The False One | Page 4

your self.
Ptol. To say I grieve his fortune As much as if the Crown I wear (his gift) Were ravish'd from me, is a holy truth, Our Gods can witness for me: yet, being young, And not a free disposer of my self; Let not a few hours, borrowed for advice, Beget suspicion of unthankfulness, (Which next to Hell I hate) pray you retire, And take a little rest, and let his wounds Be with that care attended, as they were Carv'd on my flesh: good Labienus, think The little respite, I desire shall be Wholly emploi'd to find the readiest way To doe great Pompey service.
Lab. May the gods (As you intend) protect you. [Exit.
Ptol. Sit: sit all, It is my pleasure: your advice, and freely.
Ach. A short deliberation in this, May serve to give you counsel: to be honest, Religious and thankfull, in themselves Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish Or gloss in the perswader; your kept faith, (Though Pompey never rise to th' height he's fallen from) C?sar himself will love; and my opinion Is (still committing it to graver censure) You pay the debt you owe him, with the hazard Of all you can call yours.
Ptol. What's yours, (Photinus?)
Pho. Achoreus (great Ptolomy) hath counsell'd Like a Religious, and honest man, Worthy the honour that he justly holds In being Priest to Isis: But alas, What in a man, sequester'd from the world, Or in a private person, is prefer'd, No policy allows of in a King, To be or just, or thankfull, makes Kings guilty, And faith (though prais'd) is punish'd that supports Such as good Fate forsakes: joyn with the gods, Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched, The Stars are not more distant from the Earth Than profit is from honesty; all the power, Prerogative, and greatness of a Prince Is lost, if he descend once but to steer His course, as what's right, guides him: let him leave The Scepter, that strives only to be good, Since Kingdomes are maintain'd by force and blood.
Ach. Oh wicked!
Ptol. Peace: goe on.
Pho. Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth, In thinking that you cannot keep your own From such as are or'e come. If you are tired With being a King, let not a stranger take What nearer pledges challenge: resign rather The government of Egypt and of Nile To Cleopatra, that has title to them, At least defend them from the Roman gripe, What was not Pompeys, while the wars endured, The Conquerour will not challenge; by all the world Forsaken and despis'd, your gentle Guardian His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice of What Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'd By their pale ghosts, slain in this Civil war, He flyes not C?sar only, but the Senate, Of which, the greater part have cloi'd the hunger Of sharp Pharsalian fowl, he flies the Nations That he drew to his Quarrel, whose Estates Are sunk in his: and in no place receiv'd, Hath found out Egypt, by him yet not ruin'd: And Ptolomy, things consider'd, justly may Complain of Pompey: wherefore should he stain Our Egypt, with the spots of civil war? Or make the peaceable, or quiet Nile Doubted of C?sar? wherefore should he draw His loss, and overthrow upon our heads? Or choose this place to suffer in? already We have offended C?sar, in our wishes, And no way left us to redeem his favour But by the head of Pompey.
Ach. Great Osiris, Defend thy ?gypt from such cruelty, And barbarous ingratitude!
Pho. Holy trifles, And not to have place in designs of State; This sword, which Fate commands me to unsheath, I would not draw on Pompey, if not vanquish'd. I grant it rather should have pass'd through C?sar, But we must follow where his fortune leads us; All provident Princes measure their intents According to their power, and so dispose them: And thinkst thou (Ptolomy) that thou canst prop His Ruines, under whom sad Rome now suffers? Or 'tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd? Shall we, that in the Battail sate as Neuters Serve him that's overcome? No, no, he's lost. And though 'tis noble to a sinking friend To lend a helping hand, while there is hope He may recover, thy part not engag'd Though one most dear, when all his hopes are dead, To drown him, set thy foot upon his head.
Ach. Most execrable Counsel.
Pho. To be follow'd, 'Tis for the Kingdoms safety.
Ptol. We give up Our absolute power to thee: dispose of it As reason shall direct thee.
Pho. Good Achillas, Seek out Septimius: do you but sooth him, He is already wrought: leave the dispatch To me of Labienus: 'tis determin'd Already how you shall proceed: nor Fate Shall alter it, since