_And each hand bring a Sacrifice._
_Now my wanton Pearls I show_
_That to Ladies fair necks grow._
_Now my gold_
_And treasures that can ne're be told,_
_Shall bless this Land, by my rich Flow,_
_And after this, to crown your Eyes,_
_My hidden holy head arise._

_Caesar_. The wonder of this wealth so troubles me,
I am not well: good-night.

_Sce._ I am glad ye have it:
Now we shall stir again.

_Ptol._ Thou wealth, still haunt him.

_Sce._ A greedy spirit set thee on: we are happy.

_Ptol._ Lights: lights for _Caesar_, and attendance.

_Cleo._ Well,
I shall yet find a time to tell thee _Caesar_,
Thou hast wrong'd her Love: the rest here.

_Ptol._ Lights along still:
Musick, and Sacrifice to sleep for _Caesar_. [_Exeunt._

_ACTUS QUARTUS. SCENA PRIMA._

_Enter_ Ptolomy, Photinus, Achillas, Achoreus.

_Ach._ I told ye carefully, what this would prove to,
What this inestimable wealth and glory
Would draw upon ye: I advis'd your Majesty
Never to tempt a Conquering Guest: nor add
A bait, to catch a mind, bent by his Trade
To make the whole world his.

_Pho._ I was not heard Sir:
Or what I said, lost, and contemn'd: I dare say,
(And freshly now) 'twas a poor weakness in ye,
A glorious Childishness: I watch'd his eye,
And saw how Faulcon-like it towr'd, and flew
Upon the wealthy Quarry: how round it mark'd it:
I observ'd his words, and to what it tended;
How greedily he ask'd from whence it came,
And what Commerce we held for such abundance:
The shew of _Nilus_, how he laboured at
To find the secret wayes the Song delivered.

_Ach._ He never smil'd, I noted, at the pleasures,
But fixt his constant eyes upon the treasure;
I do not think his ears had so much leisure
After the wealth appear'd, to hear the Musique?
Most sure he has not slept since, his mind's troubled
With objects that would make their own still labour.

_Pho._ Your Sister he ne're gaz'd on: that's a main note,
The prime beauty of the world had no power over him.

_Ach._ Where was his mind the whilst?

_Pho._ Where was your carefulness
To shew an armed thief the way to rob ye?
Nay, would you give him this, 'twill excite him
To seek the rest. Ambition feels no gift,
Nor knows no bounds, indeed ye have done most weakly.

_Ptol._ Can I be too kind to my noble friend?

_Pho._ To be unk