POMPEY. A Tragedy. Acted with Great Applause.  
LONDON, Printed for john Crook, at the Sign of the Ship in St Paul's Churchyard. 1663.   

The Printer to the Reader.  
I Hope you expect no Eloquence from a Printer, nor Regularity in a Preface, which hath nothing to say to you, but that Pompey being a Translation out of the French of Monsieur Corneille, the hand that did it is responsible for nothing but the English, and the Songs between the Acts, which were added only to lengthen the Play, and make it fitter for the Stage, when those that could not be resisted were resolved to have it acted; and that no abuses of Transcribers (though they were numerous) could have prevailed to send it to the Press, if the Person most concerned had not feared to disobey an excellent Lady, who commanded this publication, more than the severity of the Censorious World.   


The Persons of the Play.  
julius' Caesar.  
Marcus Antonius.  
Lepidus.  
Ptolemy, King of Egypt.  
Cleopatra, His Sister.  
Photinus, His Governor.  
Achillas, His Lieutenant General.  
Septimius, A Roman in the Egyptian King's Army.  
Achoreus, Cleopatra's Gentleman Usher.  
Charmion, Cleopatra's Maid of Honour.  
Cornelia, Pompey's Widow.  
Philip, Pompey's Freedman.  
Romans and Egyptians.   
The Scene Ptolomey's Palace in Alexandria.   

PROLOGUE, For the Theatre at Dublin, written by the Earl of Roscomon.  
THe mighty Rivals, whose destructive Rage  
Did the whole World in Civil Arms engage,  
Are now agreed, and make it both their Choice,  
To have their Fates determined by your Voice.  
Caesar from none but You, will hear his Doom,  
He hates th' obsequious Flatteries of Rome:  
He scorns, where once he ruled, now to be tried,  
And he hath ruled in all the World beside.  
When he the Thames, the Danube, and the Nile  
Had stained with Blood, Peace flourished in this Isle;  
And you alone may Boast, you never saw  
Caesar till now, and now can give him Law.  
Great Pompey too, comes as a suppliant here,  
But says He cannot now begin to fear.  
He knows your equal justice, and (to tell  
A Roman Truth) He knows himself too well.  
Success, 'tis true, waited on Caesar's side,  
But Pompey thinks he conquered when he died.  
His fortune when she proved the most unkind,  
Changed his Condition, but not Cato's Mind.  
Then of what Doubt can Pompey's Cause admit,  
Since here so many Cato's judging sit?  
To the Ladies. But you bright Nymphs, give Caesar leave to woo  
The greatest Wonder of the world but you.  
And hear a Muse, who has that Hero taught  
To speak as generously, as e'er he fought.  
Whose Eloquence from such a Theme deters  
All Tongues but English, and all pens but Hers.  
By the just Fates your Sex is doubly blessed,  
You Conquered Caesar, and you praise him best.  
To the Lord Lieutenant. And You (Illustrious Sir) receive as due,  
A Present Destiny reserved for You.  
Rome, France and England join their Forces here,  
To make a Poem worthy of your Ear.  
Accept it then, and on that Pompey's Brow  
Who gave so many Crowns, bestow one now.   


POMPEY: ACT. 1. SCENE 1.  Ptolomey, Achillas, Photinus, Septimius. Ptol. 
FAte hath declared herself, and we may see  
Th' Intrigue of th' great Rival's Destiny:  
That quarrel which did all the Gods divide,  
Pharsalia hath the Honour to decide.  
Whose Rivers swelling with new bloody Tides  
(Sent thither from so many Parricides)  
The Horror of torn Ensigns, Chariots, Shields,  
Spread in Confusion o'er th'infected Fields;  
Those Slaughtered heaps whose shades no rest obtained  
By Nature to their own revenge constrained,  
(Their Putrefactions seeming to Revive  
The War with those that do remain alive,)  
Are Dreadful rules by which the Sword thinks fit,  
Pompey to cast, and Caesar to acquit.  
That distressed Leader of the Juster Side,  
Whose wearied Fortune hath all Help denied,  
A terrible Example will create  
To future Times, of the Extremes of Fate:  
He flies, whose happy Courage had, till now,  
Confined the Bay to his Victorious Brow:  
He in our Ports chooses his last Retreat;  
And wanting Refuge from a Foe so Great,  
His bold Misfortune seeks it in Abodes,  
Which from the Titans once preserved the Gods;  
And from so famed a Climate, doth expect  
That it should Earth as well as Heaven protect;  
And lending his Despair a kind Effort,  
It should the staggering Universe support:  
Yes, the World's Fortune Pompey with him brings,  
And hopes a Land whose Fame such Wonder sings,  
A Prop or Tomb might to her Freedom give,  
And Pompey's Fall Attend, if not Relieve.  
This, Friends, the Subject is of our debate;  
Our Triumphs he, or Ruin will create:  
He hazards me, who did my Father save,  
And does expose that Memphis which he gave:  
We must now hasten or prevent his fate,  
His Ruin hinder or precipitate:  
That is unsafe, and this Ignoble is;  
I dread injustice, or unhappiness;  
And angry fortune each way offers me  
Either much danger, or much infamy.  
It is my part to choose, yours to advise  
What you believe to be most safe and wise:  
Pompey's Concerned; nay, we the fame shall get,  
Caesar's success to trouble, or complete;  
And never Monarch's Fortune did afford  
So great a Subject for a Council Board.  Photin. 
When things, Sir, are determined by the sword,  
Justice is nothing but an empty word:  
And he who then Affairs would rightly weigh  
Must not his Reasons, but his power obey:  
View your own Strength, let Pompey be surveyed,  
Whose Fortune Droop's, and Valour is betrayed;  
Who not from Caesar only takes his flight,  
But from the Senate's just Reproach and fight,  
(Whose greater part, were cheaply left a Prey  
To the Keen Vultures of Pharsalia)  
He flies lost Rome, and every Roman now,  
Who must to his defeat their Fetters owe.  
He flies those Kings who would chastise his Guilt,  
Of all the blood that in his cause was spilled.  
Their Kingdoms now of Men and Money void,  
Their broken Sceptres and their Thrones destroyed,  
As Author of all Woes, abhorred by all,  
He flies the whole World, shattered by his Fall.  
Can you alone resist so many Foes?  
His safety he did in himself Repose:  
He falls, and You may yield without a Blush  
To such a weight as Rome herself does Crush;  
A weight which hath the Universe pressed down,  
And the yet greater Pompey overthrown.  
He that will save whom Heaven would have wracked,  
By too much Justice may a Guilt Contract.  
And a fidelity so indiscreet  
May a short Fame, but long Repentance meet:  
He but a more Illustrious wound will have  
Which will not smart the less for being brave:  
Do not for Egypt Thunderbolts provide,  
But choose with Fortune, and the Gods to side.  
Believe not they can an Injustice do.  
But where they favour, pay you homage too.  
Whatever they decree for them declare,  
And think it Impious where they frown to spare,  
With Divine Anger Pompey now beset  
Comes to involve you too, in his Defeat.  
His Head for which both Gods and Men do call  
Already shakes, and seeks but where to fall:  
His coming hither an Offence does seem  
And shows his Hatred rather than esteem.  
He would his safety with Your Ruin buy,  
And can you Doubt, if he deserve to die?  
Had he fulfilled what we both wished and thought,  
And a Victorious Navy hither brought,  
We then should him a Joyful welcome show,  
Who must the Gods blame for his usage now.  
I of his Fortune, not of him Complain,  
But with Regret Act what the Gods Ordain,  
And the same Poniard, once for Caesar meant  
Shall with a sigh to Pompey's Heart be sent.  
Nor can you at a less rate than his Head  
Secure Your Own, and shun the storm You Dread,  
Let this be thought a Crime, if so it must,  
'Tis not a Statesman's Virtue to be Just.  
When Right and Wrong are in the Balance laid,  
The Interest of Kingdoms is betrayed,  
Extremest Rigour is the Right of Kings,  
When Timorous Equity their Ruin brings,  
Who fears a Crime shall ever be afraid,  
But he'll rule all who all things dares invade,  
Who Dangerous Virtue, as Disgrace, does shun,  
And to an Useful Crime as swiftly run.  
This is my Thought, Sir, but Achillas may,  
Or else Septimius, choose some other way.  
But this I know, whatever others like,  
They fear no Conqueror who the Conquered strike.  Achil. 
Photin says true, Sir, but though Pompey we  
Divested of his former Grandeur see,  
Yet that Blood Precious does to me appear  
Which the Gods did in Thessaly revere,  
Not that a Crime of State should be refrained,  
But 'tis not lawful, till it be constrained:  
And what need is there of such Rigour here?  
Who quits the Conquered needs no Conqueror fear.  
You may be Neuter, as You were before:  
And Caesar may, if him you must adore;  
But though you treat him as a Power Divine,  
This is too great an Offering for his Shrine.  
To Mars himself should this Head offered be,  
'T would fix on Yours too black an Infamy:  
Let him not be Assisted nor Destroyed,  
And such a Conduct will all blame avoid.  
You owe him much, Sir, for Rome, moved by him,  
Helped our last King his Sceptre to redeem,  
But Gratitude and Hospitality,  
In Monarch's Breasts must regulated be,  
Nor can a King Contract so great a Debr,  
But that his Subjects claim a greater yet.  
And all Engagements are to Princes void,  
To Cancel which, their Blood must be Employed:  
Consider too, what Pompey did expose,  
When he your Father helped against his Foes:  
By that he made his Power the greater seem,  
And raised his own Fame, by restoring him:  
He did in serving him but language spend;  
but Caesar's Purse appeared the better Friend,  
Had we not Caesar's thousand Talents seen,  
Pompey's Orations had small succours been.  
Let him not then his Verbal merits boast,  
For Caesar's Actions have Obliged You most.  
But if a benefit to Him be due,  
Speak now for Him, as he did once for You:  
His kindness safely thus requite you may;  
But here received, He will your Sceptre sway:  
This Conquered Roman yet a King will brave,  
And in your own Dominions you enslave.  
Refuse him Welcome then, but spare his Head;  
But is't must fall, this arm shall strike him dead:  
I can obey (Sir) and should Jealous grow,  
If any Hand but mine should strike the blow.  Septim. 
Sir, I'm a Roman, and these Hero's know  
Pompey needs aid, and from you seeks it now;  
You are his fate, may his lost hopes revive,  
Banish, or Kill, or give him up alive:  
The first would cost you much too dear a Rate,  
I'll only then the other three debate.  
His exile draws on You enraged Power,  
And does but half oblige the Conqueror;  
Since to a long suspense you will him leave,  
What fate his future battles shall receive;  
And both on you Revenge, when weary grown  
The Ills which, but for You, they had not known  
To render him to Caesar were the same,  
Who must forgive him, to Augment his Fame:  
He will a bravery on himself impose,  
And swell in that false mercy he bestows;  
Glad if that way he Pompey can o'ercome,  
And in the same Act please subjected Rome:  
But whilst you him to this necessitate,  
You'll purchase his, as well as Pompey's hate:  
His danger and dishonour then prevent,  
Both make him great, and keep him Innocent;  
Whilst Pompey's Faction, you in him, destroy,  
Let Caesar, at your cost, the Fruit enjoy:  
By this advice, which you 'll, I hope, allow,  
You'll gain a Friend, and need not fear a Foe;  
But if Achillas unsafe course you choose,  
You neither gain, but both their Friendships lose.  Ptol. 
Let us no more debate what's Just and fit,  
But to the World's vicissitude submit.  
Your Major votes do with my Thoughts agree  
Who in so great a change would active be,  
Rome hath too long made an Injurious Claim  
That all men should adore the Roman Name:  
Her lofty Freedom let us now throw down,  
And a I Her scorn in Pompey's Blood le's drown.  
Cutting the Root by which that Pride does live,  
To the World's Tyrants let 's a Tyrant give;  
Now fate would chain an Arrogance so fierce,  
Let's help her to revenge the Universe.  
Rome, thou shalt serve, and Kings which always yet  
The hast dared with so much Insolence to treat,  
Will Caesar now, with less Regrer, obey  
Since thou shalt be enslaved as well as they:  
Achillas and Septimius lose no time,  
But make us Deathless by this glorious Crime,  
Of Heaven's Resentment I'll the hazard run,  
Who sent him hither sure to be undone.  Achil. 
A King's Command must no dispute endure.  Ptol. 
Go then, the Sceptre which I bear, secure;  
For you by this Commission are become  
The Destinies of Egypt and of Rome.   

