Cleo. Shew him a glass; that false face has betrai'd me:
That base heart wrought me—
Cæsar. Be more sweetly angry;
I wrong'd ye fair?
Cleo. Away with your foul flatteries:
They are too gross: but that I dare be angry,
And with as great a god as Cæsar is,
To shew how poorly I respect his memory,
I would not speak to ye.
Cæsar. Pray ye undoe this riddle,