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.
Ach. Peace Septimius,
Thy words sound more ungratefull than thy actions,
Though sometimes safety seek an instrument
Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)
Think not she is bound to love him too, that’s barbarous.
Why did not I, if this be meritorious,
And binds the King unto me, and his bounties,
Strike this rude stroke? I’le tell thee (thou poor Roman)
It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
Not heave a thought.
Sep. It was.
Ach. I’le tell thee truely,
And if thou ever yet heard’st tell of honour,
I’le make thee blush: It was thy General’s;
That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,
The air thou breath’dst was his; the fire that warm’d thee,
From his care kindled ever, nay, I’le show thee,
(Because I’le make thee sensible of the business,
And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy foot on
But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion.
He triumph’d three times, who durst touch his person?
The very walls of Rome bow’d to his presence,
Dear to the Gods he was, to them that fear’d him
A fair and noble Enemy. Didst thou hate him?
And for thy love to Cæsar, sought his ruine?
Arm’d in the red Pharsalian fields, Septimius,
Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,
Where Kings were fair competitours for honour,
Thou shouldst have come up to him, there have fought him,
There, Sword to Sword.
Sep. I kill’d him on commandment,
If Kings commands be fair, when you all fainted,
When none of you durst look—
Ach. On deeds so barbarous,
What hast thou got?
Sep. The Kings love, and his bounty,
The honour of the service, which though you rail at,
Or a thousand envious souls fling their foams on me,
Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:
And I shall live.
Ach. A miserable villain,
What reputation, and reward belongs to it
Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;
And be not impudent to ask me why, Sirrah,
Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes the reason:
The shame and obloquy I leave thine own,
Inherit those rewards, they are fitter for thee,
Your oyl’s spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.
[Exit.
Sep. The King will yet consider.
Enter Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus.
Achil. Here he comes Sir.
Ach. Yet if it be undone: hear me great Sir,
If this inhumane stroak be yet unstrucken,
If that adored head be not yet sever’d
From the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,
The desolations that this great Eclipse works,
You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire
Upon the Tomb of him will shake all Egypt,
Whose warlike groans will raise ten thousand Spirits,
(Great as himself) in every hand a thunder;
Destructions darting from their looks, and sorrows
That easy womens eyes shall never empty.
Pho. You have done well; and ’tis done, see Achillas,
And in his hand the head.
Ptol. Stay come no nearer,
Me thinks I feel the very earth shake under me,
I do remember him, he was my guardian,
Appointed by the Senate to preserve me:
What a full Majesty sits in his face yet?
Pho. The King is troubled: be not frighted Sir,
Be not abus’d with fears; his death was necessary,
If you consider, Sir, most necessary,
Not to be miss’d: and humbly thank great Isis,
He came so opportunely to your hands;
Pity must now give place to rules of safety.
Is not victorious Cæsar new arriv’d,
And enter’d Alexandria, with his friends,
His Navy riding by to wait his charges?
Did he not beat this Pompey, and pursu’d him?
Was not this great man, his great enemy?
This Godlike vertuous man, as people held him,
But what fool dare be friend to flying vertue?
Enter Cæsar, Anthony, Dolabella, Sceva.
I hear their Trumpets, ’tis too late to stagger,
Give me the head, and be you confident:
Hail Conquerour, and head of all the world,
Now this head’s off.
Cæsar. Ha?
Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar,
From kingly Ptolomy I bring this present,
The Crown, and sweat of thy Pharsalian labour:
The goal and mark of high ambitious honour.
Before thy victory had no name, Cæsar,
Thy travel and thy loss of blood, no recompence,
Thou dreamst of being worthy, and of war;
And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers,
Here they take life: here they inherit honour,
Grow fixt, and shoot up everlasting triumphs:
Take it, and look upon thy humble servant,
With noble eyes look on the Princely Ptolomy,
That offers with this head (most mighty Cæsar)
What thou would’st once have given for it, all Egypt.
