The False One: A Tragedy
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SCENA III
Enter Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus, AchillasPtol. I have commanded, and it shall be so,A preparation I have set o' foot,Worthy the friendship and the fame of Cæsar,My Sisters favours shall seem poor and wither'd:Nay she her self, (trim'd up in all her beautys)Compar'd to what I'le take his eyes withall,Shall be a dream.Pho. Do you mean to shew the glory,And wealth of Egypt?Ptol. Yes: and in that lustre,Rome shall appear in all her famous Conquests,And all her riches of no note unto it.Ach. Now you are reconcil'd to your fair Sister,Take heed Sir, how you step into a danger:A danger of this precipice: but note Sir,For what Rome ever rais'd her mighty armies;First for ambition, then for wealth: 'tis madness,Nay more, a secure impotence, to temptAn armed Guest: feed not an eye, that conquers,Nor teach a fortunate sword the way to be covetous.Ptol. Ye judge amiss, and far too wide to alter me,Yet all be ready, as I gave direction:The secret way of all our wealth appearingNewly, and handsomely: and all about it:No more disswading: 'tis my will.Ach. I grieve for't.Ptol. I will dazel Cæsar, with excess of glory.Pho. I fear you'l curse your will, we must obey ye. [Exit.SCENA IV
Enter Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva, aboveCæsar. I wonder at the glory of this Kingdom,And the most bounteous preparation,Still as I pass, they court me with.Sceva. I'le tell ye:In Gaul, and Germany, we saw such visions,And stood not to admire 'em, but possess 'em:When they are ours, they are worth our admiration. Enter CleopatraAnt. The young Queen comes: give room.Cæsar. Welcom (my dearest)Come bless my side.Sceva. I marry: here's a wonder,As she appears now, I am no true Souldier,If I be not readie to recant.Cleo. Be merry Sir,My Brother will be proud to do you honourThat now appears himself. Enter Ptolomy, Achoreus, Achillas, Photinus, ApollodorusPto. Haile to great CæsarMy Royal Guest, first I will feast thine eyesWith wealthy Ægypts store, and then thy palate,And wait my self upon thee. [Treasure brought in.Cæsar. What rich Service!What mines of treasure!Cleo. My Cæsar,What do you admire? pray ye turn, and let me talk to ye.Have ye forgot me Sir? how, a new object?Am I grown old o'th' sudden, Cæsar?Cæsar. Tell meFrom whence comes all this wealth?Cleo. Is your eye that way?And all my Beauties banisht?Ptol. I'le tell thee Cæsar,We owe for all this wealth to the old Nilus:We need no dropping rain to cheer the husband-man,Nor Merchant that ploughs up the Sea, to seek us;Within the wealthy womb of reverent Nilus,All this is nourish'd: who to do thee honour,Comes to discover his seven Deities,(His conceal'd heads) unto thee: see with pleasure.Cæsar. The matchless wealth of this Land!Cleo. Come, ye shall hear me.Cæsar. Away: let me imagine.Cleo. How? frown on me?The eyes of Cæsar wrapt in storms?Cæsar. I am sorry:But let me think—Mustek, SONG Enter Isis, and three LabourersIsis, the Goddess of this Land,Bids thee (great Cæsar) understandAnd mark our Customes, and first know,With greedy eyes these watch the flowOf plenteous Nilus: when he comes,With Songs, with Daunces, Timbrels, DrumsThey entertain him, cut his way,And give his proud Heads leave to play:Nilus himself shall rise, and showHis matchless wealth in Over-flow.Labourers SONGCome let us help the reverend Nile,He's very old (alas the while)Let us dig him easie wayes,And prepare a thousand Playes:To delight his streams let's singA loud welcom to our Spring.This way let his curling HeadsFall into our new made Beds.This way let his wanton spawns,Frisky and glide it o're the Lawns.This way profit comes, and gain:How he tumbles here amain!How his waters haste to fallInto our Channels! Labour allAnd let him in: Let Nilus flow,And perpetuall plenty show.With Incense let us bless the brim,And as the wanton fishes