Ach. No more of him, He is not worth our thoughts: a Fugitive From Pompeys army: and now in a danger When he should use his service. Achil. See how he hangs On great Photinus Ear. Sep. Hell, and the furies, And all the plagues of darkness light upon me: You are my god on earth: and let me have Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter. Pho. Thou art believ'd: dost thou want mony? Sep. No Sir. Pho. Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow Thy vehement protestations. Sep. You much wrong me; How can I want, when your beams shine upon me, Unless employment to express my zeal To do your greatness service? do but think A deed so dark, the Sun would blush to look on, For which Man-kind would curse me, and arm all The powers above, and those below against me: Command me, I will on. Pho. When I have use, I'le put you to the test. Sep. May it be speedy, And something worth my danger: you are cold, And know not your own powers: this brow was fashion'd To wear a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment, Given to dispose of monarchies, not to govern A childs affairs, the peoples eye's upon you, The Souldier courts you: will you wear a garment Of sordid loyalty when 'tis out of fashion? Pho. When Pompey was thy General, Septimius, Thou saidst as much to him. Sep. All my love to him, To Cæsar, Rome, and the whole world is lost In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend, Project, design, or Countrey, but your favour, Which I'le preserve at any rate. Pho. No more; When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps Sooner than you expect, I may employ you, So leave me for a while. Sep. Ever your Creature. [Exit. Pho. Good day Achoreus; my best friend Achillas, Hath fame deliver'd yet no certain rumour Of the great Roman Action? Achil. That we are To enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave care For Egypts happiness, and great Ptolomies good, Hath eyes and ears in all parts.

