No More Learning

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.

_Cleom. _ That does not follow.
Fear not those mercenaries: they are mine,
Devoted to my interest, commanded by my nod:
They are my limbs of war, and I their soul.
Were they in arms against you at your gates,
High in their rage, and fixed upon the spoil,
Should I say,--Hold! --nay, should I only frown,
They could not bear my eyes; but, awed and mastered,
Like lions to their keepers, would couch and fawn,
And disobey their hunger.

_Ptol. _ Wondrous man! [_Embraces him. _
How I admire thy virtue!

_Cas. _ And his genius.
Some are born kings,
Made up of three parts fire, so full of heaven,
It sparkles at their eyes. Inferior souls
Know them as soon as seen, by sure instinct,
To be their lords, and naturally worship
The secret god within them.

_Sosib. _ Sir, I humbly beg
A word in private. [_To_ PTOL.

_Ptol. _ Madam? --

_Cas. _ You may go.

_Sosib. _ Cleanthes, follow me.
[_Exeunt_ PTOL. SOSIB. CLEAN.

_Enter_ CLEONIDAS.

_Cleon. _ Pantheus brought me hither to attend you.

_Cleom. _ And thou art welcome; but thou comest too late.

_Cas. _ Your page of honour?

_Cleon. _ The mistake is easy in such a court as this,
Where princes look like pages.

_Cleom. _ 'Tis my son.

_Cas. _ I must have leave to love you, royal youth;
Above all nations I adore a Greek,
And of all Greeks a Spartan. [_Looking on_ CLEOM.

_Cleom. _ What he is,
And what I am, are owing to your favour.

_Cas. _ [_To_ CLEON. ] Shall I not be your mistress?
[_Looking on_ CLEOM.

_Cleon. _ No; for I would not get Egyptians.

_Cas. _ For what, sir, do you take us?

_Cleon. _ For what you are.
When the gods moulded up the paste of man,
Some of their dough was left upon their hands,
For want of souls; and so they made Egyptians.
They were intended for four feet; and when
They come to run before our noble Spartans,
They'll curse the gods for the two legs they owed them.

_Cas. _ Then, since you will not let me be your mistress,
Would I had been your mother! [_Looking still on_ CLEOM.

_Cleon. _ So would not I:
For then I had not been all Spartan.

_Cas. _ [_Aside. _] He answers not my glances, stupid man!
My tender looks, my languishing regards,
Are like mis-aiming arrows, lost in air,
And miss the flying prey.

[_While she walks_, CLEOM. _and_ CLEON. _are looking on a picture
hanging on the side of the Scenes. She takes out a pocket-glass,
and looks in it. _

These eyes, I thank the gods,
Are still the same. The diamonds are not dimmed,
Nor is their lustre lost in Ptolemy.
Small boast: Alas! Ptolemy has no soul;
'Tis what he wants I love in Cleomenes.
Perhaps he dares not think I would be loved;
Then must I make the advance, and, making, lose
The vast prerogative our sex enjoys,
Of being courted first. --Courted! To what?
To our own wishes: There's the point; but still,
To speak our wishes first;--forbid it, pride,
Forbid it, modesty! --True; they forbid it,
But nature does not. When we are athirst,
Or hungry, will imperious nature stay?
Not eat nor drink, before 'tis bid fall on? --
Well, sex, if this must be,
That I must not invite, I may at least be suffered
To lay some kind occasion in his way,
That, if he dare but speak, he may succeed.

[_She turns round to them, and observes what they are doing. _
CLEOM. _turns and meets her_; CLEON. _looks still on the picture_.

_Cleon. _ I durst not have presumed to interrupt
Your private thoughts.

_Cas. _ They wholly were employed in serving you.
But _durst not_, and _presume_, are words of fear;
I thought they were not in your Spartan tongue;
For my sake banish them.
On what were you so earnestly employed,
You would not look this way?

_Cleom. _ A picture, madam.

_Cas. _ View it again, 'tis worth a second sight;
Your son observes it still. --'Twere well to help
My lover's understanding. [_Goes with him to the Picture_.

Know you this piece, young prince?

_Cleon. _ Some battle, I believe; and in that thought,
I gaze with such delight.

_Cleom. _ Some rape, I guess.

_Cas. _ That's near the true design, and yet mistaken;
'Tis Paris, bearing from your Spartan shore
The beauteous Helen. How do you approve it?

_Cleom. _ Not in the least, for 'tis a scurvy piece.

_Cas. _ And yet 'tis known to be Apelles' hand.
The style is his; you grant he was a master.

_Cleom. _ 'Tis scurvy still, because it represents
A base dishonest act; to violate
All hospitable rites, to force away
His benefactor's wife:--Ungrateful villain!
And so the gods, the avenging gods have judged.

_Cleon. _ Was he a Spartan king that suffered this?
Sure he revenged the rape.

_Cleom. _ He did, my boy,
And slew the ravisher.

_Cas. _ Look better, sir; you'll find it was no rape.
Mark well that Helen in her lover's arms:
Can you not see, she but affects to strive?
She heaves not up her hands to heaven for help,
But hugs the kind companion of her flight.
See how her tender fingers strain his sides!
'Tis an embrace; a grasping of desire;
A very belt of love, that girds his waist.
She looks as if she did not fear to fall,
But only lose her lover, if she fell.
Observe her eyes; how slow they seem to roll
Their wishing looks, and languish on his face!
Observe the whole design, and you would swear,
She ravished Paris, and not Paris her.

_Cleom. _ Sparta has not to boast of such a woman;
Nor Troy to thank her, for her ill-placed love.

_Cas. _ But Paris had. As for the war that followed,
'Twas but a fable of a Grecian wit,
To raise the valour of his countrymen:
For Menelaus was an honest wretch;
A tame good man, that never durst resent;
A mere convenient husband, dull and slavish,
By nature meant the thing, the lovers made him.

_Cleom. _ His goodness aggravates their crime the more.
Had Menelaus used his Helen ill,
Had he been jealous, or distrusted both,
I would allow a grain or two for love,
And plead in their excuse.

_Cas. _ There was their safety, that he was not jealous.
What would you more of him? he was a fool,
And put the happy means into their hands.

_Cleom. _ I cannot much commend my countryman.

_Cas. _ Indeed, my lord, your countryman was dull,
That did not understand so plain a courtship.
Have Spartans eyes for nothing, not to see
So manifest a passion?

_Cleom. _ Yes, too well. -- [_Aside. _
Madam, your goodness interests you too much
In Helen's cause. I have no more to urge,
But that she was a wife: that word, a wife,
In spite of all your eloquence, condemns her.

_Cas. _ You argue justly; therefore 'twas a crime:
But, had she been a mistress, not a wife,
Her love had been a virtue, to forsake
The nauseous bed of a loathed fulsome king,
And fly into a sprightly lover's arms.
Her love had been a merit to her Paris,
To leave her country, and, what's more, her kingdom,
With a poor fugitive prince to sail away,
And bear her wealth along, to make him happy.

_Cleom. _ You put your picture in the fairest light:
But both the lovers broke their plighted vows;
He to Oenone, she to Menelaus.

_Cas. _ The gods, that made two fools, had done more justly,
To have matched Menelaus with Oenone.
Think better of my picture, it deserves
A second thought; it speaks; the Helen speaks.

_Cleon. _ It speaks Egyptian then; a base dishonest tongue.

_Cas. _ You are too young to understand her language. --
[_To_ CLEON.
Do not thank me, [_To_ CLEOM.
Till I have brought your business to perfection.
Doubt not my kindness; nothing shall be wanting
To make your voyage happy.