Caes. Who’s this? the Dog, Septimius?

  Ant. Cut his throat.

  Dol. You bark’d but now, fawn you so soon?

  Sept. O hear me,
  What I’ll deliver is for Caesars safety,
  For all your good.

  Ant. Good from a mouth like thine,
  That never belch’d but blasphemy, and treason on Festival days!

  Sept. I am an altered man, altered indeed,
  And will give you cause to say I am a Roman.

  Dol. Rogue, I grant thee.

  Sept. Trust me, I’ll make the passage smooth, and easie
  For your escape.

  Ant. I’ll trust the Devil sooner,
  And make a safer Bargain.

  Sept. I am trusted
  With all Photinus’s secrets.

  Ant. There’s no doubt then
  Thou wilt be false.

  Sept. Still to be true to you.

  Dol. And very likely.

  Caes. Be brief, the means?

Sept. Thus, Caesar, To me alone, but bound by terrible oaths Not to discover it, he hath reveal’d A dismal Vault, whose dreadful mouth does open A mile beyond the City:  in this Cave Lye but two hours conceal’d.

  Ant. If you believe him,
  He’ll bury us alive.

  Dol. I’ll flye in the Air first.

Sept. Then in the dead of night I’ll bring you back Into a private room, where you shall find Photinus, and Achillas, and the rest Of their Commanders close at Council.

  Caes. Good, what follows?

  Sept. Fall me fairly on their throats,
  Their heads cut off and shorn, the multitude
  Will easily disperse.

Caes. O Devil! away with him; Nor true to Friend nor Enemy? Caesar scorns To find his safety, or revenge his wrongs So base a way; or owe the means of life To such a leprous Traytor, I have towr’d For Victory like a Faulcon in the Clouds, Nor dig’d for’t like a Mole; our Swords and Cause Make way for us, and that it may appear We took a noble Course, and hate base Treason, Some Souldiers that would merit Caesar’s favour, Hang him on yonder Turret, and then follow The lane this Sword makes for you. [Exit.

  1 Sold. Here’s a Belt,
  Though I dye for it I’ll use it.

  2 Sold. ’Tis too good
  To truss a Cur in.

  Sept. Save me, here’s Gold.

  1 Sold. If Rome
  Were offered for thy ransom, it could not help thee.

  2 Sold. Hang not an arse.

  1 Sold. Goad him on with thy Sword;
  Thou dost deserve a worser end, and may
  All such conclude so, that their friends betray. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.