No More Learning

_ O happy ghosts
Of those that fell in the last fatal fight,
And lived not to survive their country's loss!
Base as I was, I should have fallen there too;
But first have raised a mountain of the dead,
To choke their way to Sparta.

_Panth. _ Thus I knew
Your blood would boil, and therefore I delayed
So long to tell you Cœnus was arrived.

_Cleom. _ Go,
My mother, my Cleora, and my boy.
[_Stroking_ CLEON.
Your ears would be polluted with such ills,
Which I must try to mollify, before
They reach your tender hearing.

_Cleor. _ I obey you.
But let not grief disorder you too much
For what you lost.
For me, while I have you, and you are kind,
I ask no more of heaven.

_Cleon. _ I go too,
Because my king and father bids me go;
Else, I have sternness in my soul enough
To hear of murders, rapes, and sacrilege:
For those are soldiers' work; and I would hear them,
To spur me to revenge.
[_Exeunt_ CRAT. CLEORA, _and_ CLEON.

_Panth. _ He's here already;
Now bear it like yourself.

_Cleom. _ I'm armed against it.

_Enter_ CŒNUS; _salutes_ CLEOMENES.

_Cœn. _ I heard, sir, you were refuged in this court,
And come to beg a favour.

_Cleom. _ Good; a favour!
Sure, thou mistakest me for a king of Egypt,
And think'st I govern here?

_Cœn. _ You're Cleomenes.

_Cleom. _ No thanks to heaven for that. I should have died,
And then I had not been this Cleomenes.

_Panth. _ You promised patience, sir.

_Cleom. _ Thou art a scurvy monitor; I am patient:
Do I foam at lips,
Or stare at eyes? Methinks, I am wondrous patient:
Now, thou shalt see how I can swallow gall. --
I pr'ythee, gentle Cœnus, tell the story [_Speaking softly. _
Of ruined Sparta; leave no circumstance
Untold, of all their woes; and I will hear thee,
As unconcerned, as if thou toldst a tale
Of ruined Troy. I pr'ythee, tell us how
The victors robbed the shrines, polluted temples,
Ransacked each wealthy house:--No, spare me that;
Poor honest Sparta had no wealth to lose.
But [_Raises his voice. _] when thou com'st to tell of matrons ravished,
And virgins forced, then raise thy voice,
And let me hear their howlings,
And dreadful shrieks, as in the act of rape.

_Panth. _ Again you are distempered.

_Cleom. _ [_Softly. _] Peace! I am not.
I was but teaching him to grace his tale
With decent horror.

_Cœn. _ Your sick imagination feigns all this:
Now hear a truth, and wonder.

_Cleom. _ Has not the conqueror been at Sparta?

_Cœn. _ Yes.

_Cleom. _ Nay, then I know what follows victory.

_Panth. _ You interrupt, as if you would not know.

_Cœn. _ Then,--if you will imagine,--think some king,
Who loved his people, took a peaceful progress
To some far distant place of his dominions;
Smiled on his subjects, as he rode in triumph,
And strewed his plenty, wheresoe'er he passed.
Nay, raise your thoughts yet higher;--think some deity,
Some better Ceres, drawn along the sky
By gentle dragons, scattered, as she flew,
Her fruitful grains upon the teeming ground,
And bade new harvests rise.

_Cleom. _ Do we dream, Pantheus?

_Panth. _ No, sure; we are awake: but 'tis he, dreams.

_Cœn. _ The soldiers marched, as in procession, slow,
And entered Sparta like a choir of priests,
As if they feared to tread on holy ground.
No noise was heard; no voice, but of the crier,
Proclaiming peace and liberty to Sparta.
At that, a peal of loud applause rang out,
And thinned the air, till even the birds fell down
Upon the shouters' heads: the shops flew open,
And all the busy trades renewed their tasks:
No law was changed, no custom was controuled;
That had Lycurgus lived, or you returned,
So Sparta would have shown.

_Panth. _ If this be true,----

_Cleom. _ If this indeed be true,
Then farewell, Sparta.

