Pro. And scurvily.
Pon. Out of a mischief meerly: did you mark it?
Pro. Yes well enough.
Now ye have means to quit it,
The deed done, take his place.
Pon. Pray let me think on't,
'Tis ten to one I do it.
Pro. Do and be happy.— [Exit Pro.
Pon. This Emperour is made of nought but mischief,
Sure, Murther was his Mother: none to lop,
But the main link he had? upon my conscience
The man is truly honest, and that kills him;
For to live here, and study to be true,
Is all one to be Traitors: why should he die?
Have they not Slaves and Rascals for their Offrings
In full abundance; Bawds more than beasts for slaughter?
Have they not singing whores enough, and knaves too,
And millions of such Martyrs to sink Charon,
But the best sons of Rome must sail too? I will shew him
(since he must dye) a way to do it truly:
And though he bears me hard, yet shall he know,
I am born to make him bless me for a blow.— [Exit.
SCENE [IV].
Enter Phidias, Aretus, and Æcius.
Phi. Yet ye may 'scape to th' Camp, we'l hazard with ye.
Aret. Lose not your life so basely Sir: ye are arm'd,
And many when they see your sword out, and know why,
Must follow your adventure.