ith a handfull of his Men
Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
Flesh'd in the spoils of _Germany_ and _France_,
Inur'd to his Command, and only know
To fight and overcome; And though that _Famine_
Raigns in his Camp, compelling them to tast
Bread made of roots, forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorn threw into _Pompeys_ Camp
As in derision of his Delicates)
Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:
They still besiege him, being ambitious only
To come to blows, and let their swords determine
Who hath the better Cause.

_Enter_ Septi[m]ius.

_Ach._ May Victory
Attend on't, where it is.

_Achil._ We every hour
Expect to hear the issue.

_Sep._ Save my good Lords;
By _Isis_ and _Osiris_, whom you worship;
And the four hundred gods and goddesses
Ador'd in _Rome_, I am your honours servant.

_Ach._ Truth needs, _Septimius_, no oaths.

_Achil._ You are cruel,
If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.

_Sep._ Your Honour's bitter,
Confound me, where I love I cannot say it,
But I must swear't: yet such is my ill fortune,
Nor vows, nor protestations win belief,
I think, and (I can find no other reason)
Because I am a _Roman_.

_Ach._ No _Septimius_,
To be a _Roman_ were an honour to you,
Did not your manners, and your life take from it,
And cry aloud, that from _Rome_ you bring nothing
But _Roman_ Vices, which you would plant here,
But no seed of her vertues.

_Sep._ With your reverence
I am too old to learn.

_Ach._ Any thing honest,
That I believe, without an oath.

_Sep._ I fear
Your Lordship has slept ill to night, and that
Invites this sad discourse: 'twill make you old
Before your time:--O these vertuous Morals,
And old religious principles, that fool us!
I have brought you a new Song, will make you laugh,
Though you were at your prayers.

_A[c]h._ What is the subject?
Be free _Septimius_.

_Sep._ 'Tis a Catalogue
Of all the Gamesters of the Court and City,
Which Lord lyes with that Lady, and what Gallant
Sports with that Merchants wife; and does relate
Who sells her honour for a Diamond,
Who, for a tissew robe: whose husband's jealous,
And who so kind, that, to share with his wife,
Will make the match himself:
Harmless conceits,
Though fools say they are dangerous: