_Cleo._ What of him? speak: if ill, _Apollodorus_, It is my happiness: and for thy news Receive a favour (_Kings_ have kneel'd in vain for) And kiss my hand. _Ap._ He's lost. _Cleo._ Speak it again! _Ap._ His army routed: he fled and pursu'd By the all-conquering Cæsar. _Cleo._ Whither bends he? _Ap._ To _Egypt_. _Cleo._ Ha! in person? _Ap._ 'Tis receiv'd For an undoubted truth. _Cleo._ I live again, And if assurance of my love, and beauty Deceive me not, I now shall find a Judge To do me right: but how to free my self, And get access? the _Guards_ are strong upon me, This door I must pass through. _Apollodorus_, Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,) Thy life was not thine own. _Ap._ I am not alter'd; And let your excellency propound a means, In which I may but give the least assistance, That may restore you, to that you were born to, (Though it call on the anger of the King, Or, (what's more deadly) all his Minion _Photinus_ can do to me) I, unmov'd, Offer my throat to serve you: ever provided, It bear some probable shew to be effected. To lose my self upon no ground, were madness, Not loyal duty. _Cleo._ Stand off: to thee alone, I will discover what I dare not trust My Sister with, _Cæsar_ is amorous, And taken more with the title of a Queen, Than feature or proportion, he lov'd _Eunoe_, A _Moor_, deformed too, I have heard, that brought No other object to inflame his blood, But that her Husband was a King, on both He did bestow rich presents; shall I then, That with a princely birth, bring beauty with me, That know to prize my self at mine own rate, Despair his favour? art thou mine? _Ap._ I am. _Cleo._ I have found out a way shall bring me to him, Spight of _Photinus_ watches; if I prosper, (As I am confident I shall) expect Things greater than thy wishes; though I purchase His grace with loss of my virginity, It skills not, if it bring home Majesty. [_Exeunt._ _ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCENA PRIMA._ _Enter_ Septimius, _with a head_, Achillas, _Guard._ _Sep._ 'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearfull viewers, Shake, and behold the model of the world here, The pride, and strength, look, look again, 'tis finish'd; That, that whole Armies, nay whole nations, Many and mighty Kings, have been struck blind at, And fled before, wing'd with their fears and terrours, That steel war waited on, and fortune courted, That high plum'd honour built up for her own; Behold that mightiness, behold that fierceness, Behold that child of war, with all his glories; By this poor hand made breathless, here (my _Achillas_) _Egypt_, and _Cæsar_, owe me for this service, And all the conquer'd Nations.