Max. And kept ye still in credit.
Phi. 'Tis most true Sir.
Max. He fed your Fathers too, and made them means,
Your Sisters he prefer'd to noble Wedlocks,
Did he not friends?
Are. Oh yes Sir.
Max. As I take it
This worthy man would not be now forgotten,
I tell ye to my grief, he was basely murdred;
And something would be done, by those that lov'd him:
And something may be: pray stand off a little,
Let me bewail him private: O my dearest.
Phi. Aretus, if we be not sudden, he outdoes us,
I know he points at ven[ge]ance; we are cold,
And base ungratefull wretches, if we shun it:
Are we to hope for more rewards, or greatness,
Or any thing but death, now he is dead?
Dar'st thou resolve?
Are. I am perfect.
Phi. Then like flowers
That grew together all we'l fall together,
And with us that that bore us: when 'tis done
The world shall stile us two deserving servants:
I fear he will be before us.
Are. This night Phidias.
Phi. No more.