The powers above, and those below against me:
Command me, I will on.

_Pho._ When I have use,
I'le put you to the test.

_Sep._ May it be speedy,
And something worth my danger: you are cold,
And know not your own powers: this brow was fashion'd
To wear a Kingly wreath, and your grave judgment,
Given to dispose of monarchies, not to govern
A childs affairs, the peoples eye's upon you,
The Souldier courts you: will you wear a garment
Of sordid loyalty when 'tis out of fashion?

_Pho._ When _Pompey_ was thy General, _Septimius_,
Thou saidst as much to him.

_Sep._ All my love to him,
To _Cæsar_, _Rome_, and the whole world is lost
In the Ocean of your Bounties: I have no friend,
Project, design, or Countrey, but your favour,
Which I'le preserve at any rate.

_Pho._ No more;
When I call on you, fall not off: perhaps
Sooner than you expect, I may employ you,
So leave me for a while.

_Sep._ Ever your Creature. [_Exit._