Enter Æcius and Phidias.
And so I'le keep my self. Here comes Æcius,
I see the bait is swallow'd: If he be lost
He is my Martyr, and my way stands open,
And honour on thy head, his blood is reckon'd.
Æ[ci]. Why how now friend, what makes ye here unarm'd?
Are ye turn'd Merchant?
Max. By your fair perswasions,
And such a Merchant trafficks without danger;
I have forgotten all, Æcius,
And which is more, forgiven.
Æci. Now I love ye,
Truly I do, ye are a worthy Roman.
Max. The fair repentance of my Prince to me
Is more than sacrifice of bloud and vengeance,
No eyes shall weep her ruins, but mine own.
Aeci. Still ye take more love from me: vertuous friend
The gods make poor Aecius worthy of thee.
Max. Only in me y'are poor Sir: and I worthy
Only in being yours:
But why your arm thus,
Have ye been hurt Aecius?
Aeci. Bruis'd a little:
My horse fell with me friend: which till this morning
I never knew him do.
Max. Pray gods it boad well;
And now I think on't better, ye shall back,
Let my perswasions rule ye.