_Pho._ Peace, you are a Fool, Men of deep ends must tread as deep ways to 'em; _Cæsar_ I know is pleas'd, and for all his sorrows (Which are put on for forms and meer dissemblings) I am confident he's glad; to have told ye so, And thank ye outwardly, had been too open, And taken from the Wisedom of a Conquerour. Be confident and proud ye have done this service; Ye have deserv'd, and ye will find it highly: Make bold use of this benefit, and be sure You keep your Sister, (the high-soul'd Cleopatra) Both close and short enough, she may not see him; The rest, if I may counsel, Sir-- _Ptol._ Do all; For in thy faithful service rests my safety. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ Septimius. _Sept._ Here's a strange alteration in the Court; Mens Faces are of other setts and motions, Their minds of subtler stuff; I pass by now As though I were a Rascal, no man knows me, No Eye looks after; as I were a Plague Their doors shut close against me; and I wondred at Because I have done a meritorious Murther; Because I have pleas'd the Time, does the Time plague me? I have known the day they would have hug'd me for it, For a less stroke than this have done me Reverence; Open'd their Hearts and secret Closets to me, Their Purses, and their Pleasures, and bid me wallow. I now perceive the great Thieves eat the less, And the huge Leviathans of Villany Sup up the merits, nay the men and all That do them service, and spowt 'em out again Into the air, as thin and unregarded As drops of Water that are lost i'th' Ocean: I was lov'd once for swearing, and for drinking, And for other principal Qualities that became me, Now a foolish unthankful Murther has undone me, If my Lord _Photinus_ be not merciful _Enter_ Photinus. That set me on; And he comes, now Fortune. _Pho._ Cæsars unthankfulness a little stirs me, A little frets my bloud; take heed, proud _Roman_, Provoke me not, stir not mine anger farther; I may find out a way unto thy life too, (Though arm'd in all thy Victories) and seize it. A Conquerour has a heart, and I may hit it. _Sept_. May it please your Lordship? _Pho._ O _Septimius_! _Sept._ Your [Lordship] knows my wrongs. _Pho._ Wrongs? _Sept._ Yes, my Lord, How the Captain of the Guard, _Achillas_, slights me. _Pho._ Think better of him, he has much befriended thee, Shew'd thee much love in taking the head from thee. The times are alter'd (Souldier) _Cæsar's_ angry, And our design to please him lost and perish'd; Be glad thou art unnam'd, 'tis not worth the owning; Yet, that thou maist be useful-- _Sept._ Yes, my Lord, I shall be ready. _Pho._ For I may employ thee To take a rub or two out of my way, As time shall serve, say that it be a Brother? Or a hard Father? _Sept._ 'Tis most necessary, A Mother, or a Sister, or whom you please, Sir. _Pho._ Or to betray a noble Friend? _Sept._ 'Tis all one.