_Pho._ Would that were the worst, Sir,
That will repair it self: but I fear mainly,
She has made her peace with _Cæsar_.

_Ptol._ 'Tis most likely,
And what am I then?

_Pho._ 'Plague upon that Rascal
_Apollod[or]us_, under whose command,
Under whose eye--

_Enter_ Achillas.

_Ptol._ Curse on you all, ye are wretches.

_Pho._ 'Twas providently done, _Achillas_.

_Achil._ Pardon me.

_Pho._ Your guards were rarely wise, and wondrous watchfull.

_Achil._ I could not help it, if my life had lain for't,
Alas, who would suspect a pack of bedding,
Or a small Truss of houshold furniture?
And as they said, for Cæsars use: or who durst
(Being for his private chamber) seek to stop it?
I was abus'd.

_Enter_ Achoreus.