[SCENE II.]

Phid. By my faith, Captain Pontius, besides pity Of your faln fortunes, what to say I know not, For 'tis too true the Emperour desires not, But my best master, any souldier near him. Aret. And when he understands, he cast your fortunes For disobedience, how can we incline him, (That are but under persons to his favours) To any fair opinion? Can ye sing? Pont. Not to please him, Aretus, for my Songs Go not to th' Lute, or Viol, but to th' Trumpet, My tune kept on a Target, and my subject The well struck wounds of men, not love, or women. Phid. And those he understands not. Pont. He should, Phidias. Aret. Could you not leave this killing way a little? You must, if here you would plant your self, and rather Learn as we do, to like what those affect That are above us; wear their actions, And think they keep us warm too; what they say, Though oftentimes they speak a little foolishly, Not stay to construe, but prepare to execute, And think however the end falls, the business Cannot run empty handed. Phid. Can ye flatter, And if it were put to you, lye a little? Pont. Yes, if it be a living. Aret. That's well said then. Pont. But must these lies and flatteries be believ'd then? Phid. Oh yes, by any means. Pon. By any means then I cannot lie nor flatter. Aret. Ye must swear too, If ye be there. Pont. I can swear if they move me. Phid. Cannot ye forswear too? Pont. The Court for ever, If it be grown so wicked. Aret. You should procure a little too. Pont. What's that? Mens honest sayings for my truth? Aret. Oh no, Sir; But womens honest actions for your trial. Pont. Do you do all these things? Phid. Do you not like 'em? Pont. Do you ask me seriously, or trifle with me? I am not so low yet to be your mirth. Are. You do mistake us, Captain, for sincerely, We ask you how you like 'em? Pon. Then sincerely, I tell ye I abhor 'em; they are ill ways, And I will starve before I fall into 'em, The doers of 'em Wretches, their base hungers Care not whose Bread they eat, nor how they get it. Aret. What then, Sir? Pon. If you profess this wickedness, Because ye have been Souldiers, and born Arms, The Servants of the brave Æcius, And by him put to th' Emperour, give me leave, Or I must take it else, to say ye are Villains, For all your Golden Coats, debosh'd, base Villains, Yet I do wear a Sword to tell you so, Is this the way you mark out for a Souldier, A Man that has commanded for the Empire, And born the Reputation of a Man? Are there not lazie things enough call'd fools and cowards, And poor enough to be prefer'd for Panders, But wanting Souldiers must be Knaves too? ha! This the trim course of life; were not ye born Bawds, And so inherit but your Rights? I am poor, And may expect a worse; yet digging, pruning, Mending of broken ways, carrying of water, Planting of Worts and Onions, any thing That's honest, and a Mans, I'll rather chuse, I, and live better on it, which is juster, Drink my well gotten water with more pleasure, When my endeavours done, and wages paid me, Than you do wine, eat my course Bread, not curst, And mend upon't, your diets are diseases, And sleep as soundly, when my labour bids me, As any forward Pander of ye all, And rise a great deal honester; my Garments, Though not as yours, the soft sins of the Empire, Yet may be warm, and keep the biting wind out, When every single breath of poor opinion Finds you through all your Velvets. Put us good men to th' Emperour, so we have serv'd him, Though much neglected for it; So dare be still; Your Curses are not ours; we have seen your fortune, But yet know no way to redeem it: Means, Such as we have, ye shall not want, brave Pontius, But pray be temperate, if we can wipe out The way of your offences, we are yours, Sir; And you shall live at Court an honest Man too. Phid. That little meat and means we have, we'll share it, Fear not to be as we are; what we told ye, Were but meer tryals of your truth: y'are worthy, And so we'll ever hold ye; suffer better, And then you are a right Man, Pontius, If my good Master be not ever angry, Ye shall command again. Pont. I have found two good men: use my life, For it is yours, and all I have to thank ye— [Exeunt.