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