The False One Part 10

_Pho._ Goe in; we'l tell you all: and then we'l execute.

[_Exeunt._

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 G.o.d 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 l.u.s.tre 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 _Caesar_ 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 G.o.ds he wors.h.i.+ps: 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._ _Caesar_ commends his Service to your Grace.

_Cleo._ His service? what's his service?

_Eros_. Pray ye be patient, The n.o.ble _Caesar_ 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 _Caesar_.

_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 _Caesar_ 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 Caesar._

_Ap._ He enters.

_Cleo._ How?

_Caesar._ I do not use to wait, Lady, Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.

_Cleo._ I ghess so, by your rudeness.

_Caesar._ Ye are not angry?

Things of your tender mold, should be most gentle; Why do you frown? good G.o.ds, 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 gla.s.s; that false face has betrai'd me: That base heart wrought me--

_Caesar._ 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 G.o.d as _Caesar_ is, To shew how poorly I respect his memory, I would not speak to ye.

_Caesar._ 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.

_Caesar._ But do it milder: In a n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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 _Caesar_, hung about ye tenderly: Was proud to appear your friend.

_Caesar._ 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 wors.h.i.+p'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?

_Caesar_. 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.

_Caesar_. So you shall: My heart shall be the Chariot that shall bear ye, All I have won shall wait upon ye: By the G.o.ds The bravery of this womans mind, has fired me: Dear Mistress shall I but this night?--

_Cleo._ How _Caesar_?

Have I let slip a second vanity That gives thee hope?