Thou hast most unnobly rob'd me of my victory,
My love, and mercy.
Ant. O how brave these tears shew!
How excellent is sorrow in an Enemy!
Dol. Glory appears not greater than this goodness.
Cæsar. Egyptians, dare you think your high Pyramides,
Built to out-dare the Sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy Kings lye rak'd in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? no, (brood of Nilus)
Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven;