Observers of all kinds.

_Enter_ Photinus, _and_ Septimius.

_Ach._ No more of him,
He is not worth our thoughts: a Fugitive
From _Pompeys_ army: and now in a danger
When he should use his service.

_Achil._ See how he hangs
On great _Photinus_ Ear.

_Sep._ Hell, and the furies,
And all the plagues of darkness light upon me:
You are my god on earth: and let me have
Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter.

_Pho._ Thou art believ'd: dost thou want mony?

_Sep._ No Sir.

_Pho._ Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow
Thy vehement protestations.

_Sep._ You much wrong me;
How can I want, when your beams shine upon me,
Unless employment to express my zeal
To do your greatness service? do but think
A deed so dark, the Sun would blush to look on,
For which Man-kind would curse me, and arm all