to be good,
Since Kingdomes are maintain'd by force and blood.

_Ach._ Oh wicked!

_Ptol._ Peace: goe on.

_Pho._ Proud Pompey shews how much he scorns your youth,
In thinking that you cannot keep your own
From such as are or'e come. If you are tired
With being a King, let not a stranger take
What nearer pledges challenge: resign rather
The government of _Egypt_ and of _Nile_
To _Cleopatra_, that has title to them,
At least defend them from the Roman _gripe_,
What was not _Pompeys_, while the wars endured,
The Conquerour will not challenge; by all the world
Forsaken and despis'd, your gentle Guardian
His hopes and fortunes desperate, makes choice of
What Nation he shall fall with: and pursu'd
By their pale ghosts, slain in this Civil war,
He flyes not _Caesar_ only, but the Senate,
Of which, the greater part have cloi'd the hunger
Of sharp _Pharsalian_ fowl, he flies the Nations
That he drew to his Quarrel, whose Estates
Are sunk in his: and in no place receiv'd,
Hath found out _Egypt_, by him yet not ruin'd:
And _Ptolomy_, things consider'd, justly may
Complain of _Pompey_: wherefore should he stain
Our _Egypt_, with the spots of civil war?
Or make the peaceable, or quiet _Nile_
Doubted of _Caesar_? wherefore should he draw
His loss, and overthrow upon our heads?
Or choose this place to suffer in? already
We have offended _Caesar_, in our wishes,
And no way left us to redeem his favour
But by the head of _Pompey_.

_Ach._ Great _Osiris_,
Defend thy _AEgypt_ from such cruelty,
And barbarous ingratitude!

_Pho._ Holy trifles,
And not to have place in designs of State;
This sword, which Fate commands me to unsheath,
I would not draw on _Pompey_, if not vanquish'd.
I grant it rather should have pass'd through _Caesar_,
But we must follow where his fortune leads us;
All provident Princes measure their intents
According to their power, and so dispose them:
And thinkst thou (_Ptolomy_) that thou canst prop
His Ruines, under whom sad _Rome_ now suffers?
Or 'tempt the Conquerours force when 'tis confirm'd?
Shall we, that in the Battail sate as Neuters
Serve him that's overcome? No, no, he's lost.
And though 'tis noble to a sinking friend
To lend a helping hand, while there is hope
He may recover, thy part not engag'd
Though one most dear, when all his hopes are dead,
To drown him, set thy foot upon h