POMPEY THE GREAT. A Tragedy. As it was Acted by the Servants of His Royal Highness the Duke of YORK.  
Translated out of French by Certain PERSONS OF HONOUR.  
— Qui se Lectori credere malunt  
Quam spectatoris fastidia ferre superbi:  
Namque Equitis quoque jam migravit ab aure Voluptas  
Omnis, ad incertos oculos, & gaudia Vana.  Horat. 
LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be Sold at his Shop at the Sign of the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange. 1664.   

PROLOGUE AT THE HOUSE.  
FRom Greece, the place, where Wit and Learning grew,  
To Conquering Rome, the Banished Muses flew,  
With other Spoils adorning so her State,  
That all her Writers seem but to Translate;  
From thence the Roman Eagle on her Wing,  
These Entertainments towards the North did bring,  
Of such Delights cold Regions owe their part,  
Not to kind Nature, but to Care and Art:  
The Peach, the Tulip, Nectarine and Rose,  
Not in our Woods, but in our Garden grows;  
Who nothing will but what is Homebred taste,  
Must live content with Acorns and with Most;  
For your Diversion we this Night present,  
A Fruit which grew upon the Continent;  
Of all that's French, 'tis Ranked among the best,  
And may prove better in our Language dressed;  
As Flowers Transplanted recompense our Toil,  
Doubling their Beauties with their Change of Soil;  
This you must judge of, only make us bold  
With kind Attention, and you shall behold  
How Cleopatra Looks, how Caesar Burns,  
How Pompey Dies, and how Cornelia Mourns.   

The Actors Names.  

Caesar  


Lepidus  
Antonius   Senators, and followers of Caesar.  
Cornelia Wife to Pompey.  
Philip Freedman of Pompey.  
Ptolomey King of Egypt.  
Cleopatra His Sister.  


Photinus  
Achillas   Counsellors to Petolomy.  


Charmion  
Achoreus   Adherers to Cleopatra.  
Septimius A Degenerate Roman.    

POMPEY.  
Act the First,  

Scene the First.  Enter Ptolomey, Photinus, Achillas, Septimius. Ptolom. 
THe Fates disclose their Book, and now we Read,  
What of the Father and the Son's decreed.  
Th' amazed Gods awhile seemed all divided,  
What they demurred Pharsalia has decided,  
Whose Rivers Died with Blood and Rapid made  
Swell with the fury of the Roman blade,  
Arms, Eagles, Bodies, all Consus'dly spread,  
Cover her Fields infected with the Dead,  
Heaps of the Slain denied a Funeral,  
Just Nature to their own Revenge does call  
From putrid Corpse exhaling Poisonous airs,  
Enough to plague the guilty Conquerors;  
This is the Title of great Caesar's cause,  
At this dire Evidence by Mars his Laws,  
Caesar's absolved and Pompey guilty cried,  
This pitied Leader of the Juster side,  
By weary Fortune of success bereft,  
Is made a great example, and has left  
The world a pattern of her Rolling Wheel,  
Whose dismal turn whole Nations with him feel;  
He, whose Prosperity was wont to vie,  
With his own Wish, from Thessaly does fly,  
The Vanquished Pompey to our Ports, our Walls,  
Our Court approaching for a Refuge calls,  
From his own Father in Law, his proud defeat  
Seeks where against the Titans a retreat  
The Gods once found, where in despite of all,  
They that saved Heaven he thinks may stop his fall,  
And sharing the Despair on which he's hurled,  
May give a prop unto the Tottering world;  
For the World's fate on Pompey's fate depends;  
And to our Egypt in distress he sends,  
For Aid or Ruin, a Recruit or Grave,  
We must sink with him or his Fortunes save.  
This tempest Friends your grave advice must calm,  
He brings dread Thunder or the welcome Palm,  
He Crowned the Father, Threatens now the Son,  
Memphis he gave, and hazards what h' has done;  
His ruin I must share, or else comply  
With Caesar's wish and make my Suppliant die:  
The first Unsafe, the other Base and low,  
I fear Injustice or an Overthrow,  
Do what I can, to whatsoever I fly,  
'Tis full of Danger or of Infamy;  
The choice is mine, and you are to consult  
What to incline me to by your result;  
Pompey's the Theme, and we must have the praise  
To trouble Caesar, or complete his Bays,  
You sit on both their fortunes, upon more  
Than any Council ever sat before.  Photin. 
Sir, When the Sword great Causes does decide,  
Justice and Right good Statesmen lay aside,  
And who will wisely Act in such a season,  
Must balance Strength and not examine Reason;  
Weigh your own forces then and Pompey's might,  
His Hopes are dashed, his fruitless Valour light;  
'Tis not from Caesar only that he flies,  
But from the dread reproach and wrathful Eyes  
Of Rome's great Senate, whose best half invites  
To a Rich Banquet the Pharsalian Kites;  
He flies the City and the Sons of Rome,  
Which his Defeat to Slavery does Doom;  
He flies the Rage of Nations and of Crowns,  
That would revenge on him their Ransacked Towns,  
Their weakened States of Men and Money drained,  
Their Reputation by his Losses stained,  
The cause of all their Woes, hated by all,  
He flies the whole World shattered with his fall;  
Will you against such Opposition stand,  
And bear his Cause up with a single hand?  
The hope he had was in himself alone,  
What might be done, he did, he Overthrown  
You must give way, will you sustain a weight  
Which Rome bends under shrinking from her height?  
Maintain a Quarrel that has Thunder struck  
The reeling World, and the great Pompey broke?  
They that the faults of Fortune would amend,  
And be too Just, against themselves Offend,  
Whilst indiscreetly kind with vain Effort  
They perish with those Friends they would support;  
Their faith has a brave Lustre, but they fall,  
And honour lessens not the bruise at all.  
Side with the Gods, declare your self for Fate,  
Draw not on us their Thunder and their Hate,  
Ask not how justly, wherefore they chastise,  
But worship him whom they would have to Rise,  
Approve of their Decrees, applaud their Will,  
And whom they Frown on in Obedience Kill.  
By divine Vengeance on all sides pursued  
Pompey involves your Egypt in the feud;  
His head that he has shifted so to Save,  
Falling your Royal Company would have;  
His present coming I Unfriendly deem,  
Th' effect of Hatred rather than Esteem;  
'Tis to Destroy you, hither now to fly,  
And can you doubt if he deserve to Die?  
He should have come with Bays upon his brows,  
And with Success have seconded our Vows;  
With Feasts and Triumphs than we had received him,  
'Tis his own Fate, not we that have deceived him,  
Not him, but his ill Fortune we neglect,  
For to his Person▪ we would pay Respect;  
Caesar subdued, by the same Sword had Died,  
With which less willingly we pierce his side;  
Under his Ruin you must shelter take,  
And in this Storm his Death your▪ Harbour make,  
Which though the World should reckon as a Crime,  
Is but a Just compliance with the time;  
The strict regard of Justice does annoy▪  
The power of Crowns, and policy Destroy;  
'Tis the Prerogative of Kings to spare  
Nothing when they their own Destruction fear;  
He wants no Danger whom the care of Right  
Keeps from Injustice when 'tis requisite;  
Who to his Royal Power no bound, would have  
To his own Conscience must not be a Slave;  
And thus you have my Counsel mighty Sir,  
Who Kills the Conquered, Gains the Conqueror.  Achil. 
Photinus, Sir, speaks well, but though the Day  
Pompey has lost, his Person yet I weigh,  
I reverence that Blood the Gods did spare,  
When his whole Army such a Fate did share;  
Nor see I reason why it should be spilled,  
Unless it prove a necessary Guilt:  
What needs such Rigour? your Estate is sure,  
Who takes no part, can make no Forfeiture;  
You may stand Neuter, as you did before,  
Though Caesar's rising Fortune you adore,  
And treat him like a God, by my advice,  
You shall not make him such a Sacrifice,  
For Mars it were too precious, and will give  
Your name a Blot you never shall Outlive;  
It is enough that Pompey hither came,  
And found no Succour, to keep you from blame;  
The Senate by his inclination led,  
Set Egypt's Crown upon your Father's head,  
And yet I say not Kings should grateful be,  
Beyond the bounds and rule of Policy,  
They of their people ought more care to show  
Than gratitude for all that they can owe,  
A Crown bestowed can lay no Obligation▪  
On him that takes it to destroy his Nation.  
Besides, if every circumstance be weighed,  
What ventured Pompey in your Father's aid?  
He sought thereby to make his Credit known,  
And glory got by rendering him his own,  
He to the Senate an Oration made,  
But Caesar's thousand Talents did persuade,  
Had not that Treasure made your Father's way,  
In vain had been whatever he could say;  
He for you then, for him to Caesar you  
May plead, 'tis all with safety you can do,  
And all you owe him, to receive him here,  
Were to admit a Guest that you must fear.  
A Conquered Consul is so great a thing,  
That he will bear himself above a King;  
Forbid him Landing then, and spare his Head;  
But if your Majesty will have him Dead,  
Command this Sword to execute your Will,  
Great Pompey's blood I'll be the first shall spill.  Septim. 
Dread Sir, I am a Roman, and do know  
Both these Commanders and their Interest too.  
To succour Pompey were a dangerous part,  
To chase him hence would gain but half the heart  
Of mighty Caesar, and make him your foe,  
Who yet perhaps may to such Greatness grow,  
Raising new Forces both at Land and Sea,  
That he at length with Caesor may agree,  
And both revenge themselves on such a friend,  
Whose cold Neutrality did both offend;  
In rendering him I no less danger find,  
Caesar to Pardon him must seem inclined,  
And with false glory make glad Rome believe  
'tis for her sake he lets his Rival live,  
Whilst in the secret of his thoughts he knows  
That his forced Clemency to you he owes;  
Free Caesar then from Danger and from Guilt,  
And let his fortune on your shame be built,  
Pompey destroyed of Caesar we are sure,  
And from the Vengeance of the Dead secure;  
This my advice is, what Achillas said,  
Would give you cause to Live of both afraid.  Ptolom. 
Then to Necessity let Justice veil,  
And the Plurality of Votes prevail,  
My inclination too favours that doom,  
Which may abate this Arrogance of Rome;  
Let her that does the prostrate World bestride,  
Lose at one stroke both Liberty and Pride;  
Let Pompey die in whom her Hopes do Live,  
To the World's Tyrants-let's a Tyrant give,  
Let us contribute to the Fates decree,  
To make them Subjects and us Monarchs free,  
At least our Masters by this brave resolve  
In the same Servitude we shall involve;  
Go then Achillas, with Septimius go,  
And make us famous by this noble blow;  
Had Heaven to Pompey been propitious,  
It had not sent him to Endanger us.  Achil. 
Sir, What a King commands is always just.  Ptolom. 
Hast then, begone, and answer this great Trust,  
Which well performed, our Throne secure you make;  
Remember Rome and Egypt are at Stake.  Exeunt.  

