And why a noble man durst not touch at it)
There was no piece of Earth, thou putst thy foot on
But was his conquest; and he gave thee motion.
He triumph'd three times, who durst touch his person?
The very walls of Rome bow'd to his presence,
Dear to the Gods he was, to them that fear'd him
A fair and noble Enemy. Didst thou hate him?
And for thy love to Cæsar, sought his ruine?
Arm'd in the red Pharsalian fields, Septimius,
Where killing was in grace, and wounds were glorious,