_Ptol._ We will do all.
_Caes._ You have rob'd him of those tears
His Kindred and his Friends kept sacred for him;
The Virgins of their Funeral Lamentations:
And that kind Earth that thought to cover him,
(His Countries Earth) will cry out 'gainst your Cruelty,
And weep unto the Ocean for revenge,
Till _Nilus_ raise his seven heads and devour ye;
My grief has stopt the rest: when _Pompey_ liv'd
He us'd you nobly, now he is dead use him so. [_Exit._
_Ptol._ Now, where's your confidence? your aim (_Photinus_)
The Oracles, and fair Favours from the Conquerour
You rung into mine Ears? how stand I now?
You see the tempest of his stern displeasure,
The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
To stop his Rage, presaging a full ruine;
Where are your Counsels now?
_Acho._ I told you, Sir,
(And told the truth) what danger would flye after;
And though an Enemy, I satisfied you
He was a _Roman_, and the top of Honour;
And howsoever this might please Great _Caesar_,
I told ye that the foulness of his Death,
The impious baseness--
_Pho._ Peace, you are a Fool,
Men of deep ends must tread as deep ways to 'em;
_Caesar_ 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.
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