ot trust
My Sister with, _Caesar_ 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 other object to inflame his blood,
But that her Husband was a King, on both
He did bestow rich presents; shall I then,
That with a princely birth, bring beauty with me,
That know to prize my self at mine own rate,
Despair his favour? art thou mine?

_Ap._ I am.

_Cleo._ I have found out a way shall bring me to him,
Spight of _Photinus_ watches; if I prosper,
(As I am confident I shall) expect
Things greater than thy wishes; though I purchase
His grace with loss of my virginity,
It skills not, if it bring home Majesty. [_Exeunt._

_ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCENA PRIMA._

_Enter_ Septimius, _with a head_, Achillas, _Guard._

_Sep._ 'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearfull viewers,
Shake, and behold the model of the world here,
The pride, and strength, look, look again, 'tis finish'd;
That, that whole Armies, nay whole nations,
Many and mighty Kings, have been struck blind at,
And fled before, wing'd with their fears and terrours,
That steel war waited on, and fortune courted,
That high plum'd honour built up for her own;
Behold that mightiness, behold that fierceness,
Behold that child of war, with all his glories;
By this poor hand made breathless, here (my _Achillas_)
_Egypt_, and _Caesar_, owe me for this service,
And all the conquer'd Nations.

_Ach._ Peace _Septimius_,
Thy words sound more ungratefull than thy actions,
Though sometimes safety seek an instrument
Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)
Think not she is bound to love him too, that's barbarous.
Why did not I, if this be meritorious,
And binds the King unto me, and his bounties,
Strike this rude stroke? I'le tell thee (thou poor _Roman_)
It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,
Not heave a thought.

_Sep._ It was.

_Ach._ I'le tell thee truely,
And if thou ever yet heard'st tell of honour,
I'le make thee blush: It was thy General's;
That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,
The air thou breath'dst was his; the fire that warm'd thee,
From his care kindled ever, nay, I'le show thee,
(Because I'le make thee sensible of the business,
And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy