Pho. The better,
  The globe of Empire must be so manur’d.

Sep. Rome, that from Romulus first took her name, Had her walls water’d with a Crimson showr Drain’d from a Brothers heart:  nor was she rais’d To this prodigious height, that overlooks Three full parts of the Earth, that pay her tribute, But by enlarging of her [n]arrow bounds By the Sack of Neighbour Cities, not made hers Till they were Cemented with the Blood of those That did possess ’em:  Caesar, Ptolomy, (Now I am steel’d) to me are empty names Esteem’d as Pompeys was.

  Pho. Well said Septimius,
  Thou now art right again.

  Achil. But what course take we
  For the Princess Cleopatra?

Pho. Let her live Awhile to make us sport:  she shall authorize Our undertakings to the ignorant people, As if what we do were by her command:  But our triumvirat Government once confirm’d, She bears her Brother company, that’s my Province:  Leave me to work her.

  Achil. I will undertake
  For Ptolomy.

  Sep. Caesar shall be my task,
  And as in Pompey I began a name
  I’le perfect it in Caesar.

    Enter (above) Caesar, Ptolomy, Achoreus, Apollodorus, Antony,
    Dolabella.

  Pho. ’Tis resolv’d then,
  We’ll force our passage.

  Achil. See, they do appear
  As they desir’d a Parley.

  Pho. I am proud yet
  I have brought ’em to capitulate.

  Ptol. Now, Photinus?

  Pho. Now, Ptolomy?

  Ptol. No addition?

  Pho. We are equal,
  Though Caesars name were put into the scale,
  In which our worth is weigh’d.

Caes. Presumptuous Villain, Upon what grounds hast thou presum’d to raise Thy servile hand against the King, or me, That have a greater name?

Pho. On those, by which Thou didst presume to pass the Rubicon Against the Laws of Rome; and at the name Of Traitor smile; as thou didst when Marcellus, The Consul, with the Senates full consent Pronounc’d thee for an Enemy to thy Country, Yet thou wentst on, and thy rebellious Cause Was crown’d with fair success:  Why should we fear then?  Think on that, Caesar.

  Caes. O the gods! be brav’d thus,
  And be compell’d to bear this from a Slave
  That would not brook Great Pompey his Superiour?

  Achil. Thy glories now have toucht the highest point,
  And must descend.

  Pho. Despair, and think we stand
  The Champions of Rome, to wreak her wrongs,
  Upon whose liberty thou hast set thy foot.

  Sept. And that the Ghosts of all those noble Romans
  That by thy Sword fell in this Civil War
  Expect revenge.