Scene the Second.  Ptolomey, Photinus. Ptolom. 
Photinus', this our Sister will deceive,  
That hopes a Crown from Pompey to receive;  
She knows he has our Father's Will in guard,  
And sees her way to Royalty prepared  
By his arrival, she already plays  
The Queen, and her Ambitious hopes betrays,  
Thinking by Pompey's friendship and his might  
To ratify that Will and share my Right;  
She looks as if she were already grown  
My Mistress, or my Partner in the Throne.  Photin. 
Sir, 'tis a Motive which I did not urge,  
That Pompey's Death will her ill humours purge;  
Your cause decided by that ancient Host  
Of our late King, would half the Kingdom cost.  
His Will performed will divide your State;  
Yet wish I not you should your Sister hate,  
By Nature's Law she ought to have her part,  
Not in the Royal Throne, but in your Heart.  
To Reign in Consort little Honour brings,  
And you would seem Commissioners not Kings;  
This way how oft have States distracted been?  
But see! your Sister the pretended Queen.   

Scene the Third.  Ptolomey, Cleopatra, Photinus. Cleop. 
Pompey's arrived, Sir, shall he come alone?  Ptolom. 
Achillas and Septimius both are gone  
To wait upon him hither.  Cleop. 
Are they two  
Enough for him?  Ptolom. 
Why, Sister, you may go.  Cleop. 
Were it too much, had you in Person gone?  Ptolom. 
Yes, I must keep the honour of the Throne?  Cleop. 
Remember, Sir, who placed you there, and bow  
To that Great man to whom you so much owe.  Ptolom. 
Yes, your Great man's deserted and o'erthrown,  Cleop. 
Still he is Pompey and gave you the Crown.  Ptolom. 
'Tis Pompey's Ghost which has obliged the Ghost  
Of our Dead father, let him go and boast  
Those merits passed upon his Monument,  
Thither perhaps e'er long he may be sent.  Cleop. 
Pompey a Ghost! and sent unto a Grave!  
Is this the welcome he deserves to have?  Ptolom. 
'Tis what the Gods inspired us to do,  
And what the Kingdoms good compelled us to.  Cleop. 
Photin, and such mean counsellors I fear  
Have with base Counsel poisoned your Ear.  Photin. 
The counsel, Madam, we must all avow,  Cleop. 
Peace, till I stoop to mingle words with you.  Ptolom. 
She is my Sister, let her humour sway,  
For your known Innocence there needs no plea.  Cleop. 
Sir, Let that horrid Sentence be recalled  
If not too late, nor longer be enthralled  
To these low Slaves, but such advice embrace  
As Heaven suggests to those of our high Race.  Ptolom. 
Swelled with the hopes of Pompey's friendship, you  
Speak like a Queen, and think to make us bow  
With a false show of Virtue you can hide  
Your Interest too, and your Ambitious pride.  
With Pompey's Death you could be well content,  
Did he not keep our Father's Testament.  Cleop. 
No Sir, 'Tis honour, and not Interest,  
Which for great Pompey makes me thus Contest;  
Take here a Secret, which will let you know  
My Hopes are built upon his Mortal foe:  
When the Rude people of this barbarous Town,  
Made the Late King desert his Royal Throne,  
His Native Soil he left, in hope to find  
Rome's Senate to their old Confederate kind;  
To move their Pity we both went along,  
You but a tender Child, myself though Young  
Yet of an Age to make that Beauty known  
Which Heaven had lent me, and some Hearts my own;  
Above the rest Caesar his Passion shows,  
Declares his Love, but yet with Caution woos;  
Fearing the Senate, he puts Pompey on,  
Our business was by their new friendship done;  
Pompey's Authority for his Sake we had,  
And you this way with Royal Robes are clad.  
But Caesar thus to gain us mighty Rome,  
Thought not enough, his Love pursues us home,  
His Purse as well as Heart he opened wide,  
And with his Treasure our Low state supplied;  
His thousand Talents which are yet unpaid,  
Over the Rebels us Victorious made,  
This knew our Dying Father, and bestowed  
Half that on me to whom the Whole he owed,  
He knew the Kingdom was my Beauty's prize,  
And that he owed his Sceptre to these Eyes;  
Betwixt us two by his last Will, the Land  
Restored by Caesar does Divided stand;  
And thus you see it is no Partial end,  
But sense of Honour makes me Pompey's friend.  Ptolom. 
This story is contrived with a Dress.  Cleop. 
Of Caesar's coming here is an express;  
The cause I have to bear me like a Queen,  
Shall by yourself, this Day perhaps be seen;  
For some years passed here treated like a Slave,  
My right withheld, which our just Father gave,  
To flatter Slaves I have employed my breath,  
Lest your bad Ministers should plot my Death;  
From Photin and Achillas Tyranny  
Pompey or Caesar now will set me free.  
One of those Two our Difference shall decide,  
And then you'll know the reason of my Pride.  Exit Cleopatra.  

Scene the Fourth.  Ptolomey, Photinus. Ptolom. 
WHat think you, Photin, of this haughty Dame?  Photin. 
This secret never to my Knowledge came;  
Confused, Uncertain, in my Thoughts, I find  
No mean, whereby this Storm may be declined.  Ptolom. 
Shall Pompey Live then?  Photin. 
No, the rather Die;  
This way you must with your fair Sister vie  
For Caesar's grace, whose Gratitude may prove  
For such a Service equal to his Love.  Ptolom. 
What if her Charms with Caesar should prevail?  Photin. 
She must be flattered, if you think I fail,  
With wise Septimius and Achillas you  
May take advice what you are next to do.  Ptolom. 
From the high Tower we'll look on Pompey's fate,  
And this Affair at their return debate.  Exeunt.   

