rts ease,
Than when we draw with full intent upon 'em.

_Caes._ Move this way (Lady)
'Pray ye let me speak to ye.

_Sce._ And Woman, you had best stand.

_Caes._ By the gods,
But that I see her here, and hope her mortal,
I should imagine some celestial sweetness,
The treasure of soft love.

_Sce._ Oh, this sounds mangily,
Poorly, and scurvily in a Souldiers mouth:
You had best be troubled with the Tooth-ach too,
For Lovers ever are, and let your Nose drop
That your celestial Beauty may befriend ye;
At these years do you learn to be fantastical?
After so many bloody fields, a Fool?
She brings her Bed along too, she'll lose no time,
Carries her Litter to lye soft, do you see that?
Invites ye like a Gamester: note that impudence,
For shame reflect upon your self, your honour,
Look back into your noble parts, and blush:
Let not the dear sweat of the hot _Pharsalia_,
Mingle with base _Embraces_; am I he
That have receiv'd so many wounds for _Caesar_?
Upon my Target groves of darts still growing?
Have I endur'd all hungers, colds, distresses,
And (as I had been bred that Iron that arm'd me)
Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune?
To ban the blood I lost for such a General?

_Caesar_. Offend no more: be gone.

_Sce._ I will, and leave ye,
Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaim ye:
You'l conquer _Rome_ now, and the Capitol
With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farewel Caesar.

_Cleo._ Now I am private Sir, I dare speak to ye:
But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye.

_Sce._ Lower you'l be anon.

_Caesar_. Away.

_Sce._ And privater,
For that you covet all. [_Exit._

_Caesar_. Tempt me no farther.

_Cleo._ Contemn me not, because I kneel thus, _Caesar_,
I am a Queen, and coheir to this country,
The Sister to the mighty _Ptolomy_,
Yet one distress'd, that flyes unto thy justice,
One that layes sacred hold on thy protection
As on an holy Altar, to preserve me.

_Caesar_. Speak Queen of beauty, and stand up.

_Cleo._ I dare not,
'Till I have found that favour in thine eyes,
That godlike great humanity to help me,
Thus, to thy knees must I grow (sacred _Caesar_,)
And if it be not in thy will, to right me,
And raise me like a Queen from my sad ruines,
If these soft tears cannot sink to thy pity,
And waken with their murmurs thy compassions;
Yet for thy noble