Sep. 'Tis here, 'tis done, behold you fearfull viewers,

      Shake, and behold the model of the world here,

      The pride, and strength, look, look again, 'tis finish'd;

      That, that whole Armies, nay whole nations,

      Many and mighty Kings, have been struck blind at,

      And fled before, wing'd with their fears and terrours,

      That steel war waited on, and fortune courted,

      That high plum'd honour built up for her own;

      Behold that mightiness, behold that fierceness,

      Behold that child of war, with all his glories;

      By this poor hand made breathless, here (my Achillas)

      Egypt, and Cæsar, owe me for this service,

      And all the conquer'd Nations.

      Ach. Peace Septimius,

      Thy words sound more ungratefull than thy actions,

      Though sometimes safety seek an instrument

      Of thy unworthy nature, thou (loud boaster)

      Think not she is bound to love him too, that's barbarous.

      Why did not I, if this be meritorious,

      And binds the King unto me, and his bounties,

      Strike this rude stroke? I'le tell thee (thou poor Roman)

      It was a sacred head, I durst not heave at,

      Not heave a thought.

      Sep. It was.

      Ach. I'le tell thee truely,

      And if thou ever yet heard'st tell of honour,

      I'le make thee blush: It was thy General's;

      That mans that fed thee once, that mans that bred thee,

      The air thou breath'dst was his; the fire that warm'd thee,

      From his care kindled ever, nay, I'le show thee,

      (Because I'le make thee sensible of the business,

      And why a noble man durst not touch at it)

      There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy foot on

      But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion.

      He triumph'd three times, who durst touch his person?

      The very walls of Rome bow'd to his presence,

      Dear to the Gods he was, to them that fear'd him

      A fair and noble Enemy. Didst thou hate him?

      And for thy love to Cæsar, sought his ruine?

      Arm'd in the red Pharsalian fields, Septimius,

      Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,

      Where Kings were fair competitours for honour,

      Thou shouldst have come up to him, there have fought him,

      There, Sword to Sword.

      Sep. I kill'd him on commandment,

      If Kings commands be fair, when you all fainted,

      When none of you durst look—

      Ach. On deeds so barbarous,

      What hast thou got?

      Sep. The Kings love, and his bounty,

      The honour of the service, which though you rail at,

      Or a thousand envious souls fling their foams on me,

      Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:

      And I shall live.

      Ach. A miserable villain,

      What reputation, and reward belongs to it

      Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;

      And be not impudent to ask me why, Sirrah,

      Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes the reason:

      The shame and obloquy I leave thine own,

      Inherit those rewards, they are fitter for thee,

      Your oyl's spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.

      Sep. The King will yet consider.

      Achil. Here he comes Sir.

      Ach. Yet if it be undone: hear me great Sir,

      If this inhumane stroak be yet unstrucken,

      If that adored head be not yet sever'd

      From the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,

      The desolations that this great Eclipse works,

      You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire

      Upon the Tomb of him will shake all Egypt,

      Whose warlike groans will raise ten thousand Spirits,

      (Great as himself) in every hand a thunder;

      Destructions darting from their looks, and sorrows

      That easy womens eyes shall never empty.

      Pho. You have done well; and 'tis done, see Achillas,

      And in his hand the head.

      Ptol. Stay come no nearer,

      Me thinks I feel the very earth shake under me,

      I do remember him, he was my guardian,

      Appointed by the Senate to preserve me:

      What a full Majesty sits in his face yet?

      Pho. The King is troubled: be not frighted Sir,

      Be not abus'd with fears; his death was necessary,

      If you consider, Sir, most necessary,

      Not to be miss'd: and humbly thank great Isis,

      He came so opportunely to your hands;

      Pity must now give place to rules of safety.

      Is not victorious Cæsar new arriv'd,

      And enter'd Alexandria, with his friends,

      His Navy riding by to wait his charges?

      Did he not beat this Pompey, and pursu'd him?

      Was not this great man, his great enemy?

      This Godlike vertuous man, as people held him,

      But what fool dare be friend to flying vertue?

      I hear their Trumpets, 'tis too late to stagger,

      Give me the head, and be you confident:

      Hail Conquerour, and head of all the world,

      Now this head's off.

      Cæsar. Ha?

      Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar,

      From kingly Ptolomy I bring this present,

      The