Act Second,  

Scene First.  Cleopatra sola. Cleop. 
YEs, I do Love, but must not let the flame  
Dazzle me so as to neglect my Fame;  
My heart feels both its Duties, and by turns,  
It sighs for Pompey, and for Caesar burns:  
Nor shall the Victor's passion make me lose  
The sense of what our House to Pompey owes.  
She that great Caesar loves, should in her Soul  
Abhor th' appearance of a Crime so foul;  
It were an Injury to his Desire,  
To think that Baseness can foment the Fire.  Enter Charmion. Charm. 
What, do you Caesar love, and yet would raise  
Egypt to trample on Pharsalia's Bays,  
Stop the high course of Fate, your Force direct  
'Gainst him you Love, and his great Foe protect?  
Love is no Tyrant with you I perceive.  Cleop. 
With their high Birth Princes this good receive,  
Their Souls partake their Generous race, and so  
Their rudest Passions to their Virtue bow,  
And whilst the Dictates of their own high Blood  
They dare observe, Illustrious, and all good  
That they determine, and the ill we find,  
Flows from the Counsel of some Baser Mind;  
Thus is great Pompey lost, the King would save  
A friend distressed, Photinus digs his Grave.  Charm. 
Thus then of Caesar, we in one Person see  
At once the Lover and the Enemy.  Cleop. 
No, thus I Court him, and no Charm there is  
Like that of Virtue, o'er a Mind like his.  Charm. 
What we Desire is easily Believed,  
And where we Love we soon are Deceived.  Cleop. 
Know then a Queen that holds her Honour dear,  
From no brave man, a low neglect can fear,  
And whensoe'er she owns her high desire,  
She meets an Equal if no greater Fire:  
But this concerns not me, who long ago  
Gave that great Conqueror the fatal Blow.  
At Rome the haughty Man became my Slave,  
And the first marks of his new Passion gave;  
And since that time, each Day, some new express  
Brings me his Vows, and tells me his Success,  
Through France, through Spain, or wheresoever he flies,  
Fortune attends, and Love Accompanies,  
He Worships me alone, and to my Eyes  
Ascribes the Fame of all his Victories,  
Oft with that hand all Reaking in the gore  
Of Slaughtered foes, my Pity does implore,  
Beating his breast, and with an humble guise  
Complains of Chains amidst his Victories,  
Vows he no pleasure took on what he had won,  
Till unto me the high Success was known,  
In whose dear I ove, alone, he can receive  
The utmost Joys the Conquered world can give:  
He offers me his Glory, to my Laws  
Submits that Heart and Hand the World obeys,  
So that my Rigour, like Jove's Thunder, can  
Make the most Wretched of the Greatest man.  Charm. 
Well, 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 d' you aim at? or to what pretend?  
Another Wife does all fair hopes defend;  
The Holy band of Sacred Hymen keep,  
His Soul enchained, and all such Thoughts asleep.  Cleop. 
A fresh Divorce so common at this day,  
May in my favour take those Lets away.  
'Twas so he Married her, and who can blame  
Him to return her by the way she came?  Charm. 
And who can say but he'll serve you so too?  Cleop. 
That sure my better Stars won't let him do;  
And if propitious Heaven but bless my Bed  
With any branch of his Illustrious seed,  
That happy Union of our Blood will Join  
Our Interest so, he'll be for ever mine;  
And since he hath no Children, the new tie  
Will grow upon him, and my Youth supply:  
But whatsoever befall me, if I may,  
I'll be his Bride, and though but one short Day  
Our Marriage last, the Glory ne'er can fall  
To have been once the Mighty Queen of all  
The Prostrate World; this my Ambition says,  
To which, be it right or wrong, my Soul obeys;  
I Love the Noble heat, and 'tis alone  
The generous passion that a Queen may own.  Charm. 
'Tis not the nearest way to Caesar's Bed,  
Nor this thought greatness, to save Pompey's Head.  Cleop. 
But 'tis the Nobl'st, and I should disdain  
The Highest Title with the Smallest Stain;  
Then wonder not, I Pompey thus protect,  
For so my Honour, and his Worth, direct.  
'Tis for his hapless Virtue all I may,  
And would to Heaven h'had ta'en some other way,  
And hope some friendly Storm will yet prevent  
Upon so Brave a Man our Foul Intent,  
Forcing his Vessel from our Faithless shore;  
But here comes Achoree will tell us more:  
What, is it done? and is our cursed Land,  
With the high Blood of the great Pompey stained?  Enter Achoree. Anchor. 
Madam, as you commanded, to the place  
I followed 'em, where I in little space  
Saw the whole Treason, the Great Pompey bleed,  
And every passage of that Barbarous deed;  
And since you do command me here proclaim  
That glorious Death which covers us with shame,  
Harken! admire! and his strange Fate deplore.  
His Vessel now in sight of our false Shore,  
Had strucken Sail, and he with Joy beheld  
Our Gally's coming which his Murderers filled,  
Thought our brave King touched with a generous sense  
Of the Sad Fortunes of so Great a Prince,  
Had sent his Fleet, but when that he perceived  
The Armed Boat, he soon was undeceived;  
Found the Base man Ingrateful to such Worth,  
Instead of Aid had sent his Murderers forth.  Cleop. 
How great a Curse Heaven on that Prince does send,  
Whom they do Power without Virtue lend!  
How much more Blessed are they that cannot reach  
That height of Mischief which their Natures teach!  
Whose Lives and Faults are private, so that Fame  
Can lay no lasting Blot upon their name!  
But this base Stain will stick upon our House,  
Whilst Memphis stands, or Nilus overflows.  
But how did Pompey on the Villains look?  Anchor. 
He was with Wonder, and not Terror struck;  
Some little Fear surprised him, but he soon  
Recalled his Temper, and then thought alone,  
Regardless of himself, how he might save  
His dear Cornelia from the present Grave;  
Let us expose alone these Silver hairs,  
To the reception that base Land prepares;  
Fly then he said, whilst the whole Storm I bear,  
And to take Vengeance by thy restless care;  
Our noble Juba bears a Braver mind,  
With him thy Father, and my Sons thou'lt find;  
Yet if they fail, and meet untimely Deaths,  
Never despair, whilst the bold Cato breathes.  
Thus whilst their Loves contest, the fatal Bark  
Makes towards them: Septimius as a mark  
Of Service gives his hand, in his own Tongue  
Salutes him Emperor, as from the Young  
Egyptian Monarch, Step, great Sir, he said,  
Into this Boat, Quicksands and Shelves have made  
Our Ports unsafe for greater Ships; even than  
Our Hero saw the baseness of the Men,  
Yet showed no Change, but keeping in his face  
His wonted Majesty and fearless Grace,  
With the same Countenance towards his Death doth go,  
Wherewith he wont whole Kingdoms to bestow.  
His Virtue entire attends him in his fate.  
Of all the followers of his happier State,  
His freedman Philip then remained alone,  
From him I learned what I have now made known.  
And this is all, Madam, that he expressed,  
My Eyes have seen, my Heart would sigh the rest;  
Caesar himself when his sad Fate he hears,  
To such Misfortunes can't deny his Tears.  Cleop. 
O spare not mine, proceed, this one relief,  
I have, that nothing can increase my grief.  Anchor. 
Far off we saw him coming, and not one  
Of all that Troop but his Discourse did shun;  
Which strange contempt made him too well perceive,  
The Entertainment he should soon receive:  
At length they came to Land, and as he stepped  
A shore, Achillas that base Traitor leapt  
Forth of the Boat, and the first Wound he made.  
Then all at once basely his Life invade;  
All of one Land, degenerate Sons of Rome,  
That should his Guard his Murderers become,  
Achillas' self that set the Villains on,  
Stood yet amazed to see't so boldly done.  Cleop. 
Ye Gods that give the World to civil War,  
When ye Revenge his Death our City Spare;  
Find out the Hands, and punish not the Town,  
The crime of Memphis was by Romans done.  
But how does he receive their Treachearous blows?  Anchor. 
Part of his Robe over his Face he throws,  
And without seeing it his Fate obeyed,  
Disdained the heavens' that had his cause betrayed,  
To look at then, lest Dying he might seem,  
Or Aid, or Vengeance to implore of them;  
No feeble part though of his failing breath  
but showed him worthy of a Nobler Death:  
His Head cut off, is by the Villains shown,  
Like some proud Trophy when a Battles won,  
And his Dead Body to the Seas exposed,  
Floats now at random in no Urn enclosed;  
At such a sight the poor Cornelia lost—  Cleop. 
Great Gods, in what Distraction was she Tossed?  Anchor. 
Her Mournful hands to cruel Heaven she lifts,  
Yet pays Subbmission to its hidden Drifts,  
And then again o'ercome with sudden grief,  
Falls in a Sound, and seems to hate Relief;  
Her men the while plying the Oars amain,  
With frighted haste the Milder Sea regain:  
But yet I fear they cannot scape, for base  
Septimius does them with six Vessels chase,  
Who to complete his Crime endeavours shows,  
And Pompey even after Death pursues.  Cleop. 
Unequalled Villais! O! Accursed brood!  
Are they not Glutted with that Hero's Blood,  
That thus his dearer half they do pursue,  
Forgetting all that to her Sex is due?  Anchor. 
Mean while Achillas doth in Triumph bring  
His horrid Present to our Faithless King;  
The people as he goes astonished mourn,  
And from the hated sight their Faces turn,  
A general horror doth their Souls invade,  
Some fear the Ground will open, and be made  
Their common Grave: others loud Thunder hear,  
To every one does some strange Sight appear,  
So does the Guilt distract them, and present  
Unto their Thoughts th' excess of Punishment;  
His freedman Philip in a Servants mind,  
Shows yet a Courage of the Noblest kind,  
He follows his Dead Lord, and watches where  
Or to what Shore the Angry main will bear  
The Headless Trunk, that he may duly burn,  
And put his Sacred Ashes in an Urn;  
But as toward afric they Cornelia chase,  
Caesar appears, and almost hide the face  
Of spacious Neptune with his Numerous Fleet.  Cleop. 
It must be he, in that we plainly see't.  
Tremble ye Villains of this impious Land,  
Cleopatra now holds Thunder in her hand,  
May throw't on whom she will, Caesar is come,  
She is your Queen, her angry Breath your Doom.  
Let us admire the while, th' uncertain state  
Of human greatness, and by Pompey's fate  
Learn what our own may be: This Prince that swayed  
Th' Imperial Senate, whom the world Obeyed,  
Whom Fortune seemed to have advanced above  
Her own proud reach, who did more terror move  
In Rome than Loudest Thunder, whom she saw  
Three times her proud Triumphal Chariots draw,  
Who in these last extremes and falling state  
Both Consuls had Companions of his Fate,  
When Fortune once neglected him, we see  
Egyptian Monsters of his Head decree,  
We see a Photin and Achillas straight  
The great Disposers of the highest Fate,  
A King that from his Hands a Crown receives,  
Him to the hands of Basest Villains gives;  
So Pompey falls, and so perhaps one Day,  
The now Victorious and great Caesar may:  
But O ye powerful Gods that see my Tears,  
Assist my Wishes, and avert my Fears.  Anchor. 
Madam, the King is coming?  [Enter Ptolomey, Photinus. Ptolom. 
Do you know the Honour we are like to have?  Cleop. 
Yes, Caesar's come, I'm no more Photin's Slave.  Ptolom. 
Sister, you always hate that worthy Man.  Cleop. 
No, but I now despise the worst he can.  Ptolom. 
Of what design of his can you complain?  Cleop. 
Where we have suffered much, fears are not Vain;  
So great a Statesman may do any thing,  
When he's assisted by a Credulous King.  Ptolom. 
I follow his advice, and know 'tis good.  Cleop. 
I fear th' Effects, and see it spares no Blood.  Ptolom. 
For common safety, all things Lawful are.  Cleop. 
That kind of Justice, I too Justly fear:  
It cost me late my Interest in the Throne,  
And Pompey's Head to whom you owe your Crown.  Ptolom. 
He never played a greater Statesman's part,  
Caesar to gain there was no other Art;  
You see his haste, and our Disordered Town,  
Before it could have Armed, had been O'erthrown,  
But safely now to his Victorious hand,  
Your Heart I offer, and my own Command.  Cleop. 
Make your own offers, I shall mine propound,  
You need not thus our Interests confound.  Ptolom. 
They are but one, since of one Blood we be.  Cleop. 
You might as well say two of one Degree,  
Being Sovereigns both, and yet you'll shortly learn  
There is some difference in our concern.  Ptolom. 
Yes Sister, for my small Dominion ends▪  
In narrow Bounds, nor beyond Nile pretends,  
But you are Caesar's Queen, and may command  
O'er Ganges, Tagus, and the farthest Land.  Cleop. 
I have Ambition, but 'tis so confined,  
That thought it Dazzles me I am not Blind.  
Talk not to me of Tagus nor of Ganges,  
I know my Right, and care not for your Changes.  Ptolom. 
Y' have an advantage, and you'll use't I find.  Cleop. 
I'm sure if I don't I'm not of your mind. [Exit.  Ptolom. 
I followed thy advice, yet all my Art,  
And lowest Flattery, but made her start  
Into a farther Pride, until at last  
Tired with such Scorn my Rage had like t' have past  
All bounds, and neither minding Caesar nor his force,  
With her high Pride have taken such a Course,  
That spite of all her brags she sooner might  
Implore of Pompey than of him a right;  
She talks as though sh' already were a Queen,  
And if he do indulge her Pride and Spleen,  
And she o'er him her boasted Empire have,  
Her Brother and her King must be her Slave;  
But le's prevent her Rage, 'tis poor to wait,  
And tamely bear the certain strokes of Fate;  
Let's put an end to her too long disdain,  
Let's from her take the Means to Please and Reign.  
What? shall my Sceptre and undoubted Right,  
So long maintained, a Wanton smile requite?  Photin. 
Sir, give him no pretence to rend your Crown  
From off your Head, and join it to his own;  
That haughty Mind which has no other care  
But to bring Cruel Slavery and Warr  
Where e'er he comes, Transported with the Rage  
Which such a loss must certainly engage  
A Real Lover in, though you but Justice do,  
Will take th' occasion to become your Foe,  
And then to Colour o'er his Thirst of Spoil,  
Your brave Revenge will a foul Murder style.  Ptolom. 
If she once see him she will have the Crown.  Photin. 
And if she don't, y' are certainly undone.  Ptolom. 
I'll pluck her with me, since I needs must fall.  Photin. 
Preserve yourself I pray, if that be all.  Ptolom. 
What! in my Crown to see her proudly Shine?  
Sceptre, if thou must leave these hands of mine,  
Pass, pass, unto the Mighty Conquerors.  Photin. 
Sir, you will better wrest it out of hers.  
What ever Flames he for a while may show,  
Fear not, he shortly must begone we know;  
No Ardour Love can give to such a Soul,  
But what his High designs will soon Control,  
Iberia, Africa, are yet possessed  
By the Young Pompey's and that Interest,  
So great a General would much mistake  
No other use of his Success to make,  
Than to give Leisure to such Daring sprights,  
To be again in posture for new Fights.  Ptolom. 
What human Force can long oppose that Hand,  
Which neither Rome nor Pompey could withstand?  
And then with Lovers haste he will return,  
And we too late our lost Occasion Mourn.  Photin. 
Soon as he has that Party quite o'erthrown,  
He must to Rome there to secure his own;  
Change at his Will the Model of the State,  
Enjoy the Bounty of Indulgent Fate,  
And when he's there, what is't you may not do?  
But for a while you must to Caesar bow,  
Constrain yourself to please him, we shall find  
A time to settle all things to your Mind;  
Give freely to his hands your Power and Crown,  
And to his high Disposal leave your Throne;  
What ever hopes her haughty Mind may fill,  
I know he must observe your Father's will;  
Besides, the late great Service you have done,  
Bids you be confident of what's your own;  
But whatsoever he does, seem to comply,  
Extol his Judgement, praise his Equity,  
Till he begone at least, and when we see  
That time and place with our Designs agree,  
We will revenge ourselves, and she shall find  
The fatal Error of her haughty Mind.  Ptolom. 
Thou hast restored me to my Life and Crown;  
The greatest Blessings that the Gods send down  
On Princes, are such counsellors; le's go  
Dear Atlas of my Throne, to meet our Foe  
With all our Fleet, present him all we have,  
That we may all again entire Receive.    