swim,Let us Gums, and Garlands fling,And loud our Timbrels ring.Come (old Father) come away,Our labour is our holy day.Isis. Here comes the aged River nowWith Garlands of great Pearl, his BrowBegirt and rounded: In his FlowAll things take life; and all things grow.A thousand wealthy Treasures still,To do him service at his willFollow his rising Flood, and pourPerpetuall blessings in our store.Hear him: and next there will advance,His sacred Heads to tread a Dance,In honour of my Royal Guest,Mark them too: and you have a Feast.Cleo. A little dross betray me?Cæsar. I am asham'd I warr'd at home, (my friends)When such wealth may be got abroad: what honour?Nay everlasting glory had Rome purchas'd,Had she a just cause but to visit Ægypt? Nilus SONG, and DanceMake room for my rich waters fall, and bless my Flood,Nilus comes flowing, to you all encrease and good.Now the Plants and Flowers shall spring,And the merry Plough-man sing In my bidden waves I bringBread, and wine, and every thing.Let the Damsells sing me in:Sing aloud that I may rise:Your holy Feasts and hours begin,And each hand bring a Sacrifice.Now my wanton Pearls I showThat to Ladies fair necks grow.Now my goldAnd treasures that can ne're be told,Shall bless this Land, by my rich Flow,And after this, to crown your Eyes,My hidden holy head arise.Cæsar. The wonder of this wealth so troubles me,I am not well: good-night.Sce. I am glad ye have it:Now we shall stir again.Ptol. Thou wealth, still haunt him.Sce. A greedy spirit set thee on: we are happy.Ptol. Lights: lights for Cæsar, and attendance.Cleo. Well,I shall yet find a time to tell thee Cæsar,Thou hast wrong'd her Love: the rest here.Ptol. Lights along still:Musick, and Sacrifice to sleep for Cæsar. [Exeunt.Actus Quartus. Scena Prima
SCENA II
Enter Cleopatra, Arsino, ErosArs. You are so impatient.Cleo. Have I not cause?Women of common Beauties, and low Births,When they are slighted, are allow'd their angers,Why should not I (a Princess) make him knowThe baseness of his usage?Ars. Yes: 'tis fit:But then again you know what man.Cleo. He is no man:The shadow of a Greatness hangs upon him,And not the vertue: he is no Conquerour,H'as suffer'd under the base dross of Nature:Poorly delivered up his power to wealth,(The god of bed-rid men) taught his eyes treasonAgainst the truth of love: he has rais'd rebellion:Defi'd his holy flames.Eros. He will fall back again,And satisfie your Grace.Cleo. Had I been old,Or blasted in my bud, he might have shew'dSome shadow of dislike: But, to preferThe lustre of a little art, Arsino,And the poor glow-worm light of some faint Jewels,Before the life of Love, and soul of Beauty,Oh how it vexes me! he is no Souldier,(All honourable Souldiers are Loves servants)He is a Merchant; a meer wandring Merchant,Servile to gain: he trades for poor Commodities,And makes his Conquests, thefts; some fortunate CaptainsThat quarter with him, and are truly valiant,Have flung the name of happy Cæsar on him,Himself ne're won it: he is so base and covetous,He'l sell his sword for gold.Ars. This is too bitter.Cleo. Oh I could curse my self, that was so foolish,So fondly childish to believe his tongue,His promising tongue, e're I could catch his temper,I had trash enough to have cloy'd his eyes withal,His covetous eyes; such as I scorn to tread on:Richer than e're he saw yet, and more tempting;Had I known he had stoop'd at that, I had sav'd mine honour,I had been happy still: but let him take it,And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded:Let him goe conquer still weak wretched Ladies:Love has his angry Quiver too, his deadly,And when he finds scorn, armed at the strongest:I am a fool to fret thus, for a fool:An old blind fool too: I lose my health? I will not:I will not cry: I will not honour himWith tears diviner than the gods he worships:I will not take the pains to curse a poor thing.Eros. Doe not: you shall not need.Cleo. Would I were