SCENE 2.  Ptolemy, Photinus. Ptol. 
I am mistaken, Photin, or by this  
My Sister will her expectation miss,  
Pompey my Father's Will having secured,  
Her Coronation she believes assured.  
And she herself the Mistress does esteem  
Of that divided Sceptre left by him.  
Their Ancient Friendship she depends upon,  
And inwardly already shares my Throne.  
Whence her Ambition is become so vain,  
That from its Ashes it revives again.  Photin. 
Sir, 'Twas a motive I did not debate,  
And yet which ought to hasten Pompey's Fate.  
He your Pretensions doubtless will decide,  
And by your Fathers Will your Claims Divide.  
To which great Trust of Friendship being true,  
You know how much he disobliges you.  
Nor that by this Discourse I would remove  
The Sacred Cement of a Brother's Love,  
I banish her not from your Heart, but Throne,  
For he Reigns not that does not Reign alone.  
Divided Empire all wise Kings avoid,  
For Power Communicated is Destroyed;  
And Policy.— But, Sir, she does appear.   

SCENE 3.  Ptolemy, Cleopatra, Photinus. Cleop. 
Pompey is come (Sir) and can you be here?  Ptol. 
That mighty Warrior I at home attend,  
And him Achillas and Septimius send.  Cleop. 
What? such Ambassadors as those to him?  Ptol. 
You may go too, if they too little seem.  Cleop. 
Is your own meeting him too great a thing?  Ptol. 
I must remember, that I am a King.  Cleop. 
Can you reflect on that, and yet be slow  
To kiss the hand of him that made you so?  
And pay your homage to a Man so great?  Ptol. 
Did he that Title in Pharsalia get?  Cleop. 
Though none did his misfortunes help afford,  
he's still that Pompey who your Crown restored.  Ptol. 
Rather his shade, and but my Father Crowned,  
By whose Ghost, not by me, it should be owned.  
Let him attend his Dust, and be content  
To receive Thanks from his cold Monument.  Cleop. 
Hath such a Benefit such usage met?  Ptol. 
I both remember it and his Defeat.  Cleop. 
You do indeed but with a scornful Pride.  Ptol. 
Time is the Standard by which things are Tried:  
You, that so prize him may his greatness Court,  
But know, He yet may perish in the Port.  Cleop. 
What, may his Shipwreck in the Port arrive?  
And have you dared his Ruin to contrive.  Ptol. 
I have done only what the Gods inspired,  
And what the safety of my State required.  Cleop. 
I know but too much, Photin, and his Crew  
Have with their wicked Counsels poisoned you:  
Souls that are but of Nature's Rubbish framed.  Photin. 
The Counsel, Madam, will not be disclaimed.  Cleop. 
'Tis the King, Photin, I discourse with now;  
Stay then, till I descend to talk to you.  Ptol. 
You must a little with her scorn dispense,  
I know her hatred, and your innocence;  
But she's my Sister, give her humour vent.  Cleop. 
Sir, If too late it be not to repent,  
Shake off at length a Yoke that is so vile,  
And call your Virtue back from her exile:  
That magnanimity so great, and good,  
Which is conveyed to Princes, with their Blood.  Ptol. 
Swelled with a hope, in vain by you foreseen,  
You speak to me of Pompey, like a Queen:  
Through your false zeal flashes of Pride escape;  
And Interest does act in Virtues shape:  
Confess it then, you had been silent still,  
Were it not for the King our Father's Will;  
You know who kept it?  Cleop. 
And you shall Know too,  
Virtue alone prompts me to what I do.  
For if I did my own advantage seek,  
I should for Caesar, not for Pompey speak:  
Receive a secret I concealed before,  
And after that never reproach me more.  
When none that bold Rebellion could withstand,  
Which robbed our Father of his Crown and Land,  
The injured King forsook his Native shore,  
And Rome's great Senate did for Aid Implore.  
With him we went, their pity to engage,  
You very Young; but I was in an Age,  
When Nature had supplied my Eyes with Darts,  
Already Active in subduing hearts.  
Caesar received, or else pretended love,  
And by his Actions would his Passion prove.  
But since the Senate's Pique to him he knew,  
He their loved Pompey to our party drew:  
Whose high concern for us, on Caesar's score,  
Was the last fruit their Friendship ever bore.  
Of this you do inherit the event.  
But such a Lover not with it content,  
When by th'assistance of so great a Man,  
In our behalf the Roman suffrage ran,  
Resolving further Kindness to impart,  
He gave his Treasure to attend his Heart:  
And from the Bounty of his growing flame,  
These sinews both of War and Power came:  
Those Thousand Talents which we owe him yet,  
Forced our revolted Egypt to submit.  
On this the King reflecting, when he died  
Betwixt us did his Dignity divide;  
And by his Sovereign Right on me bestowed  
A part of what he to my Beauty owed:  
Whilst you, who this great reason never knew,  
Thought that his Favour, which was but my due;  
And Your dread Father partial dared to call,  
Who gave me half, when yet he owed me all.  Ptolemy. 
This Story, you with Art enough contrive.  Cleopatra. 
I am assured, Caesar will soon arrive.  
And a few hours will such a change effect  
As your Dark Policy did least expect.  
And show you why I spoke so like a Queen,  
Who the loathed Object of your scorn have been.  
You in the Throne usurped my equal seat,  
And as a Slave you did your Sister Treat;  
Till I was forced, to shun a ruder Fate,  
To stoop and Court your Ministers of State.  
Whose steel or poison I still feared: but Know,  
Pompey or Caesar will secure me now;  
And whatsoever your Sycophants Ordain,  
I now am sure my Sceptre to obtain:  
Till when my Pride shall leave you, to divine  
In this Contest, what could be my design.  Ptolemy, Photin. Ptolemy. 
What think you, Photin, of this lofty Mind?  Photin. 
My spirit, Sir, to wonder is resigned,  
And nothing but amazement can express;  
At such a secret as I ne'er could guests,  
My thoughts are so unquiet and confu'sd,  
I scarce know what expedient should be used.  Ptol. 
Shall we save Pompey?  Photin. 
Had you that decreed,  
Yet it were now convenient he should bleed.  
Your Sister hates you, she is fair and fierce,  
And if she such Victorious Charms disperse;  
The head of Pompey only can suffice  
To win the heart of Caesar from her Eyes.  Ptol. 
This dangerous woman hath a busy wit.  Photin. 
But such a service will out-ballance it.  Ptol. 
But what if Caesar still her Power Obey?  Photin. 
Then flatter her, yet mind not what I say,  
Till first you ask, in an affair so Nice,  
Achillas and Septimius best advice.  Ptol. 
Let's from the Tower see them act Pompey's doom,  
And this Debate at their return, resume.  After the first Act of Pompey, The King and Photin should be discovered, sitting and harkening to this Song. 

SInce Affairs of the State are already decreed,  
Make room for Affairs of the Court,  
Employment and Pleasure each other succeed,  
Because they each other support.  
Were Princes confined  
From slackening their Mind,  
When by Care it is ruffled and Curled.  
A Crown would appear  
Too heavy to wear  
And no man would govern the World.   

If the Gods themselves who have power enough,  
In the diversions are various, and oft  
Since the business of Kings is angry and rough,  
Their Intervals ought to be soft.  
Were Princes confined, etc.   

To our Monarch we owe whatsoever we enjoy:  
And no grateful Subjects were those,  
Who would not the safety, he gives them, employ  
To contribute to his repose.  
Were Princes confined, etc.   After which an Antic dance of Gypsies should be presented.   

ACT. 2.  

SCEN. 1.  Cleopatra, Charmion. Cleo. 
I Love him, but a Flame so much refined,  
How bright soever, dazzles not my mind:  
For Virtue makes my inclination know  
What Caesar's Mistress does to Pompey owe:  
And none dares own a passion so sublime,  
But she that scorns the shadow of a crime:  
I should but small respect to Caesar pay,  
To seek his love in an unhandsome way:  Char. 
Can you love Caesar, Madam, and advise  
That Egypt should in Arms against him rise?  
That they should Pompey against him protect,  
And his Pharsalian Triumphs should be checked,  
Sure Love in you does little Empire show.  Cleo. 
This to their high extraction Princes show,  
That by th' assistance of their Royal Blood  
Their Passions are more easily subdued.  
Their honour still the Victory will have;  
And whilst they trust themselves, they still are brave.  
All the disorders which in Kings we see,  
To others Counsels must imputed be.  
This is the cause of Pompey's ruin Deem;  
The King would help, but Photin murders him.  
Whose Counsel hath his Master's faith o'erthrown,  
Which still had swayed, had he observed his own.  Char. 
You then who Caesar love, and yet oppose.  Cleo. 
The Love I cherish no dishonour knows,  
But worthy him.  Char. 
Are you of his secured?  Cleo. 
I think I am.  Char. 
But are you well assured?  Cleo. 
Know that a Princess by her glory moved,  
No Love confesses till she be beloved.  
Nor the most noble passion ever shows,  
When it shall her to a Contempt expose.  
At Rome I first did Caesar's Heart invade,  
Where he the first expression of it made;  
And ever since he did to me renew  
The Tribute of his Vows and Laurels too.  
He marched through Italy, through Gaul and Spain,  
With Love in 's Breast, and fortune in his Train:  
Nor did he ever make so brave a Prize,  
But he paid Homage for it to these Eyes.  
With the same hand, which did that weapon quit  
With ' Blood of Pompey's party reeking yet,  
He writ complaints, and put my fetters on;  
Even in the Field, which he had newly won.  
Yes from Pharsalia his submissions came:  
And if his speed be equal to his flame,  
Or rather, if the Sea befriend his Fleet,  
Egypt shall see him shortly at my feet.  
He comes, my Charmion and from me alone,  
Seeks the reward of all that he hath done.  
And all his glory to my Shrine he brings,  
With the same hand which gives the Law to Kings.  
So that, even in his Triumphs, my disdain  
Can make the Man that rules the World complain:  Char. 
Yet I dare swear, your charms a power enjoy  
Which though they boast of, they will ne'er employ.  
And the great Caesar shall no trouble know,  
If it can only from your rigour grow.  
But what can you expect from Caesar's flames,  
Wherein such right another Woman claims,  
His freedom he by marriage hath resigned,  
And only to Calphurnia is confined.  Cleo. 
But a Divorce, at Rome so common now,  
May remove her, and my desires allow.  
Caesar's experience him to that may lead,  
Since 'twas Calphurnia's Passage to his bed.  Char. 
But the same way may you at length remove.  Cleo. 
Perhaps I better shall secure his love,  
Perhaps my passion may find out an Art  
Better to manage that Illustrious Heart.  
But let's to Heaven leave what may arrive,  
And this Alliance (if we can) contrive.  
Were it but one day, 'twere enough for me,  
One day, the Mistress of the World to be.  
I have Ambition, and be't good or ill,  
It is the only Sovereign of my Will.  
And 'tis this Noble Passion, sure, or none,  
A Princess may without a Blemish own.  
But yet with Glory I would it inflame,  
Nor would buy greatness with the loss of Fame,  
For I the brightest Crown can scorn to touch,  
When 'tis attended with the least Reproach.  
Wonder not then, that I so much pursue  
Pompey's defence, and would my Duty do.  
His injured virtue, since I cannot right:  
My secret Wishes must invoke his flight.  
That some kind storm may so his Ships disperse,  
As may preserve him from his Murderers.  
But faithful Achoreus comes, and he  
Will quickly tell us Pompey's Destiny.   

