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. 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.
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
That set me on; And he comes, now Fortune.
Pho. Caesars 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.