_Cleo._ Away with your foul flatteries: They are too gross: but that I dare be angry, And with as great a god as _Cæsar_ is, To shew how poorly I respect his memory, I would not speak to ye. _Cæsar._ Pray ye undoe this riddle, And tell me how I have vext ye? _Cleo._ Let me think first Whether I may put on a Patience That will with honour suffer me: know, I hate ye, Let that begin the story: Now I'le tell ye. _Cæsar._ But do it milder: In a noble Lady, Softness of spirit, and a sober nature, That moves like summer winds, cool, and blows sweetness; Shews blessed like her self. _Cleo._ And that great blessedness You first reap'd of me: till you taught my nature Like a rude storm to talk aloud, and thunder, Sleep was not gentler than my soul, and stiller; You had the Spring of my affections: And my fair fruits I gave you leave to taste of: You must expect: the winter of mine anger: You flung me off, before the Court disgrac'd me, When in the pride I appear'd of all my beauty, Appear'd your _Mistress_; took into your eyes The common-strumpet love of hated lucre, Courted with covetous heart, the slave of nature, Gave all your thoughts to gold, that men of glory, And minds adorn'd with noble love, would kick at: Souldiers of royal mark, scorn such base purchase: Beauty and honour are the marks they shoot at; I spake to ye then; I courted ye, and woo'd ye: Call'd ye dear _Cæsar_, hung about ye tenderly: Was proud to appear your friend. _Cæsar._ You have mistaken me. _Cleo._ But neither Eye, nor Favour, not a Smile Was I blessed back with; but shook off rudely, And, as ye had been sold to sordid infamy, You fell before the Images of treasure, And in your soul you worship'd: I stood slighted, Forgotten and contemn'd; my soft embraces, And those sweet kisses you call'd Elyzium, As letters writ in sand, no more remembred: The name and glory of your _Cleopatra_ Laugh'd at, and made a story to your Captains, Shall I endure? _Cæsar_. You are deceiv'd in all this, Upon my life you are, 'tis your much tenderness. _Cleo._ No, no, I love not that way; you are cozen'd: I love with as much ambition as a Conquerour, And where I love, will triumph. _Cæsar_. So you shall: My heart shall be the Chariot that shall bear ye, All I have won shall wait upon ye: By the gods The bravery of this womans mind, has fired me: Dear Mistress shall I but this night?-- _Cleo._ How _Cæsar_? Have I let slip a second vanity That gives thee hope? _Cæsar_. You shall be absolute, And Reign alone as Queen: you shall be any thing. _Cleo._ Make me a maid again, and then I'le hear thee; Examine all thy art of War, to do that; And if thou find'st it possible, I'le love thee: Till when, farewel, unthankfull. _Cæsar_. Stay. _Cleo._ I will not. _Cæsar_. I command.