Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.

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 cheek, 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 Aegypt, 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 Caesar, (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 Caesar.

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 t••y 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, Caesar is amorous, And taken more with the title of a Queen, Than feature or proportion, he lov'd E••noe, 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.