_Pon._ A farewel: Good noble General your hand, forgive me, And think what ever was displeasing you, Was none of mine: ye cannot live. _Aeci._ I will not: Yet one word more. _Pon._ Dye nobly: _Rome_ farewel: And _Valentinian_ fall, thou hast broke thy Basis. In joy ye have given me a quiet death, I would strike more wounds, if I had more breath-- [_He dyes._ _Aeci._ Is there an hour of goodness beyond this? Or any man would out-live such a dying? Would _Cæsar_ double all my honours on me, And stick me o're with favours, like a Mistris; Yet would I grow to this man: I have loved, But never doated on a face till now: O death thou art more than beautie, and thy pleasure Beyond posterity: Come friends and kill me; _Cæsar_ be kind, and send a thousand swords, The more, the greater is my fall: why stay ye? Come, and I'le kiss your weapons: fear me not, By all the gods I'le honour ye for killing: Appear, or through the Court, and world, I'le search ye: My sword is gone; ye are Traitors if ye spare me, And _Cæsar_ must consume ye: all base cowards? I'le follow ye, and e're I dye proclaim ye The weeds of _Italy_; the dross of nature-- Where are ye, villains, traytors, slaves.-- [_Exit._ _Enter_ Proculus, _and 3 others running over the Stage_. _Pro._ I knew H'ad kill'd the Captain. _1._ Here's his sword. _Pro._ Let it alone, 'twill fight it self else; friends, An hundred men are not enough to do it, I'le to the Emperour, and get more aid. _Aeci._ None strike a poor condemned man? _Pro._ He is mad: Shift for your selves my Masters.-- [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Æcius. _Æcius._ Then _Æcius_, See what thou darst thy self; hold my good sword, Thou hast been kept from bloud too long, I'le kiss thee, For thou art more then friend now, my preserver, Shew me the way to happiness, I seek it: And all you great ones, that have faln as I do, To keep your memories, and honours living, Be present in your vertues, and assist me, That like strong _Cato_, I may put away All promises, but what shall crown my ashes; _Rome_, fare thee well: stand long, and know to conquer Whilst there is people, and ambition: Now for a stroak shall turn me to a Star: I come ye blessed spirits, make me room To live for ever in _Elyzium_: Do men fear this? O that posterity Could learn from him but this, that loves his wound, There is no pain at all in dying well, Nor none are lost, but those that make their hell-- [_Kills himself._ _Enter_ Proculus, _and two others_. 1 _Within._ He's dead, draw in the Guard again.