Enter Ptolomy, Labienus, Guard

Pho. I'le not boast, What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere long You shall know more. The King, with him a Roman. Ach. The scarlet livery of unfortunate war Dy'd deeply on his face. Achil. 'Tis Labienus Cæsars Lieutenant in the wars of Gaul, And fortunate in all his undertakings: But since these Civil jars he turn'd to Pompey, And though he followed the better Cause Not with the like success. Pho. Such as are wise Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise; But more of that hereafter. Lab. In a word, Sir, These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave, Speak Pompey's loss: to tell you of the Battail, How many thousand several bloody shapes Death wore that day in triumph: how we bore The shock of Cæsars charge: or with what fury His Souldiers came on as if they had been So many Cæsars, and like him ambitious To tread upon the liberty of Rome: How Fathers kill'd their Sons, or Sons their Fathers, Or how the Roman Piles on either side Drew Roman blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons, (The sword) succeeded, which in Civil wars Appoints the Tent on which wing'd victory Shall make a certain Stand; then, how the Plains Flow'd o're with blood, and what a cloud of vulturs And other birds of prey, hung o're both armies, Attending when their ready Servitors, (The Souldiers, from whom the angry gods Had took all sense of reason, and of pity) Would serve in their own carkasses for a feast, How Cæsar with his Javelin force'd them on That made the least stop, when their angry hands Were lifted up against some known friends face; Then coming to the body of the army He shews the sacred Senate, and forbids them To wast their force upon the Common Souldier, Whom willingly, if e're he did know pity, He would have spar'd. Ptol. The reason Labienus? Lab. Full well he knows, that in their blood he was To pass to Empire, and that through their bowels He must invade the Laws of Rome, and give A period to the liberty of the world. Then fell the Lepidi, and the bold Corvini, The fam'd Torquati, Scipio's, and Marcelli, (Names next to Pompeys, most renown'd on Earth) The Nobles, and the Commons lay together, And Pontique, Punique, and Assyrian blood Made up one crimson Lake: which Pompey seeing, And that his, and the fate of Rome had left him Standing upon the Rampier of his Camp, Though scorning all that could fall on himself, He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu'd In his unlucky quarrel; cryes aloud too That they should sound retreat, and save themselves: That he desir'd not, so much noble blood Should be lost in his service, or attend On his misfortunes: and then, taking horse With some few of his friends, he came to Lesbos, And with Cornelia, his Wife, and Sons, He's touch'd upon your shore: the King of Parthia, (Famous in his defeature of the Crassi) Offer'd him his protection, but Pompey Relying on his Benefits, and your Faith, Hath chosen Ægypt for his Sanctuary, Till he may recollect his scattered powers, And try a second day: now Ptolomy, Though he appear not like that glorious thing That three times rode in triumph, and gave laws To conquer'd Nations, and made Crowns his gift (As this of yours, your noble Father took From his victorious hand, and you still wear it At his devotion) to do you more honour In his declin'd estate, as the straightst Pine In a full grove of his yet flourishing friends, He flyes to you for succour, and expects The entertainment of your Fathers friend, And Guardian to your self. Ptol. To say I grieve his fortune As much as if the Crown I wear (his gift) Were ravish'd from me, is a holy truth, Our Gods can witness for me: yet, being young, And not a free disposer of my self; Let not a few hours, borrowed for advice, Beget suspicion of unthankfulness, (Which next to Hell I hate) pray you retire, And take a little rest, and let his wounds Be with that care attended, as they were Carv'd on my flesh: good Labienus, think The little respite, I desire shall be Wholly emploi'd to find the readiest way To doe great Pompey service. Lab. May the gods (As you intend) protect you. [Exit. Ptol. Sit: sit all, It is my pleasure: your advice, and freely. Ach. A short deliberation in this, May serve to give you counsel: to be honest, Religious and thankfull, in themselves Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish Or gloss in the perswader; your kept faith, (Though Pompey never rise to th' height he's fallen from) Cæsar himself will love; and my opinion Is (still committing it to graver censure) You pay the debt you owe him, with the hazard Of all you can call yours. Ptol. What's yours, (Photinus?) Pho. Achoreus (great Ptolomy) hath counsell'd Like a Religious, and honest man, Worthy the honour that he justly holds In being Priest to Isis: But alas, What in a man, sequester'd from the world, Or in a private person, is prefer'd, No policy allows of in a King, To be or just, or thankfull, makes Kings guilty, And faith (though prais'd) is punish'd that supports Such as good Fate forsakes: joyn with the gods, Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched, The Stars are not more distant from the Earth Than profit is from honesty; all the power, Prerogative, and greatness of a Prince Is lost, if he descend once but to steer His course, as what's right, guides him: let him leave The Scepter, that strives only to be good, Since Kingdomes are maintain'd by force and blood. Ach. Oh wicked! Ptol. Peace: goe on. Pho. Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth, In thinking that you cannot keep your own From such as are or'e come. If you are tired With being a King, let not a stranger take What nearer pledges challenge: resign rather The government of Egypt and of Nile To Cleopatra, that has title to them, At least defend them from the Roman gripe, What was not Pompeys, while the wars endured, The Conquerour will not challenge; by all the world Forsaken and despis'd, your gentle Guardian His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice of What Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'd By their pale ghosts, slain in this Civil war, He flyes not Cæsar only, but the Senate, Of which, the greater part have cloi'd the hunger Of sharp Pharsalian fowl, he flies the Nations That he drew to his Quarrel, whose Estates Are sunk in his: and in no place receiv'd, Hath found out Egypt, by him yet not ruin'd: And Ptolomy, things consider'd, justly may Complain of Pompey: wherefore should he stain Our Egypt, with the spots of civil war? Or make the peaceable, or quiet Nile Doubted of Cæsar? wherefore should he draw His loss, and overthrow upon our heads? Or choose this place to suffer in? already We have offended Cæsar, in our wishes, And no way left us to redeem his favour But by the head of Pompey. Ach. Great Osiris, Defend thy Ægypt from such cruelty, And barbarous ingratitude! Pho. Holy trifles, And not to have place in designs of State; This sword, which Fate commands me to unsheath, I would not draw on Pompey, if not vanquish'd. I grant it rather should have pass'd through Cæsar, But we must follow where his fortune leads us; All provident Princes measure their intents According to their power, and so dispose them: And thinkst thou (Ptolomy) that thou canst prop His Ruines, under whom sad Rome now suffers? Or 'tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd? Shall we, that in the Battail sate as Neuters Serve him that's overcome? No, no, he's lost. And though 'tis noble to a sinking friend To lend a helping hand, while there is hope He may recover, thy part not engag'd Though one most dear, when all his hopes are dead, To drown him, set thy foot upon his head. Ach. Most execrable Counsel. Pho. To be follow'd, 'Tis for the Kingdoms safety. Ptol. We give up Our absolute power to thee: dispose of it As reason shall direct thee. Pho. Good Achillas, Seek out Septimius: do you but sooth him, He is already wrought: leave the dispatch To me of Labienus: 'tis determin'd Already how you shall proceed: nor Fate Shall alter it, since now the dye is cast, But that this hour to Pompey is his last. [Exit.

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