_Pho._ They that have power are royal; and those base That live at the devotion of another. What birth gave _Ptolomy_, or fortune _Cæsar_, By Engines fashion'd in this _Protean_ Anvil I have made mine; and only stoop at you, Whom I would still preserve free to command me; For _Cæsar's_ frowns, they are below my thoughts, And but in these fair Eyes I still have read The story of a supream Monarchy, To which all hearts with mine gladly pay tribute, _Photinus's_ Name had long since been as great As _Ptolomies_ e'r was, or _Cæsars_ is, This made me as a weaker tye to unloose The knot of Loyalty, that chain'd my freedom, And slight the fear that _Cæsars_ threats might cause, That I and they might see no Sun appear But _Cleopatra_ in the _Egyptian_ Sphear. _Cleo._ O Giant-like Ambition! marryed to _Cymmerian_ darkness! inconsiderate Fool, (Though flatter'd with self-love) could'st thou believe, Were all Crowns on the Earth made into one, And that (by Kings) set on thy head; all Scepters, Within thy grasp, and laid down at my feet, I would vouchsafe a kiss to a no-man? A guelded Eunuch? _Pho._ Fairest, that makes for me, And shews it is no sensual appetite, But true love to the greatness of thy Spirit, That when that you are mine shall yield me pleasures, _Hymen_, though blessing a new married Pair Shall blush to think on, and our certain issue, The glorious splendor of dread Majesty, Whose beams shall dazel _Rome_, and aw the world, My wants in that kind others shall supply, And I give way to it. _Cleo._ Baser than thy Birth; Can there be gods, and hear this, and no thunder Ram thee into the Earth? _Pho._ They are asleep, And cannot hear thee; Or with open Eyes, Did _Jove_ look on us, I would laugh and swear That his artillery is cloy'd by me: Or if that they have power to hurt, his Bolts Are in my hand. _Cleo._ Most impious! _Pho._ They are dreams, Religious Fools shake at: yet to assure thee, If _Nemesis_, that scourges pride and scorn, Be any thing but a name, she lives in me; For by my self (an oath to me more dreadful Than _Stix_ is to your gods) weak _Ptolomy_ dead, And _Cæsar_ (both being in my toil) remov'd, The poorest Rascals that are in my Camp Shall in my presence quench their lustful heat In thee, and young _Arsino_, while I laugh To hear you howl in vain: I deride those gods, That you think can protect you. _Cleo._ To prevent thee, In that I am the Mistress of my Fate; So hope I of my sister to confirm it. I spit at thee, and scorn thee. _Pho._ I will tame That haughty courage, and make thee stoop too. _Cleo._ Never, I was born to command, and will dye so. _Enter_ Achillas, _and Souldiers, with the Body of_ Ptolomy. _Pho._ The King dead? this is a fair entrance to Our future happiness. _Ars._ Oh my dear Brother!