Tullus Aufidius. Even so
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
And with his charity slain.
Second Conspirator. Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.
First Conspirator. Your native town you enter'd like a post,
And had no welcomes home: but he returns,
Splitting the air with noise.
Second Conspirator. And patient fools,
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear
With giving him glory.
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