SCENA II.
Enter Cleopatra, Arsino, Eros.
Ars. You are so impatient.
Cleo. Have I not cause?
Women of common Beauties, and low Births,
When they are slighted, are allow'd their angers,
Why should not I (a Princess) make him know
The baseness of his usage?
Ars. Yes: 'tis fit:
But then again you know what man.
Cleo. He is no man:
The shadow of a Greatness hangs upon him,
And not the vertue: he is no Conquerour,
H'as suffer'd under the base dross of Nature:
Poorly delivered up his power to wealth,
(The god of bed-rid men) taught his eyes treason
Against the truth of love: he has rais'd rebellion:
Defi'd his holy flames.
Eros. He will fall back again,
And satisfie your Grace.
Cleo. Had I been old,
Or blasted in my bud, he might have shew'd
Some shadow of dislike: But, to prefer
The lustre of a little art, Arsino,
And the poor glow-worm light of some faint Jewels,
Before the life of Love, and soul of Beauty,
Oh how it vexes me! he is no Souldier,
(All honourable Souldiers are Loves servants)
He is a Merchant; a meer wandring Merchant,
Servile to gain: he trades for poor Commodities,
And makes his Conquests, thefts; some fortunate Captains
That quarter with him, and are truly valiant,
Have flung the name of happy Cæsar on him,
Himself ne're won it: he is so base and covetous,
He'l sell his sword for gold.
Ars. This is too bitter.
Cleo. Oh I could curse my self, that was so foolish,
So fondly childish to believe his tongue,
His promising tongue, e're I could catch his temper,
I had trash enough to have cloy'd his eyes withal,
His covetous eyes; such as I scorn to tread on:
Richer than e're he saw yet, and more tempting;
Had I known he had stoop'd at that, I had sav'd mine honour,
I had been happy still: but let him take it,
And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded:
Let him goe conquer still weak wretched Ladies:
Love has his angry Quiver too, his deadly,
And when he finds scorn, armed at the strongest:
I am a fool to fret thus, for a fool:
An old blind fool too: I lose my health? I will not:
I will not cry: I will not honour him
With tears diviner than the gods he worships:
I will not take the pains to curse a poor thing.
Eros. Doe not: you shall not need.
Cleo. Would I were prisoner
To one I hate, that I might anger him,
I will love any man, to break the heart of him:
Any, that has the heart and will to kill him.
Ars. Take some fair truce.
Cleo. I will goe study mischief,
And put a look on, arm'd with all my cunnings,
Shall meet him like a Basilisque, and strike him:
Love, put destroying flames into mine eyes,
Into my smiles, deceits, that I may torture him,
That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him.
Enter Apollodorus.
Ap. Cæsar commends his Service to your Grace.
Cleo. His service? what's his service?
Eros. Pray ye be patient,
The noble Cæsar loves still.
Cleo. What's his will?
Ap. He craves access unto your Highness.
Cleo. No:
Say no: I will have none to trouble me.
Ars. Good Sister.
Cleo. None I say: I will be private.
Would thou hadst flung me into Nilus, keeper,
When first thou gav'st consent, to bring my body
To this unthankfull Cæsar.
Ap. 'Twas your will, Madam,
Nay more, your charge upon me, as I honoured ye:
You know what danger I endured.
Cleo. Take this,
And carry it to that Lordly Cæsar sent thee:
There's a new Love, a handsom one, a rich one:
One that will hug his mind: bid him make love to it:
Tell the ambitious Broker, this will suffer—
Enter Cæsar.
Ap. He enters.
Cleo. How?
Cæsar. I do not use to wait, Lady,
Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.
Cleo. I ghess so, by your rudeness.
Cæsar. Ye are not angry?
Things of your tender mold, should be most gentle;
Why do you frown? good gods, what a set-anger
Have you forc'd into your face! Come, I must temper ye:
What a coy smile was there, and a disdainfull!
How like an ominous flash it broke out from ye!
Defend me, Love, Sweet, who has anger'd ye?
Cleo. Shew him a glass; that false face has betrai'd me:
That base heart wrought me—
Cæsar. Be more sweetly angry;
I wrong'd ye fair?
Cleo. Away with your foul flatteries:
They are too gross: but that I dare be angry,
And with as great a god as Cæsar is,
To shew how poorly I respect his memory,
I would not speak to ye.
Cæsar. Pray ye undoe this riddle,
And tell me how I have vext ye?
Cleo. Let me think first
Whether I may put on a Patience
That will with honour suffer me: know, I hate ye,
Let that begin the story: Now I'le tell ye.
Cæsar. But do it milder: In a noble Lady,
Softness of spirit, and a sober nature,
That moves like summer winds, cool, and blows sweetness;
Shews blessed like her self.
Cleo. And that great blessedness
You first reap'd of me: till you taught my nature
Like a rude storm to talk aloud, and thunder,
Sleep was not gentler than my soul, and stiller;
You had the Spring of my affections:
And my fair fruits I gave you leave to taste of:
You must expect: the winter of mine anger:
You flung me off, before the Court disgrac'd me,
When in the pride I appear'd of all my beauty,
Appear'd your Mistress; took into your eyes
The common-strumpet love of hated lucre,
Courted with covetous heart, the slave of nature,
Gave all your thoughts to gold, that men of glory,
And minds adorn'd with noble love, would kick at:
Souldiers of royal mark, scorn such base purchase:
Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at;
I spake to ye then; I courted ye, and woo'd ye:
Call'd ye dear Cæsar, hung about ye tenderly:
Was proud to appear your friend.
