ind unto your noble self, but savours
Of indiscretion, and your friend has found it.
Had ye been train'd up in the wants and miseries
A souldier marches through, and known his temperance
In offer'd courtesies, you would have made
A wiser Master of your own, and stronger.

_Ptol._ Why, should I give him all, he would return it:
'Tis more to him, to make Kings.

_Pho._ Pray be wiser,
And trust not with your lost wealth, your lov'd liberty.
To be a King still at your own discretion
Is like a King; to be at his, a vassail.
Now take good counsel, or no more take to ye
The freedom of a Prince.

_Achil._ 'Twill be too late else:
For, since the Masque, he sent three of his Captains
(Ambitious as himself) to view again
The glory of your wealth.

_Pho._ The next himself comes,
Not staying for your courtesie, and takes it.

_Ptol._ What counsel, my _Achoreus_?

_Ach._ I'le goe pray Sir,
(For that is best counsel now) the gods may help ye. [_Ex._

_Pho._ I found ye out a way but 'twas not credited,
A most secure way: whither will ye flye now?

_Achil._ For when your wealth is gone, your power must follow.

_Pho._ And that diminisht also, what's your life worth?
Who would regard it?

_Ptol._ You say true.

_Achil._ What eye
Will look upon King _Ptolomy_? if they do look,
It must be in scorn:
For a poor King is a monster;
What ear remember ye? 'twill be then a courtesie
(A noble one) to take your life too from ye:
But if reserv'd, you stand to fill a victory,
As who knows Conquerours minds? though outwardly
They bear fair streams.
O Sir, does this not shake ye?
If to be honyed on to these afflictions--

_Ptol._ I never will: I was a Fool.

_Pho._ For then Sir
Your Countreys cause falls with ye too, and fetter'd:
All _AEgypt_ shall be plough'd up with dishonour.

_Ptol._ No more: I am sensible: and now my spirit
Burns hot within me.

_Achil._ Keep it warm and fiery.

_Pho._ And last be counsel'd.

_Ptol._ I will, though I perish.

_Pho._ Goe in; we'l tell you all: and then we'l execute.

[_Exeunt._

SCENA II.

_Enter_ Cleopatra, Arsino, Eros.

_Ars._ You are so impatient.

_Cleo._ Have I not cause?
Women of common Beauties, and low Births,
When they are slighted, are allow'd their angers,
Why should not I (a Princess) make him know
The baseness of his usage?

_Ars._ Y