SCENE II.

Enter Lycias, and Proculus.

Lyci. Sicker, and sicker Proculus?

Pro. Oh Lycias,
What shall become of us? would we had di'd
With happy Chilax, or with Balbus, bedrid—

Enter Licinius.

And made too lame for justice.

Licinius. The soft Musick;
And let one sing to fasten sleep upon him:
Oh friends, the Emperour.

Pro. What say the Doctors?

Lici. For us a most sad saying, he is poyson'd,
Beyond all cure too.

L[y]ci. Who?