it._

_Caesar_. Alas thou art rather mad: take thy rest _Sceva_,
Thy duty makes thee erre, but I forgive thee:
Go, go I say, shew me no disobedience:
'Tis well, farewel, the day will break dear Lady,
My Souldiers will come in; please you retire,
And think upon your servant.

_Cleo._ Pray you Sir, know me,
And what I am.

_Caesar_. The greater, I more love ye,
And you must know me too.

_Cleo._ So far as modesty,
And majesty gives leave Sir, ye are too violent.

_Caesar_. You are too cold to my desires.

_Cleo._ Swear to me,
And by your self (for I hold that oath sacred)
You will right me as a Queen--

_Caesar_. These lips be witness,
And if I break that oath--

_Cleo._ You make me blush Sir,
And in that blush interpret me.

_Caesar_. I will do,
Come let's go in, and blush again: this one word,
You shall believe.

_Cleo._ I must, you are a conquerour. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA.

_Enter_ Ptolomy, Photinus.

_Pho._ Good Sir, but hear.

_Ptol._ No more, you have undone me,
That, that I hourly fear'd, is fain upon me,
And heavily, and deadly.

_Pho._ Hear a remedy.

_Ptol._ A remedy now the disease is ulcerous?
And has infected all? your secure negligence
Has broke through all the hopes I have, and ruin'd me:
My Sister is with _Caesar_, in his chamber,
All night she has been with him; and no doubt
Much to her honour.

_Pho._ Would that were the worst, Sir,
That will repair it self: but I fear mainly,
She has made her peace with _Caesar_.

_Ptol._ 'Tis most likely,
And what am I then?

_Pho._ 'Plague upon that Rascal
_Apollod[or]us_, under whose command,
Under whose eye--

_Enter_ Achillas.

_Ptol._ Curse on you all, ye are wretches.

_Pho._ 'Twas providently done, _Achillas_.

_Achil._ Pardon me.

_Pho._ Your guards were rarely wise, and wondrous watchfull.

_Achil._ I could not help it, if my life had lain for't,
Alas, who would suspect a pack of bedding,
Or a small Truss of houshold furniture?
And as they said, for Caesars use: or who durst
(Being for his private chamber) seek to stop it?
I was abus'd.

_Enter_ Achoreus.

_Ach._ 'Tis no hour now for anger:
No wisdom to debate with fruitless choler,
Let us consider timely what we must do,
Since she is flown to his protection,
From whom we have no power to sever her,
No