_ When _Pompey_ was thy General, _Septimius_,
Thou saidst as much to him.
_Sep._ All my love to him,
To _Caesar_, _Rome_, and the whole world is lost
In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend,
Project, design, or Countrey, but your favour,
Which I'le preserve at any rate.
_Pho._ No more;
When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps
Sooner than you expect, I may employ you,
So leave me for a while.
_Sep._ Ever your Creature. [_Exit._
_Pho._ Good day _Achoreus_; my best friend _Achillas_,
Hath fame deliver'd yet no certain rumour
Of the great _Roman Action_?
_Achil._ That we are
To enquire, and learn of you Sir: whose grave care
For _Egypts_ happiness, and great _Ptolomies_ good,
Hath eyes and ears in all parts.
_Enter_ Ptolomy, Labienus, _Guard._
_Pho._ I'le not boast,
What my Intelligence costs me: but 'ere long
You shall know more. The King, with him a _Roman_.
_Ach._ The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
Dy'd deeply on his face.
_Achil._ 'Tis _Labienus_
_Caesars_ Lieutenant in the wars of _Gaul_,
And fortunate in all his undertakings:
But since these Civil jars he turn'd to _Pompey_,
And though he followed the better Cause
Not with the like success.
_Pho._ Such as are wise
Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise;
But more of that hereafter.
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