Nulla fides unquam miferos elegit amicos. Luc. lib. 8.
UR fertile Egypt, now, no more shall groan,
Beneath the ravage of inteftine war;
Nor, from the contefts of divided fway,
Rebellion have th' excufe of anarchy.
Our plenteous Nile now flows for Ptolomey!
While Cleopatra, by his arms reduc'd,
Perceives her empire bounded, by this palace;
There, like a criminal of state, confin'd,
She ftoops for favours, where the once beftow'd them. Achil. And yet fo equal, fo unchang'd her fpirit,
She feems not to defire, or not t' have loft
A throne: The fame majeftic gracious smile
Plays in her eye, infenfible of foes,
Or feeming not to know them.
Pho. All diffembled !
Train'd up in courts, fhe knows to mask her malice:
But were the loofe again to power, this head,
That honeftly projected her confinement,
Wou'd be the earliest victim of her vengeance.
Achil. 'Tis true, my lord; and that one point confider's,
Why is her verge of liberty fo large
Why is the fuffer'd ftill to train along
This lofty palace, with her crouds attending?
To revel in the bow'ry fhades, to range
The sportive foreft, and cominand its pleasures?
To fpread her filken toils beneath the ftream?
With tow'ring falcons to distress the dove?
Or like Diana, with her wood-nymphs grac❜d,
To mount the breathing hills, and fweep the vale,
Chafing with cheerful horn, the stag, the boar?
Pho. Thou know'it, Achillas, he's the people's idol
Over whofe hearts her eyes ufurp an empire!
Confcious of beauty, the delights to pleafe;.
And when in public view the moves,
Her radiant charms attract their adoration !
Then from her fpeech fuch melting mufic flows,
Nor more her words than tuneful voice perfuade.
'Therefore too close restraint were dangerous:
This fhew of freedom will amufe the commons,
Who pierce not to th' abridgment of her fway;
But were they utterly refus'd her fight,
Or but her lovely perfon hardly treated;
The force of Egypt wou'd not curb their rage,
Nor Ptolomey were fafe upon his throne.
Achil. 'Tis not the murm'ring multitude I fear,
But powerful Rome's refentment wakes my thought;
How may the jealous fenate bear this change?
Whofe awful voices have decreed, that both
Sifter and brother, as the late king's will
Bequeath'd, fhould equal hold the reigns of empire?
Nor will, I fear, great Pompey brook her treatment,
Who ftands alike the guardian of them both.
Pho. Pompey and Rome have weightier cares at home.
The ftorm of civil war, now rais'd by Cafar,
- Withdraws their infolence from foreign realms,
To waste their valour on their proper fubjects!
Their diftant care of us is but their pride,.
And wantonnefs of power; inteftine jars
May humble them to juftice, and reduce
Their empire to its old Italian bounds.
Or fay, that on Pharfalia's dreadful plain,.
(Where now thefe rival lions hourly watch
Each other as their prey) conqueft fhou'd give
The Roman world to Pompey, or to Cæfar;
'Twill then be time enough, when we are sure
Whofe nod we must obey, to change our measures.
Achil. Behold the king! and in his youthful eye
Some joy unusual fparkles into triumph.
Enter Ptolomey, with an open letter. Septimius,
Áchoreus following..
Ptol. O Photinus! Ofiris now has heard.
Our vows! at length this mistress of the earth,,
Imperious Rome, has loft her liberty.!
This haughty dame that gave her laws to monarchs,
Whofe private citizens durft proudly vaunt
Their fcorn of crowns, and boast of fcepter'd vaffals ;;
This wanton Rome, impregnated with power,
By civil difcord, teems her own destruction:
Pharfalia's field has given the world to Cæfar::
And Pompey is a fugitive in Egypt.
All his late triumphs, laurels, and renown,
Are now the spoils, and grace the brows of Cafar.
Cafar, who warm with injuries, and conqueft,
Will well avenge the caufe of flighted kings,.
And bend the neck of Rome to one victorious lord.
Pho, When our oppreffors feel the fetters they impos'd,
Our chains are lightned by the loads they bear.