prisonerTo one I hate, that I might anger him,I will love any man, to break the heart of him:Any, that has the heart and will to kill him.Ars. Take some fair truce.Cleo. I will goe study mischief,And put a look on, arm'd with all my cunnings,Shall meet him like a Basilisque, and strike him:Love, put destroying flames into mine eyes,Into my smiles, deceits, that I may torture him,That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him. Enter ApollodorusAp. Cæsar commends his Service to your Grace.Cleo. His service? what's his service?Eros. Pray ye be patient,The noble Cæsar loves still.Cleo. What's his will?Ap. He craves access unto your Highness.Cleo. No:Say no: I will have none to trouble me.Ars. Good Sister.Cleo. None I say: I will be private.Would thou hadst flung me into Nilus, keeper,When first thou gav'st consent, to bring my bodyTo this unthankfull Cæsar.Ap. 'Twas your will, Madam,Nay more, your charge upon me, as I honoured ye:You know what danger I endured.Cleo. Take this,And carry it to that Lordly Cæsar sent thee:There's a new Love, a handsom one, a rich one:One that will hug his mind: bid him make love to it:Tell the ambitious Broker, this will suffer—Enter CæsarAp. He enters.Cleo. How?Cæsar. I do not use to wait, Lady,Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.Cleo. I ghess so, by your rudeness.Cæsar. Ye are not angry?Things of your tender mold, should be most gentle;Why do you frown? good gods, what a set-angerHave you forc'd into your face! Come, I must temper ye:What a coy smile was there, and a disdainfull!How like an ominous flash it broke out from ye!Defend me, Love, Sweet, who has anger'd ye?Cleo. Shew him a glass; that false face has betrai'd me:That base heart wrought me—Cæsar. Be more sweetly angry;I wrong'd ye fair?Cleo. Away with your foul flatteries:They are too gross: but that I dare be angry,And with as great a god as Cæsar is,To shew how poorly I respect his memory,I would not speak to ye.Cæsar. Pray ye undoe this riddle,And tell me how I have vext ye?Cleo. Let me think firstWhether I may put on a PatienceThat will with honour suffer me: know, I hate ye,Let that begin the story: Now I'le tell ye.Cæsar. But do it milder: In a noble Lady,Softness of spirit, and a sober nature,That moves like summer winds, cool, and blows sweetness;Shews blessed like her self.Cleo. And that great blessednessYou first reap'd of me: till you taught my natureLike a rude storm to talk aloud, and thunder,Sleep was not gentler than my soul, and stiller;You had the Spring of my affections:And my fair fruits I gave you leave to taste of:You must expect: the winter of mine anger:You flung me off, before the Court disgrac'd me,When in the pride I appear'd of all my beauty,Appear'd your Mistress; took into your eyesThe common-strumpet love of hated lucre,Courted with covetous heart, the slave of nature,Gave all your thoughts to gold, that men of glory,And minds adorn'd with noble love, would kick at:Souldiers of royal mark, scorn such base purchase:Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at;I spake to ye then; I courted ye, and woo'd ye:Call'd ye dear Cæsar, hung about ye tenderly:Was proud to appear your friend.Cæsar. You have mistaken me.Cleo. But neither Eye, nor Favour, not a SmileWas I blessed back with; but shook off rudely,And, as ye had been sold to sordid infamy,You fell before the Images of treasure,And in your soul you worship'd: I stood slighted,Forgotten and contemn'd; my soft embraces,And those sweet kisses you call'd Elyzium,As letters writ in sand, no more remembred:The name and glory of your CleopatraLaugh'd at, and made a story to your Captains,Shall I endure?Cæsar. You are deceiv'd in all this,Upon my life you are, 'tis your much tenderness.Cleo. No, no, I love not that way; you are cozen'd:I love with as much ambition as a Conquerour,And where I love, will triumph.Cæsar. So you shall:My heart shall be the Chariot that shall bear ye,All I have won shall wait upon ye: By the godsThe bravery of this womans mind, has fired me:Dear Mistress shall I but this night?