Act Third,  

Scene First.  Enter Charmion and Achoreus. Charm. 
WHile Ptolomey with low respect does haste  
Our Egypt's Crown at Caesar's feet to Cast,  
The Queen as unconcerned at Home does stay,  
Expecting Caesar like respect should pay  
To her; what think you of this haughty Dame?  Acho. 
'Tis a just Value set upon the Fame  
Of her great Beauty, and becomes her Place  
And high Extraction of that Royal Race;  
But may I have access?  Charm. 
No, I am sent  
Of the late Interview to know th' Event,  
To learn what the strange Present did obtain,  
The thanks of Caesar or his Just disdain,  
If his Reception of the King were kind,  
And what Success our Murderers do find.  Acho. 
The Head presented will produce Effects  
Much differing from what Egypt's Court expects,  
Whose Flatteries have misled their Sovereign;  
When he took Shipping I was in his Train;  
Our Navy Anchor in good Order weighed,  
And a League hence for Caesar's coming stayed,  
He with full Sails advanced, as Mars had graced  
His Sword with Conquest, Neptune now as fast  
Favours his Course, and to his Fleet, as kind  
As his late Fortune, gives a prosperous Wind;  
When they first meet, Our Prince dismayed appears,  
Forgetting what became the Crown he wears,  
Shows Abject Fear, in Cheerfulness ill feigned,  
A servile Baseness his Behaviour stained;  
I blushed to see our Ptolomey so near  
To mighty Caesar and no King appear;  
Caesar that saw Fear strike him in amaze,  
With Flattering pity did his Spirits raise;  
He faintly then the fatal Present shows,  
Behold my Lord, the last of all your Foes.  
Pompey, Cornelia, both from me receive  
More than the Gods could at Pharsalia give;  
Here is his Head, the other, though she flies,  
Our Fleet pursuing will soon make your prize.  
The Head discovered of great Pompey slain  
Appeared as though it would have Spoke again,  
As if it yet were warm enough to have  
Sense of th' Affront which to his Ghost they gave;  
The mouth yet Gasping, and the wandering sight  
Seemed to recall the Soul but yet in Flight,  
His Dying anger wanted only breath  
T' accuse the Gods for his Defeat and Death.  Charm. 
Drawn in small space, large Histories have been,  
So in that point those Miseries were seen,  
That like a Deluge the whole World o'erspread,  
ere they could swell so high to reach that Head;  
Could horror there, Contracting all her power  
Make no Impression on the Conqueror?  Acho. 
The sight like Thunder struck him with surprise,  
As one not knowing what, or how t' advise,  
His fixed Eye a while, and deep suspense  
From all about him hid his Doubtful sense;  
If we may guests, he laboured to Destroy  
The rising Motions of uncomely Joy,  
To which Ambition did his Thoughts allure,  
Finding his Empire o'er the World secure,  
This Pleasure with Discretion did contest  
For a short pause, till Reason got the best;  
Though he loves Greatness, Treachery he hates,  
Weighs the World's Judgement and his own, Debates  
What solid Motives urge his Joy, or Woe,  
At length Concluding, Tears his Eyes o'erflow,  
A generous Frailty in his Temper shines,  
And to his Virtue Interest resigns;  
Out of his Sight he sends them with their Gift,  
And with his Eyes and Hands to Heaven up lift,  
Against the Fact in bitter Words declares,  
Then silent stood as one oppressed with Cares,  
Nor to his Romans would he make reply,  
But with deep Sighing or an angry Eye;  
At length with Thirty Cohorts set on Land,  
Both of our Ports and Gates he took Command,  
Placed Guards with secret Orders every where,  
To make Distrust as well as Grief appear,  
Speaks as our Lord, names Pompey, not as one  
That was his Rival, but his Dearest Son;  
There's what I saw.  Charm. 
Here's what the Queen would have,  
And what her Prayers from just Osiris crave,  
she'll be Transported with this welcome News,  
Which to increase your faithful Service use.  Acho. 
I shall, but Caesar's come, go let her hear  
How pale our Courtier's look, how Dead with fear,  
And we, as Caesar shall his mind disclose,  
Will soon inform her how this new World goes.  Exeunt.  

Scene the Second.  Enter Ptolomey, Caesar and Lepidus, Antonius. Ptolom. 
MY Lord, as Sovereign here, our Throne ascend.  Caesar. 
That offer, Sir, speaks you not Caesar's friend,  
Fortune's worst Malice could not set me down  
To less Advantage than upon a Throne;  
Here Rome's hard usage would find Just excuse,  
If such a weak Temptation could seduce  
A Roman heart from its true Character,  
To stoop at Loyalty, disdained by her,  
And given as Cheap, 'tis bred in our Souls frame  
To hate that Quality, and slight the Name;  
This from great Pompey you had sooner known,  
If your Distressed friend y' had dared to own,  
He had this offer of your Chair declined,  
If to that Worthy you had been thus kind;  
You might perhaps, have fallen, but strewed with Bays,  
No Trophies of Success had matched that praise,  
When Fortune had betrayed your Enterprise,  
Caesar had took delight to help you Rise,  
But since your Thoughts had no regard of Fame,  
To that Illustrious head whence grew your Claim;  
Which way could he forfeit his Life to you,  
Whose Homage is to the least Roman due?  
Has fate made me Triumphant o'er my Foes,  
That Egypt's King the Conquest should dispose?  
My too Destructive Sword did I unsheathe,  
That you might Judge of Romans Life and Death?  
I Fought to wrest that Power from Pompey's hands,  
Shall I endure your Barbarous Commands?  
What do you think for this can be your Doom,  
Where you pretend a Sovereignty o'er Rome?  
Affronted more in this Illustrious head,  
Than all the Blood that Mithridates shed;  
Had I been Vanquished, your Complying thought  
My head a present had to Pompey brought;  
Thanks to my Fortune that I am adored,  
From him Retreating I had met your Sword;  
Friendship abhorred, and formidable Love,  
That Safe or Dangerous as our Fortunes prove;  
But speak, you have too long stood thus Confused.  Ptolom. 
'Tis true, but with Just cause may be Excused.  
A Soveragn Born that always used Command,  
I now in presence of my Master stand,  
My Courtiers all with Reverence on me look,  
But with like Awe I am by Caesar struck,  
Judge then how I should presence have of mind,  
Who from your Words such Cause of Terror find;  
Lost in profound Respect, how should we Clear  
This double Cloud of Reverence and Fear?  
But above all that which Confounds me most,  
Is to find Caesar Friend to Pompey's Ghost.  
You urge Ingratitude, but this I know,  
That more to Caesar than to him I owe;  
Your favour first on our Dark Fortune shined,  
To what he did he was by you inclined,  
Our Cause i'th' Senate he did undertake,  
Protecting Injured Princes for your sake,  
Yet vain had been whatever they Decreed,  
Unless your Bounty had supplied our need;  
The Thousand Talents you so Nobly lent,  
Restored us to our Throne from Banishment.  
Your Son we Honoured, while he was your Friend,  
Before his Force he did against you bend;  
Before he Envied your Success in War,  
And Tyrant like began this Civil Jar.  Caesar. 
Hold— Are you not contented with his Death,  
That thus you Blast his Glory with your Breath?  
Vent not such Slanders as may Rome offend,  
Nor him Reproach, while you yourself Defend.  Ptolom. 
Then we refer to Heaven his secret thought,  
Which all our Vows during these Wars besought,  
That you by prosperous Arms might be redressed,  
Whose slow Resentment was so rudely Pressed.  
How could I think, that it became your Friend  
To spare his Life, that did your Death intend?  
A man whose Rage no Victory could quell,  
Might have fetched Succour from the lowest Hell,  
Made the Wild Parthian the Sworn foe of Rome,  
And all the East against his Father come;  
Besides, had you his Person got, our fear  
Supposed your heart too generous would forbear  
Your Just Revenge, and Clemency's Excess  
Had still Continued your Unhappiness.  
These friendly fears of Accidents so ill,  
Made us secure you, though against your Will;  
Our forward Zeal as Guilty you disown,  
But 'twas to Serve you, what has been misdone;  
Nor need you own the Fact by which you gain,  
To keep you Innocent I took the stain,  
The Blacker 'tis the more it should be Prized,  
My Fame to your Concernment Sacrificed.  Caesar. 
Reasons ill grounded your false Zeal misled,  
If what the whole World prayed for, caused your Dread,  
That your too Curious fear should thus delude  
The fairest hope our Civil Arms pursued;  
Honour engaged me my proud Foes to tame,  
And then to pardon was my only aim,  
The feircest Enemies I have o'erthrown,  
For my Dear Friends and Confidents I own.  
What public Joy had our sad War ensued,  
If I and Pompey o'er our former feud,  
Triumphant had in the same Chariot Rid?  
All which your narrow Policies forbid.  
You feared my Clemency! O gross mistake!  
Wish it were greater now for your own sake;  
If by strict Rules of Justice I were led,  
I should appease Rome's Anger with your Head;  
Without regard to seeming Love, your State,  
Or too late Penitence, Indulge my Fate,  
And make your Throne itself the Tragic Stage,  
Did not your Sister obviate my Rage:  
Your guilty Blood my Pardon only gains,  
Because it runs in Cleopatra's Veins;  
On your base Flatterers the fault I lay,  
And am content their Lives the forfeit pay;  
Guilty or Innocent I shall Esteem  
You, as you Spare, or as you Punish them.  
Mean while to Pompey let new Altars rise  
With Honours, such as to the Deities  
Are paid, with Sacrifice your Crime repair,  
And in that Work employ your Chiefest care;  
Among your Courtier's order this Design,  
And leave me otherwise employed with mine.  Exit Ptolomey.  

