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Pho. This for our service? Princes do their] And set her countenance in a thousand postures, pleasures, To catch her ends!

And they, that serve, obey in all disgraces.
The lowest, we can fall to, is our graves;

There we shall know no difference. Hark, Achillas!

I may do something yet, when times are ripe,
To tell this raw unthankful king-

Achil. Photinus,

Whatever it be, I shall make one, and zealously:
For better die attempting something nobly,
Than fall disgraced.

Pho. Thou lovest me, and I thank thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter ANTONY, DOLABELLA, and SCEVA. Dol. Nay, there is no rousing him; he is bewitched sure,

His noble blood curdled, and cold within him; Grown now a woman's warrior.

Ant. Be not too angry,

For, by this light, the woman's a rare woman;
A lady of that catching youth and beauty,
That unmatched sweetness-

Dol. But why should he be fooled so?

Let her be what she will, why should his wisdom, His age, and honour

Ant. Say it were your own case,

Or mine, or any man's, that has heat in him:
'Tis true, at this time, when he has no promise
Of more security than his sword can cut through,
I do not hold it so discreet: But a good face,
gentlemen,

And eves, that are the winningest orators,
A youth, that opens like perpetual spring,
And, to all these, a tongue, that can deliver
The oracles of love-

Sce. I would you had her,

With all her oracles, and miracles:

She were fitter for your turn.

Ant. 'Would I had, Sceva,

With all her faults too! let me alone to mend

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Sce. She will be sick, well, sullen,
Merry, coy, overjoyed, and seem to die,

All in one half-an-hour, to make an ass of him:
I make no doubt she will be drunk too, damnably,
And in her drink will fight; then she fits him.
Ant. That thou shouldst bring her in!
Sce. 'Twas my blind fortune.

My soldiers told me, by the weight, it was wicked. 'Would I had carried Milo's bull a furlong, When I brought in this cow-calf! He has advanced me,

From an old soldier to a bawd of memory:
Oh, that the sons of Pompey were behind him,
The honoured Cato and fierce Juba with them,
That they might whip him from his whore, and
rouse him;

That their fierce trumpets from his' wanton

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(Though I were the arrantest rogue, as I'm well forward)

Mine own curse and the devil's are lit on me.
Ant. Is it not Septimius?

Sce. Yes.

Dol. He that killed Pompey?

Sce. The same dog scab; that gilded botch, that rascal!

Dol. How glorious villainy appears in Egypt! Sept. Gallants, and soldiers! sure they do ad

mire me.

Sce. Stand further off; thou stinkest.
Sept. A likely matter:

These cloaths smell mustily, do they not, gal

lants?

They stink, they stink, alas, poor things, contemptible!

By all the Gods in Egypt, the perfumes,
That went to trimming these cloaths, cost me-
Sce. Thou stinkest still.

Sept. The powdering of this head too-
Sce. If thou hast it,

I'll tell thee all the gums in sweet Arabia

Are not sufficient, were they burnt about thee, Το purge the scent of a rank rascal from thee. Ant. I smell him now: Fy, how the knave perfumes him!

How strong he scents of traitor!

Dol. You had an ill milliner,

He laid too much of the gum of ingratitude Upon your coat; you should have washed off that, sir;

Fy, how it choaks! too little of your loyalty,
Your honesty, your faith, that are pure ambers.
I smell the rotten smell of a hired coward;
A dead dog's sweeter.

Sept. Ye are merry, gentlemen,

And, by my troth, such harmless mirth takes me too. You speak like good blunt soldiers! and it is well enough:

But did you live at court, as I do, gallants,
You would refine, and learn an apter language.
I've done ye simple service on your Pompey;
You might have looked him yet this brace of
twelvemonths,

And hunted after him, like foundered beagles,
Had not this fortunate hand-

Ant. He brags on't too,

By the good gods, rejoices in it! Thou wretch, Thou most contemptible slave!

Sce. Dog, mangy mongrel,

Thou murdering mischief, in the shape of soldier,
To make all soldiers hateful! thou disease,
That nothing but the gallows can give ease to!

Dol. Thou art so impudent, that I admire thee, And know not what to say.

