Cleo. Would I were prisoner To one I hate, that I might anger him, I will love any man, to break the heart of him: Any, that has the heart and will to kill him.
Ars. Take some fair truce.
Cleo. I will goe study mischief, And put a look on, arm’d with all my cunnings, Shall meet him like a Basilisque, and strike him: Love, put destroying flames into mine eyes, Into my smiles, deceits, that I may torture him, That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him.
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.
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—
Ap. He enters.
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?