Cæs. See (beauteous Mistris) their accursed heads
That did conspire against us.
Sce. Furies plague 'em,
They had too fair an end to dye like Souldiers,
Pompey fell by the Sword, the Cross or Halter
Should have dispatch'd them.
Cæs. All is but death, good Sceva,
Be therefore satisfied: and now my dearest,
Look upon Cæsar, as he still appear'd
A Conquerour, and this unfortunate King