SCENE 2.  Cleopatra, Charmion, Achoreus. Cleop. 
What, is it done, and hath some Treacherous hand  
With that Rich blood stained our unhappy strand?  Anchor. 
By your commands, I to the shore did run,  
And saw this Treason, in its Horror, done.  
I saw the greatest Mortal lose his Breath,  
And though a sad, I saw a glorious Death.  
And since a story you require from me,  
So much his Honour, and our Infamy:  
Hear then his fate, and wonder, and bewail,  
His three Ships in the Harbour striking sail,  
When to our ready Galleys he approached,  
He thought the King, with his misfortunes touched,  
By noble sense of Honour, did intend  
With all his Court to meet so brave a friend.  
But when he only saw a skiff prepared,  
And that too filled with Ruffians of his guard:  
Th' ingrateful Treachery did then appear,  
And gave him some approaches of a fear:  
But seeing Armed Men on our Ships and Shoar,  
He blushed his Apprehensions were so Poor;  
And when the Danger was so near him brought,  
He only on Cornelia's safety thought.  
Let's but expose, says he, this single head  
To a Reception we may so much dread.  
But whilst I only do the shock sustain,  
Hasten thy Flight, and my revenge obtain.  
King juba is more amorously inclined,  
Where thou thy Father, and my Sons shalt find:  
But if their Deaths should thee of them deprive,  
Never Despair while Cato is alive.  
While their contest, on this, was sad and kind;  
Achillas fatal boat their Vessel Joined:  
Septimius then, to get him in his Power,  
I'th' Roman Language called him Emperor;  
And as deputed from th'Egyptian Prince,  
Let, Sir, says he, this bark convey you hence;  
The Shelves and Sands, which under water lie,  
To greater Vessels an Access deny.  
The Hero saw, and smiled at this abuse;  
He than received his Wives and Friends adieus,  
Their stay commanded, and to death did go  
With the same look, as he did Crown's bestow:  
With the same Majesty writ in his Brow,  
He sat unmoved among his Murderers now:  
His steadfast Courage did his Conduct seem,  
Philip his Freedman only followed him,  
Of whom, what I have told you I did learn,  
But saw the rest myself with sad concern:  
And think, (so mournful it to me appears)  
Caesar himself could not refuse it Tears.  Cleop. 
But spare not mine, nor let them intercept  
A story which I have already wept.  Anchor. 
Whilst toward Land they brought him, not a word  
To the unhappy Pompey they afford:  
In which contempt he did foresee his end.  
At length arrived, they ask him to descend,  
He Rising, as Achillas stood behind  
Drawing his Sword, for what they had designed,  
Septimius, and three Romans more, imbrued  
Their Guilty hands in that Heroic Blood.  
Till even Achillas was with horror struck,  
Upon a Rage so Barbarous to look.  Cleop. 
You Gods, who Nations do chastise with War,  
When you Revenge this Death, our Cities spare!  
And not the place, but Actors look upon,  
The crime of Egypt was by Romans done.  
But tell me what this Worthy said, and did.  Anchor. 
With his Robes border he his visage hid,  
Blindly his cruel Destiny obeyed;  
And would not see that Heaven which him betrayed:  
Lest any look of his, in such a stroke,  
Should its assistance, or Revenge invoke.  
Not the least poor complaint fell from his Tongue,  
Or aught that spoke him worthy of his wrong:  
But that despising, made his last Retreat  
To all that in his Life was good or great:  
And held the treason which the King had wrought  
Too much below him to employ his thought.  
His Virtue, by their crime, more brightly shone,  
And his last Gasp was an Illustrious one.  
This great Soul fled, his Body did expose  
To th'greedy Eyes of his inhuman Foes:  
His Head, which tumbled on the blushing Deck,  
(By vile Septimius severed from his neck.)  
Upon Achillas lance we fixed see,  
As after Battles Trophies use to be:  
And to conclude a Destiny so sad,  
The Sea was all the Sepulchre he had.  
To fortune now his slaughtered Corpse resigned,  
Floats at the Pleasure of the Wave and Wind.  
The Poor Cornelia at the Dreadful view,  Cleop. 
O Gods! What could she either say or do!  Anchor. 
By dreadful shrieks she tried his Life to shield,  
Then hopeless up to Heaven her hands she held:  
And by her mighty sorrow overthrown,  
Fell either dead, or in a deadly swoon.  
In this Distress, her Ships employ their Oars  
To gain the Sea, and quit those horrid Shores.  
But infamous Septimius having thought  
Cornelia's flight robbed him of half his fault:  
Has with six Ships hastened to her pursuit,  
And the dead Pompey still does persecute.  
But whilst to th' King Achillas brings the Prize,  
The trembling People turned away their eyes.  
One does with horror on the guilt reflect,  
And a Revenging Earthquake does expect:  
This hears it Thunder, and that does believe  
Nature a Revolution must receive.  
Their Reason, troubled by the Crimes extent,  
Cannot but dread as vast a Punishment.  
Philip, mean while, shows on the Riverside,  
That his mean fortune a brave soul did hide.  
He curiously examines every wave,  
For that rich Pledge which Treason to them gave:  
That those loved Bones he piously might burn,  
And give him one, though an inglorious Urn.  
And with a little Dust a Tomb erect  
To him who did the Universe subject.  
But whilst Cornelia they one way pursue,  
Another we might Caesar's coming view,  
A Navy which can hardly Reckoned be:  Cleop. 
ne'er doubt it, Achoreus, it is he;  
Tremble bad Men, at your approaching Doom,  
My Breath is now your Destiny become.  
Caesar's come, I'm a Queen, Pompey's revenged,  
Tyranny ruined, and the times are changed.  
But let's with wonder on the Great reflect;  
Pity their Fortune, and our own suspect:  
He who we thought even Fate herself had swayed,  
Who ruled a Senate which the World obeyed:  
Whom his own Rome saw (almost Deified)  
Over the World's three Parts in Triumph ride;  
And who in the last hazards of his Fate,  
Saw both the Consuls on his Standards wait:  
As soon as Fortune one unkindness shows,  
Egyptian Monsters of his Life dispose:  
As a Photinus, or Septimius, can  
Govern the Destiny of such a Man.  
A King who owes him even the Crown he wears,  
Exposing him to those base Flatterers.  
So fell the mighty Pompey, and so may  
Caesar himself perhaps another day.  
O may the Gods the Augury disprove!  
And make his Fortune constant as my Love.  Charm. 
The King comes, Madam, who may overhear.   

SCENE 3.  Ptolemy, Cleopatra. Ptol. 
Know you what happiness is Drawing near?  Cleop. 
Yes, I have heard it, the great Caesar's come:  
And Photin shall no more pronounce my Doom:  Ptol. 
That faithful Subject you could ne'er endure.  Cleop. 
No, but am from his Projects now secure.  Ptol. 
Which of his Plots could you so much offend?  Cleop. 
I've much endured, and more may apprehend:  
For such a Politician is not Nice,  
And you are always steered by his Advice.  Ptol. 
If I believe him, I his prudence see.  Cleop. 
And I who fear him, Know his cruelty.  Ptol. 
For a Crown's safety all things just appear.  Cleop. 
That kind of equity creates my fear,  
My share of Power hath been by it lost,  
And now it has the head of Pompey cost.  Ptol. 
Never a game of State was more advised,  
For else by Caesar we had been surprised:  
You see his speed, and we had been subdued,  
Before we could in our defence have stood.  
But now I to a Conqueror so great,  
Your Heart may offer, and my Royal seat.  Cleop. 
Make your own Presents, I'll dispose of mine,  
Nor others Interests with Yours combine.  Ptol. 
Our Blood 's the same uniting me and you.  Cleop. 
You might have said, our Rank unites us too.  
We both are Sovereigns, yet 'twill be confessed,  
There is some Difference in our Interest.  Ptol. 
Yes, Sister, for my Heart is well content  
Only with Egypt's narrow Continent.  
But now your Beauty Caesar's Heart does wound,  
Tagus and Ganges must your Empire bound.  Cleop. 
I have Ambition, but it is confined,  
It may surprise my Soul, but never blind.  
T'upbraid me with those bounds there is no need,  
I know my Reach, and shall not that exceed.  Ptol. 
Your Fortune smiles and you th'advantage use.  Cleop. 
You may revile me, if I that abuse.  Ptol. 
I hope the best, Love no ill Fruit can bear.  Cleop. 
You seem to hope what really you fear.  
But though the Gods my just pretensions Crown,  
You need not doubt I'll ask but what's my own.  
You ne'er shall Anger from your Sister find,  
Though you're a Cruel Brother, I'll be kind.  Ptol. 
But yet, methinks, you do discover Pride.  Cleop. 
Time is the Standard whereby things are tried.  Ptol. 
Your present carriage that doth plainly show.  Cleop. 
Caesar is come, and you've a Master now.  Ptol. 
I made him mine who the World's Master is.  Cleop. 
Pay him your Homage, while I look for his.  
In this Address you may yourself be seen,  
But I'll remember that I am a Queen.  
Photin will help you to receive him now,  
Advise with him, he'll tell you what's to do.   

