_Apol._ I am sorry for it, And wish it were in me, with my hazard, To give her ease. _Ars._ Sir, she accepts your will, And does acknowledge she hath found you noble, So far, as if restraint of liberty Could give admission to a thought of mirth, She is your debtor for it. _Apol._ Did you tell her Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertain her? She was us'd to take delight, with her fair hand, To angle in the _Nile_, where the glad fish (As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em) Contended to be taken: other times To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows, Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks her To his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate, Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen To fall a Sacrifice before the altar Of the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great _Photinus_ Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuit In which she is confin'd, gladly affords Variety of pastimes, which I would Encrease with my best service. _Eros._ O, but the thought That she that was born free, and to dispense Restraint, or liberty to others, should be At the devotion of her Brother, whom She only knows her equal, makes this place In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights) A loathsome dungeon to her. _Apol._ Yet, (howe're She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd Choise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'd Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time) In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy. THE SONG. _Look out bright eyes, and bless the air:_ _Even in shadows you are fair._ _Shut-up-beauty is like fire,_ _That breaks out clearer still and higher._ _Though your body be confin'd,_ _And soft Love a prisoner bound,_ _Yet the beauty of your mind_ _Neither check, nor chain hath found._ _Look out nobly then, and dare_ _Even the Fetters that you wear._ _Enter_ Cleopatra. _Cleo._ But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty, And love in you, my _Guardian_, and desire In you, my _Sister_, and the rest, to please us, We should receive this, as a sawcy rudeness Offer'd our private thoughts. But your intents Are to delight us: alas, you wash an _Ethiop_: Can _Cleopatra_, while she does remember Whose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (O I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice) There is no place in _Ægypt_, where I stand, But that the tributary Earth is proud To kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen, Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relish Of comfort, or delight, while base _Photinus_, Bond-man _Achillas_, and all other monsters That raign o're _Ptolomy_, make that a Court, Where they reside, and this, where I, a Prison? But there's a _Rome_, a _Senate_, and a _Cæsar_, (Though the great _Pompey_ lean to _Ptolomy_) May think of _Cleopatra_. _Ap._ _Pompey_, Madam?