Sept. Yes, my Lord,
How the Captain of the Guard, Achillas, slights me.
Pho. Think better of him, he has much befriended thee, Shew’d thee much love in taking the head from thee. The times are alter’d (Souldier) Caesar’s angry, And our design to please him lost and perish’d; Be glad thou art unnam’d, ’tis not worth the owning; Yet, that thou maist be useful—
Sept. Yes, my Lord,
I shall be ready.
Pho. For I may employ thee To take a rub or two out of my way, As time shall serve, say that it be a Brother? Or a hard Father?
Sept. ’Tis most necessary,
A Mother, or a Sister, or whom you please, Sir.
Pho. Or to betray a noble Friend?
Sept. ’Tis all one.
Pho. I know thou wilt stir for Gold.
Sept. ’Tis all my motion.
Pho. There, take that for thy service,
I have greater business now.
Sept. I am still your own, Sir.
Pho. One thing I charge thee, see
me no more, Septimius,
Unless I send. [Exit.
Sept. I shall observe your hour. So, this brings something in the mouth, some savour; This is the Lord I serve, the Power I worship, My Friends, Allies, and here lies my Allegiance. Let People talk as they please of my rudeness, And shun me for my deed; bring but this to ’em, (Let me be damn’d for blood) yet still I am honourable, This God creates new tongues, and new affections; And though I had kill’d my Father, give me Gold I’ll make men swear I have done a pious Sacrifice; Now I will out-brave all; make all my Servants, And my brave deed shall be writ in Wine, for vertuous. [Exit.
Enter Caesar, Antony, Dolabella, Sceva.
Caes. Keep strong Guards, and with wary eyes (my friends) There is no trusting to these base Egyptians; They that are false to pious benefits, And make compell’d necessities their faiths Are Traitors to the gods.
Ant. We’ll call ashore
A Legion of the best.
Caes. Not a Man, Antony,
That were to shew our fears, and dim our greatness:
No, ’tis enough my Name’s ashore.
Sce. Too much too, A sleeping Caesar is enough to shake them; There are some two or three malicious Rascals Train’d up in Villany, besides that Cerberus That Roman Dog, that lick’d the blood of Pompey.
Dol. ’Tis strange, a Roman Souldier?
Sce. You are cozen’d, There be of us as be of all other Nations, Villains, and Knaves; ’tis not the name contains him, But the obedience; when that’s once forgotten, And Duty flung away, then welcome Devil. Photinus and Achillas, and this Vermine That’s now become a natural Crocodile Must be with care observ’d.
Ant. And ’tis well counsel’d
No Confidence, nor trust—