This was a love to Cæsar.
Sceva. Give me, hate, Gods.
Pho. This Cæsar may account a little wicked,
But yet remember, if thine own hands, Conquerour,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then?
If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that way!
He was thy Son in Law, there to be tainted,
Had been most terrible: let the worst be render'd,
We have deserv'd for keeping thy hands innocent.
Cæsar. Oh Sceva, Sceva, see that head: see Captains,