Delia and Rosamond augmented Cleopatra by Samuel Daniel.

SCENA. SECVNDA.

• CAESAR,
• CLEOPATRA,
• SELEVCVS,
• DOLABELLA.

Caes.

WHat Cleopatrae, doost thou doubt so much Of Caesars mercy, that thou hid'st thy face? Or doost thou think, thy' offences can be such, That they surmount the measure of our grace?

Cleo.

O Caesar, not for that I flye thy fight My soule this sad retyre of sorrow chose: But that my' oppressed thoughts ab horring light, Like best in darknes, my disgrace t'inclose. And heere to these close limmits of dispaire, This solitary horror where I bide: Caesar, I thought no Roman should repaire, More after him, who heere oppressed dyde. Yet now, heere at thy conquering feete I lye, Poore captiue soule, that neuer thought to bow: VVhose happy foote of rule and maiestie, Stoode late on y^t same ground thou standest now.

Caes.

Rise Queene, none but thy selfe is cause of all. And yet, would all were but thyne owne alone: That others ruine had not with thy fall Brought Rome her sorowes, to my tryumphs mone. For breaking off the league of loue and blood. Thou mak'st my winning ioy a gaine vnpleasing: Sith th'eye of griefe must looke into our good, Thorow the horror of our owne blood-shedding. And all, we must attribute vnto thee.

Cleo.

To mee? Caesar what should a woman doe Opprest with greatnes? What was it for mee To contradict my Lord, beeing bent thereto? I was by loue, by feare, by weakenes, made An instrument to such disseignes as these. For when the Lord of all the Orient bade, Who but obeyd? who was not glad to please? And how could I with-draw my succouring hand, From him that had my hart, or what was mine? Th'intrest of my faith in straightest band, My loue to his most firmely did combine.

Caes.

Loue? alas no, it was th'innated hatred That thou and thine hast euer borne our people: That made thee seeke al meanes to haue vs scattred, To disvnite our strength, and makers feeble.

And therefore did that brest nurse our dissention, VVith hope t'exalt thy selfe, t'augment thy state: To pray vpon the wrack of our contention, And (with the rest our foes,) to ioy thereat.

Cleo.

O Caesar, see how easie tis t'accuse Whom fortune hath made faultie by their fall, The wretched conquered may not refuse The titles of reproch he's charg'd withall. The conquering cause hath right, wherein y^u art, The vanquisht, still is iudg'd the worser part. Which part is mine, because I lost my part. No lesser then the portion of a Crowne. Enough for mee, alas what needed arte To gaine by others, but to keepe mine owne? But heere let weaker powers note what it is, To neighbour great Competitors too neere, If we take part, we oft doe perrish thus, If neutrall bide, both parties we must feare. Alas, what shall the forst partakers doe, When following none, yet must they perrish to? But CAESAR. sith thy right and cause is such, Bee not a heauie weight vpon calamitie: Depresse not the afflicted ouer-much, The chiefest glory is the Victors lenitie.

Th'inheritaunce of mercy from him take, Of whom thou hast thy fortune and thy name: Great Caesar mee a Queene at first did make, And let not Caesar now confound the same. Reade heere these lines which still I keep with me, The witnes of his loue and fauours euer: And God forbid this should be said of thee, That Caesar wrong'd the fauoured of Caesar. For looke what I haue beene to Anthony, Thinke thou the same I might haue been to thee. And heere I doe present thee with the note, Of all the treasure, all the Iewels rare That Egipt hath in many ages got; And looke what Cleopatra hath, is there.

Seleu.

Nay there's not all set down within that roule, I know some things shee hath reseru'd a part.

Cle.

What vile vng greateful wretch, dar'st thou cōtroule Thy Queene & soueraine? caitiue as thou art.

Caes.

Hold, holde, a poore reuenge can worke so feeble

Cle.

Ah Caesar, what a great indignitie hands. Is this, that heere my vassale subiect stands, T' accuse mee to my Lord of trechery? If I reseru'd some certaine womens toyes, Alas it was not for my selfe (God knowes,)

Poore miserable soule, that little ioyes In trifling ornaments, in outward showes. But what I kept, I kept to make my way Vnto thy Liuia, and Octauias grace. That thereby in compassion mooued, they Might mediat thy fauour in my case.

Caes.

Well Cleopatra, feare not, thou shalt finde What fauour thou desir'st, or canst expect: For Caesar neuer yet was found but kinde To such as yeeld, and can themselues subiect. And therefore giue thou comfort to thy minde; Relieue thy soule thus ouer-charg'd with care, How well I will intreate thee thou shalt find, So soone as some affayres dispatched are. Til whē farewel. Cl. Thanks thrise-renowned Caesar, Poore Cleopatra rests thine owne for euer.

Dol.

No meruaile Caesar though our greatest sp'rits, Haue to the powre of such a charming beautie, Beene brought to yeeld the honour of their merits: Forgetting all respect of other dutie. Then whilst the glory of her youth remain'd The wondring obiect to each wanton eye: Before her full of sweet (with sorrow wain'd,) Came to the period of this misery.

If still, euen in the midst of death and horror, Such beauty shines, thorow clowds of age & sorow, If euen those sweet decayes seeme to plead for her, Which from affliction, mouing graces borrow; If in calamity shee could thus moue, What could she do adorn'd with youth & loue? VVhat could she do then, when as spreading wide The pompe of beauty, in her glory dight? When arm'd with wonder, shee could vse beside, Th' engines of her loue, Hope and Delight? Beauty daughter of Meruaile, ô see how Thou canst disgracing sorrowes sweetly grace? VVhat power thou shew'st in a distressed brow, That mak'st affliction faire, giu'st teares their grace. VVhat can vntressed locks, can torne rent haire, A weeping eye, a wailing face be faire? I see then, artlesse feature can content, And that true beauty needes no ornament.

Caes.

What in a passion Dolabella? what? take heede: Let others fresh examples be thy warning; What mischiefes these, so idle humors breed, VVhilst error keepes vs from a true discerning. Indeed, I saw shee labour'd to impart Her sweetest graces in her saddest cheere:

Presuming on the face that knew the arte To moue with what aspect so eu'r it were. But all in vaine, shee takes her ayme amisse, The ground and marke, her leuel much deceiues; Time now hath altred all, for neither is Shee as shee was, nor wee as shee conceiues. And therefore now, twere best she left such badnes, Folly in youth is sinne, in age, tis madnes. And for my part, I seeke but t'entertaine In her some feeding hope to draw her forth; The greatest Trophey that my trauailes gaine, Is to bring home a prizall of such worth. And now, sith that shee seemes so well content To be dispos'd by vs, without more stay Shee with her chyldren shall to Rome be sent, Whilst I by Syria thither take my way.