_Aur._ Be speedie in your work, (you will be stopt else) And then you are an Emperour. _Max._ I will about it. _Dio._ My Royal Cousin, how I joy to see ye, You, and your Royal Emperess! _Max._ You are too kinde, Sir. I come not to eat with ye, and to surfeit In these poor Clownish pleasures; but to tell ye I look upon ye like my Winding-sheet, The Coffin of my Greatness, nay, my Grave: For whilst you are alive-- _Dio._ Alive, my Cousin? _Max._ I say, Alive. I am no Emperour; I am nothing but mine own disquiet. _Dio._ Stay, Sir. _Max._ I cannot stay. The Souldiers doat upon ye. I would fain spare ye; but mine own securitie Compels me to forget you are my Uncle, Compels me to forget you made me _Cæsar_: For whilst you are remembred, I am buried. _Dio._ Did not I make ye Emperour, dear [C]ousin, The free gift from my special grace? _Del._ Fear nothing. _Dio._ Did not I chuse this povertie, to raise you? That Royal woman gave into your arms too? Bless'd ye with her bright beautie? gave the Souldiers, The Souldier that hung to me, fix'd him on ye? Gave ye the worlds command? _Max._ This cannot help ye. _Dio._ Yet this shall ease me. Can ye be so base, Cousin, So far from Nobleness, so far from nature, As to forget all this? to tread this Tie out? Raise to your self so foul a monument That every common foot shall kick asunder? Must my blood glue ye to your peace? _Max._ It must, Uncle; I stand too loose else, and my foot too feeble: You gone once, and their love retir'd, I am rooted. _Dio._ And cannot this remov'd poor State obscure me? I do not seek for yours, nor enquire ambitiously After your growing fortunes. Take heed, my kinsman, Ungratefulness and blood mingled together, Will, like two furious Tides-- _Max._ I must sail thorow 'em: Let 'em be Tides of death, Sir, I must stem up. _Dio._ Hear but this last, and wisely yet consider: Place round about my Grange a Garison, That if I offer to exceed my limits, Or ever in my common talk name Emperour, Ever converse with any greedy Souldier, Or look for adoration, nay, for courtesie Above the days salute.--Think who has fed ye, Think, Cousin, who I am. Do ye slight my misery? Nay, then I charge thee; nay, I meet thy crueltie. _Max._ This cannot serve; prepare: now fall on, souldiers, And all the treasure that I have. [_Thunder and Lightning._ _Sould._ The Earth shakes; We totter up and down; we cannot stand, Sir; Me thinks the mountains tremble too. _2 Sould._ The flashes How thick and hot they come? we shall be burn'd all. _Del._ Fall on, Souldiers: You that sell innocent blood, fall on full bravely. _Sould._ We cannot stir. _Del._ You have your libertie, So have you, Lady. One of you come do it.