The False One: A Tragedy

Until her Beauty, or her royal Dowre,
Hath found her out a Husband.

Ach. How this may
Stand with the rules of policy, I know not;
Most sure I am, it holds no correspondence
With the Rites of Ægypt, or the Laws of Nature;
But grant that Cleopatra can sit down
With this disgrace (though insupportable)
Can you imagine, that Romes glorious Senate
(To whose charge, by the will of the dead King
This government was deliver'd) or great Pompey,
(That is appointed Cleopatra's Guardian
As well as Ptolomies) will e're approve
Of this rash counsel, their consent not sought for,
That should authorize it?

Achil. The Civil war
In which the Roman Empire is embarqu'd
On a rough Sea of danger, does exact
Their whole care to preserve themselves, and gives them
No vacant time to think of what we do,
Which hardly can concern them.

Ach. What's your opinion
Of the success? I have heard, in multitudes
Of Souldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,
Pompey is much superiour.

Achil. I could give you
A Catalogue of all the several Nations
From whence he drew his powers: but that were tedious.
They have rich arms, are ten to one in number,
Which makes them think the day already won;
And Pompey being master of the Sea,
Such plenty of all delicates are brought in,
As if the place on which they are entrench'd,
Were not a Camp of Souldiers, but Rome,
In which Lucullus and Apicius joyn'd,
To make a publique Feast: they at Dirachium
Fought with success; but knew not to make use of
Fortunes fair offer: so much I have heard
Cæsar himself confess.

Ach. Where are they now?

Achil. In Thessalie, near the Pharsalian plains
Where Cæsar with a handfull of his Men
Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
Flesh'd in the spoils of Germany and France,
Inur'd to his Command, and only know
To fight and overcome; And though that Famine
Raigns in his Camp, compelling them to tast
Bread made of roots, forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorn threw into Pompeys Camp
As in derision of his Delicates)
Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:
They still besiege him, being ambitious only
To come to blows, and let their swords determine
Who hath the better Cause.

Enter Septi[m]ius

Ach. May Victory
Attend on't, where it is.

Achil. We every hour
Expect to hear the issue.

Sep. Save my good Lords;
By Isis and Osiris, whom you worship;
And the four hundred gods and goddesses
Ador'd in Rome, I am your honours servant.

Ach. Truth needs, Septimius, no oaths.

Achil. You are cruel,
If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.

Sep. Your Honour's bitter,
Confound me, where I love I cannot say it,
But I must swear't: yet such is my ill fortune,
Nor vows, nor protestations win belief,
I think, and (I can find no other reason)
Because I am a Roman.

Ach. No Septimius,
To be a Roman were an honour to you,
Did not your manners, and your life take from it,
And cry aloud, that from Rome you bring nothing
But Roman Vices, which you would plant here,
But no seed of her vertues.

Sep. With your reverence
I am too old to learn.

Ach. Any thing honest,
That I believe, without an oath.