the field, 650
But cause I see that now the world is changd:
And like wise feele some of King _Ptolomeis_ gould.
Ile kill him were he twenty Generalls,
And send him packing to his longest home.
I maruell of what mettell was the _French_ man made.
Who when he should haue stabbed _Marius_,
They say he was astonished with his lookes.
_Marius_, had I beene there, thou neere hadst liu'd,
To brag thee of thy seauen Consulships.
_Achil._ Brauely resolu'd, Noble _Sempronius_, 660
The damnedst villaine that ere I heard speake:
But great men still must haue such instruments,
To bring about their purpose, which once donne,
The deede they loue, but do the doer hate:
Thou shalt no lesse (stout _Romaine_) be renown'd,
For being _Pompeys_ Deaths-man, then was he,
That fir'd the faire _AEgiptian_ Goddesse Church.
_Sem._ Nay that's al one, report say what she list,
Tis for no shadowes I aduenture for:
Heere are the Crownes, heere are the wordly goods, 670
This betweene Princes doth contention bring:
Brothers this sets at ods, turnes loue to hate;
It makes the Sonne to wish his Father hang'd
That he thereby might reuell with his bagges:
And did I knowe that in my Mothers womb,
There lurk'd a hidden vaine of Sacred gould,
This hand, this sword, should rape and rip it out.
_Achil._ Compassion would that greedinesse restraine.
_Sem._ I that's my fault, I am to compassionate,
Why man, art thou a souldier and dost talke 680
Of womanish pity and compassion?
Mens eyes must mil-stones drop, when fooles shed teares,
But soft heeres _Pompey_, Ile about my worke.

_Enter Pompey._

_Pom._ Trusting vpon King _Ptolomeys_ promis'd fayth,
And hoping succor, I am come to shore:
In _Egipt_ heere a while to make aboade.
_Sem._ Fayth longer _Pompey_ then thou dost expect.
_Pom._ See now worlds Monarchs, whom your state makes proud
That thinke your Honors to be permanent, 690
Of Fortunes change see heere a president,
Who whilom did command, now must intreate
And sue for that which to accept of late,
Vnto the giuer was thought fortunate.
_Sem._ I pray thee _Pompey_ do not spend thy breath,
In reckning vp these rusty titles now,
Which thy ambition grac'd t