ACT 2. SCENE. 4.  Ptolemy, Photinus. Ptol. 
I have observed thy Counsel, but find since  
To flatter her but swells her insolence.  
For with her Pride she did affront me so,  
That I at last fell into Passion too.  
This Arm enraged by her could scarce forbear  
(Without a Thought that Caesar was so near)  
Dispatching her (as safe as she does seem)  
To have complained to Pompey, not to him.  
She talks already at that haughty rate,  
That if great Caesar please her Pride and Hate,  
And she o'er him her boasted Empire have,  
Her Brother and her King must be her Slave.  
No, no, we needs must Frustrate that intent,  
Nor poorly wait the Ills we may prevent.  
Let's spoil her of her Power to disdain,  
And break those Charms whereby she hopes to reign:  
Nor after such indignities, let's brook,  
That she should buy my Sceptre with a look.  Photin. 
Do not for Caesar, Sir, pretence provide  
That Egypt should be to his Triumphs Tied:  
For this Ambitious Man which through the world  
Hath War and Slavery together hurled;  
Swelled with his Conquest and a Rage so smart,  
As such a loss writes in a Lover's Heart:  
Though you but act what Equity approves,  
Will thence ground his revenge for what he loves:  
As for a crime, he'll you to Bondage bring,  
Though you did only what became a King.  Ptol. 
If Cleopatra sees him she's a Queen.  Photin. 
But if she die, your Ruin is foreseen.  Ptol. 
Who ruins me should on my fall attend.  Photin. 
To ruin her you must yourself befriend.  Ptol. 
What? must my Crown upon her Temples shine?  
No, if my Sceptre I must needs resign,  
The Conqueror shall rather it command.  Photin. 
You'll sooner force it from a Sister's hand.  
How great soever now his flames appear,  
He must be gone, and leave You Master here.  
Love in such Men seldom that room can find  
Which to their Interest will not be resigned.  
which juba, Scipio, and with Pompey's Sons,  
Spain, to Revenge, he knows, with afric run'st,  
And while that Party are not yet o'erthrown,  
He cannot safely call the World his own.  
Caesar's too great a Captain, to o'ersee  
The pursuit of Pharsalia's Victory:  
And leave such fierce Hearts on revenge intent,  
To rise from their so late Astonishment.  
If he his ends obtain, and them o'ercome,  
He his gained Empire must secure at Rome:  
And there the fruit of his success enjoy,  
Whilst he at pleasure does her laws Destroy.  
Judge in that time, what great things you may do,  
See Caesar then, and strive to please him too.  
Resign him all, but yet this Rule intend,  
That future things on accidents Depend.  
Your Throne and Sceptre give into his hand,  
And without murmur yield to his Command:  
He will believe that Justice he shall do  
If he your Father's Testament pursue;  
Besides, this signal service you have done  
Will give you still some Title to your Throne.  
Entire submission to his Orders show,  
Applaud his judgement, but then let him go.  
That time for our Revenge will be most fit  
When we can act, as well as think of it.  
With temper let these Passions than be born,  
Which were excited by your Sister's scorn.  
Boasts are but Air, and he revenges best,  
Who Acts his braver Thoughts, yet talks the least.  Ptol. 
O thy Advice my greatest Comfort brings,  
A prudent Counsellour's the bliss of Kings.  
Come dear Supporter of my Throne, let's go,  
And to save all, on Caesar all bestow.  
His Pride le's flatter with an empty State,  
And with our whole Fleet on him hither Wait.  After the second Act, this Song is to be sung by two Egyptian Priests on the Stage. 

1.  
SEE how Victorious Caesar's Pride  
Does Neptune's Bosom sweep!  
And with Thessalian Fortune ride  
In Triumph o'er the Deep   

2.  
What Rival of the Gods is this  
Who dares do more than they?  
Whose Feet the Fates themselves do kiss,  
And Sea, and Land obey.   

1.  
What can the fortunate withstand?  
For this resistless He,  
River's of Blood brings on the Land,  
And Bulwarks on the Sea.   

2.  
Since Gods as well as Men submit,  
And Caesar's favours woe,  
Virture herself may think it fit  
That Egypt court him too.   

1.  
But Pompey's Head's a rate too dear,  
For by that impious price  
The God less Noble will appear  
Than does the Sacrifice.   

2.  
If justice be a thing divine,  
The Gods should it maintain,  
For us t' attempt what they decline,  
Would be as rash as vain.   

Chorus.  
How desperate is our Prince's Fate?  
What hazard does he run?  
He must be wicked to be great,  
Or to be just, undone.     

ACT 3.  

SCEN. 1.  Charmion, Achoreus. Char. 
YEs, whilst the King himself is gone to meet  
Caesar, and lay his Sceptre at his Feet.  
To her Apartment Cleopatra went,  
And there unmoved expects his Compliment.  
What words have you to clothe this Humour in?  Acho. 
'Tis Noble Pride and worthy of a Queen.  
Who with Heroic courage does make good  
The Honour of her Rank, and of her Blood.  
May I speak to Her?  Char. 
No, but she hath sent.  
Me to inquire this meetings great event.  
How Caesar on this Gift himself explained,  
Whether it were acknowledged or disdained.  
If he the fierce takes, or the gentler way,  
And what he to our Murderers could say.  Acho. 
The head of Pompey hath already cost  
More than they will have any cause to boast:  
For whether Caesar be or seem severe,  
Yet I for them have ground enough to fear.  
If they loved Ptolemy, they served him ill,  
You saw him part, and I pursued him still.  
When from the City his well ordered Fleet  
Advanced a League, that they might Caesar meet;  
He with spread Sails arrived, and as in Wars  
He still had been the Favourite of Mars:  
So Neptune to his Navy was so kind,  
His Fortune was not fairer than his wind.  
Our Prince was so astonished when they met,  
As if he did his Crowned Head forget.  
Through his false Joy his Terror he Confessed,  
And all his Actions his low Thoughts expressed.  
I myself blushed as at a shameful Thing,  
There to see Ptolemy, but not the King;  
Caesar who saw his Courage thus expire,  
In pity flattered him to raise it higher.  
He with low voice offering his Fatal gift,  
Now Sir, says he, you have no Rival left.  
What, in Thessalia, not the Gods could do,  
I give you Pompey and Cornelia too.  
Here's one, and though the other flight did take,  
Six Ships of mine will quickly bring her back.  
Achillas then the great Head did expose,  
Which still to speak itself seemed to dispose.  
At this new injury some warm Remain  
Did in imperfect groans seem to complain.  
I thought his open mouth and ghastly look,  
Recalled the Soul which scarce her leave had took;  
And his last anger seemed, with dying Breath,  
To Charge the Gods with his Defeat and Death.  
Caesar seemed Thunder-stricken at this view,  
As not resolved what to believe or do.  
immovably on that sad Object tied;  
He long from us his inward thought did hide,  
And I would say, if I durst make a guess,  
By what our Nature uses to express:  
Some such malignant Pleasure he enjoyed,  
As his offended honour scarce destroyed.  
That the whole World now in his Power lies,  
Could not but bring some flattering surprise.  
But though a while this Conflict he endured,  
Yet his great Soul itself soon re-assured.  
Though he loves Power, yet he Treason hates,  
Himself he judges, on himself debates.  
Each Joy and Grief at reason's bar appears,  
At length resolved, he first let fall some Tears.  
His Virtue's Empire he by force regains,  
And Noblest Thoughts by that weak sign explains.  
The horrid present from his sight expelled,  
His Eyes and Hands he up to Heaven held.  
In a few words their Insolence repressed,  
And after did in Pensive silence rest.  
Nor even to his Romans could reply,  
But with a heavy sigh and furious Eye.  
At last with thirty Cohorts come to Land,  
To seize the Gates and Ports he does command.  
The Guards he set, and secret Orders sent,  
Show his Distrust, as well as Discontent.  
Egypt he speaks of, as a Province won,  
And now calls Pompey not a Fos, but Son.  
This I observed.  Char: 
By which the Queen may find  
The Just Osiris to her Vows inclined:  
Whilst with this happy News to her I fly,  
Do you preserve her your Fidelity.  Anchor. 
ne'er doubt it; but here Caesar comes, go then  
Describe the Consternation of our Men:  
And whatsoever proves to be their Fate;  
I'll first observe, and then to her Relate.   

SCENE 2.  Ceasar, Ptolemy, Lepidus, Photinus, Achoreus, Roman and Egyptian Soldiers. Ptol. 
Great Sir, ascend the Throne, and govern Us.  Caesar. 
Do you Know Ceasar, and speak to him thus?  
What worse could envious Fortune offer me?  
Who alike hate a Crown, and Infamy.  
This to accept would all my Boast confute,  
That Rome did me unjustly persecute:  
Rome, who both scorns, and gives Crowns every where,  
And nothing sees in Kings, to love or fear;  
Nay, at our Birth, does all our Souls inflame,  
To slight the Rank, and to abhor the Name.  
This truth you might have learned from Pompey, who  
If he such Offers liked could shun them too.  
Both Throne and King had honoured been t' afford  
Service to him who had them both restored:  
So glorious had been even ill success,  
In such a Cause, that Triumphs had been less:  
And if your Fortune safety had denied,  
To have bestowed it, had been Caesar's Pride:  
But though you would not own so brave a strife,  
What right had you to that Illustrious Life?  
Who that rich Blood to wash your hands allowed,  
That to the meanest Roman should have bowed?  
Was it for you Pharsalia's Field I won;  
Wherein so many Nations were undone?  
And did I purchase at so high a Rate,  
That you should be the Arbiters of Fate?  
If I in Pompey that could ne'er admit,  
Shall you escape, o'er him assuming it?  
How much is my Success abused by you,  
Who attempt more than ever I durst do?  
What Name, think you, will such a blow become,  
Which has usurped the Sovereignty of Rome?  
And in one Person did affront her more  
Than could the Asian Massacre before.  
Do you imagine I shall e'er agree  
You would have been more scrupulous for me?  
No, had you Pompey here Victorious seen,  
My Head to him had such a Present been:  
I to my Conquest your submissions owe,  
When all Wrongs had pursued my Overthrow.  
You do adore the Conqueror, not me;  
I but enjoy it by Felicity.  
Dangerous Friendship! Kindness to be feared!  
Which turns with Fortune, and by her is steered.  
But speak; this Silence does increase your Sin.  Ptol. 
Never hath my Confusion greater been;  
And I believe, Sir, you'll allow it me,  
Since I, a King born, now a Master see:  
Where at my frown each Man did trembling stand,  
And every Word of mine was: Command;  
I see a New Court, and Another sway,  
And I have nothing left, but to obey:  
Your very Look abates my Spirits force;  
And can it be regained by your Discourse?  
Judge how I can from such a Trouble cease,  
Which my Respects create, and Fears increase:  
And what can an astonished Prince express,  
Who Anger sees in that Majestic Dress?  
And whose Amazements do his Soul subdue,  
That Pompey's Death should be revenged by You.  
Yet I must say, whatever he bestowed,  
We owe you more, than ever him we owed:  
Your Favour was the first to us expressed,  
And all he did, was done at your Request;  
He did the Senate move for injured Kings  
And them that Prayer to our Assistance brings.  
But all that he for Egypt could obtain,  
Without your Money, Sir, had been in vain:  
By that his Rebels our late King subdued,  
And you have Right to all our Gratitude:  
We Pompey as your Friend and Son revered,  
But when he your Competitour appeared,  
When of your Fortune he suspicious grew,  
Tyranny sought and dared to fight with you—  Caesar. 
Forbear, your hatreds Thirst his Blood supplies,  
Touch not his Glory, let his Life suffice;  
Say nothing here that Rome still dares deny,  
But plead your Cause without a Calumny.  Ptol. 
Then let the Gods be Judges of his Thought;  
I only say, That in the Wars last fought,  
To which so many Wrongs did you persuade,  
Our Vows for your success were only made:  
And since he ever sought your Blood to spill,  
I thought his Death a necessary Ill  
For as his groundless Hatred daily grew,  
He would, by all ways, the Dispute renew;  
Or if, at length, he fell into your Hand  
We feared your Mercy would your Right withstand:  
For to that pitch your sense of Honour flies,  
As would to Fame your Safety Sacrifice;  
Which made me Judge, in so extreme an Ill,  
We ought to serve you, Sir, against your Will;  
My forward Zeal th' occasion did embrace,  
Without your leave, and to my own disgrace:  
And this you as a Crime in me disclaim,  
But nothing done for you deserves that Name:  
I stained my Hands, your Danger to remove,  
Which Act you may enjoy, and diasapprove;  
Nay by my Guilt my Merit higher grows;  
Since I my Glory gave for your Repose  
And by that greatest Victim have procured  
Your Glory and your Power to be assured.  Caesar. 
You employ, Ptolemy, such Crafty Words,  
And weak Excuses as your Cause affords;  
Your Zeal was false, if 'twere afraid to see  
What all Mankind begged of the Gods should be:  
And did to you such subtleties Convey,  
As Stole the Fruit of all my Wars away;  
Where Honour me engaged, and where the end  
Was of a Foe subdued, to make a Friend;  
Where the worst Enemies that I have met,  
When they are conquered, I as Brother Treat:  
And my Ambition only this Designed,  
To Kill their Hate, and force them to be kind;  
How blessed a Period of the War 't had been,  
If the glad World had in one Chariot seen  
Pompey and Caesar at once to have sat  
Triumphant over all their former Hate!  
These were the Dangers you feared should befall;  
O fear Ridiculous! and Criminal!  
You feared my Mercy, but that trouble quit,  
And wish it rather; you have need of it:  
For I am sure strict Justice would consent  
I should appease Rome with your punishment.  
Not your Respects, nor your Repentance now,  
No nor your Rank, preserves you from that Blow:  
Even on your Throne I would revenge your Guilt,  
But Cleopatra's Blood must not be spilled:  
Wherefore your Flatterers only I condemn;  
And must expect you 'l do me Right on them:  
For what in this I shall observe you do,  
Must be the rule of my Esteem for you:  
To the great Pompey Altars now erect,  
And to him pay, as to the Gods, Respect.  
By Sacrifices your Offence expel,  
But have a Care you choose your Victims well.  
Go then, and whilst you do for this prepare,  
I must stay here about another Care.   

