3
Boh. I can no more; my patience will not warp
To see these flatterers how they scorn and carp.
Ober. Turn but thy head.
Enter four Kings carrying crowns, Ladies presenting odours to Potentate enthroned, who suddenly is slain by his Servants and thrust out; and so they eat. [Exeunt.
Boh. Sike is the werld; but whilk is he I saw?
Ober. Sesostris, who was conqueror of the world,
Slain at the last and stamp’d on by his slaves.
Boh. How blest are peur men, then, that know their graves!
Now mark the sequel of my jig.