Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels I am poffeft of'tis exactly valued, (38) Not petty things omitted where's Seleucus? Sel. Here, Madam... Cleo. This is my treafurer, let him fpeak, my Lord, Upon his peril, that I have referv'd To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.. Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made known. Your wifdom in the deed. Cleo. See, Cæfar! Oh, behold, How pomp is followed mine will now be yours, And, fhould we shift eftates, yours would be mine. The ingratitude of this Seleucus does Ev'n make me wild. Oh flave, of no more truft Caf. Good queen, let us intreat you. Cleo. O Cefar, what a wounding fhame is this," That thou, vouchfafing here to visit me, (38) ·Tis exactly valued Not petty Things admitted.] 1 Sagacious Editors! Cleopatra gives in Lift of her Wealth, fays, 'tis exactly valued, but that petty Things are not admitted in this Lift: and then the appeals to her Treasurer, to vouch, that he has referv'd Nothing to herself. Nay, and when he betrays her in this Point, he is reduced to the shift of exclaiming against the Ingratitude of Servants to a Prince in his Decline, and of making Apologies for having fecreted certain Trifles. What Confiftency is there in fuch a Conduct? And who does not fee, that we ought to read? -'Tis exactly valued; Not petty Things omitted. For this Declaration lays open her Falfhood; and makes her angry, when her Treasurer detects her in a direct Lye. Doing the honour of thy Lordlinefs To one fo weak, that mine own fervant fhould -it fmites me Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee, go hence; Or I fhall fhew the cinders of my fpirits Through th' afhes of my chance; wert thou a man, Caf Forbear, Seleucus. Cleo. Be't known, that we the greateft are mifthought For things that others do; and, when we fall, Caf. Cleopatra, Not what you have referv'd nor what acknowledg'd, Put we i'th' roll of conqueft, ftill be't yours; Beftow it at your pleasure, and believe, Cafar's no merchant to make prize with you Of things that merchants fold. Therefore, be cheer'd : Make not your thoughts your prifons; no, dear Queen, For we intend fo to difpofe you, as Yourself fhall give us counfel: feed, and fleep. Our care and pity is fo much upon you, That we remain your friend; and fo, adieu. Cleo. My mafter, and my Lord! Cef. Not fo :-adieu. [Exeunt Cæfar and his train. Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, That I fhould not be noble to myself. But hark thee, Charmian. [Whispers Charmian, Iras. Finish, good lady, the bright day is done, And we are for the dark. Clea. Cleo. Hie thee again.. I've spoke already, and it is provided; Go put it to the haste. Char. Madam, I will. [Exit Charm. Enter Dolabella. Dol. Where is the Queen? Char. Behold, Sir. Cleo. Dolabella, Dol. Madam, as thereto fworn, by your command, Which my love makes religion to obey, I tell you this: Cafar through Syria Intends his journey, and, within three days, Cleo. Dolabella, I fhall remain your debtor. Dol. I your fervant. Adieu, good Queen; I must attend on Cæfar. [Exit. Cleo. Farewel, and thanks. Now, Iras, what think't thou? Thou, an Egyptian puppet, fhalt be fhewn In Rome as well as I: mechanick flaves With greafy aprons, rules, and hammers, fhall Uplift us to the view. In their thick breaths, Rank of grofs diet, fhall we be enclouded, And fore'd to drink their vapour. Iras. The Gods forbid! Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: faucy lictors Will catch at us like ftrumpets, and fcall'd rhimers Ballad us out-o'-tune. The quick comedians Extemp'rally will ftage us, and prefent Our Alexandrian revels: Antony Shall be brought drunken forth, and I fhall fee I'th' pofture of a whore. Iras. O the good Gods! Cleo. Nay, that's certain. Iras. I'll never fee it; for, I'm fure, my nails Are Are ftronger than mine eyes. Cleo. Why, that's the way (39) To fool their preparation, and to conquer Enter Charmian. fetch Shew me, my women, like a Queen: go Enter a Guardsman. Guard. Here is a rural fellow, That will not be deny'd your Highness' prefence; Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an inftrument (39) Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer 'As plaufible as this Epithet may at first Glance appear, I have great Sufpicions of it. Why fhould Cleopatra call Cafar's Defigns abfurd? She could not think his Intent of carrying her in Triumph, fuch, with regard to his own Glory; and her finding an Expedient to difappoint him, could not bring it under that predicament. I much Father think, the Poet wrote; and to conquer Their most affur'd Intents. i. e. the Purposes, which they are moft determin'd to put in prac tice; make themselves moft fure of accomplishing. Enter Guardfman, and Clown with a basket. Guard. This is the man. Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guardfman. Haft thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, Clown. Truly, I have him but I would not be the party fhould defire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal: thofe, that do die of it, do feldom or never recover. Cleo. Remember'ft thou any that have dy'd on't? Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than yesterday, a very honeft woman, but fomething given to lye, as a woman should not do, but in the way of honefty. How fhe dy'd of the biting of it, what pain fhe felt! truly, fhe makes a very good report o'th' worm: but he, that will believe all that they fay, fhall never be faved by half that they do: but this is moft fallible, the worm's an odd worm. Cleo. Get thee hence, farewel. Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. Cleo. Farewel. Clown. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind. Cleo. Ay, ay, farewel. Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wife people; for, indeed, there is no goodness in the worm. Cleo. Take thou no care, it shall be heeded. Clown. Very good give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding. Cleo. Will it eat me? Clown. You must not think, I am fo fimple, but I know, the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a difh for the Gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these fame whore-fon devils do the Gods great harm in their women! for, in every ten that they make, the devils mar five. Cleo. Well, get thee gone, farewel. Clown. |