e, than one unworthy:
Goe seek some Mistris that a horse may marry,
And keep her company, she is too good for ye. [_Exit._

_Sep._ Marry this goes near; now I perceive I am hatefull,
When this light stuff can distinguish, it grows dangerous,
For mony, seldom they refuse a Leper:
But sure I am more odious, more diseas'd too:

_Enter three lame_ Souldiers.

It sits cold here; what are these? three poor Souldiers?
Both poor and lame: their misery may make 'em
A little look upon me, and adore me,
If these will keep me company, I am made yet.

_1 Sol._ The pleasure _Caesar_ sleeps in, makes us miserable,
We are forgot, our maims and dangers laugh'd at;
He Banquets, and we beg.

_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