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rts ease, Than when we draw with full intent upon 'em. _Caes._ Move this way (Lady) 'Pray ye let me speak to ye. _Sce._ And Woman, you had best stand. _Caes._ By the gods, But that I see her here, and hope her mortal, I should imagine some celestial sweetness, The treasure of soft love. _Sce._ Oh, this sounds mangily, Poorly, and scurvily in a Souldiers mouth: You had best be troubled with the Tooth-ach too, For Lovers ever are, and let your Nose drop That your celestial Beauty may befriend ye; At these years do you learn to be fantastical? After so many bloody fields, a Fool? She brings her Bed along too, she'll lose no time, Carries her Litter to lye soft, do you see that? Invites ye like a Gamester: note that impudence, For shame reflect upon your self, your honour, Look back into your noble parts, and blush: Let not the dear sweat of the hot _Pharsalia_, Mingle with base _Embraces_; am I he That have receiv'd so many wounds for _Caesar_? Upon my Target groves of darts still growing? Have I endur'd all hungers, colds, distresses, And (as I had been bred that Iron that arm'd me) Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune? To ban the blood I lost for such a General? _Caesar_. Offend no more: be gone. _Sce._ I will, and leave ye, Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaim ye: You'l conquer _Rome_ now, and the Capitol With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farewel Caesar. _Cleo._ Now I am private Sir, I dare speak to ye: But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye. _Sce._ Lower you'l be anon. _Caesar_. Away. _Sce._ And privater, For that you covet all. [_Exit._ _Caesar_. Tempt me no farther. _Cleo._ Contemn me not, because I kneel thus, _Caesar_, I am a Queen, and coheir to this country, The Sister to the mighty _Ptolomy_, Yet one distress'd, that flyes unto thy justice, One that layes sacred hold on thy protection As on an holy Altar, to preserve me. _Caesar_. Speak Queen of beauty, and stand up. _Cleo._ I dare not, 'Till I have found that favour in thine eyes, That godlike great humanity to help me, Thus, to thy knees must I grow (sacred _Caesar_,) And if it be not in thy will, to right me, And raise me like a Queen from my sad ruines, If these soft tears cannot sink to thy pity, And waken with their murmurs thy compassions; Yet for thy noble
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