Scene the Third.  
Antonius', have you Egypt's Princess seen?  Anton. 
Yes, and all wonders met in that fair Queen,  
Heaven never yet in such a Union Joined  
All Beauty's Charms with an Accomplished mind;  
Her Look with a sweet Majesty replete,  
The coldest Hearts invades with Conquering heat,  
Her Wit surprises, and her bright Eyes so,  
That were I Caesar, I should Love her too.  Caesar. 
But how does she our offered Love receive?  Anton. 
As if she durst not, but yet did believe;  
With Weak Denials she invites to sue,  
And seems not worthy, though she thinks it due.  Caesar. 
Shall I prevail?  Anton. 
What doubt if you Command  
Her, that Expects a Sceptre from your Hand?  
How should your Passion fear to be repelled?  
What can oppose him that has Pompey quelled?  
All the Objection that her Caution brings,  
Is the Contempt that Romans have of Kings;  
Something she's troubled with Calphurnia too,  
But all will Vanish at the sight of you,  
To pleasing Hopes these Fears will soon give place,  
When you shall Woo her with a Conquerors Grace.  Caesar. 
Let's go and free her from this Trivial fear,  
By making Caesar's matchless Love appear;  
Come, le's away.  Anton. 
Before you wait on her  
Know that Cornelia is your Prisoner,  
Brought by Septimius, whom his late Crimes raise  
To great Expectance of your thanks and praise;  
Your Guards by Order when they first took Shore,  
Led them towards you without Expressing more.  Caesar. 
She must come in; these News untimely stay  
Impatient hopes with Languishing delay;  
O the Excess of Greatness that Employs  
Our Life in Business, and Deferrs our Joys.   

Scene the Fourth.  Enter Cornelia with a Guard. Septim. 
MY Lord—  Caesar. 
Septimius to your Master go,  
No Traitors shall abide with Caesar, no  
Degenerate wretch, that Roman Swords could bring  
From Pompey's Camp or mine to serve a King.  Cornel. 
Caesar, for Envious Fates that I outbrave  
Can make me but your Prisoner, not your Slave,  
Expect not that their Rage should make me Bow  
To call you Lord, That Homage is below  
Young Crassus, Pompey's Widow, Scipio's Blood,  
And what's yet more a Roman Born, how should  
I stoop to that who am so much above  
The power of Fortune in my Birth and Love?  
For Life, 'tis that I Blush to own, that I  
Could stay behind when I saw Pompey Die;  
Though Pity with rude Force imposed restraint  
From Steel, or Waves, It is my shame to want  
Those borrowed helps, for loss of such a Friend,  
Excess of Grief should Lingering Torments end;  
Death were my Glory, that your Captive I  
Live, is the last Degree of Misery.  Caesar. 
The Nature of your Grief so Violent,  
Does to your Thoughts through a Dark Veil present  
All black like nng Monsters, this belief  
Of them were Just, not where a Roman's chief.  Cornel. 
O Heaven! upon my Birth what Planets shined,  
That I must praise their Clemency to find  
My greatest Foe Rule here, rather than one  
My Husband's hand Restored to his lost Throne?  
Caesar, upon your Triumphs set less rate,  
Effects produced by my Disastrous fate,  
Ruin my Portion to both Husbands paid,  
Theirs, and the whole World's Fortune has outweighed;  
'Tis I, that with my Nuptial Knot ill tied,  
Twice made the Gods forsake the Juster side.  
O that on Caesar I had been bestowed,  
That Rome to my Misfortune might have owed  
Her freedom, and thy Family the bane  
Of blasting Stars led thither as my Train;  
Think not to change my Hate, a Heart like mine  
Though force may Captivate, can ne'er incline  
Basely to sue, what e'er your Order Threats,  
Cornelia neither Trembles, nor Entreats.  Caesar. 
O worthy half of an Illustrious mate,  
Your Courage we admire, and mourn your Fate,  
From whence you Sprung, this great Heart amply proves,  
And your Just Title to such Worthy Loves;  
Young Crassus, Pompey's Virtues, whose reward  
Fate could not pay, Scipio's great Soul, the Guard  
Of our Distressed and Threatened Deities  
Speak with your Voice, and Sparkle in your Eyes;  
No Dame so highly Married, and so Born,  
Does Rome the Mistress of the World Adorni;  
Would Jove and all the Gods your Scipio saved  
From Punic Rage, had heard but what I craved,  
That in your Hero's Breast no misconceit  
Of my Design had made him thus retreat  
To Barbarous Courts, on us he had relied,  
And stopped his Flight to hear me Justified,  
Then had I Triumphed with a happier Doom  
Over Mistakes and Strife, not Him, and Rome,  
And he his Losses recompensed might prove  
In the full Treasure of his Rival's Love:  
To Live his Equal, and to Die his Friend,  
Of my Contention was the only End,  
His Mind once settled in a quiet state,  
His Pardon I had got for partial Fate;  
And with it gained Rome's Alienated heart,  
When she had known I had in his a part.  Cornel. 
Caesar, great Promises are safely made,  
Where the performance is but to a Shade,  
The way's too Common, and we easily find  
Men to the Ashes of their Rivals kind;  
Be still yourself, for we receive your Hate  
With better Welcome, than a Love so Late.  Caesar. 
Yet, Madam, since with him these Hopes must Die,  
And Envious Fates so great a Joy deny,  
To what is left of him, that is, to You,  
Caesar shall render what to Both is due.  
Be Mistress of yourself, I only pray  
The favour from you of a Two Days stay,  
To be a Witness after all your Hate,  
How I Resent his Loss, Revenge his Fate,  
That so the World for all the late spilled flood,  
May know the Price I set on Roman Blood.  
Madam, I leave you for a Moment, see  
Good Lepidus, that her Attendance be  
As Roman Ladies ought, That is, above  
What's paid to greatest Queens, let all things move  
At her Command.  Cornel. 
O Cruelty of Fate!  
That I such Virtue should be forced to Hate.  Exeunt.   

Act Fourth,  

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

Scene the Second.  Ptolomey, Cleopatra, Charmion. Cleop. 
BRother, with Caesar I have done my best  
To make your Peace, and Calm his Angry breast.  Ptolom. 
'Twas nobly done, I could have hoped no more,  
Though I had used you like yourself before;  
But your brave Lover Sister left you soon.  Cleop. 
Some little Tumult raised in the Town;  
Lest that their Rage and Numbers should increase  
He would himself secure the public Peace,  
And I was glad that I had time to tell  
This happy News, since none can do't so well;  
I saw great Caesar's brow without a frown,  
You need not fear your Person nor your Crown,  
Caesar's so much your Friend, that for your sake  
He's moved to Pity, the advice you take  
Of such base Counsel, who in every thing  
Will make ye more a Tyrant than a King,  
These men Composed of the Coursest Earth,  
Whose Souls are baser than their Obscure Birth,  
You give 'em power, and set 'em up to Reign,  
clothe 'em with Purple, but 'tis all in Vain,  
Their Native Baseness is a foul Disease  
Which none can Cure, and such Men as these  
Faintly let fall, when Raised to high Commands,  
The Weighty Sceptres from their Trembling hands.  Ptolom. 
Sister, 'tis true, and now I find too late,  
How ill I chose my Ministers of State;  
Had I left them, and been Advised by you,  
I'd Lived with Glory as my Equals do,  
And had deserved the Kindness which you still  
Retain for me, though I have used you Ill;  
My Palace then had been the Happy place,  
Where Caesar might his Conquered Son Embrace,  
And when the World had found all Troubles cease,  
She ' d been obliged to Egypt for her Peace;  
I as a Friend to both, had by the Laws  
Of Egypt Judged of the great Roman Cause;  
But since what's past can now find no redress,  
To you I freely may my Griefs express,  
I used you Ill, and your Revenge was shown  
In the preserving both my Life and Crown:  
Subdue yourself still in this Noble strife,  
And save Photinus and Achillas Life,  
They merit Death since they Offended you,  
But then my Reputation suffers too;  
If for my Crimes these Worthless Wretches die,  
I shall Live Heir to all their Infamy;  
Oblige me, Sister, let your Eyes bright Charms  
Melt the Stern man like Lightning through his Arms,  
That I to you may Owe with grateful shame,  
My Life, my Kingdom, and what's more, my Fame.  Cleop. 
Were it in me to Punish or Forgive,  
My Scorn is great enough to let them Live,  
But to solicit Caesar 'twill be Vain,  
Since by their Hands Pompey was basely Slain;  
His Blood with Caesar's Justice will oppose  
This strange Desire of mine to save my Foes;  
Once for your Sake I did their Pardons crave,  
He the Discourse to something else did Wave,  
And such a Kind of careless Cunning used,  
My Prayer was neither Suffered nor Refused;  
But now at your Request I'll fully prove,  
What Interest I have in Caesar's Love,  
And I dare Hope—  Ptolom. 
— He comes, let me begone,  
You'll have more Power when you are alone,  
My presence might another Passion move,  
I'll wholly leave him to yourself and Love.  Exeunt.  

