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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