l I haue liued till to that height I came,
That all the world did tremble at my name,
My greatnesse then by fortune being enuied,
Stabd by a murtherous villaynes hand I died.
_Ach._ What is he dead, then straight cut of his head,
That whilom mounted with ambitions wings: 750
_Caesar_ no doubt with praise and noble thanks,
Regarding well this well deserued deede,
Whome weele present with this most pleasing gift,
_Sem._ Loe you my maisters, hee that kills but one,
Is straight a Villaine and a murtherer cald,
But they that vse to kill men by the great,
And thousandes slay through their ambition,
They are braue champions, and stout warriors cald,
Tis like that he that steales a rotten sheepe
That in a dich would else haue cast his hide, 760
He for his labour hath the haltars hier.
But Kings and mighty Princes of the world,
By letter pattens rob both Sea and Land.
Do not then _Pompey_ of thy murther plaine,
Since thy ambition halfe the world hath slayne.

ACTVS 2. SCENA. 2. {SN _Act II sc. ii_}

_Enter Cornelia._

_Corne._ O traterous villaines, hold your murthering hands,
Or if that needes they must be washt in blood,
Imbrue them heere, heere in _Cornelias_ brest. 770
Ay mee as I stood looking from the Ship
(Accursed shippe that did not sinke and drowne:
And so haue sau'd me from so loath'd a sight)
Thee to behold what did betide my Lord,
My _Pompey_ deere (nor _Pompey_ now nor Lord)
I sawe those villaines that but now were heere:
Bucher my loue and then with violence,
To drawe his deare beloued Body hence;
What dost thou stand to play the Oratrix,
And tell a tale of thy deere husbands death? 780
Doth _Pompey_, doth thy loue moue thee no more?
Go cursed _Cornelia_ rent thy wretched haire,
Drowne blobred cheekes in seas of saltest teares.
And if, it be true that sorrowes feeling powre,
Could turne poore _Niobe_ into a weeping stone
O let mee weepe a like, and like stone be,
And you poore lights, that sawe this tragick sight,
Be blind and punnish'd with eternall night.
Vnhappy long to speake, bee neare so bould
Since that thou this so heauy tale hast tould. 790
These are but womanish exclamations
Light sorrowe makes such lamentati