Beaumont Francis
The False One: A Tragedy

SCENA II

Enter Apollodorus, Eros, Arsino

Apol. Is the Queen stirring, Eros?

Eros. Yes, for in truth
She touch'd no bed to night.

Apol. I am sorry for it,
And wish it were in me, with my hazard,
To give her ease.

Ars. Sir, she accepts your will,
And does acknowledge she hath found you noble,
So far, as if restraint of liberty
Could give admission to a thought of mirth,
She is your debtor for it.

Apol. Did you tell her
Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertain her?
She was us'd to take delight, with her fair hand,
To angle in the Nile, where the glad fish
(As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em)
Contended to be taken: other times
To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,
Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks her
To his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate,
Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen
To fall a Sacrifice before the altar
Of the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great Photinus
Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuit
In which she is confin'd, gladly affords
Variety of pastimes, which I would
Encrease with my best service.

Eros. O, but the thought
That she that was born free, and to dispense
Restraint, or liberty to others, should be
At the devotion of her Brother, whom
She only knows her equal, makes this place
In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)
A loathsome dungeon to her.

Apol. Yet, (howe're
She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting
To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd
Choise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'd
Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time)
In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy.

The SONG

Look out bright eyes, and bless the air:
Even in shadows you are fair.
Shut-up-beauty is like fire,
That breaks out clearer still and higher.
Though your body be confin'd,
And soft Love a prisoner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind
Neither check, nor chain hath found.
Look out nobly then, and dare
Even the Fetters that you wear.

Enter Cleopatra

Cleo. But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty,
And love in you, my Guardian, and desire
In you, my Sister, and the rest, to please us,
We should receive this, as a sawcy rudeness
Offer'd our private thoughts. But your intents
Are to delight us: alas, you wash an Ethiop:
Can Cleopatra, while she does remember
Whose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (O
I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)
There is no place in Ægypt, where I stand,
But that the tributary Earth is proud
To kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen,
Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relish
Of comfort, or delight, while base Photinus,
Bond-man Achillas, and all other monsters
That raign o're Ptolomy, make that a Court,
Where they reside, and this, where I, a Prison?
But there's a Rome, a Senate, and a Cæsar,
(Though the great Pompey lean to Ptolomy)
May think of Cleopatra.

Ap. Pompey, Madam?

Cleo. What of him? speak: if ill, Apollodorus,
It is my happiness: and for thy news
Receive a favour (Kings have kneel'd in vain for)
And kiss my hand.

Ap. He's lost.

Cleo. Speak it again!

Ap. His army routed: he fled and pursu'd
By the all-conquering Cæsar.

Cleo. Whither bends he?

Ap. To Egypt.

Cleo. Ha! in person?

Ap. 'Tis receiv'd
For an undoubted truth.

Cleo. I live again,
And if assurance of my love, and beauty
Deceive me not, I now shall find a Judge
To do me right: but how to free my self,
And get access? the Guards are strong upon me,
This door I must pass through. Apollodorus,
Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,)
Thy life was not thine own.

Ap. I am not alter'd;
And let your excellency propound a means,
In which I may but give the least assistance,
That may restore you, to that you were born to,
(Though it call on the anger of the King,
Or, (what's more deadly) all his Minion
Photinus can do to me) I, unmov'd,
Offer my throat to serve you: ever provided,
It bear some probable shew to be effected.
To lose my self upon no ground, were madness,
Not loyal duty.

Cleo. Stand off: to thee alone,
I will discover what I dare not trust
My Sister with, Cæsar is amorous,
And taken more with the title of a Queen,
Than feature or proportion, he lov'd Eunoe,
A Moor, deformed too, I have heard, that brought
No other object to inflame his blood,
But that her Husband was a King, on both
He did bestow rich presents; shall I then,
That with a princely birth, bring beauty with me,
That know to prize my self at mine own rate,
Despair his favour? art thou mine?

Ap. I am.

Cleo. I have found out a way shall bring me to him,
Spight of Photinus watches; if I prosper,
(As I am confident I shall) expect
Things greater than thy wishes; though I purchase
His grace with loss of my virginity,
It skills not, if it bring home Majesty. [Exeunt.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima

Enter Septimius, with a head, Achillas, Guard

Sep. 'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearfull viewers,
Shake, and behold the model of the world here,
The pride, and strength, look, look again, 'tis finish'd;
That, that whole Armies, nay whole nations,
Many and mighty Kings, have been struck blind at,
And fled before, wing'd with their fears and terrours,
That steel war waited on, and fortune courted,
That high plum'd honour built up for her own;
Behold that mightiness, behold that fierceness,
Behold that child of war, with all his glories;
By this poor hand made breathless, here (my Achillas)
Egypt, and Cæsar, owe me for this service,
And all the conquer'd Nations.

Ach. Peace Septimius,
Thy words sound more ungratefull than thy actions,
Though sometimes safety seek an instrument
Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)
Think not she is bound to love him too, that's barbarous.
Why did not I, if this be meritorious,
And binds the King unto me, and his bounties,
Strike this rude stroke? I'le tell thee (thou poor Roman)
It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
Not heave a thought.

