e 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 _Caesar_ 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?

_Enter_ Caesar, Anthony, Dolabella, Sceva.

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.

_Caesar_. Ha?

_Pho._ Do not shun me, _Caesar_,
From kingly _Ptolomy_ I bring this present,
The Crown, and sweat of thy _Pharsalian_ labour:
The goal and mark of high ambitious honour.
Before thy victory had no name, _Caesar_,
Thy travel and thy loss of blood, no recompence,
Thou dreamst of being worthy, and of war;
And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers,
Here they take life: here they inherit honour,
Grow fixt, and shoot up everlasting triumphs:
Take it, and look upon thy humble servant,
With noble eyes look on the Princely _Ptolomy_,
That offers with this head (most mighty _Caesar_)
What thou would'st once have given for it, all _Egypt_.

_Ach._ Nor do not question it (most royal Conquerour)
Nor dis-esteem the benefit that meets thee,
Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer:
Yet let me tell thee (most imperious _Caesar_)
Though he oppos'd no strength of Swords to win this,
Nor labour'd through no showres of darts, and lances:
Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
An inward war: he was his Grand-sires Guest;
Friend to his Father, and when he was expell'd
And beaten from this Kingdom by strong hand,
And had none left him, to restore his honour,
No hope to find a friend, in such a misery;
Then in stept _Pompey_; took his feeble fortune:
Strengthen'd, and cherish'd it, and set it right again,
This was a love to _Caesar_.

_Sceva._ Give me, hate, Gods.

_Pho._ This _Caesar_ may account a little wicked,
But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?
If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that way!
He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted,
Had been most terrible: let the worst be render'd,
We hav