Till Nilus raise his seven heads and devour ye;
My grief has stopt the rest: when Pompey liv'd
He us'd you nobly, now he is dead use him so. [Exit.
Ptol. Now, where's your confidence? your aim (Photinus)
The Oracles, and fair Favours from the Conquerour
You rung into mine Ears? how stand I now?
You see the tempest of his stern displeasure,
The death of him you urged a Sacrifice
To stop his Rage, presaging a full ruine;
Where are your Counsels now?