Æcius. So I hope, Sir:
And that you rather study cruelty,
And to be fear'd for blood, than lov'd for bounty,
Which makes the Nations, as they say, despise ye,
Telling your years and actions by their deaths,
Whose truth and strength of duty made you Cæsar:
They say besides you nourish strange devourers,
Fed with the fat o'th' Empire, they call Bawds,
Lazie and lustful Creatures that abuse ye,
A People as they term 'em, made of paper,
In which the secret sins of each man's monies
Are seal'd and sent a working.
Emp. What sin's next?
For I perceive they have no mind to spare me.
Æcius. Nor hurt you o' my soul, Sir; but such People
(Nor can the power of man restrain it)
When they are full of meat and ease, must prattle.
Emp. Forward.
Æcius. I have spoken too much, Sir.
Emp. I'll have all.
Æcius. It fits not
Your ears should hear their Vanities; no profit
Can justly rise to you from their behaviour,
Unless ye were guilty of those crimes.
Emp. It may be
I am so, therefore forward.
Æcius. I have ever
Learn'd to obey, nor shall my life resist it.
Emp. No more Apologies.