Sept. I know your anger,

And why you prate thus; I've found your melancholy:

Ye all want money, and ye are liberal captains, And in this want will talk a little desperately. Here's gold; come, share; I love a brave com

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When this light stuff can distinguish, it grows dan

gerous;

For money, seldom they refuse a leper;
But sure I am more odious, more diseased too:

Enter three lame Soldiers.

It sits cold here. What are these? three poor soldiers?

Both poor and lame: Their misery may make

them

A little look upon me, and adore me.

If these will keep me company, I'm made yet. 1 Sold. The pleasure, Cæsar sleeps in, makes us miserable:

We are forgot, our maims and dangers laughed at; He banquets, and we beg.

2 Sold. He was not wont

To let poor soldiers, that have spent their for

tunes,

Their bloods, and limbs, walk up and down like vagabonds.

Sept. Save ye, good soldiers! good poor men, heaven help ye!

Yehave borne the brunt of war, and shew the story. 1 Sold. Some new commander, sure. Sept. You look, my good friends,

By your thin faces, as you would be suitors. 2 Sold. To Cæsar, for our means, sir. Sept. And 'tis fit, sir.

3 Sold. We are poor men, and long forgot. Sept. I grieve for it;

Good soldiers should have good rewards, and fa

vours.

I'll give up your petitions, for I pity you,
And freely speak to Cæsar.

All. Oh, we honour you!

1 Sold. A good man sure you are; the gods preserve you!

Sept. And to relieve your wants the while, hold, soldiers! [Gives money. Nay, 'tis no dream; 'tis good gold; take it freely; Twill keep you in good heart.

2 Sold. Now goodness quit you! Sept. I'll be a friend to your afflictions, And eat, and drink with you too, and we'll be

merry;

And every day I'll see you!

1 Sold. You are a soldier,

And one sent from the gods, I think.
Sept. I'll cloath ye,

Ye are lame, and then provide good lodging for you;

And at my table, where no want shall meet you.

Enter SCEVA.

All. Was never such a man!

1 Sold. Dear honoured sir,

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own thee,

But as a monstrous birth shun thy base memory!
And, if thou hadst a mother, (as I cannot
Believe thou wert a natural burden) let her womb
Be cursed of women for a bed of vipers!

3 Sold. Methinks the ground shakes to devour this rascal,

And the kind air turns into fogs and vapours,
Infectious mists, to crown his villainies:
Thou mayst go wander like a thing heaven-hated!
1 Sold. And valiant minds hold poisonous to
remember!

The hangman will not keep thee company;
He has an honourable house to thine;
No, not a thief, though thou couldst save his life
for it,

Will eat thy bread, nor one, for thirst starved, drink with thee!

2 Sold. Thou art no company for an honest dog,

And so we'll leave thee to a ditch, thy destiny. [Exeunt.

Sept. Contemned of all? and kicked too? Now

I find it!

My valour's fled, too, with mine honesty;
For since I would be knave, I must be coward.
This 'tis to be a traitor, and betrayer.
What a deformity dwells round about me !
How monstrous shews that man, that is ungrate-
ful!

I am afraid the very beasts will tear me; Inspired with what I have done, the winds will blast me!

Now I am paid, and my reward dwells in me,
The wages of my fact; my soul's oppressed!
Honest and noble minds, you find more rest.

SCENE III.

[Exit.

Enter PTOLOMY, ACHOREUS, PHOTINUS, and

ACHILLAS.

Ptol. I have commanded, and it shall be so! A preparation I have set on foot,

Worthy the friendship and the fame of Cæsar:

Let us but know your name, that we may worship My sister's favours shall seem poor and withered;

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Nay, she herself, trimmed up in all her beauties, Compared to what I'll take his eyes withal,

Shall be a dream.

Pho. Do you mean to shew the glory

And wealth of Egypt?

Ptol. Yes; and in that lustre,

Rome shall appear, in all her famous conquests, And all her riches, of no note unto it.