_Cœn. _ Hear me out. --
He reaped no fruit of conquest but their blessings;
Nor staid three days in Sparta; summoned thence,
With sudden news, that a barbarian host
Was entered Macedonia,
And, like a mighty deluge rolling on,
Swept all before them. Thus alarmed, he left us;
Marched homeward; met, and fought them; nay, and lived
To say, the field is mine!

_Panth. _ Died of his wounds?

_Cœn. _ Not so; but, straining loud his feeble voice
To animate his soldiers, broke a vein,
And, in a purple vomit, poured his soul.

_Panth. _ O blessed, blessed Cœnus, for this happy news!
[_Embraces_ CŒNUS.

_Cleom. _ O, wretch! O, born to all misfortunes! cursed,
Cursed Cleomenes!

_Panth. _ How's this! --Are these the thanks you pay the gods,
Who freed your Sparta, and removed, by death,
Your only fatal foe?

_Cleom. _ O, blind Pantheus!
Canst thou not find, that, had I but deferred
Sellasia's fight three days, but three short days,
Fate then had fought my battle with Antigonus;
And I, not fighting, had been still a king?

_Panth. _ That's true; but that you knew not when you fought.

_Cleom. _ Why, therefore, once again cursed Cleomenes!
'Tis not to be endured,
That fate of empires, and the fall of kings,
Should turn on flying hours, and catch of moments.

_Panth. _ Now, by my soul, 'tis lazy wickedness,
To rail at heaven, and not to help yourself;
Heaven's but too kind, in offering you the means.
Your fate, once more, is laid upon the anvil;
Now pluck up all the Spartan in your soul,
Now stretch at every stroke, and hammer out
A new, and nobler fortune;
Else may the peaceful ground restore the dead,
And give up old Antigonus again.

_Cleom. _ I thank thee; thou hast added flame to fury.
The Spartan genius shall once more be roused;
Our household gods, that droop upon our hearths,
Each from his venerable face shall brush
The Macedonian soot, and shine again.

_Panth. _ Now you confess the Spartan.

_Cleom. _ Haste, Pantheus!
I struggle like the priestess with a god;
With that oppressing god, that works her soul.
Haste to Cleanthes, my Egyptian friend,
That only man that Egypt ever made;
He's my Lucina. Say, my friendship wants him,
To help me bring to light a manly birth;
Which to the wondering world I shall disclose,
Or, if he fail me, perish in my throes. [_Exeunt. _




ACT II. --SCENE I.


_Enter_ CLEOMENES, CLEANTHES, _and_ PANTHEUS.

_Cleom. _ The king sent for me, say'st thou, and to council!

_Clean. _ And I was coming to you, on that message,
Just when I met Pantheus.

_Panth. _ Good omen, sir, of some intended good.
Your fortune mends; she reconciles apace,
When Egypt makes the advances.

_Cleom. _ Rise a prophet! --
For since his father's death, this Ptolemy
Has minded me no more
Than boys their last year's gewgaws.
Petition on petition, prayer on prayer,
For aid, or free dismission, all unanswered,
As Cleomenes were not worth his thought;
Or he, that god, which Epicurus dreamt,
Disclaiming care, and lolling on a cloud.

_Panth. _ At length, it seems, it pleases him to wake.

_Clean. _ Yes, for himself, not you; he's drenched too deep,
To wake on any call, but his own danger.
My father, his wise pilot, has observed
The face of heaven, and sees a gathering storm;
I know not from what quarter; but it threatens,
And, while it threats, he wants such hands as yours;
But when 'tis o'er, the thoughtless king returns
To native sloth, shifts sides, and slumbers on.

_Panth. _ Sure, he'll remember to reward those hands,
That helped him from the plunge.

_Clean. _ You dream, Pantheus,
Of former times, when gratitude was virtue.
Reward him! Yes, like Æsop's snake the wretch,
That warmed him in his bosom. We are tools,
Vile abject things, created for his use,
As beasts for men; as oxen, draw the yoke.
And then are sacrificed.

_Cleom. _ I would not use him so.

_Clean. _ You are not Ptolemy;
Nor is he Cleomenes.

_Cleom. _ I'll press him home,
To give me my dispatch; few ships will serve
To bear my little band, and me, to Greece:
I will not ask him one of his Egyptians;
No, let him keep them all for slaves and stallions,
Fit only to beget their successors.

