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.

SCEN. II.

Ptolomy, Cleopatra.

CLEOPATRA. Brother, I have Caesar seen,

And have to him your intercessour been.

PTOLOMY.

I never could expect an act less kind From you who bear so generous a Mind. But your great Lover quickly from you went.

CLEOPATRA.

'Twas to the Town, t'appease some discontent, Which he was told had newly raised been Betwixt the Souldier and the Citizen: Whilst I with joyful haste come to assure You, that your life and Kingdom were secure; Th'illustrious Caesar on the course you took, Does with less anger than compassion look, He pities you, who such vile States-men heard, As make their Kings not to be lov'd, but fear'd; Whose Souls the baseness of their birth confess, And who in vain great Dignities possess: For Slavish Spirits cannot guide the Helm, Those too much Power would quickly overwhelm.

That hand, whose Crimes alone do purchase Fear, Will soon let fall a Weight it cannot bear.

PTOLOMY.

Those Truths, and my ill Fate do me perswade How bad a choice of Counsellours I made: For had I acted Honourable things, I had as Glorious been, as other Kings; And better merited the Love you bear A Brother, so unworthy of your Care; Caesar and Pompey had been here agreed, And the Worlds Peace in Egypt been decreed; Who her own Prince a friend to both had seen; Nay, he perhaps, an Arbiter had been. But since to call this back is past our Art, Let me discharge to you my Troubled heart; You, that for all the Wrongs that I have done, Could yet Preserve me both my Life and Crown; Be truly great and vanquish all your Hate, By changing Photin's and Achilla's Fate. For their offending you, their Death is due, But that my Glory suffers in it too; If for their Kings Crimes they should punish'd be, The Infamy would wholly light on me; Caesar through them wounds me, theirs is my Pain, For my sake, therefore, your Just Hate constrain: Your heart is Noble, and what pleasure then Is th' abject Blood of two unhappy Men? Let me owe all to you, who Caesar charm, And, with a Look, his Anger can disarm.

CLEOPATRA.

Were but their Life and Death in me to give, My scorn is great enough to let them live: But I with Caesar little can prevail, When Pompey's Blood lyes in the other scale; I boast no Power to Dispose his will, For I have spoke, and he hath shun'd it still, And turning quickly to some new Affair, He neither does refuse, nor grant my Prayer:

Yet I'le once more on that harsh Theam proceed, In hope a New attempt may better speed; And I'le believe.—

PTOLOMY.

He comes, let me be gone, Lest I should chance to draw his anger on; My presence may enflame what t'would make less, And you alone, may act with more success.