be not yet sever'd
From the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,
The desolations that this great Eclipse works,
You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire
Upon the Tomb of him will shake all _Egypt_,
Whose warlike groans will raise ten thousand Spirits,
(Great as himself) in every hand a thunder;
Destructions darting from their looks, and sorrows
That easy womens eyes shall never empty.
_Pho._ You have done well; and 'tis done, see _Achillas_,
And in his hand the head.
_Ptol._ Stay come no nearer,
Me thinks I feel the very earth shake under me,
I do remember him, he was my guardian,
Appointed by the Senate to preserve me:
What a full Majesty sits in his face yet?
_Pho._ The King is troubled: be not frighted Sir,
Be not abus'd with fears; his death was necessary,
If you consider, Sir, most necessary,
Not to be miss'd: and humbly thank great _Isis_,
He came so opportunely to your hands;
Pity must now give place to rules of safety.
Is not victorious _Cæsar_ new arriv'd,
And enter'd _Alexandria_, with his friends,
His _Navy_ riding by to wait his charges?
Did he not beat this _Pompey_, and pursu'd him?
Was not this great man, his great enemy?
This Godlike vertuous man, as people held him,
But what fool dare be friend to flying vertue?
_Enter_ Cæsar, Anthony, Dolabella, Sceva.
I hear their Trumpets, 'tis too late to stagger,
Give me the head, and be you confident:
Hail Conquerour, and head of all the world,
Now this head's off.
_Cæsar_. Ha?
_Pho._ Do not shun me, _Cæsar_,
From kingly _Ptolomy_ I bring this present,
The Crown, and sweat of thy _Pharsalian_ labour:
The goal and mark of high ambitious honour.
Before thy victory had no name, _Cæsar_,
Thy travel and thy loss of blood, no recompence,
Thou dreamst of being worthy, and of war;
And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers,
Here they take life: here they inherit honour,
Grow fixt, and shoot up everlasting triumphs:
Take it, and look upon thy humble servant,
With noble eyes look on the Princely _Ptolomy_,
That offers with this head (most mighty _Cæsar_)
What thou would'st once have given for it, all _Egypt_.
_Ach._ Nor do not question it (most royal Conquerour)
Nor dis-esteem the benefit that meets thee,
Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer:
Yet let me tell thee (most imperious _Cæsar_)
Though he oppos'd no strength of Swords to win this,
Nor labour'd through no showres of darts, and lances:
Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
An inward war: he was his Grand-sires Guest;
Friend to his Father, and when he was expell'd
And beaten from this Kingdom by strong hand,
And had none left him, to restore his honour,
No hope to find a friend, in such a misery;
Then in stept _Pompey_; took his feeble fortune:
Strengthen'd, and cherish'd it, and set it right again,
This was a love to _Cæsar_.
_Sceva._ Give me, hate, Gods.
_Pho._ This _Cæsar_ may account a little wicked,
But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?
If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that way!
He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted,
Had been most terrible: let the worst be render'd,
We have deserv'd for keeping thy hands innocent.
_Cæsar._ Oh _Sceva, Sceva_, see that head: see Captains,
The head of godlike _Pompey_.
_Sceva._ He was basely ruin'd,
But let the Gods be griev'd that suffer'd it,
And be you Cæsar--
_Cæsar._ Oh thou Conquerour,
Thou glory of the world once, now the pity:
Thou awe of Nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?
What poor fate follow'd thee, and pluckt thee on
To trust thy sacred life to an _Egyptian_;
The life and light of _Rome_, to a blind stranger,
That honorable war ne'r taught a nobleness,
Nor worthy circumstance shew'd what a man was,
That never heard thy name sung, but in banquets;
And loose lascivious pleasures? to a Boy,
That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness,
No study of thy life to know thy goodness;
And leave thy Nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Leave him (distrusted) that in tears falls with thee?
(In soft relenting tears) hear me (great _Pompey_)
(If thy great spirit can hear) I must task thee:
Thou hast most unnobly rob'd me of my victory,
My love, and mercy.
