He's no man! The shadow of a greatness hangs upon him, And not the virtue; he is no conqueror, Has suffered under the base dross of nature; Poorly deliver'd up his power to wealth. The god of bed-rid men taught his eyes treason. Against the truth of love he has rais'd rebellion Defied his holy flames. EROS. He will fall back again And satisfy your grace. CLEOPATRA. Had I been old, Or blasted in my bud, he might have show'd Some shadow of dislike: but to prefer The lustre of a little trash, Arsinoe, And the poor glow-worm light of some faint jewels Before the light of love, and soul of beauty-- O how it vexes me! He is no soldier: All honorable soldiers are Love's servants. He is a merchant, a mere wandering merchant, Servile to gain; he trades for poor commodities, And makes his conquests thefts! Some fortunate captains That quarter with him, and are truly valiant. Have flung the name of "Happy Caesar" on him; Himself ne'er won it. He's so base and covetous, He'll sell his sword for gold. ARSINOE. This is too bitter. CLEOPATRA. O, I could curse myself, that was so foolish. So fondly childish, to believe his tongue-- His promising tongue--ere I could catch his temper. I'd trash enough to have cloyed his eyes withal, (His covetous eyes,) such as I scorn to tread on, Richer than e'er he saw yet, and more tempting; Had I known he'd stoop'd at that, I'd saved mine honor-- I had been happy still! But let him take it. And let him brag how poorly I'm rewarded; Let him go conquer still weak wretched ladies; Love has his angry quiver too, his deadly, And when he finds scorn, armed at the strongest-- I am a fool to fret thus for a fool,-- An old blind fool too! I lose my health; I will not, I will not cry; I will not honor him With tears diviner than the gods he worships; I will not take the pains to curse a poor thing. EROS. Do not; you shall not need. CLEOPATRA. Would I were prisoner To one I hate, that I might anger him! I will love any man to break the heart of him! Any that has the heart and will to kill him! ARSINOE. Take some fair truce. CLEOPATRA. I will go study mischief, And put a look on, arm'd with all my cunnings. Shall meet him like a basilisk, and strike him. Love! put destroying flame into mine eyes, Into my smiles deceits, that I may torture him-- That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him _Enter_ APOLLODORUS. APOLLODORUS.