—Cleo. How Cæsar?Have I let slip a second vanityThat gives thee hope?Cæsar. You shall be absolute,And Reign alone as Queen: you shall be any thing.Cleo. Make me a maid again, and then I'le hear thee;Examine all thy art of War, to do that;And if thou find'st it possible, I'le love thee:Till when, farewel, unthankfull.Cæsar. Stay.Cleo. I will not.Cæsar. I command.Cleo. Command, and goe without, Sir.I do command thee be my slave for ever,And vex while I laugh at thee.Cæsar. Thus low, beauty.Cleo. It is too late; when I have found thee absolute,The man that Fame reports thee, and to me,May be I shall think better. Farewel Conquerour. [Exit.Cæsar. She mocks me too: I will enjoy her Beauty:I will not be deni'd; I'le force my longing.Love is best pleas'd, when roundly we compel him,And as he is Imperious, so will I be.Stay fool, and be advis'd: that dulls the appetite,Takes off the strength and sweetness of delight.By Heaven she is a miracle, I must useA handsom way to win: how now; what fearDwells in your faces? you look all distracted. Enter Sceva, Anthony, DolabellaSceva. If it be fear, 'tis fear of your undoing,Not of our selves: fear of your poor declining:Our lives and deaths are equall benefits,And we make louder prayers to dye nobly,Than to live high, and wantonly: whilst you are secure here,And offer Hecatombs of lazie kissesTo the lewd god of love, and cowardize,And most lasci[v]iously dye in delights,You are begirt with the fierce Alexandrians.Dol. The spawn of Egypt flow about your Palace,Arm'd all: and ready to assault.Ant. Led onBy the false and base Photinus and his Ministers;No stirring out; no peeping through a loop-hole,But straight saluted with an armed Dart.Sce. No parley: they are deaf to all but danger,They swear they will fley us, and then dry our Quarters:A rasher of a salt lover, is such a Shooing-horn:Can you kiss away this conspiracy, and set us free?Or will the Giant god of love fight for ye?Will his fierce war-like bow kill a Cock-sparrow?Bring out the Lady, she can quel this mutiny:And with her powerfull looks strike awe into them:She can destroy, and build again the City,Your Goddesses have mighty gifts: shew 'em her fair brests,The impregnable Bulworks of proud Love, and let 'emBegin their battery there: she will laugh at 'em;They are not above a hundred thousand, Sir.A mist, a mist, that when her Eyes break out,Her powerfull radiant eyes, and shake their flashes,Will flye before her heats.Cæsar. Begirt with Villains?S[ce]. They come to play you, and your Love a Huntsup.You were told what this same whorson wenching, long agoe would come to:You are taken napping now: has not a Souldier,A time to kiss his friend, and a time to consider,But he must lye still digging, like a Pioneer,Making of mines, and burying of his honour there?'Twere good you would think—Dol. And time too, or you will find elseA harder task, than Courting a coy Beauty.Ant. Look out and then believe.Sce. No, no, hang danger:Take me provoking broth, and then goe to her:Goe to your Love, and let her feel your valour;Charge her whole body, when the sword's in your throat (Sir,)You may cry, Cæsar, and see if that will help ye.Cæsar. I'le be my self again, and meet their furies,Meet, and consume their mischiefs: make some shift, Sceva,To recover the Fleet, and bring me up two Legions,And you shall see me, how I'le break like thunderAmongst these beds of slimy Eeles, and scatter 'em.Sce. Now ye speak sense I'le put my life to the hazard,Before I goe No more of this warm Lady,She will spoil your sword-hand.Cæsar. Goe: come, let's to CounselHow to prevent, and then to execute.SCENA III
