Mercury. Such bargain-loves, as I with Phædra treat, Are all the leagues and friendships of the great: All seek their ends, and each would other cheat. They only seem to hate, and seem to love; But int'rest is the point on which they move. Their friends are foes; and foes are friends again; And, in their turns, are knaves, and honest men. Our iron age is grown an age of gold: 'Tis, who bids most: for all men would be sold.

CLEOMENES. 1691.

Cratesiclea. Is this well done, or like the king of Sparta, Or like my son, to waste your time in tears? What have you done, that you avoid mankind, And skulk in corners like a guilty slave?

Cleora. We have been seeking you, my dearest lord, Through all the shady walks and dark retreats

Of secret care; that false deluding friend,
That only soothes and keeps you company,
To prey upon your last remains of life.
Cleomenes. I've heard you-

true.

Crat. Hear her still; she tells you
This melancholy flatters, but unmans you.
What is it else, but penury of soul;
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind;
That locks up all the vigour to attempt,
By barely crying, 'tis impossible?

Cleom. My wife! my mother! O! I'm so divided, That I grieve most for both, and love both most;

[Sighs.

Two twining vines about this elm, whose fall
Must shortly, very shortly, crush you both:
And yet I will not go to ground,
Without a noble ruin round my trunk:

The forest shall be shaken when I sink,
And all the neighbouring trees

Shall groan, and fall beneath my vast destruction.

Cleom. I love to see him sparkle out betime,
For 'twas my flame that lighted up his soul:
I'm pleas'd with my own work; Jove was not more
With infant Nature, when his spacious hand

Had rounded this huge ball, of earth and seas,

To give it the first push, and see it roll

Along the vast abyss.

Cleom. Think you 'tis nothing,

For me, to beg? that I constrain my temper
To sue for aid, which you should first have offer'd?

Believe me, Ptolemy, a noble soul

Does much, that asks: he gives you pow'r t'oblige him. Know, sir, there's a proud modesty in merit,

Averse from begging; and resolv'd to pay

Ten times the gift it asks.

Cleom. To you, sir, this; if you condemn your brother,
Only because he's bounteous, great, and brave;
Know you condemn those virtues, own you want them.
Had you a thousand brothers, such as he,

You ought to show you are above them all,
By daring to reward, and cherish them,
As bucklers of your crown in time of war,
And in soft peace, the jewels that adorn it.

K

Cleom. Fear not those mercenaries: they are mine:
Devoted to my interest; commanded by my nod:
They are my limbs of war, and I their souls:
Were they in arms against you at your gates,
High in their
rage, and fix'd upon the spoil,

Should I say, hold, nay, should I only frown,

They could not bear my eyes, but aw'd and master'd,
Like lions to their keepers, couch and fawn,

And disobey their hunger.

Sosibius. The mistress drives my counsels to the leeward; Now I must edge upon a point of wind;

And make slow way, recov'ring more and more,
Till I can bring my vessel safe ashore.

Cassandra. Accurs'd be thou, grass-eating fodder'd god! Accurs'd thy temple! more accurs'd thy priests! The gods are theirs, not ours; and when we pray For happy omens, we their price must pay: In vain at shrines th' ungiving suppliant stands: This 'tis to make a vow with empty hands: Fat off'rings are the priesthood's only care; They take the money, and Heav'n hears the Without a bribe their oracles are mute, And their instructed gods refuse the suit.

prayer.

Crat. There's something more in this than what we guess;

Some secret anguish rolls within his breast,

That shakes him like an earthquake, which he presses,
And will not give it vent. I know him well;
He blushes, and would speak, and wants a voice;
And stares and gapes, like a forbidden ghost,
Till he be spoke to first.-

-Tell me, my son!

Cleom. Mother, I will-and yet I cannot neither. [Aside. Mother! that word has struck me dumb again:

For, how can I say mother, and propound
To leave her here behind, who gave me life?

Mother! and wife! and son! the names that nature

Most loves to speak, are banish'd from my mouth.

Cleor. Tell us, my love, the king has chang'd his mind, And has refus'd us leave; for we can bear it:

Egypt is Greece to me, while you are here.

Cleom. Oh I would speak! but, oh! you speak so kindly, That you forbid my speech: you call me love.

Cleor. Was that too kind a word?

Cleom. It was to me; I am a mere barbarian, A brute, a stock, for I have no relations,

Or shortly shall have none.

Cleor. Then we must die!

Cleon. We must; and welcome death!

Crat. To save his life.

Cleom. The gods forbid that you should die for me! No: you may live; but I must die thrice over: For I must leave you here, or must not go: These are the hard conditions offer'd me.

Crat. Then Egypt would have pledges: is this all? Cleom. Yes, and a mighty all: 'tis all I have:

But I propose it not; remember that.

Crat. I do: and therefore I propose it first,
To save this virtuous shame, this good confusion,
That would not let you speak.

Cleom. That such a spirit must be left behind,
Untaught, unfashion'd by a father's hands!
A spirit fit to start into an empire,

And look the world to law.

Crat. No more debating, for I see the pinch;
He must be left, and so must she, and I:
For we are but your softnesses, my son;

Th' incumbrances and luggage of the war:
Fight for
us, and redeem us, if you please;
For there we are your clogs of virtue, here
The spurs of your return.

Cleom. I thank you, mother;

Once more you have erected me to man,

And set me upright with my face to heaven!

The woman and the boy be yours awhile:

The war be mine alone!

Crat. There spoke the Spartan king: think not on us. Cleom. I wo'not.

Cleor. Not in prayers?

Cleon. In prayers! that's poor,

As if the gods were thoughtless of their work:
Think on us, when you fight; and when you make
A lusty stroke, cry out, That's for my boy.

Sosib. Observe the mounting billows of the main,
Blown by the winds into a raging storm:
Brush off those winds, and the high waves return
Into their quiet first created calm:

Such is the rage of busy blust'ring crowds,
Fomented by th' ambition of the great:
Cut off the causes, and th' effect will cease;
And all the moving madness fall to peace.

Cas. Hard state of lovers! subject to our laws!
Fools we must have, or else we cannot sway;
For none but fools will womankind obey.
If they prove stubborn and resist our will,
We exercise our pow'r, and use them ill.
The passive slave that whines, adores and dies,
Sometimes we pity; but we still despise.
But when we dote, the self-same fate we prove;
Fools at the best, but double fools in love.