_Achil._ He's well wrought: put him on apace for cooling.
[_Exeunt._
_ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Caesar, Antony, Dolabella.
_Ant._ The tumult still encreases.
_Caesar_. O my fortune!
My lustfull folly rather! but 'tis well,
And worthily I am made a bondsmans prey,
That after all my glorious victories,
In which I pass'd so many Seas of dangers,
When all the Elements conspir'd against me,
Would yield up the dominion of this head
To any mortal power: so blind and stupid,
To trust these base _Egyptians_, that proclaim'd
Their perjuries, in noble _Pompeys_ death,
And yet that could not warn me.
_Dol._ Be still _Caesar_,
Who ever lov'd to exercise his fate,
Where danger look't most dreadful.
_Ant._ If you fall,
Fall not alone: let the King and his Sister
Be buried in your ruines: on my life
They both are guilty: reason may assure you
_Photinus_ nor _Achillas_ durst attempt you,
Or shake one Dart, or sword, aim'd at your safety,
Without their warrant.
_Caesar_. For the young King I know not
How he may be misled; but for his Sister
(Unequall'd _Cleopatra_) 'twere a kind
Of blasphemy to doubt her: ugly treason
Durst never dwell in such a glorious building,
Nor can so clear and great a spirit, as hers is,
Admit of falsehood.
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