Cæsar. You have mistaken me.
Cleo. But neither Eye, nor Favour, not a Smile
Was I blessed back with; but shook off rudely,
And, as ye had been sold to sordid infamy,
You fell before the Images of treasure,
And in your soul you worship'd: I stood slighted,
Forgotten and contemn'd; my soft embraces,
And those sweet kisses you call'd Elyzium,
As letters writ in sand, no more remembred:
The name and glory of your Cleopatra
Laugh'd at, and made a story to your Captains,
Shall I endure?
Cæsar. You are deceiv'd in all this,
Upon my life you are, 'tis your much tenderness.
Cleo. No, no, I love not that way; you are cozen'd:
I love with as much ambition as a Conquerour,
And where I love, will triumph.
Cæsar. So you shall:
My heart shall be the Chariot that shall bear ye,
All I have won shall wait upon ye: By the gods
The bravery of this womans mind, has fired me:
Dear Mistress shall I but this night?—
Cleo. How Cæsar?
Have I let slip a second vanity
That gives thee hope?
Cæsar. You shall be absolute,
And Reign alone as Queen: you shall be any thing.
Cleo. Make me a maid again, and then I'le hear thee;
Examine all thy art of War, to do that;
And if thou find'st it possible, I'le love thee:
Till when, farewel, unthankfull.
Cæsar. Stay.
Cleo. I will not.
Cæsar. I command.
Cleo. Command, and goe without, Sir.
I do command thee be my slave for ever,
And vex while I laugh at thee.
Cæsar. Thus low, beauty.
Cleo. It is too late; when I have found thee absolute,
The man that Fame reports thee, and to me,
May be I shall think better. Farewel Conquerour. [Exit.
Cæsar. She mocks me too: I will enjoy her Beauty:
I will not be deni'd; I'le force my longing.
Love is best pleas'd, when roundly we compel him,
And as he is Imperious, so will I be.
Stay fool, and be advis'd: that dulls the appetite,
Takes off the strength and sweetness of delight.
By Heaven she is a miracle, I must use
A handsom way to win: how now; what fear
Dwells in your faces? you look all distracted.
Enter Sceva, Anthony, Dolabella.
Sceva. If it be fear, 'tis fear of your undoing,
Not of our selves: fear of your poor declining:
Our lives and deaths are equall benefits,
And we make louder prayers to dye nobly,
Than to live high, and wantonly: whilst you are secure here,
And offer Hecatombs of lazie kisses
To the lewd god of love, and cowardize,
And most lasci[v]iously dye in delights,
You are begirt with the fierce Alexandrians.
Dol. The spawn of Egypt flow about your Palace,
Arm'd all: and ready to assault.
Ant. Led on
By the false and base Photinus and his Ministers;
No stirring out; no peeping through a loop-hole,
But straight saluted with an armed Dart.
Sce. No parley: they are deaf to all but danger,
They swear they will fley us, and then dry our Quarters:
A rasher of a salt lover, is such a Shooing-horn:
Can you kiss away this conspiracy, and set us free?
Or will the Giant god of love fight for ye?
Will his fierce war-like bow kill a Cock-sparrow?
Bring out the Lady, she can quel this mutiny:
And with her powerfull looks strike awe into them:
She can destroy, and build again the City,
Your Goddesses have mighty gifts: shew 'em her fair brests,
The impregnable Bulworks of proud Love, and let 'em
Begin their battery there: she will laugh at 'em;
They are not above a hundred thousand, Sir.
A mist, a mist, that when her Eyes break out,
Her powerfull radiant eyes, and shake their flashes,
Will flye before her heats.
Cæsar. Begirt with Villains?
S[ce]. They come to play you, and your Love a Huntsup.
You were told what this same whorson wenching, long agoe would come to:
You are taken napping now: has not a Souldier,
A time to kiss his friend, and a time to consider,
But he must lye still digging, like a Pioneer,
Making of mines, and burying of his honour there?
'Twere good you would think—
Dol. And time too, or you will find else
A harder task, than Courting a coy Beauty.
Ant. Look out and then believe.
Sce. No, no, hang danger:
Take me provoking broth, and then goe to her:
Goe to your Love, and let her feel your valour;
Charge her whole body, when the sword's in your throat (Sir,)
You may cry, Cæsar, and see if that will help ye.
Cæsar. I'le be my self again, and meet their furies,
Meet, and consume their mischiefs: make some shift, Sceva,
To recover the Fleet, and bring me up two Legions,
And you shall see me, how I'le break like thunder
Amongst these beds of slimy Eeles, and scatter 'em.
Sce. Now ye speak sense I'le put my life to the hazard,
Before I goe No more of this warm Lady,
She will spoil your sword-hand.
Cæsar. Goe: come, let's to Counsel
How to prevent, and then to execute.