_Cas._ Good old man! [_Smiling._ A little over zealous, but well-meaning. My wishes are the honour of my king; That Ptolemy may keep his royal word, And I my promise, to procure this aid. If to be mistress signifies command, Let this be done; if not, the king may find Another beauty, worthier of his bed, And I another lover, less ungrateful. _Ptol._ Let Egypt sink before that fatal day! No, we are one; Cassandra, we are one; Or I am nothing; thou art Ptolemy. _Cas._ Now you deserve to be the first of kings, Because you rank yourself the first of lovers. What can I do to show Cassandra grateful? Nothing but this-- To be so nice in my concerns for you; To doubt where doubts are not; to be too fearful; To raise a bug-bear shadow of a danger, And then be frighted, though it cannot reach you. _Sosib._ Be pleased to name your apprehensions, madam. _Cas._ Plain souls, like mine, judge others by themselves; Therefore I hold our Cleomenes honest. But since 'tis possible, though barely so, That he may prove ungrateful, I would have pledges given us of his faith; His wife, his mother, and his son, be left As hostages in Egypt. _Sosib._ Admirable! Some god inspired you with this prudent counsel. _Ptol._ I thought so too, but that I durst not speak. _Sosib._ Leave me to manage this. _Cas._ My best Sosibius! But do it surely, by the easiest means; Infuse it gently; do not pour it down: Let him not think he stands suspected here; And, least of all, by me. _Sosib._ He shall not, madam.-- Now, sir, the illumination feast attends you; For Apis has appeared. _Ptol._ Why then I must be formal; Go to the temple.-- Come, my fair Cassandra, That I may have an object worth my worship. [_Aside._ _Cas._ The God that I adore is in my breast; This is the temple; this the sacrifice. But to the powers divine we make appeal, With great devotion, and with little zeal. [_Exeunt_ PTOL. _and_ CAS. _Sosib._ [_Solus._] Yes, yes, it shall be done; but not her way.-- Call in my son Cleanthes.--This Cassandra Is our enchanting syren; she that sings Our Ptolemy into secure destruction. In vain I counsel him to avoid his ruin: These women-charmers, oh they have a devil Too strong to dispossess.--Call in my son. [_Goes to the door._ _Enter_ CLEANTHES. Cleanthes, are you Cleomenes' friend, Or only seem you such? _Clean._ To seem to be, and not be what I seem, Are things my honest nature understands not. _Sosib._ But you must love your king and country more.