_Ant._ O how brave these tears shew!
How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy!
_Dol._ Glory appears not greater than this goodness.
_Cæsar._ _Egyptians_, dare you think your high _Pyramides_,
Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy Kings lye rak'd in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of _Nilus_)
Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven;
No _Pyramides_ set off his memories,
But the eternal substance of his greatness
To which I leave him: take the head away,
And (with the body) give it noble burial,
Your Earth shall now be bless'd to hold a _Roman_,
Whose braverys all the worlds-Earth cannot ballance.
_Sce._ If thou bee'st thus loving, I shall honour thee,
But great men may dissemble, 'tis held possible,
And be right glad of what they seem to weep for,
There are such kind of Philosophers; now do I wonder
How he would look if _Pompey_ were alive again,
But how he would set his face?
_Cæsar._ You look now, King,
And you that have been Agents in this glory,
For our especial favour?
_Ptol._ We desire it.
_Cæsar._ And doubtless you expect rewards.
_Sceva_. Let me give 'em:
I'le give 'em such as nature never dreamt of,
I'le beat him and his Agents (in a morter)
Into one man, and that one man I'le bake then.
_Cæsar_. Peace: I forgive you all, that's recompence:
You are young, and ignorant, that pleads your pardon,
And fear it may be more than hate provok'd ye,
Your Ministers, I must think, wanted judgment,
And so they err'd: I am bountiful to think this;
Believe me most bountiful; be you most thankful,
That bounty share amongst ye: if I knew
What to send you for a present, King of _Egypt_,
(I mean a head of equal reputation
And that you lov'd) though it were your brightest Sisters,
(But her you hate) I would not be behind ye.
_Ptol._ Hear me, (Great _Cæsar_.)
_Cæs._ I have heard too much,
And study not with smooth shews to invade
My noble Mind as you have done my Conquest.
Ye are poor and open: I must tell ye roundly,
That Man that could not recompence the Benefits,
The great and bounteous services of _Pompey_,
Can never dote upon the Name of _Cæsar_;
Though I had hated _Pompey_, and allow'd his ruine,
[I gave you no commission to performe it:]
Hasty to please in Blood are seldome trusty;
And but I stand inviron'd with my Victories,
My Fortune never failing to befriend me,
My noble strengths, and friends about my Person,
I durst not try ye, nor expect: a Courtesie,
Above the pious love you shew'd to _Pompey_.
You have found me merciful in arguing with you;
Swords, Hangmen, Fires, Destructions of all natures,
Demolishments of Kingdoms, and whole Ruines
Are wont to be my Orators; turn to tears,
You wretched and poor seeds of Sun-burnt _Egypt_,
And now you have found the nature of a Conquerour,
That you cannot decline with all your flatteries,
That where the day gives light will be himself still,
Know how to meet his Worth with humane Courtesies,
Go, and embalm those bones of that great Souldier;
Howl round about his Pile, fling on your Spices,
Make a _Sabæan_ Bed, and place this Phoenix
Where the hot Sun may emulate his Vertues,
And draw another _Pompey_ from his ashes
Divinely great, and fix him 'mongst the Worthies.
_Ptol._ We will do all.
_Cæs._ You have rob'd him of those tears
His Kindred and his Friends kept sacred for him;
The Virgins of their Funeral Lamentations:
And that kind Earth that thought to cover him,
(His Countries Earth) will cry out 'gainst your Cruelty,
And weep unto the Ocean for revenge,
Till _Nilus_ raise his seven heads and devour ye;
My grief has stopt the rest: when _Pompey_ liv'd
He us'd you nobly, now he is dead use him so. [_Exit._
_Ptol._ Now, where's your confidence? your aim (_Photinus_)
The Oracles, and fair Favours from the Conquerour
You rung into mine Ears? how stand I now?
You see the tempest of his stern displeasure,
The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
To stop his Rage, presaging a full ruine;
Where are your Counsels now?
