Pompey the Great a tragedy as it was acted by the servants of His Royal Highness the Duke of York / translated out of French by certain persons of honour.

Scene the Third.

Ptolomey, Cleopatra, Photinus.

Cleop.

Pompey's arriv'd, Sir, shall he come alone?

Ptolom.

Achillas and Septimius both are gone To wait upon him hither.

Cleop.

Are they two Enough for him?

Ptolom.

Why, Sister, you may go.

Cleop.

Were it too much, had you in Person gone?

Ptolom.

Yes, I must keep the honour of the Throne?

Cleop.

Remember, Sir, who plac'd you there, and bow To that Great man to whom you so much owe.

Ptolom.

Yes, your Great man's deserted and o'rethrown,

Cleop.

Still he is Pompey and gave you the Crown.

Ptolom.

'Tis Pompey's Ghost which has oblig'd the Ghost Of our Dead father, let him go and boast Those merits past upon his Monument, Thither perhaps e're long he may be sent.

Cleop.

Pompey a Ghost! and sent unto a Grave! Is this the welcome he deserves to have?

Ptolom.

'Tis what the Gods inspired us to do, And what the Kingdoms good compell'd us to.

Cleop.

Photin, and such mean Counsellours I fear Have with base Counsel poysoned your Ear.

Photin.

The counsel, Madam, we must all avow,

Cleop.

Peace, till I stoop to mingle words with you.

Ptolom.

She is my Sister, let her humour sway, For your known Innocence there needs no plea.

Cleop.

Sir, Let that horrid Sentence be recall'd If not too late, nor longer be enthrall'd To these low Slaves, but such advice imbrace As Heav'n suggests to those of our high Race.

Ptolom.

Swell'd with the hopes of Pompey's friendship, you Speak like a Queen, and think to make us bow

With a false shew of Virtue you can hide Your Interest too, and your Ambitious pride. With Pompey's Death you could be well content, Did he not keep our Father's Testament.

Cleop.

No Sir, 'Tis honour, and not Interest, Which for great Pompey makes me thus Contest; Take here a Secret, which will let you know My Hopes are built upon his Mortal foe: When the Rude people of this barbarous Town, Made the Late King desert his Royal Throne, His Native Soil he left, in hope to find Rome's Senate to their old Confederate kind; To move their Pity we both went along, You but a tender Child, my self though Young Yet of an Age to make that Beauty known Which Heav'n had lent me, and some Hearts my own; Above the rest Caesar his Passion shows, Declares his Love, but yet with Caution wooes; Fearing the Senate, he puts Pompey on, Our bus'ness was by their new friendship done; Pompey's Authority for his Sake we had, And you this way with Royal Robes are clad. But Caesar thus to gain us mighty Rome, Thought not enough, his Love persues us home, His Purse as well as Heart he open'd wide, And with his Treasure our Low state supply'd; His thousand Talents which are yet unpaid, Over the Rebells us Victorious made, This knew our Dying Father, and bestow'd Half that on me to whom the Whole he ow'd, He knew the Kingdome was my Beauties prize, And that he ow'd his Scepter to these Eyes; Betwixt us two by his last Will, the Land Restor'd by Caesar does Divided stand; And thus you see it is no Partial end, But sense of Honour makes me Pompey's friend.

Ptolom.

This story is contrived with a Dress.

Cleop.

Of Caesar's coming here is an express;

The cause I have to bear me like a Queen, Shall by your Self, this Day perhaps be seen; For some years past here treated like a Slave, My right with-held, which our just Father gave, To flatter Slaves I have employ'd my breath, Lest your bad Ministers should plot my Death; From Photin and Achillas Tyranny Pompey or Caesar now will set me free. One of those Two our Difference shall decide, And then you'l know the reason of my Pride.

Exit Cleopatra.