Pho. They are asleep, And cannot hear thee; Or with open Eyes, Did Jove look on us, I would laugh and swear That his artillery is cloy’d by me:  Or if that they have power to hurt, his Bolts Are in my hand.

  Cleo. Most impious!

Pho. They are dreams, Religious Fools shake at:  yet to assure thee, If Nemesis, that scourges pride and scorn, Be any thing but a name, she lives in me; For by my self (an oath to me more dreadful Than Stix is to your gods) weak Ptolomy dead, And Caesar (both being in my toil) remov’d, The poorest Rascals that are in my Camp Shall in my presence quench their lustful heat In thee, and young Arsino, while I laugh To hear you howl in vain:  I deride those gods, That you think can protect you.

Cleo. To prevent thee, In that I am the Mistress of my Fate; So hope I of my sister to confirm it.  I spit at thee, and scorn thee.

  Pho. I will tame
  That haughty courage, and make thee stoop too.

  Cleo. Never,
  I was born to command, and will dye so.

    Enter Achillas, and Souldiers, with the Body of Ptolomy.

  Pho. The King dead? this is a fair entrance to
  Our future happiness.

  Ars. Oh my dear Brother!

  Cleo. Weep not, Arsino, common women do so,
  Nor lose a tear for him, it cannot help him;
  But study to dye nobly.

Pho. Caesar fled!  ’Tis deadly aconite to my cold heart, It choaks my vital Spirits:  where was your care?  Did the Guards sleep?

Achil. He rowz’d them with his Sword; We talk of Mars, but I am sure his Courage Admits of no comparison but it self, And (as inspir’d by him) his following friends With such a confidence as young Eagles prey Under the large wing of their fiercer Dam, Brake through our Troops and scatter’d them, he went on But still pursu’d by us, when on the sudden, He turn’d his head, and from his Eyes flew terrour; Which strook in us no less fear and amazement, Than if we had encounter’d with the lightning Hurl’d from Jove’s cloudy Brow.

  Cleo. ’Twas like my Caesar.

Achil. We faln back, he made on, and as our fear Had parted from us with his dreadful looks, Again we follow’d; but got near the Sea; On which his Navy anchor’d; in one hand Holding a Scroll he had above the waves, And in the other grasping fast his Sword, As it had been a Trident forg’d by Vulcan To calm the raging Ocean, he made away As if he had been Neptune, his friends like So many Tritons follow’d, their bold shouts Yielding a chearful musick; we showr’d darts Upon them, but in vain, they reach’d their ships And in their safety we are sunk; for Caesar Prepares for War.

  Pho. How fell the King?