Ach. Nor do not question it (most royal Conquerour)
Nor dis-esteem the benefit that meets thee,
Because ’tis easily got, it comes the safer:
Yet let me tell thee (most imperious Cæsar)
Though he oppos’d no strength of Swords to win this,
Nor labour’d through no showres of darts, and lances:
Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
An inward war: he was his Grand-sires Guest;
Friend to his Father, and when he was expell’d
And beaten from this Kingdom by strong hand,
And had none left him, to restore his honour,
No hope to find a friend, in such a misery;
Then in stept Pompey; took his feeble fortune:
Strengthen’d, and cherish’d it, and set it right again,
This was a love to Cæsar.
Sceva. Give me, hate, Gods.
Pho. This Cæsar may account a little wicked,
But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?
If thine own sword had touch’d his throat, what that way!
He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted,
Had been most terrible: let the worst be render’d,
We have deserv’d for keeping thy hands innocent.
Cæsar. Oh Sceva, Sceva, see that head: see Captains,
The head of godlike Pompey.
Sceva. He was basely ruin’d,
But let the Gods be griev’d that suffer’d it,
And be you Cæsar—
Cæsar. Oh thou Conquerour,
Thou glory of the world once, now the pity:
Thou awe of Nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?
What poor fate follow’d thee, and pluckt thee on
To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian;
The life and light of Rome, to a blind stranger,
That honorable war ne’r taught a nobleness,
Nor worthy circumstance shew’d what a man was,
That never heard thy name sung, but in banquets;
And loose lascivious pleasures? to a Boy,
That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness,
No study of thy life to know thy goodness;
And leave thy Nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Leave him (distrusted) that in tears falls with thee?
(In soft relenting tears) hear me (great Pompey)
(If thy great spirit can hear) I must task thee:
Thou hast most unnobly rob’d me of my victory,
My love, and mercy.
Ant. O how brave these tears shew!
How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy!
Dol. Glory appears not greater than this goodness.
Cæsar. Egyptians, dare you think your high Pyramides,
Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy Kings lye rak’d in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of Nilus)
Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven;
No Pyramides set off his memories,
But the eternal substance of his greatness
To which I leave him: take the head away,
And (with the body) give it noble burial,
Your Earth shall now be bless’d to hold a Roman,
Whose braverys all the worlds-Earth cannot ballance.
Sce. If thou bee’st thus loving, I shall honour thee,
But great men may dissemble, ’tis held possible,
And be right glad of what they seem to weep for,
There are such kind of Philosophers; now do I wonder
How he would look if Pompey were alive again,
But how he would set his face?
Cæsar. You look now, King,
And you that have been Agents in this glory,
For our especial favour?
Ptol. We desire it.
Cæsar. And doubtless you expect rewards.
Sceva. Let me give ’em:
I’le give ’em such as nature never dreamt of,
I’le beat him and his Agents (in a morter)
Into one man, and that one man I’le bake then.
Cæsar. Peace: I forgive you all, that’s recompence:
You are young, and ignorant, that pleads your pardon,
And fear it may be more than hate provok’d ye,
Your Ministers, I must think, wanted judgment,
And so they err’d: I am bountiful to think this;
Believe me most bountiful; be you most thankful,
That bounty share amongst ye: if I knew
What to send you for a present, King of Egypt,
(I mean a head of equal reputation
And that you lov’d) though it were your brightest Sisters,
(But her you hate) I would not be behind ye.
Ptol. Hear me, (Great Cæsar.)
Cæs. I have heard too much,
And study not with smooth shews to invade
My noble Mind as you have done my Conquest.
Ye are poor and open: I must tell ye roundly,
That Man that could not recompence the Benefits,
The great and bounteous services of Pompey,
Can never dote upon the Name of Cæsar;
Though I had hated Pompey, and allow’d his ruine,
[I gave you no commission to performe it:]
Hasty to please in Blood are seldome trusty;
And but I stand inviron’d with my Victories,
My Fortune never failing to befriend me,
My noble strengths, and friends about my Person,
I durst not try ye, nor expect: a Courtesie,
Above the pious love you shew’d to Pompey.