Enter Souldiers1 Sold. Did ye see this Penitence?2 Sold. Yes: I saw, and heard it.3 Sold. And I too: look'd upon him, and observ'd it,He's the strangest Septimus now—1 Sold. I heard he was altered,And had given away his Gold to honest uses:Cry'd monstrously.2 Sold. He cryes abundantly:He is blind almost with weeping.3 Sold. 'Tis most wonderfullThat a hard hearted man, and an old SouldierShould have so much kind moisture: when his Mother dy'dHe laugh'd aloud, and made the wickedst Ballads—1 Sold. 'Tis like enough: he never lov'd his parents;Nor can I blame him, for they ne'r lov'd him.His Mother dream'd before she was deliver'dThat she was brought abed with a Buzzard, and ever afterShe whistl'd him up to th' world: his brave clothes tooHe has flung away, and goes like one of us now:Walks with his hands in's pockets, poor and sorrowfull,And gives the best instructions.—2 Sold. And tells storiesOf honest and good people that were honour'dAnd how they were remembred: and runs madIf he but hear of any ungratefull person,A bloudy, or betraying man—3 Sold. If it be possibleThat an Arch-Villain may ever be recovered,This penitent Rascal will put hard: 'twere worth our labourTo see him once again. Enter Septimius1 Sold. He spares us that labour,For here he comes.Sep.—Bless ye my honest friends,Bless ye from base unworthy men; come not near me,For I am yet too taking for your company.1 Sold. Did I not tell ye?2 Sold. What book's that?1 Sold. No doubtSome excellent Salve for a sore heart: are youSeptimius, that base knave, that betray'd Pompey?Sep. I was, and am; unless your honest thoughtsWill look upon my penitence, and save me,I must be ever Villain: O good SouldiersYou that have Roman hearts, take heed of falsehood:Take heed of blood; take heed of foul ingratitude.The Gods have scarce a mercy for those mischiefs,Take heed of pride, 'twas that that brought me to it.2 Sol. This fellow would make a rare speech at the gallows.[3] Sol. 'Tis very fit he were hang'd to edifie us:Sep. Let all your thoughts be humble, and obedient,Love your Commanders, honour them that feed ye:Pray, that ye may be strong in honestyAs in the use of arms; Labour, and diligentlyTo keep your hearts from ease, and her base issues,Pride, and ambitious wantonness, those spoil'd me.Rather lose all your limbs, than the least honesty,You are never lame indeed, till loss of creditBenumb ye through: Scarrs, and those maims of honourAre memorable crutches, that shall bearWhen you are dead, your noble names to Eternity.1 Sol. I cry.2 Sol. And so do I.3 Sol. An excellent villain.1 Sol. A more sweet pious knave I never heard yet.2 Sol. He was happie he was Rascal, to come to this. Enter AchoreusWho's this? a Priest?Sep. O stay, most holy Sir!And by the Gods of Egypt, I conjure ye,(Isis, and great Osiris) pity me,Pity a loaden man, and tell me trulyWith what most humble Sacrifice I mayWash off my sin, and appease the powers that hate me?Take from my heart those thousand thousand furies,That restless gnaw upon my life, and save me.Orestes bloody hands fell on his Mother,Yet, at the holy altar he was pardon'd.Ach. Orestes out of madness did his murther,And therefore he found grace: thou (worst of all men)Out of cold blood, and hope of gain, base lucre,Slew'st thine own Feeder: come not near the altar,Nor with thy reeking hands pollute the Sacrifice,Thou art markt for shame eternal. [Exit.Sep. Look all on me,And let me be a story left to timeOf blood and Infamy, how base and uglyIngratitude appears, with all her profits,How monstrous my hop'd grace, at Court! good souldiersLet neither flattery, nor the witching soundOf high and soft preferment, touch your goodness:To be valiant, old, and honest, O what blessedness—1 Sold. Dost thou want any thing?Sep. Nothing but your prayers.2 Sol. Be thus, and let the blind Priest do his worst,We have gods as well as they, and they will hear us.3 Sol. Come, cry no more: thou hast wep't out twenty Pompeys. Enter Photinus, AchillasPho. So penitent?Achil. It seems so.Pho. Yet for all thisWe must employ him.1 Sol. These are the arm'd Souldier leaders:Away: