Pro. Oh Traitor.
Aret. Curse your selves ye flatterers,
And howle your miseries to come ye wretches,
You taught him to be poyson'd.
Emp. Yet no comfort?
Aret. Be not abus'd with Priests, nor Pothecaries,
They cannot help thee; Thou hast now to live
A short half hour, no more, and I ten minutes:
I gave thee poyson for Aecius sake,
Such a destroying poyson would kill nature;
And, for thou shalt not die alone, I took it.
If mankind had been in thee at this murder,
No more to people earth again, the wings
Of old time clipt for ever, reason lost,
In what I had attempted, yet O Cæsar
To purchase fair revenge, I had poyson'd them too.
Emp. O villain: I grow hotter, hotter.
Are. Yes;
But not near my heat yet; what thou feel'st now,
Mark me with horror Cæsar, are but Embers
Of lust and leachery thou hast committed:
But there be flames of murder.
Emp. Fetch out tortures.
Are. Do, and I'le flatter thee, nay more I'll love thee:
Thy tortures to what now I suffer Cæsar,
At which thou must arrive too, e're thou dy'st,
Are lighter, and more full of mirth and laughter.
Emp. Let 'em alone: I must drink.
Are. Now be mad,
But not near me yet.