Sep. It was.

Ach. I'le tell thee truely,
And if thou ever yet heard'st tell of honour,
I'le make thee blush: It was thy General's;
That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,
The air thou breath'dst was his; the fire that warm'd thee,
From his care kindled ever, nay, I'le show thee,
(Because I'le make thee sensible of the business,
And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy foot on
But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion.
He triumph'd three times, who durst touch his person?
The very walls of Rome bow'd to his presence,
Dear to the Gods he was, to them that fear'd him
A fair and noble Enemy. Didst thou hate him?
And for thy love to Cæsar, sought his ruine?
Arm'd in the red Pharsalian fields, Septimius,
Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,
Where Kings were fair competitours for honour,
Thou shouldst have come up to him, there have fought him,
There, Sword to Sword.

Sep. I kill'd him on commandment,
If Kings commands be fair, when you all fainted,
When none of you durst look—

Ach. On deeds so barbarous,
What hast thou got?

Sep. The Kings love, and his bounty,
The honour of the service, which though you rail at,
Or a thousand envious souls fling their foams on me,
Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:
And I shall live.

Ach. A miserable villain,
What reputation, and reward belongs to it
Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;
And be not impudent to ask me why, Sirrah,
Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes the reason:
The shame and obloquy I leave thine own,
Inherit those rewards, they are fitter for thee,
Your oyl's spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.

[Exit

Sep. The King will yet consider.

Enter Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus

Achil. Here he comes Sir.

Ach. Yet if it be undone: hear me great Sir,
If this inhumane stroak be yet unstrucken,
If that adored head be not yet sever'd
From the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,
The desolations that this great Eclipse works,
You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire
Upon the Tomb of him will shake all Egypt,
Whose warlike groans will raise ten thousand Spirits,
(Great as himself) in every hand a thunder;
Destructions darting from their looks, and sorrows
That easy womens eyes shall never empty.

Pho. You have done well; and 'tis done, see Achillas,
And in his hand the head.

Ptol. Stay come no nearer,
Me thinks I feel the very earth shake under me,
I do remember him, he was my guardian,
Appointed by the Senate to preserve me:
What a full Majesty sits in his face yet?

Pho. The King is troubled: be not frighted Sir,
Be not abus'd with fears; his death was necessary,
If you consider, Sir, most necessary,
Not to be miss'd: and humbly thank great Isis,
He came so opportunely to your hands;
Pity must now give place to rules of safety.
Is not victorious Cæsar new arriv'd,
And enter'd Alexandria, with his friends,
His Navy riding by to wait his charges?
Did he not beat this Pompey, and pursu'd him?
Was not this great man, his great enemy?
This Godlike vertuous man, as people held him,
But what fool dare be friend to flying vertue?

Enter Cæsar, Anthony, Dolabella, Sceva

I hear their Trumpets, 'tis too late to stagger,
Give me the head, and be you confident:
Hail Conquerour, and head of all the world,
Now this head's off.

Cæsar. Ha?

Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar,
From kingly Ptolomy I bring this present,
The Crown, and sweat of thy Pharsalian labour:
The goal and mark of high ambitious honour.
Before thy victory had no name, Cæsar,
Thy travel and thy loss of blood, no recompence,
Thou dreamst of being worthy, and of war;
And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers,
Here they take life: here they inherit honour,
Grow fixt, and shoot up everlasting triumphs:
Take it, and look upon thy humble servant,
With noble eyes look on the Princely Ptolomy,
That offers with this head (most mighty Cæsar)
What thou would'st once have given for it, all Egypt.

Ach. Nor do not question it (most royal Conquerour)
Nor dis-esteem the benefit that meets thee,
Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer:
Yet let me tell thee (most imperious Cæsar)
Though he oppos'd no strength of Swords to win this,
Nor labour'd through no showres of darts, and lances:
Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
An inward war: he was his Grand-sires Guest;
Friend to his Father, and when he was expell'd
And beaten from this Kingdom by strong hand,
And had none left him, to restore his honour,
No hope to find a friend, in such a misery;
Then in stept Pompey; took his feeble fortune:
Strengthen'd, and cherish'd it, and set it right again,
This was a love to Cæsar.

Sceva. Give me, hate, Gods.

Pho. This Cæsar may account a little wicked,
But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?
If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that way!
He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted,
Had been most terrible: let the worst be render'd,
We have deserv'd for keeping thy hands innocent.

Cæsar. Oh Sceva, Sceva, see that head: see Captains,
The head of godlike Pompey.

Sceva. He was basely ruin'd,
But let the Gods be griev'd that suffer'd it,
And be you Cæsar—

Cæsar. Oh thou Conquerour,
Thou glory of the world once, now the pity:
Thou awe of Nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?
What poor fate follow'd thee, and pluckt thee on
To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian;
The life and light of Rome, to a blind stranger,
That honorable war ne'r taught a nobleness,
Nor worthy circumstance shew'd what a man was,
That never heard thy name sung, but in banquets;
And loose lascivious pleasures? to a Boy,
That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness,
No study of thy life to know thy goodness;
And leave thy Nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Leave him (distrusted) that in tears falls with thee?
(In soft relenting tears) hear me (great Pompey)
(If thy great spirit can hear) I must task thee:
Thou hast most unnobly rob'd me of my victory,
My love, and mercy.

