Ach. The wonder great,
  He is accepted of.

Achil. Vices, for him, Make as free way as vertues doe for others.  ’Tis the times fault:  yet Great ones still have grace’d To make them sport, or rub them o’re with flattery, Observers of all kinds.

    Enter Photinus, and Septimius.

Ach. No more of him, He is not worth our thoughts:  a Fugitive From Pompeys army:  and now in a danger When he should use his service.

  Achil. See how he hangs
  On great Photinus Ear.

Sep. Hell, and the furies, And all the plagues of darkness light upon me:  You are my god on earth:  and let me have Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter.

  Pho. Thou art believ’d:  dost thou want mony?

  Sep. No Sir.

  Pho. Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow
  Thy vehement protestations.

Sep. You much wrong me; How can I want, when your beams shine upon me, Unless employment to express my zeal To do your greatness service? do but think A deed so dark, the Sun would blush to look on, For which Man-kind would curse me, and arm all 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 Caesar, 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.

  Pho. Good day Achoreus; my best friend Achillas,
  Hath fame deliver’d yet no certain rumour
  Of the great Roman Action?

Achil. That we are To enquire, and learn of you Sir:  whose grave care For Egypts happiness, and great Ptolomies good, Hath eyes and ears in all parts.

    Enter Ptolomy, Labienus, Guard.

  Pho. I’le not boast,
  What my Intelligence costs me:  but ’ere long
  You shall know more.  The King, with him a Roman.