SCENE 3.  Caesar, Antonius, Lepidus. Caesar. 
Antonius, have you this bright Princess seen?  Anton. 
Yes, Sir, I have, and she's a matchless Queen;  
With such proportion Heaven never yet  
All Beauties both of Mind and Body knit;  
So sweet a Greatness in her Face does shine,  
The Noblest Courage must to it resign;  
Her Looks and Language with such ease subdue,  
If I were Caesar, I should love her too.  Caesar. 
How was the Offer of my Love received?  Anton. 
As doubted, and yet inwardly believed:  
She modestly declined her highest aims,  
And thinks she Merits what she most disclaims.  Caesar. 
But can I hope her love?  Anton. 
Can she have yours?  
As that your joys, so this her Crown secures.  
To gain that Heart can you believe it hard,  
Whose kindness you with Empire can reward?  
Then let your Passion all its Doubts disband,  
For what can Pompey's Conqueror withstand?  
But yet her Fear to her remembrance brings,  
How little Rome hath ever valued Kings;  
And more than that, she dreads Calphurnia's Love;  
But both these Rubs your presence will remove,  
And your successful Hope all Mists will break,  
If you vouchsafe but for yourself to speak.  Caesar. 
Let's go then, and these needless scruples quit  
Showing my Heart to Her that wounded it:  
Come, let us stay no longer.  Anton. 
But first know,  
Cornelia is within your Power now:  
Septimius brings her, boasting of his Fault,  
And thinks by that he hath your Favour bought.  
But once ashore, your Guards (by Orders taught)  
No notice took, but hither both have broughht.  Caesar. 
Then let her enter: Ah unwelcome News!  
Which my Impatience does so roughly use!  
O Heaven! and am I not allowed to pay  
My Love this small remainder of one day?   

SCENE 4.  Caesar, Cornelia, Antonius, Lepidus, Septimius. Septim. 
Sir.—  Caesar. 
Go Septimius, for your Master look,  
Caesar a Traitor's presence cannot Brook;  
A Roman, who to serve a King could be  
Content, when he had Pompey served, and me.  Exit Septimius. Cornel. 
Caesar, that envious Fate which I can brave,  
Makes me thy Prisoner, but not thy Slave:  
Expect not then my Heart should e'er afford  
To pay thee Homage, or to call thee Lord:  
How rude soever Fortune makes her Blow;  
I Crassus Widow once, and Pompey's now;  
Great Scipio's Daughter, (and what's higher yet) ●  
A Roman, have a Courage still more great;  
And of all Strokes her Cruelty can give,  
Nothing can make me blush, but that I live,  
And have not followed Pompey, when he died;  
For though the Means to do it were denied,  
And Cruel Pity would not let me have  
The quick assistance of a Steel or Wave,  
Yet I'm ashamed, that after such a Woe,  
Grief had not done as much as they could do:  
Death had been glorious, and had set me free  
As from my Sorrow then, so now from Thee.  
Yet I must thank the Gods, though so severe,  
That since I must come hither, Thou art here:  
That Caesar reigns here, and not Ptolemy;  
And yet, O Heaven! what Stars do govern me?  
That some faint kind of satisfaction 'tis,  
To meet here with my greatest Enemies;  
And into their Hands that I rather fall,  
Then into His that owed my Husband all.  
But of thy Conquest, Caesar, make no boast,  
Which to my single Destiny thou ow'st;  
I both my Husbands Fortunes have defaced,  
And twice have caused th' whole World to be disgraced;  
My Nuptial Knot twice ominously tied,  
Banished the Gods from the Uprighter Side;  
Happy in misery I had been, if it,  
For Rome's advantage, had with Thee been Knit;  
And on thy House that I could so dispense  
All my own Stars malignant influence:  
For never think my Hatred can grow less,  
Since I the Roman Constancy profess;  
And though thy Captive, yet a Heart like mine  
Can never stoop to hope for aught from Thine:  
Command, but think not to subject my Will,  
Remember this, I am Cornelia still.  Caesar. 
O Worthy Widow of a Man so brave!  
Whose Courage, Wonder, Fate does pity crave;  
Your generous Thoughts do quickly make us know  
To whom your Birth, to whom your Love you owe;  
And we may find, by your Hearts glorious frame,  
Both to, and from what Families you came;  
Young Crassus Soul, and noble Pompey's too,  
Whose Virtues Fortune cheated of their due;  
The Scipio's Blood, who saved our Deities,  
Speak in your Tongue, and sparkle in your Eyes;  
And Rome herself hath not an ancient Stem,  
Whose Wife or Daughter hath more honoured them:  
Would to those Gods your Ancestors once saved,  
When Hannibal them at their Altars braved,  
That your dear Hero had declined this Port,  
And better known a false Barbarians Court;  
And had not his uncertain Honour tried,  
But rather on our Ancient love relied;  
That he had suffered my successful Arms,  
Only to vanquish his unjust Alarms;  
Then he, without distrusting me, had stayed  
Till he had heard what Caesar could have said;  
And I, in spite of all our former strife,  
Would then have begged him to accept of Life;  
Forget my Conquest, and that Rival Love,  
Who fought, but that I might his Equal prove:  
Then I, with a content entirely great,  
Had Prayed the Gods to Pardon his Defeat;  
And giving me his Friendship to possess,  
He had prayed Rome to Pardon my success.  
But since Fate, so Ambitious to destroy,  
Hath robbed the World, and Us, of so much Joy,  
Caesar must strive ● ' acquit himself to you,  
Of what was your Illustrious Husbands due:  
Enjoy yourself then, with all freedom, here:  
Only two days my Prisoner appear;  
And witness be, how after our Debate,  
I shall revere his Name, revenge his Fate;  
You this Account to Italy may yield,  
What Pride I borrow from Thessalia's Field.  
I leave you to yourself, and shall Retire;  
Lepidus, furnish her to her desire;  
As Roman Ladies have respected been,  
So Honour her, (that is,) above a Queen.  
Madam, command; all shall your Orders wait.  Cor. 
O Gods! how many Virtues must I hate.  After the third Act, to Cornelia asleep on a Couch, Pompey's Ghost sings this in Recitative Air. 

FRom lasting and unclouded Day,  
From joys refined above Alloy,  
And from a spring without decay.   

I come, by Cynthia's borrowed Beams  
To visit my Cornelia's Dreams,  
And give them yet sublimer Themes.   

Behold the Man thou lov'dst before,  
Pure streams have washed away his Gore,  
And Pompey now shall bleed no more.   

By Death my Glory I resume;  
For 'twould have been a harsher Doom  
T' outlive the Liberty of Rome.   

By me her doubtful fortune tried,  
Falling, bequeathes my Fame this Pride,  
I for it lived, and with it Died.   

Nor shall my Vengeance be withstood  
Or unattended with a Flood,  
Of Roman and Egyptian Blood.   

Caesar himself it shall pursue,  
His days shall troubled be, and few,  
And he shall fall by Treason too.   

He, by severity Divine  
Shall be an offering at my Shrine;  
As I was his, he must be mine.   

Thy stormy Life regret no more,  
For Fate shall waft thee soon a shore,  
And to thy Pompey thee restore.   

Where past the fears of sad removes  
We'll entertain our spotless Loves,  
In beauteous, and Immortal Groves.   

There none a Guilty Crown shall wear.  
Nor Caesar be Dictator there.  
Nor shall Cornelia shed a Tear.   After this a Military Dance, as the Continuance of her Dream, and then Cornelia starts up, as wakened in amazement, saying, 
What have I seen? and whether is it gone  
How great the vision! and how quickly done!  
Yet if in Dreams we future things can see,  
There's still some joy laid up in Fate for me,  Exit.   

ACT. 4.  

