_Cleo._ He is all honour,
Nor do I now repent me of my favours,
Nor can I think that Nature e'r made a Woman
That in her prime deserv'd him.
_Enter_ Caesar, Sceva, Antonie, Dolabella, _Souldiers, with the
Heads._
_Ars._ He's come back,
Pursue no further; curb the Souldiers fury.
_Caes._ See (beauteous Mistris) their accursed heads
That did conspire against us.
_Sce._ Furies plague 'em,
They had too fair an end to dye like Souldiers,
_Pompey_ fell by the Sword, the Cross or Halter
Should have dispatch'd them.
_Caes._ All is but death, good _Sceva_,
Be therefore satisfied: and now my dearest,
Look upon _Caesar_, as he still appear'd
A Conquerour, and this unfortunate King
Entomb'd with honour, we'll to _Rome_, where _Caesar_
Will shew he can give Kingdoms; for the Senate,
(Thy Brother dead) shall willingly decree
The Crown of _Egypt_ (that was his) to thee. [_Exeunt omnes._
PROLOGUE.
_New Titles warrant not a Play for new,_
_The Subject being old; and 'tis as true,_
_Fresh and neat matter may with ease be fram'd_
_Out of their Stories, that have oft been nam'd_
_With glory on the Stage; what borrows he_
_From him that wrote old_ Priam's _Tragedy,_
_That writes his love to_ Hecuba? _Sure to tell_
_Of_ Caesars _amorous heats, and how he fell_
_In the Capitol, can never be the same_
_To the Judicious; Nor will such blame_
_Those who pen'd this, for Barrenness when they find_
_Young_ Cleopatra _here, and her great Mind_
_Expressed to the height, with us a Maid, and free,_
_And how he rated her Virginitie.
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