You have found me merciful in arguing with you;
Swords, Hangmen, Fires, Destructions of all natures,
Demolishments of Kingdoms, and whole Ruines
Are wont to be my Orators; turn to tears,
You wretched and poor seeds of Sun-burnt Egypt,
And now you have found the nature of a Conquerour,
That you cannot decline with all your flatteries,
That where the day gives light will be himself still,
Know how to meet his Worth with humane Courtesies,
Go, and embalm those bones of that great Souldier;
Howl round about his Pile, fling on your Spices,
Make a Sabæan Bed, and place this Phoenix
Where the hot Sun may emulate his Vertues,
And draw another Pompey from his ashes
Divinely great, and fix him ’mongst the Worthies.
Ptol. We will do all.
Cæs. You have rob’d him of those tears
His Kindred and his Friends kept sacred for him;
The Virgins of their Funeral Lamentations:
And that kind Earth that thought to cover him,
(His Countries Earth) will cry out ’gainst your Cruelty,
And weep unto the Ocean for revenge,
Till Nilus raise his seven heads and devour ye;
My grief has stopt the rest: when Pompey liv’d
He us’d you nobly, now he is dead use him so. [Exit.
Ptol. Now, where’s your confidence? your aim (Photinus)
The Oracles, and fair Favours from the Conquerour
You rung into mine Ears? how stand I now?
You see the tempest of his stern displeasure,
The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
To stop his Rage, presaging a full ruine;
Where are your Counsels now?
Acho. I told you, Sir,
(And told the truth) what danger would flye after;
And though an Enemy, I satisfied you
He was a Roman, and the top of Honour;
And howsoever this might please Great Cæsar,
I told ye that the foulness of his Death,
The impious baseness—
Pho. Peace, you are a Fool,
Men of deep ends must tread as deep ways to ’em;
Cæsar I know is pleas’d, and for all his sorrows
(Which are put on for forms and meer dissemblings)
I am confident he’s glad; to have told ye so,
And thank ye outwardly, had been too open,
And taken from the Wisedom of a Conquerour.
Be confident and proud ye have done this service;
Ye have deserv’d, and ye will find it highly:
Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure
You keep your Sister, (the high-soul’d Cleopatra)
Both close and short enough, she may not see him;
The rest, if I may counsel, Sir—
Ptol. Do all;
For in thy faithful service rests my safety. [Exeunt.
Scene II
Enter Septimius.
Sept. Here’s a strange alteration in the Court;
Mens Faces are of other setts and motions,
Their minds of subtler stuff; I pass by now
As though I were a Rascal, no man knows me,
No Eye looks after; as I were a Plague
Their doors shut close against me; and I wondred at
Because I have done a meritorious Murther;
Because I have pleas’d the Time, does the Time plague me?
I have known the day they would have hug’d me for it,
For a less stroke than this have done me Reverence;
Open’d their Hearts and secret Closets to me,
Their Purses, and their Pleasures, and bid me wallow.
I now perceive the great Thieves eat the less,
And the huge Leviathans of Villany
Sup up the merits, nay the men and all
That do them service, and spowt ’em out again
Into the air, as thin and unregarded
As drops of Water that are lost i’th’ Ocean:
I was lov’d once for swearing, and for drinking,
And for other principal Qualities that became me,
Now a foolish unthankful Murther has undone me,
If my Lord Photinus be not merciful
Enter Photinus.
That set me on; And he comes, now Fortune.
Pho. Cæsars unthankfulness a little stirs me,
A little frets my bloud; take heed, proud Roman,
Provoke me not, stir not mine anger farther;
I may find out a way unto thy life too,
(Though arm’d in all thy Victories) and seize it.
A Conquerour has a heart, and I may hit it.
Sept. May it please your Lordship?
Pho. O Septimius!
Sept. Your [Lordship] knows my wrongs.
Pho. Wrongs?
Sept. Yes, my Lord,
How the Captain of the Guard, Achillas, slights me.
Pho. Think better of him, he has much befriended thee,
Shew’d thee much love in taking the head from thee.
