_Cleom._ Think you 'tis nothing For me to beg; that I constrain my temper To sue for aid, which you should first have offered? Believe me, Ptolemy, a noble soul Does much, that asks: He gives you power to oblige him. Know, sir, there's a proud modesty in merit, Averse from begging; and resolved to pay Ten times the gift it asks. _Ptol._ I have been to blame; And you have justly taxed my long neglect. I am young, and am a lover; and how far Fair eyes may make even kings forgetful, look, And read my best excuse. _Clean._ O miracle! He blushes! The first red virtue I have ever seen Upon that face. [_Aside._ _Cas._ I am sorry, sir, you've made me your excuse; As if I stood betwixt the good you meant, And intercepted every royal grace. Now, in my own defence, I must solicit All his concerns, as mine: And if my eyes have power, he should not sue In vain, nor linger with a long delay. _Ptol._ Well! I'll consider. _Cas._ Say that word again, And I'll consider too. _Ptol._ Pr'ythee be satisfied; he shall be aided, Or I'll no more be king. _Clean._ When wert thou one!--For shame, for shame, ye gods, That e'er you put it in a strumpet's power, To do so good a deed! [_Aside._ _Cleom._ I am a Spartan, madam, scarce of words; We have but just enough to speak our meaning. Be thanked; that's all I could have said to Jove, Had Jove, like you, restored me to my crown. _Sosib._ [_To_ CLEOM.] The gods have given you, sir, the speedy means To satisfy your debt of gratitude. _Cleom._ Oh, make me happy! tell me how this sword (This and my heart are all that's left me now) Can be employed to serve the crown of Egypt. _Clean._ Well said, father; thou art a true statesman. So much for so much is the way at court. [_Aside._ _Sosib._ My king has in the camp a younger brother, Valiant, they say, but very popular; He gets too far into the soldiers' grace, And inches out my master. _Cleom._ Is the king Assured of this, by any overt-act, Or any close conspiracy revealed? _Ptol._ He has it in his power to be a traitor; And that's enough. _Sosib._ He has it in his will too; Else, why this ostentation of his virtues, His bounty, valour, and his temperance? Why are they thus exposed to public view, But as a Venus set beside a monster, To make an odious comparison; As if his brother wanted what he boasts? _Ptol._ What's to be done with him? _Cas._ There needs no more, I think, but to contrive, With secrecy, and safety, to dispatch him. _Clean._ I thank thee, that thou hast not cozened me In this advice; for two good deeds together Had been too much in conscience for thy calling. [_Aside._