SCEN. 1.  Ptolemy, Achillas, Photinus. Ptol. 
WHat? with that Hand, and with that Sword which had  
A Victim of th' unhappy Pompey made,  
Saw you Septimius, fled from Caesar's hate,  
Give such a bloody Period to his Fate?  Achil. 
He's Dead, Sir, and by that you may collect,  
What shame (foreseen by him) you must expect:  Photin. 
You may by this slow anger know,  
The violent does quickly come and go:  
But the considered Indignation grows  
Stronger by Age, and gives the fiercer Blows;  
In vain you hope his Fury to assuage,  
Who now secure does Politicly rage;  
He safely for his Fame concerned appears,  
Pompey, alive, abhorred; he dead reveres:  
And of his Slaughter by this Art doth choose,  
To act the vengeance, and yet make the use.  Ptol. 
Had I believed Thee, I had never known  
A Master here, nor been without a Throne:  
But still with this Imprudence Kings are cursed,  
To hear too much Advice, and choose the worst;  
At the Pits brink Fate does their Reason bind;  
Or if some hint they of their Danger find,  
Yet that false Light amiss their Judgement steers,  
Plunges them in, and then it disappears.  Pho. 
I must confess I Caesar did mistake,  
Since such a Service he a Crime does make:  
But yet his side hath streams, and those alone  
Can expiate your fault, and fix your Throne.  
I no more say, you silently should bear,  
And your Revenge, till he be gone, defer:  
No, I a better Remedy esteem,  
To justify his Rival's Death on him.  
When you the First Act by the last make good,  
And Caesar's shed, as well as Pompey's Blood,  
Rome will no difference in her Tyrants know,  
But will to you, from both, her Freedom owe.  Ptol. 
Yes, Yes, to this all reasons do persuade;  
Let's fear no more the Greatness we have made:  
Caesar shall still from Us receive his Doom,  
And twice in one day we'll dispose of Rome;  
As Bondage first, let's Freedom next bestow;  
Let not thy Actions, Caesar, swell Thee so;  
But call to mind what thou hast seen me do;  
Pompey was Mortal, and so thou art too;  
Thou enviest him, for his exceeding thee,  
And I think, thou hast no more Lives, than he;  
Thy own Compassion for my Fate does show  
That thy Heart may be Penetrable too:  
Then let thy Justice threaten as it please,  
'Tis I, must with thy ruin, Rome appease;  
And of that Cruel Mercy Vengeance take,  
Which spares a King, but for his Sister's sake.  
My Life and Power shall not exposed be  
To her resentment, or thy Levity;  
Lest thou, to morrow, shouldst at such a Rate  
Reward her Love, or else revenge her Hate:  
More noble Maxims shall my fears expel;  
Thou badst me once to choose my Victims well,  
And my Obedience thou in this shalt see,  
Who know no Victim worthier than thee,  
Nor th' Immolation of whose Blood will draw  
Better Acceptance from thy Son in Law.  
But vainly, Friends, we thus foment our Rage,  
Unless we knew, what Strength we could engage;  
All this may be unprofitable heat,  
The Tyrant's Forces being here so great;  
But of our Power let us be first agreed,  
And in what time and method to proceed.  Achil. 
We may do much, Sir, in our present State,  
Two miles from hence six thousand Soldiers wait;  
Which I, foreseeing some new Discontents,  
Have kept in readiness, for all Events;  
Caesar with all his Arts could not foresee  
That underneath this Town a Vault should be,  
By which this night we to the Palace may  
Our Men with Ease, and without Noise convey;  
T'●ss●ult his Life by open force alone,  
Would be the only way to lose your Own:  
We must surprise him, and act our design,  
When he is Drunk with Pleasure, Love and Wine.  
The People are all ours; for when he made  
His entry, Horror did their Soul's invade  
When with a Pomp so arrogantly grave,  
His Fasces did our Royal Ensigns brave;  
I marked what Rage at that Injurious view,  
From their incensed Eyes, like sparkles, flew;  
And they so much did with their fury strive,  
That your least Countenance may it revive.  
Septimius Soldiers filled with greater hate,  
Struck with the Terror of their Leaders Fate,  
Seek nothing but revenge on him, who them  
Did, in their Captain's Person, so contemn.  Ptol. 
But what way to approach him can be found'st  
If at the Feast his Guards do him surround?  Photin. 
Cornelia's Men, who have already known  
Among your Romans Kindred of their own,  
Seem to persuade us they would help afford  
To Sacrifice their Tyrant, to their Lord;  
Nay, have assured it, and much better may  
Then we, to Caesar the first stabs convey;  
His Clemency (not only false but vain)  
Which Courts Cornelia, that He Rome may gain,  
Will to his Person give them such access,  
As may assure our Plot of a success.  
But Cleopatra comes; to Her appear  
Only possessed with Weakness, and with Fear:  
Let us withdraw, Sir, for you know that we  
Are Objects she will much abhor to see.  Ptol. 
Go wait me.—   

SCENE 2.  Ptolemy, Cleopatra: Cleop: 
Brother, I have Caesar seen.  
And have to him your Intercessor been.  Ptol. 
I never could expect an Act less kind  
From you who bear so generous a Mind.  
But your great Lover quickly from you went.  Cleop. 
'Twas to the Town, t'appease some discontent,  
Which he was told had newly raised been  
Betwixt the Soldier and the Citizen:  
Whilst I with joyful haste come to assure  
You, that your Life and Kingdom were secure;  
Th' Illustrious Caesar on the Course you took  
Does with less anger than Compassion look,  
He pities you, who such vile Statesmen heard,  
As make their Kings not to be loved, but feared;  
Whose Souls the baseness of their Birth confess,  
And who in vain great Dignities possess:  
For Slavish Spirits cannot guide the Helm;  
Those too much Power would quickly overwhelm,  
That hand, whose Crimes alone do purchase Fear  
Will soon let fall a Weight it cannot bear.  Ptol. 
Those Truths, and my ill Fate do me persuade  
How bad a choice of counsellors I made:  
For had I acted Honourable things,  
I had as Glorious been, as other Kings;  
And better merited the Love you bear  
A Brother, so unworthy of your Care;  
Caesar and Pompey had been here agreed,  
And the World's Peace in Egypt been decreed;  
Who her own Prince a friend to both had seen;  
Nay, he (perhaps) an Arbiter had been.  
But since to call this back is passed our Art,  
Let me discharge to you my Troubled heart;  
You, that for all the Wrongs that I have done,  
Could yet Preserve me both my Life and Crown;  
Be truly great, and vanquish all your Hate,  
By changing Photin and Achilla's Fate.  
For their offending you, their Death is due,  
But that my Glory suffers in it too;  
If for their King's Crimes they should punished be,  
The Infamy would wholly light on me;  
Caesar through them wounds me, theirs is my Pain  
For my sake, therefore, your Just Hate restrain:  
Your heart is Noble, and what pleasure then  
Is th' abject Blood of two unhappy Men?  
Let me owe all to you, who Caesar charm,  
And, with a Look, his Anger can disarm,  Cleop. 
Were but their Life and Death in me to give,  
My scorn is great enough to let them live:  
But I with Caesar little can prevail,  
When Pompey's Blood lies in the other scale;  
I boast no Power to Dispose his will,  
For I have spoke, and he hath shunned it still,  
And turning quickly to some new Affair,  
He neither does refuse, nor grant my Prayer:  
Yet I'll once more on that harsh Theme proceed,  
In hope a New attempt may better speed;  
And I'll believe.—  Ptol. 
He comes, let me be gone,  
Lest I should chance to draw his anger on;  
My presence may enflame what 'twould make less,  
And you alone, may act with more success.   

SCENE 3.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Antonius, Lepidus, Charmion, Achoreus, and Romans. Caesar. 
The City now is quiet, Beauteous Queen,  
Which had alarmed with little reason been;  
Nor need they fear the troublesome event  
Of Soldier's Pride, or People's Discontent:  
But O great Gods! when absent from your Eyes  
A greater Tumult did within me Rise;  
When these unwelcome Cares snatched me from you,  
My heart, even with my Grandeur, angry grew;  
And I my own Renown began to hate,  
Since it my parting did necessitate:  
But I forgave all to the single Thought  
How much advantage to my Love it brought:  
For 'tis to that I owe the noble Hope  
Which to my Flame does give so fair a scope,  
And persuades Caesar that his Heart may prove  
Not utterly unworthy of your Love,  
And that he may pretend to that, since he  
Nothing above him, but the Gods, can see.  
Yes Queen; if in the World a Man there were  
That with more glory could your fetters bear  
Or if there were a Throne, wherein you might  
By Conquering its King, appear more bright.  
Less for his Throne would I the Man pursue,  
Then to dispute the Right of serving you.  
'Twas to acquire that valuable Right,  
That my Ambitious Arm did always fight.  
And in Pharsalia rather my Sword drew  
To Preserve that, then Pompey to subdue.  
I Conquered, and the God of Battles, less  
Than your bright Eyes, afforded me success.  
They raised my Courage, and my hand did sway,  
And I owe them that memorable day.  
As the effect of heat by them inspired,  
For when your beauties had my passion fired,  
That a return might your great Soul become,  
They made me Master of the World and Rome.  
I would ennoble that high stile I wear,  
By the Addition of your Prisoner.  
And shall most happy be, if you think fit  
That Title to esteem, and this permit.  Cleop. 
I know how much I to my fortune owe,  
Which this excess of Honour does bestow.  
Nor will from you my inward thoughts conceal  
Since I know both, you, and myself, so well.  
Your Love did in my earliest Youth appear,  
And I my Sceptre as your Present wear:  
I twice received my Kingdom from your Hand,  
And after that, can I your Love withstand?  
No, Sir, my Heart cannot resist your siege,  
Who so much merit, and so much Oblige.  
But yet my Birth, my Rank, and the Command  
Which I have now regained in Egypt's Land,  
The Sceptre, by your Hand restored to mine,  
Do all against my innocent Hopes combine;  
To my desires injurious they have been,  
And lessen me, by making me a Queen:  
For if Rome still be as she was before,  
T' ascend a Throne will but debase me more;  
These Marks of Honour will be but my Shame  
And Ruin my Pretences to your Flame:  
But yet, methinks, the Power you enjoy,  
Might all my Fears with ease enough destroy,  
And I would hope, that such a Man as you  
May justly Rome's Capriciousness subdue,  
And her unjust aversion for a Throne  
She might see cause, for your sake, to disown:  
I know that you can greater things effect,  
And from your Promise Wonders I expect;  
You in Pharsalia did much greater do,  
And I invoke no other Gods but You.  Caesar. 
There's nothing humane can my Love withstand;  
'Tis but the overrunning Africa's Land,  
To show my Standards to the rest of those,  
Who did me with so ill a Fate oppose;  
And when Rome can no more of them Advance,  
She will be forced to study Complaisance:  
And you shall see her with a solemn State,  
At your Feet sacrifice her Pride and Hate:  
Nay, I must have her, at your Royal Seat,  
In my behalf, your Favour to entreat;  
And with so much Respect these Beauty's view,  
That she young Caesar's shall request from you;  
This is the only Fortune I desire,  
And all to which my Laurels do aspire:  
How blessed were my Condition, if I might  
Obtain those Wreaths, and still enjoy your sight!  
But yet my Passion it's own harm procures,  
For I must quit you, if I will be yours;  
While there are flying Foes, I must pursue,  
That I may them defeat, and merit you.  
To bear that absence therefore, suffer me  
To take such Courage from the Charms I see,  
That frighted Nations may, at Caesar's name,  
Say, He but came, and saw, and overcame.  Cleop. 
This is too much; but if I this abuse,  
The fault which you create you must excuse:  
You did my Crown, and perhaps Life restore,  
And yet your Love (I trust) will grant me more;  
And I Conjure you, by its strongest Charms,  
By that great Fortune which attends your Arms,  
By all my hopes, and all your high Desert,  
Did not in Blood the Bounties you impart;  
Great Sir, forgive those that have Guilty been,  
Or else by that, let me appear a Queen;  
Achillas and Photinus blood disdain,  
For they endure enough to see me reign;  
And their Offence—  Caesar. 
Ah! by some other way  
Assure yourself how much my Will you sway,  
As you Rule me, if I might you request,  
You better should employ your Interest;  
Govern your Caesar, as a lawful Queen,  
And make him not Partaker of their Sin:  
For your sake only, I the King durst spare;  
'twas love alone that—   

SCENE 4.  To them Cornelia. Cornel. 
Caesar, have a Care.  
For Traitors have against thy Life Combined,  
And sworn thy Head shall be to Pompey's Joined.  
If to prevent them thou shouldst be remiss,  
Thy Blood will speedily be mixed with his.  
If thou my Slaves examine, thou may'st know,  
The Author, Order, and the Actor too.  
I yield them thee;  Caesar. 
O truly Roman Heart!  
And Worthy him of whom you were a part!  
His Soul, which sees from its exalted State,  
How I endeavour to Revenge his fate,  
Forgets his hate, and is become so kind,  
To save my Life by what he left behind.  
Whatever Treason could to Pompey do,  
Yet he does still subsist, and act in you:  
And prompts you to a thing so brave, that he  
May vanquish me in generosity.  Cornel. 
Caesar, thou art deceived in my intent,  
If thou think'st Hate yields to acknowledgement:  
No, Pompey's blood must all commerce deny,  
Betwixt his Widow and his Enemy.  
And I thy offered Freedom would enjoy,  
That to thy Ruin I might it employ.  
Nay, I shall make new business for thy Sword,  
If thou dar'st be so just to keep thy word.  
But though so much on thy Destruction bent,  
Yet I thy Murder would as much prevent.  
I have thy Death with too much Justice sought,  
That it should now be with a Treason bought.  
Who knows and suffers, does partake the guilt:  
Nor should thy blood be infamously spilled.  
But when my Husband's Sons, and Kindred do  
Attempt thy death, than I shall wish it too.  
And that some brave Arm, which I shall excite,  
May in the Field, and in thy Army's sight,  
Offer thee Nobly to that Hero's Ghost,  
In whose Revenge thou so much zeal bestowest?  
My restless thirst for such a day as this,  
By thy untimely fall its end would miss.  
But whatsoever hopes from abroad I may  
Receive, yet I am Racked by their delay.  
For distant satisfaction is half lost:  
And long expected joys too dearly cost.  
I shall not wander on the Africa Strands;  
To seek the vengeance ready in thy hands,  
Which does the head it Threatens best befit:  
For I could thine have had instead of it;  
But that my hatred saw the difference great,  
Betwixt my Husband's murder and defeat:  
And I an earlier Punishment would see  
On their Presumption, than thy Victory.  
This is Rome's wish, Whose Venerable Brow  
To this affront, too just a Blush would owe:  
If her two Noblest heads (should after all  
Her Trumphs) with so much dishonour fall.  
She, upon whom thou never couldst impose,  
Would sooner punish Criminals, than Foes.  
Her liberty would a misfortune grow,  
If upon Tiber Nile should it bestow.  
None but a Roman could her Master be,  
And but a Roman none should set her free.  
Here thou wouldst fall to her unsacrificed:  
And wouldst be murdered so, but not chastised.  
Nor would succeeding Tyrants frighted be,  
For the Example too would die with Thee.  
Revenge her now on Egypt's wrong, and I  
Will her revenge upon Pharsalia try.  
Adieu, no time in this should wasted be,  
Go then, and boast I once made vows for thee.   