The times are alter’d (Souldier) Cæsar’s angry,
And our design to please him lost and perish’d;
Be glad thou art unnam’d, ’tis not worth the owning;
Yet, that thou maist be useful—
Sept. Yes, my Lord,
I shall be ready.
Pho. For I may employ thee
To take a rub or two out of my way,
As time shall serve, say that it be a Brother?
Or a hard Father?
Sept. ’Tis most necessary,
A Mother, or a Sister, or whom you please, Sir.
Pho. Or to betray a noble Friend?
Sept. ’Tis all one.
Pho. I know thou wilt stir for Gold.
Sept. ’Tis all my motion.
Pho. There, take that for thy service, and farewel;
I have greater business now.
Sept. I am still your own, Sir.
Pho. One thing I charge thee, see me no more, Septimius,
Unless I send. [Exit.
Sept. I shall observe your hour.
So, this brings something in the mouth, some savour;
This is the Lord I serve, the Power I worship,
My Friends, Allies, and here lies my Allegiance.
Let People talk as they please of my rudeness,
And shun me for my deed; bring but this to ’em,
(Let me be damn’d for blood) yet still I am honourable,
This God creates new tongues, and new affections;
And though I had kill’d my Father, give me Gold
I’ll make men swear I have done a pious Sacrifice;
Now I will out-brave all; make all my Servants,
And my brave deed shall be writ in Wine, for vertuous. [Exit.
Scene III
Enter Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva.
Cæs. Keep strong Guards, and with wary eyes (my friends)
There is no trusting to these base Egyptians;
They that are false to pious benefits,
And make compell’d necessities their faiths
Are Traitors to the gods.
Ant. We’ll call ashore
A Legion of the best.
Cæs. Not a Man, Antony,
That were to shew our fears, and dim our greatness:
No, ’tis enough my Name’s ashore.
Sce. Too much too,
A sleeping Cæsar is enough to shake them;
There are some two or three malicious Rascals
Train’d up in Villany, besides that Cerberus
That Roman Dog, that lick’d the blood of Pompey.
Dol. ’Tis strange, a Roman Souldier?
Sce. You are cozen’d,
There be of us as be of all other Nations,
Villains, and Knaves; ’tis not the name contains him,
But the obedience; when that’s once forgotten,
And Duty flung away, then welcome Devil.
Photinus and Achillas, and this Vermine
That’s now become a natural Crocodile
Must be with care observ’d.
Ant. And ’tis well counsel’d
No Confidence, nor trust—
Sce. I’ll trust the Sea first,
When with her hollow murmurs she invites me,
And clutches in her storms, as politick Lions
Conceal their Claws; I’ll trust the Devil first.
Cæs. Go to your rests, and follow your own Wisedoms,
And leave me to my thoughts: pray no more complement,
Once more strong Watches.
Dol. All shall be observ’d, Sir. [Exit.
Cæs. I am dull and heavy, yet I cannot sleep,
How happy was I in my lawful Wars,
In Germany, and Gaul, and Britanny
When every night with pleasure I set down
What the day ministred! The sleep came sweetly:
But since I undertook this home-division,
This civil War, and past the Rubicon;
What have I done that speaks an ancient Roman?
A good, great man? I have enter’d Rome by force,
And on her tender Womb (that gave me life)
Let my insulting Souldiers rudely trample,
The dear Veins of my Country I have open’d,
And sail’d upon the torrents that flow’d from her,
The bloody streams that in their confluence
Carried before ’em thousand desolations;
I rob’d the Treasury, and at one gripe
Snatch’d all the wealth, so many worthy triumphs
Plac’d there as sacred to the Peace of Rome;
I raz’d Massilia, in my wanton anger:
Petreius and Afranius I defeated:
Pompey I overthrew: what did that get me?
The slubber’d Name of an authoriz’d Enemy. [Noise within.
I hear some Noise; they are the Watches sure.
What Friends have I ty’d fast by these ambitions?
