_Pro._ He's dead indeed, And I am glad he's gone; he was a Devil: His body, if his Eunuchs come, is theirs; The Emperour out of his love to vertue, Has given 'em that: Let no man stop their entrance. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Phidias, _and_ Aretus. _Phi._ O my most noble Lord, look here _Aretus_, Here's a sad sight. _Aret._ O cruelty! O _Cæsar_! O times that bring forth nothing but destruction, And over[fl]ows of bloud: why wast thou kill'd? Is it to be a just man now again, As when _Tiberius_ and wild _Nero_ reign'd, Only assurance of his over throw? _Phi[d]._ It is _Aretus_: he that would live now, Must like the Toad, feed only on corruptions, And grow with those to greatness: honest vertue, And the true _Roman_ honour, faith and valour That have been all the riches of the Empire, Now like the fearfull tokens of the Plague, Are meer fore-runners of their ends that owe 'em. _Are._ Never enough lamented Lord: dear Master-- _Enter_ Maximus. Of whom now shall we learn to live like men? From whom draw out our actions just, and worthy? Oh thou art gone, and gone with thee all goodness, The great example of all equitie, O thou alone a _Roman_, thou art perish'd, Faith, fortitude, and constant nobleness, Weep _Rome_, weep _Italy_, weep all that knew him, And you that fear'd him as a noble Foe, (If Enemies have honourable tears) Weep this decay'd _Æcius_ faln, and scattered-- By foul, and base suggestion. _Ph[i]._ O Lord _Maximus_, This was your worthy friend. _Max._ The gods forgive me: Think not the worse my friends, I shed not tears, Great griefs lament within; yet now I have found 'em: Would I had never known the world, nor women, Nor what that cursed name of honour was, So this were once again _Æcius_: But I am destin'd to a mighty action, And begg my pardon friend, my vengeance taken, I will not be long from thee: ye have a great loss, But bear it patiently, yet to say truth In justice 'tis not sufferable: I am next, And were it now, I would be glad on't: friends, Who shall preserve you now? _Are._ Nay we are lost too. _Max._ I fear ye are, for likely such as love The man that's faln, and have been nourish'd by him, Do not stay long behind: 'Tis held no wisdom. I know what I must do. O my _Æcius_, Canst thou thus perish, pluckt up by the roots, And no man feel thy worthiness? From boys He bred you both I think. _Phi._ And from the poorest. _Max._ And lov'd ye as his own. _Are._ We found it Sir. _Max._ Is not this a loss then? _Phi._ O, a loss of losses; Our lives, and ruines of our families, The utter being nothing of our names, Were nothing near it. _Max._ As I take it too, He put ye to the Emperour. _Are._ He did so.