The False One eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 64 pages of information about The False One.

  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 your afflictions,
  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.

    Enter Sceva.

  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 Septimius, Souldiers,
  The villain that kill’d Pompey.

  All.  How?

  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.

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The False One from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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