Cato, the Lover of his Countries freedom,
Is now past into Africk to affront me,
Fuba (that kill’d my friend) is up in Arms too;
The Sons of Pompey are Masters of the Sea,
And from the reliques of their scatter’d faction,
A new head’s sprung; Say I defeat all these too;
I come home crown’d an honourable Rebel.
I hear the Noise still, and it still comes nearer;
Are the Guards fast? Who waits there?
Enter Sceva with a Packet, Cleopatra in it.
Sce. Are ye awake Sir?
Cæs. I’th’ name of Wonder.
Sce. Nay, I am a Porter,
A strong one too, or else my sides would crack, Sir,
And my sins were as weighty, I should scarce walk with ’em.
Cæs. What hast thou there?
Sce. Ask them which stay without,
And brought it hither, your Presence I deny’d ’em,
And put ’em by; took up the load my self,
They say ’tis rich, and valu’d at the Kingdome,
I am sure ’tis heavy; if you like to see it
You may: if not, I’ll give it back.
Cæs. Stay Sceva,
I would fain see it.
Sce. I’ll begin to work then;
No doubt, to flatter ye they have sent ye something,
Of a rich value, Jewels, or some rich Treasure;
May be a Rogue within to do a mischief;
I pray you stand farther off, if there be villany,
Better my danger first; he shall ‘scape hard too,
Ha! what art thou?
Cæs. Stand farther off, good Sceva,
What heavenly Vision! do I wake or slumber?
Farther off that hand, Friend.
Sce. What Apparition?
What Spirit have I rais’d? sure ’tis a Woman,
She looks like one; now she begins to move too:
A tempting Devil, o’ my life; go off, Cæsar,
Bless thy self, off: a Bawd grown in mine old days?
Bawdry advanc’d upon my back? ’tis noble:
Sir, if you be a Souldier come no nearer,
She is sent to dispossess you of your honour,
A Spunge, a Spunge to wipe away your Victories:
And she would be cool’d, Sir, let the Souldiers trim her!
They’ll give her that she came for, and dispatch her;
Be loyal to your self. Thou damned Woman,
Dost thou come hither with thy flourishes,
Thy flaunts, and faces to abuse mens manners?
And am I made the instrument of Bawdry?
I’ll find a Lover for ye, one that shall hug ye.
Cæs. Hold, on thy life, and be more temperate,
Thou Beast.
Sce. Thou Beast?
Cæs. Could’st thou be so inhumane,
So far from noble Men, to draw thy Weapon
Upon a thing divine?
Sce. Divine, or humane,
They are never better pleas’d, nor more at hearts ease,
Than when we draw with full intent upon ’em.
Cæs. Move this way (Lady)
‘Pray ye let me speak to ye.
Sce. And Woman, you had best stand.
Cæs. By the gods,
But that I see her here, and hope her mortal,
I should imagine some celestial sweetness,
The treasure of soft love.
Sce. Oh, this sounds mangily,
Poorly, and scurvily in a Souldiers mouth:
You had best be troubled with the Tooth-ach too,
For Lovers ever are, and let your Nose drop
That your celestial Beauty may befriend ye;
At these years do you learn to be fantastical?
After so many bloody fields, a Fool?
She brings her Bed along too, she’ll lose no time,
Carries her Litter to lye soft, do you see that?
Invites ye like a Gamester: note that impudence,
For shame reflect upon your self, your honour,
Look back into your noble parts, and blush:
Let not the dear sweat of the hot Pharsalia,
Mingle with base Embraces; am I he
That have receiv’d so many wounds for Cæsar?
Upon my Target groves of darts still growing?
Have I endur’d all hungers, colds, distresses,
And (as I had been bred that Iron that arm’d me)
Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune?
To ban the blood I lost for such a General?
Cæsar. Offend no more: be gone.
Sce. I will, and leave ye,
Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaim ye:
You’l conquer Rome now, and the Capitol
With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farewel Cæsar.
Cleo. Now I am private Sir, I dare speak to ye:
But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye.
Sce. Lower you’l be anon.
Cæsar. Away.
