VIS. What, Tactus?
GUS. This was the plague vex'd him so:
Tactus, your grave gapes for you; are you ready?
VIS. Since you must needs die, do as others do,
Leave all your goods behind you; bequeath
The crown and robe to your executors.
TAC. No such matter; I, like the Egyptian kings,[198]
For the more state will be buried in them.
VIS. Come, come, deliver.
[VISUS snatcheth the crown, and sees letters graven in it.
TAC. What, will you take my purse from me?
VIS. No, but a crown, that's just more than your own.
Ha, what's this? 'tis a very small hand,
What inscription is this?
He of the five that proves himself the best,
Shall have his temples with this coronet blest.
This crown is mine, and mine this garment is;
For I have always been accounted best—
TAC. Next after me—high[199] as yourself at any time:
Besides, I found it first, therefore 'tis mine.