Ptol. We who are doom'd to wear precarious crowns, With lefs regret fhall pay our homage to
A king, than an inferior proud republic!
Pho. But you were fpeaking, Sir, of Pompey's flight, And, as I think, of his arrival here?
Ptol. The remnant of his fleet, three flatter'd barks, Now anchor in our port; where with his fair, His fad Cornelia, and fome few dependants, Who fhare the hopeless fortunes of Pharfalia, He waits upon our will; having first fent On fhore a friend, with this address to ask Protection, and if poffible our aid to check The courfe of Cafar, and inforce the war.
There, more at large you'll read, how unfecure
Is all the tow'ring ftrength of human glory.
Acho. He tells us here, that Parthia's warlike king (Whofe conqueft over Craffus is fo fam'd,) Had offer'd to receive him; but himself Affur'd his fortunes more relief in Egypt, Where his late fervice to your royal father, He knows, will be remember'd in his welcome.
Ptol. 'Tis true, when bold rebellion prefs'd my father, Pompey procur'd the fenate's timely aid,
Which crufh'd the tumult, and confirm'd his throne;
And benefits conferr'd on dignity distrest,
Entail their obligation on its heirs.
But Pompey, in that utmost exigence,
Tho' generous, was not more a friend than Cafar;
Whofe thousand talents from his private ftore,
Advanc'd, gave life, and finews to our cause!
Thus ftands iny doubtful gratitude divided :
Pompey's misfortunes plead for our relief;
But Cafar's greatness warns us to abjure him :
To make a foe of Cafar now-were frantic virtue;
And to defert a friend's distress-ignoble.
Hard-fated choice! muft I, to fave my crown,
Yield up this hunted Pompey's head to Cæfar?
Or (faving Pompey) make my crown his prey
What then can guard me, but your riper wisdom?
Your counfel, lords, is now my last refource,
To fhield your prince from ruin, or difhonour.
Acho. To guard your crown, Sir, is our eldest duty: But what are crowns that are not worn with honour? We grant, the obligations of your state
To Pompey, and to Cafar's friendship, equal;-
Yet, as one only begs immediate payment,
Pompey's diftrefs feems here to turn the fcale,
And weighs up confcious honour to relieve him.
Cæfar makes no demand upon your crown;
His profperous arms not afk, but give fupport:
At worst, his thousand talents might be paid!
Then are you unconfin'd, in gratitude;
Then, Sir, what's due to Pompey, bears no question
If 'tis objected, Caefar may refent
Your favours to his mortal foe; 'tis true,
If fo my counfel were mofst hazardous :
But who, what enemy can fay of Cajar,
That he provok'd him, by an act of honour?
How is he fam'd for mercy to his foes?
Then will he not forgive a friendly error,
Whose motive has th' excufe of gratitude?
But fhou'd you offer violence to Pompey,
How may great Cæfar take advantage of
Your crime, and build his fame upon your ruin?
Therefore my thoughts advife you, Sir, be grateful,
Supply the wants of Pompey, and protect him:
Appeal to Cæfar's honour, and you gain him;
But Pompey's injur'd life were fuch an act,
As neither gods would bear, nor Cæfar pardon.
Ptol. Achoreus has our thanks
Achil. Achoreus, Sir, has fpoke, as well becomes His holy function, and a faithful subject:
But yet how far the laws of policy
May warrant what his wifdom has advanc'd,
I own, with me, as yet, is undetermin'd.
Cæfar has virtue, but he wants not art:
And tho' no doubt he wishes Pompey dead,
Nay, in his heart, wou'd bless the hand that fmote him;
Yet these are thoughts his glory must conceal.
Therefore who knows, but Pompey's death reveng'd,
Might be the mask his joy wou'd choose to wear?
If fo, the death of Pompey might undo us:
But when again we weigh it, as the end,
The fummit, and the crown of Cefar's conquests:
When we reflect, that they who give repofe,
And full fecurity to Cefar's power,
Can never be themfelves unfafe
The death of Pompey is the life of Egypt.
Ptol. Your fentiments, Septimius?
Speaks me, I am unfit for
A Roman born, my fcience has been war:
My fervices, by Pompey's fcorn o'erlook'd;
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