The False One Part 11

_Caesar_. 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.

_Caesar_. Stay.

_Cleo._ I will not.

_Caesar_. I command.

_Cleo._ Command, and goe without, Sir.

I do command thee be my slave for ever, And vex while I laugh at thee.

_Caesar_. 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._

_Caesar_. 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 appet.i.te, 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 n.o.bly, Than to live high, and wantonly: whilst you are secure here, And offer Hecatombs of lazie kisses To the lewd G.o.d of love, and cowardize, And most lasci[v]iously dye in delights, You are begirt with the fierce _Alexandrians_.

_Dol._ The sp.a.w.n of _Egypt_ flow about your Palace, Arm'd all: and ready to a.s.sault.

_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 G.o.d of love fight for ye?

Will his fierce war-like bow kill a c.o.c.k-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 G.o.ddesses 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.

_Caesar_. 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, _Caesar_, and see if that will help ye.

_Caesar_. I'le be my self again, and meet their furies, Meet, and consume their mischiefs: make some s.h.i.+ft, _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.

_Caesar_. Goe: come, let's to Counsel How to prevent, and then to execute.

SCENA III.

_Enter_ Souldiers.

_1 Sold._ Did ye see this Penitence?

_2 Sold._ Yes: I saw, and heard it.

_3 Sold._ And I too: look'd upon him, and observ'd it, He's the strangest _Septimus_ now--

_1 Sold._ I heard he was altered, And had given away his Gold to honest uses: Cry'd monstrously.

_2 Sold._ He cryes abundantly: He is blind almost with weeping.

_3 Sold._ 'Tis most wonderfull That a hard hearted man, and an old Souldier Should have so much kind moisture: when his Mother dy'd He laugh'd aloud, and made the wickedst Ballads--

_1 Sold._ 'Tis like enough: he never lov'd his parents; Nor can I blame him, for they ne'r lov'd him.

His Mother dream'd before she was deliver'd That she was brought abed with a Buzzard, and ever after She whistl'd him up to th' world: his brave clothes too He has flung away, and goes like one of us now: Walks with his hands in's pockets, poor and sorrowfull, And gives the best instructions.--

_2 Sold._ And tells stories Of honest and good people that were honour'd And how they were remembred: and runs mad If he but hear of any ungratefull person, A bloudy, or betraying man--

_3 Sold._ If it be possible That an Arch-Villain may ever be recovered, This penitent Rascal will put hard: 'twere worth our labour To see him once again.

_Enter_ Septimius.

_1 Sold._ He spares us that labour, For here he comes.

_Sep._--Bless ye my honest friends, Bless ye from base unworthy men; come not near me, For I am yet too taking for your company.

_1 Sold._ Did I not tell ye?

_2 Sold._ What book's that?

_1 Sold._ No doubt Some excellent Salve for a sore heart: are you _Septimius_, that base knave, that betray'd _Pompey_?

_Sep._ I was, and am; unless your honest thoughts Will look upon my penitence, and save me, I must be ever Villain: O good Souldiers You that have _Roman_ hearts, take heed of falsehood: Take heed of blood; take heed of foul ingrat.i.tude.

The G.o.ds have scarce a mercy for those mischiefs, Take heed of pride, 'twas that that brought me to it.

_2 Sol._ This fellow would make a rare speech at the gallows.

_[3] Sol._ 'Tis very fit he were hang'd to edifie us:

_Sep._ Let all your thoughts be humble, and obedient, Love your Commanders, honour them that feed ye: Pray, that ye may be strong in honesty As in the use of arms; Labour, and diligently To keep your hearts from ease, and her base issues, Pride, and ambitious wantonness, those spoil'd me.

Rather lose all your limbs, than the least honesty, You are never lame indeed, till loss of credit Benumb ye through: Scarrs, and those maims of honour Are memorable crutches, that shall bear When you are dead, your n.o.ble names to Eternity.