And something worth my danger: you are cold,
And know not your own powers: this brow was fashion'd
To wear a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment,
Given to dispose of monarchies, not to govern
A childs affairs, the peoples eye's upon you,
The Souldier courts you: will you wear a garment
Of sordid loyalty when 'tis out of fashion?
Pho. When Pompey was thy General, Septimius,
Thou saidst as much to him.
Sep. All my love to him,
To Cæsar, Rome, and the whole world is lost
In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend,
Project, design, or Countrey, but your favour,
Which I'le preserve at any rate.
Pho. No more;
When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps
Sooner than you expect, I may employ you,
So leave me for a while.
Sep. Ever your Creature. [Exit.
Pho. Good day Achoreus; my best friend Achillas,
Hath fame deliver'd yet no certain rumour
Of the great Roman Action?
Achil. That we are
To enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave care
For Egypts happiness, and great Ptolomies good,
Hath eyes and ears in all parts.
Pho. I'le not boast,
What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere long
You shall know more. The King, with him a Roman.
Ach. The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
Dy'd deeply on his face.
Achil. 'Tis Labienus
Cæsars Lieutenant in the wars of Gaul,
And fortunate in all his undertakings:
But since these Civil jars he turn'd to Pompey,
And though he followed the better Cause
Not with the like success.
Pho. Such as are wise
Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise;
But more of that hereafter.
Lab. In a word, Sir,
These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave,
Speak Pompey's loss: to tell you of the Battail,
How many thousand several bloody shapes
Death wore that day in triumph: how we bore
The shock of Cæsars charge: or with what fury
His Souldiers came on as if they had been
So many Cæsars, and like him ambitious
To tread upon the liberty of Rome:
How Fathers kill'd their Sons, or Sons their Fathers,
Or how the Roman Piles on either side
Drew Roman blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons,
(The sword) succeeded, which in Civil wars
Appoints the Tent on which wing'd victory
Shall make a certain Stand; then, how the Plains
Flow'd o're with blood, and what a cloud of vulturs
And other birds of prey, hung o're both armies,
Attending when their ready Servitors,
(The Souldiers, from whom the angry gods
Had took all sense of reason, and of pity)
Would serve in their own carkasses for a feast,
How Cæsar with his Javelin force'd them on
That made the least stop, when their angry hands
Were lifted up against some known friends face;
Then coming to the body of the army
He shews the sacred Senate, and forbids them
To wast their force upon the Common Souldier,
Whom willingly, if e're he did know pity,
He would have spar'd.
Ptol. The reason Labienus?
Lab. Full well he knows, that in their blood he was
To pass to Empire, and that through their bowels
He must invade the Laws of Rome, and give
A period to the liberty of the world.
Then fell the Lepidi, and the bold Corvini,
The fam'd Torquati, Scipio's, and Marcelli,
(Names next to Pompeys, most renown'd on Earth)
The Nobles, and the Commons lay together,
And Pontique, Punique, and Assyrian blood
Made up one crimson Lake: which Pompey seeing,
And that his, and the fate of Rome had left him
Standing upon the Rampier of his Camp,
Though scorning all that could fall on himself,
He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu'd
In his unlucky quarrel; cryes aloud too
That they should sound retreat, and save themselves:
That he desir'd not, so much noble blood
Should be lost in his service, or attend
On his misfortunes: and then, taking horse
With some few of his friends, he came to Lesbos,
And with Cornelia, his Wife, and Sons,
He's touch'd upon your shore: the King of Parthia,
(Famous in his defeature of the Crassi)
Offer'd him his protection, but Pompey
Relying on his Benefits, and your Faith,
Hath chosen Ægypt for his Sanctuary,
Till he may recollect his scattered powers,
And try a second day: now Ptolomy,
Though he appear not like that glorious thing
That three times rode in triumph, and gave laws
To conquer'd Nations, and made Crowns his gift
(As this of yours, your noble Father took
From his victorious hand, and you still wear it
At his devotion) to do you more honour
In his declin'd estate, as the straightst Pine
In a full grove of his yet flourishing friends,
He flyes to you for succour, and expects
The entertainment of your Fathers friend,
And Guardian to your self.
Ptol. To say I grieve his fortune
As much as if the Crown I wear (his gift)
Were ravish'd