Sce. And privater,
For that you covet all. [Exit.
Cæsar. Tempt me no farther.
Cleo. Contemn me not, because I kneel thus, Cæsar,
I am a Queen, and coheir to this country,
The Sister to the mighty Ptolomy,
Yet one distress’d, that flyes unto thy justice,
One that layes sacred hold on thy protection
As on an holy Altar, to preserve me.
Cæsar. Speak Queen of beauty, and stand up.
Cleo. I dare not,
’Till I have found that favour in thine eyes,
That godlike great humanity to help me,
Thus, to thy knees must I grow (sacred Cæsar,)
And if it be not in thy will, to right me,
And raise me like a Queen from my sad ruines,
If these soft tears cannot sink to thy pity,
And waken with their murmurs thy compassions;
Yet for thy nobleness, for vertues sake,
And if thou beest a man, for despis’d beauty,
For honourable conquest, which thou doat’st on,
Let not those cankers of this flourishing Kingdom,
Photinus, and Achillas, (the one an Eunuch,
The other a base bondman) thus raign over me.
Seize my inheritance, and leave my Brother
Nothing of what he should be, but the Title,
As thou art wonder of the world.
Cæsar. Stand up then
And be a Queen, this hand shall give it to ye,
Or choose a greater name, worthy my bounty:
A common love makes Queens: choose to be worshipped,
To be divinely great, and I dare promise it;
A suitor of your sort, and blessed sweetness,
That hath adventur’d thus to see great Cæsar,
Must never be denied, you have found a patron
That dare not in his private honour suffer
So great a blemish to the Heaven of beauty:
The God of love would clap his angry wings,
And from his singing bow let flye those arrows
Headed with burning griefs, and pining sorrows,
Should I neglect your cause, would make me monstrous,
To whom and to your service I devote me.
Enter Sceva.
Cleo. He is my conquest now, and so I’le work him,
The conquerour of the world will I lead captive.
Sce. Still with this woman? tilting still with Babies?
As you are honest think the Enemy,
Some valiant Foe indeed now charging on ye:
Ready to break your ranks, and fling these—
Cæsar. Hear me,
But tell me true, if thou hadst such a treasure,
(And as thou art a Souldier, do not flatter me)
Such a bright gem, brought to thee, wouldst thou not
Most greedily accept?
Sce. Not as an Emperour,
A man that first should rule himself, then others;
As a poor hungry Souldier, I might bite, Sir,
Yet that’s a weakness too: hear me, thou Tempter:
And hear thou Cæsar too, for it concerns thee,
And if thy flesh be deaf, yet let thine honour,
The soul of a commander, give ear to me,
Thou wanton bane of war, thou guilded Lethargy,
In whose embraces, ease (the rust of Arms)
And pleasure, (that makes Souldiers poor) inhabites.
Cæsar. Fye, thou blasphem’st.
Sce. I do, when she is a goddess.
Thou melter of strong minds, dar’st thou presume
To smother all his triumphs, with thy vanities,
And tye him like a slave, to thy proud beauties?
To thy imperious looks? that Kings have follow’d
Proud of their chains? have waited on? I shame Sir. [Exit.
Cæsar. Alas thou art rather mad: take thy rest Sceva,
Thy duty makes thee erre, but I forgive thee:
Go, go I say, shew me no disobedience:
’Tis well, farewel, the day will break dear Lady,
My Souldiers will come in; please you retire,
And think upon your servant.
Cleo. Pray you Sir, know me,
And what I am.
Cæsar. The greater, I more love ye,
And you must know me too.
Cleo. So far as modesty,
And majesty gives leave Sir, ye are too violent.
Cæsar. You are too cold to my desires.
Cleo. Swear to me,
And by your self (for I hold that oath sacred)
You will right me as a Queen—
Cæsar. These lips be witness,
And if I break that oath—
Cleo. You make me blush Sir,
And in that blush interpret me.
Cæsar. I will do,
Come let’s go in, and blush again: this one word,
You shall believe.
Cleo. I must, you are a conquerour. [Exeunt.