_Clean. _ Excepting one Egyptian,--that's myself.

_Cleom. _ Thou need'st not be excepted; thou art only
Misplanted in a base degenerate soil;
But Nature, when she made thee, meant a Spartan.

_Panth. _ Then if your father will but second us--

_Clean. _ I dare not promise for him, but I'll try.
He loves me: love and interest sometimes
May make a statesman honest.

_Cleom. _ For the king,
I know he'll not refuse us, for he dares not;
A coward is the kindest animal,
'Tis the most giving creature in a fright.

_Clean. _ Say the most promising, and there you hit him.

_Cleom. _ Well, I'll attack him on the shaking side,
That next his fearful heart.

_Enter_ CŒNUS.

_Cœn. _ I come to mind you of the late request,
You would not hear. Be pleased to engage this lord,
And then it may succeed.

_Cleom. _ What wouldst thou, Cœnus?

_Cœn. _ I brought along
Some horses of the best Thessalian breed,
High-spirited and strong, and made for war;
These I would sell the king.

_Cleom. _ Mistaken man!
Thou shouldst have brought him whores and catamites;
Such merchandise is fit for such a monarch.

_Clean. _ Wouldst thou bring horses here, to shame our men?
Those very words, of _spirited_ and _war_,
Are treason in our clime.

_Cleom. _ From the king downward, (if there be a downward,
From Ptolemy to any of his slaves,)
No true Egyptian ever knew in horses
The far side from the near.

_Clean. _ Cleomenes told thee true: Thou shouldst have brought
A soft pad strumpet for our monarch's use;
Though, thanked be hell, we want not one at home,--
Our master's mistress, she that governs all.
'Tis well, ye powers, ye made us but Egyptians:
You could not have imposed
On any other people such a load,
As an effeminate tyrant and a woman.

_Cleom. _ Sell me thy horses, and, at my return,
When I have got from conquered Greece the pelf
That noble Sparta scorns, I'll pay their value.

_Cœn. _ Just as you paid me for the fair estate
I sold you there. [_Aside. _

_Cleom. _ What's that you mutter?

_Cœn. _ Nothing: That's what his hopes are worth--
[_Aside. _ _Exit_ CŒNUS.

_Panth. _ I fear he's gone away dissatisfied.

_Clean. _ I'll make it up:--Those horses I present you;
You'll put them to the use that nature meant them.

_Cleom. _ I burden you too much.

_Clean. _ If you refuse, you burden me much more.
A trifle this:
A singing eunuch's price, a pandar's fee,
Exceeds this sum at court.
The king expects us.

_Cleom. _ Come after us, Pantheus,
And bring my boy Cleonidas along.
I'll shew his youth this base luxurious court,
Just as in sober Sparta we expose
Our drunken Helots; only with design
To wean our children from the vice of wine. [_Exeunt. _


SCENE II. --_The Apartment of_ CASSANDRA.

_Enter King_ PTOLEMY, SOSIBIUS, _with papers, after him_.

_Ptol. _ No more of business.

_Sosib. _ Sir, the council waits you.

_Ptol. _ Council! What's that? a pack of bearded slaves,
Grave faces, saucy tongues, and knavish hearts,
That never speak one word, but self's at bottom;
The scavengers that sweep state nuisances,
And are themselves the greatest--I'll no council.

_Sosib. _ Remember, you appointed them this day.

_Ptol. _ I had forgot 'twas my Cassandra's birth-day.

_Sosib. _ Your brother Magas grows more dangerous daily,
And has the soldiers' hearts.

_Ptol. _ I'll cut him off.

_Sosib. _ Not so soon done as said. The Spartan king
Was summoned for advice, and waits without.

_Ptol. _ His business is to wait.

_Sosib. _ Be pleased to sign these papers; they are all
Of great concern.

_Ptol. _ My pleasure is of more. --
How could I curse my name of Ptolemy!
For 'tis so long, it asks an hour to write it.
By Heaven, I'll change it into Jove or Mars,
Or any other civil monosyllable,
That will not tire my hand.