SCENE 5.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Antonius, Lepidus, Achoraeus, Charmion. Caesar. 
Her Virtue, and their Crime, alike amaze,  
Queen, you perceive for whom your goodness prays.  Cleop. 
That, now, no more against your Justice fights  
Go (Sir) Revenge all violated Rights:  
My ruin they much more than yours desire:  
The Traitors do against my Right Conspire.  
As my support, against you they design:  
And by your death would make their way to mine.  
But though all be to my anger known,  
Yes 'tis my Brother still that leads them on.  
Do you know that, Sir, and may I obtain,  
It your deserved fury may restrain?  Caesar. 
Yes, I'll remember, your heart is so great,  
That for his Births sake, you his Crime forget.  
Adieu, fear nothing, for these are not foes  
That can the fortune of my Arms oppose.  
Them, and their Party, I shall quickly rout,  
When I to them but Whips and Racks bring out:  
They shall not Soldiers, but Tormentors see,  
And now my Axes shall my Ensigns be. Exit Caesar.  Cleop. 
Dear Achoreus, after Caesar go,  
With him prevent my Threatened overthrow.  
And when he punishes our worthless Foes,  
Make him remember what his promise ow●.  
Observe the King, when he in fight appears,  
And spare his blood, that you may spare my tears.  Anchor. 
Madam, his fortune shall no sorrow need,  
If all my Care and service can succeed.  After the fourth Act, Cleopatra sits harkening to this Song. 

PRoud Monuments of Royal Dust!  
Do not your old Foundations shake?  
And labour to resign their trust?  
For sure your mighty Guests should wake,  
Now their own Memphis lies at Stake.   

Alas! in vain our Dangers call;  
They care not for our Destiny,  
Nor will they be concerned at all,  
If Egypt now enslaved, or free,  
A Kingdom or a Province be.   

What is become of all they did?  
And what of all they had designed,  
Now death the busy Scene hath hid;  
Where but in story shall we find  
Those great disturbers of Mankind?   

When Men their quiet Minutes spent  
Where Myrtles grew and Fountains purled,  
As safe as they were Innocent:  
What angry God among them hurled  
Ambition to undo the world?   

What is the charm of being Great;  
Which oft is gained and lost with Sin,  
Or if w' attain a Royal seat,  
With Guiltless steps what do we win,  
If Love and Honour fight within?   

Honour the Brightness of the Mind!  
And love her noblest ecstasy:  
That does ourselves, this others bind  
When you great Pair shall disagree  
What Casuist can th'umpire be?   

Though Love does all the heart subdue,  
With gentle, but resistless sway,  
Yet Honour must that govern too:  
And when thus Honour wins the Day,  
Love overcomes the bravest way.     

ACT 5.  

SCEN. 1.  Cornelia with a little Urn in her hand, and Philip. Cor. 
MAy I believe my Eyes? or does this sight  
Delude me, with chimaeras of the Night?  
Do I behold The Philip? and didst Thou  
Funeral rites to my loved Lord allow?  
His Ashes does this Urn contain? O view!  
At once so terrible and tender too!  
Eternal Food of Sorrow and of Hate.  
All of Great Pompey that is spared by Fate.  
Expect not I a Year to you should pay,  
For Great Souls ease their Griefs another way:  
Shallow Afflictions by Complaints are fed:  
And who laments would fain be Comforted.  
But I have sworn by all that we Adore;  
And by yourself (sad Object) which is more:  
(For my grieved Heart does more to you submit,  
Then to those Gods who so ill-guarded it.)  
By you I swear it then (Mournful remain,  
My only Deity, now he is slain)  
That no extinction or decay shall be  
In that revenge which must ennoble me.  
To Caesar, Ptolemy, by base surprise,  
Rome of thy Pompey made a Sacrifice.  
And I, thy injured walls will never see,  
Till Priest, and God, to him shall offered be.  
Put me in mind, and my just hate sustain,  
O Ashes! now my hope as well as Pain.  
And to assist me in that great design,  
Shed in all Hearts what now is felt by mine.  
But thou, who on so infamous a shore  
Gav'st him a flame, so Pious, though so Poor:  
Tell me, what God thy Fortune made so great  
To pay to such a Hero such a Debt?  Philip. 
Covered with Blood, and much more dead than he;  
When I had cursed the Royal Treachery,  
My wandering Feet were by my grief conveyed,  
Where yet the Wind upon the Water played:  
After long search, I on a Rock did stand,  
And saw the headless Trunk approach the Sand:  
Where th' angry Wave a pleasure seemed to take  
To cast it off, and then to snatch it back:  
I to it leapt, and thrust it to the banks;  
Then gathering a heap of Shipwrecked Planks,  
An hasty, artless Pile, I to him raised,  
Such as I could, and such as Fortune pleased.  
'Twas hardly kindled, when Heaven grew so kind  
To send me help in what I had designed.  
Codrus, an Ancient Roman, who lives here,  
Returning from the City, spied me there.  
And when he did a headless Carcase view,  
By that sad mark alone he Pompey knew:  
Then weeping said, O thou who ere thou art  
To whom the Gods such honours do impart.  
Thy fortune's greater than thou dost believe,  
Thou shalt rewards, not Punishments receive.  
Caesar's in Egypt, and Revenge declares,  
For him to whom thou pay'st these Pious Cares,  
These Ashes to his Widow thou mayst bear  
In Alexandria, for now she is there.  
By Pompey's Conqueror so entertained,  
As by a God it would not be disdained.  
Go on till I return, this said, he went,  
And quickly brought me this small Monument:  
Then we, betwixt us, into it conveyed,  
That Hero's Ashes which the fire had made.  Cor. 
With what great Praises should this Act be crowned!  Philip. 
Entering the Town I great disorders found.  
A numerous People to the Port did fly,  
Which they believed the King would fortify.  
The eager Romans fiercely these pursued,  
Rage in their eyes, their hands with blood embrued.  
When Caesar with brave Justice did Command,  
Photin to perish by a Hangman's hand.  
On me appearing, he vouchsafed to look,  
And with these words my Master's Ashes took.  
Remainders of a Demi-god! whose Name  
I scarce can equal Conqueror as I am.  
Behold guilt punished and till Altars call  
For other Victims let these Traitor's fall.  
Greater shall follow. To the Court go thou,  
On Pompey's Widow this from me bestow.  
An whilst with it she makes with grief some truce,  
Tell her how Caesar her Revenge pursues.  
That great Man, sighing, then from me did turn,  
And humbly kissing did restore the Urn.  Cor. 
O formal Grief! how easy is that Tear  
That's shed for Foes whom we no longer fear!  
How soon revenge for others fills that breast  
Which to it is by its own danger pressed?  
And when the Care we take to right the dead  
Secures our Life and does our glory spread.  
Caesar is generous 'tis true, but he  
By the King wronged, and from his Rival free,  
Might in an envious mind a doubt revive,  
What he would do were Pompey yet alive.  
His courage his own safety does provide,  
Which does the Beauty of his actions hide.  
Love is concerned in't to, and he does fight  
In Pompey's Cause for Cleopatra's Right.  
So many interests with my Husband's met,  
Might to his Virtue take away my debt.  
But as Great Hearts judge by themselves alone,  
I choose to guests his honour by my own.  
And think we only make his fury such,  
Since in his Fortune I should do as much.   

SCENE 2.  Cleopatra, Charmion, Cornelia, Philip. Cleop. 
I come not to disturb a grief so due  
To that affliction which hath wounded you.  
But those remains t'adore, which from the wave  
A faithful freedman did so lately save.  
To mourn your fortune, Madam, and to swear,  
You'd still enjoyed a man so justly Dear  
If Heaven which does persecute you still,  
Had made my Power equal to my will.  
Yet if to what that Heaven sends you now  
Your Grief can any Room for Joy allow:  
If any sweetness in revenge there be,  
Receive the certainty of yours from me.  
The false Photinus— But you may have heard.  Cor. 
Yes, Princess that he hath his Just reward.  Cleop. 
Have you no comfort in that news discerned?  Cor. 
If there be any, you are most concerned,  Cleop. 
All hearts with Joy receive a wished Event.  Cor. 
Our thoughts are, as our interests, different.  
Though Caesar add Achillas Death, 'twill be  
To you a satisfaction, not to me:  
For nobler rites to Pompey's Ghost belong,  
These are too mean to expiate his wrong.  
No reparation by such Blood is made,  
Either to my grief, or his injured shade,  
And the Revenge which does my Soul inflame,  
Till it hath Caesar Ptolemy doth claim;  
Who though so much unfit to reign or live,  
Caesar, I know, will for his safety strive.  
But though his Love hath dared to promise it,  
Yet juster Heaven dares it not permit.  
And if the Gods an Ear to me afford,  
They shall both perish by each others Sword.  
Such an event would my Heart's grief destroy,  
Which now is such a Stranger grown to Joy.  
But if ye Gods think this too great a thing,  
And but one fall, O let it be the King!  Cleop. 
Heaven does not govern as our Wills direct.  Cor. 
But Gods, what Causes promise will effect,  
And do the guilty with revenge pursue.  Cleop. 
As they have Justice, they have Mercy too.  Cor. 
But we may judge, as here events have past,  
They now the first will act and not the last.  Cleop. 
Their Mercy oft does through their Justice break  Cor. 
Queen, you, as Sister, I as Widow speak.  
Each hath her Cause of kindness and of hate,  
And both concerned in this Prince's Fate.  
But by the Blood which hath to day been shed,  
We shall perceive whose vows have better sped.  
Behold your Achoreus.   

