(SCENE 6.)


_Enter Scevinus, Milichus_.

_Scevin_. O _Troy_ and O yee soules of our forefathers
Which in your countreys fires were offered up,
How neere your Nephews[59] to your fortunes come.
Yet they were _Grecian_ hands began your flame;
But that our Temples and our houses smoake,
Our Marble buildings turne to be our Tombes,
Burnt bones and spurnt at Courses fill the streets,
Not _Pirrhus_ nor thou, _Hanniball_, art Author:
Sad _Rome_ is ruin'd by a _Romane_ hand.
But if to _Neroes_ end this onely way
Heavens Justice hath chose out, and peoples love
Could not but by these feebling ills be mov'd,
We doe not then at all complaine; our harmes
On this condition please us; let us die
And cloy the _Parthian_ with revenge and pitie.

_Mili_. My Master hath seald up his Testament;
Those bond-men which he liketh best set free;
Given money, and more liberally then he us'd.
And now, as if a farewell to the world
Were meant, a sumpteous banquet hath he made;
Yet not with countenance that feasters use,
But cheeres his friends the whilest himselfe lookes sad.

_Scevin_. I have from Fortunes Temple[60] tane this sword;