The False One: A Tragedy

Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher

The False One: A Tragedy

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.

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'dBy me, that am his Subject) yet allow meThe liberty of a Man, that still would beA friend to Justice, to demand the motivesThat 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 saidThe Queen) Achillas 'twere (I hope) no treason,She being by her Fathers Testament(Whose memory I bow to) left Co-heirIn all he stood possest of.Achil. 'Tis confest(My good Achoreus) that in these Eastern KingdomsWomen are not exempted from the Sceptre,But claim a priviledge, equal to the Male;But how much such divisions have ta'en fromThe Majesty of Egypt, and what factionsHave sprung from those partitions, to the ruineOf the poor Subject, (doubtful which to follow,)We have too many, and too sad examples,Therefore the wise Photinus, to preventThe Murthers, and the Massacres, that attendOn disunited Government, and to shewThe 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 mayStand with the rules of policy, I know not;Most sure I am, it holds no correspondenceWith the Rites of Ægypt, or the Laws of Nature;But grant that Cleopatra can sit downWith this disgrace (though insupportable)Can you imagine, that Romes glorious Senate(To whose charge, by the will of the dead KingThis government was deliver'd) or great Pompey,(That is appointed Cleopatra's GuardianAs well as Ptolomies) will e're approveOf this rash counsel, their consent not sought for,That should authorize it?Achil. The Civil warIn which the Roman Empire is embarqu'dOn a rough Sea of danger, does exactTheir whole care to preserve themselves, and gives themNo vacant time to think of what we do,Which hardly can concern them.Ach. What's your opinionOf the success? I have heard, in multitudesOf Souldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,Pompey is much superiour.Achil. I could give youA Catalogue of all the several NationsFrom 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 DirachiumFought with success; but knew not to make use ofFortunes fair offer: so much I have heardCæsar himself confess.Ach. Where are they now?Achil. In Thessalie, near the Pharsalian plainsWhere Cæsar with a handfull of his MenHems in the greater number: his whole troopsExceed not twenty thousand, but old SouldiersFlesh'd in the spoils of Germany and France,Inur'd to his Command, and only knowTo fight and overcome; And though that FamineRaigns in his Camp, compelling them to tastBread made of roots, forbid the use of man,(Which they with scorn threw into Pompeys CampAs in derision of his Delicates)Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:They still besiege him, being ambitious onlyTo come to blows, and let their swords determineWho hath the better Cause. Enter Septi[m]iusAch. May VictoryAttend on't, where it is.Achil. We every hourExpect to hear the issue.Sep. Save my good Lords;By Isis and Osiris, whom you worship;And the four hundred gods and goddessesAdor'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 himThree 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 nothingBut Roman Vices, which you would plant here,But no seed of her vertues.Sep. With your reverenceI am too old to learn.Ach. Any thing honest,That I believe, without an oath.Sep. I fearYour Lordship has slept ill to night, and thatInvites this sad discourse: 'twill make you oldBefore 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 CatalogueOf all the Gamesters of the Court and City,Which Lord lyes with that Lady, and what GallantSports with that Merchants wife; and does relateWho 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 itThe 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 ofBy 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 itOf 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 exerciseYour 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 taleTo some most private Cabinets, when your Priest-hood(Though laden with the mysteries of your goddess)Shall wait without unnoted: so I leave youTo 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'dTo make them sport, or rub them o're with flattery,Observers of all kinds. Enter Photinus, and SeptimiusAch. No more of him,He is not worth our thoughts: a FugitiveFrom Pompeys army: and now in a dangerWhen he should use his service.Achil. See how he hangsOn 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 haveYour 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 followThy vehement protestations.Sep. You much wrong me;How can I want, when your beams shine upon me,Unless employment to express my zealTo do your greatness service? do but thinkA deed so dark, the Sun would blush to look on,For which Man-kind would curse me, and arm allThe 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'dTo wear a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment,Given to dispose of monarchies, not to governA childs affairs, the peoples eye's upon you,The Souldier courts you: will you wear a garmentOf 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 lostIn 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: perhapsSooner 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 rumourOf the great Roman Action?Achil. That we areTo enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave careFor Egypts happiness, and great Ptolomies good,Hath eyes and ears in all parts. Enter Ptolomy, Labienus, GuardPho. I'le not boast,What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere longYou shall know more. The King, with him a Roman.Ach. The scarlet livery of unfortunate warDy'd deeply on his face.Achil. 'Tis LabienusCæsars 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 CauseNot with the like success.Pho. Such as are wiseLeave 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 shapesDeath wore that day in triumph: how we boreThe shock of Cæsars charge: or with what furyHis Souldiers came on as if they had beenSo many Cæsars, and like him ambitiousTo tread upon the liberty of Rome:How Fathers kill'd their Sons, or Sons their Fathers,Or how the Roman Piles on either sideDrew Roman blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons,(The sword) succeeded, which in Civil warsAppoints the Tent on which wing'd victoryShall make a certain Stand; then, how the PlainsFlow'd o're with blood, and what a cloud of vultursAnd other birds of prey, hung o're both armies,Attending when their ready Servitors,(The Souldiers, from whom the angry godsHad 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 onThat made the least stop, when their angry handsWere lifted up against some known friends face;Then coming to the body of the armyHe shews the sacred Senate, and forbids themTo 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 wasTo pass to Empire, and that through their bowelsHe must invade the Laws of Rome, and giveA 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 bloodMade up one crimson Lake: which Pompey seeing,And that his, and the fate of Rome had left himStanding upon the Rampier of his Camp,Though scorning all that could fall on himself,He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu'dIn his unlucky quarrel; cryes aloud tooThat they should sound retreat, and save themselves:That he desir'd not, so much noble bloodShould be lost in his service, or attendOn his misfortunes: and then, taking horseWith 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 PompeyRelying 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 thingThat three times rode in triumph, and gave lawsTo conquer'd Nations, and made Crowns his gift(As this of yours, your noble Father tookFrom his victorious hand, and you still wear itAt his devotion) to do you more honourIn his declin'd estate, as the straightst PineIn a full grove of his yet flourishing friends,He flyes to you for succour, and expectsThe entertainment of your Fathers friend,And Guardian to your self.Ptol. To say I grieve his fortuneAs 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 woundsBe with that care attended, as they wereCarv'd on my flesh: good Labienus, thinkThe little respite, I desire shall beWholly emploi'd to find the readiest wayTo 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 themselvesAre forcible motives, and can need no flourishOr gloss in the perswader; your kept faith,(Though Pompey never rise to th' height he's fallen from)Cæsar himself will love; and my opinionIs (still committing it to graver censure)You pay the debt you owe him, with the hazardOf all you can call yours.Ptol. What's yours, (Photinus?)Pho. Achoreus (great Ptolomy) hath counsell'dLike a Religious, and honest man,Worthy the honour that he justly holdsIn 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 supportsSuch as good Fate forsakes: joyn with the gods,Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched,The Stars are not more distant from the EarthThan profit is from honesty; all the power,Prerogative, and greatness of a PrinceIs lost, if he descend once but to steerHis course, as what's right, guides him: let him leaveThe 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 ownFrom such as are or'e come. If you are tiredWith being a King, let not a stranger takeWhat nearer pledges challenge: resign ratherThe government of Egypt and of NileTo 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 worldForsaken and despis'd, your gentle GuardianHis hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice ofWhat Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'dBy 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 hungerOf sharp Pharsalian fowl, he flies the NationsThat he drew to his Quarrel, whose EstatesAre 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 mayComplain of Pompey: wherefore should he stainOur Egypt, with the spots of civil war?Or make the peaceable, or quiet NileDoubted of Cæsar? wherefore should he drawHis loss, and overthrow upon our heads?Or choose this place to suffer in? alreadyWe have offended Cæsar, in our wishes,And no way left us to redeem his favourBut 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 intentsAccording to their power, and so dispose them:And thinkst thou (Ptolomy) that thou canst propHis Ruines, under whom sad Rome now suffers?Or 'tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd?Shall we, that in the Battail sate as NeutersServe him that's overcome? No, no, he's lost.And though 'tis noble to a sinking friendTo lend a helping hand, while there is hopeHe may recover, thy part not engag'dThough 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 upOur absolute power to thee: dispose of itAs reason shall direct thee.Pho. Good Achillas,Seek out Septimius: do you but sooth him,He is already wrought: leave the dispatchTo me of Labienus: 'tis determin'dAlready how you shall proceed: nor FateShall alter it, since now the dye is cast,But that this hour to Pompey is his last. [Exit.