Scene the Third.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Antonius, Lepidus, Charmion, Achoreus, Romans. Caesar. 
MY Queen, this Storm is laid without much harm,  
A small Commotion gave a great Alarm;  
But when I left you I began to find  
A greater Tumult in my Troubled mind.  
Love, my most powerful Passion made me hate  
Success and Greatness, Curse the Cruel fate  
That raised me, since thus great I cannot spare  
Myself one hour of Joy, but some new Care  
Still calls me from you, yet I straight again  
Am reconciled to Fortune, and restrain  
My Causeless passion, nay, adore my Bays,  
Since they my Hopes as well as Person raise  
To that Auspicious height from whence I see,  
So fair a Prospect of Felicity,  
That I dare hope Requital of my Flame,  
Though my Ambitious Love make you his Aim.  
You now may Caesar with like Ardour meet,  
Kings cast their Crowns and Sceptres at my feet;  
But if the World a Monarch yet contains,  
Who more deserves the Glory of your Chains,  
On whose high Throne you might with greater State,  
Give Laws to Nations, and Dispose of Fate,  
By force of Arms I would my Title prove,  
His Rival less for Empire than for Love,  
Nor should I hope you would my Flames allow,  
Till I had made so great a Rival bow;  
These were the Ambitious hopes which have thus far  
Engaged your Caesar in a Civil War,  
And that I might this glorious Right maintain,  
I Conquered Pompey on Pharsalia's Plain;  
Where e'er I Fought, your Beauty did afford  
Strength to my Arm, and Sharpness to my Sword,  
And all the fair Success I had in Arms,  
Were the Effects of your Bright Beauty's Charms,  
Which in my Breast did first this Passion move,  
And now has Raised me Equal to your Love,  
Since I without a Rival am become  
Master of all the World and Head of Rome:  
These are the Titles that my Valour gave,  
Which love innobles by the name of Slave,  
And I am more than Blessed if you approve,  
And perfect the Success of humble Love.  Cleop. 
These Honours are too great, I needs must know  
What Cleopatra does to Caesar owe,  
And should I nicely still conceal my Flame,  
I must my Love and Reason too Disclaim;  
Your high Affections did my Childhood grace,  
When Beauty only Budded in my Face,  
Than first you gave, and since restored my Crown,  
After all this I must a Passion own,  
And that my Heart no longer can exclude,  
The force of Love and that of Gratitude;  
But yet alas my glorious Birth and Fate,  
The Restoration of my Crown and State,  
And all the Honours I from you enjoy,  
My better Hopes and my Desires Destroy,  
If Rome be still the same, my Lofty Throne  
Instead of Raising, casts me lower down,  
And marks of Regal power, like Brands of shame,  
Render me more Unworthy of your Flame.  
Yet I dare hope, since I your Power know,  
And what the Gods to so much Virtue owe,  
That I by you this haughty Rome shall see,  
Bound in the Golden Chains of Monarchy;  
Then she shall soon forget the Cruel hate,  
She always bore to Kings, while yet a State,  
Growing Enamoured of your Sceptres awe,  
Whilst your Examples serve her for a Law;  
She shall from you far Nobler Maxims take,  
And Love all Princes for her Caesar's sake.  
How well may I expect this Change of Rome,  
From him that could great Pompey overcome?  
Your Power I know can greater Wonders do,  
And I implore no other God but you.  Caesar. 
When Love bids Caesar use his utmost Force,  
Wonders grow easy, and ne'er stop my Course;  
My Ensigns stained with Gore should I display,  
I in a March might Conquer Africa,  
And the Remains of my Despised Foes,  
Would to my Arms, their Flying Backs oppose,  
Then wanting Power, this proud, this haughty Rome,  
Should Caesar's servile Flatterer become;  
At my return she shall our Triumph meet,  
And cast her Pride and Hatred at your feet,  
And whilst I here pursue my glorious Fate,  
She shall e'er long become my Advocate,  
And with all humble Duty beg a Race  
Of glorious Caesars from your Chaste embrace.  
This Fruit I hope from my Victorious Bays,  
Rather than large Dominion or high Praise;  
But e'er I reach this height of Happiness,  
I must forsake all that I now possess.  
Oh that my Foes were Men so void of Fear,  
That they durst come and bid me Battle here;  
Now at too dear a Rate I Conquest buy,  
Since I lose you to gain a Victory;  
But this my Fondness Love will disallow,  
To gain you ever I must leave you now;  
Where e'er they fly I thither must remove,  
To perfect Conquest and deserve your Love:  
But e'er I go from those all Conquering Eyes,  
Let me receive the Soul of Victories,  
That all my Foes may cry struck with pale Dread,  
He comes, he sees, and we are Conquered.  Cleop. 
Too much great Sir, I must such Love abuse,  
Which makes me Sin, and will my Fault excuse;  
You gave me Freedom, Life, and Sceptre too,  
Which gives me Confidence to Trouble you;  
And I Conjure you by Love's powerful Charms,  
By the Success which still attends your Arms,  
By your fair Hopes and mine, by all that's good,  
You would not Die my Royal Robes in Blood:  
Be gracious Sir, and pardon, or let me,  
As my first Act of Sovereignty;  
Photin and Achillas we should Disdain,  
And they are Punished now they see me Reign,  
And this their Crime—  Caesar. 
— Ah take some other way,  
To show your Power, how soon should I obey?  
But this my Queen is more than Tyranny,  
To lay their Baseness and their Crimes on me.  
Some Worthier Subjects to your Mercy take,  
And think what's done already for your Sake,  
That with the King himself I dare dispense,  
Were not my Flames—   

Scene the Fourth.  Caesar, Cornelia, Cleopatra, Achoreus, Antonius, Lepidus, Charmion and Romans. Cornel. 
CAesar, make some Defence,  
They have Designed thy Death, and that thy Blood  
With Pompey's Gore should make one Purple flood.  
If not prevented, this their close Compact,  
The Bloody Villains straight will put in Act.  
My Slaves are in, from them by Tortures try  
To know the Depth of this Conspiracy,  
For I Disclaim them.  Caesar. 
These are Resentments of a Roman heart,  
Worthy the man of whom you were a part,  
His Manes sure, who saw that this my Care  
Of his Revenge did my own Death prepare,  
Have so forgot our Quarrel and all Hate,  
They're now the Guardian Angels of my Fate,  
And in a Grateful and far Nobler strife,  
By you his Living part have saved my Life.  
In spite of all that Treachery could do,  
Pompey's not Dead, he still Survives in you;  
His noble Soul did in your Breast make stay,  
To Vanquish Caesar this most Generous way.  Cornel. 
Thou art become thine own base Flatterer.  
Canst thou believe that I will aught prefer  
To my Revenge? no, the deplored Fate  
Of my Dead Lord, so just a cause of Hate,  
Shall ever be of Force to Disallow  
All terms of Reconcilement 'twixt us two.  
My promised Liberty, let me enjoy,  
That I that freedom wholly may employ  
To thy Destruction, for where e'er I go  
Each man I meet I'll strive to make thy Foe,  
And in the Quarrel of my Murdered Lord,  
Engage the World, if thou dar'st keep thy word;  
I will pursue thee with a Changeless hate,  
Yet here prevent thy base Assassinate;  
For my Desires on Juster grounds are Built,  
Than to obtain them by so foul a Guilt.  Caesar. 
Madam, but that yourself my Death prevent,  
You'd been at once Revenged and Innocent.  Cornel. 
Who knows and suffers it, does Guilty grow;  
I wish thy Death, but as a noble Foe,  
That none but Pompey's Sons their Hands should stain,  
In the high Blood of Caesar nobly Slain;  
Who Armed with brave Revenge, shall at the Head  
Of all thy Dreadful Legions strike thee Dead,  
And to my Hero's Ghost a Victim make,  
Whose just Revenge you Nobly undertake.  
T' obtain an entire Vengeance I'll engage  
All th' Active powers of Wit inspired by Rage;  
Thy Life is Threatened, I am thy Defence,  
My Hate is full of Care and Providence:  
For now I need not in some foreign Coast:  
Go seek Revenge, which so deferred were lost,  
Nor for Jove's Thunder travel Africks' Sands,  
I see it Grasped already in thy Hands;  
No Mortal power can the Stroke prevent,  
On thee I might have turned the Punishment,  
But that my Reason forced me to prefer  
My Pompey's Victor to his Murderer.  
Nor am I so with Rage and Passion blind,  
But that my Honour too engaged I find,  
To punish the Audacious Treachery  
Of their base Crimes, before thy Victory.  
Great Rome will have it so, who else would spread  
Her sacred Forehead with a blushing Red,  
That both her Noblest Heads at once should feel,  
Though Crowned with Laurel, an unworthy Steel;  
And her great Heart which thou believest (in vain)  
So shrunk as for to suffer thee to Reign,  
Would count thy Murderers more her Enemies,  
And her Adored Liberty despise:  
None but a Roman could impose the Yoke,  
Which by a Roman only must be broke;  
Thy Ruin here, heavens' Justice would prevent,  
And be a Crime instead of Punishment,  
Defrauding my Just Vengeance, and Mankind,  
Of that Example thou shouldst leave behind.  
Do thou Revenge great Rome of Egypt's crime,  
And I'll revenge Her if I can of thine;  
But now make haste to save thy Threatened Life,  
And boast thou wert preserved by Pompey's Wife.  Exeunt.  

Scene the Fifth.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Antonius, Lepidus, Achoreus, Charmion. Caesar. 
HEr noble Rage and their bold Crime alike  
My Soul with Wonder and Amazement strike.  
Are these the Men great Queen you'd have me save?  Cleop. 
Your gracious pardon for myself I crave,  
Your Justice I no longer will prevent,  
Go Sir, and give them their due Punishment.  
These Traitors most of all My Death desire,  
Against my Crown and Person they conspire,  
You being my Support, they but design  
Your Death and Ruin to make way to mine.  
Just were my Anger, yet I must with grief  
Remember that their Leader and their Chief  
Is still my Brother, may I hope again  
To tempt your Pity and this Suit obtain▪  
That when just Rage inflames your noble Breast,  
You would Distinguish Him from all the rest?  Caesar. 
I will, and must preserve him, for this Arm,  
Where you would save, can have no power to harm.  
Despise all fear, these base Assassinates  
Can ne'er Subvert or Change our glorious Fates;  
Exposing but a Gibbet to their sight,  
A Band of Hangmen puts them all to flight,  
Who shall, to work upon their Guilty fear,  
My Rods and Axes for their Ensigns bear.  [Exit Caesar and Romans. Cleop. 
Good Achoreus, where so ere he goes,  
Be still with Caesar, aid him 'gainst my Foes,  
And when their Blood imbrues his angry Blade,  
Urge thou the promise he so lately made;  
Be careful of the King, avert my Fears,  
And spare his Blood that I may spare my Tears.  Acho. 
Madam, if all my Diligence and Care  
Can save his Life, you have no cause to fear.  Exeunt omnes.   

