Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune?
To ban the blood I lost for such a General?
Cæsar. Offend no more: be gone.
Sce. I will, and leave ye,
Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaim ye:
You'l conquer Rome now, and the Capitol
With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farewel Cæsar.
Cleo. Now I am private Sir, I dare speak to ye:
But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye.
Sce. Lower you'l be anon.