Ant. O how brave these tears shew!
How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy!

Dol. Glory appears not greater than this goodness.

Cæsar. Egyptians, dare you think your high Pyramides,
Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy Kings lye rak'd in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of Nilus)
Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven;
No Pyramides set off his memories,
But the eternal substance of his greatness
To which I leave him: take the head away,
And (with the body) give it noble burial,
Your Earth shall now be bless'd to hold a Roman,
Whose braverys all the worlds-Earth cannot ballance.
Sce. If thou bee'st thus loving, I shall honour thee,
But great men may dissemble, 'tis held possible,
And be right glad of what they seem to weep for,
There are such kind of Philosophers; now do I wonder
How he would look if Pompey were alive again,
But how he would set his face?

Cæsar. You look now, King,
And you that have been Agents in this glory,
For our especial favour?

Ptol. We desire it.

Cæsar. And doubtless you expect rewards.

Sceva. Let me give 'em:
I'le give 'em such as nature never dreamt of,
I'le beat him and his Agents (in a morter)
Into one man, and that one man I'le bake then.

Cæsar. Peace: I forgive you all, that's recompence:
You are young, and ignorant, that pleads your pardon,
And fear it may be more than hate provok'd ye,
Your Ministers, I must think, wanted judgment,
And so they err'd: I am bountiful to think this;
Believe me most bountiful; be you most thankful,
That bounty share amongst ye: if I knew
What to send you for a present, King of Egypt,
(I mean a head of equal reputation
And that you lov'd) though it were your brightest Sisters,
(But her you hate) I would not be behind ye.

Ptol. Hear me, (Great Cæsar.)

Cæs. I have heard too much,
And study not with smooth shews to invade
My noble Mind as you have done my Conquest.
Ye are poor and open: I must tell ye roundly,
That Man that could not recompence the Benefits,
The great and bounteous services of Pompey,
Can never dote upon the Name of Cæsar;
Though I had hated Pompey, and allow'd his ruine,
[I gave you no commission to performe it:]
Hasty to please in Blood are seldome trusty;
And but I stand inviron'd with my Victories,
My Fortune never failing to befriend me,
My noble strengths, and friends about my Person,
I durst not try ye, nor expect: a Courtesie,
Above the pious love you shew'd to Pompey.
You have found me merciful in arguing with you;
Swords, Hangmen, Fires, Destructions of all natures,
Demolishments of Kingdoms, and whole Ruines
Are wont to be my Orators; turn to tears,
You wretched and poor seeds of Sun-burnt Egypt,
And now you have found the nature of a Conquerour,
That you cannot decline with all your flatteries,
That where the day gives light will be himself still,
Know how to meet his Worth with humane Courtesies,
Go, and embalm those bones of that great Souldier;
Howl round about his Pile, fling on your Spices,
Make a Sabæan Bed, and place this Phoenix
Where the hot Sun may emulate his Vertues,
And draw another Pompey from his ashes
Divinely great, and fix him 'mongst the Worthies.

Ptol. We will do all.

Cæs. You have rob'd him of those tears
His Kindred and his Friends kept sacred for him;
The Virgins of their Funeral Lamentations:
And that kind Earth that thought to cover him,
(His Countries Earth) will cry out 'gainst your Cruelty,
And weep unto the Ocean for revenge,
Till Nilus raise his seven heads and devour ye;
My grief has stopt the rest: when Pompey liv'd
He us'd you nobly, now he is dead use him so. [Exit.

Ptol. Now, where's your confidence? your aim (Photinus)
The Oracles, and fair Favours from the Conquerour
You rung into mine Ears? how stand I now?
You see the tempest of his stern displeasure,
The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
To stop his Rage, presaging a full ruine;
Where are your Counsels now?

Acho. I told you, Sir,
(And told the truth) what danger would flye after;
And though an Enemy, I satisfied you
He was a Roman, and the top of Honour;
And howsoever this might please Great Cæsar,
I told ye that the foulness of his Death,
The impious baseness—

Pho. Peace, you are a Fool,
Men of deep ends must tread as deep ways to 'em;
Cæsar I know is pleas'd, and for all his sorrows
(Which are put on for forms and meer dissemblings)
I am confident he's glad; to have told ye so,
And thank ye outwardly, had been too open,
And taken from the Wisedom of a Conquerour.
Be confident and proud ye have done this service;
Ye have deserv'd, and ye will find it highly:
Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure
You keep your Sister, (the high-soul'd Cleopatra)
Both close and short enough, she may not see him;
The rest, if I may counsel, Sir—

Ptol. Do all;
For in thy faithful service rests my safety. [Exeunt.