_Sosib. _ These are for common good. [_Shewing papers. _

_Ptol. _ I am glad of that;
Those shall be sure to wait.

_Sosib. _ Orders to pay the soldiers, ripe for mutiny;
They may revolt.

_Ptol. _ To whom?

_Sosib. _ The man you fear,--
Your brother Magas.

_Ptol. _ That's indeed the danger.
Give me the physic; let me swallow quick. --
There's Ptolemy for that: Now, not one more,
For every minute I expect Cassandra
To call me to the music.
If she should find me at this rare employment,
Of signing out her treasures!

_Sosib. _ The rest are only grants to her you love,
And places for her friends.

_Ptol. _ I'll sign them all, were every one a province.
Thou know'st her humour, not to brook denial;
And then a quarrel on her birth-day too
Would be of ill presage. [_Signs more papers. _

_Enter_ CASSANDRA _and Women_.

_Cas. _ I heard you waited; but you'll pardon me,
I was no sooner dressed.

_Ptol. _ Thus I begin my homage to the day [_Kisses her hand. _
That brought me forth a mistress; and am proud
To be your foremost slave.

_Cas. _ Our little entertainment waits; not worth
A longer ceremony; please to grace it?

_The Scene opens, and discovers_ CASSANDRA'S _Apartment.
Musicians and Dancers. _ PTOLEMY _leads in_ CASSANDRA; SOSIBIUS
_follows--They sit. Towards the end of the song and dance, enter_
CLEOMENES _and_ CLEANTHES _on one side of the stage, where they
stand_.


SONG.

_No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour,
Chuse to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravished eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her;
One tender sigh of hers to see me languish,
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:
Beware, O cruel fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours, that has undone me. _

_Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And she will end my pain, who did begin it;
Then no day void of bliss, of pleasure, leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:
Time and Death shall depart, and say, in flying,
Love has found out a way to live by dying. _

_Cleom. _ [_To_ CLEAN. ] Is this the council of the Egyptian king?
And am I called upon the grave debate,
To judge of trilling notes, and tripping feet?

_Clean. _ 'Tis of a piece with all the rest of Ptolemy;
A singing and a dancing government. --
O Egypt, Egypt! thou art grown the lees
Of all the world; the slime of thy own Nile.
Sure we had neither human sires, nor mothers;
The sun and Nile begot us: We're so cowardly,
And yet so proud; so many gods we have.
And yet not one! --

_Cleom. _ No more:--they seem to gaze on me with wonder.

_Clean. _ And well they may, to see a man in Egypt.
[_King_, CASSANDRA, _and_ SOSIBIUS,
_rise and come forward_.

_Ptol. _ Welcome, royal stranger!
Not only to my court, but to my bosom.

_Cleom. _ I heard you sent for me; but on what business
Am yet to learn.

_Ptol. _ The greatest in the world: to see the man,
Whom even his foes extol, his friends adore,
And all mankind admire.

_Cleom. _ Say rather, sir,
A man forsaken of his better stars,
A banished prince, the shadow of a king.

_Ptol. _ My father's friend.

_Cleom. _ I must not think so vainly of myself,
To be what you have said; lest it upbraid you,
To let your father's friend for three long months
Thus dance attendance for a word of audience.

_Cas. _ Now, by my soul, 'tis nobly urged: He speaks
As if he were in Sparta, on his throne;
Not asking aid, but granting.
How little looks our pageant prince to him!
This is the only king I ever saw. [_Aside. _

_Cleom. _ By all the gods, when I have stood repulsed,
Before your gates, and could not gain admittance,
I have not sighed so much for my own sorrows,
As I have blushed for your ungenerous usage.

_Clean. _ Not a word, Ptolemy? --
Ashamed, by all that's good, to be miscalled
A king, when this is present. [_Aside. _

_Cleom. _ Think you 'tis nothing
For me to beg; that I constrain my temper
To sue for aid, which you should first have offered?
Believe me, Ptolemy, a noble soul
Does much, that asks: He gives you power to oblige him.
Know, sir, there's a proud modesty in merit,
Averse from begging; and resolved to pay
Ten times the gift it asks.

