item: #1 of 29 id: A34585 author: Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687. title: Pompey the Great a tragedy as it was acted by the servants of His Royal Highness the Duke of York / translated out of French by certain persons of honour. date: 1664.0 words: 204915 flesch: -374 summary: xml:id=A34585-024-b-2000>Cornel. AM I awake , or does some Dream obtrude These borrow'd Shapes my Fancy to delude ? Eyes may I trust you ? do I Philip see , Or my Fond wishes make me think is he ? To my Dead Lord , are his last Honours paid , And in this Urn his Noble Ashes laid ? Sad , but dear Object , though thou hast possest With restless Passions my afflicted Breast , Expect no Tears , ( our feebler Sexes arms ) My Cares have no Divertion by those Charms , They whose weak Grief has leisure to Complain , May hope that way t' Extenuate their pain ; But all the Gods to witness here I call , These Ashes too , which are above them all ▪ With me , is just , this Heart they rule alone , To which such Tyrants all the rest are grown . By you then Sacred Reliques here I Vow ( The Highest powers I acknowledge now ) To let no Time , nor other Mean abate My just Revenge , and too well grounded Hate ; Thy Pompey , Rome , by Aegypts King betraid , To Caesar here a Sacrifice was made , And I thy Walls will never see again , Till Priest and God be on his Altar slain . And you dear Ashes aid my just design , Imprint it deep within this Breast of mine , And in each Heart , of what I feel , inspire The like at least , if not so great desire . But tell me Philip , by what happy way Could'st thou this Duty to thy Master pay ? To thy Assistance what good Angel came , Helping to Light the Poor but Pious Flame ? Cornel. Alas , is no intolerable pain They feel , who for a Rivals loss complain ; Well may he spend a Sigh upon this Urn , Whose restless fears to softer pity turn ; Well may he run to his Revenge with haste , When his own Danger spurrs him on as fast , Since the Concern he puts on for our Fate , Both gains him Glory , and secures his State : ●ut Caesar's Noble , nor will I suspect What Grief and Envy justly might Object . His Rivals Death has ended all their strife , And this false King conspires against his Life ; His peril Arms him now , and all that done On Honours score must not Consus'dly run ; Love too ingag'd , and Cleopatra draws The Sword that seems to favour Pompeys cause ; So many Interests in this Action joyn , I need not think , that he considers mine ; Yet I perswade my Self he Fights for me , Because I do no less , if I were he , For noble Minds must on themselves reflect , Their guess at others Meaning to direct .

Scene the Second . Cleopatra , Cornelia , Philip , Charmion .