ACT I. SCENE, The Temple of Isis.
Enter Serapion, Myris, [and] Priests of Isis.
Serapion. Portents and prodigies are grown so
frequent
That they have lost their name. Our fruitful
Nile
Flow'd ere the wonted season, with a torrent
So unexpected and so wondrous fierce,
That the wild deluge overtook the haste
Ev'n of the hinds that watch'd it: men and
Were born above the tops of trees that grew
On th❜utmost margin of the water-mark.
Then with so swift an ebb the floud drove back-
ward,
It slipt from underneath the scaly herd;
Here monstrous phocæ panted on the shore;
Forsaken dolphins there, with their broad tails,
Lay lashing the departing waves; hard by 'em,
Sea-horses floundring in the slimy mud,
Toss'd up their heads, and dashed the ooze
about 'em.
Enter Alexas behind them.
Myris. Avert these omens, Heav'n!
Serap. Last night, between the hours of twelve and one,
In a lone isle o'th' temple while I walk'd,
A whirl-wind rose, that with a violent blast
Shook all the dome: the doors around me clapt; 20
The iron wicket that defends the vault
Where the long race of Ptolomies is laid,
Burst open, and disclos'd the mighty dead.
From out each monument, in order plac'd,
An armed ghost start up: the boy-king last
Rear'd his inglorious head. A peal of groans
Then follow'd, and a lamentable voice
Cry'd, "Egypt is no more." My blood ran back;
My shaking knees against each other knock'd;
On the cold pavement down I fell intranc'd,
And so unfinish'd left the horrid scene.
Alexas (showing himself). And dream'd you
this? or did invent the story,
To frighten our Ægyptian boys withal,
And train 'em up betimes in fear of priesthood?
Serap. My lord, I saw you not,
Nor meant my words should reach your ears; but
Nor would the times now bear it, were it
All southern from yon hills, the Roman camp
Hangs o'er us black and threatning, like a storm
Just breaking on our heads.
Serap. Our faint Ægyptians pray for Antony; 45
But in their servile hearts they own Octavius.
Myr. Why then does Antony dream out his
hours,
And tempts not fortune for a noble day,
Which might redeem what Actium lost?
Alex. He thinks 'tis past recovery.
Serap.
Seems not to press the siege.
O, there's the wonder.
Mecenas and Agrippa, who can most
With Cæsar, are his foes. His wife Octavia,
Driv'n from his house, solicits her revenge;
And Dolabella, who was once his friend,
Upon some private grudge now seeks his ruine;
Yet still war seems on either side to sleep.
Serap. 'Tis strange that Antony for some dayes
past
Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra ;
But here in Isis temple lives retir'd,
And makes his heart a prey to black despair.
Alex. 'Tis true; and we much fear he hopes by absence
To cure his mind of love.
Or make his peace, Ægypt is doom'd to be
A Roman province; and our plenteous harvests 65
Must then redeem the scarceness of their soil.
While Antony stood firm, our Alexandria
Rival'd proud Rome (dominions other seat),
And Fortune, striding like a vast Colossus,
Cou'd fix an equal foot of empire here.
Alex. Had I my wish, these tyrants of all
Who lord it o'er mankind, should perish,-perish
Each by the others sword; but, since our will
Is lamely follow'd by our pow'r, we must
Depend on one, with him to rise or fall.
Serap. How stands the queen affected?
Alex.
O, she dotes,
She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquish'd man,
And winds her self about his mighty ruins;
Whom would she yet forsake, yet yield him up,
This hunted prey, to his pursuers hands,
She might preserve us all; but 'tis in vain -
This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels,
And makes me use all means to keep him here,
Whom I could wish divided from her arms,
Far as the earth's deep center. Well, you know
The state of things; no more of your ill omens
And black prognosticks; labour to confirm
The peoples hearts.
Enter Ventidius, talking aside with a Gentleman of
Serap. These Romans will o'rehear us.
But who's that stranger? By his warlike port,
His fierce demeanor, and erected look,
He's of no vulgar note.
Our emp'ror's great lieutenant in the East, Who first show'd Rome that Parthia could be conquer❜d.
When Antony return'd from Syria last,
He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers. 95
Serap. You seem to know him well.
Alex. Too well. I saw him in Cilicia first,
When Cleopatra there met Antony;
A mortal foe he was to us, and Ægypt.
But, let me witness to the worth I hate,
A braver Roman never drew a sword.
|