or of dread Majesty,
Whose beams shall dazel _Rome_, and aw the world,
My wants in that kind others shall supply,
And I give way to it.

_Cleo._ Baser than thy Birth;
Can there be gods, and hear this, and no thunder
Ram thee into the Earth?

_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