Max. The gods forgive me:
Think not the worse my friends, I shed not tears,
Great griefs lament within; yet now I have found 'em:
Would I had never known the world, nor women,
Nor what that cursed name of honour was,
So this were once again Æcius:
But I am destin'd to a mighty action,
And begg my pardon friend, my vengeance taken,
I will not be long from thee: ye have a great loss,
But bear it patiently, yet to say truth
In justice 'tis not sufferable: I am next,
And were it now, I would be glad on't: friends,
Who shall preserve you now?
Are. Nay we are lost too.
Max. I fear ye are, for likely such as love
The man that's faln, and have been nourish'd by him,
Do not stay long behind: 'Tis held no wisdom.
I know what I must do. O my Æcius,
Canst thou thus perish, pluckt up by the roots,
And no man feel thy worthiness? From boys
He bred you both I think.
Phi. And from the poorest.
Max. And lov'd ye as his own.
Are. We found it Sir.
Max. Is not this a loss then?
Phi. O, a loss of losses;
Our lives, and ruines of our families,
The utter being nothing of our names,
Were nothing near it.
Max. As I take it too,
He put ye to the Emperour.
Are. He did so.