Act Fifth,  

Scene First.  Cornelia, Philip. Cornel. 
AM I awake, or does some Dream obtrude  
These borrowed Shapes my Fancy to delude?  
Eyes may I trust you? do I Philip see,  
Or my Fond wishes make me think 'tis he?  
To my Dead Lord, are his last Honours paid,  
And in this Urn his Noble Ashes laid?  
Sad, but dear Object, though thou hast possessed  
With restless Passions my afflicted Breast,  
Expect no Tears, (our feebler Sexes arms)  
My Cares have no Divertion by those Charms,  
They whose weak Grief has leisure to Complain,  
May hope that way t' Extenuate their pain;  
But all the Gods to witness here I call,  
These Ashes too, which are above them all▪  
With me, 'tis just, this Heart they rule alone,  
To which such Tyrants all the rest are grown.  
By you then Sacred Relics here I Vow  
(The Highest powers I acknowledge now)  
To let no Time, nor other Mean abate  
My just Revenge, and too well grounded Hate;  
Thy Pompey, Rome, by Egypt's King betrayed,  
To Caesar here a Sacrifice was made,  
And I thy Walls will never see again,  
Till Priest and God be on his Altar slain.  
And you dear Ashes aid my just design,  
Imprint it deep within this Breast of mine,  
And in each Heart, of what I feel, inspire  
The like at least, if not so great desire.  
But tell me Philip, by what happy way  
Couldst thou this Duty to thy Master pay?  
To thy Assistance what good Angel came,  
Helping to Light the Poor but Pious Flame?  Phil. 
Smeared with his Blood, less sensible than he,  
And wanting Breath to curse their Cruelty,  
Madam, at length I bent my Doubtful course,  
Where the Rough Winds the Waves on Shore did force,  
Long did I search in Vain, at last hard by  
A Bank of Sand, the loved Corpse I spy;  
Now it e'en touched the Shore, and now again  
The wanton Billows threw it to the main,  
Thus still he seemed to be the sport of Fate,  
Not freed by Death from Fortune's constant hate;  
I stayed no longer, but leapt in and bore  
The sacred Relics in my Arms a Shore;  
Hard by some pieces of a Wrack there lay,  
Such as chance only offered in my way▪  
With these a Funeral pile I rudely dress,  
The time and place might have afforded less,  
And now the Body scarce had felt the Flame,  
When to my pious Cares a Partner came;  
Cordus a Roman from the Town does stray,  
And the kind Heaven guided his steps that way;  
The Headless Trunk when once he did but view,  
By the sad marks he straight great Pompey knew;  
His Eyes then full of Tears, O thou, he cries,  
Whom Fate hath Destined to so high a Prize,  
Instead of Punishment which thou mayst fear,  
Honour attends thee, and Reward is near;  
Caesar arrived does to the World proclaim,  
Himself Revenger of that sacred Name,  
To which in silence thou dost here direct,  
The mournful Tribute of thy last respect;  
Cornelia too forced to this fatal Land,  
Thou mayst present these Ashes to her Hand,  
With Reverence such, the Victor does her treat,  
None but the Gods can claim respect so great.  
This said, he runs while still the Corpse does burn  
Back to the Town, and with him brought this Urn,  
Where of your Hero now enclosed doth lie▪  
All that was Mortal, or knew how to Die.  Cornel. 
Such Piety, what e'er my Fortune be,  
The Gods can never Unrewarded see.  Phil. 
Scarce had I entered, when i'th' Crowded street  
An Armed Rout I in disorder meet▪  
Hasting unto the Gate, at which their King  
Expected was some Greater strength to bring;  
Each thinks, though safe, the Roman Sword he feels,  
And makes no step, but Caesar's at his Heels,  
He Reeking in their Blood, was in a round  
Of Armed Troops, and with his Legions Crowned,  
I'th' midst, Photinus by his Sentence stands,  
Yielding his hated Head to th' Hangman's hands,  
As soon as in his sight I did appear,  
He knew me straight, and bid me to draw near,  
My Master's Ashes from my Arms he took,  
And to his Listening Audience thus spoke,  
Ye Relics of a Hero, whose great Fame  
I scarce can Equal with a Conquerors name,  
See how the Traitor does to Justice pay  
Life, which from you his Treachery took away,  
Receive this Sacrifice, and then expect  
The Altars we e'er long to you erect,  
Where greater Victims shall be offered. Friend  
Thee to Cornelia with this Gift I send,  
To her grieved Heart carry this weak allay,  
While to her full Revenge I make my way.  
He left me with a Sigh, and having first  
Kissed the Urn, bequeathed it to my trust.  Cornel. 
Alas, 'tis no intolerable pain  
They feel, who for a Rival's loss complain;  
Well may he spend a Sigh upon this Urn,  
Whose restless fears to softer pity turn;  
Well may he run to his Revenge with haste,  
When his own Danger spurs him on as fast,  
Since the Concern he puts on for our Fate,  
Both gains him Glory, and secures his State:  
But Caesar's Noble, nor will I suspect  
What Grief and Envy justly might Object.  
His Rival's Death has ended all their strife,  
And this false King conspires against his Life;  
His peril Arms him now, and all that's done  
On Honour's score must not Consus'dly run;  
Love too's engaged, and Cleopatra draws  
The Sword that seems to favour Pompey's cause;  
So many Interests in this Action join,  
I need not think, that he considers mine;  
Yet I'll persuade myself he Fights for me,  
Because I'd do no less, if I were he,  
For noble Minds must on themselves reflect,  
Their guess at others Meaning to direct.   

Scene the Second.  Cleopatra, Cornelia, Philip, Charmion. Cleop. 
I Come not here, to interrupt the Course  
Of those just Tears your powerful Griefs enforce;  
Madam, I can no more than you neglect  
What this Urn justly may from me expect;  
Your Hero's Relics by a pious hand  
Restored, this duty too from me Command;  
Be pleased t' admit to these his Funeral Rites  
A fellow Mourner whom true Grief invites,  
And had my Power been equal to my Will,  
This bewailed Hero had been Living still,  
I had preserved the Owner of your Heart,  
If cruel Heaven had let me play my part;  
Yet if the sight of what it now does send  
Could for a while your Sadder thoughts suspend,  
If by Revenge your Sorrows might decrease,  
I bring you News that cannot fail to please,  
If yet you know it not, Photinus' Head.  Cornel. 
Yes, Princess, I have heard the Traitor's Dead.  Cleop. 
His hastened Suffering makes the more amends.  Cornel. 
Perhaps to you, who in that meet your ends.  Cleop. 
Wished for Success to all must pleasant be.  Cornel. 
Where Interests differ how can Thoughts agree?  
If false Achillas the same Course should run,  
Your Vengeance ends when mine is scarce begun.  
I Blush to think that to my Hero's Shade,  
So poor a Sacrifice as that is made:  
No, if in order my Revenge succeed,  
Till Caesar's turn, your Ptolomey must bleed.  
I know that Caesar by your Love inclined,  
To save him though unworthy has designed,  
But the just Gods will make his Labour vain,  
For one deserving neither Life, nor Reign,  
And to my Prayers perhaps this grace afford,  
That both may perish by each other's Sword;  
Then joy once more might be a welcome Guest,  
Which else for ever is forbid this Breast;  
But if my Bolder wishes fly too high,  
May your King bleed, if only one must Die.  Cleop. 
The Gods not always give what we expect.  Cornel. 
Yet by the Cause we hope for the Effect,  
And seldom 'tis the Guilty miss their due.  Cleop. 
Though Gods have Justice, they have Mercy too  Cornel. 
Yet by the Course they have begun to Choose,  
'Tis not their Clemency they mean to use.  Cleop. 
Though Angry once, they often Milder grow.  Cornel. 
Our wishes only our Concernment show.  
An injured Widow may have other Thoughts,  
Than a kind Sister for a Brother's faults;  
But when 'tis known what Blood is spilled, you'll see  
Whose Prayers are Juster, and with Heaven agree.  
Here comes Achoreus.   

Scene the Third.  Cornelia, Cleopatra, Philip, Charmion, Achoreus. Cleop. 
ALas, in's Looks I see  
Th' unlucky marks of some ill Angury;  
Speak good Achoreus, but without disguise,  
Banish my Fears, or else my Joy surprise.  Acho. 
When Caesar first the Horrid Treason knew—  Cleop. 
Ah! 'tis not that which I expect from you;  
I know he Barricadoed up the Vault,  
Through which they hoped to have their Succours brought,  
There 'gainst Photinus all his Force he drew,  
Who found the Recompense to Treason due.  
Achillas warned by his Companions fate,  
Escapes with ease at the abandoned Gate,  
Him the King follows, whilst Antonius Lands,  
To join with Caesar all the Roman Bands;  
I doubt not but they've Fought, and by this time  
Achillas is Rewarded for his Crime.  Acho. 
Madam, Success still waits on Caesar's Sword.  Cleop. 
That's not the business, has he kept his Word?  
And is my Brother safe?  Acho. 
All he could do  
He has performed.  Cleop. 
That's all I wish to know.  
Madam, you see the Gods my Prayers have heard.  Cornel. 
The Punishment deserved, is but Deferred.  Cleop. 
That now he's Saved, declares Heaven is appeased.  Acho. 
At least he had been, if himself had pleased.  Cleop. 
Thy doubtful Words still hold me in suspense;  
Explain at last their ill Agreeing Sense.  Acho. 
Neither your Vows, nor Caesar's, and your Care,  
Were Arms enough against his High despair;  
Madam, he's Dead, yet all those Glories wait  
Upon him that can Crown a Prince's fate,  
Nearer his fall his Virtue more revives,  
Changing his Own for many Roman Lives;  
To his brave Charge Antonius began to yield,  
And our disordered Troops scarce kept the Field,  
When Caesar comes, whose presence never fails  
Of doubtful Chance to turn the Tottering Scales;  
There at his Master's feet Achillas fell  
The Traitor ne'er deserved to Die so well.  
Ah! too weak Providence, which cannot free  
The Bed of Honour from Adultery,  
Caesar cries out aloud to save the King,  
Words which instead of Comfort Terror bring;  
For he suspects that from Design they came,  
To keep him for a Scaffolds public shame,  
His swelling Heart with this mistake abused,  
Seeks for that Death, which every where's refused:  
Our Ranks he pierces through and through, and shows  
What Valour can, when to Despair it grows;  
His Bravest men lay Breathless on the ground,  
And he himself was now Encompassed round;  
Wearied at length, and out of Breath, he spies  
A Vessel near the Shore and thither flies,  
After their King the People press so fast,  
The Bark o'recharged perishes at last;  
Dying in Arms new Glory he receives,  
To you a Crown, to Caesar Conquest leaves,  
Who on the place Proclaims you Aegyts Queen;  
Yet in his Face strange marks of Grief are seen,  
He mourns his Fall, though none of his did touch  
The Life wherein you are concerned so much:  
But here he comes, who better can relate  
His Sense of that Unhappy Prince's Fate.   

