my smiles, deceits, that I may torture him,
That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him.

_Enter_ Apollodorus.

_Ap._ _Caesar_ commends his Service to your Grace.

_Cleo._ His service? what's his service?

_Eros_. Pray ye be patient,
The noble _Caesar_ loves still.

_Cleo._ What's his will?

_Ap._ He craves access unto your Highness.

_Cleo._ No:
Say no: I will have none to trouble me.

_Ars._ Good Sister.

_Cleo._ None I say: I will be private.
Would thou hadst flung me into _Nilus_, keeper,
When first thou gav'st consent, to bring my body
To this unthankfull _Caesar_.

_Ap._ 'Twas your will, Madam,
Nay more, your charge upon me, as I honoured ye:
You know what danger I endured.

_Cleo._ Take this,
And carry it to that Lordly _Caesar_ sent thee:
There's a new Love, a handsom one, a rich one:
One that will hug his mind: bid him make love to it:
Tell the ambitious Broker, this will suffer--

_Enter Caesar._

_Ap._ He enters.

_Cleo._ How?

_Caesar._ I do not use to wait, Lady,
Where I am, all the dores are free, and open.

_Cleo._ I ghess so, by your rudeness.

_Caesar._ Ye are not angry?
Things of your tender mold, should be most gentle;
Why do you frown? good gods, what a set-anger
Have you forc'd into your face! Come, I must temper ye:
What a coy smile was there, and a disdainfull!
How like an ominous flash it broke out from ye!
Defend me, Love, Sweet, who has anger'd ye?

_Cleo._ Shew him a glass; that false face has betrai'd me:
That base heart wrought me--

_Caesar._ Be more sweetly angry;
I wrong'd ye fair?

_Cleo._ Away with your foul flatteries:
They are too gross: but that I dare be angry,
And with as great a god as _Caesar_ is,
To shew how poorly I respect his memory,
I would not speak to ye.

_Caesar._ Pray ye undoe this riddle,
And tell me how I have vext ye?

_Cleo._ Let me think first
Whether I may put on a Patience
That will with honour suffer me: know, I hate ye,
Let that begin the story: Now I'le tell ye.

_Caesar._ But do it milder: In a noble Lady,
Softness of spirit, and a sober nature,
That moves like summer winds, cool, and blows sweetness;
Shews blessed like her self.

_Cleo._ And that great blessedness
You first reap'd of me: till you taught my nature
Like a rude storm to talk aloud, and thunder,
Sleep was not gentler than