SCENA II

Enter Apollodorus, Eros, ArsinoApol. Is the Queen stirring, Eros?Eros. Yes, for in truthShe 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 libertyCould give admission to a thought of mirth,She is your debtor for it.Apol. Did you tell herOf 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 timesTo strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks herTo his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate,Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosenTo fall a Sacrifice before the altarOf the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great PhotinusForbid her any pleasure; and the CircuitIn which she is confin'd, gladly affordsVariety of pastimes, which I wouldEncrease with my best service.Eros. O, but the thoughtThat she that was born free, and to dispenseRestraint, or liberty to others, should beAt the devotion of her Brother, whomShe only knows her equal, makes this placeIn which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)A loathsome dungeon to her.Apol. Yet, (howe'reShe shall interpret it) I'le not be wantingTo do my best to serve her: I have prepar'dChoise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'dSome few lines, (set unto a solemn time)In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy.The SONGLook 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 mindNeither check, nor chain hath found.Look out nobly then, and dareEven the Fetters that you wear. Enter CleopatraCleo. But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty,And love in you, my Guardian, and desireIn you, my Sister, and the rest, to please us,We should receive this, as a sawcy rudenessOffer'd our private thoughts. But your intentsAre to delight us: alas, you wash an Ethiop:Can Cleopatra, while she does rememberWhose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (OI suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)There is no place in Ægypt, where I stand,But that the tributary Earth is proudTo kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen,Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relishOf comfort, or delight, while base Photinus,Bond-man Achillas, and all other monstersThat 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 newsReceive 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'dBy the all-conquering Cæsar.Cleo. Whither bends he?Ap. To Egypt.Cleo. Ha! in person?Ap. 'Tis receiv'dFor an undoubted truth.Cleo. I live again,And if assurance of my love, and beautyDeceive me not, I now shall find a JudgeTo 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 MinionPhotinus 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 trustMy 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 broughtNo other object to inflame his blood,But that her Husband was a King, on bothHe 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) expectThings greater than thy wishes; though I purchaseHis 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, GuardSep. '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 instrumentOf 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 onBut 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 himA 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 itThus (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.[ExitSep. The King will yet consider. Enter Ptolomy, Achoreus, PhotinusAchil. 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'dFrom the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,The desolations that this great Eclipse works,You are young, be provident: fix not your EmpireUpon 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 sorrowsThat 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, ScevaI 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'dAnd 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 onTo 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!