_Acho._ I told you, Sir,
(And told the truth) what danger would flye after;
And though an Enemy, I satisfied you
He was a _Roman_, and the top of Honour;
And howsoever this might please Great _Cæsar_,
I told ye that the foulness of his Death,
The impious baseness--
_Pho._ Peace, you are a Fool,
Men of deep ends must tread as deep ways to 'em;
_Cæsar_ I know is pleas'd, and for all his sorrows
(Which are put on for forms and meer dissemblings)
I am confident he's glad; to have told ye so,
And thank ye outwardly, had been too open,
And taken from the Wisedom of a Conquerour.
Be confident and proud ye have done this service;
Ye have deserv'd, and ye will find it highly:
Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure
You keep your Sister, (the high-soul'd Cleopatra)
Both close and short enough, she may not see him;
The rest, if I may counsel, Sir--
_Ptol._ Do all;
For in thy faithful service rests my safety. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Septimius.
_Sept._ Here's a strange alteration in the Court;
Mens Faces are of other setts and motions,
Their minds of subtler stuff; I pass by now
As though I were a Rascal, no man knows me,
No Eye looks after; as I were a Plague
Their doors shut close against me; and I wondred at
Because I have done a meritorious Murther;
Because I have pleas'd the Time, does the Time plague me?
I have known the day they would have hug'd me for it,
For a less stroke than this have done me Reverence;
Open'd their Hearts and secret Closets to me,
Their Purses, and their Pleasures, and bid me wallow.
I now perceive the great Thieves eat the less,
And the huge Leviathans of Villany
Sup up the merits, nay the men and all
That do them service, and spowt 'em out again
Into the air, as thin and unregarded
As drops of Water that are lost i'th' Ocean:
I was lov'd once for swearing, and for drinking,
And for other principal Qualities that became me,
Now a foolish unthankful Murther has undone me,
If my Lord _Photinus_ be not merciful
_Enter_ Photinus.
That set me on; And he comes, now Fortune.
_Pho._ Cæsars unthankfulness a little stirs me,
A little frets my bloud; take heed, proud _Roman_,
Provoke me not, stir not mine anger farther;
I may find out a way unto thy life too,
(Though arm'd in all thy Victories) and seize it.
A Conquerour has a heart, and I may hit it.
_Sept_. May it please your Lordship?
_Pho._ O _Septimius_!
_Sept._ Your [Lordship] knows my wrongs.
_Pho._ Wrongs?
_Sept._ Yes, my Lord,
How the Captain of the Guard, _Achillas_, slights me.
_Pho._ Think better of him, he has much befriended thee,
Shew'd thee much love in taking the head from thee.
The times are alter'd (Souldier) _Cæsar's_ angry,
And our design to please him lost and perish'd;
Be glad thou art unnam'd, 'tis not worth the owning;
Yet, that thou maist be useful--
_Sept._ Yes, my Lord,
I shall be ready.
_Pho._ For I may employ thee
To take a rub or two out of my way,
As time shall serve, say that it be a Brother?
Or a hard Father?
_Sept._ 'Tis most necessary,
A Mother, or a Sister, or whom you please, Sir.
_Pho._ Or to betray a noble Friend?
_Sept._ 'Tis all one.
_Pho._ I know thou wilt stir for Gold.
_Sept._ 'Tis all my motion.
_Pho._ There, take that for thy service, and farewel;
I have greater business now.
_Sept._ I am still your own, Sir.
_Pho._ One thing I charge thee, see me no more, _Septimius_,
Unless I send. [_Exit._
_Sept._ I shall observe your hour.
So, this brings something in the mouth, some savour;
This is the Lord I serve, the Power I worship,
My Friends, Allies, and here lies my Allegiance.
Let People talk as they please of my rudeness,
And shun me for my deed; bring but this to 'em,
(Let me be damn'd for blood) yet still I am honourable,
This God creates new tongues, and new affections;
And though I had kill'd my Father, give me Gold
I'll make men swear I have done a pious Sacrifice;
Now I will out-brave all; make all my Servants,
And my brave deed shall be writ in Wine, for vertuous. [_Exit._