ft Love a prisoner bound,_
_Yet the beauty of your mind_
_Neither check, nor chain hath found._
_Look out nobly then, and dare_
_Even the Fetters that you wear._

_Enter_ Cleopatra.

_Cleo._ But that we are assur'd this tastes of duty,
And love in you, my _Guardian_, and desire
In you, my _Sister_, and the rest, to please us,
We should receive this, as a sawcy rudeness
Offer'd our private thoughts. But your intents
Are to delight us: alas, you wash an _Ethiop_:
Can _Cleopatra_, while she does remember
Whose Daughter she is, and whose Sister? (O
I suffer in the name) and that (in Justice)
There is no place in _AEgypt_, where I stand,
But that the tributary Earth is proud
To kiss the foot of her, that is her Queen,
Can she, I say, that is all this, e're relish
Of comfort, or delight, while base _Photinus_,
Bond-man _Achillas_, and all other monsters
That raign o're _Ptolomy_, make that a Court,
Where they reside, and this, where I, a Prison?
But there's a _Rome_, a _Senate_, and a _Caesar_,
(Though the great _Pompey_ lean to _Ptolomy_)
May think of _Cleopatra_.

_Ap._ _Pompey_, Madam?

_Cleo._ What of him? speak: if ill, _Apollodorus_,
It is my happiness: and for thy news
Receive a favour (_Kings_ have kneel'd in vain for)
And kiss my hand.

_Ap._ He's lost.

_Cleo._ Speak it again!

_Ap._ His army routed: he fled and pursu'd
By the all-conquering Caesar.

_Cleo._ Whither bends he?

_Ap._ To _Egypt_.

_Cleo._ Ha! in person?

_Ap._ 'Tis receiv'd
For an undoubted truth.

_Cleo._ I live again,
And if assurance of my love, and beauty
Deceive me not, I now shall find a Judge
To do me right: but how to free my self,
And get access? the _Guards_ are strong upon me,
This door I must pass through. _Apollodorus_,
Thou often hast profess'd (to do me service,)
Thy life was not thine own.

_Ap._ I am not alter'd;
And let your excellency propound a means,
In which I may but give the least assistance,
That may restore you, to that you were born to,
(Though it call on the anger of the King,
Or, (what's more deadly) all his Minion
_Photinus_ can do to me) I, unmov'd,
Offer my throat to serve you: ever provided,
It bear some probable shew to be effected.
To lose my self upon no ground, were madness,
Not loyal duty.

_Cleo._ Stand off: to thee alone,
I will discover what I dare n