Ptol. How plaufible foe'er this tale may seem,
Yet, Madam, in my fenfe it ill agrees
With Cafar's love, and your concern for Pompey.
Cleo. Of that, be Cafar judge. To you at least
It proves, that I prefer my fame to empire.
But fince your tutors, Sir, have humbler views,
Pursue the ruin I have warn'd you of.
Send your affaffins forth on Cafar's foes,
And buy his friendship with an act of horror!
While for the pity I avow for Pompey,
On me fall all the bolts of Cafar's rage!
Boaft you your merit, and of me complain,
Then fee, from what great Cæfar fhall ordain,
Which most deferves, the king or queen to reign.
[Exit.
Ptol. Was ever form'd fo fierce, untam'd a spirit?
Pho. Confufion and amazement feize my fense !
It must be fiction all! is the not woman?
Her fpleen has forg'd this fecret: for if true,
How cou'd her fex's pride fo long conceal it?
Ptol. And yet what profit cou'd the fiction yield?
Pho. That answers all! it has foundation !
"Tis well we've time to arm against her power.
Ptol. Suppofe the fate of Pompey were deferr'd?
Pho. If that were merit, it will now be her's!
Nor cou'd your crown be fure from her reward!
Ambition is the only power that combats love.
And fince, howe'er we're dazzled with his virtue,
Pompey's fure death is Cafar's warmer with:
With Pompey's head, we muit fupplant her beauty..
Ptol. It muft-neceffity will have it fo!
Or Pompey, now, or Egypt is no more:
My kingdom, like a bark diftrefs'd at fea,
Muft, in the common danger, know no right,
Value, or property, in cumbrous treasure.
But when the freight destroy'd a people faves,
We undistinguish'd plunge it in the waves.
CLEOPATRA.
INCE when, was this enlargement of your power?
To feize a flave, you knew employ'd by me?
Have you your master's order for this treatment?
Pho. I need no fpecial order for my duty :
What I have done, I'll answer to the king:
In times of danger, fafety is our law:
Were treafons only to be crush'd in form,
Traitors wou'd foon defy their punishment.
Cleo. Traitors!
Pho. Madam, I call that flave a traitor,
That durft betray the counfels of his prince!
I knew you reftlefs, in the cause of Pompey,
And therefore had my eye upon your conduct.
I knew, if Pompey had advice to fly,
You only durft attempt to give it him:
This letter intercepted, proves my fears
Were justly grounded: Cæfar and the king
Will judge, by this, how much you ferve their int'refts. Cleo. I tell thee, flave, if thou art judg❜d by Cæfar, Thy head ftands forfeit to thy infolence
Pho. Cæfar admits no female counsellors.
Cleo. Dares then thy fcurril tongue-avoid my prefence. [Exit Pho.
Char. Excufe a heart concern'd for your repofe.
But fince depriv'd of pow'r t' avenge your wrongs,
Why shou'd vain refentment urge your foes
To offer more? This fcorn you fhew Photinus,
Who, at his pleasure fways the ductile king,
Will but incenfe him to abuse that influence,
And add by fresher infults to his triumph.
Cleo. I mock the fhort-liv'd power that dares infult me!
For know, my Charmion, Cafar's on our coafts!
Spite of their fpies, and vigilance of state,
From his own hand, this morn have I receiv'd
Advice, he brings his legions into Egypt !
That his indulgent ftars, by Pompey's flight,
Now lead him, where his first ambition calls,
To crown his conquefts, by a wreath from me.
I weigh not, whether true, or feign'd his flame;
Me it fuffices, 'tis the style of love.
Make him, ye gods! but capable of paffion,
And leave the forming of his heart to me!
Char. Still more amazing! can you ever hope
That Cafar will be won, by your defiance?
Your open and avow'd concern for Pompey!
Which now this letter will, produc'd, confirm.
Will Cæfar make a mistress of his foe?
Of one that wou'd arm Egypt to oppofe him,
And, by the aid of Pompey, blaft his laurels?
Cleo. Alas, my Charmion, thou'rt unskill'd in heroes!
Love there is born, but from fuperior virtue!
Think'ft thou, a Cafar's foul can e'er be mov'd,
But by a heart, ambitious as his own?
