Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katherine Philips, the matchless Orinda ; to which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace, tragedies ; with several other translations out of French.

Act. II. SCEN. IV.

Ptolomy, Photinus.

PTOLOMY.

I have observ'd thy Counsel, but find since To flatter her, but swells her insolence. For with her Pride she did affront me so, That I at last fell into Passion too. This Arm enrag'd by her, could scarce forbear (Without a Thought that Caesar was so near) Dispatching her (as safe as she does seem) To have complain'd to Pompey, not to him. She talks already at that haughty rate, That if great Caesar please her Pride and Hate, And she o're him her boasted Empire have, Her Brother and her King must be her Slave. No, no, we needs must Frustrate that intent, Nor poorly wait the Ills we may prevent. Let's spoil her of her Power to disdain, And break those Charmes whereby she hopes to reign; Nor after such indignities let's brook, That she should buy my Scepter with a look.

PHOTINUS.

Do not for Caesar, Sir, pretence provide That Egypt should be to his Triumphs ty'd: For this Ambitious Man which through the world, Hath War and Slavery together hurl'd; Swell'd with his Conquest, and a Rage so smart, As such a loss writes in a Lovers Heart: Though you but act, what Equity approves, Will thence ground his revenge for what he loves: As for a crime, Hee'l you to Bondage bring, Though you did only what became a King.

PTOLOMY.

If Cleopatra sees him shee's a Queen.

PHOTINUS.

But if she dye your Ruine is foreseen.

PTOLOMY.

Who ruines me should on my fall attend.

PHOTINUS.

To ruine her you must your self befriend.

PTOLOMY.

What? must my Crown upon her Temples shine? No, if my Scepter I must needs resign, The Conquerour shall rather it command.

PHOTINUS.

You'l sooner force it from a Sisters hand. How great soever now his flames appear, He must be gone, and leave You Master here. Love in such Men, seldom that room can find, Which to their Interest will not be resign'd. With Juba, Scipio, and with Pompey's Sons, Spain, to Revenge, he knows, with Affrick runs: And while that Party are not yet o'rethrown, He cannot safely call the World his own. Caesar's too great a Captain, to o'resee The Pursuit of Pharsalia's Victory: And leave such fierce Hearts on revenge intent, To rise from their so late Astonishment. If he his ends Obtain, and them o'recome, He his gain'd Empire must secure at Rome: And there the fruit of his success enjoy, Whilst he at pleasure does her laws Destroy. Judge in that time, what great things you may do, See Caesar then, and strive to please him too. Resign him all, but yet this Rule intend, That future things on accidents Depend. Your Throne and Scepter give into his hand, And without murmur yield to his Command: He will believe that Justice he shall do If he your Father's Testament pursue; Besides this signal service you have done; Will give you still some Title to your Throne.

Entire submission to his Orders shew, Applaud his Judgment, but then let him go. That time for our Revenge will be most fit When we can Act, as well as think of it. With temper let these Passions then be born, Which were excited by your Sisters scorn. Boasts are but Air, and he revenges best, Who Acts his braver Thoughts, yet talks the least.

PTOLOMY.

O thy Advice my greatest Comfort brings, A Prudent Counsellour's the bliss of Kings. Come dear Supporter of my Throne, let's go, And to save all, on Caesar all bestow. His Pride let's flatter with an empty State, And with our whole Fleet on him hither Wait.

After the second Act, this Song is to be sung by two Egyptian Priests on the Stage.

1.

SEE how Victorious Caesar's Pride Does Neptune's Bosom sweep! And with Thessalian Fortune ride In Triumph o're the Deep.

2.

What Rival of the Gods is this Who dare's do more then they? Whose Feet the Fates themselves do kiss And Sea and Land obey.

1.

What can the Fortunate withstand? For this resistless He, Rivers of Blood brings on the Land, And Bulwarks on the Sea.

2.

Since Gods as well as Men submit, And Caesar's favour woe,

Virtue her self may think it fit That Egypt court him too.

1.

But Pompey's Head's a rate too dear, For by that impious price The God less Noble will appear Than do's the Sacrifice.

2.

If Justice be a thing divine, The Gods should it maintain, For us t' attempt what they decline, Would be as rash as vain.

Chorus.

How desperate is our Princes Fate? What hazzard doe's he run? He must be wicked to be great, Or to be just, undone.