Caesar.  Thus low, beauty.

  Cleo. It is too late; when I have found thee absolute,
  The man that Fame reports thee, and to me,
  May be I shall think better.  Farewel Conquerour. [Exit.

Caesar.  She mocks me too:  I will enjoy her Beauty:  I will not be deni’d; I’le force my longing.  Love is best pleas’d, when roundly we compel him, And as he is Imperious, so will I be.  Stay fool, and be advis’d:  that dulls the appetite, Takes off the strength and sweetness of delight.  By Heaven she is a miracle, I must use A handsom way to win:  how now; what fear Dwells in your faces? you look all distracted.

    Enter Sceva, Anthony, Dolabella.

Sceva.  If it be fear, ’tis fear of your undoing, Not of our selves:  fear of your poor declining:  Our lives and deaths are equall benefits, And we make louder prayers to dye nobly, Than to live high, and wantonly:  whilst you are secure here, And offer Hecatombs of lazie kisses To the lewd god of love, and cowardize, And most lasci[v]iously dye in delights, You are begirt with the fierce Alexandrians.

  Dol. The spawn of Egypt flow about your Palace,
  Arm’d all:  and ready to assault.

Ant. Led on By the false and base Photinus and his Ministers; No stirring out; no peeping through a loop-hole, But straight saluted with an armed Dart.

Sce. No parley:  they are deaf to all but danger, They swear they will fley us, and then dry our Quarters:  A rasher of a salt lover, is such a Shooing-horn:  Can you kiss away this conspiracy, and set us free?  Or will the Giant god of love fight for ye?  Will his fierce war-like bow kill a Cock-sparrow?  Bring out the Lady, she can quel this mutiny:  And with her powerfull looks strike awe into them:  She can destroy, and build again the City, Your Goddesses have mighty gifts:  shew ’em her fair brests, The impregnable Bulworks of proud Love, and let ’em Begin their battery there:  she will laugh at ’em; They are not above a hundred thousand, Sir.  A mist, a mist, that when her Eyes break out, Her powerfull radiant eyes, and shake their flashes, Will flye before her heats.

  Caesar.  Begirt with Villains?

  S[ce]. They come to play you, and your Love a Huntsup. 
  You were told what this same whorson wenching, long agoe would
          come to: 
  You are taken napping now:  has not a Souldier,
  A time to kiss his friend, and a time to consider,
  But he must lye still digging, like a Pioneer,
  Making of mines, and burying of his honour there? 
  ’Twere good you would think—­

  Dol. And time too, or you will find else
  A harder task, than Courting a coy Beauty.

  Ant. Look out and then believe.