2 Sol. He was not wont
To let poor Souldiers that have spent their Fortunes,
Their Bloods, and limbs, walk up and down like vagabonds.
Sep. Save ye good Souldiers:
good poor men, heaven help ye:
You have born the brunt of war, and shew the story,
1 Sol. Some new commander sure.
Sep. You look (my good friends)
By your thin faces, as you would be Suitors.
2 Sol. To Caesar, for our means, Sir.
Sep. And ’tis fit Sir.
3 Sol. We are poor men, and long forgot.
Sep. I grieve for it: Good Souldiers should have good rewards, and favours, I’le give up your petitions, for I pity ye, And freely speak to Caesar.
All. O we honour ye.
1 Sol. A good man sure ye are: the Gods preserve ye.
Sep. And to relieve your wants
the while, hold Soldiers,
Nay ’tis no dream: ’tis good gold: take it freely,
’Twill keep ye in good heart.
2 Sol. Now goodness quit ye.
Sep. I’le be a friend to
And eat, and drink with ye too, and we’l be merry:
And every day I’le see ye.
1 Sol. You are a Souldier,
And one sent from the Gods, I think.
Sep. I’le cloth ye,
Ye are lame, and then provide good lodging for ye:
And at my Table, where no want shall meet ye.
All. Was never such a man.
1 Sold. Dear honour’d Sir,
Let us but know your name, that we may worship ye.
2 Sold. That we may ever thank.
Sep. Why, call me any thing,
No matter for my name, that may betray me.
Sce. A cunning thief, call him
The villain that kill’d Pompey.
Sce. Call him the shame of men. [Exit.
1 Sold. O that this mony Were weight enough to break thy brains out: fling all: And fling our curses next: let them be mortal, Out bloody wolf, dost thou come guilded over, And painted with thy charitie, to poyson us?
2 Sold. I know him now: may never Father own thee, But as a monstrous birth shun thy base memory: And if thou hadst a Mother (as I cannot Believe thou wert a natural Burden) let her womb Be curs’d of women for a bed of vipers.
3 Sol. Me thinks the ground shakes to devour this rascal, And the kind air turns into foggs and vapours, Infectious mists, to crown his villanies. Thou maist go wander, like a thing heaven hated.
1 Sold. And valiant minds hold poysonous to remember. The Hangman will not keep thee company, He has an honourable house to thine, No, not a thief though thou couldst save his life for’t Will eat thy bread, nor one, for thirst starv’d, drink with thee.
2 Sol. Thou art no company for
an honest dog,
And so we’l leave thee to a ditch (thy destiny.) [Exeunt.