Scene the Fourth.  Caesar, Cornelia, Cleopatra, Achoreus, etc. Cornel. 
CAesar my Voyage now no more Retard,  
The Traitors have received their full Reward,  
Their King against thy Will has suffered too,  
And my Revenge has nothing here to do;  
This barbarous Shore let me no longer View,  
Where every Object does my Grief renew,  
And with fresh Horror to my Fancy shows,  
The Tragic Scene of my unequalled Woes;  
The Rabble Court thee with their Servile noise,  
And thy new Triumph all their Throats employs,  
But what I suffer worse than all the rest,  
I am Obliged by him, I most Detest;  
From this Affront 'tis time to set me free,  
And let my Hatred act with Liberty,  
Only one favour I may still receive,  
And that is all which Honour gives me leave,  
That Pompey's Head you will to me return,  
To add to what Expects it in this Urn.  Caesar. 
'Tis fit I should the Head to you restore,  
Since you may Claim it on so just a score;  
But first let's all the Sacred Rites attend,  
Which peaceful Ghosts unto Elysium send;  
A stately Pile your Hand and mine shall Light,  
Which may the Meanness of the first requite,  
And in an Urn more fit for their repose,  
The Ashes thus United we'll enclose,  
So shall his quiet Spirit rest in peace,  
And by our Pious cares all Passion cease.  
This Hand which once my Sword against him Drew,  
Shall Build the Altars to his Virtue due,  
On which as to the Gods we'll Incense pay,  
And Honours he deserves as well as they;  
Let us both this from your Impatience gain,  
And for those Duties one Day more obtain,  
That done, y' are free, go when you please away,  
And this your Treasure to great Rome Convey.  Cornel. 
No Caesar, though I know these Ashes be  
As dear to Rome, as they are dear to me,  
'Tis only thy Defeat can bring us home,  
Without that Triumph we will ne'er see Rome;  
Over thy Grave our Passage thither lies,  
We have no Country, until Caesar Dies,  
I am for afric, where the War's begun,  
By Cato, Scipio, and my Pompey's Son;  
To these King Juba has his Forces sent,  
And Fortune her Injustice may repent,  
The Relics of Pharsalia there you'll find,  
Another World against your Arms combined;  
Myself will bring these Ashes to the Field,  
And my just Tears shall their Assistance yield,  
From Rank to Rank thus Armed about I'll go,  
And every step shall haste thy Overthrow;  
The Soldiers then may lay their Eagles by,  
This Urn shall lead them on to Victory,  
This mournful Object shall their Courage wake,  
And in their Souls a deep Impression make.  
To give him his last Honours you pretend,  
Honours indeed which on yourself descend,  
I must Assist, the Victor I obey,  
But never hope to move my Heart this way;  
My Helpless loss admits of no relief,  
My Hate must be as endless as my Grief,  
That and my Life an Equal course shall run,  
And end Pursuing what I have Begun.  Caesar. 
Nature her Ignorance has here confessed,  
To place this Spirit in a Woman's Breast.  Cornel. 
Yet as a Roman I must needs confess,  
My Hate prevails not to Esteem thee less,  
At once I Praise thee and thy Life pursue,  
That to thy Virtue, this my Honour due;  
Once set at Liberty, I'll use my Art,  
T' engage both Men and Gods to take my part,  
Those Gods who when our Cause was lately tried,  
So Partial seemed against the Juster side;  
Those Gods that let their Thunder idle lie,  
When they saw Pompey for his Country die,  
In time we hope their Error they may see,  
And to the World repair that Injury;  
But though they never mend the Fault they made,  
I have a Zeal which does not want their Aid,  
And to Destroy thee, if no means prevail,  
Here's Cleopatra that can never fail.  
I see your Flames, and know her Beauty's force,  
That you already think of a Divorce,  
Your Country's Laws under your Feet you'll tread,  
To make your way to an Egyptians Bed,  
Then the free Romans shall attempt your Life,  
Without all Scruple, when a Queen's your Wife.  
In your neglected Friends, you'll hope in vain,  
Who in your Blood will wash their Countries stain.  
Keeping your word, Farewell, for in my stay  
Your Love and Ruin find the same Delay. [Exit.   

Scene the Fifth.  Cleopatra, Caesar, Achoreus, etc. 
RAther than Caesar's Life exposed shall be  
Unto these Dangers for the Love of me,  
I'll Sacrifice myself to his repose,  
And Bless that Death, from whence his Safety grows,  
Sure in his Memory of a better Life,  
Though too Unworthy to have Lived his Wife.  Caesar. 
Madam, when only Vain designs are left,  
To such high Spirits of all means bereft,  
Nothing their Weakness does so well express,  
As Aiming high because they can do less;  
Kind Heaven will make these ill Presages vain,  
And my unwonted Fortune mock their pain.  
Ah! Could my Love as easy Conquest find  
Over these Tears, and Calm your Troubled mind,  
With such a Lover 'tis no small Disgrace,  
The worst of Brothers should dispute the place.  
You may have heard with what Unwearied care  
I sought to save him from his last Despair,  
My Clemency had so Beset him round,  
No way t' avoid it, but his Death was found;  
Perhaps h'had Conquered, could my Arms but know  
Resistance such as to my Love you show:  
Success in Vain, why didst thou with me stay,  
Since Cleopatra I could not Obey?  
Not justly me, but Heaven you must accuse,  
Which to the Guilty pardon does refuge,  
Their Cruelty to him Exalts your Fate,  
Now the Sole Mistress of th' Egyptian state.  Cleop. 
'Tis true, his Death has placed me on the Throne,  
And that by no Miscarriage of my own.  
While among Mortals here, my Lord, we stay,  
Some Cloud will still overcast our brightest Day.  
Be not offended though it strange appears,  
I must receive the Conqueror with Tears;  
His Fate was just my Reason does persuade,  
Yet Nature too must be as well Obeyed;  
A secret Murmur in my Soul does rise,  
If on his empty Throne I cast my Eyes,  
T' ascend it then what pleasure can I take,  
When my Blood checks me at each step I make?  Acho. 
My Lord, at Gate th' impatient people stand,  
And with loud Cries to see their Queen demand,  
Accusing those as Authors of their Wrong,  
Who such a Blessing do Retard so long.  Caesar. 
Madam, let's go, and with the same success  
Begin your Empire and their Happiness,  
And now I hope amidst their Loud applause,  
Your Sighs will cease Drowned with that welcome Noise;  
And let no Image in your Fancy rest,  
Of other Wounds than what are in my Breast;  
Mean while a Noble strife I see will Reign,  
'Twixt your glad Court and my Ambitious train;  
Contending who shall there appear most Gay,  
And Glory most in this Triumphant Day,  
Such just occasion for them both are found,  
Pompey Revenged, and Cleopatra Crowned;  
These to your Throne, those to his Altars bow,  
And I to both Eternal Honour's Vow.    
FINIS.  

EPILOGUE AT THE HOUSE.  

I Know you Look for't, something we must say,  
Either to Praise or to Excuse the Play;  
Custom will have it so, and we Obey.   

It came from France, where it had good Success,  
Which makes us Hope well, though I must confess  
The Mounsieurs something Altered in his Dress.   

That you may Cavil at, and we submit;  
But know you mighty Judges o' the Pit,  
'Tis dangerove at this time to show your Wit..   

If by Condemning this you stir our Rage,  
we'll those, who but Translators were, engage  
To bring their own Inventions on the Stage.   

Tremble and be advised; but I was sent  
Ladies to you with a great Compliment,  
To say the Truth, I knew not what it meant,   

And so forgot it, pardon want of care  
With the same mercy as the Play you spare,  
And though twice Kind you 're not so Kind as Fair.   

Your Favours with some Justice we may claim,  
The Lines are chaste and Spotless as your Fame.  
Ah, let not modest Men still bear the blame.    

EPILOGUE To the King at Saint James'.  

FRom Vulgar Wits that haunt the Theatre,  
Pompey to you appealing (Royal Sir)  
Hopes for more Favour, as the Subject bears  
Better proportion to a Prince's Ears.  
You in your long Retreat perhaps might find  
Some Foreign Courts made by this Story kind;  
This great Example of false Egypt's fate,  
Instructed Kings to set a higher Rate  
Upon their Faith, and hold their Fame too dear,  
To treat him Ill, for whom we Languished here.  
They that Translated this, but practice now  
To improve their Muse, and make her Worthy you,  
That she hereafter may Adorn the Stage  
With your own Story, make the coming Age  
Admire the Firmness of a Mind so Young,  
Tossed in those Tempests you endured so long.  
Confusion first and Horror shall appear,  
Such as Involved us, while you Absent were,  
Then with a Change of Scene they shall behold  
Your Throne Established, and an Age of Gold;  
Faith, Peace, and Piety, that banished Train,  
Let down from Heaven to make a Glorious Reign.  
This they design (Great Sir) if you allow  
A Gracious Smile to their Endeavours now.    

EPILOGUE To the Duchess at Saint James'.  

POmpey at length, like Ships by Tempests Tossed,  
Though blown a while upon some other Coast,  
Has overcome the Malice of the Wind,  
And reached the Haven which he first designed,  
This Royal Audience, and such Virtue brought,  
As Madam only in your Court is taught.  
Cornelia does not tear her tender Cheeks,  
Nor your more gentle Ears with borrowed Shrieks:  
But does lament with Passion, such as you  
(Which Heaven avert) in the like Case would do.  
Fair Cleopatra does no Favour show,  
But what severest Virtue might allow:  
And mighty Caesar does her Slave become,  
With as much Honour as he Conquered Rome,  
When first unsheathing his Victorious Sword,  
He seemed the pattern of your Valiant Lord,  
Whose matchless Conduct might our Lion's lead,  
As far as e'er the Roman Eagle spread.  
And, Royal Pair, though much he apprehends  
Your Doom, yet more he on your Grace depends;  
He knows your Generous temper cannot frown  
On minds so Great, so High, so like your own;  
He knows your Nature is inclined to spare,  
And no Photinus can infect your Ear.   
FINIS.