Or a thousand envious souls fling their foams on me,
Will dignifie the cause, and make me glorious:
And I shall live.

_Ach._ A miserable villain,
What reputation, and reward belongs to it
Thus (with the head) I seize on, and make mine;
And be not impudent to ask me why, Sirrah,
Nor bold to stay, read in mine eyes the reason:
The shame and obloquy I leave thine own,
Inherit those rewards, they are fitter for thee,
Your oyl's spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely.

[_Exit._

_Sep._ The King will yet consider.

_Enter_ Ptolomy, Achoreus, Photinus.

_Achil._ Here he comes Sir.

_Ach._ Yet if it be undone: hear me great Sir,
If this inhumane stroak be yet unstrucken,
If that adored head be not yet sever'd
From the most noble Body, weigh the miseries,
The desolations that this great Eclipse works,
You are young, be provident: fix not your Empire
Upon the Tomb of him will shake all _Egypt_,
Whose warlike groans will raise ten thousand Spirits,
(Great as himself) in every hand a thunder;