Achor. Now you are reconciled to your fair | We owe for all this wealth to the old Nilus:

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Music.-Enter Isis, and three Labourers.
Isis. Isis, the goddess of this land,
Bids thee, great Cæsar, understand
And mark our customs, and first know,
With greedy eyes these watch the flow
Of plenteous Nilus; when he comes,
With songs, with dances, timbrels, drums,
They entertain him; cut his way,

And give his proud heads leave to play:
Nilus himself shall rise, and shew
His matchless wealth in overflow.

Labourers. Come, let us help the reverend Nile;
He's very old; alas the while!
Let us dig him easy ways,
And prepare a thousand plays:
To delight his streams, let's sing
A loud welcome to our spring;
This way let his curling heads
Fall into our new-made beds;
This way let his wanton spawns
Frisk, and glide it o'er the lawns.
This way profit comes, and gain:
How he tumbles here amain!
How his waters haste to full
Into our channels! Labour, all,
And let him; let Nilus flow,
And perpetual plenty shew.
With incense let us bless the brim,
And as the wanton fishes swim,
Let us gums and garlands fling,
And loud our timbrels ring.

Come, old father, come away!
Our labour is our holiday.
Enter NILUS.

Isis. Here comes the aged River now,
With garlands of great pearl his brow
Begirt and rounded: In his flow

All things take life, and all things grow.
A thousand wealthy treasures still,
To do him service at his will,
Follow his rising flood, and pour
Perpetual blessings in our store.
Hear him; and next there will advance
His sacred heads, to tread a dance

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Cæsar. The wonder of this wealth so troubles me,

I am not well: Good night!

Sce. I'm glad you have it: Now we shall stir again.

Dol. Thou wealth, still haunt him!

Sce. A greedy spirit set thee on! We're happy.
Ptol. Lights, lights for Cæsar, and attendance!
Cleo. Well,

I shall yet find a time to tell thee, Cæsar,
Thou hast wronged her love-The rest here.
Ptol. Lights along still :

Music, and sacrifice to sleep, for Cæsar.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter PTOLOMY, PHOTINUS, ACHILLAS, and

ACHOREUS.

Achor. Where was his mind the whilst?
Pho. Where was your carefulness,

To shew an armed thief the way to rob you?
Nay, would you give him this, it will excite him

Achor. I TOLD you carefully, what this would To seek the rest: Ambition feels no gift,

prove to,

What this inestimable wealth and glory
Would draw upon you: I advised your majesty
Never to tempt a conquering guest, nor add
A bait, to catch a mind, bent by his trade
To make the whole world his.

Pho. I was not heard, sir,

you,

Or, what I said, lost and contemned: I dare say,
And freshly now, 'twas a poor weakness in
A glorious childishness! I watched his eye,
And saw how falcon-like it towered, and flew
Upon the wealthy quarry; how round it marked it:
I observed his words, and to what it tended;
How greedily he asked from whence it came,
And what commerce we held for such abundance.
The show of Nilus how he laboured at,
To find the secret ways the song delivered!
Achor. He never smiled, I noted, at the plea-
sures,

But fixed his constant eyes upon the treasure:
I do not think his ears had so much leisure,
After the wealth appeared, to hear the music.
Most sure he has not slept since; his mind's
troubles

With objects, that would make their own still labour.

Pho. Your sister he ne'er gazed on; that's a main note:

The prime beauty of the world had no power over him. VOL. I.

Nor knows no bounds; indeed you have done most weakly.

Ptol. Can I be too kind to my noble friend? Pho. To be unkind unto your noble self, but

savours

Of indiscretion; and your friend has found it. Had you been trained up in the wants and miseries

A soldier marches through, and known his temperance

In offered courtesies, you would have made
A wiser master of your own, and stronger.

Ptol. Why, should I give him all, he would re

turn it:

'Tis more to him to make kings.

Pho. Pray be wiser,

And trust not, with your lost wealth, your loved liberty:

To be a king still at your own discretion,
Is like a king; to be at his, a vassal.
Now take good counsel, or no more take to you
The freedom of a prince.

Achil. Twill be too late else:

For, since the masque, he sent three of his captains,

Ambitious as himself, to view again
The glory of your wealth.

Pho. The next himself comes,
Not staying for your courtesy, and takes it.
Ptol. What counsel, my Achoreus?

K

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