_Ptol. _ I have been to blame;
And you have justly taxed my long neglect.
I am young, and am a lover; and how far
Fair eyes may make even kings forgetful, look,
And read my best excuse.

_Clean. _ O miracle! He blushes!
The first red virtue I have ever seen
Upon that face. [_Aside. _

_Cas. _ I am sorry, sir, you've made me your excuse;
As if I stood betwixt the good you meant,
And intercepted every royal grace.
Now, in my own defence, I must solicit
All his concerns, as mine:
And if my eyes have power, he should not sue
In vain, nor linger with a long delay.

_Ptol. _ Well! I'll consider.

_Cas. _ Say that word again,
And I'll consider too.

_Ptol. _ Pr'ythee be satisfied; he shall be aided,
Or I'll no more be king.

_Clean. _ When wert thou one! --For shame, for shame, ye gods,
That e'er you put it in a strumpet's power,
To do so good a deed! [_Aside. _

_Cleom. _ I am a Spartan, madam, scarce of words;
We have but just enough to speak our meaning.
Be thanked; that's all I could have said to Jove,
Had Jove, like you, restored me to my crown.

_Sosib. _ [_To_ CLEOM. ] The gods have given you, sir, the speedy means
To satisfy your debt of gratitude.

_Cleom. _ Oh, make me happy! tell me how this sword
(This and my heart are all that's left me now)
Can be employed to serve the crown of Egypt.

_Clean. _ Well said, father; thou art a true statesman.
So much for so much is the way at court. [_Aside. _

_Sosib. _ My king has in the camp a younger brother,
Valiant, they say, but very popular;
He gets too far into the soldiers' grace,
And inches out my master.

_Cleom. _ Is the king
Assured of this, by any overt-act,
Or any close conspiracy revealed?

_Ptol. _ He has it in his power to be a traitor;
And that's enough.

_Sosib. _ He has it in his will too;
Else, why this ostentation of his virtues,
His bounty, valour, and his temperance?
Why are they thus exposed to public view,
But as a Venus set beside a monster,
To make an odious comparison;
As if his brother wanted what he boasts?

_Ptol. _ What's to be done with him?

_Cas. _ There needs no more, I think, but to contrive,
With secrecy, and safety, to dispatch him.

_Clean. _ I thank thee, that thou hast not cozened me
In this advice; for two good deeds together
Had been too much in conscience for thy calling. [_Aside. _

_Ptol. _ He dies, that's out of doubt.

_Cleom. _ Your brother, sir!

_Ptol. _ Why do you ask that question?

_Cleom. _ Because I had a brother,
(Oh grief to say I had, and have not now! )
Wise, valiant, temperate; and, in short, a Spartan;
Had all the virtues, which your counsellor
Imputed to your brother as his crimes.
He loved me well; so well, he could but die,
To shew he loved me better than his life.
He lost it for me in Sellasia's field;
And went the greatest ghost of all our name,
That ever had a brother, or a king[42].

_Sosib. _ Wipe off the tears that stand upon your eyes;
Good nature works too far. Kings have no brothers,
What men call such, are rivals of their crowns;
Yours timed his death, so as to merit grief.
Who knows, but he laid in, by that last action,
The means to have betrayed you, had he lived?

_Cleom. _ I would say something; but I curb my passion,
Because thou art the father to my friend--
To you, sir, this: If you condemn your brother, [_To_ PTOL.
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 shew 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.

_Cas. _ I stand corrected, sir; he ought to live.

_Ptol. _ I think so too.

_Sosib. _ I do not wish his death,
Howe'er I seemed to give that rugged counsel.

_Clean. _ Well said again, father! Comply, comply;
Follow the sun, true shadow. [_Aside. _

_Sosib. _ I only wish my master may be safe;
But there are mercenaries in the army,
Three thousand Greeks, the flower of all our troops,
Like wolves indeed among Egyptian lambs;
If these revolt--(I do not say they will)
But if your brother please to take the crown,
And be not good enough to let you reign,
Those Greeks, where'er they go, will turn the scale.

_Ptol. _ What think you, Cleomenes?

_Cleom. _ He says true.

_Ptol. _ Then Magas must not live.