in his defeature of the Crassi) Offer’d him his protection, but Pompey Relying on his Benefits, and your Faith, Hath chosen AEgypt for his Sanctuary, Till he may recollect his scattered powers, And try a second day:  now Ptolomy, Though he appear not like that glorious thing That three times rode in triumph, and gave laws To conquer’d Nations, and made Crowns his gift (As this of yours, your noble Father took From his victorious hand, and you still wear it At his devotion) to do you more honour In his declin’d estate, as the straightst Pine In a full grove of his yet flourishing friends, He flyes to you for succour, and expects The entertainment of your Fathers friend, And Guardian to your self.

Ptol. To say I grieve his fortune As much as if the Crown I wear (his gift) Were ravish’d from me, is a holy truth, Our Gods can witness for me:  yet, being young, And not a free disposer of my self; Let not a few hours, borrowed for advice, Beget suspicion of unthankfulness, (Which next to Hell I hate) pray you retire, And take a little rest, and let his wounds Be with that care attended, as they were Carv’d on my flesh:  good Labienus, think The little respite, I desire shall be Wholly emploi’d to find the readiest way To doe great Pompey service.

  Lab. May the gods
  (As you intend) protect you. [Exit.

  Ptol. Sit:  sit all,
  It is my pleasure:  your advice, and freely.

Ach. A short deliberation in this, May serve to give you counsel:  to be honest, Religious and thankfull, in themselves Are forcible motives, and can need no flourish Or gloss in the perswader; your kept faith, (Though Pompey never rise to th’ height he’s fallen from) Caesar himself will love; and my opinion Is (still committing it to graver censure) You pay the debt you owe him, with the hazard Of all you can call yours.

  Ptol. What’s yours, (Photinus?)

Pho. Achoreus (great Ptolomy) hath counsell’d Like a Religious, and honest man, Worthy the honour that he justly holds In being Priest to Isis:  But alas, What in a man, sequester’d from the world, Or in a private person, is prefer’d, No policy allows of in a King, To be or just, or thankfull, makes Kings guilty, And faith (though prais’d) is punish’d that supports Such as good Fate forsakes:  joyn with the gods, Observe the man they favour, leave the wretched, The Stars are not more distant from the Earth Than profit is from honesty; all the power, Prerogative, and greatness of a Prince Is lost, if he descend once but to steer His course, as what’s right, guides him:  let him leave The Scepter, that strives only to be good, Since Kingdomes are maintain’d by force and blood.

  Ach. Oh wicked!

  Ptol. Peace:  goe on.