is head.

_Ach._ Most execrable Counsel.

_Pho._ To be follow'd,
'Tis for the Kingdoms safety.

_Ptol._ We give up
Our absolute power to thee: dispose of it
As reason shall direct thee.

_Pho._ Good _Achillas_,
Seek out _Septimius_: do you but sooth him,
He is already wrought: leave the dispatch
To me of _Labienus_: 'tis determin'd
Already how you shall proceed: nor Fate
Shall alter it, since now the dye is cast,
But that this hour to _Pompey_ is his last. [_Exit._

SCENA II.

_Enter_ Apollodorus, Eros, Arsino.

_Apol._ Is the Queen stirring, _Eros_?

_Eros._ Yes, for in truth
She touch'd no bed to night.

_Apol._ I am sorry for it,
And wish it were in me, with my hazard,
To give her ease.

_Ars._ Sir, she accepts your will,
And does acknowledge she hath found you noble,
So far, as if restraint of liberty
Could give admission to a thought of mirth,
She is your debtor for it.

_Apol._ Did you tell her
Of the sports I have prepar'd to entertain her?
She was us'd to take delight, with her fair hand,
To angle in the _Nile_, where the glad fish
(As if they knew who 'twas sought to deceive 'em)
Contended to be taken: other times
To strike the Stag, who wounded by her arrows,
Forgot his tears in death, and kneeling thanks her
To his last gasp, then prouder of his Fate,
Than if with Garlands Crown'd, he had been chosen
To fall a Sacrifice before the altar
Of the Virgin Huntress: the King, nor great _Photinus_
Forbid her any pleasure; and the Circuit
In which she is confin'd, gladly affords
Variety of pastimes, which I would
Encrease with my best service.

_Eros._ O, but the thought
That she that was born free, and to dispense
Restraint, or liberty to others, should be
At the devotion of her Brother, whom
She only knows her equal, makes this place
In which she lives (though stor'd with all delights)
A loathsome dungeon to her.

_Apol._ Yet, (howe're
She shall interpret it) I'le not be wanting
To do my best to serve her: I have prepar'd
Choise Musick near her Cabinet, and compos'd
Some few lines, (set unto a solemn time)
In the praise of imprisonment. Begin Boy.

THE SONG.

_Look out bright eyes, and bless the air:_
_Even in shadows you are fair._
_Shut-up-beauty is like fire,_
_That breaks out clearer still and higher._
_Though your body be confin'd,_
_And so