found a fort, that faced him strongly, An inward war:  he was his Grand-sires Guest; Friend to his Father, and when he was expell’d And beaten from this Kingdom by strong hand, And had none left him, to restore his honour, No hope to find a friend, in such a misery; Then in stept Pompey; took his feeble fortune:  Strengthen’d, and cherish’d it, and set it right again, This was a love to Caesar.

  Sceva. Give me, hate, Gods.

Pho. This Caesar may account a little wicked, But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour, Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?  If thine own sword had touch’d his throat, what that way!  He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted, Had been most terrible:  let the worst be render’d, We have deserv’d for keeping thy hands innocent.

  Caesar. Oh Sceva, Sceva, see that head:  see Captains,
  The head of godlike Pompey.

  Sceva. He was basely ruin’d,
  But let the Gods be griev’d that suffer’d it,
  And be you Caesar—­

Caesar. Oh thou Conquerour, Thou glory of the world once, now the pity:  Thou awe of Nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?  What poor fate follow’d thee, and pluckt thee on To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian; The life and light of Rome, to a blind stranger, That honorable war ne’r taught a nobleness, Nor worthy circumstance shew’d what a man was, That never heard thy name sung, but in banquets; And loose lascivious pleasures? to a Boy, That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness, No study of thy life to know thy goodness; And leave thy Nation, nay, thy noble friend, Leave him (distrusted) that in tears falls with thee?  (In soft relenting tears) hear me (great Pompey) (If thy great spirit can hear) I must task thee:  Thou hast most unnobly rob’d me of my victory, My love, and mercy.

  Ant. O how brave these tears shew! 
  How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy!

  Dol. Glory appears not greater than this goodness.

Caesar. Egyptians, dare you think your high Pyramides, Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose, Where your unworthy Kings lye rak’d in ashes, Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of Nilus) Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven; No Pyramides set off his memories, But the eternal substance of his greatness To which I leave him:  take the head away, And (with the body) give it noble burial, Your Earth shall now be bless’d to hold a Roman, Whose braverys all the worlds-Earth cannot ballance.

Sce. If thou bee’st thus loving, I shall honour thee, But great men may dissemble, ’tis held possible, And be right glad of what they seem to weep for, There are such kind of Philosophers; now do I wonder How he would look if Pompey were alive again, But how he would set his face?

  Caesar. You look now, King,
  And you that have been Agents in this glory,
  For our especial favour?