As jealous, as tenacious of its glory?
Shou'd I, to ferve his interests, injure Pompey;
His fword might fpare, but honour wou'd defpife me.
No! to deferve him, he fhall find me grateful.
My juft concern for Pompey, though his foe,
Demands his admiration, not resentment.
Soon is the lover loft, we fear to lose ;
But while, for Pompey's fake, I brave that danger,
Cafar will envy, what a lower mind
Wou'd hate. But fee, the holy priest returns ;
I fent him to enquire of Pompey's doom.
O fpeak, Achoreus, what thy looks prefage!
How have the gods difpos'd of hapless Pompey!
Acho. O! that my age had never feen this day!
Or that Pharfalia's field had left no blood
In Cafar's foes, to stain the fhores of Egypt!
Cleo. Give me the whole, and blend my tears with thine.
Acho. Hear then the fate of Pompey, and deplore!.
When, from his fhips, he faw the spacious beach
Cover'd with gazing crouds, and at their front,
Our fhining troops, in ftately order rang'd;
The martial mufic founding from our gallies,
With gaudy ftreamers making from the port;
His quickning eye confeft a new-born joy!
Concluding that our grateful king defign'd,
In perfon, and with honours, to receive him...
But when, at length, he found but one poor boat
Sent forth, fill'd only with a chofen guard;
And thofe without the king, to grace his welcome ;
His fate he faw, yet wou'd not feem to fee;
Silent he food, with eyes refign'd, and dauntless;
Or anxious only for Cornelia's fears;.
Turning to whom, in care-concealing fmiles,
"Compose thy heart, he cry'd! myself alone
Will tempt the doubtful gratitude of Egypt;
Where, if I fall, thy flight may yet revenge me:
"In Afric, ftill, our firm allies make head,
"Thy father, and my fons, enforc'd by Juba:
"There will thy fortune find a kinder welcome!
"Or if the gods refuse their arms-fuccefs,
"Cato will own our caufe, tho' gods forfake it."
Cleo. O thou haft giv'n Cornelia's pangs to me
!
Acho. During this conflict of their mighty hearts,
The fkiff, that bore the bloody crew, drew near;
From whence, Septimius, to disguise their purpose,
I' th' Roman language hail'd him emperor.
Defcend, great Sir, he cry'd; this fhallow bark.
Avoids the fands, that bar our larger veffels;.
This, Sir, fecure will waft you to the king,
Who waits impatient on the beach t' embrace you.” The deftin'd hero of this vile abuse
Tho' confcious, faw, 'twas now no time to parley.
When taking, from his friends, and mournful wife,
A fhort farewell; with that majestic air,
Went forward to his fate, as when the car
Triumphant bore him through the streets of Rome.
Cleo. Were there no friends attended him to shore ?
Acho. But one-the bark too narrow for his train,
His freed-man Philip follow'd him,
Of what I'speak, by him was I inform'd,
The faithful witnefs of his fate.-At length,
The crew, fecure of their deluded prey,
Now change their looks, and fullen ply their oars,
As if fome criminal condemn'd they bore;
Nor on the way vouchfafe his cares a word.
Obferving this, he drew his tablets forth,
Perufing there fome notes of an oration,
Which for his royal audience he had form'd:
Anon, o'ercharg'd with fighs, he turn'd his eyes,
Throwing a laft long look to fad Cornelia,
Then to himself, or but to Philip's ear,
From Sophocles, this fragment he repeated:
The great and free, when fugitives, are flaves; And where they feek protection, find their graves." O fpare the reft.
Cleo. Proceed! my eyes are full.
Acho. The fhore now gain'd, they warn him to difbark.
And while, to raise him, Philip reach'd his arm,
Achillas, from behind, the bloody fignal gave;
At which Septimius, with his ruffian Romans,
Bury'd at once their daggers in his breast!
At their repeated blows, one deep groan he gave,
When covering with his robe his closing eyes,
At his affaffins feet, the great-the murder'd Pompey fell.
Cleo. Ye gods! who give up nations to the fword,
When this flagitious deed your bolts fhall punish,
Charge not the place, but perfons with the crime!
The blood of Pompey was by Romans shed!
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