The False One: A Tragedy. Beaumont Francis

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Apol. Is the Queen stirring, Eros?

      Eros. Yes, for in truth

      She touch'd no bed to night.

      Apol. I am sorry for it,

      And wish it were in me, with my hazard,

      To give her ease.

      Ars. Sir, she accepts your will,

      And does acknowledge she hath found you noble,

      So far, as if restraint of liberty

      Could give admission to a thought of mirth,

      She is your debtor for it.

      Apol. Did you tell her

      Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertain her?

      She was us'd to take delight, with her fair hand,

      To angle in the Nile, where the glad fish

      (As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em)

      Contended to be taken: other times

      To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,

      Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks her

      To his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate,

      Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen

      To fall a Sacrifice before the altar

      Of the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great Photinus

      Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuit

      In which she is confin'd, gladly affords

      Variety of pastimes, which I would

      Encrease with my best service.

      Eros. O, but the thought

      That she that was born free, and to dispense

      Restraint, or liberty to others, should be

      At the devotion of her Brother, whom

      She only knows her equal, makes this place

      In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)

      A loathsome dungeon to her.

      Apol. Yet, (howe're

      She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting

      To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd

      Choise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'd

      Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time)

      In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy.

      Look out bright eyes, and bless the air:

      Even in shadows you are fair.

      Shut-up-beauty is like fire,

      That breaks out clearer still and higher.

      Though your body be confin'd,

      And soft Love a prisoner bound,

      Yet the beauty of your mind

      Neither check, nor chain hath found.

      Look out nobly then, and dare

      Even the Fetters that you wear.

      Cleo. But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty,

      And love in you, my Guardian, and desire

      In you, my Sister, and the rest, to please us,

      We should receive this, as a sawcy rudeness

      Offer'd our private thoughts. But your intents

      Are to delight us: alas, you wash an Ethiop:

      Can Cleopatra, while she does remember

      Whose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (O

      I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)

      There is no place in Ægypt, where I stand,

      But that the tributary Earth is proud

      To kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen,

      Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relish

      Of comfort, or delight, while base Photinus,

      Bond-man Achillas, and all other monsters

      That raign o're Ptolomy, make that a Court,

      Where they reside, and this, where I, a Prison?

      But there's a Rome, a Senate, and a Cæsar,

      (Though the great Pompey lean to Ptolomy)

      May think of Cleopatra.

      Ap. Pompey, Madam?

      Cleo. What of him? speak: if ill, Apollodorus,

      It is my happiness: and for thy news

      Receive a favour (Kings have kneel'd in vain for)

      And kiss my hand.

      Ap. He's lost.

      Cleo. Speak it again!

      Ap. His army routed: he fled and pursu'd

      By the all-conquering Cæsar.

      Cleo. Whither bends he?

      Ap. To Egypt.

      Cleo. Ha! in person?

      Ap. 'Tis receiv'd

      For an undoubted truth.

      Cleo. I live again,

      And if assurance of my love, and beauty

      Deceive me not, I now shall find a Judge

      To do me right: but how to free my self,

      And get access? the Guards are strong upon me,

      This door I must pass through. Apollodorus,

      Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,)

      Thy life was not thine own.

      Ap. I am not alter'd;

      And let your excellency propound a means,

      In which I may but give the least assistance,

      That may restore you, to that you were born to,

      (Though it call on the anger of the King,

      Or, (what's more deadly) all his Minion

      Photinus can do to me) I, unmov'd,

      Offer my throat to serve you: ever provided,

      It bear some probable shew to be effected.

      To lose my self upon no ground, were madness,

      Not loyal duty.

      Cleo. Stand off: to thee alone,

      I will discover what I dare not trust

      My Sister with, Cæsar is amorous,

      And taken more with the title of a Queen,

      Than feature or proportion, he lov'd Eunoe,

      A Moor, deformed too, I have heard, that brought

      No СКАЧАТЬ