and let's toth' Fort, we shall be snapt else. [Exeunt.Pho. How now? why thus? what cause of this dejection?Achil. Why dost thou weep?Sep. Pray leave me, you have ruin'd me,You have made me a famous Villain.Pho. Does that touch thee?Achil. He will be hard to win: he feels his lewdness.Pho. He must be won, or we shall want our right hand.This fellow dares, and knows, and must be heartned.Art thou so poor to blench at what thou hast done?Is Conscience a comrade for an old Soldier?Achil. It is not that: it may be some disgraceThat he takes heavily; and would be cherish'd,Septimius ever scorn'd to shew such weakness.Sep. Let me alone; I am not for your purpose,I am now a new man.Pho. We have new affairs for thee,Those that would raise thy head.Sep. I would 'twere off,And in your bellies for the love you bear me.I'le be no more Knave: I have stings enoughAlready in my breast.Pho. Thou shalt be noble:And who dares think then that thou art not honest?Achil. Thou shalt command in Chief, all our strong ForcesAnd if thou serv'st an use, must not all justifie it?S[e]p. I am Rogue enough.Pho. Thou wilt be more, and baser:A poor Rogue is all Rogues: open to all shames:Nothing to shadow him: dost thou think cryingCan keep thee from the censure of the Multitude?Or to be kneeling at the altar save thee?'Tis poor and servile:Wert thou thine own Sacrifice'Twould seem so low, people would spit the fire out.Achil. Keep thy self glorious still, though ne're so stain'd,And that will lessen it, if not work it out.To goe complaining thus, and thus repentingLike a poor Girl that had betrai'd her maiden-head—Sep. I'le stop mine ears.Achil. Will shew so in a Souldier,So simply, and so ridiculously, so tamely—Pho. If people would believe thee, 'twere some honesty,And for thy penitence would not laugh at thee(As sure they will) and beat thee for thy poverty:If they would allow thy foolery, there were some hope.Sep. My foolery?Pho. Nay, more than that, thy misery,Thy monstrous misery.A[c]hil. He begins to hearken:Thy misery so great, men will not bury thee.Sep. That this were true!Pho. Why does this conquering CæsarLabour through the worlds deep Seas of toyls and troubles,Dangers, and desperate hopes? to repent afterwards?Why does he slaughter thousands in a Battel,And whip his Country with the sword? to cry for't?Thou killd'st great Pompey; he'l kill all his kindred,And justifie it: nay raise up Trophies to it.When thou hear'st him repent, (he's held most holy too)And cry for doing daily bloody murthers,Take thou example, and go ask forgiveness,Call up the thing thou nam'st thy conscience,And let it work: then 'twill seem well Septimius.Sep. He does all this.Achil. Yes: and is honour'd for it;Nay call'd the honour'd Cæsar, so maist thou be:Thou wert born as near a Crown as he.Sep. He was poor.Pho. And desperate bloody tricks got him this credit.Sep. I am afraid you will once more—Pho. Help to raise thee:Off with thy pining black, it dulls a Souldier,And put on resolution like a man,A noble Fate waits on thee.Sep. I now feelMy self returning Rascal speedily.O that I had the power—Achil. Thou shalt have all:And do all through thy power, men shall admire thee,And the vices of Septimius shall turn vertues.Sep. Off: off: thou must off: off my cowardize,Puling repentance off. Pho. Now thou speakst nobly.Sep. Off my dejected looks: and welcom impudence:My daring shall be Deity, to save me:Give me instructions, and put action on me:A glorious cause upon my swords point, Gentlemen,And let my wit, and valour work: you will raise me,And make me out-dare all my miseries?Pho. All this, and all thy wishes.Sep. Use me then,Womanish fear farewell: I'le never melt more,Lead on, to some great thing, to wake my spirit:I cut the Cedar Pompey, and I'le fellThis huge Oak Cæsar too.Pho. Now thou singst sweetly:And Ptolomy shall crown thee for thy service.Achil. He's well wrought: put him on apace for cooling.[Exeunt.