SCENE 3.  To them Achoreus. Cleop. 
But alas.  
I read no good presages in his Face;  
Speak Achoreus, let us freely hear  
What yet deserves my sorrow, or my fear.  Anchor. 
as soon as Caesar did the Treason know:—  Cleop. 
'Tis not his Conduct I inquire of now,  
I know he cut and stopped that secret vault  
Which to him should the Murderers have brought,  
That to secure the street his men he sent,  
Where Photin did receive his punishment:  
Whose sudden fall Achillas so amazed,  
That on the abandoned Port he quickly seized;  
Whom the King followed, and that to the Land  
Antonius all his Soldiers did command.  
Where Caesar joined him, and I thence do guess  
Achillas punishment, and his success.  Anchor. 
His usual Fortune to her Assistance gave.  Cleop. 
But tell me if he did my Brother save,  
And kept his Promise.  Anchor. 
Yes, with all his Might.  Cleop. 
That's all the News I wished you to recite.  
Madam, You see the Gods my wishes heard.  Cor. 
They only have his punishment deferred.  Cleop. 
You wished it now; but they have him secured:  Anchor. 
Or Caesar had, if he had life endured.  Cleop. 
What said you last? Or did I rightly hear?  
Oh! Quickly your obscure Discourses clear.  Anchor. 
Neither your cares nor ours could save him, who  
Would die in spite of Caesar and of You:  
But Madam, in the noblest way he died  
That ever falling Monarch dignifyed.  
His restored Virtue did his Birth make good,  
And to the Romans dearly sold his blood.  
He fought Antonius with such noble heat,  
That on him He did some advantage get:  
But Caesar's coming altered the event;  
Achillas there after Photinus went.  
But so as him did too much Honour bring:  
With Sword in hand he perished for his King.  
O spare the King, in vain the Conqueror cried;  
To him no Hope but Terror it employed.  
For frighted, he thought Caesar did intend  
But to reserve him to a shameful end.  
He charged, and broke our Ranks, bravely to show  
What Virtue armed by Despair can do.  
By this mistake his vexed soul abused  
Still sought the Death which still was him refused.  
Breathless at last, with having fought and bled,  
Encompassed round, and his best Soldiers dead,  
Into a Vessel which was near he leaps,  
And followed was by such tumultuous heaps,  
As by their number overpressed, the Ship  
With all its freight was swallowed in the Deep.  
This Death recovers all his lost Renown,  
Gives Caesar Fame, and You th' Egyptian Crown.  
You were proclaimed, and though no Roman sword  
Had touched the Life so much by you deplored.  
Caesar extremely did concerned appear;  
He sighs, and he complains: but see him here,  
Who better can then I his Griefs relate,  
For the unhappy Kings resistless Fate.   

SCENE 4.  To them. Caesar, Antonius, Lepidus. Cornel. 
Caesar be just, and me my Galleys yield,  
Achillas and Photinus both are killed;  
Nor could thy foftned heart their Master save,  
And Pompey, here, no more revenge can have.  
This fatal shore nothing does me present,  
But th' Image of their horrible Attempt,  
And thy new Conquest, with the giddy noise  
Of People who in change of Kings rejoice:  
But what afflicts me most, is, still to see  
Such an obliging Enemy in Thee.  
Release me then from this inglorious pain,  
And set my Hate at liberty again.  
But yet before I go I must request  
The Head of Pompey with his Bones may rest.  
Give it me then, as that alone, which yet  
I can with Honour at thy hands entreat.  Caesar. 
You may so justly that Remainder claim,  
That to deny it would be Caesar's shame:  
But it is fit, after so many Woes,  
That we should give his wandering Shade repose,  
And that a Pile which You and I inflame,  
From the first mean one rescue Pompey's name.  
That he should be appeased our Grief to view;  
And that an Urn more worthy him and you  
May (the Pomp done, and fire extinct again)  
His reunited Ashes entertain.  
This Arm, which did so long with him debate,  
Shall Altars to his Virtue dedicate,  
Offer him Vows, Incense and Victims too  
And yet shall give him nothing but his Due.  
I but to morrow for these Rites require,  
Refuse me not the Favour I desire;  
But stay till these solemnities be past,  
And then you may resume your eager haste.  
Bring to our Rome a Treasury so great,  
That Relic bear—  Cornel. 
Not thither Caesar yet,  
Till first thy ruin granted me by Fate,  
To these loved Ashes shall unlock the Gate;  
And thither (though as Dear to Rome as me)  
They come not till triumphant over thee.  
To Africa I must this rich burden bear,  
Where Pompey's sons, Cato and Scipio, are.  
who'll find I hope, (with a brave King allied)  
Fortune as well as justice on their side:  
And thou shalt see there, with new fury hurled,  
Pharsalia's Ruins arm another World.  
From Rank to Rank these Ashes I'll expose  
Mixed with my Tears, t' exasperate thy Foes.  
My Hate shall guide them too, and they shall fight  
With Urns, instead of Eagles in their sight;  
That such sad Objects may make them intent  
On his Revenge, and on thy Punishment.  
Thou to this Hero now devout art grown,  
But, raising his Name, dost exalt thy own.  
I must be Witness too! and I submit;  
But thou canst never move my Heart with it.  
My Loss can never be repaired by Fate,  
Nor is it possible t'exhaust my Hate.  
This Hate shall be my Pompey now, and I  
In his Revenge will live, and with it die.  
But as a Roman, though my Hate be such,  
I must confess, I thee esteem as much.  
Both these extremes justice can well allow:  
This does my Virtue, that my Duty show.  
My sense of Honour does the first command,  
Concern, the last, and they are both constrained.  
And as thy Virtue, whom none can betray,  
Where I should hate, makes me such value pay:  
My Duty so my Anger does create,  
And Pompey's Widow makes Cornelia hate.  
And I from hence shall hasten, and know then,  
I'll raise against thee Gods, as well as Men.  
Those Gods that flattered thee and me abused,  
And in Pharsalia Pompey's Cause refused;  
Who at his Death could Thunderbolts refrain,  
To expiate that, will his Revenge maintain:  
If not his Soul will give my Zeal such heat,  
As I without their help shall thee defeat.  
But should all my Endeavours prosper ill,  
What I can not do, Cleopatra will.  
I know thy flame, and that t'obey its force  
Thou from Calphurnia study'st a Divorce:  
Now blinded thou wouldst this Alliance make,  
And there's no Law of Rome thou dar'st not break.  
But know, the Roman Youth think it no sin  
To fight against the Husband of a Queen.  
And thy offended Friends will at the Price  
Of thy best Blood revenge their scorned Advice.  
I check thy Ruin if I check thy Love;  
Adieu; to morrow will thy Honour prove.   

SCENE 5.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Charmion, Antonius, Lepidus, Achoreus. Cleop. 
Rather than You to this exposed should be,  
With my own Ruin I would set you free.  
Sacrifice me, Sir, to your Happiness;  
For that's the greatest that I can possess.  
Though far unworthy to be Caesar's Bride,  
Yet He'll remember one that for him Died.  Caesar. 
Those empty projects, Queen, are all now left  
To a great Heart of other Help bereft;  
Whose keen desires her want of Strength confess,  
Could she perform more, she would wish it less.  
The Gods will these vain Auguries disprove,  
Nor can they my Felicity remove.  
If your Love stronger than your Grief appears,  
And will for Caesar's sake dry up your Tears  
And that a Brother, who deserved them not,  
May for a faithful Lover be forgot.  
You may have heard, with what Regret of mine  
His Safety to Despair he did resign.  
How much I sought his Reason to redeem  
From those vain Terrors that surrounded him,  
Which he disputed to his latest Breath,  
And cast away his Life for fear of Death.  
O shame for Caesar! Who so eminent!  
And so solicitous for your Content!  
Yet by the Cruel Fortune of this Day  
Could not the First of your Commands Obey:  
But vainly we resist the Gods, who will  
Their Just Decrees on guilty men fulfil.  
And yet his Fall your Happiness procures,  
Since by his Death Egypt is wholly Yours.  Cleop. 
I know I gain another Diadem,  
For which none can be blamed but Heaven and Him;  
But as the Fate of humane things is such,  
That Joy and Trouble do each other touch,  
Excuse me, if the Crown conferred by You  
As it obliges, Does afflict me too.  
And if to see a Brother justly killed  
To Nature I as well as Reason yield.  
No sooner on my Grandeur I reflect,  
But my Ambition by my Blood is checked.  
I meet my Fortune with a secret Groan,  
Nor dare without Regret ascend the Throne.  Acho. 
The Court is full, Sir, People crowding in,  
Who with great shouts demand to see their Queen,  
And many signs of their impatience give,  
That such a Blessing they so late receive.  Caesar. 
Let them so just a Happiness obtain,  
And by that Goodness, Queen, commence your reign.  
O may the Gods so favour my Desire,  
That in their Joy your Sorrow may expire;  
That no Idea in your Soul may be,  
But of the Wounds which you have given me:  
Whilst my Attendants and your Courtiers may  
Prepare to morrow for a glorious day.  
When all such Noble Offices may own,  
Pompey t' appease, and Cleopatra Crown.  
To her a Throne, to him let's Altars Build,  
And to them both Immortal Honours yield.  Exeunt. After the Ffth Act by two Egyptian Priests, as after the Second 

1.  
AScend a Throne Great Queen! to you  
By Nature, and by Fortune due;  
And let the world adore   

One who Ambition could withstand,  
Subdue Revenge, and Love command,  
On Honour's single score.   

2.  
Ye mighty Roman shades, permit  
That Pompey should above you sit,  
He must be Deified.   

For who like him, e'er fought or fell?  
What Hero ever lived so well,  
Or who so greatly died?   

1.  
What cannot Glorious Caesar do?  
How nobly does he fight and woe!  
On Crowns how does he tread!   

What mercy to the weak he shows,  
How fierce is he to living Foes,  
How pious to the dead?   

2.  
Cornelia yet would challenge Tears,  
But that the sorrow which she wears,  
So charming is, and brave.   

That it exalts her Honour more,  
Then if she all the Sceptres bore  
Her Generous Husband gave.   

Chorus.  
Then after all the Blood that's shed,  
Let's right the living and the dead:  
Temples to Pompey raise;   

Set Cleopatra on the Throne;  
Let Caesar keep the World h'has won;  
And sing Cornelia's praise.   After which a Grand Masque is Danced before Caesar and Clepatra, made (as well as the other Dances and the Tunes to them) by M. john Ogilby.   

EPILOGUE.  Written by Sir Edward Deering, Baronet. 
Pleased or displeased, censure as you think fit,  
The Action, Plot, the Language of the Wit:  
But we're secure, no Bolder thought can tax  
These scenes of Blemish to the blushing Sex.  
Nor Envy with her hundred Eyes espy  
One line severest Virtue need to fly:  
As chaste the words, as harmless is the sense,  
As the first smiles of Infant Innocence.  
Yet at your Feet, Caesar's Content to bow,  
And Pompey, never truly Great till now:  
Who does your Praise and kinder Votes prefer  
Before th' applause of his own Theatre:  
Where fifty Thousand Romans daily blessed  
The Gods and him, for all that they possessed.  
The sad Cornelia says, your gentler breath  
Will force a smile, even after Pompey's Death.  
She thought all Passions buried in his Urn,  
But flattering hopes and trembling fears return:  
Undone in Egypt, Thessaly and Rome,  
She yet in Ireland hopes a milder Doom:  
Nor from Iberian Shores, or Lybian Sands  
Expect relief, but only from your hands.  
en Cleopatra, not content to have  
The universe, and Caesar too her Slave:  
Forbears her Throne, till you her right allow;  
'Tis less t' have ruled the World, than pleased you.  
FINIS.