_2 Sold._ That we may ever thank. _Sep._ Why, call me any thing, No matter for my name, that may betray me. _Sce._ A cunning thief, call him _Septimius_, Souldiers, The villain that kill'd _Pompey_. _All_. How? _Sce._ Call him the shame of men. [_Exit._ _1 Sold._ O that this mony Were weight enough to break thy brains out: fling all: And fling our curses next: let them be mortal, Out bloody wolf, dost thou come guilded over, And painted with thy charitie, to poyson us? _2 Sold._ I know him now: may never Father own thee, But as a monstrous birth shun thy base memory: And if thou hadst a Mother (as I cannot Believe thou wert a natural Burden) let her womb Be curs'd of women for a bed of vipers. _3 Sol._ Me thinks the ground shakes to devour this rascal, And the kind air turns into foggs and vapours, Infectious mists, to crown his villanies. Thou maist go wander, like a thing heaven hated. _1 Sold._ And valiant minds hold poysonous to remember. The Hangman will not keep thee company, He has an honourable house to thine, No, not a thief though thou couldst save his life for't Will eat thy bread, nor one, for thirst starv'd, drink with thee. _2 Sol._ Thou art no company for an honest dog, And so we'l leave thee to a ditch (thy destiny.) [_Exeunt._ _Sep._ Contemn'd of all? and kickt too? now I find it; My valour's fled too, with mine honesty, For since I would be knave I must be Coward: This 'tis to be a Traitor, and betrayer. What a deformity dwells round about me! How monstrous shews that man, that is ungratefull! I am afraid the very beasts will tear me, Inspir'd with what I have done: the winds will blast me: Now I am paid, and my reward dwells in me, The wages of my fact, my soul's opprest; Honest and noble minds, you find most rest. [_Exit._ SCENA III. _Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus, Achillas. _Ptol._ I have commanded, and it shall be so, A preparation I have set o' foot, Worthy the friendship and the fame of _Cæsar_, My Sisters favours shall seem poor and wither'd: Nay she her self, (trim'd up in all her beautys) Compar'd to what I'le take his eyes withall, Shall be a dream. _Pho._ Do you mean to shew the glory, And wealth of _Egypt_? _Ptol._ Yes: and in that lustre, _Rome_ shall appear in all her famous Conquests, And all her riches of no note unto it. _Ach._ Now you are reconcil'd to your fair Sister, Take heed Sir, how you step into a danger: A danger of this precipice: but note Sir, For what _Rome_ ever rais'd her mighty armies; First for ambition, then for wealth: 'tis madness, Nay more, a secure impotence, to tempt An armed Guest: feed not an eye, that conquers, Nor teach a fortunate sword the way to be covetous.